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  Mrs. Netterville took a dainty sip from her cup, put it down and then stood. “I apologize for making a scene. But f Ms. Landry thinks she can take my husband, she’s in for a hot mess of trouble. She doesn’t deserve such loyal friends. You girls should consider if she’s worth your time.”

  “Oh I have, trust me,” Willa mumbled low as she stood. “By the way, why did you think MiMi would be here?”

  “I Googled her and read news stories, you know when her fiancé was murdered over a year ago. They mentioned you and her, how you helped solve the case. The stories made it sound like you were sisters almost, and that she helped in other investigations at Crown Protection.”

  “Yeah,” Willa said dryly. “MiMi gave some colorful interviews.”

  “Goodness, I’m hosting the alumni chapter of my sorority for lunch. I should get going. I apologize for causing a commotion at your place of business.” Mrs. Netterville walked to the door.

  Willa and Kay followed her. They kept up a steady stream of niceties as they guided Mrs. Netterville on her way. Both were eager to get her out before her mood swung back to Mrs. Screaming Jealous Wife Threatening Legal Action. When they returned, Jazz sat calmly finishing off the smooth expensive blend Willa preferred. When her sister came back and shut the door, Jazz put down her empty cup.

  “You need to cut expenses and stop paying fifteen dollars for a bag of Colombia Supremo. MiMi says this place is bleeding cash.” Jazz leaned back in the chair.

  “That was a gift from a client, and I seldom give a crap about what MiMi says. We’re not bleeding cash if it’s any of your business, or hers; which it isn’t.” Willa gazed at Jazz with one eyebrow lifted. “You dragged yourself out of bed and got all made up this early for nothing.”

  “I had errands to run, and I just happened to be…” Jazz’s voiced trailed off at the look on Willa’s face. “Oh hell, why even try. Look, MiMi isn’t a complete idiot when it comes to money. She’s right. Some of that money is mine, hers, and yours. We earned it.”

  “I’m not chasing after laundered drug money,” Willa broke in before Jazz could go on. “I’m not following any advice from MiMi. Did you just see what kind of trouble she causes? She shows up and shit hits the fan..”

  “Just listen a minute.”

  “Okay.” Willa moved the tray of cups back to the side table. Then she poured a fresh serving of the gourmet brew and sat down in her leather executive chair. “I need a good laugh.”

  “That’s the spirit, sis. Keep an open mind,” Jazz drawled. She heaved a sigh. “Okay, so MiMi has, let’s call them challenges.”

  Willa snorted. “Yeah, let’s.”

  “But in this case she’s on the target. My place is doing okay. I break even and pay myself a small amount every month. Lucky I don’t pay a mortgage or rent.” Jazz slumped back in her chair. “Owning a business is a butt whipping every damn day.”

  “Who you tellin’?” Willa retorted. “Have a donut. One of my employees brought them in fresh this morning.”

  Jazz looked at the open box of glazed fried temptation. “No, thanks. I better keep my figure in case I end up dancing at somebody else’s club soon.”

  “Wait, are you holding back?” Willa frowned at Jazz and put down her cup. “I’ve got savings, so if you’re about to have serious money problems—”

  “You know I don’t roll like that. I’ve been taking care of me one way or the other for a long time. Besides, you’ve got kids.” Jazz looked away from the sadness that flittered across Willa’s face. “Anyway, I’m not saying I’m about to be on the street”

  “Are you sure?” Willa went into mother hen mode as she left her chair and sat next to Jazz.

  “Yeah, it’s just… I need the cash. Maybe I’ll ditch the dancers, and just have the restaurant. Or I could buy in a nicer part of town. I don’t know. Do something different like open a coffee shop.” Jazz brushed a hand over her eyes. Silence stretched between them.

  “Nice try.”

  “What you mean?” Jazz replied.

  “You love the craziness, the wild night life of a club. You were doing good until you dropped that ‘open a coffee shop’ bit at the end.” “Hey, I love coffee. It could work,” Jazz wisecracked with a crooked grin.

  “I’m not getting caught up in another MiMi scheme. Between the kids and Crown Protection, my hands are full. If you’ve got any sense, you’ll ignore her attempts to suck you in as well.” Willa got up, walked around her desk and got back to being the boss again. She opened a folder.

