Girls from da Hood 14

by Treasure Hernandez

  “Stop looking at me like that,” she calmly said, as I was staring a hole through the side of her face.

  “What in the fuck happened back there?” I was no fool and knew the answer, but I just didn’t want to believe it.

  Nonchalantly, she turned from the road to momentarily look me in my eyes. “Look, Melody, it’s best if we leave everything that happened back there where it’s at.”

  I knew damn well what happened. She killed those two women, and for what? They obviously gave up the money. The bags in the backseat were proof of that. I clenched my jaw and balled my fists. I didn’t sign on for being part of a murder case, and that’s precisely what we’d be facing if the police caught us. I just wanted to get out of the truck and do as Bags suggested . . . forget about what just happened back there. Damn, I wish I was back home in Chicago.

  “Hey, hey! Where are you going?” I asked.

  Bags had zoomed by where we had the next car parked.

  “First, we gotta shoot this money up to the restaurant.”

  “Man, fuck that old nigga. That wasn’t our plan. He’s tryin’a jerk us with that $50,000 shit. Those bags are heavier than a mug. It’s gotta be at least a couple of mill, if not more.”

  “You thinking small,” Bags giggled with her eyes straight-ahead focused on the road.

  “Look, real talk. If we get jammed up, we’re going to need a lot more than $50,000. I say we at least hold it until we see what’s what.”

  “Whatever’s in these bags is going to Mr. Brooks. He put us on the lick, Melody. Tell me, when was the last time you hit a fifty-stack lick?” Bags glanced from the road. “Never,” she smiled, answering for me.

  I couldn’t believe this stupid bitch was really sitting beside me talking that loyalty shit to me. Truth be told, Mr. Brooks didn’t give a fuck about our black asses. We were just expendable pawns doing his bidding for cheap. If we went to jail, that would be the last time we heard or saw from him. We could say fuck him before he got the chance to say fuck us. I wanted to try to convince her naïve, brainwashed ass, but Bags turned up the radio like that’s the end of that. She profile cruised the rest of the way to the restaurant as if she’d not just committed a few murders and robbed a check-cashing spot in broad daylight.

  She parked in the parking lot and grabbed all three money satchels. I quietly looked on, wishing this entire thing never happened.

  Just as Mr. Brooks told her, Bags dumbly dropped the satchels at the rear door of the building, then jumped back into the stolen truck.

  “Okay, so, when we gettin’ ours?” I was pissed, and she could tell but didn’t care.

  “Chill, we’ll get it tomorrow. But let’s just see what else the old guy has got up his sleeve for us, all right? If we play our cards right, he said we could get rich fucking around with him.”

  “Or dead,” I mumbled, just wanting to break free of all the madness.

  Chapter Twelve

  Bags

  The next morning, just like clockwork, Mr. Brooks was perched in his favorite booth sipping coffee and reading the paper. He smiled at the sight of Melody and me coming through the door. His old ass had better been smiling, because even though I didn’t tell Melody that she was right, she was. There had to be at least several million dollars in them satchels. So, yeah, his old ass better be cheesin’.

  Mr. Brooks stood up to greet us with open arms. “Waitress, I want you to whip us some of those famous meat omelets deluxe with extra cheese for my goddaughters.” Mr. Brooks half-hugged us both, then waved for us to sit first. “Good job, and good morning.” He was all smiles. I thought that he might be a little tight about the dead bodies left back at Sal’s, but obviously, he could care less. “So, umm, yeah, I see y’all gals made the front page.” He pulled a folded morning paper from his seat and pushed it across the table.

  I unfolded the Detroit Free Press and spread it open so that Melody and I could read it. The headline read: “Two Cashiers Slain.” It reported the murder was an execution during an armed robbery. There was a picture of the building and a picture of Melody and me. We both exhaled, relieved that the pictures and descriptions they had looked nothing like us in real life. I couldn’t even recognize us. Thank God our disguises had worked. I was sure happy now that I had been extra with my costume.

  “So, listen up, young ladies, I’m not going to ask what happened back there. What’s understood need not be said. It was unfortunate, but obviously unavoidable. The important thing is that you two made it out alive and with those bags in tow.”

