After leaving Capricorn’s apartment, I rushed home, showered, and changed into an orange linen business suit. But my hair was ruined from that lady spraying me with the water hose earlier. So, instead of blow-drying and flat-ironing my hair, I donned a two-toned curly wig and entered the Marlboro Club at one o’clock to meet my client for my first big case—a missing persons. Finally, Capricorn had relented.
The establishment was located in Buckhead. When I walked inside, the Marlboro Club was packed with patrons wearing business attire. Males flirted with females. Females at crowded high-top tables laughed and joked with each other. Cloying perfume mixed with salt, sweat, nachos, and hot wings. I sauntered over to the bar, where strangers were either staring into their drinks or watching televisions affixed to the walls. As I approached the bar counter, I spotted the client standing tall, probably waiting for me. He nodded as I closed in on him.
Suddenly, the white guy sitting in the bar seat to the left of my client stood awkwardly and turned, facing me. He’d gone completely pale. He clawed at his throat.
Oh, gosh! He was choking!
He suddenly turned blue then collapsed.
Screams and gasps punctured the bar. Then all went quiet.
Swiftly the congressman stood the now unconscious man up. The congressman positioned himself behind the man. I watched as the congressman performed the Heimlich maneuver until a food particle ejected from the man’s mouth.
I gasped, realizing I had stopped my own breathing as I waited for the man to start breathing again. He coughed violently and leaned against the bar. The establishment erupted into thunderous applause, then everyone returned to whatever they were doing before the near-death experience interrupted their pleasure.
Color returned to the white man’s face. With his eyes brimming with tears, the man thanked the congressman profusely then staggered away while never looking back. The congressman trained his eyes on me.
I walked forward and extended a hand; he took it. At first his hand swallowed mine but then the congressman caressed it.
I repressed a cringe, smiled, then introduced myself. “I’m Valerie Curry.”
His mouth formed an O, then he released my hand. “Really? I was told I was meeting a Jinx Curry.”
I smiled. “That’s me. That’s what my friends and coworkers call me.”
“I’m Congressman Calloway, of course.” He gestured to the bar stool, and I climbed atop it and nestled my body against the black leather. He took the seat next to mine and looked me up and down.
A flush crept across my cheeks. I felt like he had X-ray vision, and he was undressing me. A blender whirred in the distance.
He licked his lips. “Jinx, I have some powerful advice for you.”
I swallowed, almost dreading what the old man was about to impart. “What’s the advice?”
His eyes dropped to my lap, and I was aware of my exposed thigh, so I leaned away from him and turned the stool straight so my legs were directly under the counter. He leaned into me anyway. I could smell the Scotch on his breath. “Never stop showing your legs, Jinx. They look finger-lickin’ good.”
I coughed suddenly then cleared my throat. “My boss tells me your granddaughter is missing.”
He signaled the bartender. “That’s right. What kind of wine do you drink?”
“I don’t drink any alcohol, Congressman Calloway.”
The bartender appeared. Calloway said, “Scotch on the rocks. And bring this little lady a glass of your best wine, and put it all on my tab.”
“Right away, Congressman.” Like a roach, the bartender scurried away.
I started to object to the congressman about the ordered wine, but then I thought better of it, so I checked my cell for messages.
When I glanced at the congressman, his lips pressed together, then he rubbed the back of his neck. “Am I keeping you from something important, Jinx?”
I dropped my phone into my purse. “No. No.” I drew my mouth into a straight line, bit my lip, and just stared at him. He was a seventy-something light-skinned Black man with an abundance of freckles and moles adorning his clean-shaven face. He was wearing a tan suit that showed a trim physique. I plucked out a notepad and pen from my purse. “Tell me about Elena, is it?”
He ran his hand over a crown of faded white hair. “Yes, she’s my only granddaughter. My daughter, Liz’s girl. She’s nineteen. A sophomore at Emory, majoring in computer science and creative writing. No one’s heard from her in more than six months.”
I stopped writing a moment to massage my neck. Then I peered at him. “What about the police? What’d they have to say?”
He crossed his arms over his chest, and he shrugged. “They found no foul play. Plus, she was last seen on camera in Los Angeles two weeks after she disappeared. She used her credit card there for a hotel. Bought some food at a high-end restaurant. There was video footage of her dining alone.”
I stopped jotting again and hesitated before saying, “Mr. Calloway, perhaps she doesn’t want to be found.”
“That’s Congressman to you. You sound like the damn police,” he spat. He made sweeping arm gestures and glared at me. “Something must’ve happened to her. I know it.”
I tilted my head and eyed him suspiciously. “What makes you so sure? I mean . . . she dined alone. She checked into a hotel. She wasn’t seen with anyone. Why do you suspect foul play?”
