“So, I want to start you on some medication. You take it by mouth twice a day. And here’s a prescription for some ointment.
It will help with the burning and itching you may have. Now, on a lighter side, you also have trichomoniasis.”
“Trick-a-what?” she said, looking at the doctor as if she couldn’t take any more diagnoses.
“It’s vaginal bacteria, also transmitted sexually. You really need to be careful with trichomoniasis because once we treat
you, if you have sex with an infected person who has not been treated you will catch the bacteria again. It’s really important
that we get your partner treated.”
Reggie has trichomoniasis; I can’t tell him that. I gave it to him. He’ll kill me if I tell him, and probably hate me, but
definitely never want to be with me again.
The doctor watched as she sat silent and still. Dr. Vistane wasn’t sure if she was even hearing him.
“Even if you’re not going to have sex with him again, he needs to know that he has had exposure to the bacteria and possibly
the herpes virus.”
“I can’t believe this,” said Daisy, as the doctor continued to explain the diagnosis. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m positive. So, if you can make a list for me, I will contact all the people that you have been in contact with.”
A list. I’d be here all night and day. No, we ain’t doing no lists, that’s on them. They’ll figure it out, just like I did,
sitting in the clinic.
“Um, no, I don’t know how to contact the guy,” Daisy lied.
“It was only one guy that you’ve been sexually active with in the last thirty to forty-five days?”
“Yes, just one guy,” said Daisy, lying through her teeth, as she wiped her tears from her eyes.
“Okay, wait…” said Dr. Vistane as he saw Daisy getting up from the table. “I’m not done yet.”
“There’s more?” asked Daisy.
“Yeah, there’s more,” said Dr. Vistane, shaking his head yes and looking as if he hated to be the bearer of all this bad news.
“You are pregnant.”
“Pregnant?”
“Yup, by the looks of it, six weeks,” said Dr. Vistane.
“Pregnant?”
“I take it this is an unwanted pregnancy?” asked Dr. Vistane.
“Yes, I can’t believe it… I just can’t believe it. I’m on the pill, though,” she said, knowing that there had to be some kind
of medical mistake.
“I understand, but the pill is only 99 percent effective. There are those, like you, who unfortunately are that pregnant one
percent. Would you like to come in and speak to one of the nurses about pregnancy counseling or other possible alternatives?”
Daisy couldn’t believe it. Not another abortion. She herself didn’t know if she could take another one; the sound of the machine
alone terrified her.
There has to be another way.
“Daisy, would you like counseling?”
“Yes, I want an abortion. I don’t want this baby. I want an abortion.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m positive, just please, Dr. Vistane, please make the appointment for me.”
“Okay, no problem. I’ll take care of everything. Come on, stop crying. Everything is going to be okay now. You’ll be just
fine, Daisy, just fine. I’ll take good care of you.”
Detective Honing and Detective Walters sat in the Honey Dipper looking every bit like needles in a haystack.
“Can I get another?” asked Honing, realizing a new waitress was serving him.
“Whatchoo drinking?”
“Um, Coke,” said Honing, unable to take his eyes off her perfect double Ds.
“Wow,” said Walters as he looked the waitress up and down. “This is fucking torture, man. I love it though. I swear my wife
is really in for it when I get home tonight.”
“Oh, yeah, well one of these broads is in for it right here, right now, when I get off work,” said Honing, wishing he could
tear the waitress’s back out.
“Hey, there he is,” the waitress said, as the detectives looked over their backs to the front doorway. “Hey, Calvin, these
gentlemen are here to see you,” she said as she walked away to the other end of the bar.
“What can I do for ya?” asked Calvin, looking at the police officers and wondering what in the world they were doing there.
He had enough shit going on, he didn’t need any more, and he certainly didn’t need the police in his spot.
“Umm, is there somewhere we can go and talk that might have a little more privacy?” asked Detective Walters.
“Why, we can’t talk right here?” asked Calvin, as if he had nothing to hide.
“Well, we’re investigating the Somerset killings. I don’t know if you heard about them in the news?” said Honing.
“Yeah, but what’s that got to do with me?” asked Calvin, sounding like a song.
