CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Reaquaintance
Friday, December 13th
A luxury bus is about to reach its destination. In one of the windows reads a handmade sign: NEW YORK OR BUST.
“Today’s gonna be filled with good luck. Can’t you see it now? Panties hanging everywhere. Bras off. Women walking around butt naked all day long.” Douglass looked at Debbie like her skin just melted off. He was never so amazed at her comical wit as he was with that statement. She sure knew how to liven up a moment.
“Debbie, I know the business is about tits and ass, but let’s try and be diplomatic about it, shall we?” Douglass laughed at his own humorous try at “diplomacy” and made googly eyes at Mechelle and Valerie simultaneously. They were standing outside of a factory building in downtown New Rochelle. The property was a catch, discovered by Greg, advertised as a loft. When the group went to see it and saw how convenient it was for the housing for the dancers, they almost wanted to move in themselves. Finished wood floors. High ceilings. Walls were white-painted brick. Large picture windows. Beams and rafters and storage spaces that were indicative of city living; but all of this was located smack-dab in suburbia.
“There they are.” All eyes were directed towards the high end of Webster Avenue, the block where the bus rumbled down and pulled up to a slow stop. Valerie stepped out to welcome the group; the first image the girls would see . . . and recognize. Douglass wanted that. He wanted the institution of his operation to be an all-women affair. Valerie welcomed the bus full of women to New Rochelle and indicated what their first day might be like. But the bottom line was confusion.
“All weekend, Debbie, Mechelle and myself will be helping you all get settled. Things like beds, blankets, pillows and room assignments will be worked out. We’ll go over responsibilities, meal schedules, hygiene and laundry. Now, I know that you’re dying to get off of this bus, so please take your time, grab your things and let’s get busy.”
For the next few days, all of the dancers got settled, and they began to buddy up and become familiar with each other’s names. Name tags were issued and required to be worn under the collarbone during orientation. A sort of probation period. The staff felt it was important for everyone to feel a sense of belonging and that it was more feasible when everyone addressed each other by name. Most everybody had unique names, like LaKeesha, Tamara, Joy, Blossom, DaShawn and Kareema. There was a set of Kellys and three Lisas. There was one other Valerie. Douglass teased his girl once by suggesting that he might get confused between the two. That was an opportunity for Valerie to push him into an unused storage space of the loft, and while he stood over her, she showed him why he would absolutely not mistake her for any other woman. Case closed.
For the days to follow, a fitness instructor, a beautician, a nutritionist, and a cook made the dancers feel pampered. Some clever dance moves were taught, and they were warned about the unspoken rules of adult entertainment. Also, each employee was reminded of the policies, and of their agreement with Black Beauty. If they violated the rules—any of them—they would be terminated from the program. Dancers were also reminded that there were 60 other girls back in Chicago that would fill their shoes in a heartbeat. So the opportunity held its impact.
Saturday, December 21st
“Nice to have you back . . . in New York, at least.”
“Thanks, Chief . . . gettin’ married, you know.”
“Is that a fact?”
“A shapely, celebrity-type.”
“Is that a fact? So you went all this time without a steady . . . without a wife, just to catch you a famous piece of ass? I could’ve given you a complimentary ticket to the Soul Train Awards and let you take a squad car down to Hunts Point for some head.”
“No, Chief. She just happens to be in the spotlight, and well . . . I still like the part about the piece of ass and some head. I’m getting older, you know.”
“And wiser, I see. Listen, I wouldn’t bother calling you, but . . . there was another incident on Boston Post Road.”
“I thought you might know about it, marrying a newscaster and all . . .”
“How do you know about the newscaster?”
“Uhm . . . well, a little birdie told me.”
“Well, supersleuth, for your information, I stayed in South Beach for three weeks. She had to leave after a week. Continuity at the TV station is a big issue there. So I do not know the details.” Chief filled him in and Wade hung up, somewhat disturbed that he had let the case get on without him. According to the Chief, the FBI was leaving the case alone. The mob was literally massacred. Their Pretty Girl business was burned to the ground. But there was still the question of Moet’s murder. And apparently, that wasn’t important enough for them. It wasn’t embezzlement, or laundering or racketeering. She was just another body left dead in the Bronx. It wasn’t like it was D.C., or Boston.
But the murder was important to Wade. Unfinished business, indeed. His commitment to Brenda liberated him. His 3 weeks in Florida eased his mind. And with all this death and tragedy having come to his own backyard of the Bronx, he felt re-ignited and was eager to complete his mission. Being back in his apartment with that ole familiar scent of the single life (or was that the dogs?), Wade was hungry again. Something had been bothering him all this time. Somehow, some way, the killer knew Moet; or at least, he knew of Moet. Wade realized that the killer was a he and that he was a white man with dark hair. Or was it blond? One witness said dark, one said blond. No matter. That wasn’t as important as the “who” in the puzzle. Wade continued to stare at the composite from the police artist and also the one that Debbie described. He had all the prime players, dancers, staff, and lovers laid out on his bed. How was it that nobody else saw this guy, except for Ken and Debbie? Wade thought out the possibilities. Maybe the killer was a hired hit man. If that was the case, what was the motive and who would or who could pay for such a job? Was someone lying to Wade? Between Debbie and Ken, Ken was obviously able to afford that kind of service. But why would Ken do this . . . threaten his career. He had loads of money and fame.
Wade had to look beyond that, however. He watched too much Columbo to let that I-have-money myth slide by without further scrutiny. Wade made a mental note. National gun registry. Ballistics. Wade returned to the videotapes; going through each one, from start to finish. It was less exciting this time, and more detail stood out, since Wade focused this time.
Despite that focus, after two tapes, Wade fell asleep.
Monday, December 30th
Wade’s apartment was set up like a command post. No squad room. No phone calls. No Feds. No nothing. He did manage to get out once or twice. There was a date with his fiancé and a visit to Black Beauty. When he stopped by only days ago, the club was almost complete. They were moving some pool tables in and checking the sound system. Wade was following up on Douglass’s offer for head of security. But he didn’t know what he was truly getting into until he actually stood inside the place. It was huge and left very little to the imagination. He gave some pointers to Dino about the electronic surveillance and warned Douglass about the safety of the dancers once they left the club. But ultimately, he didn’t want to begin duty until after the new year. If nothing surfaced, at least he would have given it his best shot. As for now, he felt like he was racing the clock. Just two days until New Year’s Day, and he was reviewing videos. Having seen them all twice, he recalled that there was one other tape. One that was still lodged in the video camera when he visited Moet’s home a second time. When Wade realized that the tape would not fit in his tape player, he was forced to shoot over to the major electronics store to purchase an adapter that would enable him to see the video conventionally. He was anxious to return home to see the tape, and once he popped it in the player it was as if he was seated at a premiere—the way he felt when he saw any of Moet’s tapes for the first time. On his large screen, the tape began with total darkness and then some fuzz. It was at its end. He rewound it until images lit up the screen. He even had to tilt his head to get a level view. Apparently, the videocamera was laying on its side, running non-stop, and Moet didn’t know that it was recording. There was a man’s voice. Then two different female voices.
“. . . So please keep him company till I come out of the shower.”
“Sure. So what’s your name?”
“Bobby.”
“How do you know Moet?”
“The club . . . and private parties.”
“Oh . . . okay. That’s cool.”
“You work at the club? I haven’t seen you.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You do parties, too?”
“Yeah . . . but you’re Moet’s client so . . .”
“I pay reeally good . . .”
“Like how ‘reeally good?’ ”
“Maybe four hundred for a party.”
” And you think that’s worth my time? You’re kiddin’.”
“Okay . . . okay . . . eight hundred.”
“Now you’re talkin’, big boy.” Wade could only see from the couch on down, and the voices were coming over hollow and tin-canned. Apparently (and Wade couldn’t see this either) the girl gave Bobby her number. “My name is right there. Don’t wear it out . . . and please put it away. Moet is not to know about this. Am I clear? Otherwise I’ll yell rape during the private party . . . So don’t fuck me—or I’ll surely fuck you. Got it?”
“Oh yeah—okay.” Wade still had his head tilted and his poodles (who usually weren’t the slightest bit interested in what was showing on the boob tube) were begining to mimick him. Bones already had a cramp in his neck from watching with Wade for the past few moments.
