A Little Wildness
by Austin Camacho
Sometimes Hannibal thought he could actually hear trouble coming. In this case it was the distinctive sound of a smooth twelve-cylinder engine that drew his attention. He had barely settled into his office chair for the first time that morning when he heard the Jaguar shut down in front of his building. Hannibal stood back up and pulled on his black suit coat, confident the car’s occupants would head for his door. After all, the Jaguar was not a species native to SouthEast Washington D.C., and when strangers came to this neighborhood, he was usually the reason.
The man who pushed the door open left his back to the door offering only a sideways view of his body and scanned the room quickly. He was an inch shorter than Hannibal’s six feet, with quick sharp eyes and a neutral expression. He was wiry but solid, and appeared neither nervous nor relaxed. In many ways he reminded Hannibal of himself. Except of course that this man’s skin was Neapolitan olive while Hannibal’s was more cafe au lait. When the man stared into the lenses of Hannibal’s mirror Oakley sunglasses, Hannibal recognized the professional in his visitor. Subtle cues marked him as trained by those outside the law, not the law enforcers who trained Hannibal.
"You Hannibal Jones? The one they call the trouble shooter?"
"You’re in the right place," Hannibal said. "Have a seat and ask your principal to come in. Unless he’s shot at me before he’ll be safe in here."
A woman’s husky voice said "Don’t be so dramatic, Ike." The body clicking into the room on two-inch spike heels was definitely worth guarding, in Hannibal’s estimation. A black knit dress three inches short of her knees showed her to be round where a woman should be round, with wavy Italian hair that caressed her face like a lover’s hands and eyes that saw all but revealed little. Despite all this, Ike’s eyes settled on everything in the room but her as he dropped onto the edge of the chair on the other side of the room.
"Hannibal Jones, this is Nina Bonnaventura," Ike said.
Hannibal rose to his feet and nodded. "Pleased to meet you, ma’am. What brings you to my humble office?"
"Trouble," Nina replied. "Isn’t that the reason anyone comes to you office?"
"Does this problem have to do with the family business?" Hannibal asked. "I try not to meddle in those affairs."
Nina flashed an alluring half smile. "So you know the name, eh? Well this problem has nothing to do with that business. It involves Charlie Devoe."
Hannibal leaned farther back in his chair, outside of the range of Nina’s heady perfume. "Yes, I’ve been following his trial. And now I have an idea why you’re here. You’re not in trouble. You want me to help Devoe somehow. Since he’s black, you figure a black guy can help him better. Am I getting warm?"
"You don’t waste any time, do you Mr. Jones?" Nina asked. "But in fact, I am the one in trouble. I need your help in deciding what to do."
Hannibal sat quietly and waited. Sometimes a person wanted to be drawn out, and would arrange their story in such a way that it unfolded based on someone else’s questions. On occasion it was an enjoyable game. With a man’s life at stake, Hannibal chose not to play. After ten long tense seconds, Nina uncrossed her legs and shifted in her seat.
"I may have evidence that would dramatically affect the outcome of this trial," she said.
"Then spare yourself my fee and offer it to the court. Devoe could spend the rest of his life in prison if he’s convicted."
Nina leaned forward conspiratorially, pushing the envelope of her perfume around Hannibal again. "I could face dire consequences if I became involved," she said. "But I won’t let a man go to jail for killing his wife when I know he didn’t. If other evidence were to prove him innocent, then...."
"Then you won’t have to face those consequences." Hannibal stood and extended a hand to his new client. "I’ll give you one day while I figure out if I can help you at all. Now why don’t you wait outside for a moment? Ike and I will handle the business end of this." His smile was warm but didn’t seem to comfort the woman at all.
Ike nodded to Nina that this was reasonable. When she crossed the threshold Hannibal stepped around his desk to stand three inches from Ike’s side. He held a hand out, but watched the other man’s face closely. Ike didn’t seem to mind.
"Five hundred dollars for the first day. More if I continue. Expenses extra."
"I know," Ike said. Hannibal spotted the waistband holster on Ike’s right side when he pulled his wallet from an inside jacket pocket.
"You work for Vinnie Bonnaventura?" Hannibal asked. "Are you a made man?"
