Alibi Page 9

  “What can I do for ya?” asked Calvin, looking at the police officers and wondering what in the world they were doing there. He had enough shit going on, he didn’t need any more, and he certainly didn’t need the police in his spot.

  “Umm, is there somewhere we can go and talk that might have a little more privacy?” asked Detective Walters.

  “Why, we can’t talk right here?” asked Calvin, as if he had nothing to hide.

  “Well, we’re investigating the Somerset killings. I don’t know if you heard about them in the news?” said Honing.

  “Yeah, but what’s that got to do with me?” asked Calvin, sounding like a song.

  “Well, it turns out that the suspect claims he was in your establishment here on the night in question. He claims he was with one of your dancers, a girl by the name of Daisy. Do you have any dancers here by that name? We’d like to speak with her,” finished Honing.

  Calvin looked up at the double D waitress all in his conversation, listening to every word the detectives spoke.

  “Umm, why don’t you follow me back here to my office where we can get a little more privacy,” said Calvin. “Go on, get back to work before I five your ass, nosy-ass broads in here,” said Calvin, holding up his hand like he was Ike Turner or somebody.

  “I ain’t late, five your damn self,” mumbled Tina, looking at Calvin and wondering where he got his nerve.

  Calvin took the police into the back where the vultures couldn’t watch them like they were roadkill.

  “So, you say that Somerset Killer claims he was here, huh?” said Calvin, smelling a big, stinky rat.

  “Yeah, that’s his alibi, he was here in your bar with your dancer, Daisy. Here let me show you his photo and maybe you can see if you recognize him.”

  Walters pulled out a mug shot, handed it to Calvin, and carefully watched his expression. His face was completely empty. The photo meant nothing to him, the face meant nothing to him, and the god’s honest truth was he had never seen the man in his life.

  “Nope, never seen him before,” said Calvin, passing the photo back. He walked over to the far left side of the room where he had several file cabinets, opened the drawer, and pulled out the folder on Daisy Mae Fothergill.

  “Here you go. She don’t work here no more, but you more than welcome to look at the information here in the folder. That should answer all your questions about her, but as you can see, she quit about three weeks ago.”

  “You haven’t seen her?”

  “Nope, I haven’t heard a word from her.”

  “Do you mind?” asked Honing, reaching for a piece of blank paper on Calvin’s desk.

  “Help yourself.”

  Calvin stood patiently as the detectives went through his employment folder on Daisy. They got what they came for. They knew exactly who she was, right on down to her Social Security number, address, and birth date.

  “I think that will be all for now. However, we have to ask that you not leave town.”

  “Can’t leave town? Why, I’m not a suspect, am I?”

  “No, sir, but while we are investigating we might need you here for questioning, that’s all. Contact me directly if you plan on leaving the city, okay?” asked Walters, handing him his police precinct card.

  Calvin took the card and his employment folder on Daisy and placed the card inside the folder. He set the folder on his desk and escorted the detectives back out the door.

  “Thanks for your assistance. You’ve been a big help,” said Honing.

  “Yeah, no problem, any time,” said Calvin as he turned back into his office. He closed the door, went over to his desk. He looked inside Daisy’s folder at the detective’s card; Homicide division. Smells like a rat to me. What mess you done got yourself into now, Daisy?

  JACKPOT

  So what’s the lawyer saying?” asked Sticks as he spoke to Nard through the plate glass, using a black telephone that had no dialing pad, just the handset hanging from the wall.

  “Man, he’s saying that it looks good, real good, but he needs to talk to that chick, from the Honey Dipper, what’s her name? Daisy, right?”

  “Yeah, Daisy. So the lawyer wants to speak with her?”

  “Yeah, he said he needs to prep her for her testimony and shit,” said Nard as he looked down at the floor.

  “What?” asked Sticks.

  “Man, this shit got me fucked up. I don’t know how long I can hold up. They got a nigga in a fucking cell, man. And I ain’t never been locked up in my life. This shit ain’t cool,” said Nard, looking at Sticks and wishing he was a free man.

