Murder in Germantown Read online

  CHAPTER 89

  He hit me with a ferocious punch. My forehead felt as if I was socked by a Barry Bonds swing of the bat. The back of my head slammed into the wall behind me. Whoever it was had tremendous power. He was absurdly horny-handed. I heard sounds that were unidentifiable. I was sure that I had seen Betsy Ross stitching the flag. I was dizzy. Everything spun faster than Earth.

  I assessed my options, which were scarce. Undoubtedly, the intruder had a gun. Had to! They knew that I was thoroughly trained to use my hands in ways only watched on karate flicks. The ones that had the voice-overs that never ran their course with the actors actually speaking. Besides that, my eyes were no longer 20/20, so I nixed a toe-to-toe battle. If I had charged the man, he would have shot me in the process. However, if I somehow got through the man’s zone and got my hands on him, I would have been able to tear his ass apart. All of my thoughts were arrested when the intruder parked in a chair opposite me. Very casually, by the way.

  Through blurred vision, I saw that man, Prince Charming, that was with Ariel at Sole Food. His hair was long as far as I could tell. To fully open my eyes burned terribly. I saw a full beard and mustache. Dark brown. No coat. There was a scarf, though. Wrapped casually as if he never intended to be in a fight.

  Aramis lay on the sofa, totally oblivious to what happened. And, where the hell was Kensan? Certainly, both of them had to be sleeping lightly considering the danger that we were exposed to over the past hours. I placed my hands on the table to use as leverage to push my chair back to free my legs from under the table.

  The man wiggled a long, slim finger at me, indicating, no.

  He said, “I guarantee you that I have a gun. A very big gun. Before you decide to do anything other than sit quietly, know that it’ll take two seconds for you to hit the ground, and you’d never even know.”

  I knew the answer to my next question, but I still asked, “Why the hell not?”

  “Because you’d be dead in a nano-second,” the man confirmed.

  I tried to place the accent to no avail. His voice was deep and dark, and he may have made the accent up.

  “Now that we are clear, allow me to formally introduce myself. My name is Skylar Juday, and your beloved media simpletons refer to me as Mr. 357.”

  This was going to be a poignant tete-a-tete. By far, the most unwelcomed one that I had ever engaged in during my life. However, I was prepared for it and that scared me. I had spent countless minutes devoted to this encounter. It would’ve been better, had it been under my terms, but I had to settle for being on my turf. Somehow, I didn’t think that I had home advantage, though. I had no doubt that Mr. 357 had been in my domicile many times when no one was home.

  I sat silent and waited for him to speak because I did not want to start off on the wrong foot. He had warned me not to patronize him. He also knew all about my subtle sardonism. He knew a zillion other things about me, too, probably. Like which hand I used to scratch my ass.

  “I must say that you are a clever fellow. I genuinely applaud you. Make no error that I vehemently hate you, too.”

  His voice was robotic and it seemed that the lines were rehearsed.

  “For what reason?” I asked without a touch of anger or sarcasm.

  I was no dummy. On my best behavior.

  “Which one? The applause or the hate?” he asked. On top of that, he stacked, “With your disrespectful arrogance, I am sure you want both, starting with the praise. Your trickery to get Constance, Dajuan, and Brandon to safety was brilliant. My people haven’t nabbed them, but I will personally after I am done with you.”

  Gee thanks, I refrained from saying. The escape system that we had set up was very slick. I had read too many espionage novels not to know how to get away. When I told Constance to go to the hotel that we stayed at for my law school graduation, anyone listening would go to the MGM Grand in Las Vegas, Nevada, but she would go to the LeMeridien in Las Angeles, California. She would later meet Dajuan and Brandon at LAX and board a non-stop flight back to Philly. They would check into the Lowes Hotel, my favorite hotel, and be taken care of.

  He interrupted my thoughts by saying, “There are so many reasons that I hate you. I’ll recap the ones I told you before, you being born and studying law.”

  He confirmed for me that he had indeed called me and tried to kill me.

  “What does that mean? I did not request that.”

  “You’d better lose that base in your voice, quickly, Mr. Lemmelle.”

  “Sorry.”

  I was a patsy at that moment.

  “You’re not,” he said. “Let’s cut to the chase. You were always the smart one. The one with the BMW at seventeen, thanks to mom. Best graduation gift after law school, Las Vegas. You even won a three million dollar jackpot. Married the prettiest girl, who by chance, was bi-sexual like you. Your mother gave you everything, and she was afforded that luxury thanks to your father’s salary. Guess what my father gave me? A fare-the-well when I was an embryo and never looked back. Well, once, but it didn’t matter.”

  I frowned up my face and tried to figure out where the hell I knew this guy from. Where the hell did I fit into all of this? There were so many more kids to stalk. They were richer and smarter than me. Why me?

  “You’re trying to figure where do you fit into this Algebraic equation. It’s simple. We have the same father.”

  CHAPTER 90

  From his pocket, Mr. 357 pulled a five-by-seven envelope and tossed it at me. My heart beat at a range hovering between eighty and ninety beats per minute. My hands shook uncontrollably, and I could barely snatch up the envelope, but I had to see the proof to the man’s claim.

