Street Chronicles Girls in the Game (12 page)

“What if he tries to hurt you?”

“Chris, let
me
take care of this, okay?”

“Okay.”

I climbed over to the passenger seat while trying to fix my clothes.

“Damn, look at my pants,” he said.

“I guess we need to go to your place so you can change.”

We pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward Monument Avenue. Chris's house was only about fifteen minutes away, right off of Monument, in a very prominent area. When we got to his two-story, all-brick colonial, there was a Richmond City police officer on the porch, another in a parked car.

“Now what?” Chris mumbled. “You want to come in, or are you going to stay in the car?” he asked me.

“I'll go with you,” I replied. I figured that I might as well see what Tank planted, since I was the one who left the spare house key under the mat so he could get in.

“Can I help you, Officer?” Chris asked.

“Sure, Mr. Hall. Don't mean to disturb you on Thanksgiving. Just got a call from the New Kent police that we needed to check some things out over here,” the officer replied.

“Check what things out?”

“Well, apparently they found some letters with your name, and I'd rather not say anything else without you having legal representation.”

“Come on, Officer, I am a lawyer. You can tell me what they found. What sort of letters?”

The officer was staring at me as if I were the culprit in all of this. I wrapped my arm around Chris, giving the officer the same stare, letting him know that whatever he had to tell Chris, he could tell me, too.

“Mr. Hall, can I just come in and take a look around? Apparently this Mr. Jones character was claiming that you are out to get him, trying to set him up because of his relationship with, um, Ms. Anderson.”

“What? Please tell me you're joking,” said Chris.

“I wish I were. All of this sounds pretty ridiculous to me, too. But Mr. Jones said you called him, threatened him, then when the police went to his home in New Kent and found the letters … well, they sent me out here to check things out. Do you mind if I just take a look around? Not looking for anything in particular, just want to say I came out and did my job,” said the officer.

I was hoping that my facial expressions weren't giving me away, but nervousness was starting to kick in. I had no idea what Tank planted in Chris's house, but I knew he had planted something. Not thinking with his lawyer brain, Chris agreed to let the officer in. In his mind he was totally innocent.

“Sure, come on in. Make it quick; we're on our way to Thanksgiving dinner,” he said.

Chris unlocked the door. I walked in first; then he and the officer followed. I stood in the foyer, which separated the formal living room from the formal dining room. Both rooms were decorated with contemporary but very expensive Henredon furniture.
The foyer had hardwood floors, as well as custom-built hardwood stairs that led to the second floor. Chris headed upstairs while the officer motioned for his partner to come inside. I went to the living room and sat down on the oversize chocolate brown sofa. One of the officers came into the living room behind me, while the other passed by the living room and headed to the back of the house, where Chris's kitchen and home office were. My phone vibrated. I recognized the number. Tank wasn't the only one with a plan.

“Hey, I left the code under the lamp in the living room. I'll call you back later,” I said, hanging up quickly.

“So, you and Mr. Hall are pretty serious, huh?” asked the pudgy white officer.

“I don't think that's any of your business, do you?” I said, staring at his pimply face.

He cleared his throat and pretended to look around the room, nervously. He obviously felt a bit uncomfortable with me in the room, so he headed over to the dining room. As Chris came back down the stairs, this time wearing a brown-and-tan sweater with brown wool slacks, the officer who'd gone to the back of the house yelled, “Hey, Peter, come here a minute!”

The pudgy officer followed the voice of his partner, who sounded as if he was probably in Chris's office. Chris had a look of curiosity on his face, so he followed. After several seconds of silence, I could hear Chris yell, “What the fuck?”

I ran to the back, full of curiosity myself.

“Have you ever seen this?” Chris asked me, showing me a manila folder with Tank's real name, and what appeared to be some very confidential documents. There appeared to be stacks of papers about Tank sprawled all across his desk, as if Chris had been investigating Tank himself. There were letters that appeared to have been started, then pushed to the side, that were addressed
to Tank, threatening him to stay away from me. Now I could see where Tank was going with this plan—the plan he didn't fill me in on, by the way He wanted to make it look like Chris wanted to get Tank out of the picture so that he could have me all to himself Chris would do whatever it took, as far as the defense attorney would be concerned, maybe even helping to build a phony murder case against an innocent man. The defense attorney would have a field day painting Chris as a jealous, lovesick fool whose only plan was to remove my ex-boyfriend from the picture. Tank's case was going to appear so contaminated that the judge would have to throw it out.