  “Okay. So, Mr. Brooks, what’s next?” I eagerly inquired, having zero remorse for the loss of two human lives whose blood was on my hands.

  “Well, first, Sonya, I’m going to give you all your money.” He reached down between his legs and came back up with two brown paper bags, one for me and one for Melody.

  “There’s $25,000 in each. It may be a little more because I didn’t count it. I weighed it. So, if it’s off, let me know, and if it’s over, just keep it. You both earned it.”

  “Thank you so much,” I grinned at the waitress as she spread our plates on the table.

  “You’re welcome, baby. I’ll be back with your orange juice.”

  “You girls go ahead and eat. And, Sonya, I want to show you the loft if you have time.” Mr. Brooks got up from the table and walked over to the vintage jukebox. He put a quarter in, and The Temptations filled the diner.

  I hurried and ate my food. I didn’t want to keep Mr. Brooks waiting.

  “Damn, girl, I guess you ’bout to slide with your godfather, huh?” Melody gave a hard-core, serious side-eye.

  “Don’t make me fuck you up, fam,” I replied jokingly. I slid out of the booth with the brown paper bag clutched in my hands. “I’ma fuck with you a li’l later, cool?”

  “Handle your business, girl. I’ll see you when you get back around the way. I guess I’ma catch a cab and put this money with my stash. I’m out,” Melody said, then darted out the door.

  “Are you ready, sir?” I then inquired, making my way over toward the counter where Mr. Brooks and the waitress were talking in whispers.

  “Yes, I’m ready. Just let me grab my jacket. Then we can be out.”

  Once outside, I jumped in Mr. Brooks’s vehicle. We were on our way. I held on to my bag of cash as if it might blow out the window, even though the windows were closed.

  “You girls did a damn good job yesterday.” He paused to light one of his cigars, then leaned back and continued. “Couple of more jobs like that, and you’ll be pros. I watched that tape of the robbery. You didn’t have to do what you did, but if you felt it was best, then who am I to complain? I’m proud of you, Sonya.”

  “Thank you.” His words of praise humbled me. I hardly heard anyone say that they were proud of me. So, Mr. Brooks telling me that was major.

  “That was good work, dear. And if you keep it up, it won’t be long until you’re rolling in the big bucks. I keep telling you, Sonya, I have big plans for you. Big, big plans.”

  I was too stuck on him, saying that he had big plans for me. If they could be any bigger than $25,000, then I was all for it. That shit Melody was talking about wasn’t hitting on nothin’. Mr. Brooks didn’t ever have to worry about me be being disloyal. I was solid and down for the cause.

  After a twenty-minute ride in early-morning traffic, we pulled up in front of a boat shop located off the River Walk. As Mr. Brooks parked, he pointed up to the big, red, cursive sign which read: Brooks Riverboat Rentals.

  Needless to say, I was impressed as my eyes grew in amazement. “Damn, how much stuff do you own?”

  “Not nearly enough, sweetheart,” he boasted as we got out of the car. Then we entered the building.

  “Mr. Brooks, how are you this morning, sir?” a white man from behind the counter respectfully inquired as we approached.

  “I’m 67 and at the top of my game. How about yourself, Alex?”

  “Business is good, so, of course, I’m go
od.”

  “Well, all right then. Glad to hear it.” Mr. Brooks grabbed me by my shoulders and pushed me forward. “I want you to meet my goddaughter, Sonya. She’ll be living upstairs in the loft until further notice.”

  “Nice to meet you, young lady.” Alex extended his hand across the counter, and we shook hands. I was still tightly holding on to my bag of cash.

  “Alex is the owner of this shop,” Mr. Brooks said.

  “Thanks to you,” Alex replied. Mr. Brooks put up the money to open the business, and he was using Alex as the front man.

  “I’m going to show Sonya the loft. I’ll be back down in a few.”

  “All right then. Well, Miss Sonya, if you need anything, be sure to let me know. Any family of Brooks is a family of mine.”

  “Thank you, Alex. I will.”

