Wrong Chance (21 page)

Aspen frowned. “Look, what we aren't about to do is bullshit each other.” She whipped out her badge. “So I suggest you get on the phone and tell Ms. Dunlap that Detectives Aspen Skye and Hakeem Eubanks are here, or we'll back a paddy wagon up to the front door and arrest the whole house for prostitution.” She shot the men in the lounge a look. “And for solicitation of prostitution.”

Leaning on the counter, Hakeem eased his lapel back so the scantily dressed receptionist and everyone else could see his gold shield. “She ain't playing.”

The men high-tailed it out the front door. Hakeem figured they couldn't stand the social embarrassment and the marital ramifications that were staples of the prostitution sting. The young receptionist's hands visibly shook as she whispered into the phone. Hakeem would bet the thirty bucks in his pocket that she was a newcomer to the sex industry because seasoned whores didn't frighten easily. She returned the phone to its cradle and Terri Dunlap appeared in a doorway to the left of where they stood.

“Detectives, please come into my office.”

Immediately, Hakeem knew the description was all wrong. Scratch described a fair-skinned woman with yellow eyes and long hair. Terri stood five-ten in her flats, which was four inches taller than the woman Scratch had seen Yancee with. Terri's complexion was the color of the imported cappuccino he drank every morning before going to the office. Her black hair was cut short, styled to give her the appeal of a corporate American businesswoman. And her brown eyes had the glare of someone who hated cops. From the expression on Aspen's face, Hakeem could tell that she knew Terri wasn't their girl too.

When Terri closed the door behind them, she said, “Can I offer you all something to drink?”

“No thank you,” Aspen said as Hakeem politely declined with a head shake.

Terri perched herself on the corner of her desk and folded her arms beneath her small breasts, bangles dangled from her wrists. Her hips fanned out from the way she positioned herself on the desk, straining the material on her dress pants. “So what was important enough for you to come here and run my clients away?”

Aspen looked her up and down. “The way your name is ringing downtown, a few missed tricks won't hurt.”

“Detective Skye, right?”

Aspen nodded.

“The goal is always to turn the trick.”

Hakeem said, “Does the name Yancee Taylor mean anything to you?” He watched her closely. “Was he a client of yours?”

She dropped her head for a moment, then looked up with glassy eyes. “Yes, I've known Yancee for a long time. Met him in Philly at a car show seven years ago.”

“He was a loyal customer of yours then,” Aspen said from her post by the door.

“Yancee wasn't ever a client. He was my lover.”

“Ms. Dunlap,” Hakeem said, “where were you on Thursday, April the twenty-first between four-fifteen and six o'clock?”

Terri flinched. “I'm a suspect? You couldn't possibly think…I loved Yancee. Trust me, Detectives, I'm not a bleep on your radar.”

Aspen said, “Then where were you, Ms. Dunlap?”

“I was with a client. Thursdays, I'm a working girl. I'd have to check my appointment book to see who I was giving a massage to at the time.”

Hakeem gestured to the leather bond ledger on her desk. “Mind if I take a look?”

“Of course I mind you looking at my trade secrets, unless you have a warrant.” She flipped the ledger opened and chuckled when she finished scanning the page she'd opened it to.

“What type of car do you drive?” Aspen said.

“I have two. Gifts. A blue convertible Bentley and the white Mercedes parked outside.” Terri stood straight up and closed the distance between she and Hakeem, holding his gaze as she approached. “This questioning is over, Detectives. I never kiss and tell, but you leave me no choice. If you want to verify my alibi for the twenty-first, check with Mayor Balfour. He'll clear me.” She produced a business card from seemingly nowhere. “Detective Eubanks, if you find Yancee's killer, please let me know. And I have magic fingers. Looks like you can use a good massage. When the urge hits, give me a call.” She smiled, then nibbled the corner of her lip as she blushed.

Aspen plucked the card from Terri's hand. “Sorry to interfere with your goals again, but that ain't happening.”

