Killing Them Softly (15 page)

As soon as the elevator door closed, I punched the wall and regretted it right away. "Ouch." I leaned against the wall shaking my aching hand, and cursing Qianna. But what was I complaining about? I’m the one that told her to invite Avonte over. And she was kinda cute, but that’s not the point. That bitch got some fuckin’ nerve.

How she gonna ask me to leave my own apartment, so some man could come over to bring her money, ’cause she’s too lazy to get up and go get it. And I know the nasty-bitch fucked him. I could smell it in the air as soon as I came through the door.

It is very quickly getting to the point where I can’t take any more of Qianna’s shit. It’s like she has no conscience. It’s all about what she wants, what she needs, and her desires. In spite of the fact that Qianna Patterson is by far the best lover that I’ve ever had, she’s got to go. Just not right away.

Not before I feed this heffa a taste of what she’s been feeding me lately. And I know just the man to kick things off with.

Since I had nowhere to go when Qianna put me out of my own apartment, I walked down the street to Starbucks. While I was sipping latte and nibbling on a cinnamon roll that I didn’t really want, and flipping through a magazine, he called and asked me to go out with him again. Before now, my answer was always, "You know I’m with somebody. And besides you’re married."

But tonight, his answer was a little different. "My status has changed," he said. So since I was mad at Qianna, I told him to meet me at The Boat Basin Cafe.

I got there early and headed straight for the bar. "What can I get for you?" the bartender asked.

"I’ll have an apple martini," I said, and waited for him to get there.

I had just about finished my drink when I heard his voice.

"Hello, Angel."

"Devin?"

He smiled and shook his head. "Mind if I join you?"

It had been a good little while since we met, so as he sat down I looked him over. I met Devin one night at the club. I was there to meet Qianna, but she never showed up. And you know she had to swear up and down that she was there, and we’d just missed each other. While I was looking for her and getting madder by the second, Devin stepped to me. "Hello," he said the night we met over the music.

"Hi," I said, and continued to look around for Qianna.

He leaned close to me and said in my ear, "You’re very pretty."

"Thank you," I said, and looked at Devin for the first time, and a smile creeped across my lips. I remember thinking that he was good looking, and that if I wasn’t so mad at Qianna, I might have hung out with him.

"What’s your name?"

"Angel," I answered in a voice that I thought screamed
I don’t wanna be bothered with you
.

He stepped closer. Close enough that I could smell his cologne. "My name is Devin," he said, completely unaffected by my attitude. I looked at him again, Devin was looking and smelling good, and I was being a bitch for no good reason.
Fuck Qianna!
I said to myself, and decided right then that I wasn’t going to let Qianna ruin my evening.

I held out my hand. "Nice to meet you too, Devin," I said, like my parents taught me some manners.

"Believe me, Angel, the pleasure is all mine," he said, and stared into my eyes. "I couldn’t help but notice that you seem to be looking for somebody."

"Yeah. I was supposed to be meeting a friend here, but I guess she’s not gonna show," I said, and looked around the club again that night. Since then, we been textin’ and talkin’ on the phone, but I don’t remember him being this fine.

"Have a seat. I got here a little early, so I started without you. Hope you don’t mind?" I said, and held up my glass.

"Not as long as you give me an opportunity to catch up." He sat down and motioned for the bartender. "Barcardi 151 on the rocks," he said, and turned to me, "Would you like another?"

"Thank you. I’ll have another apple martini."

Devin and I sat at the bar and talked. Even though we had only seen each other that one time, we were very comfortable with each other. I liked talking to Devin. His conversation was always so positive, and filled with ideas that opened my mind to new possibilities. He was a refreshing change from Qianna.

"Mind if I ask you a question?"

"Go ahead."

"Every time I asked you to go out with me before, you always said no. Why did you say yes today?"

I smiled at him for a second or two before I answered his question. "The politically correct answer would be that I just wanted to see you. But the truth is a bit more complicated."

"You feel like sharing?" Devin asked, and moved a little closer to me.

"I’m mad at my friend, so here I am."

"What did your friend do to make you mad?"

"Oh nothing; just seeing two other people."

"Damn. I’m sorry."

"Don’t be," I said, and raised my glass. "It’s my fault. I let this happen. So I have nobody to blame but myself. You try to be understanding. You know, give people their space and let them be who they are, do want they gotta do to make it. But damn, show me some respect."

"Nobody likes to be disrespected."

"I knew they were seeing other people, but so am I, so that’s not the problem. Then they started bringing them to my apartment when I wasn’t there."

"That’s just wrong."

"I think so. But let me ask you a question."

"What’s that?"

"Would you bring your other woman, not saying that you got another woman, but would you bring her to your house to have sex with her?"

"No."

"Even if your wife said it was all right?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"That would be too disrespectful."

