Page 53 of Anything Necessary for Her (Crenshaw Kings #9)
DAYS LATER . . .
“Fuck.” I grumbled, climbing out of my Maybach and frowning at the hot ass sun that was cooking me inside of my car.
Stepping onto the curb inside of the shopping center off Slauson, I peered into the American Deli to see if Free’s punk ass was still in line or if he’d ordered his fucking food yet.
It was hot as shit, and unfortunately, this muthafucka didn’t have a drive-thru.
Air conditioner didn’t blow as cold to a nigga when the car wasn’t moving, so sitting in my damn car while I waited for Free wasn’t gon’ work.
As for going inside, I opted out, not ever wanting to be caught off guard by a nigga.
The easiest way to catch a muthafucka slipping was to run up on him in a small ass establishment with limited exits and his car too fucking far away.
“Mr. Willow Harris.” A semi-deep voice pulled my attention from looking through the American Deli window.
Flipping around since I didn’t recognize the muthafucka that knew my government name, I sized up the skinny brown-skinned man in a cheap ass oversized suit.
“Who the fuck are you?” I questioned, positioned on the curb. I was already taller than the nigga, but him being on the gravel parking lot ground made the height difference a bit starker.
“I’m Detective Clayton Booth. You don’t know me, but I know you pretty well.” He smiled.
“Clearly since you pulling up on niggas using their government name.” I remained on chill, knowing the gun lodged in my waist had no business being on a nigga with past charges.
So as badly as I wanted to hem this nigga up or talk my shit, I didn’t need to get arrested and charged just for carrying, especially not days before I was supposed to have dinner with my woman’s father, hoping to convince his ass I was good for her.
I had never seen this Booth nigga in my life, and that was alarming.
I had a nice amount of the law on my payroll, so where he came from was puzzling to me.
Not to mention, whomever gave the nigga clearance to press me was also a problem I knew nothing about.
I knew right then my contact Kenneth would be hearing from me.
Clayton chuckled at my statement before asking, “Do you have a moment?”
“For what?”
“I wanna ask you some questions.” He removed a miniature notebook from the breast pocket of his dress shirt and pulled a writing pen from his other pocket before exposing the tip.
“I know you have an extensive record, and while checking up on you in my system, I noticed you were in Vegas around the time Brenden Maddox went missing.”
“Who?” I frowned, not expecting for this to be a fucking missing persons ordeal.
I’d never been questioned about a muthafucka I’d put down, but I had also never killed a nigga of importance like mayor Baynard Maddox’s son.
After beating the muthafucka to death in Las Vegas, I got rid of his body, hence why he was missing instead of found dead.
I did a little research on the nigga via my people when I moved back to LA, and once I saw that he was a reckless, wayward, coke head who often beefed with his father over his nefarious behavior, I stopped giving a fuck.
And as bad as it was to say, I’d murdered so many niggas that I honestly forgot about this shit until right now.
“Brenden Maddox, Mr. Harris. Mayor Maddox’s son. He was in Las Vegas around the same time you were and?—”
“Nigga, I lived there at one point, so everybody that came through there was there at the same time I was at some point or another.”
“True, but we are questioning all criminals with extensive history, so . . .” He gave me a fake smile and inhaled. “Where were you the night of May fifth?”
“Fuck would I know? Not like I would be in Sin City sober, my nigga. And that was a long ass time ago.”
Clayton nodded, scribbling down something I wasn’t sure of since I hadn’t given his ass anything.
“May I ask why you are so defensive? It’s not my fault you chose to be a murderous drug dealer and in the same town as a missing kid.”
Kid? The nigga was older than me, but I stopped myself from saying the shit in order to conceal my guilt and knowledge of his ass.
“You got proof of that shit you talking?” I stepped down from the curb and walked up on him just as Free exited the food spot and slowed up.
Clayton’s eyes darted to him momentarily before he cleared his throat and created a little space between us.
“All my money clean. Look it up. And if I was so murderous, I wouldn’t be out in the free world, right? ” I smiled, taunting him on the low.
“Still—”
“And a black man gon’ always be on the defense when talking to the law, my nigga.”
“Again, where were you? You should at least remember something about that day in particular. I doubt you were inebriated the entire day.”
