by Diana W.
Apparently, she was with him two nights before, but he vanished into thin air by the next morning, and she wasn’t pleased. Before everyone could process the Jerry Springer episode unfolding, the knife designated for the birthday cake was at Mo’s throat. Blood trickled from his neck as an unstable, crying Mia showed no signs of letting up. If Cornell didn’t talk Mia down, Cyn was certain she would’ve followed through with ending him.
Cornell thought about it but not for long. He couldn’t risk being late. One misstep in his schedule would throw his entire day off. “I don’t know, but I’ll find out.” He grabbed his briefcase. “See you later. Don’t forget about—”
“It’s already done.” Cyn didn’t bother looking his way. She never needed reminding of her duties, especially about ones concerning his mother. “The flowers should be delivered by noon at the latest.”
He smirked at her subtle arrogance and headed out the door.
As soon as Cornell stepped foot onto the executive floor of the Gaines building, Shelly and her signature French twist were on his heels, shooting off messages like a Tommy gun. They walked the white marble floor, passing by offices hidden between pairs of black, granite columns. Cornell nodded in response to Shelly’s list and in acknowledgment of the other employees who greeted him along the way.
Cornell grabbed the stainless-steel handle of his massive white office door and pulled it open, allowing Shelly to walk in first. “Can you get Allen on the line for me?” he interrupted during one of her rare pauses to breathe as he placed his briefcase on his desk and powered on his computer. It was better to know exactly how much money was in question before he talked to Mo. It would help him gauge how pissed he should be.
“Right away.” Shelly took that as her cue that Cornell was finished with her and left to go make his coffee.
“Allen, how goes it, my man?” Cornell greeted upon hearing his pitchy voice.
“Now you call me?” Allen huffed. “Do you remember what I told you the day I agreed to manage your money?”
“Yes, Allen.” Cornell's eyes went to his chandelier that looked like descending squares, already exhausted with this conversation. Allen was more delicate than most of the women he encountered. If he felt slighted, best believe you would have to butter him up and apologize profusely, even if you didn’t do anything wrong. “And that is why I trust you with my financial life. You’ve kept me on the straight and narrow with spending sensibly and investing wisely. I will be forever in your debt.” Cornell added some flair to his ass-kissing.
“Hmph. Well, if that is indeed the case, why has twelve thousand dollars gone to Winston Rental Properties without my knowledge? If I need to calculate someone else into your monthly budget, it’s quite all right, but I just need to know. That’s my job.”
Cornell massaged the bridge of his nose. The day had just started, and he could already tell it was going to be a long one. “Allen, I promise you that this won’t be a reoccurring thing. Was that the only charge?”
“No.” Cornell heard the annoyance. “Looks like cash, clothes, hair, and nails. Typical harlot-of-the-month behavior.”
Cornell released a deep sigh even though he was thoroughly entertained. Allen would make a hell of a comedian if he wasn’t so condescending. “Thanks for saving my life yet again Allen,” he snarked. “Let me make a few calls. I’ll be in touch.”
“Un huh,” Allen responded in his usual sassy way before hanging up.
Cornell placed the phone down and looked up to see Shelly approaching with a steaming mug in her hand.
“Here you are, sir.” She placed it in front of him. “Also, your brother is here to see you.”
Cornell twisted his neck until it cracked and checked the time on his watch. “Send him in. And, Shelly?”
“Yes, sir?” She paused on her way to the door.
“I’ll be a few minutes late to my nine o’clock. Please let the team know.”
“Of course, sir.” She pulled on the door and held it open for Mo to walk in and then closed it behind her as she exited.
“Morning, Cee.” Mo strolled in dressed in a new tailored navy suit as if he was ready to do business, evidence that their father’s threat must have resonated with him.
Cornell didn’t respond and stood up from the desk to meet him. When Mo was in reach, Cornell grabbed him by the collar of his suit and slung him to the nearest wall, knocking his framed degree sideways.
