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  “Which means Cleavon or Lorraine won’t make a move on me. Being under surveillance has its advantages.” Jazz smiled when both women blinked as her logic sank in.

  Willa’s smooth brown face became pinched with concern. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  “I got this,” Jazz replied with more bravado than she felt.

  Chapter 11

  Friday night Candy Girls did indeed rock. The boom from powerful speakers caused the walls to vibrate. Lilly and Chyna took turns dancing for the customers. For once there were as many females as males packed in the club section. Rochelle was kept busy cooking as the small dining area hummed with people eating nachos, chicken wings, fried catfish, and onion rings. One of Chyna’s younger brothers had been hired to help out in the kitchen. Between the two of them, food orders were being served with precision.

  Tired from making the rounds to pump up the crowd, by eleven that night, Jazz sat in her office. Byron knocked and came in with an android tablet Jazz had given him. Music and smoke blew in with him when the door opened. Both dissipated when it closed with a thump.

  “Had to make a run for more fish earlier before the seafood store shut down. Rochelle said no way would our regular supply last, not tonight. Crazy how many people crammed in the place.”

  “Yeah, about half of ‘em wanna be players that think I’m a cold gangsta.” Jazz gave a hard laugh. “That’s the streets for you. No wonder the good folks complaining.”

  Byron handed Jazz the tablet. She clicked on the app and approved the payment. The store would take a direct deposit that night. Byron nodded and tapped the app again so that a receipt would be e-mailed to JV Entertainment, LLC, Jazz’s company. The LLC was another one of Godfrey Higgins’ ideas. Byron approved, though he still didn’t like him. Once business was handled, Byron took a seat. He watched jazz sip from a glass of brandy.

  “I need to make some changes, Byron,” Jazz said. “I know you and my sister think signing that contract was a bad idea, but…” Her voice died away.

  “Hey, I didn’t say it was outright a bad idea. Just that it was a tricky situation,” Byron rumbled.

  Jazz continued to gaze at the television mounted on the wall of her office. A closed circuit camera showed her the inside of the club from four angles. With the click of the remote she could see the kitchen, parking lot, and the front of her apartment out back. The new system was Byron’s idea. Jazz agreed. They needed to ramp up security with Cleavon and his gang circling like a pack of feral dogs. Jazz looked at but didn’t truly see the action before her. Byron however studied the screen. Satisfied, he settled in to wait for his boss to talk.

  “I know, I know. The fine print can screw you. But I was low on options. I paid attention, so don’t worry about your job or anything.” Jazz transferred her gaze from the television screen to Byron. The big guy had as much philosopher in him as muscle. “I’m gonna do right by my employees.”

  Byron gave a nod and stood. He put the tablet on her desk. “I know. J I’ll be watching your back.” With that he walked out. No sloppy sentiment, just fact.

  “Thanks,” Jazz murmured with a smile as tears wet her eyes. She swiped them away with a grunt. “No time to get all stupid.”

  The office door swung open without a knock. Don stood looking at her. “Evening. Mind if I come in?”

  “Uh, since you didn’t knock and you’re halfway in anyway, come on. Drink?” Jazz held up the bottle of fine brandy.

  “No, officially on duty. You need to tell them you have an alibi for the night Kyeisha was killed. I…”

  “Close the damn door before half the block hears all our business, Detective Addison,” Jazz cut in.

  Don slammed the door hard. “I told Armand we were together, and you told him I was lying for you.”

  Jazz heaved a sighed. “Yeah, I sure as hell did because—”

  “What is wrong with you, huh? Jeez.” Don walked in a circle. “You’re so hung up on doing it your way, some female street version of the lone wolf. If you don’t want me around, just say so. Fine. I’ll be on my way. But this going to prison because you’re hard-headed is…” Don broke off as though he’d run out of steam.

  “What? Nuts, dumb? You don’t believe I’m either one. What will happen if you play the damn hero?” Jazz gazed at him. She stood when Don didn’t answer. “Hey, I’m talkin’ to you.”

  “Ah, to hell with it,” Don burst out. He waved a hand at her and looked away.

