White sister

Chapter 30

It was seven-fifteen. Instead of fulfilling my responsibility to Alexa and meeting with Luther, I continued following the tan Rolls into Hollywood.

The car turned onto Sunset Boulevard and headed toward the Strip, then pulled into a parking lot behind the old Whiskey A Go Go. Stacy was hitting her share of retro clubs. She exited the car and chirped the alarm, but didn't go inside the Whiskey. Instead, she did her runway strut down Sunset toward a two-story office building in the middle of the next block.

Two exposed upstairs dormer windows relieved the nondescript brown stucco facade and elevated the architecture from boxy to eclectic. Maintenance was slipshod and the building seemed to crouch low in the middle of the block as if trying to hide its faded paint and chipped trim. Tattered and old, the place was a reminder of better days when the Sunset Strip was the place to be.

I parked in the same lot behind the Whiskey and followed her down the street. I was still wearing the baseball cap and glasses as I entered the run-down building, but in a clever shift of disguise, I swung the bill of my ball cap to the back, gangsta-style, and took off my coat, draping it across my arm. I arrived inside the building only two minutes behind her, but the lobby was already empty. She had disappeared.

There was a building registry behind a plate of smudged glass identifying the lucky businesses that officed here. The place had a sweet, acrid smell, like Lysol mixed with pot, and the list of tenants appeared to be mostly music companies. One on the second floor was named Chronic Inc. On the street, chronic is potent, homegrown-style bud favored by marijuana users. Chronic Inc. A rap label? Maybe.

I pulled the earpiece out of my pocket and again looked at my watch. Seven-thirty. Alexa's medical meeting would just now be starting at UCLA with only Chooch in attendance. I pictured Luther frowning, and had a mental flash of my son not understanding why I hadn't called. Because it was all over the TV, both had to know by now that I was a suspect in Slade's murder.

I shook off these thoughts, inserted the earpiece and plugged the jack into the VXT receiver hooked to my belt. A sudden rush of shame flooded over me. I needed to be at that hospital. I was better than this. But just as I turned to leave, I heard Stacy's voice loud and clear, coming through the earpiece.

"Chicken head bitch be lyin' in a coma." Stacy was talking about Alexa. It froze me. I hit record on the VXT receiver.

"Slade couldn't never keep it in his pants," she continued. "All the time messing with new bitches, floatin' his game."

"You sound like that still be a problem, Stacy. Push off. The man's dead." It was a male voice. Deep, soft, and lyrical. "Come here, baby. I can get your mind offa that chump. Lemme give ya my flava."

"Hey, Curtis, we ain't got time. You got more Lou problems." Stacy said. "It's why I come down here."

"This just gonna be bidness?" he teased. "My gun needs cleanin', Mama."

"You need to hear me out," she said. "I been checkin' expense sheets. Lou got all kinda janky shit goin' on with your concerts.

Stuff even I didn't know about. He's also been skimmin' your performance royalties. It's time for you ta use that escape clause I told you about. Go over to WYD."

"When's that man gonna give me a day off?" Curtis moaned.

"You want a day off, you shoulda been a secretary," Stacy said. "This just be the way the man thinks."

"You're right," Curtis said. "He's stealin', not takin' care of business. It's all kryptonite. Ain't just my Savage Bitch CD gettin' shelved, or no Wall Street backing. Now my new side, "Nigga Got Game," ain't even getting no radio play. All Lou does about it when I complain is threaten my ass walkin' around with some ball bat, bustin' chops like the old days. Them East Coast-West Coast Beat Downs. You the only one over there gets it. Don't he know the Jew suits at Sony and Warner Records won't put up with his gangsta vibe?"

"You need t'have your new accountants check the last four royalty statements," Stacy said. "The short falls are mostly in event fees and expenses. You got a good civil suit here, baby."

"Man," he said. "Thank God you and me got our swerve on. Weren't for you, I wouldn't even know about any a this. If you hadn't found that escape clause Dante put in my contract, I'd be stuck." A chair scraped, somebody moved, and then Curtis said, "Lou finds out you been helpin' me, Mama, he gonna buck down hard."

"He ain't gonna find out 'less you start slippin', sugar. Since he got outta San Quentin, Lou lost his skills. He gonna end up goin' right back in the joint for fraud. I'm doin' this to teach him a lesson, so you gotta make sure it stays between us and the attorneys. Far as Lou knows, your accountants found this."

"You can count on me, baby. Now come here an' gimme some play."

Then I heard a chair scrape again, followed by heavy breathing. It went on for almost two minutes.

"Damn, that be fine," Curtis said, followed by a moan coming over the VXT. He was getting a hummer.

As I hid in the corridor listening, I tried to figure out Stacy's game. At her house, when I showed up she called Lou. She obviously looked to him for protection. Everything I'd learned about Lethal Force, Inc. suggested that she was the brains behind the label, so why was she pushing this guy Curtis out the door, giving him insider information so he could break his contract and even possibly sue them? She said it was to teach Louis a lesson, but it seemed an expensive way to do it. Like everything else in this case, it was hard to understand.

"I'm out," I finally heard Stacy say.

The door at the end of the hall opened and she exited the room. I dove into a little alcove in the hall. Stacy strode up the corridor, straightening her blouse, right past the alcove where I was hiding. She was momentarily focused on the elevator and I didn't think she would see me. Then her eyes snapped to the side and she stared right at me. Her expression didn't change, and she showed no sign of recognizing me in my hat and glasses. But one thing chilled me as she hurried on by. Stacy Maluga's eyes were hard and cold and showed no emotion or humanity. Those eyes said she would stop at nothing to get what she wanted.

In that moment, I wondered if I'd been worried about the wrong Maluga. I suddenly wondered if it was Stacy, not Lou, who I should be afraid of.