The cost of vengeance

“Where’d he go?” Bobby said.

“I don’t know.”

I opened the door and Bobby pushed Quovadda inside. “You can search the house, Black; he isn’t here,” Quovadda said and I took out my gun.

While Bobby searched the house, I sat and talked law with Quovadda. Wanda told me that she was good people, and that she was the type of person who would do anything for her friends. That’s probably what made her a good attorney; one who provided her clients with an impassioned defense. “I’m curious, Quovadda, what’s a big- time lawyer like you doin’ with Skip?”

“He was one of my first clients.”

“No, Quovadda, it’s more than that. You mean enough to him that he would hide out at your house.”

“Honestly?”

“I like honesty.”

“I’ve been holding some money for him and he came to get it,” Quovadda said, and I was amazed at how calm and poised she was. At a time like this, with a gun pointed at her, most people would be on the brink of tears.

“His getaway money,” I said.

“And since you’re here, I going to assume that it is you he’s trying to get away from,” Quovadda said.

“You would be correct,” I said as Bobby returned from searching the house.

He immediately returned his gun to Quovadda’s head and grabbed her by the throat. “Where the fuck is he?”

“I don’t know,” Quovadda managed.

“You don’t know or you can’t say?” I asked and Quovadda looked confused. “Let her go, Bobby.” He let go of her neck and I sat down next to her. “I’m going to kill Skip tonight. You know that, right?”

“I got that impression.”

“When I do, I’d like to hire you to defend me for his murder,” I said and Quovadda smiled. “I could double your usual fee. Will you take me as a client? Of course you would have to drop Skip as a client first.”

Quovadda understood that if I was going to kill Skip, I would have to kill her too. But if she was my attorney, she would be bound by attorney-client privilege.

“How do I know that after you retain my services and you kill Skip, you won’t come back here and kill me too?”

“You have my word,” I said and Quovadda looked at Bobby. “And his too?”

Quovadda was smart. After agreeing to my terms, she asked permission to go to her office and she drafted and had us sign an agreement retaining her services. Then she faxed it to her Manhattan office. Once the fax was sent, Quovadda looked at me. “Skip is in my boathouse at the pier.”

As we walked away from Quovadda’s house, Bobby asked a logical question. “When we’re done with Skip, are we gonna come back and kill her?”

“No. Quovadda’s a good lawyer, and we can never have too many good lawyers.”

When we got to Quovadda’s boathouse, we found it was small with one door going in and one window. “I’m really not in any mood to rush that door, Mike. And I don’t think you are either,” Bobby said.

“Any ideas?”

“Be right back,” Bobby said and walked off. I watched as Bobby walked slowly down the pier, looking in each of the boats. While I waited, I looked out at the ocean. Just being there on the water made me long to be back in Nassau with my girls.

Then Jada West eased back into my mind. What to do about Jada West? There was something about her that I just couldn’t shake. Bobby came back carrying a gas can, and I knew what he had in mind. “Any gas in it?”

“Enough,” he said; and as quietly as he could, he walked around the boathouse and poured out the gas. When the can was empty, Bobby lit the trail on fire and walked away. “If he’s in there, he’ll be out in a minute.”

We waited as the boathouse caught on fire. After awhile I heard somebody scream “OH, SHIT!” and the door flew open. Skip came running out with his clothes on fire. He was so busy trying to put it out that he didn’t notice me and Bobby walk up on him.

“Drop and roll,” Bobby said as Skip finally killed the fire.

“Black.”

“Good-bye, Skip,” I said and put two in his chest. Bobby stood over him and added two more to the head. I went and got a fire extinguisher from the boat nearby, and put out the fire in the house while Bobby tossed Skip’s body in the water.

Chapter Seventeen

Jada West

I slept later than usual the day after our late-night trip to the Waldorf. It was well after two in the afternoon when I finally opened my eyes. Shortly after that, my private line began ringing. “Good Afternoon,” I answered in my professional voice, but was still a little sleepy.

“Good afternoon, Ms. West.”

Just the sound of that voice dancing in my ear brought me to full conscieneness right away. “Well, hello, Mr. Black. I was wondering if you had gotten my message.”

“I did; and I’m sorry that I’m just getting back to you now. I had a very busy night last night.”

“No need to apologize. I had a busy night myself. Although I’m sure your night was probably more eventful than mine, I had some things that I needed to handle and I’m just waking up.”

“I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“Oh, no. And even if you had, it would be a pleasure to hear from you anyway,” I said and laughed a little. “Anyway. I was wondering, if you didn’t have any plans of course, if you were free to join me for dinner this evening?” I asked and hoped that he would say yes.

“As a matter of fact, I was going to fly to Nassau this evening.”

“I see,” I said and all the excitement and anticipation eased out of my body.

“But I could catch a later flight, Ms. West.”

Good, that’s more what I wanted to hear, I thought instead of saying. “I wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble,” I said graciously.

“No trouble at all, Ms. West. I would be honored to have dinner with you. Just tell me where and what time, and I’ll make arrangements.”

“Excellent,” I said and tried, but failed, not to sound too excited. “Are you familiar with Bouley on Duane Street?”

“No, Ms. West.”

“It’s David Bouley’s French restaurant in Tribeca.”

“I haven’t eaten there before.”

“Bouley’s offers modern French cuisine with world influences in a very intimate setting. It’s been awhile since I’ve been there, but the food and ambience are excellent.”

“I’ve heard good things about Bouley’s, Ms. West. And I’m always interested in trying someplace new.”

“It would be my pleasure to introduce you to something new. Shall we say six; or is that too late for you?”

“Not at all. I will see you at six then,” he said and ended the call.

I rolled over in bed and immediately began thinking about what to wear. I sat up and looked in the mirror at my hair. I picked up the phone and called Rewa, my stylist, and after more pleading than usual, she agreed to come right over and do something special with my hair.

I got out of bed and walked in my closet. Of course I wanted to look nice for Mr. Black, but I wanted to make a statement that he would think about on his flight to the islands, and remember until the next time he saw me.