Godsend 6: All Jokes Aside Read online

  Godsend: All Jokes Aside

  by K. Elliott

  Published by 21Blackstreet, LLC

  Kindle Edition

  P.O. Box 12714

  Charlotte, NC 28220

  http://www.21blackstreetpublishing.com/

  Copyright 2012 by K. Elliott. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission. For information, address Urban Lifestyle Press, P.O. Box 12714 Charlotte, NC 28220 http://www.21blackstreetpublishing.com/

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Chapter 1

  “WAIT A MINUTE. Am I understanding you correctly?” Don Loftner said while squatting closer to the paper license tag on his new Jaguar. He looked back at Echo and Kiandra Robertson. “You two are private eyes, and you have zero authority to make me answer your questions?” He was an average-sized white guy dressed in a sweater and slacks. He had a screwdriver in his right hand, about to replace the paper tag with the metal one that was near his loafers.

  Echo looked to his left, right, and then directly at Don’s modest but comfortable home. He and Kiandra, a 26-year-old black woman who was one of three Godsend trainees, stood in Don’s driveway in a quiet neighborhood of Stockton, California.

  Don said, “Three years ago, I answered every question in cops threw at me about Ramona’s disappearance. The cops obviously cleared me; so if you got any questions, why don’t you go ask the police?”

  Echo rushed him, slamming a foot square-off in the middle of Don’s ass. When Don’s head banged against the truck of the Jaguar, Echo stepped on the hand that held the screwdriver, grinding it to the cement driveway and breaking two of Don’s knuckles.

  Don let out a yelp and said, “Okay, okay!”

  Echo said, “Release the screwdriver or get ready to use it in a gunfight.”

  “I . . . I can’t because you’re standing on my hand.”

  Kiandra scanned the neighborhood again. She was dressed in a pantsuit and wore loafers with soft bottoms.

  Echo took a step back and watched the man abandon the tool. “Now get the fuck up and invite us inside.”

  Less than two minutes later, the three of them were standing in Don’s kitchen. Echo and Kiandra slipped on some transparent latex gloves. Echo said, “Have a seat. This might take a while.”

  Don sat at his kitchen table.

  Kiandra removed a handgun from the shoulder holster beneath her sports coat. “Put your hands on top of the table and keep them there.”

  Don followed orders. He stared at his right hand and the bruises. Damn thing was throbbing, or rather, the two broken fingers were.

  Echo walked over to the refrigerator and opened it. “The lady got a few questions for you, not necessarily the same questions the cops asked three years ago.” He grabbed an unopened half-gallon carton of orange juice.

  Kiandra said, “You told the cops that you dated Ramona Hartley for only three weeks and two days. How long did it take for you to get her in bed?”

  “I’m . . . I’m thinking it was the fourth day.”

  “And in those three weeks, how many times did you screw her?” He shrugged. “Two times.”

  Kiandra saw Echo drinking straight from the orange juice carton.

  Echo held the carton out for her. “You wanna hit this before I pour the rest out?”

  She reached for the juice then drank a small amount. She gave the carton back to Echo then said to Don, “Two times in twenty-three days. Was that enough for you?’

  “It was fine. I mean, the decision was hers.”

  Echo poured the rest of the juice down the sink. He placed the empty carton in the sink and turned on the hot water.

  Kiandra said, “Ramona was last seen on a Thursday night at her job, the Pharaoh’s Bar. At that point, how long had it been since you last screwed her?”

  Echo was fixing a couple of sandwiches with luncheon meat and single cheese slices.

  Don said, “We hadn’t had sex for about two weeks.”

  Kiandra smiled at Don. “Okay. You dated her for twenty-three days before she went missing. Sex on the fourth day and . . . again on . . . the ninth day. Then she dries it up for the next two weeks. What did you think?”

  “I thought she might be seeing some other guy, but it didn’t matter much to me because I was seeing someone else, too.”

  Echo was now perfecting the sandwiches with Miracle Whip. “Why the fuck you ain’t got tomatoes in this muthafucka? You bought a new Jaguar but your refrigerator damn near on E.”

  Kiandra sat at the table, across from Don. “An investigation revealed that she may have been seeing a black guy. Know who he might be?”

  “Not a clue.”

  She said, “I like two scenarios. Maybe you got the black guy and her killed. After all, nobody knows who the black guy is.”

  “I never killed anybody or had anybody killed.”

  Echo walked over to the table and offered Kiandra one of sandwiches. When she declined, he pulled out a chair and said with them at the table.

  She said, “Or maybe you only got rid of her and hoped the cops would focus on the black guy.”

  Don shook his head. “I never hurt her, and I even passed a polygraph test.”

  Echo said, “Polygraph? Another Jerry Springer production.” He bit a deep chunk out of the first sandwich. He produced a handgun and touched Don’s neck with the barrel. With a mouthful, he said, “This here is a more reliable lie detector.”

  Chapter 2

  WENDI LAMBERT was face to face with her mother, Gloria. They were in a well-kept den, and the television was louder than necessary, but the two white women were even louder.

