The Unearthing of Blackstone Page 5

  Her expression was priceless. He could see she was truly not used to someone just saying what they thought, without all the bullshit. He shrugged his shoulders and glanced nonchalantly around the club, giving her a minute to regroup. If he got shot down, he got shot down, it had happened a time or two before, but he wasn’t going to do some big silly song and dance for the boogying woman. She’d had her fill of a throaty beat and deep baseline. Why should he extend the same? He wasn’t a concert and this was no show.

  “Yeah,” She nodded, her fresh smile growing exponentially. “That would be fine.”

  “Okay, great. What’s your name?” He whipped out his cellphone.

  “Amanda…”

  “And your last name?” He raised his brow, waiting.

  He surmised she was either acting a bit shy for appearances’ sake, or wasn’t accustomed to men wanting her full name. Unlike some guys, he gave a shit about who he fucked. He wanted her stats, especially in case she tried to double back with some bullshit, like a pregnancy pinned on him or some other drama-filled garbage that he knew wasn’t true. Either way, he tucked the reaction into his file of ‘Ripley’s Dating Believe it or Nots.’

  “Belle.”

  “Nice.” He waited as she dug her phone out of her purse.

  “Ace Blackstone…”

  She paused, as he expected her to. This was the part where she made her assessment as to whether this motherfucker was even worth her time.

  “So, Ace, what do you do?”

  Single, club-hopping females are so predictable…

  He sighed and grinned, a part of him hoping she’d surprise him with something else. A heavier question maybe, something worthwhile, showing a well-rounded mind. Oh well…

  “I’m a detective, a private investigator.”

  “A private dick?” she cracked, finding more humor in it than he was.

  “Shouldn’t all dicks be private? Should I walk around with my business hanging out?”

  He was greeted with a boisterous laugh as she shot what appeared to be her peanut gallery of friends a wink and huge grin. Two of them nodded in approval, giving his appearance a ‘thumbs up.’

  “You’re funny…” She leaned in closer to him, and he caught the sweetness of her feminine perfume.

  “Thank you. So anyway…”

  He was in a hurry to finish the ‘transaction’, have her in bed by the end of the weekend and be back to his job on Monday to act like the shit never happened —but, it simply wasn’t meant to be. The music came to an abrupt halt as a fight was well on its way. He looked through the crowd and saw Lance getting the hell beat out of him while ‘The Verve’ sang ‘Bittersweet Symphony.’

  “Oh, shit!” Ace brushed through the crowd, racing away from the woman whose panties he had scheduled to drop in twenty-one hours. He resolved she’d have to be the catch that got away as he continued to elbow and push people out of his zone. Lance cock blocked like a motherfucker, but he couldn’t let his boy get pounded into vegetable stew. A guy, around 5’9 with so many muscles busting out of his damn frame, he looked like a helium balloon set to fly in the Macy’s parade, was giving Lance the merciless thrashing of a lifetime.

  Ace grabbed the muscle-bounded freak’s arm and pulled it away before another fist landed across Lance’s bloodied face. There was a brief pause, and the bastard sneered, then jumped on Ace, too, as if he were begging for a face-rearranging shakedown. Before he could dodge a knuckle-covered bullet, a heavy fist landed across his damn cheekbone. Pain reverberated throughout his entire skull as if he’d been wrung by the neck.

  That’s your first and your last!

  He felt a bit dizzy, but now his ‘You’ve fucked up now’ internal button had been ignited and a rage that he’d kept pent up deep inside since childhood rose up, making his entire body heat and seek to exact revenge.

  He chopped and punched the man in the throat, cutting off his airway. Eyes bulging, the bully gasped for oxygen, his hands raised to his neck — but Ace didn’t give him one moment to regain the upper hand. Instead, he grabbed the fucker’s arm before he was able to catch his next breath and twisted it in an awkward fashion. The maniac squealed and screamed as Ace pressed the contorted limb against his back and shoved him in the direction of the bar. The crowd thickened and security seemed to be nowhere in sight. He surmised they may have been distracted by another fight, which caught his attention out of his peripheral view.

  “Get the fuck offa me!” the man screamed between curses and promises to turn Ace inside out.

