Wrath of a Side Chick 4 (Side Chick's Wrath)

by Tamicka Higgins

  CHAPTER 5

  The furiousness that Dante felt when he snuck out of Mercy was beyond belief. In fact, no words could really describe how he felt. Yes, he saw that part of the problem was the fact that Edric had gotten weak and fallen for the oldest trick in the book: the sexual deception of a woman. However, the very thought that Edric could have died down in that basement had Dante not been able to come to the rescue in time only fueled Dante’s hate more. Now, he had two targets: Breon and Nikki. Of course, though, Breon was his biggest priority.

  At first, Dante was headed back to the house to meet with Trell, as he’d demanded that Trell be at the house as soon as possible. However, as he got to halfway to his neighborhood, he thought more and more about the fact that he knew exactly where Breon worked. He’d never dreamed of trying to pull off anything at any business over in Chinatown. Desperate times called for desperate measures at this point. Because of Breon and his side chick Nikki, Dante looked out of his rearview mirror at every intersection he passed through, watching out for police. By the grace of God, he’d been able to slide out of the hospital unnoticed. That could soon change, though. It was only a matter of time before the police came looking for Dante because it was Edric’s address and information he had used as a place to have on record when he was released from serving his prison sentence. And since the racist police in Chicago were always looking for any possible thing to come and question Dante about, even if the questions were not the least bit related.

  As Dante pulled up to an intersection, spotting the blood stains on the van’s backseat were enough to make him turn around. He was now headed to Chinatown, straight to the Johnson & Pearl facility. He wasn’t quite sure what he would do, but he knew that he needed to do something before something happened to him.

  Dante headed up to Chinatown and pulled into the parking lot, slowly. His eyes scanned the parking lot, looking for Breon’s SUV. “Where the fuck is this nigga at?” Dante asked out loud. He then reached under the seat and pulled a gun out. “I’m ‘bout to be like a white man and just walk up in his job and shoot this nigga and be done with this shit,” he mumbled.

  After riding around the Johnson & Pearl parking lot, with the darkening skies of night overhead, Dante pulled into a parking spot at the rear of the facility. He looked at the building, his eyes cold and hard and full of his desire to get revenge. He’d gone through so much trouble so far to try to get Breon in such a way that wouldn’t be in public. Now, however, all of that had changed. The police would be breathing down his neck soon enough about what happened to Edric. For all he knew, they might even try to blame it on him just to get him back into the system.

  “Look like that nigga ain’t here,” Dante said, looking at each and every car in the parking lot. He then looked at the time and saw that it was going on 9 o’clock. While he’d never worked at Johnson & Pearl himself, partly because he’d been locked up for most of his adult life, he knew it was the kind of job where a lot of the work was done in the afternoon and night, rather than the morning. Furthermore, it was also the kind of company where workers worked Monday through Friday and not on the weekend. Dante snickered as he leaned back, thinking to himself that Breon had probably called off of work because he was running scared. “That nigga just don’t know that I’mma find his ass,” Dante said to himself then snickered once more. “He can run and shit, but the nigga can’t hide forever. I’mma find his ass. He gon’ have to show up at work sooner or later.”

  For the next several minutes, Dante sat in his minivan at the edge of the Johnson & Pearl building. For much of the time, his eyes were fixated on the brick, warehouse-styled building. The cityscape, dark with peppers of light, served as the perfect backdrop to remind Dante of the numerous gangster movies he’d watched as a child. He chuckled at one point, thinking of how he now practically starred in a scenario that, for him, used to seem like pure entertainment.

  Just as Dante was about to insert his key back into the van’s ignition and pull off, he paused and looked at the building once more. He realized that the information he really needed, which was to find out where Breon lay his head at night, was sure to be inside of that building. He pulled his phone out and began to do a Google search for the Johnson & Pearl’s human resource contact information. Doubts floated around his mind as to whether or not he’d be able to get anything from whomever answered; however, if he could find out whether Breon had quit or not would be enough. If Breon hadn’t quit, then sitting outside of Johnson & Pearl day after day until he came back to work was exactly what he would do.

  While still searching for the number, Dante saw a couple groups of men come out of the building’s side door. He paused and looked, squinting his eyes to see if maybe one of them was Breon. Soon enough, he saw that they were all unfamiliar faces One guy, though, who looked to be foreign – perhaps from Africa – walked away from the rest of the men after they’d chitchatted and laughed amongst one another for a couple of moments. This guy began zigzagging between parked cars, clearly coming toward the back of the parking lot. Instantly, Dante could pick up on an opportunity. He stepped out of the minivan and walked out into the parking lot a bit.

  “Hey, my man,” Dante said, getting the guy’s attention.

  The guy – Fasil – stopped to see what Dante wanted. “Yeah, wassup?” he responded, his eyes cautious but his personality open.