  I followed Mr. Brooks through the aisles to the back of the shop where a staircase led up to a lone door.

  “There’s a back entrance as well, so you don’t have to use the store if you don’t want to.”

  Mr. Brooks opened the door, then felt around the wall for the light switch. When the lights clicked on, I thought I was going to faint. The spot looked like a penthouse. The spacious wall-less interior was decked out with modern everything. The only room that was enclosed was the bathroom. Everything else sat out in the open. The bed was sectioned off overlooking the Detroit River behind the shop. Six-foot crystal clear windows surrounded the loft providing the perfect view. It had a small kitchen, a fully stocked wet bar, and a corner of the loft was dedicated to media with a TV, video games, and stereo.

  “So, umm, Sonya, what do you think?” Mr. Brooks was behind the bar mixing himself a drink.

  “Oh my God, trust me. It’s more than anything I ever expected. It’s like a dream or something.”

  “I knew you’d like it. I haven’t used this place in a while, so it’s just been sitting idle.”

  “How much is it a month?” I could feel the money in my bag was going to be lighter behind staying in digs like this.

  “Free to you.”

  “I really do appreciate that, Mr. Brooks. But I’d appreciate it even more if you allow me to pay rent.”

  “Aaah . . .” Mr. Brooks sighed after downing a glass of Crown Royal. He poured himself another round, then looked over at me.

  “That’s why I like you, Sonya. You remind me of myself growing up, hungry, but still not looking for any free rides. I respect that. And as long as you keep that mentality, you’ll make it.” He took a sip from his glass. “Okay, how does five hundred a month sound, utilities included?”

  “Sounds like a deal. I can’t thank you enough, Mr. Brooks. Just last week, I was dead broke, not knowing how I was going to make it. You seen what we were out there doing.”

  “Yeah, I saw it. But that’s what it’s all about in this world. Pulling each other up because them white folks damn sure ain’t gonna do it. You hear Alex calling me ‘Mister’ and ‘Sir’?”

  I laughed out loud. “Yeah, I heard him.”

  “Well, I’m not going to have it no other way. The minute he shows any signs of disrespect, he’s out on his ass.”

  “I understand. But, sir, I have one more thing I’d like to ask you.”

  “That’s why I’m here. What’s on your mind, Sonya?”

  “I want you to hold half of my money. I really don’t have anywhere else safe to keep it.”

  “Now, you’re thinking. Sure, I’ll do that. And as you need it, just tell me, and I’ll have it ready.”

  “We can start right now,” I pulled out my brown paper bag and counted out $12,500 and handed it to him.

  “Smart move, Sonya. Well, listen, I’ma let you get settled in, and I’ll see you in a few days. Do you need a ride back to your car?”

  “Nope, I can catch a cab.” I smiled. “Did I tell you, thank you?” I asked, walking him to the door.

  “Yes, you did, and you’re welcome. We’ll speak soon. Have a good day.”

  I locked the door behind him, then leaned against it, still not believing that all this was temporarily mine. I had arrived. I had $12,500 in my pocket, all big faces, $12,500 put up with Mr. Brooks, a new ride, and a decked-out loft to lay my head at. I had to be dreaming. Now, the only thing that was missing was Devin. I was getting my little brother back—period.

  I sank into the deep, plush pillows of the beige leather sectional sofa and stretched my arms around the back of the sofa, leaning my head back, eyes to the ceiling. “This is the life. I can see Auntie’s wide face tightening if she only knew.” At that moment, I had not a care in the world.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Melody

  I couldn’t believe Bags had her nose all up Mr. Brooks’s ass after he pimped us like that. It was Mr. Brooks this, and Mr. Brooks that. I was so tired of hearing about his ass that I just wanted to get back to my roots. It had been a minute since I picked something, and I was beginning to feel like I was losing my touch. I swear if Bags said something else about his old ass again, I was going to slap all the shit out of her.

  We were down in my basement, eating shrimp and catfish while counting our money. It had been weeks since I’d been to school. I said, fuck it. No more getting up in the morning to pretend that I was even going. Nope, I was straight-up done with that.