"That’s exactly my point, and I’m getting tried of it."

"You shouldn’t have to put up with that."

"It’s gotten to the point where they don’t even try to hide it anymore. It’s like she doesn’t care about my feelings."

"She?"

"She," I said, and looked Devin in the eye, and waited to see his reaction.

"You are—" he started, but I saved him the trouble.

"Let’s just say I like people."

"I see."

"I don’t like labels, so I don’t apply them to myself. That way, I don’t apply them to other people."

"Very enlightened attitude."

"Does that bother you?"

"Does what bother me?"

"You know what I mean," I said, and took a playful swing at him. "Does it bother you that I like having sex with women?"

"No. Not at all. This may come as some surprise to you, but I like having sex with women too. So no, it doesn’t bother me at all. That is, as long as you like having sex with men, too."

"Yes, I like having sex with men too. And why do you care? You should only be interested in having sex with one woman, and that’s your wife."

"My wife died recently."

"I’m sorry, I didn’t know."

"I don’t like talking about it."

"I understand completely. We’ll talk about something else."

"The subject we were on was fine with me."

"What; me liking sex with men too?"

"Yeah that."

I smiled and sipped my drink. "What about it?"

"Do you have a preference for one gender over another?"

"Not really. I don’t deny my attraction for one over the other."

"Most of the bisexual women I’ve met, say they prefer women over men. They say that a woman knows what a woman wants."

"I’ve met quite a few women that have told me that too. But I try to focus my attractions on qualities I see in an individual, regardless of whether that person is a man or a woman. Sometimes these qualities involve gender, sometimes they don’t."

"Like what?"

"I may be attracted to the fullness of a woman’s hips or her breasts. Or I may look at a man’s hands and feet, or the way he walks, and become intrigued by the size of his tool, for lack of a delicate description."

"Is that a fact?" I asked, and smiled confidently.

"Usually. Big hands, big feet, big tool."

"I wear a size thirteen."

"I noticed," I said, then reached over and touched his hand. "And your hands are pretty big, so I was intrigued."

"How intrigued are you?"

"Intrigued enough to wanna have sex with you tonight."

Devin stood up and signaled for the bartender. "Check, please." He paid the check, and I followed him to a hotel. A very nice hotel; and it was only a few blocks away. I assumed that he wasn’t trying to go too far, and run the risk of me sobering up and backing down. There was no chance of that happening. "I’m fuckin’ you tonight."

Once we got to the room, he tried to kiss me right away. "Slow down," I said, and gently pushed him off of me. "We got plenty of time for all that."

Devin sat down on the edge of the bed. I unzipped my dress and allowed it to fall to the floor. I stood in front of Devin in only my bra and thong.

"Stand up," I said, and then I undressed him. Kissing and teasing him as I took off each piece.

When he was naked, I sat on the edge of the bed. Devin knelt down on the floor and slowly eased my legs apart. He began massaging my calves, and did the same to my thighs. Devin peeled off my thong and began exploring my moist lips with his tongue, until he made my body shake.

I sat up on the bed. "Lie down on your back; let me do you."

Without a word, Devin smiled and quickly complied with my request. I knelt on the bed next to him, and tried to remember the last time I sucked a man’s dick. It had been a minute, but I was sure it would come back to me. I ran my tongue across his nipples and slowly worked my way down to his dick, and thought for a second about Qianna. I took Devin all in, and all I could hear was Qianna saying, "That’s it, Cutie, gag on the cock," as she eased the dildo deeper in my mouth.

It seemed as though Angel’s touch made my head spin. I felt a rush of warmth while she sucked my dick. It felt like it was all happening in slow motion.

Angel straddled me as I looked on with great anticipation. She slid down on me. Angel moved slowly up and down, then in circles. She leaned forward and kissed me. I could taste the apple martini’s she’d been drinking as her tongue moved over mine. Angel moved from side to side, rubbing her chest across mine, in beat with the music. The sensation I felt when I felt her nipples rub against mine, sent chills over my whole body. I ran my hands down her back and across her cheeks, as she started to move her hips faster. Her skin was so soft.

Then Angel sat up and went to work. After a while, she stopped and moved her legs so her feet were on the bed. Then she proceeded to fuck the shit out of me. Then she hopped off quickly and took me into her mouth again, while she fingered herself.

"Come sit on the edge of the bed," Angel commanded, and stood up.

I quickly inched to the edge of the bed. Angel turned around and straddled me. She took my dick in her hand and eased herself down on me. Then she put her hands on my chest to steady herself.

I grabbed Angel by her wide hips and pushed myself inside her. I sat up and ran my hands over her upper body. I took one of her titties in my hand. I had never felt anything so soft. I squeezed her nipple while I massaged her clit with the other.

She put her feet on my thighs and proceeded to ram her body into mine. After that, Angel got up and began to get dressed. "Get up, Devin, I gotta go."