  “Listen, everything’s going to be all right, just get me the name of the lawyer and I’ll get the girl and take her down there. Don’t worry, they can only hold you for six months, then they got to go to trial since they not giving you no bail.”

  “Yeah, the lawyer said he’s going in front of the judge next week to see if he can get them to consider bail, but then he’s saying if he does get bail, it’ll be so high, won’t nobody be able to pay it.”

  “Well, even if they don’t give you bail, you outta here in six months and that’s nothing. You can do it. Trust me, six months is nothing. That shit will be over in no time.”

  Sticks got a piece of paper and a pen from a guard and wrote down Nard’s lawyer’s information. “Don’t worry, baby boy, I got you covered.” With that, Sticks put his fist to the glass and waited for Nard to return the pound. It was hard to see a brother behind bars, real hard, especially for Sticks, ’cause he had been in and out of prison since he was thirteen years old, so he knew how them white folks got down with their penal institutions and rehabilitation programs. Most important though, he knew what it felt like to be locked in a cage and he knew how lonely it could be. He walked a little faster just thinking about it. They not locking me up again. I’d rather die first, he thought to himself. Nard got to stay focused and not let them walls get him trapped. It sounded simple, but it wasn’t. Sticks knew they were constantly interrogating Nard, trying to get him to mess up his words or, worst case, snitch on someone. And that was the last thing he wanted, because deep down inside he knew if Nard did turn state, he’d turn on him, and between the possibility of prison and the possibility of Simon Shuller’s eating his ass alive, he saw his only option as doing the right thing and helping out a friend. He had to make sure Nard was straight. He had no choice.

  * * *

  It had been over a week since Reggie had left for his business trip. He told her he would try to call, but so far she hadn’t heard from him. She had contacted the real estate office and found out the price of the home they looked at. The sellers were asking for $425,000. Reggie said anything she liked priced under half a million they should look at, so she had an appointment for later today to see the place. Still though, she wished he would call. Every night before she went to bed she dialed his cell phone, but the call would go straight to voicemail and she’d listen to his sexy voice talking to her, telling her to leave a message. She never did though. Once the message was over, she’d just hang up the phone. Just then her phone rang. Reggie. She just knew it was him. She answered the phone with sheer excitement in her voice.

  “Yo, where you been?” the voice asked calmly.

  “Who is this?” responded Daisy, a little disappointed that the voice on the other end of the line wasn’t Reggie.

  “Damn, you forget about me already? It’s Sticks.”

  Sticks? What the fuck do this nigga want? He ain’t been bothering to call me. He must want something.

  “You got some nerve calling me. You know Trixie still ain’t speaking to me. That shit you did to me was real fucked up too. And then y’all left us. We didn’t have no way to get home or nothing,” said Daisy, thinking of the night she and Trixie did a party for Sticks. Both girls had been drugged with gamma-hydroxybutyrate acid, known in the streets as GHB. They had been raped and even sodomized, but worst of all, they hadn’t been paid.

  “Look, man, that’s the p
ast, don’t even worry about that shit. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

  You can bet your bottom dollar it won’t. “Well, thanks for the apology. So, what’s going on?”

  “Nothing, man, I got to come and get you.”

  “Come get me for what?”

  “We gonna go see that lawyer.”

  “Lawyer, what lawyer?”

  “For my man, the one you gave the alibi for, remember?”

  Daisy had almost forgotten about that statement she had given to the private investigator Sticks had sent to her house. It had been three, maybe four months ago and for her that was like a lifetime.

  “Yeah, but what’s that got to do with a lawyer?” she asked, not getting the gist of the mess she had gotten herself into for a measly two thousand dollars.

  “You got to go to court, so the lawyer wants to prepare you.”

  “Go to court? I ain’t going to no court.”