“Or maybe I was. Like I said, I don’t fucking remember. It was a long ass time ago, and I wasn’t sober.”
We had a staring contest for a short time before he smiled disingenuously and said, “Keep trying to remember, Mr. Harris. I will be in touch soon, and I’m gonna need an answer.”
I said nothing as he backed away, then flipped around to jog to his vehicle he’d parked illegally. I watched him for a minute, pondering on a lot of shit before getting in my car where Free was already scarfing down his Philly cheesesteak.
“Nigga, I told yo’ ass you couldn’t eat in my fucking car. Wrap that shit up!” I barked.
“I’m done now.” He shoved the last piece into his mouth. “Fuck was that shit about?” His eyes widened as he looked out my back windshield in effort to locate the detective.
“Nothing. Meddling ass detective trying to talk about some bullshit.” I checked my rearview before pulling out.
I trusted Free, but regardless, the best hidden crimes were done alone.
It was unnecessary to fill him in on some shit that had nothing to do with his ass.
It was highly unlikely that Free would go snitching if he got hemmed up, but because Banks was involved, I couldn’t risk it.
Not to mention, I needed this shit to remain buried right along with Brenden’s ass.
I actually had shit to live for and be free for that wasn’t connected to money and means. Banks made a nigga care about sticking around and experiencing this shit called life. By saying that, the less people involved, the less likely I would ever be caught.
“What was he asking?”
“’Bout some missing kid,” I replied, speeding down Slauson. I wasn’t exactly lying.
Shaking his head, Free replied, “Them niggas always come over here with that shit. Whole time it’s that friendly, rich ass dentist that don’ been a serial killer for fifteen years.”
“Real shit.” I chuckled, knowing that though that wasn’t the case this time, it usually was in other situations.
The law was so busy trying to pin it on the muthafuckas they thought could’ve done it that they overlooked or outright ignored the actual perpetrator.
I put that shit with Detective Booth to the back of my mind so I could put in work for the rest of the day. I then called to check on my mama, who hadn’t been able to escape rehab since the day I took her ass back, thankfully, before taking my ass home.
Waverley helped me clean up before I ordered her young-grown ass some sushi, per her request, then broke Wyatt off some cash to buy whatever he wanted.
By the time I’d smoked, brushed, flossed, and rinsed my teeth, then showered, Banks had pulled up.
“Dang, is Waverley asleep?” she quizzed after we kissed, trailing me to my bedroom.
“She is. She gotta be up early anyway for day camp,” I said.
Waverley had been doing day camp all summer.
Most kids stayed overnight, but I hadn’t felt comfortable leaving my baby sister overnight.
Not to mention, she had to skip the days she took the junior ballet class.
So I was able to pay a little extra chump change to get the camp to agree to allow her to come daily but also leave.
“Oh yeah, she told me about that. She said she wanted to stay the night with her friends, but you wouldn’t let her.”
“Yeah, I can’t.” I shook my head, closing the door. “I’d be up all fucking night, or I’d have to sleep out there too.”
Banks giggled as she removed her jacket and shoes.
“I missed you.” She beamed, watching me while she changed into her nightie that a nigga had begun to fall in love with.
“I missed you too, Peep.” I made my way over toward her, taking a seat on the edge of my bed to watch the light peep show. “You ate?”
“I did. You were gonna cook for me?”
“A waffle, yeah. You know I can’t make shit else.” I smirked, leaning back some as she came toward me. “I wanna tell you some shit before I get distracted.” I eyed her small hands splayed across my thighs.
“Tell me what?” Her perfect brows bunched.
“A detective came to see me earlier, asking about old boy.”
“Old boy?” Her forehead creased before relaxing, her eyes mushrooming in shock. “The guy from Vegas.”
“Yeah.” I bobbed my head. “He ain’t got shit, but he know I was there around that time.
I ain’t too worried because I was living there majority of the time, but he insisting that I give him a fucking alibi.
I don’t want that nigga snooping and coming up on some security footage from that hotel, so I gotta make a trip. I don’t do no over the phone shit.”
“You can say we were together. I mean, it’s not technically a lie.”
“No.” I chuckled, shaking my head.
Straddling me and forcing me to lie back, she said, “Yes.”