  “Didn’t you say that about $250,000 was unaccounted for after Jack died? I’ll bet there’s more and…” Jazz stopped when Willa looked up sharply.

  “I’m close to sealing the deal on two major contracts. A huge company with three warehouses at the Baton Rouge Port is looking over our proposal. We’ve bid on another contract with the port itself. Who would do business with Crown Protection if I’m connected to drug trafficking and money laundering? No.” Willa’s expression and tone said the discussion was closed. She went back to signing papers and flipping pages.

  Jazz savored the last drops of the delicious coffee and put the cup down. “You’re right. Damn it.”

  Willa sighed and looked at Jazz again. “Honestly, I’m sympathetic to MiMi’s logic. Hitting that lottery would do wonders for our cash flow and our ability to expand, but the stakes are too high.”

  “I hate it when you make me agree with you,” Jazz retorted. She brushed her long weave over one shoulder.

  “Hey, let’s talk about the risks to you. Filipe will definitely start to thinking if he gets wind that you’re looking for his money. Plus the city considers Candy Girls a nuisance. Get involved in more trouble and you’ll play right into their hands, and Lorraine’s.” Willa rocked back in her executive chair. “We need to convince MiMi to let this thing go, or she’ll cause us both problems.”

  “We’ll have to threaten to whip her little spoiled ass. You know how the girl is about money,” Jazz replied mildly.

  “There you go getting street again. We most certainly will not threaten her” Willa frowned at Jazz like a displeased school principal. She rocked back and forth for a few seconds. “But yes, we’ll have a girlfriend lunch. She’ll see the logic once we explain the risks for us all, including her.”

  Jazz gazed at her older sister. Willa was serious. MiMi and logic when a big pile of money was involved..? Jazz gave a short laugh. “Yeah, okay. If you say so.”

  Chapter 5

  Two nights later, Jazz was too busy with a Friday night crowd at Candy Girls to think much about MiMi or missing dirty cash. Both the lounge and the tiny dining room she generously called a restaurant were packed. Jazz helped out waiting tables and ringing up takeout orders. Music blared all night. With hardly a minute to take a breath, by just after midnight, everyone was exhausted. Food orders dwindled. The serious party people danced to a disc jockey duo Jazz had hired.

  Tyretta and Jazz sat outside on the patio. Rochelle, serious about cleaning since the health inspections, continued sanitizing every utensil insight. They listened to the clang-bang of her working in the kitchen with help from her older brother Yancey. He helped out for cash to supplement his disability income and feed his gambling problem as well. Tyretta noisily sucked more beer from the can she held.

  “Damn, guess everybody decided not to be scared of the cops showing up,” she said.

  “Folks forget about that stuff in this neighborhood. Who hasn’t had the police at their house, ya know?” Jazz replied. She coughed a bit after blowing out smoke. “I need to quit these things.”

  “Yeah, while you’re young,” Tyretta agreed. “I’ve had my share of sins, but smoking ain’t been one of ‘em. Watched my granddaddy die of emphysema. Now that’s a slow horrible way to go, with your lungs burnt black and gasping for air. Damn.” She shook herself as though willing away bad memories.

  “Humph.” Jazz winced as she crushed the remains of her cigarillo. “Thanks for the pep talk.�
��

  “For your own good.” Tyretta used the pinky finger of the hand holding her beer to point at Jazz.

  Rochelle came to the screen door leading to the kitchen. “Hey, my brother Yancey took off on me. I told you not to give him that money so quick, Jazz. Now I need help.”

  “Woman, you’ve scrubbed every damn inch of the place.” Tyretta stood despite her protest.

  “And we had no violations at the last inspection. Plus they could show up for a pop inspection any time. Now come help me move this big pot.” Rochelle fanned her face with one hand.

  “Oh, well if that’s all.” Tyretta pulled the screen door open.

  “Then we’ll scrub the cook top, wipe down the counters with disinfectant, and mop,” Rochelle said with a crisp nod. “Now c’mon.”

  “Damn,” Tyretta grumbled as she followed her inside.

  Jazz laughed at the loud complaints as Rochelle barked orders that floated through the open door. Heat from the kitchen kept her warm in the cool April night air. Headlights flashed by as cars passed on the streets. Across a vacant lot east of the club, a bright green “Open” sign blinked off. The Keep It Clean Laundromat had extended hours to midnight on Fridays and Saturdays. The owners, a Korean couple, loaded up their Toyota SUV. The wife waved at Jazz and she waved back. Jazz loved their “live and let live” attitude, and so they’d become friends.