  Inside, I found a New Jersey birth record for Sirius Bates. The date of birth read: March 12, 1972. The father was listed as Joshua Lemmelle. My mind raced trying to pull together a film of 1972 in my mind. I was not even born. As I tried to recall it, I sat the birth record, which was laminated and could’ve been fake, aside. In the envelope was a birth certificate stamped with the raised New Jersey seal. The information matched the birth record.

  I raised my head to look at the character as he removed items from a small bag. He then began to remove his make-up. I watched in awe as I recalled my father was stationed at Fort Dix in New Jersey. It was perfectly plausible that he knocked up some wench and left her to return to Philly. Constance would’ve been livid had he borne a child out of wedlock. Hell, even with my sexuality, she did not approve of me having a bastard. So I married dumb ass, Ariel Greenland.

  As the face paint revealed what I believed was real flesh, I wanted him to re-apply the makeup. His skin looked terrible, having been marred by years of gluing on beards and mustaches. He needed a dermabrasion expert (several) to clear his skin. I looked horror struck.

  “It gets worse,” he warned.

  The hair piece was removed, and the scalp was equally damaged. Amazingly, I had momentarily forgotten I was in the kitchen with a bona fide monster. He raised his sweater over his head and his T shirt went next. His over-developed, masculine chest had scars and bruises everywhere. It looked as if he had been beaten profusely with an extension cord while in a bath tub. Despite the scars, I saw the same fungus spread in patches throughout his chest. If he was going for the shock effect, it worked.

  “This is what dermatologist call acute dermatophyte. It’s a fungus parasite on the skin, and in my case, hair, too. Our father called me a freak of nature when my mother notified him of my arrival and he visited me. I was a one-year-old. He denied being the father of the monstrosity and walked out never looking back. But I looked for him, though. And my revenge begins with you. Well not exactly, my mom went first because she never pursued him for child support. She told me that he was from Dallas, Texas. Got all that?”

  I nodded my head in disbelief. I did not want to believe him, but I knew how calloused my father was. I was sick to my stomach and tasted bile in my throat.

  “When I got to be sixteen, after being tortured as
you can see, thanks to my adoptive parents, I set out to find, Mr. Lemmelle. My abnormality had taunted my adoptive parents so they tortured me while collecting money from the state to take care of me. Girls hated me and teased me, which is why I kill them and have them do filthy things. But they love me in costumes and are hard up to fuck me until they see my dick.”

  I cut in, “Are you sure that we are talking about the same Joshua Lemmelle? The one I know created meanness and I surmise that he would have paid you to stay away from his political aspirations.”

  “No one asked you to guess. This is not a courtroom, little brother.”

  He found that hilarious.

  “Haven’t you wondered why he hates you?”

  “No, because I know that he hates that I am gay.”

  The man stood and I thought he was going to attack me. He unbuckled his pants and pulled his zipper down the track before he shimmied his pants to his mid-thigh. Next went his boxers.

  CHAPTER 91

  Male and female reproductive organs stared back at me. Then it hit me. I blurted, “He hates me because both of his off-springs...” I couldn’t form the words to say what I felt.

  “Finally, something to render the great Ravonne Lemmelle speechless.”

  I certainly was.

  “Please pull your pants up.”

  “I do not know why you are all out of shape. You love both. I have you on camera with Ariel and Dajuan. You look good on top and bottom.”

  “You’ve been spying on me while wanting to kill me and my dad.”

  “See, your dad. He’s our dad. It’s not all about you.”

  He had nerve. I couldn’t think straight. I was staring at the sex organs of a hermaphrodite.

  “I am smarter than you, brother. You probably want to kill me. I don’t blame you, but, be nice. I am also smarter than the FBI and other agencies. I love to prove them ineffective. I do. And you fucked up my plan with the Artis acquittal.”

  “So that’s why you want to kill me?”

  “That, and to hurt dear old Dad. See, I’ve learned that the more evil and hateful people are toward someone they really love, the deeper the love hurts. I’ve sat at the funerals of all my vics. I’m going to get dear old Dad and pin it on you.”

  The door bell chimed.

  “That should be your wife,” he said and slipped into a sweater.

  He held his other belongings and disappeared into the living room.

  The doorbell rang again. As the monster unlocked the door, I saw Kensan glimpse out of the office. His weapon shimmered. My heart pounded crazily. I didn’t want Kensan to kill Mr. 357 at that point.

  I battled to maintain control of my emotions. I had to calm myself. While I disliked Ariel I did not want her dead.

  The door swung open and Ariel was there.

  “Don’t move!”

  That was Kensan finally making his presence known. Stupidly, by the way. Why not just shoot?

  Everybody but Mr. 357 turned to face Kensan. He grabbed a fistful of Ariel’s hair and snatched her into the living room from the doorway. She screamed, and Mr. 357 shoved his gun violently into her mouth.

  “What are you doing?” Ariel mumbled.