“No, I haven't,” I responded, now ready to play Tank's game.

“Come on, Renée, what's going on? Did you have anything to do with this?”

“What are you talking about? Why would I have anything to do with papers that are in your office, on your desk? Where would I get this type of information, anyway? I don't work for the legal system. This information looks confidential.”

Chris looked at both of the police officers, pleading with them with his eyes.

“Fellas, look, really, I have no idea what's going on here, and I definitely don't know how this got here. Think about it. If I really was out to get Mr. Jones, which I'm not, why would I volunteer to let you in my house, knowing I have incriminating information all over my desk? Come on, now, does that make sense?”

Both of the officers stared at Chris, not really buying his story.

“Think about it! Think!” Chris yelled, this time, making everyone in the room a bit nervous.

“Mr. Hall, I'm going to need you to calm down. Please take a seat and don't move anything.”

“Peter, you know me. Come on, tell your friend here,” Chris tried to explain, but Peter just shook his head. I guess they ran
across so many criminals on a day-to-day basis that they had a hard time believing anyone. Peter just paced back and forth while the other officer called the New Kent police officers, who, I assumed, were still at Tank's house. He told them his findings. They asked him some questions, and once he was finished, he turned to Chris.

“Mr. Hall, I'm sorry, but I can't let you leave right now. I have a detective who's been working on the case on his way here from New Kent. Just hold tight. We'll get this squared away.”

“Peter, tell this officer—what is your name, anyway?” Chris said.

“Officer Boone,” he replied.

“Officer Boone, do you know who I am? I am Christian Hall, Richmond's commonwealth's attorney. Did you know that?”

“Actually, sir, yes, I know. I'm just doing my job,” said Officer Boone.

“Your job is to stand around here and harass a city official?”

“No, my job is to make sure the city official isn't committing some sort of crime, that's all.”

Chris was fuming. I, on the other hand, was sitting back taking it all in. I couldn't wait to talk to Tank.

The police finally gave me permission to leave my house. Ain't that some shit? Them telling me when I can come and go on my own property. This was one of the reasons I realized I couldn't do time for nobody. I had a problem with people telling me what I could and couldn't do.

I still hadn't heard back from Renée, not since Chris snatched the phone from her and started threatening me. Lucky for me I
had my recorder on, so his screaming, yelling, and threats are all caught on tape. I guess Renée threw her pussy on him to calm him down, and they were probably enjoying Thanksgiving dinner by now, not worried about a thing. In the meantime, I called Chuck back to see if Shelly was still there waiting for me.

“Yo, Chuck. Where she at?” I spoke into the phone receiver.

“She just left. Said she was heading over to the restaurant to try to set up for tonight. You straight?” asked Chuck.

“Yeah, I'm straight. They ain't get shit on me, but a waste of time. I'm clean as hell. I'm pissed, though, cause them motherfuckers tore my crib all to pieces. Wanted to see if Shelly could come over and help me clean up and shit.”

“Yeah, right, nigga. That ain't the only thing you want Shelly to do. I heard y'all in that bathroom. I'm still trying to figure out how y'all managed to do it in that small-ass bathroom.”

“As long as I got enough room to put at least twelve inches between us, I'm good.”

“Yeah, whatevah, nigga. I'll holla.”

I made a U-turn, jumped on the interstate, and headed toward the restaurant. Since me and my moms hadn't talked in years and my pops was locked down, I normally spent holidays with Renée. I considered her my only real family, however, since she was playing wifey to this sucker, I was stuck on Thanksgiving by myself, and I couldn't have that. I dialed Shelly on her cell and she answered after the first ring.

“Hello?” she said.

“What's up?” I asked.

