Swerve (5 page)

“You need some sleep.”

“I may never sleep again, Keliegh,” Romia promised. She began to unbutton Tommy's shirt.

“What are you doing?”

“Tommy just came in the front door and I'm leaving in her place. Don't try to stop me. I want to find out who trashed my place, who killed that man—better yet, who was that man—and who is trying to frame me for his murder.”

Romia slid quickly from her black hoodie, dropping it to the floor before wrestling Tommy from her blouse, the heavy Western jacket with fringes, and cowboy hat that she was known to wear often. “But one thing I'm not doing. I'm not getting in them boots,” she said after sliding into Tommy's blouse and shrugging into Tommy's jacket. Tucking the black hoodie into the pocket of the jacket, she pulled up her hair, fitted the hat square on her head, and headed to the door.

Keliegh followed, opening the door for her as he would if she were Tommy leaving. Raising his hand for a high five, which was apparently his and Tommy's common good-bye, he noticed the officer's eyes shift in their direction. “He's watching,” Keliegh admonished.

“Good,” Romia mouthed, heading for Tommy's car. Digging deep into the pocket, she luckily found Tommy's car keys, and climbing in, she slid behind the wheel. She didn't remove the hat, but drove right past the officer who simply waved in her direction. “Goombah,” she mumbled.

Keliegh accepted that men—him included—just didn't notice women that closely, and that clown in the car apparently was not able to tell in the dark one tall, slender woman from another.

Walking back inside, he noticed Tommy sitting up in the hallway, holding the side of her head. She seemed discombobulated.

“She's gone. Thanks a lot, Tommy. Thanks a friggin' lot. Now she doesn't trust me. I could have maybe gotten her to turn herself in. This is going to be harder if she doesn't turn herself in!” Keliegh threw up his hands in frustration. “Dammit!”

“And, yeah, I'm okay too,” Tommy groaned, holding the side of her head where Romia's blow had landed. “I probably have a damn concussion, but that's okay…it's okay. She got away, so it's all okay.”

“Oh, stop whining. You don't have a concussion.”

“And you care, I can tell,” Tommy went on, before Keliegh held out his hand to help her to her feet.

“Oh, yeah, and you don't have a car, either,” Keliegh added. “So you can't go home tonight. I'm sure she's at your place.”

Looking down at herself, she noticed her camisole showing. “What the fu…?” Confusion covered her face. “Where is my jacket! And my hat! My blouse!”

“Oh, and you don't have any clothes, either,” Keliegh added, changing his tone to a more sheepish one.

“Keliegh, damn! Well, if she isn't a murderer, she sure as hell is a thief.”

Trying not to fiddle with the keys too awfully much at Tommy's front door, Romia slid quickly inside. Pulling Tommy's hat and jacket off, she headed straight to the kitchen. Jerking open the fridge, she realized her hunger when spying Tommy's array of assorted snacks. She pulled out the Chinese takeout container and gave it a sniff; the rankness wriggled her nostrils. The pizza box was filled with vileness too. Tossing it back in, she pulled out the bag of almonds. “Yeah, this'll work.” Looking again through the veggie drawer, she found some barely alive carrots and a bag of leftover pre-washed salad. Quickly, she threw a naked salad together, sprinkling it with the almonds, and began to scarf it down. She was starving, but stopped eating after several mouthfuls. She knew she'd better eat light and get her body used to sporadic eating until she at least spent a day investigating this killing. She'd have to be light on her feet and ready for flight, or maybe even fight, at any given moment. Someone was framing her and she had to get to the bottom of it. She had to find out who this Shadow was, too; just the thought of him holding her helmet hostage chapped her hide. Digging in her bra, she pulled out the folded tapestry and opened it. “Yeah, he's gotta be the first to go if anybody is going out in this game!”

Glancing at the clock, she saw that it was four
A.M
. Surely Keliegh had kept Tommy at his place. Common sense would have told him to, right? He'd have to know, having Tommy there would buy her a few hours. If not, and Tommy showed up, then she'd have to do what she had to do. There was no way she was turning herself in right now…not without answers.

Romia sat in Tommy's large swivel recliner, her mind drifting to the previous night's events. Everything was moving so fast. Internal Affairs was already on her tail. “Maxwell something. I'll need to give him a call and start some negotiations,” Romia thought out loud as her mind lifted. “The Shadow. Who the heck is that guy?” she asked the air. “Why does he seem so familiar? I must know him. He seems to know me. He is the key to this whole thing. Who trashed my place? What did they want?” she asked, squiggling deeper into the large chair. Her eyes weighed a ton, and she knew if she closed them it was all over. She shook her head. “I should get some cold water,” she said, glancing over the back of the chair toward the kitchen—it seemed so far away. “I'll get some in a minute.