Wade wasn’t sure about the accent and had to call Brenda for help.
“That’s Caribbean, silly. The girl’s probably from Barbados.”
“Valerie.”
“Who?”
“Never mind. Gotta go. Thanks, love. Bye.”
Wade pushed the receiver and poked again at his residential phone. He needed to speak with Douglass directly.
“Yo.”
“Gil?”
“No. Greg. He transferred the calls to me. He’s big-time now, you know. Who’s this?”
“Wade. I need to talk to him. Do you know where he is?”
“He’s probably getting fitted for a tux. You know the whole New Year’s Grand Opening.” Greg was at the club.
“What about Valerie?” Wade ricocheted the follow-up question.
“The girls are probably with him. He’s extremely busy with all . . .” Many voices were humming busily behind Greg.
“Listen to me, Greg. I have reason to believe that Valerie, and maybe Gil are in danger. It may be a long shot but then again I may be right.”
“I can try to reach him. The house. The loft. The car. I’ll try. But last I heard he was having a private thing. Ya know—he and his girls. He told me to look for him at the Grand Opening.” Wade thanked Greg and took a deep breath once he hung up the receiver. Damn, the party’s tomorrow and I don’t even have a tux. Wade thought fast and eventually dialed Brenda again.
Douglass’s Words
I was in Cos Cobb, heading back from a long night of fun at the Norwalk Motel in Connecticut. Our small family threw a mini-picnic on the floor in our room where we enjoyed watching Destiny crawl about. I, for one, was thrilled. But it was total glory to see Valerie and Debbie with as much pride in my child’s movements as Mechelle and I. I could have frozen that image in time; and it meant so much more than any business venture, celebrity associations, or even all the adventures we’ve had in bed. And, trust me, we had some crazywild times.
But it was these moments that mattered the most. The promise that I see in my baby replaces everything. Destiny is the foundation of everything I’ve done. A living breathing reflection.
And just to think, there was a question of whether Destiny was even mine or not. I still get the chills when I think about what Mechelle went through. The shit she told me about . . . North Carolina. Had me trippin’; like, I wanted to take my squad down there and find those redneck fools. In my dreams I kept telling myself, “In and out. That’s all we gotta do. Get in there . . . shoot shit up, and jet.”
But I can’t lie. Shit is so nice nowadays with the money, the sex, and the new club . . . then, all of a sudden I got like forty other women I’m responsible for? Nah . . . I can’t fuck this up. I’ve come too far.
As we glided down 1-95, back to New York to prepare for the big party, no more glory could be packed into my truck. It was party time. And on some ole whatever state of mind, we stopped over in Greenwich to do some last-minute shopping before I decided to open up communications once again with the outside world, resurfacing from my little seclusion in the next state over. The first person I called was Dino.
Douglass
“Wade called. He said something about you and Valerie being in great danger.” Dino was rushing the conversation.
“So he’s on the job already, huh? Does that mean I’ll see him tonight?” Douglass remembered Wade’s extended vacation.
“He said he’ll be by with Brenda. He’s been calling all day today asking for you . . . concerned about security tonight . . . trying to work this problem out with the metal detector . . .” Dino had a phone in one hand, a Coke in the other.
“Problem?” Douglass asked, lowering the music in the jeep.
“Gil, the walk-through isn’t operating properly . . . the mercury that came with it—to maintain the balance and sensitivity—wasn’t in the box, or misplaced or something. We’re still here tryin’ to get it working now. Wade suggested a wand . . .”
“No wands, Dino. I’ve got the world coming down tonight and I don’t want to be disrespectin’ people on our first night. I know you guys are gonna know the celebrities, but there’s so many more important people coming that you won’t know. But fuck it . . . everyone is important. Besides, this is invite only. So we should know . . . or we’re supposed to know everyone who’s coming.”
“True.”
“Who’s there now?”
“Brent, Walter, David and Bruce . . . Greg’s college buddies, Demetrius is here with me, keepin’ things on lock; most of the dancers are here . . . I think there’s one more group of girls on the way over from the loft.”
“That’s it?”
“Gil, it’s only six. This is New Year’s Eve . . . people generally come out from eight o’clock on. Oh . . . Foxy’s people are here. They’re back in the staff lounge. Adina’s manager called . . . said they were running late, but we could count on them for showtime.”
“You see that, Dino . . . we should have had another large act—somebody to keep these young performers in check. If they knew their spot on stage was being jeopardized, they’d get off that C.P. time.”
“Gil, when do you guys expect to get here?”
“A couple hours . . .”
“Well, just do me a favor. Be careful. This is a big night, your big night. I want to see everything go smoothly.”
“It’s cool, Dino . . . just tell Wade that me and the girls are fine. And make sure those dancers blow up every one of those balloons; when the clock strikes twelve tonight I want to see it rain in gold, black and green.”
“You got it.”
What was Wade selling him? Douglass had witnessed danger first hand, and as far as he was concerned, he’d faced death . . . if not, he was damned close to it. What could possibly hurt him now? He was untouchable! Beauty at his fingertips, sex at his beck and call, money stacked as high as Jack’s beanstalk. This wasn’t hard to do. Sure . . . it was rough. But after rough comes fine, and after fine, it’s polished. Life was good . . . and about to get better.
On the night of the party, it was Douglass’s idea to dress down in black and gold tuxedos. Even the ladies. Walking into the club with all the faces, all the excitement and music welcoming him; it was something he lived for, as well as they were perks that came along with the territory. The dream that he had been sleeping with. So the black and gold would be appropriate. Black was their essence, their depth and their soulful confidence, while gold was the success, the substance and the prosperity of generations.
Janice was doing a wonderful job babysitting Destiny, pampering her, answering her whims and sniffs. Burps and bottles and beckons. Janice was like a nanny—no mon—Jamaican with that rich accent (if you were privileged enough to hear it). She said little, minded her business, and was sharp as a needle when it came to attending needs. And she was also waiting at the townhouse, to get her responsibility back—her little bundle of joy—when the family returned from Connecticut. She had been left back to give them some privacy, and was filling the void by preparing the outfits, corsages and a light meal to hold them till the buffet at Black Beauty was within arm’s reach.
Always appearing as though they’d been on a significant trip, the family of four trekked up the walkway, noticing the waiting limo at the curb, bags on their shoulders and in their hands, Destiny snug and bundled in Debbie’s arms. They hurried inside as a sudden wind would, and took on various tasks, caught up in the excitement of the big night. Janice took Destiny in her arms and stepped immediately into her duties. Finally with the door shut, the indoor warmth secured them until an hour or so later, when they would emerge once again. Everything was proceeding so perfectly, just like the dream. But now, it wasn’t just Douglass’s dream, or Valerie’s, or Debbie’s or Mechelle’s. Now, it was everyone’s dream.
There was a bystander looking on. Waiting. Plotting. Anticipating the perfect opportunity to strike again. He was at a good distance from the townhouse, in his same ole worn-down Chevy. He was watching enough to be sick with jealousy . . . consumed by his own angry heart. He was building confidence enough to destroy and to turn one man’s dream into his own demented triumph.
Mechelle’s Words
My body feels like it’s taken a roller coaster ride in the last few months. I don’t feel sick or anything, but almost as if someone . . . maybe God, picked me up like I was a small toy, he wound me up as much as he could, and then put me back down to march around like an overexcited toy soldier . . . I’m starting to wonder if I can take all of this excitement, considering I just had a baby. I know it’s like close to a year now . . . well, 8 months, two days and 16 hours, to be exact . . . but who’s counting? It’s just that everything is in hyper-speed. I’ve never had it like this . . . living in the lap of luxury, being around so much money, so much sex, and . . . well . . . other women? Two years ago, I would have never imagined all the changes I’ve gone through. I remember I wanted to kill myself after . . . after . . . man, I can’t even go there anymore. Just thinking about it makes me shiver with hate. I’m so glad my sister was around ’cuz, I mean, I didn’t even see a doctor! What the hell was I thinking?! Aaaahhh . . . exhale, Mechelle . . . That’s right, girl. Shoop-shoop it, baby. Maaaan . . . if I didn’t talk to myself (like the psych I longed for), Lord knows where I’d be right now. Probably nailed in the coffin or something. Anyway . . . I’ve got nothin’ against Debbie and Valerie. I mean . . . I do feel something for them both. How can I help it with all the crazy shit we did together. I mean, we must know each other’s bodies like we know our own. Thing is, I know they want children. I know that’s what they were saying with their eyes, back in Connecticut. I may play stupid, but a girl did have some college—hello. I ain’t no Buckwheat. I just know that this is a good thing. All of it. I don’t feel empty anymore. I have love. I have Destiny. I have a real man, with real money and big dreams. And he’s livin’ this shit for real. I could have never dreamed this stuff up in 10 lifetimes. It’s like, every time he says something it gets done. Oh no, baby . . . I know you said you’re not leavin’ me; but me? I’m definitely not leaving you!