  I’d given my mom a nice chunk of money and told her to get off my back. I was in the streets like a runaway, and there wasn’t nothing she could do about it besides slap me. But even then, I’d still be out there doing what I felt I needed to do. I had embraced Detroit just as she hoped I would, but maybe not in the criminal fashion like I did. I told her that I promised I wouldn’t do anything to get myself jammed up. Little did Mom know I had been on a full-blown deadly crime spree.

  “So, okay, fam, what you gon’ do with all that money you got sitting there?” I asked, eyeballing Bags’s pile. “You thought of any moves toward getting your little brother yet?”

  “I’ma teach you how to stunt with this portion right here. I already gave—”

  “Please don’t say his motherfucking name. I swear to God, I’m tired of hearing his damn name.”

  “Anyway, I gave him half to hold for me.”

  “Half of what—your brain? Girl, is you stupid or dumb? Don’t tell me you gonna trust his old, half-dead ass with your money. He already done jerked the shit outta us for real, for real,” I snapped, genuinely believing this chick was really slow. I already knew she was confused, not knowing if she wanted to be a boy or a girl, but this was way too much for me.

  “He’s not about to beat me outta a li’l punk-ass twelve-five when we bringing him all that cake. Plus, he just put me in a decked-out loft. You think he’d be doing all that just to beat me? And besides, I asked him if he’d hold it. He didn’t make no suggestions.”

  I just shook my head ’cause Bags had flipped her wig. This wasn’t the same ballsy female across from me that I met at gunpoint awhile back. Sonya was on the verge of being brainwashed by an old gangsta.

  “Trust me, dawg, he’s good for it. I’m tryin’a show him that we’re not just some petty stickup kids. I want to put some of that money we making into something legit, and he can help us. And he can help me get my little brother.”

  “Girl, you bugging if you think that dude ’bout to put us on like that. He’s just using us right now.”

  “Nah, that old man just put me in a plushed out loft just because. He fucks with us the long way. Did you hear what he told the waitress and this guy named Alex, who is his business partner?”

  “What is you talking about?”

  “Mr. Brooks said we’re his goddaughters.” Bags was geeked like that was some badge of honor.

  I grabbed my face and slowly rubbed down my cheeks. I was almost speechless that she was so fucked up in the head. “And hold up, you believe that shit, huh? You can’t be serious. Please tell me you just bullshitting right now.” My ears were burning. I had stopped even listening to her ’cause it was ap
parent to see that she had her mind set. I just wished she could see what I saw when looking at Mr. Brooks—which was a heartless old bastard out for self and who could care two shits less about anyone or anything that didn’t get him money. I really didn’t want us pulling capers anymore for him because I could see my homegirl changing for the worst. She was already lightweight crazy, but now I could see the insanity embedded deep in her eyes. I couldn’t believe it when I read the newspaper article, and it said she shot those poor women execution style. Those women had kids . . . They were mothers. Bags shot them while their backs were turned. That meant that she didn’t have to. This lunatic had given us letters if locked up—no chance of parole. As much as we called ourselves solid, it was time I rethought our alliance. I wasn’t so sure I wanted to go down for a murder I didn’t commit.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Sonya

  “You ready?” Melody stood up.

  “Yeah, but where we going?” I asked, tucking my ends, and Melody doing likewise.

  “I think I’m losing my magic touch. I need to pick something before I lose my damn mind too.” Melody wiggled her long, skinny fingers at me, which looked like tentacles like she always did when she was ready to get her pick on.

  “It’s calling yo’ name, huh?” I laughed, not judging, even though we both had a bankroll.

  “You don’t feel me. That shits like my high. I don’t even think I can stop pickin’.”

  “Yeah. You’ll be fifty years old, filthy rich, and still pickin’ pockets.”

  “Now, you feel me.”

  “Well, if it’ll make you feel any damn better and get you off my back, I’ll ride you around so you can get yo’ shit off.” Melody couldn’t wait to dig somebody’s pocket. I followed her up the steps and out of the door. “But after this, you needs to find another hobby. Start smoking weed or something. Anything that’ll calm yo’ ass down.”