LaToya: Episode II - Dark Streets, Darker Secrets

 

 

“So, did he had to throw the green-card thing on your face like that,” Medgar said as soon as we left Mr. Sessoms’ office.

“I don’t really mind,” I replied. “I’m actually excited that I have finally found a way to prove myself worthy of something.”

Medgar laughed.

“I guess we have to start on the case right away like you suggested,” he said.

“Sounds like a plan,” I agreed. “If you don’t mind, I need to call Tosha before we head off.”

“No worries,”  Medgar said.

Tosha and I have been in a relationship for more than two years now. An African-American, Tosha had a killer body – the type of body that can make a monk to misbehave. She is also a very nice and loyal friend – the kind of girl you can take home for your mother to see. The problem with Tosha is that she want us to get married and settle down immediately but I am not ready for that yet. When I called her on a payphone and told her about the green card offer Mr. Sessoms’ made to me, she wasn’t excited at all.

“You don’t need no damn Mr. Sessoms to get your green card,” she said angrily. “I can give you the green card if we get married.”

“Why are like this?” I replied, surprised. “I thought you would be happy for me.”

“Of course I am happy for you,” she snarled. “I just don’t like the green card part. I also don’t understand why we can’t  get married. For the past two years you’ve been singing on my ears how you love me so much. But yet you don’t want to prove it. I’m even embarrassed that it’s me that is always bringing the subject up. If you…”

“Don’t start, Tosha,” I cut her off.  “We have been here before.”

“Okay, let me ask you a question,” she said. “Do you truly love me like you claimed?”

“Of course I do, and you know that,” I replied.

“Can I trust you to be honest with me?” she asked.

“You got it, hon,” I replied.

“Then, explain to me why we shouldn’t be married and settle down.”

I couldn’t believe we were having this conversation on the phone.

“Listen, Tosha,” I began. “You are a good and beautiful girl. And I love you. If I marry you and you help me to get my green card, you will be feeling that I used you to get the green card. I will be feeling that way myself, and it won’t be a good feeling. But if I get the green card through my personal effort and if we get married after that, you will know that my love for you is a true love – that I did not love you because of the green card. I don’t want you to feel used and …”

“I will never feel that way,” she said. “Why would I do that?”

“Can we talk about it another time, Tosha?” I asked. “Now is really not a good time.”

She was silent for a while, and then said: “When will that be?”

“When I got back,” I replied.

“You mean I won’t see you tonight?” she said.

“Unfortunately no,” I said. “But I will make it up for you, sweetheart.”

“I am missing you already,” she lamented.

“Baby, do you know I am missing you too?” I said.

“No you don’t” she said.

“I mean it, sweetheart,” I said. “Now, who’s the guy that took you to shopping at Tiffany’s last Christmas?”

“It was you,” she said.

“Who bought you that Gucci necklace, bag and cologne last week?” I asked.

“You did,” she said, and I noticed that her voice have softened.

“There you go,” I said. “Didn’t that tell you something? Didn’t that tell you that I love you deeply?”

“It does,” she said softly. “It’s just that I feel lonely without you.”

“Can you feel my eyes on you, baby?” I said. “I mean right now – this very moment? Can you feel me look into your heart? Can you feel me in the pit of your stomach? I mean right now?”

“Yes,” she replied.

“Can you feel me in you, hon?” I said. “In your heart, can you feel me?”

“I love you, Emeka,” she said.

“But sweetheart, do you know that I love you more?” I asked.

“I know, Emeka,” she replied.

“Are you sure, hon?”

“Yes, I do,” she replied.

“Then, work with me on this,” I said. “Let me get this green card by working for it. We can get married after that and it would be  prove that my love for you is real, and that I’m not interested in using you to get the green card. Deal, or no deal?”

She remained silent.

“Answer me, hon,” I replied. “Don’t play with me.”

“It’s a deal, baby,” she said.

“I’ll let you go now, baby,” I said. “Dream of me tonight, you hear?”

She started to laugh.

“You really make me feel good always, Emeka,” she said. “Sure, I will dream of you tonight.”

