Roy Glenn - The cost of vengeance

“What did Barbara say?” I asked as Bobby weaved through traffic.

“She said that Pam came in her room and just started packing her clothes, and said they were goin’ on a little trip. When she asked her where they were goin’, Pam told her that she was leavin’ me,” Bobby said, almost causing another accident getting on the New England Thruway.

When the speedometer hit ninety, I thought about telling Bobby to slow down, but I knew it wouldn’t do any good. I thought that I should say something to him, but all I could think of was that he should have seen this coming. They both should. Bobby’s involvement with other women and Pam’s refusal to have sex with him was the only place this was going. Since that wouldn’t be a very comforting thing to say, I kept quiet and hoped that he wouldn’t kill us trying to make it out there before they left.

Bobby turned on his street and sped toward the house. He pushed the button to open the garage door and Pam’s car was gone. Bobby brought the car to a screeching stop, jumped out, and ran inside. I followed him in and went straight down to the basement. I got a big glass and filled it with Remy for Bobby, then poured myself a drink and went and sat down. I knew when he hung up the phone that she wouldn’t be here when we got here.

Once Bobby searched the house, he came downstairs. “Thanks,” he said and turned up the glass.

“Thought you’d need it.”

“Right,” Bobby said and poured another one. Then he walked over and filled mine. He sat down.

“You wanna go see if we can find her?”

“Yeah. But we need to find Skip and be done with that first. I know Pam; she probably just went to her sister’s house. She’ll be back in a couple of days.”

“You sure? ’Cause I could call Victor or get Nick to ride with me on this one. You need to see about your wife,” I said.

“What I just say? She’ll be all right. Now let’s go find this nigga,” Bobby said, and we finished our drinks and left the house.

It was after one in the morning when we arrived at Leonard Drive in Massapequa, at the home of Defense Attorney Quovadda Cobb. Finding the house was easy. Quovadda was a member of some kind of lady lawyer club that Wanda belonged to. I woke Wanda up and she gave us the address.

I had met Quovadda once before at one of Martin Marshall’s parties. I smiled a little when I remembered that the highlight of that evening was dancing with Ms West. If Wanda hadn’t dragged me away from there to go to another meeting, I would have spent some more time with the lovely lady, and found out if she was as good as she looks. And Ms. West always looks extraordinary. But since I was planning on doing business with her someday, maybe it was for the best.

I looked at Bobby. I could tell that he was still on fire about the stunt that Pam had pulled. “Maybe you should wait here,” I said and got out of the car. The last thing I wanted was for his anger at Pam and his concern for his children to cloud his judgment.

Bobby got out of the car and followed me to the door. “I’m all right, Mike. Let’s get this over with,” he said and took out his gun.

I didn’t argue with him ’cause I knew it would do no good. There was a light on in the front of the house, so I rang the bell. It didn’t take long for the door to open; which surprised me since it was after one in the morning. Quovadda opened the door and looked very surprised to see us. I grabbed her and pulled her outside. Bobby put his hand over her mouth and his gun to her temple.

“Hello, Quovadda. If you scream or try to run, he’ll kill you, understand?”

Quovadda’s eyes were wide open and she nodded her head.

“Good,” I said, and Bobby took his hand away from her mouth. “I’m lookin’ for Skip Skinner. I hear that he’s hidin’ inside.”

“He was here, but he left,” Quovadda said quietly.

“Where’d he go?” Bobby said.

“I don’t know.”

I opened the door and Bobby pushed Quovadda inside. “You can search the house, Black; he isn’t here,” Quovadda said and I took out my gun.

While Bobby searched the house, I sat and talked law with Quovadda. Wanda told me that she was good people, and that she was the type of person who would do anything for her friends. That’s probably what made her a good attorney; one who provided her clients with an impassioned defense. “I’m curious, Quovadda, what’s a big-time lawyer like you doin’ with Skip?”

“He was one of my first clients.”

“No, Quovadda, it’s more than that. You mean enough to him that he would hide out at your house.”

“Honestly?”

“I like honesty.”

“I’ve been holding some money for him and he came to get it,” Quovadda said, and I was amazed at how calm and poised she was. At a time like this, with a gun pointed at her, most people would be on the brink of tears.

“His getaway money,” I said.

