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?"
"It wouldn't hurt," I grunted.
"That's right." She rocked on me as I held onto her sides tight. She bent forward and I tickled her nipples with the end of my tongue.
"You want to get over, don't you, Zelmont?" She breathed hot air all over me.
I could barely put words together, I was so wrapped up in the pleasure. "Uh, yeah," I said in a husky voice.
She did a move that I felt deep in my backbone. This chick was too much. "Wha', what are you sayin', Wilma?" I managed to stammer.
I lifted my butt and she hit her head on the headliner of the Phaeton. She grabbed my shoulders, digging her strong fingers into the muscle as she grinded on top of me.
"You're chasing old glories, Zelmont," she said between gritting her teeth. "You have to be real, baby." She moaned loud as she worked her good thang on my rod.
I pulled her close, biting her ear and slobbering on her neck. "I'm a player, baby." I put a hand in the middle of her back and went to it like I knew I could. She matched me stroke for stroke.
"You're an ex-employee," she said softly, "but I can show you how to be set."
We kept banging, my crank-powered endurance making it seem like I could go all night. "I've been workin' out every goddamn day." We kissed, our tongues locking and separating with force.
"Even if you could get a slot, Weems will block any attempt you make ever to play ball again." She reared back as we both began to sweat. She came forward again, burying my head between her breasts. She must have taken hold of the latch, because the seat flipped up as she pulled me into a sitting position, then we reared back again.
The windows were clouded over and we kept at it. I wondered if some square was spying on us outside, and it made me more excited. Soon I came and shuddered to a halt. She stayed on me, which I hate. But I figured this was the first time, I could be gracious. I was exhausted, like after that game against the Dolphins in 105 degree heat and matching humidity
"Who else do you know that has money, real money, that if it goes missing he can't report it to the police?" She squirmed and reached her hand down between us.
"Woman, you got to stop talkin' crazy" I didn't know what this broad was up to, but it made something tickle in the back of my head.
"Shit," she snorted, getting off me. "You're scared."
I shook a finger at her. "I think you been playin' around Stadanko so long, you think you can be like him. He's straight mobbed up, you understand. We fuck with him, his buddies with the funny names will chop off our fingers and make us watch as they feed them to their pit bulls."