A pinched expression crossed his face. “She would never put her mother through this. Never. Not after they’d just reconciled.”
My eyebrows shot up. “Reconciled?”
The drinks arrived. “Yes.” Calloway took a swig of his drink, but I didn’t touch mine. “Growing up, Elena and her mom butted heads.”
“Why?”
He dipped his finger inside his tumbler and swirled the Scotch around. For a long moment, he remained silent. He cleared his throat and said, “Liz was cracked out for a while.”
Instinctively, I reached out and touched his arm. “Oh, I see. I had a relative who went through that with his son. Drug abuse tears a family apart. What about Elena’s father?”
Calloway shrugged my hand off and snorted. “That bum?”
I offered a small smile. “I’m just saying . . . Perhaps Elena’d reach out to him? I’ll reach out. Where does he live?”
“Forest Lawn,” he sneered.
I sucked in a quick breath then slowly released it. “The cemetery? So, he’s dead?”
“As a doorknob,” the congressman deadpanned. He sipped his drink then stated, “OD’d ten years ago.”
I closed my eyes briefly. “Sorry to hear that.”
“I’m not.”
My eyes flashed on his. Brown daggers shot from them, and I rubbed the back of my neck then changed the subject. “Mr. Calloway—Congressman—who were Elena’s friends?”
“That’s a dead end,” he said quickly. A pained expression crossed his features. “They don’t know anything.” The congressman flicked imaginary lint from his suit.
I frowned because he seemed to be hiding something. I shrugged. “Perhaps they know something. And perhaps not. But we should try talking to them. There has to be at least one friend she’s close to.”
The corners of his lips turned up. “Yeah. Her name’s Kristen. Kristen Hall. She didn’t tell me or the cops nothin’.”
“Sometimes friends won’t talk to cops or parents. Perhaps she’ll talk to me. Where can I find this Kristen?”
“She works at the One Trust Bank in Decatur. Look, Jinx. If you find my granddaughter, I’ll make it worth your while. I’ll personally give you a fifty-thousand-dollar bonus.”
My jaw dropped. I tipped my head back and closed my eyes. Possibilities swirled inside my head. I calculated all of the bills I could pay off—like my car note. Get ahead on my mortgage. Hell, I could buy me and my daughter a few outfits.
“Have I got your attention, Jinx?”
I opened my eyes. “Yes, sir.” I ripped a page from my notepad and scribbled onto it. “That’s the information you’ll need for my Zelle account.”
Calloway snatched up the note paper, smirked, then leaned in close to me. “I like a woman who understands business. Not many do.” He pulled back and took a swig of liquor while regarding me through leering brown eyes. “Now, I have theory. Wanna hear it?”
Not really. My shoulders curled forward, and my chest caved in. “Certainly.”
“Elena had a boyfriend.” I perked up. Now we were getting somewhere. “He probably had something to do with her disappearance.” I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose. “Don’t give me that look, Jinx. I want you to check into the boyfriend. His name’s Deebo.”
My eyes popped open. “The rapper?”
He sneered. “Yeah. That ghetto bastard. Told all my kids not to ever date niggas. I forbade them to do so. But that message never got through to my granddaughter. What did she do? She dated a lousy, thieving, gangbanger. A thug of a nigga at that.”
I flinched. If Old Man Calloway wasn’t on a half-million-dollar retainer, and if my bonus was not fifty grand, I would have tossed my drink in his face and watched the red wine stain and ruin his perfectly pressed tan suit. Instead of tossing the glass, I asked, “If she’s holed up with him, what do you want me to do? Drag her out of his home and back to you? Then what? She runs away again? Mind you, she’s nineteen and a grown-ass woman, Mr. Calloway. What do you expect to happen?”
He leaned in close to me. The scent of Scotch wafted in my face. “Don’t bark at me like some junkyard dog, Missy. Let this be my only warning for you: always watch your tone with me.”
The temperature in the bar suddenly dipped to freezing, and I shivered.
“You and your firm have exactly one week to find my granddaughter, or I will ruin that boutique of a firm of your boss’s.”
I stared at him. My initial impression was I might not be able to find Elena. She was rich. Money could get you lost in the United States. But what if she’d left the country? What if she didn’t want to be found? I keyed into what he said next.
“Yes, Hayes and I go way back. I gave him his first, second, and tenth case. If it weren’t for me, he would never have expanded his agency ’cause I brought him clients. High-paying clients. How much would his firm be worth if I let it spill that all of his clients’ secrets were compromised?”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
Calloway picked up the tumbler of Scotch and drained it. “Try me.”
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