“Hey, Valerie, don’t think ’cause you sittin’ next to the man means you the one gettin’ dick tonight.” There I go . . . startin’ some shit again. Hope she knows I’m kidding.
“No,” said Debbie, gettin’ all in my business. “Actually, she’s just sitting next to him because she knows that I’m getting it later and . . . I do appreciate you reminding her for me, Mechelle.” Debbie was doing her very best to hide her smile, looking in a hand mirror, checking her makeup with the help of the light on the door panel of the limousine.
“I have news for all of you nymphos . . . after that session back in Norwalk, you know . . . the one with the triple-decker move we did? I can’t see myself with a dime’s worth of energy for any of you . . .” Douglass was truthful at best and sarcastic at least. He immediately put his ear and attention back into the cell phone, still trying to get a grip on the scene at the club, I guess. Meanwhile, the girls and I carried on about splitting that dime’s worth of energy between us; and how we were gonna force-feed Douglass that new drink, Everglo—the one that’s green and has ginseng and tequila in it. That’d get him up all night!
While we’re drivin’, Douglass put the speakerphone on so we could hear what was going on in the club. Demetrius spoke up and over the loud music behind him. Demetrius said, “O-h-h . . . I see. You guys are up to your shenanigans again. Blasphemous.” It was clear that Douglass wanted Demetrius to overhear how we were carrying on in the limo; and maybe he was still intrigued about D’s interactions with Heather the porn princess. He even expected the response and almost lip-synched Demetrius’s response word for word. Douglass smiled at his own cleverness. What a life.
Mechelle
Demetrius’s Words
I used one of the many telephones in the club to take Douglass’s call; I immediately knew I needed to be somewhere quiet, with “Hey, Mr. Deejay” thumpin’ all loud like it was; or at least too loud for me to hear much of anything. I wanted more silence and decided to head for the office.
“Doug, hold on. It’s real loud in here, and I gotta work my way through this crowd.” After I put the receiver on hold, I made my way up the stairway to the right side of the room.
“Gentlemen, please step in, away from the entrance if you would. We have to keep this area open.” I had to play traffic cop up in there, with my arms extended wide, directing a small group of men away from the path immediately inside of the club’s entrance. Maintaining order in a club and still managing to keep a courteous demeanor, I continued on, with my eyes acting as guides, navigating the way through the many personalities who were invited, sharing assurance and appreciation as I passed. In a way, as close as Doug and I are, this feels like my project, too. I may not get paid as much as he does, but I’m doin’ good.
I trotted up the steps and followed the catwalk to the very rear of the club. There’s a brilliant, gold-painted star on the DJ’s door. Bop . . . B-bop-bop is the code that would tell Terry who it was.
We gotta get a buzz-in lock for this door, I told myself. But Terry opened it and gave me a nod as he stepped out of my way.
“Good job, Kid.” I lightly tapped Kid Capri’s shoulder, careful not to interrupt him as I passed. Then I used a key to unlock the back door to the executive office, a passageway that Douglass had Dino put in, in the event he’d wanna speak with the DJ in person. Huh . . . plus he plays a record or two himself sometimes. That old itch gettin’ back at him I guess; like when he used to play at the old Fool’s Paradise. And don’t get me wrong, cuz this is all still real blasphemous to me. But I can’t help thinkin’ that those were the days.
Demetrius
Demetrius was headed for that same panoramic view of the club that was also available from the large and spacious office, complete with the luxuries and excess. A big desk with an English leather chair was situated in the corner, close to the passage to the DJ booth. There was a massive video surveillance system with 8 small monitors and a larger one for entertainment purposes. Aside of the surveillance and sandwiched between a rack of stereo equipment and a giant screen television was a visibly soft white couch. There was a conference table (oakwood with 12 seats positioned around it) nearby the 6-foot picture window offering a towering view of the entire establishment. And that’s just about where Demetrius stood as he picked up the receiver from the telephone on the conference table. The glass was tinted so that Demetrius wouldn’t even be noticed by the blanket of bodies down there. Heads were bobbing with the music, bartenders pouring endless drinks while dozens of attractive dancers lured audiences at various areas of the club. All of this, the fun and laughter, the conversations and the music was muted by the soundproof obscurity of the office.
“You must be in the office now,” Douglass guessed.
“Yeah. Where are you?”
“About ten minutes from you.”
“Well . . . this is it, Dee. The club is packed. People are everywhere, and there’s still a long line outside.”
“Is the outside orderly?”
“Pretty much. Dino is on the door with Danni. All the girls are here, fifteen-minute schedules for each stage just like you asked. It’s all going smoothly. And they look good, man! The outfits are catchin’ everyone’s attention. That’s all people are talking about. The outfits, the colors and the club. It’s like they don’t even recognize the dancers themselves . . . oh . . . they’ve been asking for you, too.”
“Sounds good. Metal detection still not working?”
“No. Dino is using heavy discretion out front. If they aren’t on the guest list, or they don’t have an invitation they ain’t gettin’ in.”
“Good. We’ll get that thing fixed by tomorrow. Or the next day, anyway. What’s up with Foxy and Adina?”
“They’re all here. The show will be on time for ten. Wade’s here too—with Brenda.”
“Sounds like a good time is waiting for us.”
“Let ’em in.” Demetrius spoke into the mic on the lapel of his tux, making a decisin regarding the front door.
“Huh?”
“No, Doug . . . I was talkin’ to Danni—told him to let Ken Stevens in . . .”
“Okay, see you in a few.”
“No. Dee. Wait . . .
“. . . Dee, this may sound silly, but I’ve lived in the same house with you—for a few years now—and we hardly get to talk . . .”
“So what’s up?”
“Douglass, I’m looking down on one incredible sight right now. I’m not talking about the girls, I’m talking about the whole thing. Just to think, you dreamed this up in jail. You planned it out down to the letter and now . . . your manifesto has manifested itself. Blasphemous as it may be, it’s givin’ hundreds of people jobs, keepin’ girls off the street . . . givin’ some type of hope. You’re makin’ money and you’re not even here! My point is that the good Lord has blessed you, friend, and I’m proud to be working with you. I’m proud . . . real proud to be your friend.” Demetrius was scanning the crowd as he spoke aggressively.
“Thanks, Demetrius, I’ll put that in the bank. Just tell me one thing, would you?”
“What’s that?”
“Are you positively sure that you’re not fuckin’ Heather?”
Demetrius answered the jab sincerely and then hung up. He checked his watch and decided to be out front when Douglass arrived. He left the executive office and strolled through the manager’s office until he was exposed to club music once again. He strolled down the catwalk and descended the steps to the opposite side of the club. He stopped a moment to take in one last look before he went to the entrance. Wade was standing by the bar with Brenda seated just next to him. She was wearing tinted shades that certainly protected her eyes from the laser lights, but probably more so to protect her identity. Demetrius smiled to himself, knowing that the attempt would attract more attention than not. She’s a little paranoid, he thought. At that instant, Demetrius recognized Ken Stevens walking through the entrance. He had a shorter, white man with him. Probably his agent, he thought. Demetrius crossed the front of the venue, weaving through teams of suited men. He greeted Ken briefly and indicated for a waitress to accommodate him before stepping outside.