“Thanks, baby,” I replied. “And bye.”

“See you soon,” she said.

I hung up the phone and went back to Medgar so we can begin work on the case.

It was already dark as we drove into West Baltimore in Medgar’s blue Chevrolet Impala Sedan. Medgar had earlier said that he is not in the mood to drive, so I had no option than to be the driver tonight. As everyone who lives within the state of Maryland knows at the time, West Baltimore is a huge section of Baltimore City notorious for violent and drug-related crime. The area also known for its unique culture, endless streets of old Baltimore row houses with their marble stoops, and sprawling parklands.

 “I kinda like this part of Baltimore City,” Medgar said, turning his head around to catch a glimpse of a tall, full-figured, black lady who was waiting at the traffic signals to cross the street and who had given him a long, friendly stare as we passed. “At least the women here appear to be excited about men. Believe me, that’s always a good sign that one can easily …”

“Shame on you, Medgar,” I interrupted him. “That’s all you think about – women. For a married man you should be talking to your priest and making some novenas for God’s forgiveness.”

“You will do the same thing if you were married to Anna,” Medgar said. “That woman drives me crazy. She is too needy and is always yelling for something. If I haven’t been mixing up with other ladies now and then, I would have concluded that they were all like Anna.”

“So, why did you married her, then?” I asked.

Medgar laughed bitterly.

“Are you nuts?” he replied. “She practically threw herself at me. In fact, it is the other way round: she married me.”

I slowed down and pulled to the sidewalk to ask a policeman where the Empire Hotel was. He told me that it is on Baltimore Street, and after about five minutes of driving, we came to the hotel.

The Empire Hotel  was a simple hotel. It was a tall building sandwiched between a block of offices and stores, including a Chinese restaurant. Opposite was the hotel garage, and when we had parked the Chevrolet Impala, we carried our bags across the street and entered the hotel. The hotel’s lobby looks shabby, and the reception clerk, a man of about 60 years, doesn’t seem to be in the mood to impress us.

“What a dump,” Medgar said. “I’m sure there will be bed bugs in the bedrooms.”

“What do you expect? Butterflies?” I said and crossed over to the desk.

Our decision to lodge in a hotel while working on LaToya’s case is only a temporary measure. After all, we both live in Baltimore county and have no business lodging in a hotel just to work in Baltimore City. It’s just that, since we are not cops, it is safer to work on a murder investigation like this from our hotel – the less our enemies knows about us, the safer for us. That’s the only reason were there. And since Mr. Sessoms is willing to pay for it, we have no qualms making the decision.

The clerk seemed delighted when I asked for two rooms and told him we were likely to stay a week.

“We have two rooms on the second floor,” he explained. “Would they be okay for you guys?”

“I guess,” I replied. “Will you mind taking these bags up?”

“Not at all,” he replied.

“Where’s your bar?” I asked.

“Over there,” he said. “Second door on your right.”

The bar was a long, narrow room with some potted chrysanthemums  and 4-legged swivel stools with wood frame and upholstered seat and back all over the place. There was no one in it except the barman who was reading the Baltimore Sun, a local newspaper in Baltimore. He folded the paper with a resigned air when he saw us.

“Hello guys,” he said.

He was a big and tall African-American with black but dull eyes of a drinker.

I ordered two Seven and Sevens, which was a mixed alcoholic drink containing Seagram’s Seven Crown and 7 Up.

“This place’s as quiet as the cemetery,” Medgar said looking around. “Don’t we have beer drinkers in this hotel?”

“It’s still early,” the bar man replied. “Are you guys staying here?”

“Yes,” I said. “Ever read the Baltimore Star?”

He showed his surprise.

“Of course I do,” he replied. “It is one of my favorite newspapers.”

I finished my Seven and Sevens at a swallow and pushed the glass back to him. Medgar, who believed in keeping pace with me, hurriedly downed his too.

“More Seven and Sevens, please,” I said. “We work for the Baltimore Star. We are covering the LaToya Young case. Do you remember her?”

The barman had picked up my glass to give me the Seven and Sevens. The glass suddenly slipped out of his hand and smashed on the floor.