Hakeem said nothing. He just wondered what that was all about.

T
here was a reason Scenario chose to meet her childhood sweetheart, GP, at Good Insults: she was on edge and needed to relieve some stress.

“What the fuck do y'all want to eat? And be quick about deciding 'cause I gots other shit to do.” A slim waitress with lots of attitude stood at their table with a hand on her cocked hip.

Scenario said, “We'll order when we get good and damn ready.”

GP laughed. Scenario knew that he couldn't believe that everyone around him was cussing one another out and having a good time doing it.

“What in the hell is so funny, you lanky fucker?”

GP laughed again. “She's really talking to me like that.”

“Go ahead,” Scenario said, reaching across the table and grabbing his hand. “Insult her back.” She felt sexy touching him. She stroked his wedding ring wishing it was a commitment to her.

GP laughed. Scenario loved his laugh. The way it rumbled in his chest. Many nights when they were growing up in hell, she made it to a new day because his laugh carried her.

“Go ahead and try it, GP. That's what this place is all about, letting off frustration. Plus the food is good.”

GP looked at the waitress. “Kiss my ass.”

“Fuck you,” the waitress said.

“No, fuck you.”

Scenario stepped in. “Bitch, watch your mouth with my man. Now go get us a bottle of Chardon Blanc De Noirs and don't move like you got molasses in your ass.”

“Assholes,” the waitress said, walking away with a mean switch in her hips.

“I'm really surprised this place hasn't been shut down.”

“This gimmick is getting the owners rich,” she said, remembering their intimate time together. “I like coming here because sometimes you feel better after you cuss somebody out. Doing it here you don't have to actually worry about hurting someone's feelings or feeling bad afterward.” Her eyes studied GP.

He was a handsome brother. Athletic build. Neat cornrows that hung past his broad shoulders. He wore a trendy pair of jeans with a sweat shirt that had the Street Prophet insignia blasted across the chest.

Scenario said, “I saw you on
The Mo'Nique Show.
Whoever would have thought that two kids who grew up in an abusive group home would be living their dreams.”

“Yeah, we did real good for ourselves without any family,” GP said. “I'm glad you got in touch with me. So how's the search for your parents going? Found any of your relatives?”

“I got exhausted with the hopelessness and dead-end leads and gave up my search nearly four years ago. What about you?”

“Finding my mother would really be nice. Have I made any attempts to do so? No, because it is what it is. I'm happy with the family I created with Kitchie.”

“Well,” Scenario said, blankly staring into the ambience of Good Insults, “I asked to see you because I needed someone to talk to. You're the closest thing to family I've ever had.”

“We are family.” GP flagged the foul-mouthed waitress and got a dirty look for his efforts. “You don't look that much different, not to me.” He studied her face. “The plastic surgeons did a great job. No lie, you're even more beautiful. You still stand out in any crowd.”

She fingered the scar.

“Even with that new beauty mark.” Then: “I always question myself about us. I never thought life would pair us with different mates.”

“Me neither. You couldn't have told me that we weren't going to get married and live a fairy tale. You'll never believe how I hit it off with Chance.”

“Try me.”

“Because of our love for animals. I told him about that time I beat the pudding out of Janice for kicking that stray cat we found.”

GP said, “We named him Twinkles,” they said the cat's name together.

“You remember?” She smiled.

“I remember everything about us.”

“Me too. Anyway, Chance and I never looked back after that.”

“I'll never forget it. I had to pull you off that poor girl. Still can't believe charges were pressed on you for a childhood fight.”

“Bet Janice will never kick another cat or any animal for that matter.”

GP flagged the waitress again.

“I saw you the first fucking time,” the waitress yelled across the dining room. “Obviously I ain't got to you yet 'cause I don't fucking feel like it. Now sit there and wait.”

“Get your narrow ass over here and take our order.”

Scenario turned up the corners of her lips into a gorgeous smile. “That's it, GP. Now you're getting with the program around here.”

