What a Fool Believes (9 page)

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Authors: Carmen Green

BOOK: What a Fool Believes
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“Why didn't you just leave?” Rachel asked, digging on her plate for a chicken wing.
“I was too shocked. She's got huge boobs. I mean, they're like boulders. Maybe that's why—”
Tia elbowed Megan until she looked at her. “That's not it. Boobs are just ...” She wanted to say “things” but recalled all too clearly that any time Queen Latifah came on TV, Dante would turn to stone. “They're nothing but big mammary glands that eventually become misshapen and resemble cow teats.”
All three cracked up.
“I know it's wrong,” Megan admitted. “I shouldn't have been there.”
“How'd you find his car, anyway?”
“I just spotted it,” Megan said vaguely.
Rachel rolled her eyes. “There are ten thousand parking spaces at the damned airport. If you just happened to luck upon his car, then write down tomorrow's Mega Millions numbers, 'cause you's a lucky bitch.”
Tia didn't believe Megan, either. She looked a little off. Her hair was normally pinned up, her make-up Fashion Fair perfect. But today Tia could see her acne scars. And that wasn't Megan.
“Take Megan's hand, Rachel. Promise you won't go near Sonny or his wife again,” said Tia.
“He was mine.” Megan cried like somebody had died. Or something. Her love for Sonny.
Tia understood. Maybe this was the wake-up call she needed. They'd all dealt with heartbreak differently. She and Dante still had unfinished business, and Rachel had started new business with Kyle.
At the moment, Tia felt like the healthiest of the three, and that wasn't saying much. She'd paid a grand to have her say.
“Look, don't call me when he has you picked up for stalking him,” Rachel said, then released Megan's hand and finished her beer.
Megan's head bobbed as she cried softly. “I understand.”
“Bullshit,” Tia told Rachel. “We're in this together. She's trying to deal with her issues, unlike you, who's spread-eagle and unable to make a sound decision besides blazing blue or neon green condoms.”
Rachel's mouth hung open. “No, you didn't! After I took you in.”
“Rachel, please. You won't even give me a key,” Tia scoffed. “I feel like I'm in boarding school.”
Coming around long enough to referee, Megan perked up. “Okay now. Here,” Megan said, pouring some of her Heineken into Rachel's bottle. She sopped up what didn't make it into the bottle with her napkin. “Shh, don't say things you don't mean.”
“Find somewhere else to board, wench!”
Tia glared at Rachel and twisted her head. “Fine. I will. I've got options.” She got off the stool and wobbled a bit. “I'll get my stuff tonight, after I go to the bathroom.”
Weaving through the crowd, Tia rejected acknowledging the logical part of her brain that demanded an explanation.
What
options?
Yeah. Front seat or back.
She passed through a throng of men watching a basketball game when she saw Chance, embroiled in an argument with a woman dressed in an expensive Donna Karan suit. What made the woman stand out was the severe way her hair was pulled off her face and her skillfully applied but dark make-up. Tia was about to go the other way when the woman slapped Chance so hard, her face snapped left, then right.
Stunned, Tia didn't move.
Neither did Chance. She didn't fight or cry or anything. She just stood there.
People around them reacted, but the woman didn't so much as blink at them. She said a few parting words to Chance and left.
Morbid curiosity made Tia watch to see what her bully boss would do, but her bladder begged for relief.
Tia hurried into the ladies' room, and when she got back, Chance was gone.
Megan was at the table by herself when Tia returned.
“This lady just slapped the crap out of Chance.”
“Get out.”
Adrenaline coursed through Tia. Chance deserved to get clocked, but without knowing why, Tia felt a little cheated. Maybe she was the disappointed lady whose niece Chance hadn't hired yet.
“Where?”
“Over by the bathroom,” Tia said.
“Why?”
“I don't know, but if I find out who she is, I'll put her on my Christmas card list. Where'd Rachel go?”
“Home. She said your things will be on the front porch.”
“Well, that's just perfect!” People around them turned to stare, and Tia glared back.
“Tia, you're welcome to stay with me, but no, I've got renovations going on.”
Tia patted her friend's hand. “Thanks, sweetie, but that's okay. I know what I've got to do. Dante is moving out. Tonight.”
Chapter Twelve
Byron rolled into the station parking lot at 6:50 a.m. and parked his cruiser. He was tired, bone weary, as his mother used to say. Too tired to spit.
Before he joined the force, he used to think that working nights was easier than days, but now he knew better, and last night had proven that point.
