The Blood Red Indian Summer by David Handler Read Free Book Online Page A

at an odd angle.
    Tyrone Grantham was an utterly savage-looking man. Yet he seemed totally relaxed and at ease. “Glad to know you, Trooper,” he said, a boyish smile creasing his face. “Did you meet my little brother, Rondell? I’ll bet he didn’t tell you he has a graduate degree in business from Wharton. He isn’t one to brag. I can’t tell you how proud I am of him. When we were coming up I looked out for him. Now he looks out for me. Right, little man?”
    Rondell gazed up at his brother worshipfully. “That’s right, big man.”
    “Damned right. Little brother manages my investments and various ventures. I’m presently expanding into the music business. We’ve installed a recording studio right here in the house. Cee’s a sound engineer with skills. We got us some big plans. Hey, what are we standing out here for? Come on in.”
    There was an immense fieldstone fireplace in the glass living room and a sunken seating area of white leather sofas. A very pretty, very pregnant young black woman was plopped on one of the sofas watching CNN on a sixty-inch flat screen TV—a live report on what was going on right now outside this very house. Which was, Des decided, a tiny bit surreal. The focal point of the living room was the hugest home aquarium she’d ever seen. Half a dozen pale gray sharks were swimming around in a water world of brightly colored coral reef.
    “It’s two thousand gallons,” Tyrone said, following her gaze. “Saw a tank just like it one night at a club in Tribeca and said I’ve got to have me one. An outfit in the city designs them, installs them, everything. Those are black tip reef sharks you’re looking at. I can watch them for hours. Always want to make sure you have six. It’s all about team. Fewer than six and they prey on each other. More than six and you’ve got a jailbreak. Turn off that TV, will you, Cee? We have a guest. Trooper Mitry, say hello to my lovely wife, Jamella.”
    Jamella eyed Des with a gaze that was anything but friendly. It was guarded, streetwise and extremely protective of who and what was hers. “Hey,” she said.
    “Glad to know you,” said Des, who’d read all about Da Beast’s twenty-three-year-old bride. Jamella Jameson was a professional dancer out of Houston who’d toured with Beyoncé before she’d snagged the NFL’s biggest, baddest star. She was a natural beauty with smooth skin and sculpted lips. Her strong jaw and high hard cheekbones gave her a distinctly Native American look. She wore her hair long and braided. The maternity shift she wore was an unusual, brightly patterned patchwork design that was quite lovely.
    Tyrone settled himself on the sofa next to Jamella and took her slim hand in his big, battered one. “Sit, sit, Trooper. Can I get you anything to drink? You hungry? Moms just got back from the store. She can fix you anything.”
    “I’m good, thanks.” Des perched on the edge of a sofa, big hat on her knee. Somewhere in the house someone was still playing a piano.
    Rondell sat directly across from her, watching her alertly. Clarence sprawled his long self out next to him.
    “Take your big feet off my sofa,” Jamella scolded him.
    He obeyed her at once. “Sorry.”
    “Let me take a wild guess,” Tyrone said to Des. “The powers that be sent you here to tell me to behave myself, am I right?”
    “No, you are not.”
    He frowned at her. “Then what are you doing here?”
    “Trying to head off trouble.”
    “You can’t,” he stated flatly. “Trouble’s going to find you. It always finds me. Like that clown Plotka out there. The man’s nothing but a lying shakedown artist looking for a cheap payday.”
    “Our attorney calls it nothing more than civil extortion,” Rondell said. “A thorough criminal investigation was conducted. Tyrone was cleared of any and all criminal assault charges.”
    “Damned right,” Tyrone agreed. “Plotka intruded on my private space, okay? Came up to me in that Dave &