  “No, you came bustin’ up in my place with your drama. So now you’re gonna listen to me,” she shouted back, pointing a finger at him.

  Jazz breathed hard as she reigned in her own hot temper. Then she studied him again. His tormented expression was all for her. Few people had stood for her like he was trying to do. No men in her life. Well, except for Willa’s father. Papa Elton made attempts over the years and Jazz always pushed him away.

  “My bosses might throw some crap around about poor judgment, but I’m not dumping twelve years as a cop. But I will if it comes down to it. You can’t go to prison for a murder you didn’t do.” Don grimaced. “Life without parole.”

  Jazz walked over to him and wrapped her arms around his solid chest. The top of her head brushed the bottom of his chin. She breathed in the smell of his clean cotton shirt. Tension left his body as he hugged her back. They didn’t speak for a long time.

  “You smell like sandalwood with hints of cedar,” Jazz murmured.

  “So now you’re a cologne expert?” Don’s voice was muffled as he pressed his face into her mass of hair.

  “MiMi, the cosmetics and fine goods expert, schooled me on the better things in life. She’s trying to make me as bourgie as her and Willa,” Jazz joked. She let go, stepped back, and looked up into his dark eyes. “You ready to listen now?”

  Don pulled her to him again. He kissed her long and hard, until both panted from the heat. Then he pushed her away. “Now I’m ready.”

  “Damn. I need to jump in a tub of ice to get my thoughts together.” Jazz gulped in air to clear her head of thoughts about what she wanted to do to him.

  “I like throwing you off your game,” Don quipped with a sexy grin. Then his smile faded. “We got real trouble, girl.”

  His reminder of what she was up against did the trick. Jazz blinked back to the subject at hand, murder charges. “Not we, me.”

  “I’m in no matter what you say,” Don started to go on, but stopped when Jazz stabbed a finger into his broad chest.

  “You’re supposed to listen,” Jazz snapped. When he stayed quiet, Jazz sighed. “Miller did what I thought he’d do if you tried to alibi me. He didn’t believe a word, which was perfect. I don’t want you involved.”

  “Jazz, you’re not being…”

  “Listen,” Jazz yelled, stomping a foot.

  Don raised both hands. “Okay, okay. Shutting up.”

  “Thank you. So I’m guessing Miller hasn’t told anyone else on the job what you told him, definitely not your boss.” Jazz tilted her head to one side as she gazed at him.

  “No, and he made me promise to give him at least forty-eight hours before I said anything. He’s been there for me, even pretty much saved my rookie behind during a drug raid once. So I gave him my word.”

  “Good. You’re going to let that deadline pass and keep your mouth shut. Here’s why,” Jazz said when Don’s mouth flew open. “Your bosses would suspend you, and possibly have you watched. If you don’t think so then you are dumber than I thought. Don’t give me that big bad cop evil eye.”

  “Humph,” Don replied.

  “They’ll say you’re involved in Kyeisha’s killing. You’d be giving yourself an alibi as much as me.” Jazz paused in her rapid fire explanation to take a breath. His expression tightened as her theories hit home. “You know I’m right.”

  “Yeah, but they could be thinking that anyway,” Don said.

  “We both know Miller hasn’t talked. If you do, they’ll have more than station gossip
.” Jazz nodded as she processed her own theories.

  “You’re facing a murder charge, Jazz. I don’t see how me keeping quiet helps you,” Don said, his baritone voice grim.

  “Phillips is one of the best criminal lawyers around. Not just in Louisiana, but in the southeast,” Jazz replied.

  “Which is why cops don’t like him,” Don retorted. “He specializes in putting scum we clean up back on the streets.”

  “I’m counting on his skills at freeing scum.”

  “You’re probably the only innocent client the guy’s represented in a decade,” Don said.

  “Look at it this way, he gets to use his powers for good in my case,” Jazz quipped. “Phillips is right. The circumstantial case against me is weak, at least for now. I have a feeling somebody is going make it more solid. Expect anonymous tips and maybe some ‘evidence’ to show up.”

  “Any idea who?” Don switched into detective mode.

  “Cleavon is obvious, but you know something’s not adding up. He’s no planner, no big picture kind of strategy dude.” Jazz frowned as she tried to rearrange the puzzle pieces in her mind.