“Damn!” he snarled,  as he bent to kick the bits of glass under the counter. When he straightened up I noticed he had lost some of his color.

“What was the name again?” he asked.

“LaToya Young. Remember her?”

“Of course I do.” He turned to fix another  Seven and Sevens for us. “If I understand you correctly, you are writing up the case?”

“Yes,” I said. “I mean, that is if we can get a new angle.”

He put the two Seven and Sevens before us and then leaned against the counter while he began to arrange some glasses in a more orderly group.

“Well,” he said, without looking at me. “What type of angle would that be?”

“I don’t know yet,” I replied. “But for now my colleague Medgar here and I are just looking around and seeing what we can pick up. I gotta tell you: this is an interesting case. LaToya, who was wearing only panties and bra, suddenly vanishes. So, where did she go? Why did she go? Do you have any idea?”

“What a question,” he said. “Why should I have any idea?”

“I thought you knew her,” I said.

He hesitated, then as he began to polish another glass he said, “No really. I mean, I don’t know her that much. But she was a customer here – she came in for a drink now and then, you know.”

“Was she alone?” I asked.

“She was always alone,” he said. “She came in here only when she’s looking for company.”

“She had a boyfriend, didn’t she?” I asked, aware that the barman was not comfortable discussing LaToya’s case. I was pretty sure he was scared.  

“Well,” he replied. “She didn’t seem to have any friend. She kept to herself most of the time.”

“But it might be possible she had a boyfriend without you knowing about it,” Medgar said. “What do you think?”

The barman scowled at him.

“You may be right,” he said. “What’s the point of writing about the case anyway?”

“You never know,” I said. “The truth is, unless we can find out why she disappeared, we won’t be able to write it about it.”

“If the cops couldn’t figure it out, what makes you think you can?” he asked looking quickly at me and then away, but not fast enough for me to miss the tensed expression on his face. This barman was beginning to interest me.

“Ever heard of Tyron King?” Medgar asked.

“Everybody knows Tyron King,” the barman replied.

“We are the guys who put him out of business,” Medgar said. “You will be surprised at what we can do. By that, I mean the number of unsolved cases my colleague here and I have solved. It surprises us sometimes, and Baltimore Police knows how good we are, and they work with us now.”

That seemed to get the barman’s attention, for Tyron King was a well-know Baltimore drug boss with ties to the Mafia. Even though he is an African-America, he once ruled the Baltimore City’s underground  economy for decades before his arrest.

“Is that right? Well, you’ll have to be pretty smart to crack LaToya Young’s case,” the barman said curtly and, turning, he moved to the end of the bar and fetched out his paper.

I finished my drink and said to him, “Know where Zodiac nightclub is?”

“About eighty yards down on the right,” he said without looking up.

As we left the bar, Medgar muttered, “This barman’s not friendly at all. Didn’t you notice it?”

“Something’s worrying him,” I said, letting the bar room door swing behind me.  “Wait a minute, Medgar.” I turned and peered through the glass panel of the bar room door. I watched for a moment, then joined Medgar. “The barman is using the telephone.”

“Maybe he’s putting a buck on the  Preakness Stakes,” Medgar said. “I heard the horse race is this weekend at the Pimlico Race Course. I want to put a buck on a horse myself.”

“At this hour?” I said. “You can’t be serious. Come on. Let’s get something to eat.” My mind was busy as we crossed the lobby and walked down the steps to the street. “I think I have screwed up, Medgar. I wouldn’t have told him about Baltimore Star if I had known he was going to react like that.”

“Like what?” Medgar said, confused. “He happened to drop his glass. So what? Anyone can do that. He wasn’t too friendly for sure, but then he may not like our faces. Some people don’t, anyway.”

“Medgar,” I said impatiently. “Will you stop talking and let me think?”

“I never knew when you became Aristotle,” Medgar said in a resigned voice. “Go ahead and think. The way I’m treated anyone would imagine I am your junior in this team.”

“Short up, Medgar,” I snapped.

 

 

END OF EPISODE 2

P.S. Stay tuned for Episode 3, which  will be published here next Sunday.