Slipping Into Darkness Read Free Page B

tugging at me. I guessed it was my conscience. What was I going to do about that crazy brother of mine?
    I hated to have to be the one to break Venita’s bubble, but I was not getting involved in Mayhem’s kidnapping. After the run-in I had last year with two dirty cops, I was already considered suspect as a private eye. No one seemed to remember that these narcs had killed my partner, James Okamoto, shot me, then later killed my fifteen-year-old nephew, Trayvon, because they mistook him for me.
    Even though I killed them both in self-defense, from that point on, I could tell I was under surveillance by the powers that be. Trust and believe, though, I didn’t lose any sleep over those two murders, either. I felt it was kind of a street justice to them. An eye for an eye. Now and then, the Feds or the police would still pull me in and harass me.
    With Romero gone, my mind meandered back to my brother’s dilemma. As far as this kidnapping of my brother, Mayhem, I couldn’t even go to the law with this anyhow. My brother was a Crip, a known drug dealer, and a lethal killer.
    And why was my mother coming to me? As far as I was concerned, Mayhem had always been her pet. She was the one who did twenty years’ time for a crime my brother, her first born, committed. Let her figure out how to get him from his kidnappers. I knew I was hardening my heart when I told this to myself.
    Still, this thing wouldn’t let me go. I was in a quandary. Venita must be crazy. I liked living. No telling who could be holding Mayhem, from some Mexican cartels to a Black gang. Because I felt so conflicted, it was hard to concentrate on my surroundings.
    I forced my mind back on the present, and did what I came here to do. I started snapping pictures of celebrity couples who would probably be divorced and remarried by next year, since they didn’t believe in letting any grass grow under their feet. If I were the paparazzi, I’d be sitting on a gold mine right now, since I was capturing all the A-list actors and actresses, but at the same time, I was looking for a lead on my case. Lolita, the missing person, was last seen with a D-list actor, who so far I hadn’t seen tonight.
    Romero hadn’t been gone twenty minutes when, out of my peripheral vision, I noticed a couple of suits approaching me with the intensity of two fence-jumping alligators. I knew the look. I guessed they were Feds of some kind.
    â€œCome with us, young lady.”
    â€œWhy? I didn’t do anything wrong? What the–”

Chapter Three
    â€œWait a minute. I got rights,” I protested.
    â€œYou got the right to be arrested right here. Don’t make a scene.” The taller man with the glass eye spoke with a threatening rumble under his voice. A spasm of irritation crossed his face, and his good eye narrowed in contempt.
    A strong hand grabbed me by the elbow. It was Glass Eye’s partner.
    â€œWait a minute. Who are you? Wha ... Who ... ?” I stammered.
    â€œFBI. Special Agent Jerry Stamper.” He flashed a badge, then stuck it back in his jacket before I could eyeball it good. His crew cut had dandruff snowflakes powdering his navy serge jacket.
    Glass Eye flashed his badge. “Special Agent Richard Braggs, DEA.”
    â€œOh, is this some kind of cluster fuck? Since when did the FBI and the DEA start working together?” I couldn’t help but cuss. Something wasn’t right here.
    â€œWe’re part of a covert operation authorized by the government. You’re obstructing our operative. Don’t get smart or we’ll arrest you right here on the spot.”
    I looked around at all the Hollywood glitz and glamour and decided I didn’t want to make a scene. That surely wouldn’t be good for future business. “But what did I do?”
    â€œWe need you for questioning.”
    â€œDo you have probable cause?” I asked belligerently. “Do you have a