Greg’s Words
Standing outside of the entrance, looking at a crowd of asshungry men, felt Godlike. And there I was holding the keys to Heaven’s gate. Now, all of a sudden, everyone wanted to be my friend. The publicity more than paid off, but if I had let any more people in there, Black Beauty would’ve exploded. Wow. What a splash. So much preparation with the balloons, the decorations . . . the singles. Yeah, singles. We had to literally buy thousands of singles, ’cause that’s how the dancers get tipped. To top that off, Douglass wanted black and gold balloons held up near the ceiling by a net. It took us a daggone week to find that net; and even then, we bought it from a circus owner who had gone out of business. Finally, with all of the woman-power I could gather, we blew up the balloons and got them up in a net. Dino had to do some high-wire artist-type moves, but we got it done. Do you know that Douglass had us put like a thousand singles up there with those balloons?! Everybody seemed to be lookin’ up at the ceiling all night, thinking “Look at all that money.” And then, I’ll bet any amount of money they were thinking about paying their bills with that same money. I had to get a giant bucket, I had to make sure there was enough staff on hand, and of course beer and liquor companies were on the last-minute tip. We had cases of champagne stacked up to here. The front entrance was a whole ’notha thing. A riot! Those guys that were on the list tried to be fashionably late, and those who were not on the guest list (but who had every opportunity to call in advance) decided to show up anyway. The funniest thing I ever saw was that rapper-wannabe, Puff Daddy, show up with ten of his goons. They double-parked their vehicles and stepped up to the roped-off area as if they owned the joint. I didn’t even bother to address the situation. Instead, when Dino looked over at me for the green light, I gave him a thumbs-down. To see Puffy turned down like a dope fiend in need of a hit made me feel like a hater. But I worked hard to put that event together; the red carpet outside, the big Hollywood search lights swinging through the sky. And out of the blue, sir-Hollyhood comes up without warning, basically disrespectin’ our shit. Oh, well, this was one video that he wouldn’t be showing his face in. Just when Hollyhood rolled out, Douglass arrived. He was in style, man. The real Hollywood tonight. It was at that precise second that I was never more proud to work for him. The money, the women, the status . . . I know there’s more to life, but . . . can you blame a twenty-four-year-old? Maybe when I get older I can think deeper thoughts.
When Douglass got out of the limo and approached the entrance, with Valerie leading the way like a hood ornament, and Debbie and Mechelle on his arms, I almost wanted to bust with envy. My skin began itching from the goosebumps. They looked so sharp, all wearing tuxedoes and derbies. Once they walked in the door and settled in the VIP area upstairs, it seemed like nothing else mattered. To me, the bottom line was anybody who was in the club was supposed to be and anyone who wasn’t, fuck ’em. I told Dino to hang a SOLD OUT sign and lock the door at 10PM.
Greg
Walter’s Words
“Ken . . . buddy, how ya doin’?” I meant to catch Ken off guard, in the event he was thinking about ducking me.
“Detective? Is that . . . hey! Detective Wade! Funny seeing you here.”
“Actually, Ken . . . as of tomorrow, I’m retired from the police department and I’ll be working here at Gilmore’s Black Beauty,” Wade advertised. “Head of security.”
“This is a jewel of a club,” said Ken. “I’ve been to a lot of . . . huh?” It looked like Ken almost pissed himself when the woman next to me casually took off her glasses.
“You alright, Ken? Oh . . . I’m sorry. Brenda . . . Ken Stevens. Ken, this is my fiance, Brenda Feather. Have you two met?”
“Why of course, honey. I’ve interviewed him before . . . hi, Ken, how are you?” Brenda reached her hand out to shake Ken’s like some subtle peace offering, but at the same time she gave him the once-over with her eyes. That’s when I thought something funny was going on. Ken looked a little naked when she did that, and as if to avert her spell he introduced Max.
“. . . I call him the Max-man. He’s responsible for getting me all my big money deals.”
“Tell me, Ken . . . what kinds of things do you buy with all of that money?” asked Brenda.
I couldn’t believe Brenda asked that question. She hit the nail on the head. But I didn’t share my thoughts with her. I didn’t tell her that I had Ken as a main suspect. Perhaps it was coincidence . . . I don’t know. He didn’t seem fazed by the spontaneity of her being all nosy and stuff. She can be so crass sometimes. But I guess it comes with the package. Now that I had Ken’s attention, I was sure to keep an eye on his every move. I found it pretty peculiar how the metal detector wasn’t working and that he was here. I was thinking that his motive might be jealousy; that Moet told him about her altercation with Douglass. Ken may have taken his frustration out on her . . . then, maybe he just went killing people all over the place. There was one other thing . . . I checked the national firearms registry. Every state has to comply and every gun owner is listed. Ken purchased a piece less than 2 weeks before Moet was killed. I also had Star check ballistics to see what kind of gun the bullet came from. It was most likely a .45, which is what Ken had. I couldn’t help thinking: he was the one all along.
So there were plenty of good reasons for me to go to the big New Year’s bash at Gilmore’s. Plus, Brenda wanted to see where I’d be working. I think she wanted to see what kind of girls she was up against, and how I would react in that type of environment. If she only knew. I also believe that she was intrigued to experience the topless environment for herself. She did say that she’d never stepped into such a place before. I’m always looking for motives! Ken, on the other hand, was all over the club when I expected him to hang tight in the VIP area. He must be freakier than I thought. His roaming was enough to keep my attention off that Adina chick. Talkin’ about how she’s a freak in the morning, freak in the evening. And that Foxy rapper gal. I was absolutely appalled with her talkin’ about “ain’t no nigga” . . . and her “ill na na,” as if we couldn’t see that she was referring to her vagina. Those girls needed to have their mouths washed out. I may be gettin’ too old for this stuff, but it seems to me that the young people are taking the next generation straight to hell. They’re exploiting all we worked for, all we got beaten for, and all we got lynched for preserving. Now that we have most of our human rights, what do they do? They threaten scores of sacrifices and sufferings, with whimsical, four-minute songs. Whether it’s singin’, rappin’ or the spoken word, these youngsters will go to any limit to record their voices and to fabricate a core of like-minded, weak-minded followers. I suppose that’s freedom of speech for ya. Besides, Gilmore wouldn’t be selling it, or hiring me, if men weren’t buying it. So I guess I’m even caught up in this self-perpetuating, round-robin of unscrupulous behavior.
Walter Wade
Oh? That’s a new trick . . . Wade was as close as could be to Brenda, maintaining her confidence, sharing her cranberry juice. Blowing his mind was a dancer who was holding onto the brass pole and stretching her bare leg and foot out over the bar. The customer just next to Wade had his tongue almost hanging out of his mouth, eyes red and singles flashing. A bartender followed the dancer’s wishes, placing a champagne glass before the patron and subsequently handing the dancer a bottle of Alizé. With her toes hovering over the glass, inches away from the man’s nose, the dancer reached down as far as she could with the bottle and began pouring the champagne against her calf and then her knee and then her thigh, until the bubbly trickled down her leg, enough to fill the glass. Wade couldn’t help wondering if . . . and then the man answered Wade’s question, drinking every drop of the champagne and savoring it with a glow in his puffy-red cheeks. Brenda kept her eye on the man to whom she pledged her love, closely monitoring his reactions. Wade knew he was being held under the microscope, so he took the opportunity to head for the men’s room. By his leave, that same dancer bent over towards Brenda and asked for her autograph.
In the bathroom, looking at the mirror over the sink, Wade threw some cold water on his cheeks, wanting desperately to revive his complexion and thinking of how he’d have to witness these activities as a requirement of his new job. He didn’t mind. What man wouldn’t? He just didn’t want Brenda to know he didn’t mind.
Debbie’s Words
I have to say that, next to our trip to see the Sultan, this party ranks pretty damned close. Isn’t that Patrick what’s-his-face, and that Oakley guy from the New York Knicks? And I know I’ve seen those dancers before, grinding in some BET videos. I may not have been born in New York, but I wasn’t born yesterday, either. This party is the bomb! The lights are shootin’ everywhere. There’s so many dancers that I stopped counting, and everywhere I turn there’s a television monitor facing me. I haven’t been to too many other clubs, but I have been to a few . . . and those two jacuzzis looked a little extra to me. I mean, they definitely work. Guys are standin’ all around them like the jacuzzis are actually stages. Stages! And more stages! There’s like ten stages in here, with spotlights lighting up the dancers . . . and there’s even more girls dancing on the catwalks. I swear, if I didn’t have a tuxedo on, stickin’ by Douglass and all, boy, I’d be out there turning it on right now.
Debbie
“Did you say something, Debbie?”
