“If you’re calling because you want to rekindle old friendships...you’re a little late my friend.  That ship sailed a long, long time ago.”

“Yes...I know.”  Morpheus was silent, giving him time to get the snarky out of his head.  He waited, and finally, Joplin said...

“So...if you know that my mother is dead--I take it that, this call has something to do with me.”

“I am calling to talk to you but Claudette isn’t the acquaintance that I’d been referring to.  I just told you her name to let you know that I know her and I know you as well.”

“Look man...I don’t have time for twenty questions.  Either get to the point, or I’m ending this call.”

This man behaved like a Gustafson--but his sharp tones didn’t resemble Raal.  In fact--if he didn’t know with certainty that Joplin was Raal’s son, Morpheus would say that Joplin’s piss and vinegar attitude was a page out of his book.

Morpheus didn’t want to make that connection, so he kicked that fluffy sentiment shit out of his head, then he got down to business...

“We need to meet.  You tell me the time and the place.”

“Oh really...”

“Is that all you have to say?  I would have expected more from a Gustafson.”

“What the fuck!”  Joplin said the words like a Jersey native, even though Morpheus knew with certainty that Jersey had never been one of his homes.

Morpheus said...

“Look...this meeting is going to happen.  And I’m just giving you the opportunity to name the time and the place.”

“And if I don’t...”

Morpheus had thought  “Damn, this guy is a chip off the old block--and not in a good way”.  He’d felt a tight pull on his jaw, and he willed the irritating tick back into submission, when he said...

“If that’s the way you want to play it.  Just know this...I’ve had my eyes on you for some time now, and there isn’t anyplace you can go, that I don’t already know about.  When I make an offer--I only make the offer once.  In other words--the gesture is off the table.  I’ll see you when I see you.”

When he pulled the phone away from his ear, he heard Joplin shouting, saying...

“Hey...what the....  Wait...  Seventy-fifth and....”  Click.

“Stupid fucker”  he said, then he sighed.  If his meeting with Joplin didn’t go as he’d planned, Morpheus had decided that he’d killed the cocky bastard himself and he wouldn’t lose an hour of sleep because if Joplin died, the stubborn fuck will have deserved it.  Family was family, and if Raal’s son had to die, he would damn well do it himself; and he would do it right.  He owed that much to his brother; that and so much more.  He pushed the thought to the rear of his brain, deciding that this was one problem he’d already sorted out.  In fact...he couldn’t wait to finally get this shit off of his back.  His thought leapt forward, then his minds eye filled with Mikita; the love of his life.  He had her back, and this time, he wouldn’t fuck it up.  Once this was all over, he’d be free to give her his full attention.  They would get married, then he would suggest that they have another child.  He would mend fences, restoring his relationships with Fawn and Bolden.  Then, he would finally have a family.  He would embrace the idea of house and home; bonding, companionship and all that other bullshit that Raal and Kyle are constantly bragging about.  Morpheus could envision Raal, and the way he bragged about his children and their mother’s.  He found himself thinking about the sister that he hadn’t seen in over twenty years.  He wanted to make peace.  He wanted her to atone for past mistakes.  He groaned because bad choices had been to blame for the distance that plagued his family.  He felt an itch calling attention to his trigger finger.  He puzzled over the last time he’d killed a man.  Oddly, this thought cranked up an irritating thought.  He muttered a curse, then his anger boiled and he didn’t suppress his vexation.

“Fucking Joplin.  Why did it have to be you?  Of all the people in this gotdamn world...how did you get mixed up with Andrew--and why are you responsible for Tollin’s death?”

**********

Chapter 20

Last chance

Lucien couldn’t believe his luck.  Twice in one day, he’d been dealt a crappy hand.  On the ride home from the Children’s Center, he’d busied his brain, trying to figure out ways to contact Ona.  She lived with her parent’s, and he didn’t want to chance calling her there.  He’d considered going to her home, but the Samaritan’s lived in closed communities.  Even if he waited for her at the dock, he’d couldn’t count on her being alone, and more than likely, after today, her parents’ wouldn’t allow her out of their sight.  Then after standing by, doing nothing, and listening to crazy Sahara babbling lesbian nonsense; by the time his limo pulled up in front of his apartment, the full weight of his dilemma had left him mentally exhausted.  He’d convinced himself into believing that there had to be away; he just needed time a lone to contrive a plan.  When he stepped off the private elevator, and noticed the door to his apartment slightly ajar; he’d rightly assumed, that his sister had made herself a guest in his home.  When he’d entered, he’d learned that he’d only been partly right.  Chantel and Marisela were seated in his living room, waiting for his return.  They’d both appeared to be in good sprits, and after the day that he’d had, he’d needed an infusion of good news.

Marisela jumped off the sofa, wrapping her arms around his neck.  She kissed his cheek, then drew back, angling her head for her hair to drape over her shoulder.

Her breath smelled of fruity wine, when she said...

“Your friend at the medical examiner’s office finally came through.  He spoke to my attorney, and he said that on the day of Tollin’s autopsy, he’d been there and he’d noticed a number of irregularities.  First oft--the procedure had been performed after hours, and a mixup had been the only reason he’d been there.  He’d left the keys to his apartment in his locker.  When he passed one of the examine rooms, and noticed the occupied sign was lit, he’d dawned a mask and found the head examiner, performing the autopsy on Tollin Pettier.  He’d asked if he could offer his help and he’d thought it odd that the doctor had been there because except for the nighttime staff; everyone else had left for the day.”

“Is he a credible witness?”

Lucien had asked.

“Yes.”

Chantel called out to them because she didn’t want to be left out of the conversation.

“Come...sit you two, because her news gets better.”

Marisela joined Chantel on the sofa, and Lucien sat across from them on a chair.

Marisela said...

“He say’s that if we can get a judge to reopen the case, he’ll testify that my brother’s injuries were not consistent with suicide.  There had been facial bruising, suggesting that he’d been hit.  And that letter...  If it comes down to it, I will testify to the fact--Tollin wouldn’t have ended his life all due to a letter.  He’d been trying to contact Gloria Randolph and my parent’s and I had supported this decision; mainly because he didn’t have anyone in his life willing to support him.  Especially after the way Eliza dumped him, when he needed her most.”

Lucien wasn’t a gossip and he’d never talked to Eliza about her breakup with Tollin.  He also wouldn’t sit listening to her name being dragged in the mud.

“Don’t forget, that I’ve talked to Eliza about your family’s case and she assured me that she would help, however she can.  She really wants to help Marisela”

Then he said...

“If suicide is being ruled out--have the private investigators formulated a motive for Tollin’s murder--and have they created a list of possible suspects?”

Marisela said...