  Wendi said, “Mom, I did not have sex with your boyfriend.” She was an attractive woman, but she was skinny to the point of not being shapely.

  Gloria said, “You’re a damn liar. He has pictures, and he showed them to me but wouldn’t let me keep any. If you weren’t such a loose whore, you’d know when you were bring put on camera.”

  “Mom, you’re not using your head. Kevin caught you with his best friend, and he’s only showing you photos to get even. Think about it.”

  “Never mind his motive; why would you sleep with him?”

  “I never slept with Kevin! The photos are obviously doctored. You already know about the pictures of me that were leaked on the Internet. Kevin must have used those nude shots of me and Cal, simply replacing Cal’s image with himself. And you fell for that. What a loser.”

  “I’m still your mother. I expect more respect—” The doorbell rang. “This conversation isn’t over.” Gloria left the den to answer the door. From her front room, she could see a Yukon SUV parked curbside.

  She looked through the peephole. “Who is it?”

  Brian Cathcart said, “Special Agent Richard Gaston, FBI.” And he held up his credentials for her to view.

  Gloria opened the door and saw two black men and a white woman. “How can I help you guys?”

  Brian said, “We have a few questions for Miss Wendi Lambert. Is she home?” But they already knew she was there and had even heard the argument.

  “Well, I’m her mother, Gloria Lambert. She’s here, but she doesn’t live here anymore.”

  Then the woman called out to her daughter. Wendi arrived in seconds. “What’s going on?”

  “These
men are with the FBI. They want to talk with you.”

  Brian said, “We’d like to ask you some questions about Ramona Hartley.”

  “Oh. Ramona. Sure. Please come in.”

  Brian was working with two trainees. Ezra Timothy Carpenter was a 33-year-old white guy of Brian’s size. Ezra’s friend called him Etceterra, but his FBI credentials had yet another name for him. The other trainee, Derrick Freemont, was a huge, 42-year-old black man who looked friendly and at the same time, unbeatable in a fist fight.

  The three men entered the middle-class home and were invited to sit on the sofa and armchair. When Gloria closed the front door, Brian said to Wendi, “The case files tell me you were best friends with Ramona before she disappeared three years ago.”

  “That’s true. We sorta grew up together, best friends since age ten and eleven. I’m almost a year older.”

  Brian said, “Do you know whether she was fucking anybody other than Don Loftner before her disappearance?”

  Gloria cut in and said, “Agent Gaston, is that kind of language necessary?”

  Etceterra jumped in and said, “Ma’am, before letting us in you called your daughter a ‘damn liar’ and ‘loose where.’ We only need a few minutes of your daughter’s time. Please don’t interrupt.”

  “This is my house. I invited you in and I can ask you to leave.” Etceterra said, “If you ask us to leave, then your daughter’s coming with us. The car she parked out there twenty-five minutes ago is a stolen vehicle, courtesy of her boyfriend, and she knows it. We can either continue the interview or take this loose whore to jail.”

  Chapter 3

  GLORIA STOOD BY the door with her arms folded below her breast. She would have nothing else to say.

  Brian said to Wendi, “Who else was Ramona fucking?”

  “Ramona was going through something. She didn’t really know what she wanted. She told me she had sex with a black guy just to experience the feeling.”

  Derrick said, “And what was the feeling? Did she tell you?”

  “She said it was . . . different, in a exotic way, but it was only meant to be a one-night stand.”

  Brian said, “Who was the guy?” “Zavius Grant.”

  Brian and Derrick concurrently said “Shotglass?” Then Brian added, “The comedian? The funny-ass stand up?’

  “Yes, but that was before anybody knew him.”

  Derrick said, “When the police first questioned you, why did you not mention Shotglass?’

  “Well, you guys are definitely not asking the same questions the police asked me three years ago. They asked questions like when was the last time I saw her; who was she with at the time; did I know anybody who might want to hurt her . . . You know, questions like that. They knew she was seeing Don, so they talked to him and the boyfriend she had before Don. They didn’t ask if she was sleeping around, and I didn’t volunteer it because they questioned me and her mom at the same time.”

  Etceterra said, “Plus, they never took the case seriously. The files show that they believed Ramona may have run off with someone or on her own. She was twenty-four and had a right to do so.”

  Wendi said, “Ramona dropped off the face of the earth. No way she would run away and never contact me or her parents.”

  Brian said, “The woman was twenty-four; at what age was she planning to leave home? Hell, her parents admit that they argued sometimes; maybe you weren’t as close to her as you think. Would you bet your life that Ramona would tell you everything?”

  “Yes. She wouldn’t keep a secret from me.”

  Derrick said, “How did she feel about oral sex and swallowing?’ Gloria’s face creased up. She headed for the den.

  Wendi remained standing near the hallway entrance. “She tried oral sex but we never talked about . . . swallowing.” Derrick smiled. “So she kept that a secret?”

  “No. You’re assuming that she swallowed and didn’t tell me.”

  “No, I assume that she kept you out of that much of her business.” Brian said, “You and her ever shared the same man?”

  “What do you mean by ‘share’?”

  “What do I mean? Did you and your best friend Ramona ever fuck the same guy?”