He'd gotten into a brawl with a pimp when he'd tried to arrest his number one hooker.
The man had been small but quick and had gotten in a couple of good hits. Byron touched his cheek gingerly as he walked into the station.
“Way to go, Rivers. You're sweeping the streets clean single-handedly,” one of his fellow officers teased.
Another pointed to his cheek. “Duck next time.”
“Funny,” Byron responded, taking it in stride. What could he say? He should have ducked.
He flopped down at his desk to sign off on his paperwork before heading home. Lynn wanted to come over to cook, and Byron wanted a good meal but not the pressure that came along with it.
He had too much thinking to do. After the class the other night, he'd tried to figure out why he hadn't made his presence known to the judge at Tia's hearing. He could have interrupted the dismissal, and she'd have had to answer for escaping from custody.
But poor judgment and sympathy had overridden common sense, and now real concerns about his objectivity plagued him.
After five years on the force and an unblemished record, for the sake of one civilian, he'd jeopardized his job. Could he be objective?
Unable to find a quick resolution, Byron eased into the bustle of ongoing police business and decided that a proactive rather than reactive approach to his career would be best.
“Byron, can you come by my desk, please?” the squad secretary asked.
He waved and started toward Heather, but he was sidetracked by two of the biggest mistakes law enforcement had ever made: Officers Blaire McNult and Joey Rand.
“What's up?” Byron looked for a way to avoid a conversation with them, but no criminals jumped out at him.
“You sure have a way with the women.”
McNult, the slightly brighter of the two, demonstrated a level of dimness that surprised Byron and bit off a hangnail, then yelped.
“I'm getting old, gentlemen,” Byron told them.
“What're you so wound up for?” Joey demanded. “Found out you didn't pass the detective's exam? I heard only two people passed, so chill.”
“That so?” Byron hadn't seen a letter in his mailbox and wondered if he was one of the two or among the many failures. He'd wanted to make detective more than anything. “I've got to get to Heather, fellas. I'll catch up with you later.”
Joey hooked his fingers inside his waistband, missing Byron's attempted brush-off. “You know that Samaria King passed.” He couldn't hide his look of longing. “She's smart as shit.”
Who wouldn't want to be that?
Byron thought. The only thing between Joey and a pass at Samaria was her threat to rearrange his face if he ever spoke to her again.
Samaria sat at her desk, accepting accolades.
“And you know that dork, ‘call me Calvin, not Cal,' probably passed,” Joey went on, “so, you're stuck with us.”
Something to look forward to if I go to hell.
“Good to know,” Byron said. “See you later.”
McNult started away, but Joey wasn't done. “We did you a favor, big guy.”
Afraid to ask, Byron weighed his options. The two were so stupid that once they'd distributed atheist newsletters at the Baptist church. They'd confided their sin to him one night while on a stakeout. In their younger days, they'd wanted to make an arrest so badly but hadn't wanted to be lucky enough to catch a criminal in the act.
Byron sighed. They weren't going anywhere, so he indulged them. “How did you help me?”
“We arrested a woman who hates you so much, she wants to ‘squeeze your neck until your eyes pop out.' That's a direct quote, right, Mc?”
“Right-o.”
Tia.
Byron glanced around at the empty desks and conference rooms. “What'd she do?”
“We nabbed her on a B and E, then added threatening an officer,” Joey supplied.
“Didn't call her the day after?” McNult asked, with a sneaky grin. “Women want too damned much.”
Byron walked down the corridor, his heart racing. All of the interview rooms were empty. He didn't hear or see Tia, and that concerned him. “Where is she?”
Joey jogged alongside, McNult behind. “Holding.”
Byron grabbed the keys to his patrol car and picked up the pace. “Was she at a condo on Lenox Road?”
“Yeah. Hey, how'd you know?” Joey couldn't help looking baffled.
“Did you verify her address?”
“No,” McNult shot back. “We got a call about a B and E, and we found her. We followed
procedure.
Any questions?”
Byron suppressed the desire to clunk their heads together. “A little investigative work might have turned up a document from Judge Dunn that gave Ms. Amberson permission to reside at the Lenox Road property.”
“Shit.” McNult coughed and turned red.
The mercury was finally rising. “Has she been booked?” Byron asked.
“No. The victim was on his way”—Joey glanced at his watch—“four hours ago. I dunno.” He looked unsure. “Maybe he had to ... do ... something.”
“I must have skipped the part where
procedure
says we lock up a person and do not press charges.” Byron wouldn't allow himself to feel sorry for them. They were going to catch hell no matter what. “Go talk to the captain.”