  Ace yelled at the bartenders to get security.

  I knew I shouldn’t have agreed to come here tonight! Goddamn it!

  In moments, Lance had gotten back up on his feet, while Eli stood in a cloud of confusion, still clinging to a half-empty glass of beer, and the assailant was being whisked away by a police officer after the bartender vouched for who started the whole showdown. Ace shot an angry look towards Lance.

  “What the hell did you do, man?! What the fuck happened?!”

  Lance ran bloodied fingers through his blonde hair; his light blue eyes were bloodshot and one was puffing up as if it were bread dough baking in a damned oven at three hundred and fifty-degrees.

  “I guess I danced with his girlfriend. What a fuckin’ nut!” He spit blood into a cocktail napkin. A trail of bloodied saliva hung from the man’s bottom lip. The brute had done a number on him all right. “I think he loosened my tooth, man.” His voice was wobbly.

  “Let’s get you to the hospital,” Eli insisted, coming into the moment and setting his beer down.

  “No, no, I’ll deal with it in the morning,” Lance slurred, stumbling towards the exit of the club.

  Ace knew better. Lance had done more than just dance with the girl. He’d undoubtedly talked real slick and was asked to cut it out, but he continued on, knowing Eli and Ace were there in case some shit popped off. It was the same crap all the time. Lance would get drunk, run off at the mouth, and they’d have to come and save his ass like some damsel in distress. He was typically too sloppy drunk to throw a decent punch and defend himself, so it was left up to his two pals. It hadn’t happened in awhile, though, so Ace had hoped Lance had grown up. As he ran a hand over his sore face, he realized that once again he was wrong, and he’d given Lance entirely too much credit. Now all he wanted to do was take a hot shower and go the hell home.

  Amanda was no longer a thought in his mind, and he realized that once he felt a tap on his shoulder and didn’t have the foggiest who it might be. He turned and saw her, his adrenaline still pumping. Then, he smiled.

  Oh yeah…

  She had that look in her eye — the kind of look when you know a woman is turned on like a kitchen faucet, her panties saturated to the max like a maxi pad slam dunked into a basin full of warm water.

  She handed him her number, hand written on a napkin.

  Old-school…

  “Here. You left so suddenly… Call me.”

  She turned and walked away with a swivel in her steps, her ass bouncing from side to side like the thoroughbred that she was. And oh, how he planned to take a ride.

  I definitely will…

  ~***~

  With an orange slice hanging out the side of her mouth and clad in tan pajamas, she propped herself in front of the wide-screen plasma television on her living room wall. The night could not have been more mundane… and she relished it so. Brooklyn laughed aloud as the movie ‘Coming to America’ started to play.

  “That boy can sing!” Brooklyn repeated the notorious line as she readjusted her body on the couch, warm and comfy. A good comedy always made her feel much better, and this one was a classic. Eddie Murphy at his finest…

  The travelling had finally subsided, at least for the time being, and she’d handed the curator some news he’d wanted, something that made even his wildest expectations seem like the piddly dreams of a naysayer. Not only was the skull identified as that of an Italian woman dating back to the battle of Pa
via, she was the daughter of a military official and had come up missing after being captured by the Spanish troops. No one knew what had become of her and though the story was still in bits and pieces as to how she could have wound up in Venice when the actual mêlée occurred south of Milan, the fact now remained: she’d been found. Problem solved. Now, Francesca Gallo could be put to rest.

  Brooklyn sighed, caught her breath and reached for her glass of Broadbent Vinho Verde. Tilting her head back, she gulped it down with no attention to class or propriety whatsoever. She swished the beverage around in her mouth as if it were Listerine, making a real big deal about it. She stretched her legs and wiggled her toes in her polkadot turquoise and black socks, then leaned back against the soft throw pillows, sprawled out, her limbs extended like a spider web.

  “The children are our future!” She stumbled out the words on a chuckle. “Damn this is so funny! It never gets old.”

  Noticing her cellphone ringing, she brushed off tears of hilarity from her eyes, placed the movie on pause and answered.

  “Hello…”

  “What are you crying about?” Ivy questioned, a ’tude clearly in her voice.