“And since you’re here, I going to assume that it is you he’s trying to get away from,” Quovadda said.

“You would be correct,” I said as Bobby returned from searching the house.

He immediately returned his gun to Quovadda’s head and grabbed her by the throat. “Where the fuck is he?”

“I don’t know,” Quovadda managed.

“You don’t know or you can’t say?” I asked and Quovadda looked confused. “Let her go, Bobby.” He let go of her neck and I sat down next to her. “I’m going to kill Skip tonight. You know that, right?”

“I got that impression.”

“When I do, I’d like to hire you to defend me for his murder,” I said and Quovadda smiled. “I could double your usual fee. Will you take me as a client? Of course you would have to drop Skip as a client first.”

Quovadda understood that if I was going to kill Skip, I would have to kill her too. But if she was my attorney, she would be bound by attorney-client privilege.

“How do I know that after you retain my services and you kill Skip, you won’t come back here and kill me too?”

“You have my word,” I said and Quovadda looked at Bobby. “And his too?”

Quovadda was smart. After agreeing to my terms, she asked permission to go to her office and she drafted and had us sign an agreement retaining her services. Then she faxed it to her Manhattan office. Once the fax was sent, Quovadda looked at me. “Skip is in my boathouse at the pier.”

As we walked away from Quovadda’s house, Bobby asked a logical question. “When we’re done with Skip, are we gonna come back and kill her?”

“No. Quovadda’s a good lawyer, and we can never have too many good lawyers.”

When we got to Quovadda’s boathouse, we found it was small with one door going in and one window. “I’m really not in any mood to rush that door, Mike. And I don’t think you are either,” Bobby said.

“Any ideas?”

“Be right back,” Bobby said and walked off. I watched as Bobby walked slowly down the pier, looking in each of the boats. While I waited, I looked out at the ocean. Just being there on the water made me long to be back in Nassau with my girls.

Then Jada West eased back into my mind. What to do about Jada West? There was something about her that I just couldn’t shake. Bobby came back carrying a gas can, and I knew what he had in mind. “Any gas in it?”

“Enough,” he said; and as quietly as he could, he walked around the boathouse and poured out the gas. When the can was empty, Bobby lit the trail on fire and walked away. “If he’s in there, he’ll be out in a minute.”

We waited as the boathouse caught on fire. After awhile I heard somebody scream “OH, SHIT!” and the door flew open. Skip came running out with his clothes on fire. He was so busy trying to put it out that he didn’t notice me and Bobby walk up on him.

“Drop and roll,” Bobby said as Skip finally killed the fire.

“Black.”

“Good-bye, Skip,” I said and put two in his chest. Bobby stood over him and added two more to the head. I went and got a fire extinguisher from the boat nearby, and put out the fire in the house while Bobby tossed Skip’s body in the water.

Chapter Seventeen

Jada West

I slept later than usual the day after our late-night trip to the Waldorf. It was well after two in the afternoon when I finally opened my eyes. Shortly after that, my private line began ringing. “Good Afternoon,” I answered in my professional voice, but was still a little sleepy.

“Good afternoon, Ms. West.”

Just the sound of that voice dancing in my ear brought me to full conscieneness right away. “Well, hello, Mr. Black. I was wondering if you had gotten my message.”

“I did; and I’m sorry that I’m just getting back to you now. I had a very busy night last night.”

“No need to apologize. I had a busy night myself. Although I’m sure your night was probably more eventful than mine, I had some things that I needed to handle and I’m just waking up.”

“I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“Oh, no. And even if you had, it would be a pleasure to hear from you anyway,” I said and laughed a little. “Anyway. I was wondering, if you didn’t have any plans of course, if you were free to join me for dinner this evening?” I asked and hoped that he would say yes.

“As a matter of fact, I was going to fly to Nassau this evening.”

“I see,” I said and all the excitement and anticipation eased out of my body.

“But I could catch a later flight, Ms. West.”

Good, that’s more what I wanted to hear, I thought instead of saying. “I wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble,” I said graciously.

“No trouble at all, Ms. West. I would be honored to have dinner with you. Just tell me where and what time, and I’ll make arrangements.”

“Excellent,” I said and tried, but failed, not to sound too excited. “Are you familiar with Bouley on Duane Street?”

“No, Ms. West.”