“Where are you going?” Joey asked, even though McNult punched him in the arm.
“To get her.”
“What about the other charge?” Joey wondered aloud.
“Would you shut up?” McNult said and pulled Joey toward the captain's office.
Byron took the stairs down and couldn't imagine what he'd find once he got to holding.
Tia had gone from not ever having had a traffic ticket to having been arrested and locked up twice. She was probably a weeping mess by now.
Byron had to agree with something she'd said to Dr. Khan. If there was ever a person who'd gotten caught up in a bizarre set of circumstances, it was her.
Releasing her would take a little time, but he could at least make her more comfortable upstairs.
Byron entered the holding area and approached the guard station. “Hey, Dave. How's it going?”
“Peachy,” he said sarcastically and looked up from his computer. “We got a singer. Driving everybody nuts.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Can't wait for that one to fall asleep. Who you here for?”
“Tia Amberson. She's going to be released in about an hour. Case of mistaken, uh, arrest.”
“I'll do you one better.” The older black man snatched papers from the printer, assembled them in a folder, and handed it all to Byron. “Been waitin' to hand this off since she got here. Everything you need is right there. Go on. Get her now.”
Suddenly, Byron wasn't eager to go in back. “Why?”
“You can't miss her. She's the one with all the noise coming out of her mouth. See ya later, good-bye, and good luck.”
Dave buzzed Byron through. After the first door automatically closed, another buzzer and a series of doors led him into the inner sanctum of holding, where he was slapped across the face by the worst kind of off-key singing he'd ever heard.
Surely, that wasn't Tia.
“Nobody knows the trouble I see, nobody knows but me-eeee. Nobody knows the trouble I see, nobody knows but me-eeee.
“No justice, no peace. No justice, no peace.”
Not the picket sign chant.
Byron looked at Officer Howard, who had a firm grip on his can of pepper spray. “How long has she been at it?”
“Two hours, twenty-three minutes, and ten seconds. God, she's awful. Make her shut up, and I'll give you my tickets to the next Hawks game.”
“That's nice of you, man, but keep the tickets. Take your wife.”
“My wife sings worse than her. That's the only thing that stopped me from giving the lady back there a gullet full of pepper spray.”
Byron walked through the holding area, passing women in various stages of distress. The most aggravated of them stood at the front of their cells. “Shut her up!”
“Shoot 'er now!”
“If she starts that song again, I'll hang myself!”
Officer Howard gestured Byron forward while he worked on quieting the other inmates.
Tia sat on the floor of her empty cell, her back against the bed, her knees drawn up. She didn't even acknowledge Byron as he entered the steel cage.
“Nobody knows—”
“Tia, your arrest was a misunderstanding. The charges have been dropped.”
“The trouble—”
“Tia, do you hear me?”
“Swing loooow, sweet chariot ...”
A lady in the next cell screamed loud and long and started throwing whatever she could get her hands on.
Byron crouched down. “Tia? You're acting ridiculous.”
She looked tired, but her eyes, void of liner and shadow, were angry. “Get out of my room.”
He reached for her. “The charges were dropped.”
“I'm not leaving.”
Crashing commenced behind him. An inmate revolt? Oh, hell, no. “Tia, you have to leave.”
“Or what? I'll be locked up on not leaving jail charges?” Her maniacal laughter concerned him. Obviously, her interaction with Atlanta's finest had sent her over the edge.
He searched for something positive to say. “I'm sorry about the misunderstanding.” Shoes hit the steel bars behind him, and screaming moved toward them like a clawed tiger. “And on behalf of the officers, I want to, uh, formally apologize for the department and have you released within the hour.”
Tia crossed her arms. “This is grand, considering I didn't belong here in the first place.”
“Tia, you vandalized—”
“I owned the tires!”
Byron started to agree for the sake of peace. “That's an arguable point, but—”
“But Mutt and Jeff wouldn't listen.”
Joey and McNult stood outside Tia's cell, the raving women on both sides making them nervous.
“Nobody would listen to me, not even you,” she told Byron. “So if there's no justice for me, then there's no peace for you. Swing loooow, sweet chariot ...”
Mattresses flew, and women started beating the crap out of each other.
Byron did the only logical thing. He tossed Tia neatly over his shoulder.
She kicked, her foot landing near his crown jewels, and he gave her a whack on the rear. “Kick one more time, and I'll feed you to the lions.”
He capitalized on her momentary paralysis and ran for their lives.

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