“Valerie, I feel like I’m in a dream, and if I wake up I’ll . . . I’ll be dizzy. Is this shit in-cre-dible or what?”
“Or what! Are you diggin’ Kid Capri? He’s like . . . given me a fuckin’ orgasm with this music. The whole club is an orgasm!”
“I believe it, I be-lieve it.” Back and forth, the girls traded opinions, leaning into their conversation across the front of Douglass’s chest. Meanwhile, he reclined on the couch in the VIP area. He was bubbling with joy inside, basking in the dream he’d originally put to paper . . . living the reality that he put in motion.
Adina and Foxy put on incredible shows. They were about as provocative as some of the topless dancers themselves, almost naked up there on the stage. Douglass was thinking that he might offer them a job if their music careers ever fell off. And they would fall off. Eventually.
At 15 minutes to twelve, the excitement took another step forward as the club full of pleasure fell deeper into anticipation. Demetrius was just behind Douglass, keeping an eye on everything. He held his middle finger to his earpiece, wanting to be clear about what he heard.
“Hold on, Danni . . .” Demetrius moved in close enough to whisper.
“Danni says Fumi’s outside. He has six with him.”
“Oh! Most definitely!! Let him in now. Tell Danni to have Dino escort them directly to VIP.” Just then, Wade was approaching. He snatched a nearby chair, and in one swift motion, he sat it immediately facing the couch, blocking a part of Douglass’s view.
“We’ve gotta talk.”
“What’s up, Wade?”
“Gil, I believe I’m right on the tail of . . . ” Wade was even having trouble uttering . . . totally believing his speculations on the case. . . . “I think there’s some trouble lurking. For you . . . and for you Valerie.” Wade pivoted his gaze from Douglass to Valerie. He wanted them to see the sincerity in his eyes and that he meant business.
“Okay . . . I’m hearing you. But the thing is,” Douglass took deep breath, “that I’m not surrendering to fear. Me and my people are being protected by the best in the business. Aren’t you the best detective in New York? That’s what they tell me. And look at Demetrius behind me.” Douglass didn’t even have to look behind him to know that his good friend was posting like one of those Salam-malakim-dudes that watched Farrakhan’s back. “He’s one of my closest friends. He lives with me for God sakes, Wade. I feel like I have my own exclusive guardian angel who doubles as a bona-fide ninja. And after Demetrius, there’s Danni and then Dino. I’ve taken precautions because I realize that I’m an endangered species. What else can I do?” Wade was listening to Douglass, but his eyes easily wandered to a far corner of the VIP area. Ken Stevens stood tall over 2 dancers while his agent had eyes glued on the abundant breasts before him.
“I guess everything’s okay then . . .” Wade looked up at Demetrius, indicating that he should keep an eye on Ken. Wade had already alerted Danni and Demetrius as to his suspicions and theories. Even they felt that he was far fetched, but agreed to keep it tight anyhow. Fumi and his men were approaching now. So, Wade respected their privacy and stepped out of the way, taking the chair with him. He looked down, almost 100 feet away, and saw that Brenda was talking with the bartender, expecting that the conversation was nothing but cordial. His eyes instantly captured a shot of the entire club, highlighted by a giant neon sign that hung high above. It was a loud orange:
GILMORE’S
BLACK BEAUTY
“May I speak with Valerie for a minute?” Wade started his question before he even turned to address it. Douglass sent a confident expression her way.
“Alright. But she’s been a warm bookend next to me. Don’t keep her for long.” Douglass flashed a quick smile. Valerie got up while Douglass made some more room for Fumi to sit comfortably. They shook hands and both took a seat.
Ten, Nine, Eight, Seven . . .
“My friend . . . I expected nothing less from you.” Fumi maintained his warm smile, while his eyes canvassed wide and far. His comrades were shaking hands with Demetrius, directing their focus on the events down below.
“I don’t know who you’re foolin’, Fumi . . . I couldn’t have done this without you . . .”
“That’s not so, G’more. You had a plan, and yes, we met some time ago. But you stayed with your dream and you were relentless enough to perfect it. Maybe ninety percent of the human race doesn’t take it that far. You probably did not know where you would get the money . . . but you did know that you would get it somehow. Every resource you’ve ever needed was with you all of the time; in jail, at home . . . here,” Fumi stretched his palms out like a birds wings, “at Gilmore’s Black Beauty. Your every resource that I speak of is right here.” Fumi pointed to Douglass’s forehead. It was a gesture that felt forceful, just a pointed finger; but somehow it had a grip on his soul.
“Listen, G’more . . . I want to stay and enjoy all of this with you, but I cannot. I must go . . .”
“So soon? Come on, Fumi . . . it’s almost twelve . . . the New Year . . .”
“G’more. I have a trying situation to face at home . . .”
“At The Point?”
“No. At my home. Nigeria. There is a new President that has been voted into leadership. He is a lifelong friend. He was once a General in the Nigerian Army, and even one day saved my life . . . to make this short and sweet for you; a brother of mine has taken the post of General in the Army and there is talk of rebellion. There is a discussion of a coup. Our people have struggled long for democracy, like your people here have struggled and died for human rights. I must step forth and persuade my brother from his dissension. If I don’t, the new President will crush him and there would be massive bloodshed in the interim. My family has called upon me and I have no choice but to heed to the call.”
“What about the investment, the club . . . the . . .”
“G’more . . . I shall return. And even while I’m away, I shall always be with you. As well, I will keep you in my thoughts . . . Sefu?” Fumi called to one of his men. He handed a small box to Douglass. Douglass took little notice and passed the box to Debbie. He was more concerned that his friend had to leave. “Now I must go to catch my flight.” Fumi stood up. Douglass had to shake out of the sudden shock, finally standing himself. They hugged as men do.
“G’more . . . remember something. If we stand tall it is because we stand on the backs of those who came before us.”
Suddenly, there was a bell that sounded. The one minute bell. Douglass watched Fumi lead his men out of the club, leaving the New Year’s celebration behind. Waitresses had been on standby all along with trays of freshly poured champagne. Foxy and Adina were nearby and Ken Stevens also grabbed a glass with 40 seconds left till midnight. Ken stepped closer to Douglass. Demetrius observed, unexpected.
“Congratulations! I saw your proposal. My agent came to your Investor’s Day presentation. Wish I could have invested.” Ken was feeding into the growing energy.
“Thanks. Maybe one day we can do something.”
“Cheers!” Ken lifted his glass.
“Cheers!” Douglass lifted his to meet Ken’s.
“THIRTY SECONDS TILL THE NEW YEAR!”
Douglass kissed Debbie, then Mechelle before he signaled for Valerie; and then he kissed her. As Valerie left Wade’s side, Wade was reminded that Brenda was not with him. He noticed that she was already climbing the steps towards the VIP area. Douglass finished with Valerie and hugged his two performing guests. A photographer’s flash was bursting with blinding light all the while.
“FIFTEEN SECONDS TILL THE NEW YEAR!”
Almost spilling the champagne, Douglass held his glass up high.
“HIP-HIP—”
“HOORAAY!”
“HIP-HIP—”
“HOORAAAY!!”
“WHOSE HOUSE?”
“GILMORE’S HOUSE!”
“I SAID, WHOSE HOUSE?”
“GILMORE’S HOUSE!!!” And at ten seconds till midnight the crowd of 50 in the VIP room led their own countdown, while the thousand-plus below roared simultaneously. Wade captured the moment before it actually arrived, grabbing Brenda.
“Happy New Year, darling.”
“Happy New Year to you, lover.” They embraced and drowned each other in saliva.
“HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!” Douglass gave the thumbs-up to Dino, who was standing on the catwalk with 4 buxom dancers at his sides. They all held on to the rope which reached up high where a latch controlled the net. They all tugged the rope at the same time and the black and gold balloons, along with a thousand one-dollar bills, were released. The mass of gold, black, and green fell whiskfully towards the audience below. The money fluttered back and forth indecisively, swaying and cascading through the atmosphere, down-down-down, towards reaching, erratic revelers. The release of the attraction above also served as a cue for the deejay to let the record play. Douglass was tired of that ole lang syne and played God, replacing the old dusty standard with Mary J. Blige’s Be Happy. The bass was appropriate for the moment, and it seemed to perfectly kick-off an emotional high in the club. The dancers screamed in response. Some men danced around in circles and out of rhythm, others sang the words to the song in unison. All the while dancers on various stages either wiggled and gyrated to their heart’s content, or they kissed and hugged one another wishing in the New Year. Kid Capri hadn’t yet begun to put on his show.