“Cee, what the fuck?!”
“You listen to me.” He held on tighter to the suit, slightly raising Mo, who had at least thirty to forty pounds on him, up off the floor and slamming his back against the wall. “I don’t why you can’t seem to get it through your brain that you’re fucking up, but get your shit together and do it fast before I do it for you.”
“What are you talking about?” Mo tried to push him off, but Cornell didn’t budge. Fury had taken over and given him the strength of a Marvel character.
“You let our father make a fool of and get the upper hand on not just me but all of us. And to top it all off, you steal from me?”
“Steal?” Mo shook his head, now equally as mad but also wounded by the accusation. “I know I do stupid shit when it comes to women, but I’d cut my own hand off before I’d take anything from you, Cee. I swear.”
“Mo, if you’re lying to me...”
“I fucking swear!” Mo was turning red in the face from Cornell’s hold.
Cornell searched his eyes for the slightest hint of dishonesty. When he didn’t see one, he released him and walked back to his chair, adjusting the sleeves and collar of his suit.
Mo, still overwhelmed from the interaction, stood there, trying to collect his bearings. He looked over to his brother who was now seated at his desk with a massaging hand to his forehead.
“If somebody’s stealing from you, I’ll find out who it is.” Mo approached him cautiously.
Cornell shook his head dismissively. “Nah, I’mma handle it.”
Cornell looked up and stared at his brother. The expression on his face was the same one he wore after they would get in trouble with their mother. They could catch a belt to the ass from their father a million times over and feel nothing, but the minute they felt that they let their mom down, it was as if their entire world was crumbling.
“My bad, Mo,” Cornell sighed, realizing how much he overreacted. “This money shit caught me off-guard this morning, and it only added fuel to the fire from Dad’s bullshit.”
“It’s cool.” Mo was still fidgeting with his collar and took one of the black leather seats across from him “I can’t say I didn’t have it coming after all that Lex stuff. I really am sorry about that, man.”
“I know.” Cee nodded and leaned back in his chair. “You gotta be smarter about these women, though, Mo. If you're not gonna stop on Mia’s behalf, then at least get better at screening them. Shorty’s eagerness should’ve triggered some alarms.”
It wasn’t that Moe didn’t agree with Cornell but following through was where he strayed. Chasing women was second nature to him, embedded in his being. The negative results were always the same, and he hated what it did to Mia, but he couldn't stop. It was like an incurable disease.
“I swear I’mma get my shit together this time, Cee,” Mo declared, although he knew it was just a setup for failure. He’d fly right for a few weeks, maybe even a month if he really focused. Sooner or later, however, they’d be having this discussion again. “So, how much did somebody stick you for?”
Cornell snorted. “Almost fourteen racks.”
“Da fuck?” Mo sat forward. “Who you thinking?”
“Well, you were the obvious suspect since it involved tricking off, but now,” he tried to run through every person it could be. It wasn’t an obscene amount of money to suggest some kind of payback or tactical warfare, “I’m not sure.”
“You know it’ll only take Clark a few hours to find them.” Mo’s eyebrows hiked. “Have him track down whoever it is, and then
we can pay them a visit.”
“Bet.” Cornell nodded. “After these meetings, though.” He stood up and buttoned the sole button on his jacket. “I need to tell Cyn to cancel dinner with Vic.”
“The bitch that only eats broccoli? Where y’all was going? To a cornfield?” Mo laughed despite Cornell mushing him in the back of the head.
CHAPTER 11
Harley licked the top of her doberge cake-flavored ice cream cone and continued to walk the route along the river. She spent the earlier part of the day stopping at a few bars on Bourbon Street, inquiring about bartending openings, and left with interview dates and times from two of them. Bartending was the best legit hustle she could have in between quick scores with Bernard and his dysfunctional crew of dark web specialists. Getting people drunk while wearing tight-fitting clothes and flirting was like breathing. A few jiggles and impeccable listening skills would secure more than enough to pay bills and live a little, especially now that she didn’t have to worry about rent for the next year. A trip to a sandy white beach was in her near future, and the thought of it made her smile. She continued her carefree afternoon stroll and stopped by the railing that lined the river to watch a few barges go by.