  “Yeah, I see what you mean. He’s a mid-level player at best. Could be Filipe is still working his game from prison. It happens,” Don said. He sat down.

  “None of his gang members left have the nerve or brains to hold his operation together. The one or two that might have are dead.” Jazz ran through the list of men left in Filipe’s crew. She mentally eliminated each one.

  “Which means you need my help,” Don insisted.

  “Yeah, but still on the force and able to use the resources of the police department. Miller doesn’t like or trust me one bit.” Jazz snorted.

  “Armand is an honest cop,” Don said with confidence.

  “Maybe. But he’s got his theory of what’s going on, and me being innocent ain’t part of it. Tell me I’m wrong.” Jazz gazed at him hard. When Don shrugged, Jazz snorted again. “Uh-huh.”

  “Okay, but still…”

  “You can’t help me if nobody downtown trusts you, sweetie. Worse, we’re in the same boat if you become a suspect. It could happen.” Jazz held up a hand when Don started to speak again. “Put some distance between us. Date somebody else even, and make sure Miller knows it. Don’t make a big show of trashing me. He’ll see right through the act.”

  “The way you’re bossing me around it might not be an act.,” .

  “Ha-ha funny man. You’re single, employed, and good-looking. I’ll bet at least two women would be dressed and ready if you called last minute for a date.”

  “Emm…” Don brushed invisible dust from the leg of his blue jeans.

  Jazz sat up, eyes wide. She snapped her fingers. “I’ll bet Miller and his wife even introduced you to one of ‘em.”

  “How do you know so damn much?” Don muttered.

  “Call her up. When Miller mentions it, and he will, just play it off like you don’t wanna talk about your personal business.”

  Don crossed his arms. “You already know Armand is going to ask me about Shelia.”

  Jazz nodded with a smile. “I know women. She’ll tell his wife, her good friend. The wife will tell Miller.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Look, Detective.” Jazz rose and crossed to him. She pushed him down on the red leather sofa against the wall of her office. When Don didn’t look at her, Jazz straddled his lap. “We had our talk. You’re free. I’m free. So don’t lie and say you weren’t thinking up calling up this lady anyway.”

  He placed his hands on her thighs. “Who were you thinking of calling?”

  Instead of answering, Jazz pulled the purple knit t-shirt over her head. As Don watched, she unfastened the front of her passion purple bra. She kissed him hard as she guided his hands to her breasts. Before long Don wasn’t interested in the answer to his question. The fact that the office door wasn’t locked made their desire even more intense. If anyone had thought to knock or enter, the noise they made no doubt tipped them off that Jazz didn’t want to be disturbed.

  One hour and a quick shower later, Jazz sat in her office again going over the receipts for the night. At almost one thirty in the morning the good times were winding down. She didn’t even look up when the door opened. She assumed it was Tyretta calling it a night.

  “Be sure to help Rochelle fix up the kitchen and dining area before you go. I know you hate housework, but that’s why I pay you extra.”

  Jazz glanced up prepared for an argument from Tyretta. The one person she didn’t expect to see strolled in. Lorraine looked around the office. She picked up carved wooden African sculptures on a wall shelf, examined each, shrugged, and put them down again. The forty-five year old woman was dressed in a red tight knit sweater, black slim jeans and spike-heeled black boots with silver studs. Her blonde weave made a bold contrast to her chocolate brown skin.

  “Humph. You painted and went all fancy on a room hardly anybody will see,” she said.

  “Returning to the scene of the crime as they say,” Jazz drawled. She relaxed against the leather executive chair back and picked up her glass of brandy.

  Lorraine laughed. “Yeah, your crimes according to the news and the DA.”

  Jazz put the tumbler down with a thump. “Nah, the scene where you set me up by bringing Kyeisha here. She was supposed to be your friend.”

  “I don’t have friends, only business partners,” Lorraine replied with a casual wave of one hand. “Speaking of business, yours seems to be doing okay considering all your troubles.”