  “Nothing, I’m laughing. I’m watching ‘Coming to America.’ This movie cracks me up so bad.” She fell into a pile of hysterics once again.

  “Well, I’m glad to see you’re in a good mood because it’s about to get even better.”

  “Ahhhh.” Brooklyn sighed as she tried to come to her senses. “What is it? I could use some good news. What I actually need is a vacation. Please tell me you are calling me to let me know you have all of my assignments under control and I can go off to some exotic locale I’ve never been to before, or, maybe back to Greece…I love Greece,” she said dreamily. “No, wait! Back to Venice, for a real vacation this time… Yeah, send me back to Venice.” She said, knowing full well that was just smoking hard and heavy on a pipe dream.

  “You were on vacation, and you came back with a skull… Girl, you don’t even know how to vacation so you can stop with all of that.”

  Brooklyn couldn’t help but laugh.

  “You don’t rest, Brooklyn, and we can discuss that more later, but in any case, here is the deal. Are you ready for this?”

  “Spill it.” She took another sip of her wine.

  “You’ve been nominated for the Gold Medal Award for Distinguished Archeological Achievement!” She knew without a shadow of a doubt that Ivy was doing her ‘Happy Dance.’ It usually consisted of her jumping up and down in a tight circle like a piece of kernel bursting into popcorn.

  What should have been a joint venture in said dance, as well as a golden feather in Brooklyn’s platinum and diamond cap, felt more like a spear through her gated heart. The glass almost slipped from her unsteady hand, sure to ruin her pristine, beige carpet as she stood to her feet in a shaky stance.

  “Are you there, Brooklyn? Did you hear what I said?! This is big! Congratulations, honey!”

  “Uh…yeah, yes…uh…that’s great.” She steadied herself and placed the glass on the nearby clear coffee table, then looked to and fro as if she’d lost something. She hadn’t lost anything at all, but in two seconds, she was sure to lose her goddamn mind.

  Shit.

  “When is this award given?”

  “Brooklyn, stop playing around! You know when it is given. Each year in December… You were nominated repeatedly and this last situation regarding Ms. Gallo, well, that was a home-run. I’m so proud of you, Brooklyn. You are really putting African Americans on the map in our field. Though you and I fight from time to time, you know I have the utmost respect for you, and I love working with you, sweetie…I’m so happy to be a part of this.”

  “Well, thank you, Ivy. I know I’m not…I’m not easy to work with all the time.” She shook her head as if she’d just woken up. A part of her wished this in fact were just some bad dream, but no, it was very much real and her sweaty palms reminded her of that.

  “Well, you’re a really good person Brooklyn, and I’ve learned so much from you. You’re down to earth and so smart, I love that about you. Anyway…” She sighed. “I couldn’t wait to tell you the good news but I need you to do me a favor. Try to act surprised tomorrow about the party. They’ve decided to come to the museum to present it to you and throw you a shindig. I’m so excited! Did I say that already? Well, I am! I can’t help myself!” Ivy sounded like some giddy girl who was the seventh caller for a radio station and won backstage passes for the concert of the sexiest boy band in the nation.

  “Party?! Oh no, Ivy, please! I hate surprise parties. Find a way to cancel it… Tell ’em I’m sick, say I have to go out of the country, anything! Get me out of this!”

  “What?! You can’t be serious. I can’t do that, Brooklyn! Besides, the mayor will be there and later tomorrow you get your award, so you can’t just chuck this out the window. I can’t believe you are being this obstinate. This is a bit much, even for you.”

  Brooklyn said nothing further. Instead, her mind concocted plentiful plans and sneaky schemes to try and crawl her way out of this terrible hole she’d been thrown into.

  “Look, is it your appearance?”

  “What do you mean, is it my appearance?! What the heck is wrong with how I look?” She put her hand on her hip and began to pace, gripping the phone, pouring her worries into a new topic. “You act like I’m some maniacal hunchbacked leprechaun with a third eye!”

  “I don’t have time to play with you, Brooklyn.” She could picture Ivy sucking her teeth and rolling her eyes. “You know full well what I’m talking about. You aren’t exactly a fashionista, okay?”