  “Oh, shut up bitch. You didn’t think that I really wanted you, did you?” Mr. 357 asked in his fake South American voice. He switched back to his sinister voice and said, “Now, Mr. Lemmelle, if you desire your son having any relationship with this runaway mom, you’ll have the man with this gun in my little production put it on the carpet. Easily. Or Brandon loses his mother.”

  I looked deeply into her eyes. I looked forward to a sinister ending for my unbearably haughty wife in court, but not her death.

  Mr. 357 interrupted my train of thought and said, “So what’s it going to be?”

  Considering the man never gave options, I didn’t have time to over think. Just pure balls. I encouraged myself. I motioned for Kensan to put the weapon down. As he did, Mr. 357 threw Ariel at me and we went crashing to the floor. She screamed, and I pushed her aside and bounced back to my feet.

  “What are you going to do, pussy?”

  Mr. 357 had challenged me. He wanted a piece of me.

  “I got this,” Aramis said and then sucker pinched Mr. 357 on his right temple. The forceful shot sent Mr. 357 to his knees--the first sign that he was human. He jumped back up having lost his .357 Magnum.

  Next, Aramis threw a speedy roundhouse punch that connected, and I followed up with a nasty upper cut that fell deep into his stomach. Mr. 357 gave me a stomach shot in return. My stomach hurt like hell, but I gave him a two-piece that forced him to slam against wall.

  “That’s all you got, faggot?” Mr. 357 said and threw a sloppy punch.

  It landed. Meant nothing. He was disoriented and missed Kensan approaching him. He had the Glock aimed at Mr. 357’s chest. Aramis had picked up Mr. 357’s Magnum .357.

  “Ain’t no fun when the rabbit got the gun,” Kensan said. “Get the fuck down, clown.”

  Mr. 357 chuckled and said, “You got balls,” to Kensan.

  So did I. I slammed my fist into Mr. 357’s face. That forced him down. Adrenaline forced him to jump back up and attempt to charge toward me. He was stopped by a bullet.

  My wife had saved the day.

  CHAPTER 92

  I ignored the FBI orders to report to their office. I went to the Lowes Hotel with my wife. They had Mr. 357’s makeup bag, the recording of his confession on my tape recorder, and the birth records that I prayed were fake.

  I was absolutely wrong about Ariel and that hurt. How could I assume she was such a heinous character? I prayed she never found out how I bad mouthed her.

  With the Associated Press asleep, I was able to stroll through the lobby without a mob of reporters on me. Aramis was at the Inquirer office preparing to tell the world that Mr. 357 lay in the morgue with a gaping hole in his chest, thanks to Ariel Greenland. I remained shocked that she had a gun and shot him dead center.

  When the door to the hotel room opened, Constance pulled me into her arms. She didn’t look well. She was haggard and tired.

  “I thought you got rid of the bad guys.” Granny said, letting me go and sizing up Ariel.

  “Not right now, Granny. We’ve been through a lot.”

  “Sure.”

  Granny rolled her eyes and stepped aside to let us into the room.

  Brandon was asleep. Dajuan looked up at me, jumped up, and grabbed me into his arms. The kiss that we shared was soft and passionate. First time that Granny had seen that. We pulled apart.

  “Sorry,” Dajuan said to Granny.

  “Boy, I know you two kiss. What I don’t know is why is she here?”

  “This is crazy. I do not belong here. She never liked me,” Ariel said.

  Ariel was turning red.

  “Still don’t, bitch!” Granny said, and then added, “FYI you can leave.”

  “Come on, Granny, she’s been through a lot. The bad guy put a gun into her mouth.”

  “Brandon has been through a lot, too,” Granny replied and waved at my son. “And so have you.”

  “Ravonne, I’ll deal with you later,” Ariel said to me and then left the room.

  That was not how I expected it to be. I could not focus on Ariel, so I skated across the room to my son and woke him up. He was groggy and crawled right into my arms.

  “Did you get the bad guy, Dad?”

  “Yep.”

  “I had a dream that you did. Thanks.”

  “Anytime, lil’ buddy.”

  At that point, my cell phone chimed. It was a call from Aramis’s cell phone. How could that be with Mr. 357 very dead? I flipped it open.

  “You do not think it’s over, do you?” the caller asked. I knew the female voice.

  If I ever had to act, that was the moment. My family couldn’t take knowing that Mr. 357 was alive and well.

  “Do you think Mr. 357 would fail that miserably? I am shocked you really believed you had that sort of clout. S
hame on your arrogant ass. I killed that man that I hired at your home to take care of the loose ends. Did you believe any of that bullshit that he spat out of his mouth? What a pity if you did? But as I said before I left your room, I will deal with you later.”

  CHAPTER 93

  Like a bullet racing out of a .357, I shot out onto Market Street. I squinted up the block trying to put crosshairs on my target. I had my cellular to my ear coordinating a search plan with Agent Gibson, who was eager to get in on the chase. There were a few drunken bodies, who spent their day off celebrating MLK Day with cocktails. I demanded that they clear my path as I headed toward 12th Street. When I arrived there, some inebriated bitch swayed on her boyfriend’s shoulders, her head lopsided, and a bottle of cheap cognac was tucked in her hand.