“Hey, baby. I just came by the restaurant, trying to make sure everything is straight for tonight's party. Where are you?”

“I'm on my way to the restaurant now. I wanted to know if you felt like doing me a favor.”

“Anything for you, baby.”

“The police tore my crib up today. I need some help cleaning up. I figure we can do a little cleaning, a little fucking, then a little more cleaning,” I said.

“Be clear about your expectations, why don't you?” she said.

“Hey, I'm a man who knows what he wants. Can you help me out?”

“Sure. I'll be outside waiting for you.”

When I pulled up to the restaurant, Shelly was standing out front wearing tall brown leather boots, a short brown leather skirt, and a tan-and-brown blouse. She was zipping up her brown leather jacket. She jumped in smelling like the new Prada perfume I had bought for her when we went shopping the other week. While Renée and Chris were out at their charity event, I took Shelly on a little shopping spree at Tyson's Corner in D.C. A nigga got needs, too, and even though I was the one who thought up the idea of Renée getting with Chris, it seemed like she was feeling him a bit more than she wanted to admit. Then, when I asked her if the nigga was better than me in bed and there was a pause in her voice, that was all I needed. I'd known Renée a long time. I probably knew her better than she knew herself. If this shit was getting to her, she'd be ready to bring it to an end right away. She didn't ask, not one time, when this gig was going to be up. So, I took that as a sign that she was enjoying herself.

Since I wasn't getting much of Renée's time, Shelly filled that void for me in every way imaginable. What I was doing with Shelly wasn't right, but I wasn't doing this to get back at Renée. I really did love her, and sometimes I did feel a little guilty because I knew if she ever found out about Shelly, she would flip the fuck out on me, probably leave me for good.

Shelly and I headed back to my house, and I felt a bit relieved that there were no police cars in sight. I pulled my truck into the garage so we could enter the house through the kitchen. I followed
behind Shelly, watching that brown leather hug her ass as tight as the plastic covering on a CD. The house looked the same as when I had left it, which meant the police didn't have the decency to put anything back.

“They didn't do too bad,” she said, surveying the damage. “Don't worry, baby; I'll have this place cleaned in no time.”

I threw my coat on the stove and pushed Shelly up against the counter.

“Take off your clothes,” I told her. She followed my instructions, stripping down to her Victoria's Secret underwear. We kissed. Then I told her to go upstairs. We needed a bed to get down like I wanted to get down. I followed behind her, peeling my clothes off all the way to my bedroom.

Fortunately for me, my buddy Detective Bob came over while the police were here and told the boys in blue to leave so he could take over the situation at my house. Once the officers left, I told Renée to go home so that Bob and I could talk. I was in a bad situation, and I needed it handled quickly Bob just happened to know a couple of crooked cops on the force who'd be willing to off Tank and make it look like a drug deal gone bad, or even a robbery attempt. But if I went that route, somehow the situation could be traced back to me.

I gave Bob my word that this whole thing was a setup, and I intended to prove it, somehow, some way, in order to clear my name. I asked him to give me the address to Tank's house so that I could go out there and try to find something. He knew that I was out of my field when it came to snooping around somebody's house, so he agreed to ride out there with me. He told me that
Tank had a security system, but because he had left before the police officers, the security system was disarmed.

I called Renée before heading over to Tank's house and I got her to indirectly tell me that Tank should be at the restaurant, because he wasn't answering his home phone. Since she needed to talk to him to let him know that she was going to be with me now and that he needed to leave her alone, I gave her my blessing to go see him at the restaurant, but told her to be careful. Again, she reassured me that she could handle Tank, so I took her at her word. While Renée was at the restaurant, having a talk with Tank, Detective Bob and I would be at his house, trying to get some evidence to clear my name.

Bob and I got to New Kent in about thirty minutes. As we proceeded down a long dirt road, I noticed Renée's car in the circular driveway of Tank's enormous house. I didn't see any other cars, so I was beginning to get suspicious.

“I thought no one was here,” Bob said.

“Me, too. I need to find out what's going on once and for all.” Just as I was about to get out of the car, we heard a gunshot.