  “Yes but not together. She didn’t know.” Brian said, “Who was the guy?”

  She hesitated. “Zavius.”

  Etceterra said, “Stockton seems like a nice place to live.”

  Derrick said, “You kept secrets from her, but she would never do that to you.”

  Brian said, “When you were with Shotglass, did you swallow?’

  She traded stares with him. “What does that have to do with Ramona’s disappearance?”

  “Nothing, but if I can tell when you’re lying, then your ass is going to jail for possession of a stolen vehicle. Most women would lie about that. What’s your answer?”

  Wendi looked away. This was absolutely embarrassing to her.

  “Yes.”

  Brian said, “Yes, what?”

  She sighed. “Yes, I swallowed.” She felt like Shotglass would tell them anyway.

  Chapter 4

  ECHO WAS DRIVING Sheree’s Mercedes while Kiandra sat in the front passenger’s seat. He said, “Now you see why I have to park a block away sometimes?”

  “Yeah, but Don is still handcuffed to the bathroom sink. How is he supposed to get free?”

  “He’ll either break the sink pipe, or someone he knows will show up. As for the plasticuffs, they’re tough but cheap, so he can have them.”

  Kiandra said, “You said you don’t believe Don had anything to do with Ramona’s disappearance. Is that because he stuck to his story even with a gun to his neck?”

  “Listen, ‘cause this is important. If a suspect or potential witness wants to act tough or talk shit, I’m inflicting pain so I can get some cooperation. If need be, I will certainly shoot without hesitation. That’s why confronting suspects and witnesses in the right place is critical. I believe Don because of his answers to our questions, not because I had him at gunpoint.”

  She said, “Right, because some people will lie even with a gun to their heads. They don’t wanna die, but they don’t wanna go to prison, either.”

  A light rain began. Echo activated the wipers and said, “If I cause some serious pain to somebody then threaten them with death, they won’t have any problem talking to me. But if I’m trying to get a confession, I make sure they know the main rule of confessions: tell me something about the case, or give me some detail, that only the police and the guilty one would know.”

  She said, “What happens when the guilty one doesn’t want to confess even at gunpoint? They could keep denying their involvement as politely and confidently as possible. At what point do you call it a day?”

  Echo said, “Well, every case will not be solved. That’s why I like to know as much about the suspect or witness before I even meet them. If you can get something on them first, that’s even better. It helps. Just be prepared to lose sometimes. We’ve solved every case we’ve worked so far, but a loss could be right around the corner. Go with what you know or feel and try not to give a fuck if you’re wrong or if you shot somebody in the knee and they turned out to be innocent.”

  The rain was coming down harder now.

  Echo said, “You’re doing this for the money; it just so happens that you’re doing something good for the victims’ families, or at least trying to. So what if an innocent muthafucka or two get fucked up. Your intentions were good.”

  She laughed. “I won’t even ask how many times you had to kill somebody.”

  He said, “This rain is hell. You want me to catch the next exit and get a hotel room?”

  “Not if you think we’ll be screwing. I gave up on men a long time ago. I like pussy as much as you probably do.” “Damn. The rain ain’t that bad.”

  She smiled.

  He said, “When we interviewed you and the other two trainees, you said you would fuck a suspect for info.”

  “Of course. I�
�ll be making ten grand per case. You willing to pay ten grand to screw a lesbian? If so, then get the hotel room. I’ll even pretend to like it.”

  “I definitely wanna fuck you now, but I wouldn’t pay you a roll of nickels. What, you like tongue better than dick? Can I get a room and lick you for free? I ain’t got to put it in.”

  She laughed hard at that one. “You are one crazy muthafucka. I bet you got more than a few women at your ass.”

  “Los Angeles is over three hundred miles from here. You want the pussy sucked or what?”

  She shook her head and said, “No, thanks. I’ll pass.”

  “I guess me getting some head is out of the question.” Kiandra laughed again then reclined her seat all the way back.

  “Wake me up when it’s my turn to drive.”

  He glanced at her reclined body. “If you let me play in it while I drive, you’ll fall asleep faster.”

  Chapter 5

  ZAVIUS “SHOTGLASS” GRANT was naturally funny, but two years ago, he decided he should get paid for making people laugh. Twenty-two club performances later, he was considered “the best free-form comic in America,” according to USA Today. As revealed in a People magazine article, Shotglass was a comic with a natural gift to make you laugh. He had never written down any material and never rehashed the same humor. “He is truly an impromptu comic. He doesn’t know what he’s going to say five minutes from now, but he can keep you laughing all day.”

  Thursday night at the Improv in West Hollywood. Shotglass was on stage wearing a sleek mic headset. He wanted full use of his hands when performing. The place was full—everyone wanted to see Shotglass—but Brian and Janelle, Echo and Kiandra, and Derrick and Etceterra were taking up three of those tables.

  Shotglass was a handsome black man at six feet two, 203 pounds. He always sounded slightly hoarse, but there was nothing he could do about it; it was part of his identity. He wore a T-shirt with dress slacks and dress shoes, and the crowd was still on their feet and clapping.