Page 65 of Anything Necessary for Her (Crenshaw Kings #9)

THE NEXT WEEKEND . . .

I drummed my fingers on the top of the metal table in the dark ass interrogation room, hoping to get this shit over with as soon as possible.

From the first time Detective Booth had contacted me, I’d been making the moves I needed to in order to cover my tracks as far as an alibi went.

I wasn’t too worried at all about them finding Brenden, because his body was as good as fucking gone, but I knew an ironclad alibi was necessary, especially when you had a detective who was like a dog with a bone trying to pin some shit on you.

I wasn’t new to shit like this, and though I never thought I would be thankful for having such an expertise in a field like this, I was grateful for it now.

“Sorry about that, Mr. Harris.” Booth burst into the room, letting the heavy metal door close slowly as he walked briskly around the table to sit across from me.

“I know a man like you has much business to tend to,” he said sarcastically, opening a folder to peer at the contents.

“We will be recording this if that’s okay. ”

“Do what you gotta do.” I folded my arms, keeping a strong hold on the eye contact I had with his ass.

He set the small camera up on the miniature tripod, then pressed the record button.

“Let’s start with my initial question that it’s taken you weeks to give me; where were you the night Brenden Maddox was murdered? The night was May fifth.” He clasped his hands in anticipation.

“Took me weeks because that shit was a long ass time ago, and I was twisted. But after looking through my phone and shit, I remember I was having some after the club breakfast food at Egg Fair,” I replied cooly.

I’d already pulled up on the owner of Egg Fair and made it clear to him that if he didn’t use the old footage of me being there several nights prior to make it look like it was the night of the fifth, he’d better prepare his will.

I’d already had one of my niggas doctor the shit up, so all old boy had to do was press play on it. And judging by the puddle of piss he’d left after we talked, I was sure he’d do what the fuck I asked him to.

“Mr. Harris, why were in you in Vegas?” Booth frowned.

“Why else? The hos.” I shrugged, smirking when I saw the irritation in his expression bloom. “You wasting time and tax dollars on me, my nigga. Get yo’ ass in the field and do yo’ job.”

He stared at me, so I stared back at that nigga until he finally shut the camera off.

“You know, Mr. Harris, whether you did this shit or not, I will make sure you go down for it. And don’t even think about trying to do something to me, because I have so many of my colleagues privy to you and your shit that it won’t even matter. You’d have to murder the whole force.”

I remained unmoved physically, but on the inside, I was irate.

I paid good money to Kenneth, who was supposed to be top dog over peon ass niggas like Detective Booth, yet this little nigga had been following, stalking, and pressing me for too long.

I definitely planned to murk this nigga right here, but before I did, I needed to weed out and pluck off every nigga he had backing him, and that might include Kenneth’s ass.

“We done here or what, nigga? I got shit to do.”

“You’re free to go . . . for now.” He closed his folder up, and I could tell by his demeanor that he was pissed off.

I wasn’t sure what he expected, maybe for a nigga to be so spooked that I came in here singing like a fucking canary at just the thought of being in the penitentiary, but if so, he was way off base.

I was too deep in this shit, too seasoned for shit like conversations with detectives to scare me. I knew how shit worked, and them muthafuckas needed more than just an inkling or gut feeling to get a nigga indicted, let alone put in jail.

I left from the station and hopped in my whip, heading straight to the warehouse while being sure I wasn’t being followed.

I doubted I was, because Booth only showed up to public establishments, and only after I’d been there for a minute, letting me know he was either driving through the hood looking for me, or somebody was phoning his ass.

Regardless, I would be having my car swept like always to be sure nothing had been planted while I was inside the station.

Stepping out of my whip, I leaned against the car and waited for Kenneth to climb out of his Lincoln, looking scared as shit.

“Let’s talk.” I waved for him to trail me inside of the warehouse.

“Listen, Lo?—”

“Pat him down,” I instructed my niggas, and they did so, making him strip down to his boxers, ignoring him complaining that he wasn’t wearing a fucking wire. “Lookout.” I nodded for Taye and Jere to leave the room and play lookout outside of the warehouse.

“Low, man, I need to talk with you,” Kenneth said once we were alone, standing there barefoot with his suit crumpled in a pile.

“You damn right we do, muthafucka. Why the fuck some bitch nigga named Booth coming for me? What I pay you for?”