“Okay, why would that woman want to frame me? Who was the guy in the bar? Okay, so he was a cop…God, he was a cop?” Romia covered her face. A second later she was jerking her head awake. She'd been asleep for an hour. Jumping to her feet, she looked around for her hoodie that she'd tucked under the jacket and tossed to the side when she came into Tommy's apartment. Sliding out of Tommy's blouse, she folded it, laid it on the arm of the sofa, and slid into her own clothing.

Thinking about the day and what it might hold, she rummaged around Tommy's kitchen until she found a water bottle, and filled it with water from the hot/cold dispenser. She revisited the bag of almonds and then, on second thinking, she put the entire bag in her pocket. “I owe you,” she mumbled. “No, you're one crazy chick, challenging me like that! What is your crazy problem? I could have been sleeping in Keliegh's bed right now, safe and sound! No. You flippin' owe me!” Romia reasoned. She stopped and thought about the words that just crossed her lips. “What am I thinking? I gotta get outta here. Why do people always think about sex at times like this?”

Romia looked over her shoulder every now and then, feeling the peering eyes of a watcher. She could only think about the Shadow.
But how could he know where I am?
she asked herself, shaking off the thought of something so ridiculous. She had to find answers. Surely, Mike, the bartender, would have some answers for her about the woman.
Even if I have to beat the answers out of him
, she thought, chuckling to herself. That had never been her style, but in the last few hours she'd come to realize that sometimes people only cooperated when they felt threatened…
or they're unconscious
, she added, thinking about Tommy. Striking out on foot, she hurried to the bus stop. She'd pay Tommy back her change when she saw her again.

“She just left Tamika Turner's place,” the Shadow reported.

“Follow her. I want to know what she does next. I want to see exactly how she plans to get out of this situation. I need to know how she reasons under pressure.”

“So far she's acting like…Sheesh, she's standing at a bus stop like…like she's not a wanton felon. She's acting like a…like a girl.”

“She is a girl, in case you haven't noticed.”

“I noticed.” The Shadow chuckled wickedly, starting the engine on Romia's Ducati motorcycle.

About fifteen years ago

She sat in the restaurant. Her heart was beating harder than ever before. A reunion formed from the betrayal of a mutual friend had its mixed emotions. To trust or not to trust was the question.

Did he trust her? Maybe not…

But she loved him. With all her being, she loved him.

Glancing at the clock, she saw that it grew late. “He's not coming,” she told herself, speaking in French, in an undertone. It had been many years since she'd spoken in her native tongue and tonight she realized it indeed sounded foreign, even to her own ears.

She'd worked hard to disguise her accent, until finally she believed it to be gone. The waiter brought her second glass of sparkling wine. They called it champagne, but only in Paris could one get a decent glass of champagne. Here in America…

She sighed heavily, thinking about France, Egypt, Morocco, Germany, Copenhagen, New York City, all the places she'd lived before settling in this small town, before giving in to her paranoia and overworked nervous system. She was tired.

Running her hand through her thick blond hair, she pulled some strands through her fingers to where she could see them in front of her. For so many years she had been blond, having given up her rich brown tresses right after giving birth. Her green eyes too were now blue—changed by contacts. So much effort to put forth in developing a new life when, in fact, so few knew she was alive, and of those few, only two really mattered.

The air grew thick now in this restaurant. So thick it took her breath away. Looking around desperately, she attempted to find the source of her distraction. It had to be him. “Why don't I see him?” she mumbled, straining and craning her neck.

There was a woman who caught her eye. She was black and very lovely as were her features and full her body. She was truly Nubian in every sense of the word. Her passion spoke before her lips even moved. She was captivating. Capri could only stare, for, suddenly, she realized the man who sat down at the table with her…

It is he.

He had arrived. It was just as she had been told. He always came here.
How foolish he is to frequent such a public place,
she reasoned. The lump in her throat was hard to swallow. She could only take in air, unable to breathe it out.

When he kissed the woman, she felt it on her own cheek and touched her face there. He kissed her quickly again on the lips and there Capri felt the second burn. That was when he, too, felt her presence. She was sure of it, as he looked around cautiously, his steel grey eyes scanning the room quickly. She sat tall in her seat, waiting for his gaze to come her way, but it did not. It stopped short at another table. The couple at that table, noticing him, stood and welcomed him over, loudly expressing their happiness to see him. They called his name—a name Capri had never heard before.

“Boss Man! You and Niema come here often?”

“All the time,” he answered as he and the beautiful woman, who must have been Niema stood from their table to join them. The waiter helped move their glasses and table settings. He said something to the waiter as they moved to the next table. It was spoken behind the woman's back, but she caught the exchange.

The restaurant was comfortable enough for Capri to sit there for over an hour, watching the four of them talk, eat, laugh, and pay their tab and leave. Never once did he look her way. They walked out of the restaurant as happy as when they'd arrived.

Her heart weighed a ton.

Gathering her purse, she stood to leave. The waiter came up to her table with a tray that held one single glass of red wine. “Oh, yes, I do owe for the time I spent taking up room here.” She smiled, reaching into her bag. The waiter held up his hand and slid the glass from the tray onto the table in front of her.