"I’m not really part of this business. I take care of Nina. She’s a nonplayer. And this business has nothing to do with Vinnie."
"Your loyalty is to Nina," Hannibal said. "Is she the wife or the sister?"
"Wife," Ike said, eyes to the floor for the first time. "But listen, they’re not together right now, get it? She’s staying at the Premier for a while."
"But he still has you watching over her," Hannibal said. "That tells me something. So what if she gets involved in this Charlie Devoe thing?"
"I would find myself in a very awkward position."
"I’ll need to talk to him," Hannibal said, pocketing his fee. "Know where they’re holding him?"
"Trial’s going on today. He’s right down in the Alexandria courthouse on Fairfax."
II
Some guys look like the wrong side of Velcro when you meet them. Others look too slick for anything to stick to them. Hannibal’s first impression of Charlie Devoe was that he was coated with Teflon.
The room was barely large enough to hold the wooden table and four chairs. Devoe leaned back on one of them, wearing a navy suit that cost four figures and an iridescent silk tie. His skin was unusually black, but his nose and lips seemed too thin for his color. His hair was cut very short and he was smoothly shaved. When he smiled he flashed a smile any male model would kill for.
"Okay, so the mystery visitor’s here," Devoe said in a soft West Indian accent. "Have a seat and tell me what I can do for you."
Hannibal chose to stand, and to leave his sunglasses and thin black leather gloves on. His black suit was less expensive than Devoe’s, and they both knew it.
"I’m here to help you, Charlie," Hannibal said, handing over one of his cards. "Someone thinks you’re innocent and they’re willing to pay me to find the proof."
"Well isn’t that nice," Devoe said, flashing deep brown seductive eyes. "Lucky for you they’re right. I didn’t kill my wife."
"The prosecution believes otherwise," Hannibal said. "And you certainly had a motive."
"What, her money?" Devoe almost laughed. "Hell, she gave that to me anyway."
"Maybe not as much as you would have liked," Hannibal said, not smiling at all. "It took Evelyn Johnson, er, excuse me, Devoe now, almost twenty years to build her little fried chicken shack into a chain of successful restaurants, and when the franchise set up goes into action next month her fortune will likely expand quite a bit."
"You did your homework I see," Devoe said. "Yeah, it took her a long time to make that money, and she made a hell of a lot of it. She must have loved me very much to share all that success with me, eh?"
"And before the marriage two years ago you were....?"
Devoe held his hands wide, as if everything about him was obvious. "Hey, I’m what I always was. A gambler. A hustler."
"A ladies’ man?"
"Hey, Evelyn accepted me for what I am, warts and all."
Hannibal gave him a hard look. "All I’ve read about Ms. Johnson led me to believe she was a woman a breeding and style. She was a leader in the black community not just in DC, but in the capitol area. So a successful, attractive, wealthy woman closing on fifty chooses you? It’s hard to see."
Hannibal had to admit Devoe’s smile was devastating. "Hey, you know how it is with women. Sometimes they want a little wildness in their lives." Devoe actually winked at Hannibal. "I’m good at supplying that."
Hannibal forced his mind in a more useful direction. "She was shot through the heart with a thirty-eight revolver covered with your fingerprints."
"It was my gun." Devoe shrugged, again trying to bring Hannibal in on the joke. "I gamble for a living, my friend. Did you think I wouldn’t have a piece?"
"Papers say you have no alibi. Coroner establishes time of death between two and three in the morning. Maid found her body at seven-thirty. Where were you all night while your wife was busy getting murdered?"
Devoe stopped smiling and sipped from a cup of water. Hannibal figured this must be the face he played poker with. "Evelyn was the opera type, you know? I’m more into horses. I drove up to Rosecroft Raceway for the day. It got late. I found a place to stay."
Hannibal paced the room, left to right in front of Devoe, wondering idly if there was a tape recorder tuning someplace. "This place you found to stay, it wouldn’t have any witnesses in it, do you suppose?"
"The guys I shoot craps with don’t talk to police, brother," Devoe said, his smirk returning. "Some of the betting that went on that night, well, it wasn’t exactly what you’d call legal, know what I mean? I might not survive long if I was to cop to where I was or who else was there."
The room was feeling even smaller than it was, so Hannibal headed for the door. "Well I’m getting paid to see if you might get off, so I guess I’d better talk to your lawyer."