“Let’s take this back to the old school
Let’s take this back to Union Square!
Let’s take this back to the LQ
And party like we just don’t care!”
Kid Capri’s voice dominated the audience and the dancers went ballistic as he shuffled records, moods and the climate (as if by design) with his precise selections.
“The bridge is over
The bridge is over
Biddy bye-bye
The bridge is over
The bridge is over, hey hey . . .”
After Kid Capri dropped the KRS-ONE classic, he stung everybody’s emotions with “The Big Beat,” and seconds later he switched to “Roxanne” with terrorizing sounds crashing through the club’s powerful sound system. But the deejay didn’t know how to stop, fusing old-school hip-hop with old school soul; droppin’ big-beat-blastin’ jams and mixing them with the latest hits.
Douglass was so high in the moment, receiving a king’s procession of kisses and congratulations, that he lost all sense of time and space. This was his utopia and nothin’ else mattered at all. Just when the nirvana seemed to lull, at 3AM, Douglass’s pre-arranged private-dancer session blasted off. Valerie was the one who picked the 5 hottest bodies in the legion for an exclusive hour in the VIP area. Half that exclusive crowd was celebrities from the worlds of basketball, baseball and tennis. Big names. There was a famed boxer, some hip hop artists and also some radio personalities. Brenda was long gone; took a cab home at about 2 in the morning. Ken Stevens and his agent had their own lil corner locked down, with dancers stepping in his mini-playing field one by one. Wade was still standing by, frustrated but also glad that his theory wasn’t coming to life. Mechelle and Debbie simply remained fixtures at Douglass’s side, pointing out various faces in the club.
Wade did get around to speaking with Valerie again once Brenda left.
Valerie’s Words
I was shaken when Detective Wade asked me about Bobby. I didn’t think anyone knew about him. Heck, I didn’t even know what happened to him until Wade told me that he was murdered, and that someone sabotaged his jeep. I think our last party was the night before he died, too. I told Detective Wade what I knew, how I met him at Moet’s house, and that I did some private parties for him. He was a kinky man too, wantin’ to wear panties . . . a woman’s panties and bra while I danced for him. It was pretty hilarious at first. I couldn’t stop laughing. But I think it was the fourth time when being around him was starting to make me sick. And then the detective started asking me about David and more questions about Moet and myself. I felt like a criminal or something, the way he was drilling me. But he says that these people were involved with me, and that may be why they’re dead now. And I made it clear that “No, I did not fuck David or especially that queer Bobby.” He also asked me about Ken Stevens, but I honestly never met him till New Years. I don’t even watch baseball . . . bor-ing! Finally already, he showed me this police drawing. It looked a little like a customer . . . I think, or maybe someone I once knew. But nothing came to mind right away. So he wants me to call him if I can remember. Oh brother!
“Douglass, are you gonna open this?” I asked him and handed him this little box sitting on the couch. With all the action, he must have forgotten it.
“Oh . . . that’s Fumi’s gift. We’ll open it at home.”
“What’s this . . . out of sight, out of mind? Come on, I get all wet when it comes to gifts,” I said, more excited about the gift than he was.
“Thanks for that bit of helpful information. Alright . . . how come you’re always tellin’ me what to do . . . ? Stop tryin’ to be my mother!” Douglass was being jovial. Valerie leaned in to reply in his ear.
“I can’t be your mother, baby . . . but you can be my daddy anytime.” Douglass mashed Valerie’s face (playfully) with his open palm and opened the gift. A question mark overcame his face, there was a set of keys and a phone number.
“O-kay. I guess I’m suppose to know what this is. Let me guess . . . it’s the key to life!” Debbie was sitting in Douglass’s lap now, Mechelle had just returned from tinkling and the private dancers were shaking up a storm for the dozens in the VIP area.
“Call the phone number, silly!”
“Are you in my business, woman?”
“No . . . but it’s like—duh . . . common sense, dude.” Debbie went valley girl on him.
“Demetrius, lemme have your cell phone.” Demetrius handed him the slim digital wonder from his shirt pocket and Douglass dialed forthwith.
“Good morning.” The voice alerted Douglass to check his watch. It was 3 AM.
“Oh, I’m sorry . . . this number was left with me . . .”
“I’m to inform you that the key you are holding is now your own, sir . . . Prince Fumi has left his house for you.”
Douglass almost dropped the phone as his body stiffened. He thought he had heard what he heard, but he wasn’t sure if he heard what he thought he heard.
The Point
“You comin’?” Ken wanted to pop Max upside the back of his head, but the twerp would probably sue him.
“Ken . . . just this one day, man. Can’t I have some fun, huh? It’s a holiday . . . officially, man!” Max was rocking back and forth on the outer soles of his feet, within a scent of the thongs wiggling in front of him. He was OD’ing on the dancers.
“Max, we’ve been invited to breakfast with Gilmore.”
“You go . . . it’s good publicity. I’m gettin’ laid tonight. These girls ain’t no fan club poultry, man . . . this that good chicken.”
“Do me a favor, Max . . .” Ken slipped a folded 100 bill in Max’s pocket. “. . . Take a cab home. You can’t drive like this.” Max squinted his face when he calculated Ken’s insinuation. But Ken was gone now, so Max went right back to drooling.
“Max can’t come, but I’m game,” said Ken.
“Cool. My Jeep is out back . . . a black Navigator . . . pull up behind and follow us.”
“You too? I’m driving a Navigator, too . . . black.”
“Another Lincoln fan, huh? A man after my own heart. Okay, luxury-man. Meet us outside.” Douglass also had a slight buzz goin’ on, after 4 glasses of bubbly. The ladies were helpful, escorting him down the steps. The party on the main floor seemed as lively as ever . . . even with just 300 people left in the club. Longtime Gilmore’s customers congratulated him as he passed by—all smiles. It was only when Ken and Douglass tossed those acknowledgments to one another that Wade and Demetrius realized Douglass had invited Ken to breakfast. And now, as Ken peeled off of the entourage, Douglass headed towards the back entrance.
Outside the club, the twilight hours were looming and a line of taxis were stretched from the entrance of Black Beauty into the next block. Drivers were standing outside of their vehicles soliciting every last partygoer to leave the complex. Across the street, that same dark Chevy was parked with the window opened. Moet’s killer now sat wide awake with binoculars zeroed-in on the entrance, and on Ken, who was now emerging from within. During the past five hours, he couldn’t help but to doze off. However, there were images on his mind that all climaxed to one big jolt that shook his body. It was as if he’d just woken while driving in 55 mile per hour traffic . . . a nightmare. Now, Ken was turning the corner at the right side of the club and crossing the street, over to where his truck was parked. Ken turned his alarm off and got in. He turned over the ignition, lowered his window and rolled the jeep closer to the rear of the club, across from a fleet of vehicles that were idle in the back lot. Ken let his seat back a little, reclined himself and rewound the images of the evening.
“Say . . . aren’t you that baseball star, Steven something or other?” Ken was startled, but it was nothing that he hadn’t experienced before.
“Sure . . . Ken Stevens.”
“Can I have your autograph for my son, Bobby? He really loves you, and he’s got your baseball cards on his mirror, too.”
“O . . . okay . . .” Ken reached to his glove compartment where he kept his 5X7 photos.
“Say . . . it’s kinda cold out here. Do you mind?” The stranger indicated the passenger seat and put on a shiver to dramatize.
“Why not. Come on around.” Ken popped the passenger lock, feeling spirited with the holiday climate and all. While the man circled the vehicle, Ken got a closer look through his windshield. Baseball cap. Overcoat. Jeans. That’s all he picked up, aside from the guy’s vitality and that he was a white dude with dark hair spilling from under the hat. Ken shrugged it off. Nothing extraordinary about this—just another baseball fan; sort of. Meanwhile, the man jumped in and recited what he wanted written in the photo.
“To Billy . . .
“I thought you said Bobby?” Ken had just pulled the top off of his marker when he gave a second look at his passenger.