“It’s David Bouley’s French restaurant in Tribeca.”

“I haven’t eaten there before.”

“Bouley’s offers modern French cuisine with world influences in a very intimate setting. It’s been awhile since I’ve been there, but the food and ambience are excellent.”

“I’ve heard good things about Bouley’s, Ms. West. And I’m always interested in trying someplace new.”

“It would be my pleasure to introduce you to something new. Shall we say six; or is that too late for you?”

“Not at all. I will see you at six then,” he said and ended the call.

I rolled over in bed and immediately began thinking about what to wear. I sat up and looked in the mirror at my hair. I picked up the phone and called Rewa, my stylist, and after more pleading than usual, she agreed to come right over and do something special with my hair.

I got out of bed and walked in my closet. Of course I wanted to look nice for Mr. Black, but I wanted to make a statement that he would think about on his flight to the islands, and remember until the next time he saw me. Who was I kidding? I wanted to wear something that would make him cancel his flight until the next afternoon.

The first thing I choose was a Zac Posen lace and tulle, scoopneck dress with lace overlay across the bust and waist and lace skirt. But I thought all that lace and these breasts might be too revealing for dinner at Bouley.

My second choice was a Carolina Herrera pinstriped sheath with an inviting V neckline, pleated cap sleeves tacked in back, with a contrast inset waistband and diamond beaded detailing. But that was too conservative and wasn’t going to make the forceful statement I wanted for the evening.

I looked at my Versace faux leather panel dress, short with the jewel neckline, and smooth sleeves with banded cuffs. I liked that outfit because of the way it clinged to my body; but I like wearing it with boots and I wanted to show my legs.

I looked at the clock and knew that there wasn’t enough time for me to go shop for the perfect ensemble to entertain Mr. Black. And besides, Rewa would be here within the hour. The right outfit was in this closet, all I had to do was find it and settle on it.

I finally settled on a Dior silk crepe belted dress. A sophisticated, off-the-shoulder design with bow ties, belted waist, and button front details; straight neckline and center rear slit. Jimmy Choo marble stilettos covered in peek-a-boo mesh and lustrous suede. I chose the Dior because its off-the-shoulder design showed off my breasts without being too revealing like the Zac Posen lace or the Versace, but it hugged my curves. And most importantly, it was black, and Mr. Black seems to love it when I wear black for him.

While Rewa did my hair I wondered why I didn’t just invite him over here for cocktails, when he said he had a flight to catch. Especially since my desire was to get him here so I could seduce him. But it was too late to think about that now. I sat there and wondered if there was any chance that he was going through these types of changes about having dinner with me.

The cab dropped me off in front of Bouley at a quarter to six. I usually like to arrive late and make an entrance, but I decided that since his time was limited, my arriving late would be rude. And as you all know, a lady is never rude.

I had only been seated for a while before I looked up and saw Mr. Black with the maitre d’. I gave my most lady-like wave and they came toward my table. I glanced at my watch; he was early and I wondered if it was because he wanted to squeeze in every minute he could with me, or if was he just the type that liked to get to places early.

I stood up when he got to the table because I wanted to make sure he saw what I was wearing. I watched his eyes as he came closer. Mr. Black looked me over from my head to my feet, and smiled the rarest of smiles. He was wearing an Azione by Zanetti charcoal gray suit and a black shirt. He looked so handsome.

“Hello, Ms. West,” he said and kissed me on the cheek. His lips were soft and they sent chills through me. He stepped back and looked me over again. “I have to say, Ms. West, you look extraordinary this evening.”

“Thank you, Mr. Black. You look very handsome as well.”

He held out my chair for me, before taking his seat. He looked deep into my eyes. “It seems like you get more and more beautiful each time I see you.”

“You flatter me.”

“Not flattery, Ms. West; it has the advantage of being true.”

The waiter came and interrupted Mr. Black and I wanted to tell him to go away until he finished telling me how beautiful I looked.

Sure, I had heard it before, but I wanted to hear him say it.

Mr. Black ordered a bottle of vintage Dom Perigain and sent the waiter away. Then he immediately returned his attention to me. “Now, where was I, before we were so rudely interrupted?”

“I believe you were telling me how beautiful you thought I was.”

“Yes. But you probably have men telling you that type of thing everyday/all day, don’t you, Ms. West?”