Chapter 24 A Throne of Lies #2
“My father fired me because I crossed the line with you. But it wasn’t just about me letting you stay in the office.
” He cleared his throat. “The night when we . . . when I caught your stalker? I didn’t just catch him.
I set him up, so it would be an easy arrest. Made him fingerprint a brick and throw it through your window.
It didn’t feel out-of-pocket. He’d done it before.
But I broke code.” He brought his hands together, cracking a knuckle.
“And that’s not all. I hurt him. I knocked the shit out of him.
And I regret it. I do. But he was terrorizing you.
I’ve seen that stalking pattern before. It could’ve ended badly,” he said, shaking his head.
“I couldn’t let him hurt you. I’d do anything to protect you. ”
The hot breeze hit them again. And Sasha finally understood.
This was why he reacted the way he did when she showed up at F.E.A.S.T.
for the first time. This is why he needed to put up boundaries with her.
His blurring of lines in 2022 had cost him his career—and most importantly, his relationship with his dad before his death. She’d upended his entire life.
“Wes,” she started, “why did you agree to take this case?”
“It felt like closing the loop, helping you find happiness. You deserve it.”
“You did that for me?”
“There are no bounds to what I’d do for you.”
They stood there, on the precipice of something. But then Wes broke the spell. He pulled out his phone and typed something in.
“Your Uber’s coming in five,” he said, sounding utterly depleted. “I’m walking home. Good night, Sasha.”
And he left. Sasha didn’t wait for the car. She walked the several blocks home in her heels, the straps scraping off her skin. She was bleeding, but she didn’t feel it. At home, she climbed onto her kitchen island, curled into a ball, and stayed there, awake, for hours.
The next morning, when Sasha was waking up on a slab of wood, Wes was lying on Imani’s zebra-print couch.
Feet up on the arm, hands behind his head.
She was perched on an overstuffed Restoration wing chair, smoking her a.m. joint through a vintage 1930s cigarette holder.
If you didn’t know they were good friends, you’d think Imani was a therapist, and Wes was her patient.
In all fairness, that’s practically what was happening.
“I can’t thank you enough,” she was saying. “You saved my piece. I thought I’d have to kill it.”
“I wish I could tell you I’m happy about it.”
“And to think he’s right next door? Are my investigative skills rusty? Maybe I need to go on sabbatical. My girlfriend owns a cottage on a glacier in Gstaad, maybe I’ll pull up.”
“Only you would ‘pull up’ to a glacier.”
“You can only get there by dogsled.” She took an extravagant pull from the joint, and exhaled through her glossy lips. “But I hear you can’t be on your period, or the dogs lose their sense of direction.”
This didn’t sound true, but he was too hungover to investigate further. She handed him her cigarette holder, but Wes shook his head. His head hurt too badly to function. Even smelling the weed was making him nauseous. Groaning, he flung an arm over his aching face.
“What did you drink last night?”
“Everything,” he mumbled.
“Hold on, let me get you a Hangheal Liver Detox supplement.”
“No, I’m good,” he said, holding up his hand. “I know you told me this already, but I need you to swear to me that this ring isn’t dangerous.”
“I told you, it’s just a bunch of partyers. They get off on the thrill of getting away with something. Carousing on someone else’s dime. Convincing the world that they’re something they’re not, whether it’s a nun or a slutty, multimillionaire heiress.”
“Or a hotel inspector.”
“It’s getting away with it.” She shifted in her chair, tucking her feet under her butt.
“That’s the high. For the piece, I’ve spoken to a few psychiatrists and professors specializing in people with double lives.
They feel that rules don’t apply to them, because they’re exceptional and deserve more than normal people.
The scam feels like manifest destiny. What they’re owed.
And what’s crazy? They can feel love. Authentically.
It just has limits. No one person ever outranks their needs.
And their number one need is lie, cheat, and steal.
That’s what this Teo D. Scera, or whatever his name is, is doing with Sasha.
It was fun to romance her on the plane. It might’ve been real, for the moment.
But the grift will always be more real.”
“I want him dead,” he grumbled. “If I didn’t get out of the car when I did, things would’ve gotten untenable.”
“Too bad you didn’t,” she said. “Imagine the publicity I’d get! My piece will get him and the whole ring arrested, for sure. But imagine how viral it’d be if he turned up dead?”
“That’s dark, even for you.”
Imani slid her cigarette holder onto an improvised ashtray—which was actually a jade bowl decorated with a mosaic Medusa. With a knowing smirk, she peered down at her old friend.
Feeling the weight of Imani’s gaze, he opened his eyes and looked her way. She looked like the Cheshire cat, all slinky and smirky, her leopard-print muumuu hanging off her shoulder.
“What are you looking at?”
“You like her,” she trilled. “I have a Pulitzer, I know what I’m talking about.”
“You don’t have a Pulitzer.”
