MY visit to Deiondré was far less emotional than my hour with Corentine. I found him sitting on the front steps of his town house, smoking a cigarette and drinking a tall can of malt liquor. He held his cigarette with his thumb and forefinger, the way I remember boys doing when we were in junior high school, hanging out behind Friendly’s and doing our best to look cool while we coughed up lungs full of mentholated smoke. Deiondré had a shaved head and a pronounced ridge across the top of his skull, as though the plates of his skull had not closed quite right when he was a baby, but instead had overlapped each other.
“Deiondré?” I said.
“That’s me.”
“Do you mind if I have a seat?” I said, motioning to the steps where he sat.
He gave me a look of exaggerated surprise, and then shrugged and shifted over. His legs splayed out in front of him, knees spread wide and bright white sneakers lolling.
I sat down, trying not to make a face at the stream of cigarette smoke he blew in my direction. The steps were wide, and I could put about two feet of space between us. I said, “So, Ronnie Spees said you’d talk to me about his sister.”
“Ronnie said that?”
More or less. “Yup,” I said. “I’m a private investigator and Heavenly hired me to find out who killed Violetta.”
He laughed. “You a private investigator? You one a Charlie’s angels?”
“I like to think of myself as more of a Jim Rockford kind of girl.”
“Who?”
“Never mind. What can you tell me about Violetta?”
He blew a smoke ring and then a straight stream right through it. “Henry Spees, he hired you?”
“You mean Heavenly, yes she did.”
“Heavenly,” he snorted with disgust. “I ain’t calling Henry Spees nothin’ but Henry Spees no matter how big his titties is.”
I turned slightly so I could see him. His thick neck was circled by a yellow-gold chain. The choker was so tight it wrinkled the skin above and below it. “So, Deiondré, Violetta went home with you the night of her son’s birthday party, right?”
“No,” he said, shaking his head at the very idea. “No, I ain’t take that nasty ho to my mom’s house. You crazy or something?”
“But you were with her that night?”
“I took her out in my car. That Violetta, she thought she was something, when all she was was a ho who’d do anything for a rock. Hell, she’d do pretty much anything for a forty!” He tipped his can at me and then took another gulp, smacking his lips loudly.
“What did you do with her?”
“I ain’t telling you.”
“Did you have sex with her?”
“I didn’t have sex with Violetta!” he said, making his voice prissy and high-pitched, in unfair imitation of mine. “She did her business, and like I said, I gave her a rock. We had us a transactional relationship.” He laughed loudly, and took another slug of his malt liquor. “A transactional relationship,” he said again, very pleased with himself for coming up with the phrase.
“Was that night your only transaction?”
He shrugged. “Sometimes she’d call me. You know, ‘Deiondré, come take me out.’ If I had nothing better to do, I’d take her for a ride in my car.”
“Engage in another transaction?”
He cackled. “Now you know it, baby.”
“Did you see her the night she died?”
“What, you think I killed that ho? Please, I wouldn’t waste a bullet out my gun. Last time I saw her she was running out her mama’s house, all up in my face. ‘Deiondré, let me stay with you. Deiondré, take me somewheres.’” He shook his head. “Like I ever gonna let that ho in my house.”
“Was that the Sunday before she died?”
“I don’t know. It was a couple days later I heard she was dead. My moms, she went to the funeral and all.”
“Did you go to the funeral?”
“Nah,” he said, as if the very idea was absurd.
“Did you do what she asked that night? Did you take her somewhere? For a ride in your car?”
“No. I had my baby’s mama coming over that night. I didn’t need to go for no ride with no messed-up ho.”
Deiondré knew none of Violetta’s friends or clients, or at least would not admit to knowing any. He knew nothing of what happened to her after he wouldn’t let her inside his mother’s house that Wednesday before she died. After a while, he grew sick of my questions and said, “You want to come inside? You old, but you look pretty good. I wouldn’t let Violetta inside my house, but you can come right in if you want.”
“Thank you, Deiondré,” I said, getting to my feet. “It’s a tempting offer, but I’m afraid I’ll have to say no.”
“Suit yourself,” he said, and lit another cigarette off the butt hanging from his lip.