  “Praise the Lord for loyal customers and good management. So let’s clear the air, Lorraine. You lost this property because of carelessness. Stop grinding a grudge that I stole it from you,” Jazz said with blunt force. “Not my fault the city caught on you weren’t paying enough sales taxes. Then you got behind on property taxes, too.”

  “Instead of helping me, you jumped on the chance to twist the knife in deeper,” Lorraine said. The good humored facade slipped as she glared at Jazz. Then she smiled. “But that’s all in the past. You’re so right about the city being keeping an eye on nightclubs. I kinda like how they’re doing their jobs these days. When is your hearing by the way?”

  “What do you want,” Jazz snapped, tired of the game.

  “Maybe I’m just nostalgic and want to see the old place.” Lorraine walked around the room. “Or maybe I’m here to help you out.”

  “Oh really? I’m gone run outside and look up, because pigs must be flyin’.”

  Lorraine grinned. She sat down in the chair facing Jazz’s desk. “Still got jokes. But I’ve got a serious business proposition that you oughta listen to, Jazzed up.”

  “I hate it when you call me that,” Jazz clipped.

  “I know. Anyway, like I was saying, I’ve got a solution to your problems,” Lorraine continued. She rested both arms on the sides of the chair.

  “Glad to hear it. What time do you plan to see the DA and tell him who killed Kyeisha?” Jazz retorted.

  Lorraine gave a short laugh. “Okay, not all of your problems. I said business remember. Defense lawyers cost big money, and you got a pricey one. Sign my property back over to me. I’ll give you twenty thousand in cash, plus all the taxes and fees you paid.”

  “So generous.”

  “That was the value when you snatched it out from under me,” Lorraine shot back, her smile gone. “We both know you need the money.”

  “I have money, from an investor. So thanks, but no thanks. I’m good. See yourself out.” Jazz lifted the tumbler of brandy in a mock salute and drank from it.

  “That white dude won’t be so happy to do a deal when all kinds of negative publicity keep hitting the streets. How long will he want to be hooked up with a gangsta tied to a murder and drug dealing? Not long I bet.” Lorraine pointed a bright green lacquered nail at Jazz. “He’ll change his mind quick.”

  “Normally, I’d agree with you, Lorraine, except he sees a big payday ahead. See, if I get off, w
e’ll make Candy Girls a high end entertainment lounge. He knows I have the management skills to get the job done. But if I’m convicted, he gets his hands on the property. Lots of development in this area. He’s hedging his bets. This dude is from out of state and has foreign investors. They don’t give a shit about bad publicity. They ain’t gotta live here.” Jazz lifted her tumbler of brandy again. “To cold-hearted business.”

  Lorraine stared hard as Jazz drained the last of the brandy. “Smart ass bitch. Think you got it all figured out, huh?”

  Jazz slammed the tumbler onto the desk and stood. “I did until you framed me for Kyeisha’s murder.”

  “You hope that pricey lawyer can keep you out of prison. I hear it doesn’t look too good though.” Lorraine stood. She patted the pile of blonde hair twisted up on her head. “Maybe that white guy from out of state will need a new manager soon. Yeah, could be.”

  “Get out,” Jazz spat.

  “Listen, things might turn around if you cancel that deal and sell my place back to me. With all these new forensics and cops investigating so hard, new evidence could pop up any day. Think about it before you cash that guy’s check.” Lorraine gave Jazz a nasty smile. “You know how to get in touch.”

  “Don’t wait on it,” Jazz said as she walked around the desk.

  “Oh by the way, that fine ass police detective is a nice touch. Screwing his brains out, huh? Wonder why you don’t let him alibi you outta trouble?” Lorraine smiled as she studied Jazz for a reaction.

  “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” Jazz struggled not to say more or lunge at her in attack mode.

  “Yeah I do, and you know it. He left here walking crooked and wearing a satisfied look. You did him in here tonight I bet.” Lorraine shrugged. “Hey, two star-crossed lovers ain’t my business. I’m offering you both a way out. If you go down, so does Detective Addison. I’ll make sure his bosses will find out he’s been protecting you.”

  Jazz strode across the room. Lorraine backed up to the door as Jazz got closer. “I told you to get your triflin’, funky old ass out of my damn office. If you threaten my friends or family…”