“A gentleman bought this for you and told me to give you this,” the waiter said, holding out his hand. On his palm sat a small pebble. Capri's heart leapt as she hungrily grabbed the stone and clutched it to her chest. “He also paid your tab.”

“Do you know that man? Do you know his name?”

“No. I'm sorry. I'm new here—most of us on staff tonight are fairly new. He appears to be a regular but, I'm sorry, I don't know him. He paid cash, so there is no way of finding out who he was tonight.”

“It's all right. I think I know who he was…”

“Well, drink up and have a good night, ma'am,” the waiter said, spinning on his heels and walking away.

Capri sat back at the table and got comfortable again. She sipped the wine slowly, allowing all the pain, joy, and memories fade into the throat of it. It was rich French wine—not unlike a taste from home.

Back to the story

Tommy woke up in Keliegh's bed. She looked around, gathering her bearings. “That's right, he's on the sofa,” she mumbled, still half asleep, but fully disappointed. She had on his T-shirt and sweats, thanks to Romia mugging her the night before.

Swinging her long legs over the side of the bed, she sat up and stretched. Keliegh's bed was more than comfy.
If only he had shared it
, she thought, allowing her mind to wander into the forbidden place for half a second before snapping back to reality.

Her head throbbed. She suddenly remembered the beating she had taken from Romia. “Crazy chick! You owe me big time,” she mumbled, again under her breath.

After a pit stop at the bathroom to take the sleep off and all that, she shuffled into the living room, finding Keliegh on the sofa, scouring the newspaper.

“Nothing,” he barked, flipping the paper over as if maybe planning to go through it again, a little closer this time.

“Excuse me,” she grumbled, thinking, hoping, praying he had coffee. With a girlfriend like Shashoni, he should have had all sorts of goodies because…
baby has back and loves to eat
…from what she had seen at the last precinct party. Shashoni put a hurting on that appetizer tray. Tommy ventured into Keliegh's kitchen and, sure enough, the coffee pot, and some bear claws were right there waiting.
Perfection! Gotta love a thick girlfriend
, Tommy thought. Okay, so Shashoni actually had a perfect hourglass shape, but still, when one was tall and skinny like she was, everyone was thicker…well, except Romia.
Now, that chick is stoked. She probably less than 1 percent body fat. She's like a machine,
Tommy thought now, remembering again the speed of Romia's punches. Tommy was a third-level black belt and champion kickboxer, but still she would hate to meet Romia in competition.
That chick is off this planet. She's got some secret-weapon kinda moves ‘n' shit,
Tommy internally admired.

“Nothing about a cop killing. Nothing about Romia being on the run. Nothing on TV. No APBs, nothing…”

“You going in today?” Tommy asked after getting the coffee pot humming and the pastry arranged on a plate.

“No. I'm suspended, remember?”

“Maybe you're not,” Tommy said, sounding almost nonchalant. “Hank is a liar…an idiot, too. Cap'n didn't say anything to me when I bolted outta there, like, ‘Stop her, he's suspended.'”

“Well, that's what Maxwell What's-His-Name told me. So…”

Tommy and Keliegh shared a moment of silence, as if both collecting their next thoughts and questions. “I wonder what happened to Shoni.”

“You want me to go check out her place?”

“No, I'll go. I mean, damn, one would think the cops would have done that and she would have been there at the inquiry—or something. Maybe they did. Maybe they trashed her place like they trashed Romia's.”

Tommy turned toward him, jumping up backward on the counter next to the coffee pot. “Why would anybody trash Shashoni's place? That's dumb. Why would anybody trash Romia's? I mean, maybe it's not as dumb as trashing Shoni's place, but, like, when would anybody have had time if they were questioning you?” She then took a big bite from her pastry.

“Well, somebody did. It was mad trashed.”

“Okay, Keliegh, let's start over. What happened and what are we going to do about it? You know I'm up for it. You had my back when all that happened with my best friend and her daughter last year, so now I'll help you with Romia. If you swear to me you believe she's innocent, I swear to you I'll help you…despite her kicking my ass last night.”

“You had that ass kickin' coming, but yeah, I know she's innocent.”

Tommy rolled her eyes. “How do you figure? But anyway…”

“Don't even start,” Keliegh said before breaking into laugher. “Okay, I don't go in until tonight, so what do you need me to do today?”

Keliegh walked into the kitchen, took the pastry from Tommy's hand, and shoved the last bite into his mouth. He looked at her for a long time, as if wondering where to start. “Okay, let me sum up as best I can,” he began, as if attempting to relive an unbelievable dream or a nightmare and unsure of which.

“Okay, so where do we start?”

“Well, I think if we know who got killed, then we can start figuring out why that man needed to die.”

“And why he needed Romia to kill him,” Tommy added, starting on a second pastry.