  Soon most of the noise came from Candy Girls. Single family homes stretched down the blocks around the scattered small businesses. Lights glowed through cheap curtains or blinds showing the mostly blue collar residents were home from work. Jazz stood up to go inside when a voice stopped her cold.

  “Hey, girl. Look, don’t yell or anything. I just wanna talk to you, okay?” Kyeisha’s raspy words came out jagged from nervous energy.

  Jazz glanced to her left into the dark void between the back wall of a vacant store and her building. The clamor of customers having a good time sounded too far away. Rochelle had pushed the solid door to the kitchen shut as she mopped the floor. Kyeisha stayed in the shadows, just beyond the soft glow of the single bulb illuminating the patio. Jazz strained to get a clearer look, but couldn’t. She made no sudden moves. Kyeisha could be armed. In fact she most likely was carrying a weapon of some kind.

  “Sure. What’s up?” Jazz said, hoping her voice sounded calmer than she felt.

  Kyeisha hissed a laugh. “You and all of Baton Rouge know what’s up. I didn’t shoot that guy.”

  “Okay, you might wanna tell the police cuz I’m not the one lookin’ for ya. Running from ‘em won’t help. Trust me cause I know,” Jazz replied.

  “Shit, the police and DA don’t care who go to prison. The more they send up, the better for them. You know what I’m sayin’.”

  “What about your friends or family? They can talk to the police for you,” Jazz offered.

  The harsh sizzle of curse words sliced through the darkness. Too late Jazz remembered Kyeisha’s family situation, both parents in prison. Her combination of half and whole siblings were spread out between Baton Rouge and Houston, Texas. They were just as likely to claim any reward offered by the authorities for turning her in.

  “Lorraine won’t call me back. The rest of those bitches showin’ me they ain’t no friend of mine. The only brother that might talk to me is on the road in his truck. I’m not gonna tell you what his wife said when I tried to explain.” Kyeisha’s footsteps shuffled in the darkness, a habit she had when stressed.

  “Yeah, tough spot,” Jazz said, working hard to think her way out of her own tough spot.

  “Can’t trust nobody,” Kyeisha blurted out.

  “You got something to offer the DA., right? Get a deal.” Jazz hoped her security guard would take a break and show up. The desperation in Kyeisha’s voice worried her.

  “I grabbed a bag of cash from the place when the shootin’ started. Been stayin’ in a motel across the river,” Kyeisha muttered low as though talking more to herself than to Jazz. “Ain’t safe being out here.”

  “Cleavon got any ideas on your next move?” Jazz replied.

  “Let’s go in your apartment. You first. Don’t yell or nothin’. I’m just sayin’ keep it quiet.” Kyeisha took one step to the edge of the yellow light, enough to let Jazz see she held a gun. She kept it pointed at the ground. Small comfort.

  Jazz didn’t move. “Is Cleavon with you?”

  “Just get up,” Kyeisha snapped.

  “Okay, okay. Keep it cool,” Jazz replied evenly. Her anxiety turned to anger, but she worked on controlling her temper.

  She glanced at the rear entrance to the club. The door had swung shut. Jazz tried sending psychic signals to Tyretta or Byron, since it was his night to work security. Surely one or both would come looking for her soon. She tried walking slow, but Kyeisha hissed at her back.

  “Don’t try nothin’ cute, Jazz.”

  “I don’t know what you talkin’ about, Kee. I’m doing what you asked. Damn,” Jazz replied in a casual way. “I’ve got to get my key out and stuff. You need to relax.”

  “You try relaxin’ with cops and thugs on your ass,” Kyeisha shot back. “Now move it.”

  “I’m movin’,” Jazz said.

  With Jazz in the lead, they climbed the stairwell to Jazz’s apartment. Still none of her employees came outside. The loud thumping beat of bass from speakers and muffled raucous laughter told her they were busy. Kyeisha had picked the perfect night to show up. No doubt she’d been keeping watch somehow. Jazz didn’t believe her talk about having no friends. Kyeisha had a cunning streak.

