He grunted and stepped back toward the wall, folding his arms. The detectives kept going for another thirty minutes, maybe longer, trying different angles, pictures, names, street camera stills and kept asking if I knew Maine. Asking if I knew where he stayed. Asking if I knew this person, that person, who ordered what, where I was that night. I gave them nothing.
I didn’t give them shit, not even an emotion. They couldn’t crack my silence if they had a hammer. By the time Marcus arrived and made enough noise to remind everybody in that building exactly who he was and what they were not about to do, the whole thing had turned into what I knew it would be from the start... a fucking headache.
He sat beside me, straightened his tie, looked at the detectives, and asked one question. “You charging him or not?”
That shut everything up, because the truth was simple and that was they didn’t have enough, not for a real hold, not for trial, and not for nothing that mattered. Eventually they took the cuffs off, slid my personal shit back across the table, and said the words everybody already knew were coming.
“You’re free to go, but this investigation is still ongoing.”
Marcus stood up before I did. “Wonderful. We’ll all sleep better now.”
I took my watch, my phone, and my wallet back slow, then looked at the older detective one more time before I stood. “Ify’all ever get enough,” I said calmly, “come back with something better than rumors and pictures.” I winked.
The younger one looked like he wanted me to say one more slick thing so he could do something stupid. I didn’t give it to him. I just walked out with Marcus beside me and Martez watching from the doorway.
Once we hit the hall, Marcus loosened his tie again and muttered, “They don’t have shit.”
“I know.”
“They’ll keep digging though.”
“Let them.”
Because if they ever got close enough for digging to matter, Barron was already in place to fix the rest. Barron didn’t ask questions. Barron handled problems. That was why men like him stayed paid well and kept around.
When the station doors opened and I stepped back outside, the trucks were still there but it was more of them now and more of my men too. The cameras across the street and the reporters waiting were ready and then my phone started buzzing again. The city wanted a show. All they were getting was piss and me walking free.
DOMINIC ROYAL
By the time I got back home, it was late enough everything had settled down some, but not enough for the news to let shit go. The second I walked through the front doors; I could hear my own name coming from the television in the sitting room once again. Some reporter was standing outside the station in a fitted coat with too much makeup looking like she was in a casket talking about me like she knew me personally.
“The Miami King was taken in for questioning tonight in connection to the murder of Jermaine Cooper?—”
I kept walking and Carmen was already in the living room waiting on me, barefoot now, in her silk two-piece pajama set. Her hair was pulled back, and her laptop was open in front of her on the couch. Papers were spread out all over the coffee table, her phone was sitting beside a legal pad full of notes, and the television was muted by the time I made it over there.
She looked up at me. “Are you okay?” she asked.
I looked down at her. “You know I’m good.”
She sat her laptop to the side and stood up slowly. I stepped closer with one hand against her back, and the other on herstomach before I bent down and kissed her. When I pulled back, she looked up at me and ran her hand down the front of my shirt.
“You smell like the station,” she sighed.
I kissed her forehead this time. “You ate?”
“No.”
“Why?” I questioned.
“Because I was waiting on you.”
“Don’t wait on me. I don’t have a baby growing in me, you do.” I looked at the table full of papers and files. “You been working?”
“Somebody has to.” She shrugged.
That didn’t surprise me. The whole time I had been downtown, Carmen had probably been doing exactly what she was doing right now, working, digging, tightening everything up before anybody else could think about it cause that was her thing. If she felt like somebody was getting too close, she didn’t panic. She just moved faster.
The living room smelled like she’s been burning vanilla candles, but I felt a comfort you could only feel in your sanctuary. “You hungry?” Carmen asked.
