The Divorcee Murder Club

Setenta Y Cinco ~ 75

                  The steps of the precinct might as well be a stairway to hell. I have one foot hiked on the first step while the other is planted on the sidewalk. Everything will change when I walk inside, so I’m wearing the black-on-black suit I wore for Augusta’s party since it makes me feel like Johnny Cash. If I’m about to hand over my life for Jackson’s, I’d like to do it in style. 

Thankfully, I’m not alone. Angie paces the sidewalk taking drags off a cigarette in a daze. When we met, she smoked constantly, but lately, she hasn’t depended on nicotine until now. She chain-smoked the entire drive here, and her fingers tremble each time she brings the cancer stick to her lips.

She wasn’t happy about my decision.

We fought. She cried and begged for me to change my mind, but when I didn’t, she stormed off to lock herself in the bedroom. After about thirty minutes, she came out, cried some more, and I kissed away her tears, which had us peeling off each other’s clothes and making love on the floor.

After that, we fought some more but finally came to an understanding. 

So, here we are, waiting for me to get the nerve to walk inside the police station with Henry. He called ahead to let the detectives know that I wanted to work a deal and what my conditions were. 

But I can’t seem to walk away from my girl or mom, who keeps wiping her eyes. What a disappointment I’ve become. My mom came to this country to give me a better life, and now I’ve ruined what she worked so hard for.

It’s actually a lovely morning, with the sun shining and birds chirping in the trees as if nature is letting me know I’ve made the right decision. However, I can’t help but notice the black SUV that pulled up across the street. My brows furrow, so Steve follows my line of sight, and his hand goes to his hip again, although this time there is a holster and a gun.

My shoulders ease when Bernard’s gargantuan ass exits the vehicle. We haven’t spoken since the party, and now I am on the steps of the precinct, which can only mean one thing to him: I’m about to snitch. 

This isn’t good.

He waits for traffic to pass before jogging across the street, and when he reaches the sidewalk, he leans against a parked car. Steve looks at me, silently asking what he wants me to do, but I don’t think the giant guy is here to hurt me. It’s daylight, there are witnesses, and he has a family he can lose. Plus, who does he have to report to now that Augusta is dead? Nevertheless, I approach cautiously.

“What’s up?” I ask.

“I’ve been surveillance you.”

“For what?” 

“Things have changed now that Augusta is… now that she’s...” But Bernard can’t bring himself to say it, and he shakes his head before continuing. “Most of the guys in her detail have fled or are keeping a low profile till things cool down, but the rest have joined Jocelyn’s side. I don’t know if you saw in the news how a quarter of the mansion burned, but there was some sort of electrical fire. So, Jocelyn and her crew have left the mansion until renovations can be done, and it's no longer considered a crime scene, but I have no idea where they’re holding up.”

“Did you check their other properties?”

“Yes, of course, and they’re not at any of their seasonal houses or apartments, which means they must be working from a secret location I’ve never heard about, and I’m obviously on the outs. But I wouldn’t accept an offer from Jocelyn even at gunpoint. Augusta was good to me and my family, and she didn’t deserve to go out like that.”

“I get it, but why are you here, talking to me?”

“Because I had a feeling.”

“That I’ll snitch?”