  “I don’t get paid to model, Ivy! I go to work, to work, okay?”

  “Do you need me to help you go shopping? You’ve admitted to having the style sense of a caveman.”

  Brooklyn smiled weakly. It was time to throw in the towel, wave the white flag. It was time to admit the truth and give up. For Ivy’s words were true. She didn’t stay tuned or plugged into current trends. She faulted her love affair with her job for the lack of fashion sense, but the truth was she just didn’t want a lot of attention drawn to herself.

  “Well, if I must go through with this, I suppose that is for the best,” she said, resigned.

  “Good. Be up and dressed in the morning. We’re going over to Nordstrom’s to get you into something sexy, yet lady like. You need your hair done, too…oh, and make-up.”

  “Come on, Ivy! It couldn’t be that serious. Can’t I just do my own hair and make-up?”

  “Well, you could, but I’ve seen you in the past five years and I just don’t trust you to handle it. Sorry, you look a mess. Well, that’s not fair. A mess is usually unintentional. What you do to your hair and face is definitely on purpose, and oh how sad it truly is...”

  Brooklyn rolled her eyes and bit her tongue as she paced nervously about. She glanced at the television and there stood Eddie Murphy frozen on the screen in full make-up, dressed up as ‘Randy Watson’ from the band, ‘Sexual Chocolate’. Not even Mr. Murphy stuffed into a silvery blue pantsuit could knock the butterflies out of her gut.

  “You’re a beautiful woman, Brooklyn, you really are.You just don’t maximize your potential. I don’t understand why. You may think I have it easy but I don’t. I have to work hard to look this good!” Ivy teased. “If I were in your shoes, I’d be married to Denzel Washington by now.”

  “Denzel is already married…”

  “Right, but I would’ve got him first. Now, I promise this will be painless, and you will look like a million bucks. Just trust me! I’m living vicariously through you for this award, woman! I will continue to do so until I, too, can be Anthropology Archaeologist of the year!”

  “I’m not archaeologist of the year, Ivy…”

  “You may as well be. Talk to you soon!”

  And then the phone went dead.

  Brooklyn stood still, her muscles clenched as if they’d been tied with twine. She rubbed her forehead so har
d, over and over, she was sure it would be reddened and bruised by the time she was done with the repeated self-abuse.

  “Well, it’s done now. All I can do is hope for the best… I hate this sort of thing!” She sulked and stomped into her bedroom, slamming the door behind her to finish her pity-party in peace, her glass of wine in one hand and the rest of the bottle tucked under her arm to be downed in no time flat…

  Drunken sleep, commence!

  ~***~

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Henderson…Henderson…Henderson…

  Ace was surprised at himself, and that was saying a lot. He pushed a balled up silver gum wrapper with his finger along the edge of the desk, as if about to punt it for a goal. Strewn thoughts flew wayward yet his mind filled with bubbling possibilities as he scanned the material and dug into a trench he had no business being in. Typically, he never caused himself alarm, no matter how over the top his behavior at any given time. He knew himself well, and how his brain operated — the complicated twists and turns of a dark place he allowed no one to see. What was the use? He didn’t expect others to ‘get’ him, for at times, he barely ‘got’ himself. Some aspects of himself he let show, but others he’d hide in the alcoves of the nightfall, secrets he treasured and kept out of the dawn’s nosy glow.

  This right here was rather surprising. Instead of skating behind a tender, gorgeous sweet thing named Lynne, he was following an unauthorized breadcrumb trail into the land of Earlwood Henderson. The man fascinated him. For some reason, he’d become obsessed with delving deeper into this gentleman’s past. Ace had a habit of talking to himself, and it was happening again as he sat at his desk at ten o’clock at night surfing the Internet and memorizing the information he found befitting.

  “Mr. Henderson is quite the self made man… What do we have here? Was hired as a manager first…first African American in the company to ever be in that position, let alone Regional CEO…”

  Ace nodded. Impressive…

  “What about your roots in Dallas, Mr. Henderson?” His finger flew across the keyboard, gaining access to only what he and the fraternal order of police were privy to. Thus far, the man came up squeaky-clean, much to Ace’s dismay.