“I will once I publish this ‘Holy Ring’ piece,” she said with a wink. “Don’t change the subject. You’re obsessed with her.”
Somewhat clunkily, he changed the subject.
“What I’m obsessed with is my new orange juice brisket recipe.
I just got accepted into the Mad Dog & Merrill Midwest Grill’n competition out in Green Bay.
This is big shit. It’s televised,” he said.
“With this OJ thing, I could possibly place. Or at least recoup my losses from the last one.”
“That’s dope, friend. No doubt you’ll place. But stop trying to run from this conversation. You’re down astronomically bad, friend. And so’s she. I don’t think she looked at me once during that lunch. I know this is the real thing. My third eye is pulsating.”
“You’re a writer. You’re prone to exaggeration.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. But I know what I saw. That’s why I put your journal in her bag.”
He sat up. “I know you fucking lying.”
She giggled. “It was clear you weren’t going to do anything about it. So, I gave her a reason to go to you. Did it work?”
Wes dropped his face into his hands. “Yes,” he said, his voice muffled. “Yes, it fucking worked.”
Laughing, she smoothly dodged the throw pillow Wes chucked at her. It collided with a nude self-portrait she’d sketched while at a Nigerian prince’s seaside villa. The materials: canvas and cobalt eye pencil.
“What’s the plan, Wesley Junior? You gonna let Cardinal Coitus win?”
“It’s not a competition. Stop stirring up drama, this is my actual life.”
“I’ve never seen you like this. About anyone.”
“That’s because I’ve never felt like this. Not even close.” He stared at the ceiling. “I never knew that the precise temperature of someone’s skin could have such an effect on me. Is that even a thing? Her skin’s so . . . I don’t know. It’s toasty. It’s perfect.”
“Oh, you’re gone.”
“I can’t think, I can’t sleep. I think I’m coming down with something.” Glumly, he coughed twice into his fist.
“You’re not sick, you’re in love. This is new for you. The few relationships you’ve had crashed and burned. Because you only considered toxic women you couldn’t have a future with. You don’t think you deserve nice things.”
“I don’t deserve her. She spent six hundred dollars on a pair of shoes.”
“So have I! She had the money, so she treated herself. Good for her. Don’t get insecure because she’s a bad bitch. Are you not a bad bitch? What happened to your confidence? Stand up!”
“Imani, please.”
“She’s under your skin. It’s already done. You’d be a fool not to fight for it.”
“She doesn’t really want me. She thinks she does, but it’s not real. It’s some savior thing. I’m the person she runs to when she needs help. When a stalker’s after her. When she’s horny. When she has insomnia. When she’s launching a missing person’s case. When she’s horny.”
“You already said that.”
He opened one eye. “Bears repeating.”
“Nigga, that’s . . . several instances. Sounds like she needs you all the time.”
“She chose somebody else. What am I supposed to do?”
“Fight for her.”
With an impatient huff, she stomped to the couch and nudged him in the leg. Begrudgingly—and gingerly—he scooted over, making room for her to sit down.
“It’s complicated, Imani,” he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. “You don’t get it.”
“Look at me.”
With a begrudging sigh, he lifted his eyelids. It felt like benching four hundred pounds.
“There is a reason she dug you up out of her past.” She scooched her butt down, to reach his level of slump.
“I’m not a mind reader, baby. But she told me herself she hadn’t dated in a while.
Here’s what I think. That flirtation on the plane might’ve awoken a sense memory.
A dormant desire, if you will. Something subconscious, but strong enough for her to reach back in the past for you.
” She shrugged. “I’ve circled the block for less. ”
Nodding slowly, Wes looked off into the distance. “Damn. That was half third-eye logic, and half sensible.”
“My sense isn’t common, but it’s always correct,” she said. “When are you gonna see her again? You solved her case, so you’ll meet for payment, right? Or do you have a QR code or something?”
Wes made an offended snort. “No! I didn’t charge her. This was a favor. And an experiment for me. I wanted to see if I still had it. If I could solve a case, on my own, my way. To prove to myself that I was actually good.”
“To prove to yourself? Or your dad’s memory?”
Silently, Wes rubbed his temples and let out a low, rumbling groan. He didn’t answer, but he didn’t have to. Imani knew him well.
Just then, he heard a rustling. The beaded, fringed curtain that was her bedroom door blew open—and out swanned a curvy, dark-skinned goddess wearing auburn braids and a kimono. She blew Imani a kiss, waved at Wes, and floated into the kitchen.
“You let me in when you had someone over?”
“She’s my friend. We had a platonic sleepover.” Imani shot him a sphinxian grin.
“You wanna be bisexual so bad. I hope you told her you’re straight.”
“She knows! Don’t worry about my business, worry about yours.” She grabbed her joint and stood up. Heading toward the kitchen, she called out, “Love like this won’t strike again. Go get your woman, Wes.”