"Hey!" Devoe’s call betrayed an unexpected note of desperation, so Hannibal stopped with the door open to look back. Devoe’s face was different now, as if opening the door had pulled the plug that was holding the confidence in him. As it leaked out he began to look smaller.
"Look here, I’ve never been in the joint in my life, except as a juvenile. I don’t think I can do time. Now I won’t pretend I was in love with Evelyn, or even that I did right by her. But I’m not a killer, man, you must see that. Don’t let them burn me just cause I was a bad husband."
While arranging to meet Devoe Hannibal had planned a meeting with his attorney afterward. The Blue Point Grill was only a few blocks from the courthouse, but by the time Hannibal’s White Volvo GLT pulled into a space beside the corner restaurant it was lunchtime. The sun was a bright autumn ball directly overhead, but the sharp glare it cast that day was a cold light. Frank Gordon sat at an umbrella table in the Blue Point’s outdoor cafe area. The pencil thin attorney in the blonde crew cut held his fork like a scalpel, his every move an expression of precision. He looked up and smiled, yet Hannibal hesitated to get too close because Gordon was not alone.
"Come on, have a seat," Gordon called in a slightly Yale flavored accent. "Harriet decided to join me for lunch for a change."
Hannibal sat facing the streets and removed his gloves. The chill breeze seemed to cut right through the woman on his right. She wasn’t fat, but plump enough to make her appear even shorter than she was. Her thin brown hair cupped her face like hands she was trying to hide behind. She smiled as Hannibal sat and seemed startled when he offered his hand.
"Something to eat?" Frank Gordon asked, slicing into his own grilled swordfish.
"I’ll hit the raw bar inside after we talk," Hannibal said. "I really just wanted to get a feel for Devoe’s chances, from your point of view."
"Frankie will get him off," Harriet said between bites of sea scallops. "He’s the best at this type of thing."
Hannibal tuned into the Coltrane rolling smoothly out of the restaurant’s sound system. "Yes, I’ve heard some very positive things about your defense record, Frank. How’d Devoe get so lucky as to hook you for his lawyer? Court appoint you?"
Gordon glanced at his wife. "Actually, I owed him a substantial debt, so he kind of pressed me into service."
"Who would have thought that Mister Ballet and Symphony would get himself in this position," Harriet said around a mouthful of food. Hannibal noted that the jibe went unanswered.
"I’ve got to admit this is no slam-dunk," Gordon said. "I was out of town when the crime took place, but I’ve read the newspaper reports, and the prosecution’s brief. They’ve got motive, means and opportunity, and a couple of pretty damning pieces of circumstantial evidence."
"Yes," Hannibal said, "and all you have is a pretty weak and unsubstantiated story."
"Too true, but maybe you can change that if you can pin down proof of his whereabouts. You never said what your interest in this case is, by the way."
"I’m not, really," Hannibal said. Watching that swordfish disappear was making him hungry. "I’ve been hired by someone who is. So, do you think he’s telling the truth?"
Gordon cleared his palate with a long drink of water. "Do I think he murdered his wife? No. Do I think he spent the night gambling in some illegal den? I’m not so sure."
Harriet glanced at her husband, then Hannibal. "Somebody’s paying you to look into the case? Must be a pretty close friend of his."
"Yes," Hannibal smiled. "Must be."
Just then a black Jaguar easing past stole his attention. Ike sat at the driver’s seat and for a moment Hannibal feared the passenger might get out and walk up to him. But instead the car slowed, then sped away. Hannibal released his breath slowly. He did not want to have to explain who she was to this lawyer. As it turned out, it would not have been necessary.
"That was Nina Bonnaventura’s car," Gordon said. "She lunches here often. Do you know her?"
"Don’t suppose she was looking for you?" Evelyn asked.
"Unlikely," Hannibal said. "But how do you two know her?"
"Can’t always choose your clients," was all Frank said.
"And believe it or not, we seem to travel in the same social circles as she and her gangster husband run in," Harriet said.
Frank shot a cold look at his wife. "She seems a pleasant enough lady, although they’re a bit low brow for my tastes."
"Your tastes," Harriet repeated coldly. "Well, I did hear she left her husband, so maybe she’s more your taste now."
