Juror #3(75)

Potts backed off, wiping his mouth with his hand. “You ready for me to make the deposit?”

“Not yet.”

“It’s a sizable amount.”

“Potts. We got company. We’re drinking here.” Reynolds propped his boots on the desk in the very spot Potts had vacated. In a confiding tone, he said, “Yeah—Monae. I loved that girl, I really did. Even after she boned old Lee Greene, I forgave her. But she had a flaw. No loyalty.” He winked at me. “A fatal flaw.”

Potts emitted a warning grunt, but Cary flailed a careless arm in response. I glanced over at Potts. He was watching us with an eagle eye. It should’ve made me nervous, but I didn’t feel a bit anxious. My muscles had relaxed. All the tension in my shoulders had disappeared.





Chapter 69



POTTS AND CARY kept talking about money, but I quit following the thread of the conversation. Turning to Cary, I meant to ask something, but my eyes lost focus when I looked at him. I blinked and rubbed my eyes, but it didn’t help.

“I don’t feel good,” I said. My voice sounded far away, my speech was slurred.

Cary gave me a tight smile. Though I was woozy, I heard him say, “What are we going to do with you?”

He drained his Scotch and set the glass down. “Poor little old thing, can’t hold your liquor. I believe we’d best take your car keys away.”

I clutched my bag in a defensive move, but I had enough recall to say, “My car’s not here.”

The information seemed to startle him. Returning his boots to the floor, he wheeled his chair over to the window and lifted one of the plastic blinds.

“Damn. How’d you get here?”

I didn’t answer. I was trying to remember how I got there.

“Shit.” Cary turned to Potts. “Go on out back and start up the van.”

Potts said, “You don’t need any help in here?”

“Oh, I think I can take care of a lady. We need to get moving.”

I saw Potts shake his head, but then he walked down the hallway. The back door banged when it closed.

I squeezed my eyes shut. When I opened them, I had double vision. Two Cary Reynoldses were staring at me.

I whispered, “Oh, Lord.”

Reynolds didn’t reply. He shook a set of keys from his pocket and picked a key from the ring.

“I think I’m sick.”

He looked at me and smiled, shaking the key ring.

As my head rolled on my neck, I saw the front door fly open. Two Suzanne Greenes stood in the doorway.

Then I remembered. That’s how I got there. Suzanne drove me.

Her voice rang out so loud I wanted to cover my ears as she said, “What the hell is going on here?”

I said, “I am drunk as fuck.” Then I laughed again, because it’s not something I’d usually say.

Cary froze behind his desk, still holding that little key between his fingers. He didn’t look happy as he demanded, “Who are you?”

“It’s Suzanne. She’s my podner.” I tried to straighten up in my seat, but I felt myself slipping sideways instead. “She’s gonna take me home and put me to bed.”

Suzanne took another look at me and commenced digging in her big brown bag. “I’m calling 911.”

Cary stuck the key in his desk drawer and jerked it open. “You ain’t calling nobody. Y’all are going out the back and getting in the van.”

He thrust his arm in the desk drawer. When he pulled it out, he was holding a handgun. I thought I must be dreaming. Who brings a gun to a party?

Suzanne stood still as a statue, her hand deep inside the brown bag hanging off her elbow.

When Cary said, “You drop that bag on the floor. You won’t be bringing it along,” she followed his order.

She dropped the bag. I watched it fall to the floor. It tipped onto its side, and her cell phone spilled out, close to my shoe.

But when I looked up, she held something in front of her, clutching it with both hands.

Suzanne and Cary shouted at the same time, but I couldn’t make out what they said. Because there were fireworks. Lights flashing, rockets going off.

That’s when I slid out of the chair and passed out.





Chapter 70



WHEN MY EYES opened, I focused on the pattern of ceiling tiles overhead, trying to remember where I was.

I was lying on a narrow mattress, covered with a sheet. My head was fuzzy. And my stomach hurt. A blue nylon curtain surrounded me. The curtain was ripped aside so abruptly that it frightened me, and I nearly rolled off the bed.

Before I could escape, I was snatched up into a fierce hug that smelled of tobacco and Estée Lauder. My eyes closed as I sagged into Suzanne’s embrace.

“They said you were coming around, honey.” She released me and stood back, examining me over her glasses. “How are you feeling?”

“Not great.”

Suzanne hugged me again and kissed my cheek. The gesture made me tear up. I hadn’t experienced a hug and kiss like that since my mama passed. Suzanne grabbed a stool in the corner, rolled it next to my bedside, and sat down.

She stroked my hair. It eased the ache in my head. “Well, they pumped your stomach. I expect that took the sap out of you.”