Kenneth swallowed thickly before saying, “Look, I got into some trouble and had to be put on leave.”

“Trouble? Nigga, you the law. Fuck kind of trouble you getting into? And why the fuck you ain’t say shit, knowing I pay you to keep shit in line!” I roared, closing the gap between us and making him jolt from the spot he was standing in.

With his hands up in genuine surrender, he shook his head profusely.

“I was . . . I didn’t know she was underage . . . I met her in a club and?—”

“Nigga, you got put on leave for fucking on young bitches?” I frowned, sizing him up. “How fucking long?”

“Huh?” he quizzed before howling when I punched him dead in the middle of his fucking face.

“Can you hear now, bitch?” I advanced on him, making him stumble to the floor.

“Three months?—”

“So for three muthafuckin’ months, I been paying yo’ ho ass for nothing?” I seethed, ready to put his ass in the ground.

“I’m just on leave! I will be back on the force very soon! They’re investigating me, but someone of my stature and with my rapport won’t be out of work for long!” He ran off with an explanation, his eyes swarming with panic at the sight of me snatching my heat off my hip.

“What I tell you when I started working with you, nigga?” I took the safety off as slight tremors consumed his body.

“Low—”

“The fuck did I tell you!” I snapped.

“Tha-that I’d better keep you under the radar, and you wouldn’t give a second chance, but listen, I can handle Booth and whomever else is?—”

Uninterested in whatever bullshit he was about to say, I emptied the clip in his ass, watching blood pool from under him as he lay out. Taye and Jere rushed in, sighing in relief when they saw he was the one pumped with lead.

“Clean his ass up and get his car picked apart.” I stepped over Kenneth’s body as Jere and Taye got right to work. “Fuck!” I roared once I got into my car.

I was furious and wishing I could bring Kenneth’s ass back to life just to murk his ass again.

I wasn’t sure what the fuck I was about to do, but I needed to find whomever they were replacing his ass with and see if he was with the shits like Kenneth had been. Otherwise, I would have to murk several niggas on the force, and that shit had never been done by a nigga who remained a free man.

Pulling off, I drove straight home, then smoked before hopping in the shower to clean off. After brushing my teeth, I put on some chill shit, halting at the aroma of what smelled like fried chicken.

Hurrying to put on my socks, I stormed out of my bedroom and to the kitchen to see my mama at the stove, cooking up like she used to when I was in elementary school—the days when she’d reward me with Peeps.

I stepped back, shocked by the sight before me and wondered if the weed I’d taken to the face had just been strong as fuck.

“Hungry?” she questioned with a smirk.

“Yeah.” I nodded, not even sure if I was but unable to turn down some shit I hadn’t expected to witness ever again.

“Great. Sit down. I will put Wyatt and Waverley’s plates up for when they get back from work and dance.” She started putting a few whole fried wings on my plate, accompanied with white rice and what looked to be broccolini.

She put it in front of me and started making her own plate before offering me a soda, to which I’d declined in favor of a water bottle.

“How you feeling?” I quizzed once she sat at the table adjacent to me.

“I’m fine.” She bit into a wing. “I am a bit bored, though, so I’m trying to find something to do so I won’t have a drink.”

“You haven’t had one?”

“Not today, no. Honestly, ever since that friend of yours hit me, I haven’t had an authentic urge. I’ve been making myself drink because I like how numb I feel once I do, but the usual craving isn’t there anymore, not since the altercation.” She shoved some rice between her lips.

I was quiet for a moment, not even recognizing the woman to the left of me. Whitney was rarely sober, but even for the one hour of day that she was, she was still mean, selfish, and verbally assaulting a nigga. I hadn’t had a normal conversation with her ass since I was a minor.

“I apologize for that. I didn’t want that going down between y’all. She’s remorseful as well.” I spoke in between bites.

“It’s alright.” She chewed on her food, staring straight ahead for a moment. “I shouldn’t have hit you with an ashtray or period, but I do wonder how you can carry on with a girl that punched your mother, Willow.” She resumed eating. “Any woman you are with should have respect for me.”

“I agree, they should, but Banks did what she did in response to what you did, so the blame ain’t all on her.”

Whitney scoffed, dropping her fork and craning her body some so she could look me in the eyes fully.

“I am your mother, Willow, and she shouldn’t involve herself in things that happen between us, no matter what the hell it is.”