Roy Glenn - In A Cold Sweat

Wanda pressed end on her phone and looked at me. “Glynnis doesn’t want to talk on the phone. She said she wants to meet you in an hour at a place called Soul Fixin’s. It’s on 34 th.”

“You heard the lady, driver,” I said to Bobby.

“Fuck you,” was his response, but he headed for the Midtown Tunnel and we were there waiting at the restaurant when Glynnis walked up. After she ordered a cup of coffee, she and I walked down 34 th, with Bobby and Wanda following behind.

“I’m sorry to be going through all this with you, and I really don’t want to be involved. But I have to tell you this, I just don’t want anything to happen to me,” she said, and her hand shook a little as she sipped her coffee.

“Nothin’ gonna happen to you, Glynnis. I promise you that. I would never let anything happen to you. Just tell me what you gotta tell me. It will be all right.”

“I was at a party last night and I overheard a conversation between Martin Marshall and his man, Scotty. I heard Martin say, if Mike Black ever finds out I had any involvement in his wife’s murder, he’ll kill us all.”

Mike Black

Martin Marshall was a State Senator that I had done business with a few times. But he was such a greedy fuck that I had to cut him loose years ago. Since we had no business ties, I couldn’t imagine how he would be involved in Cassandra’s murder, but I would find out. We dropped Wanda off at her house and me and Bobby went to see Marshall at his house.

On the way there I thought about Martin and his connection to Diego Estabon. I knew that the two of them were involved, but I didn’t know how deep it was. I knew that they were involved in the death of a reporter named Tavia Hawkins and I gave the information to Kirk. I figured that would be punishment enough, but Martin Marshall wouldn’t go down that easy. Martin got immunity from prosecution for testifying against some congressman in Brooklyn over a real estate development deal and walked away clean.

None of this was making any sense to me. How could Diego be involved in Cassandra’s murder? When it first happened, Diego was one of the first people I thought of. But I quickly eliminated him because of the way things were goin’. The same logic still applied. If Diego or even his father, Gomez, wanted to kill Cassandra and kill me in jail they wouldn’t have hired Bart or his boy Swan when there are plenty of homeboys, both in and out of jail that they could have tapped to do the job.

It just didn’t make sense.

I decided then that I wasn’t going to Hong Kong, at least for the time being. There was enough goin’ on right here that seemed more promising than running around Hong Kong chasing the wild goose. I didn’t think that Martin was responsible for, or too deeply involved, in Cassandra’s murder; he was too much of a punk, but you never know. I was hopeful that whatever he knew would lead me to the people responsible. Maybe then Cassandra could rest peacefully, and maybe then I could move on with my life.

“We’re not going to Hong Kong,” I finally informed Bobby.

“I didn’t think so. You think Marty knows anything?”

“Maybe,” I said simply. I wanted to kill somebody and I didn’t think Martin Marshall was the one, so I couldn’t get too excited. I reached in my pocket and pulled out a dollar. “Let me use your phone.”

“Very funny,” Bobby said and practically threw his cell at me. “I was wondering how long it would take.”

“Take for what?” I asked as I punched in the number.

“How long after you decided not to go to Hong Kong would it take for you to call Mystique.”

“Who said I was callin’ her?”

“Nobody.” Bobby smiled. “Go ahead, press talk.”

“Huh?”

“When you want to make a call you gotta press the talk button.”

“I know that.”

“I know you know. Shit, as much as you're on it you should pay the bill.”

“I gave you a dollar.”

“And I told you that wasn’t the point. The point is even though you claim to not like them, and that you don’t like being that accessible, you have no problem using somebody else’s cell phone. You might as well break down, join the new millennium and get your own. And in case you haven’t noticed, you still haven’t pressed talk.”

“Okay, so I’m callin’ Mystique. What's wrong with that?” I asked, and waited for the verbal onslaught that would be Bobby’s response.

“Nothin’ at all. All I’m sayin’ is that like it or not, you're a single man now. You supposed to be fuckin’ Mystique’s brains out. Her and a whole bunch more. That’s all I’m sayin’,” Bobby said and kept driving, but it didn’t stop there. “You came back from the land of half naked hoes, but did you at least meet one?”

“There was one.”

“Did you fuck her or were you out hidin’ behind Michelle?”

“No, I wasn’t hidin’ behind Michelle. Jamaica introduced me to her and no I didn’t fuck her.”

“Why not?” Bobby asked louder than he needed to.

I wasn’t about to tell him that she practically set it out for me, but I ran off the island. “I didn’t have time. I wanted to get back here so we could leave for Hong Kong,” I lied, but it was one that he couldn’t dispute.

“So who is she? And don’t tell me that it was that fine ass mutha fucka that does the show that he’s always talkin’ ’bout. If that’s who it is, I don’t even want to hear about it.”

“Okay.” I finally pressed talk.

“Is it her?”

I didn’t answer.

“Why didn’t you fuck her?”

“I told you, I didn’t have time,” I said as Mystique answered. “It’s Black, how you doin’?”

“Better now,” Mystique said and I could hear her smile. “I didn’t think that I would hear from you so soon.”

“Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“No. I wasn’t doin’ anything,” she said quickly. “So, what’s Hong Kong like?”

“I haven’t left yet.”

“Oh, really? I thought you said you were goin’ there from the Bahamas?”

“Yeah, but something came up.”

“So, where are you?”

“I’m in New York. I just got back this afternoon.”

“Well, like I said, I’m not doin’ anything other than layin’ here naked, gettin’ wet thinkin’ about you inside me.”

“Hold that thought. I got to go see somebody now and you know how one thing always leads to another, so it’s gonna be a while, but I’m comin’ for you.”

“It’ll be drippin’ wet by that time,” Mystique said to me and I could see her layin’ there.

“You know that’s how I like it.”

“If I’m not here, you know where to find me,” Mystique said and he knew she meant she’d be at Cynt's. She was all about makin’ that money.

“Remind me that we need to talk about that.”

“What? Me workin’ at Cynt's?”

“Yeah.” I was fuckin’ her and everybody knows I’m fuckin’ her. And since I intended to keep on fuckin’ her, that meant she didn’t need to be workin’ in the club. I would have to find her something else to do; something legit.

“Okay, baby,” Mystique said.

“We’ll talk soon.”

“Very soon I hope.”

I ended the call and handed the phone back to Bobby.

“Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about. Hit her, drop her off and let the next nigga get her,” he cheered.

“I’m glad you're happy.”

“Now tell me about the woman Jamaica is always ravin’ ’bout. Is she as fine as he says?” Bobby asked as he parked in front of Martin Marshall’s house.

“I don’t know what he said about her, but she is a nice package,” I said and got out of the car.

Bobby and I walked up to the front door and rang the bell. When his maid answered, Bobby pushed his way past her. “We’re her to see Mr. Marshall, Sweetie,” he said.