“Perfect view, right?”
She looked over at the man in the tailored business suit with his hands on the railing. She wasn’t sure how she missed him initially.
“It is.” She gave him a warm smile and returned her attention to the water. He was easy on the eyes and had enough weight on him to inform her that he could delightfully toss her around the bedroom.
“You from the city?”
Harley somewhat blushed. It had been a minute since a decent-looking man with all his teeth and possibly a 401k showed any interest. “I may be. It depends on who’s asking?”
“A party interested in knowing more about you is asking.” The smiling teddy bear shifted closer. “I’m Morris. Mo for short.” He held out his hand.
“Harley.” She returned his gesture and shook their connected hands but couldn’t pinpoint the familiarity of his face. “You look...I swear I’ve seen you somewhere before.”
“Me?” he questioned in jest. “Couldn’t be. I’mma nobody.” He shrugged. “People think my brother and I favor, though. Maybe you’ve seen him before.” Mo retrieved his phone from his pocket and pulled up a recent picture of him and Cornell. He stepped closer and leaned over for her to review.
The smile on Harley’s face faded and panic sat in. She turned away to attempt to create some distance, but Mo forcefully yet discreetly pulled her back to his side.
“Now, now, Miss Dupree. We were having such a good convo.”
“I’ll scream,” she threatened and looked back at the few people in the immediate area.
“Go ahead,” Mo urged. “Let’s see how well that’ll turn out for you. I’m sure the police would love to hear about the money you stole and the various warrants you have pending in different states under your colorful aliases.”
Frustrated, Harley held back the “fuck you” burning on her tongue. “What do you want?”
“For us to take a quiet walk so my brother can speak with you.” He pulled on her arm. “Emphasis on the quiet. Is that gonna be a problem?”
“No,” she mumbled, now thoroughly pissed at herself for being so reckless with the stupid fraudulent card.
“That’s the spirit.” He smiled. “Let’s go.”
Harley trudged behind his determined strides to the point that Mo began to look like a father dragging his tantrum-having two-year-old. “Speed it up or I’ll have my men do it for you.”
Before she could be a bitch and ask what men, she looked around and noticed two diesel men dressed like second-string Abercrombie & Fitch models walking toward them from opposing directions.
Fight or flight was now inevitable. Whatever they were going to do to her, they'd do it whether she complied or not, so self-preservation was now a priority.
“Fuck this,” she muttered and drove the chunky heel of her black combat boot into Mo’s dress shoe. As he howled, she used his loosened grip to her advantage. She shoved her elbow into his stomach and took off in the opposite direction. She leaped over the single step, up to the open field in front of her, and pumped her legs as fast as her clunky footwear allowed. She didn’t have to look back to know they were on her heels, but if she could clear the field and make it to the street, she was confident about being able to lose them in the French Quarter.
Only yards from the field’s edge, she turned her head to gauge their proximity and went flying from her feet. Her ankle collapsed, sending her into a hidden crater in the grass. She completed at least three full rotations onto the concrete and, thanks to adrenaline, bounced right up to maintain her escape. Barely two steps into her restart, a pair of steel-like arms wrapped around her body and pulled her feet from the ground.
“Get off me, asshole!” Harley’s boots swung wildly, hoping to connect with somebody’s body.
“You want me to put her to sleep?” the one holding her asked.
“Nah,” an aggravated Mo spoke up. “But I’ll go grab her sister if she doesn't PIPE THE FUCK DOWN!”
The threat was ice water to Harley’s aggression. Her sister had nothing to do with the situation and that he knew she even had one was worrisome—and terrifying.