I looked at the clock: 12:45 am. I shrugged my shoulders and got up. I got dressed and we left the room. Angel told me where she wanted to be dropped off, and we drove there in silence.

We arrived at her spot. As soon as I put the car in park, Angel leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. "Good night, Devin. I had a good time tonight." She kissed me on the cheek again, and practically jumped out the car.

"Angel," I said, and she stuck her head back in the car. "Can I see you again?"

"I’ll call you." Then Angel closed the car door and walked quickly toward the building. I knew then that she was just grudge fuckin’ to get back at her girlfriend. But the pussy was good, so I ain’t sayin’ nothing.

If there is one constant in the world, it’s that nothing lasts forever. After melting down with Qianna, and spending the night on the phone crying with my parent’s, I came to one very important conclusion. I refuse to let this keep me down.

I got up early that next morning and began the process of planning the rest of my life. I logged on to my bank’s Web site, and checked the balances on my accounts. Once I had an idea of where I stood financially, I did a budget. As much as I didn’t want to, I knew that I would have to move to something a little less pricey, if I was going to make that money last.

The first thing on my agenda was to find a job. Something I had never done before. Not even as a teenager. There was no after-school job at a fast food joint for me. I thought I was too cute for the burger girl uniform.

The only work I had actually done was volunteer work for the charitable organizations that Tyrone and I gave money to.

Thinking that they would be a good place to start, I decided to make a few calls and do a little networking.

What I found brought the reality of my situation clearly into focus, but was not entirely surprising. Each of the people I called, people that I once considered friends, none of them offered any help. In fact, their tone was decidedly cold toward me. It made me realize that the only reason that I was accepted in those circles was because I was Tyrone’s wife. Now I had reverted back to what I always was in their eyes.

The nigger-bitch Tyrone married.

Determined not to let any of that get the best of me, my next stop on-line was monster.com. Since I never had a job, there was nothing to put on a resume. I decided that I would do some research on the site to see if they had any advise to offer.

I read articles on turning your job interviews into job offers. Opening doors with a high-impact resume. There was one on using a resume writing services to give me the resume that promised to get me the job at every level of my career. I read about how to determine my value, how to protect myself from being underpaid. I laughed when I came upon an article called "Networking 101" that told me that it’ll take more than small talk and business cards to connect with others. I had already tried networking with the people I knew, and that got me nowhere.

I had just finished reading an article titled "Is Now the Time to Get into Real Estate Sales", when the doorbell rang. I checked the time; it was just after three in the afternoon. I went to answer the door thinking that it was too early for Qianna to show up here, and wondering who else it could be. There weren’t a lot of people that knew where I lived.

When they pressed the bell again, I asked, "Who is it?" I peeked out the hole and saw two cops standing there.

"Police, ma’am. We’re looking for Avonte Petrocelli."

I opened the door. "I’m Avonte Petrocelli. Is their some problem?"

"Mrs. Petrocelli, I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but your husband Tyrone Petrocelli is dead."

"What?"

"You have our deepest sympathy," the other said.

Tears began to roll from my eyes. "Oh my God, how? When?"

"His body was discovered this morning by the housekeeper."

"Did Carmen say what happened? Was there some type of accident?"

"No, ma’am; there was no accident. Your husband was murdered. Would you mind coming with us to identify the body?"

"No, no, of course not. Just give me a minute to change."

"That’s not necessary," the officer said.

"Oh—okay. I’ll get my purse," I said, and left with the police. On the way to the station all kind of things rolled through my mind. First I had to decide how I felt about it. That wasn’t hard. What he did to me was wrong, but nobody deserves to die. Then I wondered who could have killed him. Did somebody break-in the house to rob it? Maybe Tyrone surprised them and they killed him.

Knowing that he could be an asshole sometimes, the possibility exists that he may have pissed somebody off enough to kill him. Or maybe it was his new blonde bitch.

"Do you know how he was killed?" I asked the officer.

"No ma’am."

"We’re just taxi service," the other officer said, and laughed.

After a long ride from Manhattan, we finally arrived at The City of Glen Cove Police Department headquarters, on Bridge Street in beautiful downtown Glen Cove.

When we got there I was met by a very attractive detective. "Mrs. Petrocelli, my name is Detective Jensen," she said, and offered her hand. "I’m very sorry for your loss. If you could come with me, we’d like you to identify the body."

I went with the detective, and before too long, we were standing over the body. I felt a rush of cold all over my body. Before all this began, I had come to love Tyrone very much, and the idea that he was murdered and I was there to identify him, shot through me.

When Detective Jensen pulled back the cover, I looked at Tyrone. All the color was gone from his face. I looked away and shook my head. "Thank you, Mrs. Petrocelli," Jensen said, and pulled the cover back over his face.