“I'm hoping an explanation of your name change is a part of what you want to talk about, because you'll always be Cashmaire to me.”

“GP, you know I spent my whole life lying about who I am because of my condition. You remember what happened when people found out when we were young. Kids are cruel. It was a horrible experience to learn you're not normal like everyone else. My parents probably knew it all along, which explains why I was left in a Dumpster as an infant. You were the only person around me who didn't change. You continued to love me.” She paused, thinking. “With the accident and Chance leaving me when he learned the truth and the plastic surgery, it gave me the opportunity to leave my old life behind and start over with a new one. New face, new social security number, new name, new background.” She took his hand and held it. “But a situation has forced me to lie under my new identity, and I'm afraid something really bad is going to happen if the truth comes out. I know a murder victim but haven't told anyone in order to keep my present separated from my past.” She found GP's inviting eyes and sunk into them. “Can I ask you something?”

He nodded. “Yeah, Cash, anything. You know how we do.”

She nibbled her bottom lip and stroked his hand. “I need to be touched in the way only you can. Take me home and sleep with me.”

T
he computer terminal lit up like a General Electric Christmas display. Kirsten Andrews, a stressed-out operator, hit the Enter key and adjusted her headset for comfort. “Crime Stoppers. How can I help you?” Kirsten read the caller's information on the screen.

“Is this the place to give information for the serial killer?” an elderly woman said.

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Am I anonymous?”

“Yes, ma'am.” Kirsten rolled her eyes.

“How you know?”

“If you would like your identity to remain private, I'll note it in my computer.” Although Kirsten had the lady's name on the screen, she was a professional and knew not to use it since the lady already had reservations about her identity.

“That's what I want. What about my reward?”

“There's a twenty-thousand-dollar reward being offered for information that leads to the arrest of the Hieroglyphic Hacker.”

“How you know?”

“Ma'am, do you have information you would like to give or not?”

“I know where he is.”

Kirsten sighed. “Where who is?”

“The serial killer.”

“And where would that be?”

“I trapped him.”

Kirsten closed her eyes and chewed the inside of her mouth as she realized she was dealing with another quack job. “So you trapped him?”

“Sure 'nough did.”

She shook her head and looked around the room at the other operators who were talking into their headsets. “Where? Where did you trap him, ma'am?”

“Got him right here in my bird cage. Get over here—”

“Okay, ma'am. We'll send somebody right over.” She disconnected the call and the terminal lit up again. She pinched the bridge of her nose where the tension was, then took the call. “Crime Stoppers. How can I help you?”

A feminine voice said, “You wanna listen real closely to this.”

•  •  •

The moment Hakeem stepped into the room, he knew there would be trouble. He felt it in the marrow of his tired bones. Or maybe his fatigued body was playing tricks on him because he'd spent another night alternating between walking the halls of his house and staring at his bedroom ceiling. Brenda McGinnis was monitoring the operators until she looked up and saw him. She crossed the room with confident strides. Hakeem pegged her as cute; she had too many boyish features to be considered beautiful.

“Detective Eubanks,” she said, pumping his hand, “we've logged over four thousand calls since six this morning.”

“Anything promising?”

“Every nut job in the city is calling in saying they've seen the
Hieroglyphic Hacker. He's been everything from somebody's pastor to the Emperor Haile Selassie reincarnated.” Then: “Nothing worth following up.”

Kirsten Andrews jumped out her seat. She flagged Hakeem and Brenda over. She gave Hakeem a printout with the logistics of the call. “It came from a pay phone inside Good Insults. She says she's the killer, and she left a message for you and Aspen.”

C
hance sat in the back of Good Insults watching Cashmaire like a predator starving for satisfaction. He took particular note of her body language, of how she pawed GP's hands. He knew her well. The cunt wanted to fuck. The thought churned his stomach and carved a deep scowl in his face.

A waitress approached his table.

“Douche bag, get the fuck away from me. I'm serious. I play no games.”