“Yeah . . . Bill, Bobby, Buddy. Same difference. Put on there, ‘Thanks for your love and support . . . Ken Stevens.”
Ken shrugged off the incongruity and simply rushed to get it over with. Comes with the territory, he considered.
“Nice jeep! You guys must get these things free . . . like what do they call ’em, perks? Just like the sneakers and stuff . . .” Ken already had the photo extended, hoping the guy would get ’n go. “You baseball players get it all, don’t you? Money . . . fame . . . pussy.”
Now, Ken caught a bad vibe. Suddenly, the friendly father of a fan sounded like a demented wrestling fan. An altogether different situation.
“I wonder if you can sign something else for me . . .” That’s when the man reached into his overcoat and pulled out a black-barreled .45-caliber pistol. He kept it in his lap with his free hand cradling it. “Now don’t get excited, Mr. Baseball. I just need your assistance.”
“Listen . . . if you’re here to rob me, just take my . . .”
“Uh-uhh! Just don’t move those hands there, buddy. Put ’em up on the wheel. Gowon.”
“Please, just take my wallet and go. You want the jeep?”
“This ain’t about no jeep! . . . Or your money. Just sit quiet . . . I wanna wait here with you and see what’s in store. You celebs always have the key to the city. So, now I got the key to the man with the key.”
It wasn’t more than a few minutes later when a group spilled out of the back door of Black Beauty. There was Valerie, Debbie, Mechelle, Douglass, Demetrius and Wade. Douglass waved for Ken’s acknowledgent from across the street.
“Wave back—go ahead.” The gun wiggled as incentive, and Ken gave a quick wave and a blank expression. Douglass and friends piled into one of 5 identical trucks. “Looks like we’re going for a little ride, aren’t we.”
“You’re that guy that killed Moet. The one I saw that day at her house.”
“You know, for a jock you’re not as dumb as I thought you’d be. So now that you have all the answers . . . DRIVE! And SHUT THE FUCK UP!”
Ken’s perspiration was showing now. He was shivering, and his heartbeat was thumping like a drumroll. The two jeeps made their way down the side streets and onto the main road until they reached the throughway. It was a short drive up 1-95, to the exit close to The Point. Ken kept one car length behind the leader all the way to The Point. The security guard stopped the lead car and promptly let him pass after a call to the house. Ken had clearance as well. The stretch of road took the jeeps to the oval driveway in front of the home, a quicker arrival than Ken would have liked. Somehow, Ken saw this fool getting stupid and he had no reason why . . . except that he was a killer. There was no questioning his credentials. Demetrius pulled up to the right side of the driveway, just before the walk-through. Ken parked one car length behind him. All six disembarked from the truck.
“Tell ’em you’ll be right in . . . reach out and tell ’em.”
“Hey . . . go on. Give me a minute, I’ll be right in.” The stranger in Ken’s truck hunched down, remaining out of sight, until he was certain that everyone was turned and heading into the home. And just before Ken could fully adjust his head back in the window of the jeep to face his captor, whop! The man thrust the barrel of his pistol into the back of Ken’s skull. Ken didn’t quite black out from the strike, so he hit him again. Out like a light. With a gash and some blood to go with it.
“W-o-o-o-ow . . . I can’t believe this place.”
“Are you serious? Fumi left this for you? For us?”
“It seems that way. Chuckuma just ran down a few particulars for me . . . but it looks like this is the gift of gifts.” Even Wade was caught up in the atmosphere, giving special attention to the jazz legends that were exhibited along the stairway.
The ladies eventually broke off into their own direction, checking out the mostly stainless steel and tile kitchen with ultra-modern appliances. Douglass was guiding Demetrius through some of the finer luxuries of the 30-room home. Now, they were in the home theater while Chuckuma was upstairs preparing an early breakfast for 7. Wade found himself upstairs, looking down from one of the balconies. He could see out towards the front. Ken was not in his jeep and Wade sprung awkwardly back toward the staircase.
“Douglass. Douglass . . . Demetrius!” No answer. The house was so big and the two men were in the basement, next to a massive game room. Now, the ladies were out on a patio that was set off from the kitchen and dining room.
“Mechelle, do you believe this view?”
“I’m lovin’ this. Look at the flowers, the shrubbery, the Long Island Sound. They must go out boating from that dock.”
“They probably have a yacht, Debbie.”
“They . . . they?? Girls, this is Gilmore’s house! I mean, for real, we keep saying they, and they is really us! We can have our own yacht trips. Big house parties with all of the girls . . .”
Gilmore’s House
“You know, back in Chicago, they make a big deal about Playboy, Hugh Hefner and the Playboy Mansion . . . but for real? This house makes the Playboy mansion look like a doll house!”
The girls eventually headed back indoors.
With the patio door opened, Valerie saw Wade first.
“Ladies!” The girls almost jumped out of their skin, Wade was so abrupt, like the drill sergeant he never was.
“Where’s Douglass? Demetrius?? Has anyone seen Ken?” Wade was hyper, eyes swinging all over the place. “I want you guys to stick by me. I MEAN IT!” Wade only startled them at first, but once he shouted, they all jumped in unison. At the same time they moved towards Wade, he looked past them where a figure suddenly rushed into the dining room through the open patio door. He had his arm extended and his .45 pointed—specifically at Wade.
“Don’t try me, sir. I’m a very good shot. Very . . . good.”
Debbie appealed, “Oh my God.”
Mechelle grabbed Wade for support and gasped.
Valerie simply stood there, amazed, with her mouth hollow and dry . . .
“Richard?”
“That’s right, Valerie, it’s me. I’m here to rescue you.”
“Rescue me? What happened to you? What are you doing here? What—is—going—on?!” Wade could see Valerie’s fear was dripping with her tears. At the same time, he had Mechelle in one arm and Debbie in his other. He saw that Richard was more focused on Valerie, even though his gun was pointed at Wade’s head. Wade’s body felt like an ironing board, with hot irons at his waist, at the small of his back, and on his calf. His firearms were calling him, only the ladies were a big problem right now.
“Oh . . . I gained a little weight . . . changed my hair some . . . almost overdosed . . . you know, the basic GIRL LEAVES BOY SHIT!”
The eyes in Richard’s face were on the verge of rupturing as he released his rage. Wade had his arm away from Mechelle’s shoulder now, reaching towards his back. He was moving them further away at the same time.
“You must have taken me for a fool, Valerie. You just thought you could use my love up for so long and just up and leave WITHOUT ANY EXPLANATION!”
Wade felt the need to act. He’d have to push the girls to the floor first, and then shoot. If he aimed and shot first, he might be jeopardizing a life. Better he took all the risk.
“But I’m over that now, Valerie . . . it’s been a while . . . you know? I think I’m healed . . . now that I’m here with you. Here to rescue you. Uh-uh-uh . . . don’t try it, mister.” Richard wasn’t standing in place anymore. He reached for Valerie, but she was apprehensive. He shuffled closer until she was standing next to him. He put his arm around her neck and pulled her closer. A rough kiss. And his palm grabbed her breasts through the tuxedo. Valerie looked over at Wade and the girls, unable to give an explanation, but knowing that this was her fault in some way.
“Remember those lips, honey . . . these hands? Remember how I LOVED YOU!?” His voice was fading up and down again. He was obviously angry. And his last shout was Wade’s cue.
He pushed the girls away from him and as he raised his arm, Richard beat him at his draw, busting off two shots. One caught Wade’s upper arm. Another to his chest. Wade fell to the floor and lay there, eyes wide with pain. Richard stepped over and picked up Wade’s piece. Then he patted other areas of his body.
“I know you cops keep another one somewhere.” Richard pulled the velcro strap from Wade’s calf, releasing the 9 millimeter from his ankle, complete with holster. Feeling more confident, Richard ordered the girls to a corner of the dining room and placed his own pistol on a counter. He strapped the holster haphazardly around his shoulder, looking like an adolescent Jesse James imitator. Now he had two pieces, one in each hand, as he motioned for the girls to move into the hallway.
“Come on, we’ve got others to find.”
“Douglass! That sounded like gunshots.”
“Gunshots? Are you sure?”
“I know a friggin’ gunshot when I hear one, Doug—and those were gunshots.”
“We’ve gotta get up and see what’s happening. The girls . . . Wade . . . Chuckuma.”