“Well, it turns out that the suspect claims he was in your establishment here on the night in question. He claims he was with
one of your dancers, a girl by the name of Daisy. Do you have any dancers here by that name? We’d like to speak with her,”
finished Honing.
Calvin looked up at the double D waitress all in his conversation, listening to every word the detectives spoke.
“Umm, why don’t you follow me back here to my office where we can get a little more privacy,” said Calvin. “Go on, get back
to work before I five your ass, nosy-ass broads in here,” said Calvin, holding up his hand like he was Ike Turner or somebody.
“I ain’t late, five your damn self,” mumbled Tina, looking at Calvin and wondering where he got his nerve.
Calvin took the police into the back where the vultures couldn’t watch them like they were roadkill.
“So, you say that Somerset Killer claims he was here, huh?” said Calvin, smelling a big, stinky rat.
“Yeah, that’s his alibi, he was here in your bar with your dancer, Daisy. Here let me show you his photo and maybe you can
see if you recognize him.”
Walters pulled out a mug shot, handed it to Calvin, and carefully watched his expression. His face was completely empty. The
photo meant nothing to him, the face meant nothing to him, and the god’s honest truth was he had never seen the man in his
life.
“Nope, never seen him before,” said Calvin, passing the photo back. He walked over to the far left side of the room where
he had several file cabinets, opened the drawer, and pulled out the folder on Daisy Mae Fothergill.
“Here you go. She don’t work here no more, but you more than welcome to look at the information here in the folder. That should
answer all your questions about her, but as you can see, she quit about three weeks ago.”
“You haven’t seen her?”
“Nope, I haven’t heard a word from her.”
“Do you mind?” asked Honing, reaching for a piece of blank paper on Calvin’s desk.
“Help yourself.”
Calvin stood patiently as the detectives went through his employment folder on Daisy. They got what they came for. They knew
exactly who she was, right on down to her Social Security number, address, and birth date.
“I think that will be all for now. However, we have to ask that you not leave town.”
“Can’t leave town? Why, I’m not a suspect, am I?”
“No, sir, but while we are investigating we might need you here for questioning, that’s all. Contact me directly if you plan
on leaving the city, okay?” asked Walters, handing him his police precinct card.
Calvin took the card and his employment folder on Daisy and placed the card inside the folder. He set the folder on his desk
and escorted the detectives back out the door.
“Thanks for your assistance. You’ve been a big help,” said Honing.
“Yeah, no problem, any time,” said Calvin as he turned back into his office. He closed the door, went over to his desk. He
looked inside Daisy’s folder at the detective’s card; Homicide division.
Smells like a rat to me. What mess you done got yourself into now, Daisy?
S
o what’s the lawyer saying?” asked Sticks as he spoke to Nard through the plate glass, using a black telephone that had no
dialing pad, just the handset hanging from the wall.
“Man, he’s saying that it looks good, real good, but he needs to talk to that chick, from the Honey Dipper, what’s her name?
Daisy, right?”
“Yeah, Daisy. So the lawyer wants to speak with her?”
“Yeah, he said he needs to prep her for her testimony and shit,” said Nard as he looked down at the floor.
“What?” asked Sticks.
“Man, this shit got me fucked up. I don’t know how long I can hold up. They got a nigga in a fucking cell, man. And I ain’t
never been locked up in my life. This shit ain’t cool,” said Nard, looking at Sticks and wishing he was a free man.
“Listen, everything’s going to be all right, just get me the name of the lawyer and I’ll get the girl and take her down there.
Don’t worry, they can only hold you for six months, then they got to go to trial since they not giving you no bail.”
“Yeah, the lawyer said he’s going in front of the judge next week to see if he can get them to consider bail, but then he’s
saying if he does get bail, it’ll be so high, won’t nobody be able to pay it.”
“Well, even if they don’t give you bail, you outta here in six months and that’s nothing. You can do it. Trust me, six months
is nothing. That shit will be over in no time.”
