Free Devilish Details by Lynn Emery

of sins, but smoking ain’t been one of ‘em.
Watched my granddaddy die of emphysema. Now that’s a slow horrible
way to go, with your lungs burnt black and gasping for air. Damn.”
She shook herself as though willing away bad memories.
    “Humph.” Jazz winced as she crushed the
remains of her cigarillo. “Thanks for the pep talk.”
    “For your own good.” Tyretta used the pinky
finger of the hand holding her beer to point at Jazz.
    Rochelle came to the screen door leading to
the kitchen. “Hey, my brother Yancey took off on me. I told you not
to give him that money so quick, Jazz. Now I need help.”
    “Woman, you’ve scrubbed every damn inch of
the place.” Tyretta stood despite her protest.
    “And we had no violations at the last
inspection. Plus they could show up for a pop inspection any time.
Now come help me move this big pot.” Rochelle fanned her face with
one hand.
    “Oh, well if that’s all.” Tyretta pulled the
screen door open.
    “Then we’ll scrub the cook top, wipe down
the counters with disinfectant, and mop,” Rochelle said with a
crisp nod. “Now c’mon.”
    “Damn,” Tyretta grumbled as she followed her
inside.
    Jazz laughed at the loud complaints as
Rochelle barked orders that floated through the open door. Heat
from the kitchen kept her warm in the cool April night air.
Headlights flashed by as cars passed on the streets. Across a
vacant lot east of the club, a bright green “Open” sign blinked
off. The Keep It Clean Laundromat had extended hours to midnight on
Fridays and Saturdays. The owners, a Korean couple, loaded up their
Toyota SUV. The wife waved at Jazz and she waved back. Jazz loved
their “live and let live” attitude, and so they’d become
friends.
    Soon most of the noise came from Candy
Girls. Single family homes stretched down the blocks around the
scattered small businesses. Lights glowed through cheap curtains or
blinds showing the mostly blue collar residents were home from
work. Jazz stood up to go inside when a voice stopped her cold.
    “Hey, girl. Look, don’t yell or anything. I
just wanna talk to you, okay?” Kyeisha’s raspy words came out
jagged from nervous energy.
    Jazz glanced to her left into the dark void
between the back wall of a vacant store and her building. The
clamor of customers having a good time sounded too far away.
Rochelle had pushed the solid door to the kitchen shut as she
mopped the floor. Kyeisha stayed in the shadows, just beyond the
soft glow of the single bulb illuminating the patio. Jazz strained
to get a clearer look, but couldn’t. She made no sudden moves.
Kyeisha could be armed. In fact she most likely was carrying a
weapon of some kind.
    “Sure. What’s up?” Jazz said, hoping her
voice sounded calmer than she felt.
    Kyeisha hissed a laugh. “You and all of
Baton Rouge know what’s up. I didn’t shoot that guy.”
    “Okay, you might wanna tell the police cuz
I’m not the one lookin’ for ya. Running from ‘em won’t help. Trust
me cause I know,” Jazz replied.
    “Shit, the police and DA don’t care who go
to prison. The more they send up, the better for them. You know
what I’m sayin’.”
    “What about your friends or family? They can
talk to the police for you,” Jazz offered.
    The harsh sizzle of curse words sliced
through the darkness. Too late Jazz remembered Kyeisha’s family
situation, both parents in prison. Her combination of half and
whole siblings were spread out between Baton Rouge and Houston,
Texas. They were just as likely to claim any reward offered by the
authorities for turning her in.
    “Lorraine won’t call me back. The rest of
those bitches showin’ me they ain’t no friend of mine. The only
brother that might talk to me is on the road in his truck. I’m not
gonna tell you what his wife said when I tried to explain.”
Kyeisha’s footsteps shuffled in the darkness, a habit she had when
stressed.
    “Yeah, tough spot,” Jazz said, working hard
to think her way out of her