"Well," I managed.
"I caught a couple of your European games on Fox."
This boy was starting to get on my nerves. "We card 'em if they look under 25." I assumed he was vice the way he was dressed.
"How old was Davida? Oh yeah, 27."
"You her new squeeze?" I didn't know if I was relaxed or stressed.
He played with the top of his hat but didn't take it off. "You been in trouble before, haven't you, Zelmont?"
I knew that tone meant it was time to lawyer up. "Say what you came here to say, man."
"Fahrarthat's FA-RAR." The cop squared me up. Until then I hadn't noticed, but it seemed like one of his eyes was darker than the other, or maybe it was just the low lighting.
"So you come to sweat me?"
He put a hand on my arm and my first instinct was to pull away. He wasn't applying any pressure, his thumb in the crook of it, his fingers on my elbow. "Davida's dead, Zelmont." He sounded like one of those fake-ass undertakers in an old Western on TNT.
"That girl's healthy as two horses." I ought to have known, the way I'd been riding her.
He suddenly pulled himself closer, tugging on my arm. "She was murdered," he whispered into my ear. I could feel his mismatched eyes scanning me, hoping for some sign.
"I didn't do it, man. That's all I got to say, you understand?" Me and him stared at each other for a few ticks, then he leaned back again.
"Her neighbors say you were over there four days ago and they could hear you two going at it."
"Yeah?" Be cool, Zelmont. This is like the time you got busted in that motel in Decatur with the two broads and the coke. Don't say shit.
"You O.J. her, homeboy?" Fahrar fooled with his hat again, his off-colored eye shining at me.
"What's the matter, man?" I said, moving closer to him. Cops hate it when you invade their space. They call it challenging their authority or some shit. "You ride the pine in high school and can't stand to see a brother who's successful?"
"Was successful," he hurled back at me. "You got someplace you were this morning?"
It popped into my mind to say something smart, but unlike that time in Decatur, I didn't. 'Course I was high then and almost didn't feel the cop's baton as he'd rammed the butt end into my stomach. "I told you, man, we ain't havin' a chat. Either arrest me or jet."
"You haven't had nothing but experience with the law, ain't that so, Zelmont?"
He was just getting to me now and it's going on 10:30 in the evening. "Working out in the hills above my pad, man. That's what I been doing a lot of. That's what I did the day before too."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Don't suppose you talked to any honeys or somebody while you were doing your road work?"
"Not particularly, Fahrar. I wasn't there to get my swerve on. I got more important things in mind."
He scratched a nail at the base of his close-cut hair. "That's weak, brah. You could be like Rumpelstiltskin, here there and everywhere. Can you do better?"
"I ain't got to do better. How'd she die?"
"Strangled with her own panties. Laid out on the hood of her sports car. Body wasn't discovered until late this afternoon."
"And that's all you have to harangue Mr. Raines?"
We both turned to the sound of the voice. It was Wilma Wells, and she was looking fine in a pants suit thing that had off-center gold buttons going up the jacket to wide lapels. She strolled over and smelled good doing it.
"Ma'am." Fahrar finally took his hat off and kinda waved it at her. "This is police business."
"I'm a lawyer, officer, my name is Wilma Wells." She handed him a card from the Vuitton clutch bag she carried.
The cop worked hard not to show any change. 'Cept I knew inside he was weighing his options. "Yeah, and?"
"And what was the approximate time of her death?"
He didn't want to say but he knew he was boxed in. "Coroner guesstimates around 11
"After his workout yesterday Mr. Raines came to see me concerning resolutions of his NFL contracts."
"Where was this?"
"My office in Manhattan Beach. I'd say from 11:30 until about 2. And given the distance, I'd say he couldn't have killed her and made it to my office even if the coroner can establish that it was closer to 11 than 12 when Ms. Orlean was strangled."
Fahrar was about to speak but she held up a black-nailed hand. "He used my private entrance, some of my clients are high profile."
Homeboy looked like a man chewing lemon rinds. "Okay, superstarfor now." He waded out of the joint, adjusting his hat as he went.
"Thanks," I said to Wilma. "You sure took a chance."
"Not really. I've had actors and supermodels in my office, and the front staff hasn't seen them. I do have a private entrance. And there's so much traffic in and out of the parking garage, the attendants aren't reliable witnesses." She whipped her pretty smile on me and walked on up the stairs.
At the top, Nap greeted her and they walked off towards his office. Was the big switch-hitter banging her too? He'd told me this was boy month, but maybe he did that so I wouldn't mack her. But then why did she alibi me? Hell, I'd never been to her office.
I got back to the pad around 3:30 and was stripping off my shirt when the phone rang. Immediately I assumed it was Terri hoping to catch me in.
"Zelmont," a familiar female voice purred through the answering machine. "Please pick up, this is Wilma."
I dove for the receiver.
"Come on out to the office," she said. "That way if that cop asks you, you can describe it in detail."
Normally, I don't come running 'cause some fine hammer tells me to. But this one was different. This one had my nose open, and maybe my freedom in her hands. And sure enough, three quarters of an hour later, she had my balls in her hands.
We were in her gold bronze Chrysler Phaeton on the open-air roof of her office building. A few other lonely cars were there too. She'd unzipped my fly and sprinkled some crank on my johnson, then licked the powder and me. I was about to lose the top of my head. She moaned and I was getting ready to let loose when she stopped.
"You tryin' to give me a heart attack, girl?"
"Wanted to get your attention." She straightened up, smiling. "You honestly think Weems is going to let you play ball again?"
This chick knew how to mess with a dude's head. "He's gotta give me a shot, Wilma." I sounded more needy than I wanted to.
"No he doesn't, Zelmont. He can't legally stop you from trying out, but he can exert a lot of pressure on Stadanko, and on Coach Cannon, not to sign you. Weems is a smart prick. He's got some cold shit on a lot of people. What do you think his Truth Squad is for?"
"To make the league look like Boy Scouts," I answered, squirming uncomfortably. I snorted some more blow to take the edge off. "What the fuck you want from me, Wilma?"
"To make you mine." She finished what she'd started.
Afterward, I must have dozed off 'cause I came to with her staring into my face.
"Sorry," I mumbled.
She got on top of me. I was laying back, the front seat having been let down. Her pants were off, her blouse open, and I was hard again. The beauty of crank. She had on blue lacy panties and was about to slip them off.
"Leave 'em on," I told her. She got a condom on me and I maneuvered around the material to enter her. It felt like a million pinwheel stars were exploding behind my eyes.
As we did it she talked business. "You want to make some money, don't you, Zelmont?"