Sticks got a piece of paper and a pen from a guard and wrote down Nard’s lawyer’s information. “Don’t worry, baby boy, I got
you covered.” With that, Sticks put his fist to the glass and waited for Nard to return the pound. It was hard to see a brother
behind bars, real hard, especially for Sticks, ’cause he had been in and out of prison since he was thirteen years old, so
he knew how them white folks got down with their penal institutions and rehabilitation programs. Most important though, he
knew what it felt like to be locked in a cage and he knew how lonely it could be. He walked a little faster just thinking
about it.
They not locking me up again. I’d rather die first
, he thought to himself.
Nard got to stay focused and not let them walls get him trapped.
It sounded simple, but it wasn’t. Sticks knew they were constantly interrogating Nard, trying to get him to mess up his words
or, worst case, snitch on someone. And that was the last thing he wanted, because deep down inside he knew if Nard did turn
state, he’d turn on him, and between the possibility of prison and the possibility of Simon Shuller’s eating his ass alive,
he saw his only option as doing the right thing and helping out a friend. He had to make sure Nard was straight. He had no
choice.
* * *
It had been over a week since Reggie had left for his business trip. He told her he would try to call, but so far she hadn’t
heard from him. She had contacted the real estate office and found out the price of the home they looked at. The sellers were
asking for $425,000. Reggie said anything she liked priced under half a million they should look at, so she had an appointment
for later today to see the place. Still though, she wished he would call. Every night before she went to bed she dialed his
cell phone, but the call would go straight to voicemail and she’d listen to his sexy voice talking to her, telling her to
leave a message. She never did though. Once the message was over, she’d just hang up the phone. Just then her phone rang.
Reggie
. She just knew it was him. She answered the phone with sheer excitement in her voice.
“Yo, where you been?” the voice asked calmly.
“Who is this?” responded Daisy, a little disappointed that the voice on the other end of the line wasn’t Reggie.
“Damn, you forget about me already? It’s Sticks.”
Sticks? What the fuck do this nigga want? He ain’t been bothering to call me. He must want something.
“You got some nerve calling me. You know Trixie still ain’t speaking to me. That shit you did to me was real fucked up too.
And then y’all left us. We didn’t have no way to get home or nothing,” said Daisy, thinking of the night she and Trixie did
a party for Sticks. Both girls had been drugged with gamma-hydroxybutyrate acid, known in the streets as GHB. They had been
raped and even sodomized, but worst of all, they hadn’t been paid.
“Look, man, that’s the past, don’t even worry about that shit. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
You can bet your bottom dollar it won’t.
“Well, thanks for the apology. So, what’s going on?”
“Nothing, man, I got to come and get you.”
“Come get me for what?”
“We gonna go see that lawyer.”
“Lawyer, what lawyer?”
“For my man, the one you gave the alibi for, remember?”
Daisy had almost forgotten about that statement she had given to the private investigator Sticks had sent to her house. It
had been three, maybe four months ago and for her that was like a lifetime.
“Yeah, but what’s that got to do with a lawyer?” she asked, not getting the gist of the mess she had gotten herself into for
a measly two thousand dollars.
“You got to go to court, so the lawyer wants to prepare you.”
“Go to court? I ain’t going to no court.”
“Yo, Dais, stop playing. You got to testify. You gave Nard the alibi. You said he was with you, that’s what you told the investigator,
and the investigator gave his report to Nard’s lawyer, so Nard’s lawyer needs to prepare you for trial. Yo, why you bugging?”
Bugging, did he ask me why I’m bugging? Is he fucking crazy? He’s the one bugging.
“Wait, wait, wait, you ain’t tell me all this. You never told me all this. You told me to just give that statement to a private
investigator. You ain’t say nothing about no lawyers or having to go to court. Shit, you the one that’s bugging.”
“Yo, Dais, look, man, I got you, whatever you want just name it.”
Well, now his ass is talking.
“You don’t want me to start naming. I got a list longer than your arm of shit I need over here.”
“All right, then so put the list together and I’ll be over there to get you at say two o’clock.”
“No I can’t, not today,” she said, thinking of her realtor meeting.
Fuck, I need to get me some money from Sticks while he talking my kinda talk. Maybe I should cancel with the house. No, let
me do the house.
“Yeah, we got to do this tomorrow or something.”