Valerie Wilson Wesley - Of Blood and Sorrow

CONTENTS

For Primo

History

The past has been a mint

Of blood and sorrow

That must not be

True of tomorrow.

LANGSTON HUGHES

ONE

I SMELLED HER PERFUME BEFORE I saw her. It was heady and sweet, like ripe peaches left out in the sun to rot. The lady sitting next to me at the funeral this morning had worn the same scent, and Id wondered then what madness would drive a woman to wear something that smelled so bad. I guess if you tack a fancy enough name on a perfume, hype it big, sell it high, some poor soul will drench herself in it, even if it sends dogs howling into the night.

First came the perfume, then the tapping of heels and tinkling of bells as she sashayed her way to my office. She walked like somebody who knew where she was going, which surprised me since Im the only tenant on the floor and didnt have any appointments.

Business had been slow, as it always is in midsummer. Luckily, Id scored some good-paying clients in the past two months along with the usual losers who darken my door and waste my time. A hotel chain had hired me in May to catch the light-fingered thief swiping money from the till, and they were keeping me on retainer. In June, a local shes-all-that had set me on the trail of her no-good fianc, who was doing the do with her fathers ex-girl. I had two assignments lined up for the end of the month. And this afternoon, I had an appointment with Treyman Barnes II, a big-time mover in my small-time town.

For once in my life, things were sweet. I had a nice man named Larry and money in my pocket. My son, Jamal, bless his heart, was plucking my nerves with teenage angst but was doing okay despite some recent traumas. Except for this mornings funeral, the day was going fine.

Id opened the door because my air conditioner was broken, and Id grimly accepted the fact that a cracked window and an open door would be my only relief against the summers heat. But an open door is an open invitationany old thing can come crawling through.

When I first smelled the perfume, I half expected to see this mornings funeralgoer. The funeral had been for Wayne Peters, who had been Johnnys mentor when he first joined the force. The woman was Molly Holiday, an old girlfriend of my long-dead brother. She was a gentle soul with a soft, aging face that reminded me how young he had been when he killed himself. Id be the same age myself in a couple of years, and that thought choked me up bad when I saw her. We hugged like good friends and promised wed meet for a drink sooner rather than later. I prayed shed change that perfume before we met again.

But it wasnt Molly Holiday who came through my door.

Well, here we are, Miss Tamara Hayle with a y, you and me together again, just like them Delany sisters or somethin. I know you remember me from all them years back. You spend all that money I gave you?

If I were a smoking woman, Id have lit a cigarette.

She had a pretty, nut brown face and a mop of fake red hair that screamed twenty-dollar hooker. Her build was slight yet muscular, and she rocked her compact body back and forth like a bantam fighter eager for a match. Except for her voice, which pops up in my nightmares, I might not have known her.

Its Lilah Love, isnt it? I said after a minute.

In the flesh. You dont look as happy to see me as I am to see you. Whatd you do with all that money?

Do you want it back?

She threw back her head and laughed, a cackle midway between a crazy old ladys and a kid high on meth. When she was finished, she glanced back at the man in sneakers who had crept in behind her.

This here is Turk, she said, and the man lifted his head like a dog does when his master whistles. He was taller than Lilah by a foot, and thick, like hed spent a few years working out in the gym at Rahway prison. His thin, sallow face was marked by a long, droopy mustache that crawled down to his chinthe source of his name, I assumed. His white armless muscleman fit him snugly, the better to show off biceps that were roughly the size of my fists.

She snatched out a chair and plopped down in front of my desk.

You can go now, she said to Turk. I just wanted her to see you. He nodded with a smirk, then skulked down the hall, obedient hound that he was.

When hed gone, Lilah gave me a wide, crooked grin, revealing a gold crown in the back of her mouth. Im just wondering how you spent all that money I gave you, thats all, she said again.

I saw where shed spent her money. A nice chunk of it hung around her neck in the shape of a chain sprinkled with emerald chips meant to match the ring on her finger. Her lime green silk suit sure wasnt retail, and those Jimmy Choos were roughly the cost of a case of Mot. The one odd touch was a gold anklet adorned with tiny bells, the source of the tinkle when she walked down the hall.

When Id met Lilah Love all them years back, she wore a cheap red swimsuit, pink-tinted sunglasses, and an innocent grin on her teenage face. We were staying at a run-down hotel called the Montego Bay about six miles from the nearest beach in Kingston. She seemed a clueless kid trapped between a husband who beat her and a lover who didnt give a damn, and her vulnerability, along with my drunken boredom, had drawn me into her web.

Id gotten the round-trip ticket to Kingston from Wyvetta Green, payment for keeping her baby sister Tasha out of the slammer. There wasnt much to do except drink, and the rum punches were tasting pretty good. But things got hot quick. By the end of that week, five men were dead, a dear friend lay dying, and Lilah Love, suddenly a very rich woman, had bought herself a first-class ticket to Rio.

I never figured out the role she played in those deaths. She had an explanation for everything that happened: her lover had killed her husband; the bad guys had killed her lover; all that money just fell into her hands. Truth belongs to the person left to tell it, and, except for me, she was the only one standing. But one of her truths was actually true. That was the thirty grand plus a little extra for my troubles she left for me in a Cayman Islands bank account.

I didnt touch that money for years, then, bit by bit, I dipped into it. The first dip was Jamals braces. Then Wyvetta Green, who owns Jans Beauty Biscuit downstairs, got into some trouble with the IRS and almost lost her shop. Naturally, I had to dip in to lend my girl some cash; shed saved my butt more times than I care to remember. The dipping stopped for a while, then Jamal started spending more time on the street than he should, and I dipped in and sent him to a fancy computer camp in South Jersey. Only eighteen thousand dollars was left, and I was determined to save that for Jamals education. It meant the difference between sending him away to school and having him live at home. The streets of my hometown were turning bad, and I wanted my son gone while the going was good.

No doubt about it, Lilah Loves money had come in handy. Yet every time I whispered the password Montego Bay to the banker in the Caymans, a chill went through me. I knew sooner or later the girl would show up looking for something I didnt want to give. Now here she was, in the flesh, asking about those ill-gotten gains.