“Easy, Doug. Let me lead. Please. Stay back.” The two eased out of the game room, creeping like in a Scooby Doo cartoon.
“Keep steppin’, ladies . . . I have a surprise for you.” With Wade bleeding on the floor behind them, Richard prodded the girls along. “Let’s find a bedroom.”
“Valerie, what’s going on? Who is this guy?”
“A crazy bastard, that’s who.”
“Yeah, well . . . you were fucking this crazy bastard?” The girls whispered amongst themselves. They now stood in the main foyer, a gallery that was central in the house.
“Now, girls, I know who’s here in the house with you, so the deal is . . . they either come on out and I don’t shoot anyone. And if they don’t, you guys are going one at a time . . . beginning with . . . you!” He pointed a gun at Debbie, and she screamed.
“What’s your name, you pretty, caramel treat!” Debbie answered with her hair tight in his grip and her head bent back until her eyes met his. “Well, let me ask you” Richard spoke in her ear at a low volume, “. . . you like fucking girls, don’t you? I said, don’t you?” He pulled her hair tighter. She squealed and answered with fear in her voice.
“Yes! Yes! Ye-e-esss!” she cried aloud.
“Good . . . good answer. I’d say we’re doing pretty good, wouldn’t you, Valerie?” Valerie had her arms crossed now, coming to remember that this arrogant, obnoxious bastard once controlled her every move when she lived with him.
“WOULDN’T you, Valerie?” Richard pressed the nose of one gun to Debbie’s neck, with the other gun and a whole bunch of Debbie’s hair squeezed in his grip. He whispered into Debbie’s ear and she cringed and whined in response. Then he put his mouth over hers and kissed her apprehensive grimace.
“Now, that didn’t hurt a bit, did it? Kissing a MAN. Now, Valerie, call your FUCKIN’ friends, or she gets it RIGHT here—RIGHT now.”
“That won’t be necessary. You want me? You got me. Now . . . please let her go.” Douglass was calm about it, emerging from the basement.
“Good . . . good. Now where’s your friend? The big guy.”
“I’m here.” Demetrius stepped out of the stairwell from behind Douglass. The two didn’t seem to have a plan, or a clue as to who this guy was. They just knew they were facing two loaded guns.
“There’s no need to hurt . . .”
“Listen to me, big man. I do the talkin’ here—understand?”
“What we’re gonna do now is go upstairs. Ladies with me . . . guys, you stay behind us.” Pistols pointed everywhere, Richard was stepping backwards up the steps, with the jazz legends behind him. The girls were somewhat of a shield for him, with Demetrius and Douglass both tempted to lunge and grab the gun.
“Don’t you try and be a hero, now . . . you know, we’ve already got one lying on the floor in the kitchen . . . so, I don’t need to show you a resume, do I?”
Upstairs, Richard pulled down a gold decorative tassel from some velvet curtains. He tossed it to Douglass.
“So we finally meet. The playboy himself. So how does it feel to have so many luxuries . . . so much money . . . so many women at your feet?” Douglass was speechless behind Demetrius as they continued following the man with the power. The man with the guns.
“I bet you didn’t know about me, did you? You didn’t know that I was fucking Valerie FIRST, did you? Well, for your information player, this one is TAKEN!”
“I am not taken,” Valerie said with an attitude.
“You are! And shut up. This is my game. Do what you’re told.”
“I’m not doin’ SHIT. And don’t get me twisted with the girl you used to know . . .”
“But Valerie . . .”
“Don’t ‘But Valerie’ me, you sick, demented, obnoxious pig. We never had nothing then. We don’t have nothing now, and we never will have nothing in the future. And . . . you wanna know something else? I’m pregnant now, you impotent bastard. So there!”
Everybody’s face froze on account of that news flash.
Richard seemed to be disarmed by Valerie’s demanding tone. And then she shocked everybody again when she walked back down the steps. Richard was standing at the top of the staircase, looking over the balcony. Mechelle and Debbie were behind him now, out of harm’s way.
Someone Richard had overlooked; Chuckuma appeared out of nowhere. He was in the bathroom just inside of the gallery on the main floor. He darted across. Richard shook from his own hysteria and shot twice at the moving target. He missed. But Chuckuma was just a diversion.
“Put it down!” Wade was to the left, posted behind a life-sized statue of limestone. Wade’s tux opened up and the vest he wore was loosened and visible. He hadn’t been hurt bad. Richard went to him with both guns firing. Wade had been here before . . . nothing new. Meanwhile, Demetrius went to grab Valerie and they crouched down at the bottom of the staircase.
Then, from the right of the entry hall, a shot rang out. It hit Richard in the arm . . . spinning him in that direction. Then another shot hit him in the chest. And he fell back against the wall where a Billie Holiday portrait was positioned. Richard lifted his gun to shoot again.
It was the guy he swung on at Moet’s house!
I knew I shoulda slugged that dude when I had the chance!
Richard was laughing all the while. Unfocused enough for Wade to take the chance and cap him in the leg. The first shot missed. The second pop hit, and Richard stumbled and rolled down the stairs until he hit the marble floor, head first. Blood began to seep from under him in a growing pool.
Douglass ran to get Debbie and Mechelle upstairs, while Demetrius rushed Valerie away from the lifeless body. Wade came out of hiding, standing over the body. He looked in Ken’s direction. Ken, with his .45 down by his side, showing some remorse. Wade closed his eyes slow and thoughtfully, happy that Ken was around yet ashamed for his own misjudgments.
“I guess everything ain’t always what it seems,” said Wade.
“I tend to believe you,” Ken replied. And he used his hand to brush off Wade’s tuxedo as well as his own. They were standing in front of a walled mirror, both of them checking out one another’s reflection.
“And just to think . . . you picked a murder suspect to be your best man.”
“It was only for the season tickets, son . . . purely for the perks.” The two laughed heartily as they took one last deep breath and one last look at their reflections. The groom and his best man, with all of their personal challenges, triumphs and imperfections.
“You ready to do this?”
“I’m de-finitely ready to do this.”
They opened the dressing room door and stepped out through a foyer until they were recognized by the crowd outside. Demetrius cued Greg by their Secret Service-type communications, and Greg signaled the vocalist. The piano blended with the sound of seagulls flying overhead. The melody was as fluid and undeniable as the clear, spring sky over the calm and endless waters of the Long Island Sound.
And then Rachelle Ferrell’s voice made it all seem valid; the wedding outdoors at The Point; Douglass, hosting and financing the wedding and the reception; and over 50 beautiful women standing like flowers around the yard where Brenda awaited her husband for life.
“Long as . . . I’m living . . .
I’m loving . . . loving You . . .
Long as . . . I’m dreaming . . .
I’m dreaming . . . dreaming of you
Long as . . . I’m singing . . .
I’m singing to you
Long as . . . I’m breathing . . .
I’m not leaving, leaving you.”
Rachelle captured the hearts of every last soul who witnessed the groom walk down the lawn to meet with his bride. After the vows, the ring and the kiss, the vocalist took everyone to church with her jubilations of song. Douglass was positioned on an outdoor couch with a team of women standing behind him and a few sitting at each side. Photographers seemed to be popping flashes at him more so than at the rest of the wedding attendees. Brenda’s co-anchor Ernie, Ken’s agent, and a brigade of celebrities joined half the police force, filling the property to capacity.
There was dancing, networking and plenty of food during an afternoon-long reception.
“Do you think that will ever be us?”
“Now . . . this is so beautiful. All the white, the yellow . . . the dresses and flowers. Why would you wanna break up the mood?”
“Maybe we could have a wedding for four?” The girls all laughed through their joyful tears. They were the head bridesmaids for Brenda and this was all making them sick with happiness. Douglass was close enough to overhear the conversation. They did not detect his presence.
“To tell you the truth, girls . . . marriage isn’t gonna make me happier than I am. I’ve got a beautiful little boy and he brings more joy to my face than I could ever imagine feeling in one day. Plus . . . I have Destiny,” said Valerie. “I mean, I feel like she’s my daughter, too. Look at her running around, so pretty like a princess.”
And only now did Douglass feel like he was missing something. Like he should be reaching for some higher heights. Because, after all, what more was there for a man to do in life if already he had everything he’d ever dreamed of?