Thinking that we were done, I started to walk away, but Jensen stopped me. "I’m sorry, Mrs. Petrocelli." Jensen turned to the table next to the one Tyrone was on. "But would you mind taking a look at this body?"

Jensen pulled back the cover and I looked at the woman on the table. She was a white woman with long blonde hair. At first, I thought it could be the bitch he left me for, so I took a closer look. "Do you know her?"

"No," I said, and looked again. "I’ve never seen her before."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I’m sure. I’ve never seen her before."

"Thank you." Jensen covered the woman’s body and asked me if I would mind coming with her. "I have a few questions that I’d like to ask you."

When we got to her office she offered me a seat. "Once again, Mrs. Petrocelli, I’m sorry for your loss."

"Thank you," I said, more because I didn’t know what else to say. "Could you tell me what happened?"

Jensen opened her notes. "Your husband’s housekeeper, a Carmen Wilson, found the body when she came to work this morning. He had been stabbed in the chest with a kitchen knife." Jensen pushed a picture of the body in front of me. Tyrone was lying on the kitchen floor in a pool of blood. The knife was still lodged in his chest.

"You and your husband are separated, is that correct?"

"Yes, that’s right."

"And you maintain a separate residence in Manhattan, is that correct?"

"Yes."

"How long?"

"About eight months now."

"Your idea; his idea?"

"His. My husband began seeing another woman and told me he was filing for divorce. I moved out after that."

"How were things between the two of you since then?"

"We really hadn’t spoken much since then. For the most part, we communicate through our lawyers."

"I know that must have been tough on you."

"It was. You don’t know what hurt is until you come home and find another woman in your house."

"I read the report."

"You did?"

"Yes." Jensen flipped a few more pages. "She thought you broke in, and called the police on you. She must have looked pretty foolish when the officers told her that you were his wife, and she had to leave."

I laughed a little when I thought about it. "She did look pretty stupid."

"It says here that you hit her."

"To be honest with you, I knew who she was, and I knew I wouldn’t get another chance, so I tried to slap the taste out of her mouth."

Jensen laughed. "I wish I could have done that to the bitch my prick husband left me for."

"Every woman’s dream."

"And you say that was eight months ago. When was the last time you spoke with Mr. Petrocelli?"

"Yesterday afternoon."

"What did you talk about?"

It was only when she asked me that question, and I thought about the fact that we argued because he had cut me off from the money, did I realize that I could be a suspect in his murder. "We talked about the divorce," I said, without going into any more detail.

"How’s that going?"

"The divorce?"

"Yes."

"The lawyers were working out the details."

"But you did talk to him yesterday. Did you see him?"

"No, we spoke by phone."

"So you didn’t go to the house?"

"No. I haven’t gone there since that day I caught her there and I moved out."

"You mind telling me where you were last night about eleven-thirty?"

"I was at home."

"Were you alone?"

"Yes."

"Can anybody verify that?"

"No, not really."

"What were you doing?"

"I was on the phone talking to my Mom and Dad most of the night, and then I went to bed."

"What time was that?"

"That I went to bed; or that I was talking to my parents?"

"Both."

"I called them about nine, and we talked for a couple of hours, I guess. Then I went to bed."

"About what time was that?"

"It was some time after eleven. Am I a suspect, detective?"

"To be honest with you, Mrs. Petrocelli," Jensen said, and then she paused. "I’m just trying to rule you out."

"Can you tell me what happened?"

"Of course we’re still investigating, but we think your husband’s murder was a crime of passion."

"What do you mean by that?"

"When the body was discovered by the housekeeper, Mr. Petrocelli was naked on the kitchen floor. The woman I asked you if you knew . . ."

"Yes."

"She was naked too. The housekeeper found her in the living room with her throat cut."

"Oh my God."

"We think that the killer came in and found them having sex, and killed them both."

"And you think I did that?"

"Like I said, Mrs. Petrocelli, I’m just asking questions; trying to eliminate you as a suspect. About the woman I asked if you could identify."

"Yes."

"Was that the woman you saw that day at your house?"

"No, it wasn’t."

"Are you sure? I only ask because of the way you were looking at her."

"At first, I wondered if it was. I had only seen her the one time, so I took a second look to be sure that it wasn’t her."

"And you’re sure?"

"Yes, detective, I’m sure. What happens now?"

"Well, right now, I’m going to check out your story. If what you told me is the truth, that you were home last night and on the phone, you’ll be free to go."

"I understand. I assure you, detective; I had nothing to do with any of this."

Jensen pushed a pen and paper at me. "Would you mind writing down your parent’s names, and their number for me?"

I wrote down the information she requested, and handed it back to her. "I promise it won’t take long to verify what you told me," she said, and left me alone in her office. Left me thinking who could have done this to Tyrone, and hoping that it wouldn’t touch me.