  “Yo, Dais, stop playing. You got to testify. You gave Nard the alibi. You said he was with you, that’s what you told the investigator, and the investigator gave his report to Nard’s lawyer, so Nard’s lawyer needs to prepare you for trial. Yo, why you bugging?”

  Bugging, did he ask me why I’m bugging? Is he fucking crazy? He’s the one bugging.

  “Wait, wait, wait, you ain’t tell me all this. You never told me all this. You told me to just give that statement to a private investigator. You ain’t say nothing about no lawyers or having to go to court. Shit, you the one that’s bugging.”

  “Yo, Dais, look, man, I got you, whatever you want just name it.”

  Well, now his ass is talking. “You don’t want me to start naming. I got a list longer than your arm of shit I need over here.”

  “All right, then so put the list together and I’ll be over there to get you at say two o’clock.”

  “No I can’t, not today,” she said, thinking of her realtor meeting. Fuck, I need to get me some money from Sticks while he talking my kinda talk. Maybe I should cancel with the house. No, let me do the house. “Yeah, we got to do this tomorrow or something.”

  “Man, Dais, you fucking up, man. Listen, this shit is getting ready to get serious. You gonna have to be on call and ready to rock and roll, dig me.”

  “Yeah, I dig you, but me and my boyfriend is buying me a house and I got shit to do.”

  “You got a man?”

  “Yeah, and he’s buying me a house. That’s why I’m saying all this court shit ain’t cool and you calling ain’t cool either.”

  “Listen, this court shit is your duty, you been paid and like I just said, you do what the fuck you’re suppose to and just get me the list of everything you need and I got you. You take care of me, I take care of you. You got it.”

  “Yeah, Sticks, I got it.”

  “All right, I’ll call you back and let you know when we going to the lawyer’s office. Don’t have nothing to do either, no more excuses, and boyfriend or not when I see you I’m tapping that ass, you understand. You know who the fuck I am, dammit.”

  “Yeah, Sticks, whatever you say,” said Daisy, a little agitated. I don’t know who he thinks he is but he ain’t tapping nothing here. He really got some nerve.

  I don’t know who this bitch thinks she’s talking to, but if she don’t get that alibi straight with Nard’s lawyer that bitch is gonna find herself never speaking again. Sticks hung up the phone with a bad feeling. She’s going to be a problem. I can just feel it.

  He wondered would she come through for him with the alibi. If she didn’t, Simon Shuller would have his and Nard’s asses in a sling and Sticks knew it. But for Daisy it was too late. She had to come through with the alibi, either that or she’d be in the same sling as Nard and Sticks, but unfortunately for her, she didn’t know she had gotten herself in bed with a member of the mafia and was the alibi witness for the Somerset Killer.

  That afternoon Daisy went looking at all the homes for sale that the realtor had on her list. They must have visited eleven properties in one afternoon. Daisy made notes, asked lots of questions about each listing, and fell in love with every house she walked into. It was unbelievable, dynamic views, open space, large kitchens with eat-ins, master bedrooms with walk-in closets, fireplaces, master bathrooms with oversized Jacuzzis, kitchens with granite countertops and stainless-steel appliance packages, marble foyers, and two- and three-car garages. Daisy couldn’t believe that people actually lived in homes that beautiful. She rode by this kind of home every day, but had no idea how people were living inside of them.

  “So, did you see anything you like?”

  “I sure did, and I can’t wait to show Reggie. I just know he’s going to love them.”

  “Any one in particular caught your eye?”

  “You know, actually, yes, the third house and the eighth house. I really like them, a lot, and I can’t wait to show my fiancé as soon as he gets back. I just know he’s going to love them,” said Daisy, before thanking the agent and parting ways.

  That night she went home and as usual she tried to call Reggie, but instead of his answering machine, she got something different—that universal operator that advises you that the number you have dialed has been changed, has been disconnected, or is no longer in service. Daisy figured she had dialed the wrong number and tried again, but got the same message. Why is his phone off ? Maybe he didn’t pay the bill before he went out of town. Yeah, that’s it, he probably didn’t pay the bill.