“I thought that would do it.” Mo placed his hand on his aching stomach. “Let her walk and let’s fucking go.”
Still out of breath from her attempted escape, Harley followed the men toward a black Suburban that had just pulled up.
“Get in.” Mo opened the back door for her but suddenly grabbed her shoulder. “Wait...Tank, go get in on the other side first since Miss Dupree apparently enjoys track and field.”
Harley rolled her eyes and watched the one who held her get in. She was then forced to sit between him and Mo.
Once the car pulled off, Harley tried to focus on the route they were taking, just in case she got a free moment to use her phone, but once she realized they were headed out of the city, fear sent her thoughts in disarray.
“Where are we going?”
Mo didn’t respond or even offer her his attention nor did she expect him to. Assaulting him probably didn’t warm him up for communication.
About thirty minutes later, they were turning onto a dirt road toward a large, light blue warehouse that seemed to offer the only form of life in the desolate area. The SUV pulled up and parked next to two other cars of the same model.
Tank opened his door and got out. “C’mon!” he barked.
Harley froze. She couldn’t move even if she wanted to. Were they going to kill her? Or assault her in some vile way? Her thoughts had her paralyzed.
“I said get the fuck out the car!” Tank yanked her arm and damn near dragged her from the seat.
Harley resisted and screamed. “I’ll pay the money back! Please don’t take me in there!”
“Yo, chill, Tank,” the other man, Smitty, finally spoke up. “You know boss man ain’t with the manhandling.”
Tank ignored him and Harley and picked her up once again to speed up the process. Harley took advantage of his improper hold and bit down on his forearm. The pain made him drop her and without thinking, he cocked back and backhanded her across the face, sending her flying into the dirt.
“Yo, have you lost your fucking mind?!” Mo rushed over and shoved him in the chest.
“Boss, you saw what she did!” he defended. “My fucking arm is bleeding.”
“It’s a bite, nigga, you ain’t dying! She’s still a fucking woman!” Mo rushed to help Harley from the ground.
“Don’t touch me!” She swatted his hand and scrambled to her feet, holding her throbbing face, now on the brink of unwanted tears.
Mo expelled a sympathetic sigh. She was hell on wheels, but he still lived by a code when it came to women and kids which was hands off. “Follow me,” he commanded with far less bite in his tone.
They entered the buildi
ng and went into the small concrete room designated for interrogations.
“Sit.” Mo pointed at the silver metal chair awaiting her in the middle of the damp and stifling room.
With a deflated spirit, Harley limped toward it. Now that she had calmed, she could feel the radiating pain in her ankle from her initial fall. She was certain it was sprung.
She sat down and kept her eyes to her feet. When the door to the room opened, she looked up and stilled at the sight of the man who she wished she could undo crossing paths with followed by another man whose face she could barely see through his thick locs.
When Cornell’s eyes connected with hers, his eyebrows pinched. He approached her, with the sleeves of his white dress shirt rolled up, minus a tie. Harley held her head high even with her hand clamped to her face in anticipation of something worse than what she received outside. If he didn’t mind what happened to Gianna, she was certain he wouldn’t hold back with her.
His index finger lifted her chin, and he carefully removed her hand and noticed the redness and swelling on the right side of her face. Harley watched him intensely. She wished his damnation where he stood yet still thought him to be an attractive man. He was more handsome than she remembered that night at Madam Sinclair’s. Freshly lined beard and goatee. Everything was neat, from his thick, groomed eyebrows to his enviable eyelashes. She could see the resemblance between him and his brother, but Cornell possessed the “it” factor. That thing that commanded your attention against your will. He had a dominating and arrogant air about him. He was quite the spectacle to behold, but Harley was aware that even the devil was once a beautiful angel.
“Who’s responsible for this?”
Mo’s eyes narrowed at Tank, knowing what was coming next. When no one responded as quickly as Cornell would have liked, he spun around and glared at all the suspects. “I asked a question.”