  When Jazz opened the two bolt locks and pushed the door open, Kyeisha shoved her through. Kyeisha kicked the door to shut it, but only succeeded in causing it to bounce back hard. The sturdy fiberglass and steel door slapped against Kyeisha back throwing her off balance. Jazz punched her in the face twice with as much force as she could.

  “I’ma kill you,” Kyeisha huffed in rage as she staggered to one side.

  Jazz concentrated on twisting the gun out of Kyeisha’s right hand. They s they fought for control of the gun. Jazz let out a string of profane threats. Adrenaline and anger pushed her on. She managed to jam one knee into Kyeisha’s side. The shout of pain sounded like sweet music. Then a shot from the revolver exploded in the room. Kyeisha still held on cursing. She braced the heels of her athletic shoes on the carpet to keep Jazz from moving her. Forever seemed to go by until heavy steps sounded on the stairs.

  “Get your ass off me,” Jazz managed to get out, though breathless and not as loud as she wanted.

  “Hey, Jazz,” Byron yelled. “You okay?”

  “Hell no, she’s got a gun,” Jazz screamed. As if to prove her point, another shot went off. “Damn it, Kyeisha. The cops are on their way. Give it up.”

  “Bitch, I just wanted to talk to you. This shit is all your fault,” Kyeisha wheezed.

  Jazz brought her head up and butted Kyeisha’s chin hard. The squeal of agony gave her great satisfaction. At the same time she managed to twist Kyeisha’s wrist. The handgun fell to the floor. Then she landed a solid kick in to Kyeisha’s left shin.

  “Ow, shit. Owwee.” Kyeisha went to her knees then rolled onto her side holding her face.

  Just then Byron and another man stumbled through the door. The lights switched on. The other guy, a rough looking local from the neighborhood, held his own gun. Both men looked around the room wildly.

  “Damn, how many of ‘em in here?” Byron burst out.

  “I got this one,” the other man said, pointing his pistol at Kyeisha.

  Jazz supported herself with one hand on the sofa back nearby. She gasped for air to regulate her breathing and get her shattered nerves under control. “Check my bedroom and the bathroom just in case.”

  Byron nodded. He went down the hall past Jazz’s kitchen and came back seconds later. “Naw, ain’t nobody got in.”

  “Okay.” Jazz sat down on the sofa arm. “The police?”

  “Not unless some of the ne
ighbors called. I only heard because I was out in the parking lot. Some woman got too drunk and too loud. I was helping her friends get her into the car. Ray-Ray came along ‘bout that time. Thanks, man.” Byron nodded at Ray-Ray.

  “Hey, y’all helped me out one time,” he rumbled, referring to the alibi Jazz gave him less than a year before. He was indeed at the club when a ‘business rival’ was assaulted. “Who the fuck this?”

  “A friend,” Kyeisha spat and then grunted in pain.

  “Ain’t no pals of mine come visiting with a gun,” Ray-Ray shot back. He seemed perfectly at ease holding someone at gunpoint.

  “Hold up,” Jazz broke in. Sirens keened but then faded. “Well that’s one advantage of being in the hood. People hear gunshots and keep cookin’ supper.”

  “Nearest houses at least two blocks away. You got some good insulation up in here, remember?” Byron looked more at ease as well. Knowing he wasn’t up against an armed gang no doubt helped. “Ray-Ray, go tell Lil’ Eric all clear.”

  “Right. See ya lata.” Ray-Ray gave them both a nod. He stared at Kyeisha as he made a wide circle around her to the door.

  “You need me to stay here?” Byron kept his gaze on Kyeisha as he directed his question to Jazz.

  “I got the two way radio. I’ll leave it on Channel three. Help me tie her up first.”

  Jazz went to the small desk in a corner of her open floor plan, her office. She retrieved another two way radio. She’d gotten them for her security staff to use during large parties at the club. Then she pulled a chair from her dining table to the middle of her living room. She jogged to her bedroom and came back with a long scarf.

  “Uh-huh.” Byron pulled plastic handcuffs from a back pocket of his jeans as Jazz came back and held Kyeisha down.

  “What the fu—” Kyeisha twisted around on the floor and batted away his big arms, or tried to. “Y’all ain’t gonna throw me in the swamp somewhere. Get off me, mutha…”

  “Shut up. We been nice considerin’,” Byron boomed at her.