Melanie walked up to the bar, deciding to take a chance. “Jasmine Cruz?” she asked the brunette.
The woman looked confused. “Uh-huh. Were you here yesterday?”
Melanie took her credentials from her bag and flipped them open in her hand.
“I need to speak with you. I think you know why, but if you want me to say it, I will. It’s just…it might be embarrassing.” She glanced meaningfully at the blonde.
Jasmine’s eyes flashed. “I know the system. I don’t need to talk to nobody if I don’t want to.”
The blonde watched with open curiosity.
“Fine, if that’s the way you want to play it, Miss Cruz, then I need to advise you that you’re suspected of being involved in the murder of Jed Benson. You’re not currently charged with any crime, but I need to ask you some questions. I think it would be in your best interests to answer them.”
“I don’t even know no Jed Benson. You just hassling me because I’m of color.” She tossed her shiny hair dismissively.
“¿Eres boricua?” Melanie asked, in a dead-on imitation of her father’s staccato, rapid-fire Puerto Rican Spanish, studying Jasmine coolly.
Jasmine’s eyes widened. “Sí.”
Melanie tapped herself on the chest with just the right measure of arrogance. “También.” Me, too, so don’t fuck with me, chica.
“Oh,” Jasmine replied, in a more subdued tone.
“And, for your information, you’re all over Jed Benson’s phone records. Plus, we know all about you and Slice.”
Jasmine drew her breath in sharply. “I don’t know him neither. I really don’t know no Slice. I’m gonna have to ask you to leave, or else I’m gonna call security.”
“Perhaps you didn’t look at my identification carefully enough, Miss Cruz. I can assure you, security won’t side with you in this situation.”
They stared at each other. Jasmine looked nervous, but she wasn’t giving any ground. The blonde broke the stalemate.
“Go ahead, hon. I’ll cover for you for a while,” she said, examining her long fingernails, painted the same shade of blue as her outfit, her face expressionless.
Jasmine looked at Melanie for another moment. Then she shrugged, as if the situation were of little concern to her. “Whatever. I need a Starbucks anyway.”
She emerged from behind the bar and began walking with studied casualness toward an escalator, looking straight ahead. Melanie fell into step beside her. The escalator led to a mezzanine that held food stands and tables. Their feet hit the first step in unison, and they began to glide up over the crowd wordlessly, as if they shared the escalator by chance.
Melanie leaned toward Jasmine to make eye contact. “Sorry about what I said in front of your friend,” she began.
Jasmine turned away, pivoting until she rode nearly backward. She stared at the convention-center floor receding beneath them, jaw jutting stubbornly, ignoring Melanie.
“Jasmine,” Melanie continued evenly, “I tried not to embarrass you, but you need to talk to me. You know more about Slice and Jed Benson than anybody left alive. That’s a very dangerous position to be in. I’m concerned for your safety.”
“Look, you wasting your time,” Jasmine said. Her tone was less resentful, but she still wouldn’t look at Melanie. “So Jed and me hook up or whatever. He give me money and shit, pay for my implants. That all it is as far as I’m concerned.”
“I believe you weren’t doing anything illegal, Jasmine, but you need to explain it to me. Help me understand.”
“They a lot of shit going on with Jed y’all don’t know about. Some nasty shit, too.”
“Did it have anything to do with Slice?”
“I told you, I don’t know nobody by that name.”
“Jasmine, there’s no point denying it. Your phone was tapped. I have a tape of you talking to Slice. And he sure doesn’t sound like a nice guy.”
As they reached the mezzanine and stepped off the escalator, Jasmine turned to Melanie. She tried to look defiant, but the fear in her eyes undermined her cool facade.
“He treat me better than he treat other girls,” she said.
“If he treats you so good, Jasmine, why do you look so scared?”
“I ain’t scared,” she insisted, but her voice shook.
“Come on, let me buy you a coffee. We’ll find a table. I’ll explain what my office can do to protect you.”
A long metal concession counter lined one wall of the low-ceilinged mezzanine. Melanie spied a Starbucks logo halfway down the counter and headed toward it. She was glad when Jasmine followed compliantly. They got their drinks and waited for a table to open up in the jam-packed seating area, not speaking. Only once they were seated did Melanie raise the difficult subject of Slice again.
“Jasmine, I’m here to help you,” Melanie began as the girl sipped her iced Frappuccino through a straw, eyes fixed on the table. “We both know that Slice is a cold-blooded killer. That puts you in serious danger. The closer we get to arresting him, the more nervous he gets. The more nervous he gets, the more likely he’ll try to eliminate people who could testify against him. With what you know, you’re at the top of that list.”
“I know he do some bad things to other people, but he always good to me,” Jasmine insisted, looking up at Melanie imploringly. “I’m his baby’s mama.”
“You have a baby with Slice?”
“Yeah, a little girl. Destiny. She two. He give me money for her, come by, bring her stuff. That’s why I always stick by him. I want my baby to have a father.”
“Oh,” Melanie said, stunned into momentary silence. Jasmine’s words hit home. How far could you excuse a man because he was-by whatever your standards-a good father? Should you stay in a bad relationship for your child’s sake? In Jasmine’s case the answer was obviously no. Staying with Slice could mean the difference between life and death. In Melanie’s own life, the choice was less stark, the answer not as clear. Although, deep down, she knew that it wouldn’t be good for Maya to grow up with parents who were unhappy together.
“Jasmine, can I tell you something?” Melanie said ur gently. “I’m a mother myself. I totally hear you about sticking with your baby’s father. But I’m from Bushwick, too. I know what it’s like on the block. Some guys are ticking time bombs. You know that, I know that, we both know that just from where we grew up. They can be all right one minute and turn on you the next. Slice is like that. He’s killed upwards of twenty people.”
Jasmine gasped, shaking her head in mute horror.
“You didn’t know?” Melanie asked.
“I know he done murders, but not how many.”
“Well, that’s how many, and it’s a lot. He kills for a living. Not only for a living, for pleasure. Maybe he treats you okay sometimes, but I heard him on tape threatening you. Just from what I heard, I could tell he abuses you.”
Tears welled in Jasmine’s eyes. “Okay, maybe. But I got it under control. I learn how to not piss him off. He don’t beat on me so much these days.”
“You’re willing to stake your life on that? How long before Slice has a bad day? How long before you say the wrong thing or don’t cook his food just how he likes or the baby cries too loud? What happens then? Who’s gonna raise your daughter if you’re dead, Jasmine?”
Jasmine sprang to her feet, knocking over her metal chair and taking several steps back, her eyes focused on a point beyond Melanie’s shoulder.
“Jasmine, please, wait!”
Melanie leaped up and tried to grab for Jasmine’s hand, but a vague sense of someone approaching from behind distracted her. She took her eyes off Jasmine for a split second, turning to see who was there. Just then the girl bolted, and Melanie watched in astonishment as Jasmine plunged frantically into the crowd of customers swarming the concession area, running as if she feared for her life. Melanie hesitated for a second, wondering if she should go after Jasmine or let her calm down before they talked more. But the next instant a man brushed by her from behind, following Jasmine’s receding figure in its blue pantsuit. Jasmine hurried toward the escalators on the other side of the mezzanine-the man, clad in baggy black jeans and a tan T-shirt hanging to his knees, hot on her trail. He matched Slice’s general description. Medium height, slim build, close-cropped brown hair. But didn’t a lot of people? Melanie couldn’t be sure it was Slice unless she saw his face.