"Well, I’ve got an appointment in the district," Hannibal said, smiling as he rose. "Maybe I’ll grab something to eat on the way." Hannibal sensed that he was in the middle of something unrelated to the case at hand. Besides, he wanted to leave before Nina Bonnaventura returned and did try to talk to him.
III
Hannibal drew a stare from the desk clerk when he walked into the Premiere Hotel at the Kennedy Center, in what the brochures referred to as "historic" Foggy Bottom. He went directly to the elevators and rode up to the top floor without asking for assistance, or giving anyone a chance to earn a tip. This, in such a place, was most unusual.
He knocked firmly on the door to Nina’s room. Then he stood back far enough for a person using the peephole to get a good look at him. When the door finally opened he knew what he would see. Ike made a space for Hannibal to walk in past Ike’s pistol, then he closed the door and locked it again.
"Mrs. B’s on the balcony," Ike said, holstering his gun. Hannibal walked through the expansive room and joined her, eight floors above the streets of the nation’s capitol. Ike stood behind him, inside the room but with the glass door open a couple of inches. Nina sat huddled into a chair, a scarf over her hair. The glasses shielding her eyes were much darker than Hannibal’s.
"So, were you looking for me?"
"No," Nina said, drawing on a straw stuck into what appeared to be a home made milk shake. "I was just going to stop for lunch. Ike said I shouldn’t, with you there. Said I shouldn’t be seen with you until the trial is over."
"Ike is a wise man," Hannibal said.
"Well, what did you find out? Will Mister Devoe be convicted?"
"That may depend on a few things," Hannibal said, lowering himself into a chair. At this altitude, he noticed that the people below looked as small as people usually are. "Do you mind if I ask you a couple of things?"
Nina noisily emptied her glass, with the kind of slurp most folks stop making by the time they reach twenty. "What did you want to ask me?"
"Well, why are you staying here instead of across the street at the much bigger and more prestigious Watergate?"
"What?" She turned her head in surprise. "I suppose I’m simply not attracted by history and prestige."
"I doubt it’s a money issue, unless of course you feel like by slumming, relatively speaking, you deny your need for your husband’s money."
Her cold eyes rolled over onto him viciously. "Anything else you’d like to ask?"
"Well, yes," he said. "Were you Charlie Devoe’s lover?"
Nina sat upright, her long neck stretched to its limit. Her skin paled beneath its surface tan and her eyes almost doubled in size. "Why in the world would you ask me such a thing?"
Behind him, Hannibal felt Ike fidget. That, plus Nina’s reaction, was sufficient evidence for him. "You’re the missing alibi, aren’t you? Devoe probably has been up all night gambling from time to time but that night, while his wife was being murdered, he was here, with you."
Nina’s lips curled in and her eyes became shaded. Here voice, when she spoke, was a harsh whisper. "I never intended to fool around on Vinnie. He treats me like garbage but I’m still his wife, Mister. I never set out to hurt him that way."
Hannibal wanted to speed up her story. "You never intended to have another man. But you did. You found Devoe."
"He found me." Nina looked away from him, and her story flowed out freely along with her tears. "Vinnie bought me horses because he thought he was supposed to. We were going to change our social set, he said. But he never cared about those horses and he never cared about spending any time with me. And up there, around the track, I meet a guy who is nothing at all like Vinnie. He’s everything Vinnie isn’t. Kind, and attentive, and adventurous and..."
"And smooth," Hannibal said. So smooth no neglected wife could resist him. He was her romantic escapade, while she was just another notch on his bedpost. But this notch could save his life.
"You wanted to know if Devoe could get off without you testifying for him, right? Actually I guess you both did. He didn’t tell me about you and, near as I can tell, he didn’t tell his lawyer either. I’m sure I get why."
"Isn’t it obvious?" Nina was on the edge of hysterics now, her long carefully manicured nails digging into her palms. "If I admit what I’ve done, Vinnie’ll kill me. It would be his excuse."
Hannibal stood and stared into open space before him. "Someone else must have seen him come and go. The desk clerk, a bellman. If they’re questioned..."
"This place is known for its discretion," Ike said behind him. "Unless Mrs. D comes forward, they’ll all conveniently forget Devoe’s face."