  It had been three weeks, three long, drawn-out, stressful weeks of no Reggie. The number was still disconnected, he hadn’t called, he hadn’t come back. He had said he would only be gone for a week or two, but it had been longer, and her heart began to grow heavier and heavier. Every time the phone rang, it was Sticks. What the fuck do he want now? She had gone down to the lawyer’s office like he asked, but it turned out that the lawyer had another matter pop up, had to go out of town, and had put Nard’s case on the back burner after getting several extensions filed with the court. Nard didn’t know what was going on and was a nervous wreck. He was calling Sticks’s phone more than a young Puerto Rican girl in heat. Fuck, what’s he want now? Sticks had to take his call. God forbid he not answer and the nigga turn state. No, whenever Nard called, Sticks made sure he answered.

  Just then a loud knock at Daisy’s door, more of a banging, rang out through the apartment.

  “Who is it?” she hollered at the door.

  “It’s the police, open up.”

  The police, the police? What the hell are they doing here? What do they want from me?

  Tommy Delgado watched as the door opened and a young girl with long hair and green eyes stared back at him. “Can I help you?”

  “Yeah, I hope so. I’m looking for Daisy M. Fothergill.”

  “I’m Daisy.”

  “Do you mind if we come in?” said Delgado, smiling, with Merva standing behind him grinning even harder.

  “Umm, I guess so, sure.”

  “We’re only going to need a few minutes of your time,” said Ross, her smile fading quickly. “We’re investigating the murders of Ponado Fernandez, Jeremy Tyler, and Lance Robertson,” she said, watching Daisy like a hawk, looking for any sign that Daisy was lying to them.

  “What’s that got to do with me? I never heard of them people.”

  “Well, let me tell you, the man that has been identified as the Somerset Killer and killed these people,” said Delgado, spreading crime-scene photos of the Three Musketeers lying in pools of blood, “claims that he was with you the night in question. And I got to tell you, I find it really hard to believe.”

  “Why is that?” asked Daisy nervously.

  “I’ll tell you why. He killed a nine-year-old boy and shot up his mother and right before she died, she identified Bernard Guess from a series of photos. Now, I got an open-and-shut case, everything from fingerprints on down to a positive ID, but then I get a report from Mr. Guess’s lawyer claiming you’re their star witness and my Somerset Killer was
with you the night in question at the Honey Dipper and therefore couldn’t possibly have been on the 2500 block of Somerset when the murders occurred.”

  Delgado stopped and waited to see what her response was to all of that, and unfortunately she had none.

  “So, about that night, do you think you could answer some questions for me?” asked Delgado, trying to figure her out.

  “What kind of questions?”

  “Just general, like what time did Mr. Guess come into the bar on November 5?”

  “Umm, I don’t remember what time he got there,” she answered.

  “Do you remember what he was wearing?” asked Merva.

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Was he alone?” she followed up.

  “Yes, I think so,” Daisy said, wishing she had never let them in her house.

  “You think so—don’t you know?” asked Merva.

  “Yeah, I think he was alone,” said Daisy, trying to sound convincing.

  “What was he drinking that night?”

  “Umm…” Daisy sat still for a few seconds, acting as if she was really trying to think hard. “You know what, I don’t really remember that either,” said Daisy, wishing Sticks or somebody had prepped her. And the bad thing was, she had let them in. What was I thinking. Next time we talk outside. These guys are really getting comfortable and they’re asking me all these questions. I don’t even know what this guy looks like.

  “Are you sure you remember him there?” asked Merva, starting not to believe this girl one bit.

  “Yeah, he was there. It was just so long ago, you know.”

  “Do you still work at the Honey Dipper?” asked Delgado. “I swear you look like I’ve seen you somewhere before.”

  Daisy giggled, but honestly had never seen him in her life. “No, not no more. I was working at the Honey Pot, but I quit working there about a month ago.”

  “Why?” asked Ross, being a little nosy.