  Dante cracked a smile and walked up, seeing that this guy was friendly. “I got a quick question for you, man,” he said. He then approached Fasil, now only standing a couple of feet away from him. “Man, I just got out of county lock up downtown and shit after serving five years. You know how it be out here. They don’t wanna hire a nigga and shit. A buddy of mine told me to come here and see if maybe they was hiring. I came durin’ the day and shit, but couldn’t get in touch with anybody. What can you tell me about if they hirin’ or not and how I could go about findin’ out?”

  Fasil looked toward the building for a moment, shivering slightly in his coat as a strong wind rushed by. “Well,” he said, his East Africa accent coming out more as he spoke, “You can go in there and talk to Mister James.” He paused. “He not the human resources guy or nothin’ like that, but he can get you an application and let you know if they hiring or not.”

  “Thanks, man,” Dante said, trying to come across as friendly. “Let me ask you, though, since you seem like a cool nigga and stuff. Do you think they hirin’ or not? ‘Cause I don’t wanna waste my time if they not. I’m just try’na find a fuckin’ job and stuff before I run out of the little money that I do got. You know how it is?”

  “Yeah, man,” Fasil said, nodding. “I think they probably are, but I don’t really know for sure. This is one of them kinds of jobs that they got people coming and going all the time, so if they’re not hiring right now, that don’t mean that maybe they won’t be hiring in a couple of weeks or something. That’s what I did. I applied and then just came back later and got hired.”

  “And they hire niggas that got felonies?” Dante asked.

  Fasil asked. “Yep, I’m pretty sure they do,” he answered. “I don’t know if you could have killed somebody or something like that and they would hire you, though.” He chuckled.

  Dante shook his head, looking up at the building. “Naw,” he said. “My shit got to do with drugs. I ain’t kill nobody or nothin’ like that. I ain’t that kinda nigga.”

  “Well, then, yeah,” Fasil said. “They’ll prolly hire you. You said you got a friend that work up here?”

  “Yeah,” Dante said. “I mean, I think he still do, but I don’t know. Ain’t seen him in a minute, but last time we talked and we was real cool, he was workin’ up here.”

  “Yeah, maybe I know who it is,” Fasil said. “Maybe he at work right now. I can go get him for you if you want?”

  “Yeah, the nigga’s name is Breon,” Dante said. “Like I said, I don’t know if he still work here or not or what, but his name is Breon. We go way back.”

  �
��Hell yeah, I know Breon,” Fasil said. “He a real cool dude.”

  “Yeah, I ain’t seen him in a minute,” Dante said. “Actually, been a good minute since I changed phones and, you know how that shit go, I lost his number.”

  “Yeah, he work here still,” Fasil said, unsuspecting at this moment. “But he ain’t come into work today. He was here last night, but he ain’t come into work today. I mean to text him and ask why, but we got busy and stuff.”

  “Oh yeah?” Dante asked, looking up at the building. “I see. And you said I can go in there and talk to who about seeing if they hiring or not?”

  “A Mister James,” Fasil said. He then pointed at the building. “Just go in through them doors right there and to the left. You’ll see this hallway that lead down to some offices. If anybody stop you, ‘cause that’s what they supposed to do, just tell them what you there for, okay?”

  Dante smiled, liking the friendly persona of this African dude. “Okay, man,” he said, putting his hand out to shake hands. “Thanks for your help and stuff.”

  “No problem,” Fasil said. “Man, my name is Fasil. And yeah, just go in there and go back to the offices. It’ll be the only open office right now, that I can think of. Mister James is who you wanna talk to. He’s a older white guy, real nice, kinda with this east coast accent, I think. I think they probably are hiring, but like I said, I don’t know.”

  Dante purposely neglected to say his name, as he preferred to remain anonymous, for obvious reasons. “Thanks, man,” Dante said. He and Fasil said bye to one another. Dante then grabbed his gun out of the minivan, slid it into his inside coat pocket, and headed up toward the building. As he made his way between the parked cars, he kept the description of this Mr. James in his mind, knowing exactly what he wanted to get from the man – and it was not a job application.

  As Dante approached the building, he could feel the eyes of other Johnson & Pearl workers on him. He nodded, telling them that he was looking for a Mr. James to get a job application. Unsuspecting, the workers moved out of the way, some of them even giving vague directions on how to find James’ office.

  When Dante entered the building, he looked around at the warehouse set up. He’d always known that Johnson & Pearl was a shipping company, but never had he had a look inside of the facility. Following Fasil’s directions, he turned to the left and headed down a narrow hallway with a low ceiling. While he truly had no reason to be on edge, because Breon supposedly was not at work, Dante couldn’t help but feel a little anxious – anxiety mixed with excitement. He approached the opened office door at the end of the hallway, just like Fasil had said. He knocked on the door gently, seeing an older white man sitting inside at his desk.

  “Yes?” Mister James said, turning around as he thought the person at the door would be one of his employees trying to get his attention. Quickly, however, James saw that it was a face he didn’t know. “How may I help you?”

  Dante smiled and attempted at speaking professionally, even though he’d never had much practice at doing such a thing. “Yes,” Dante said, “I just spoke with a Fasil out in the parking lot about looking for a job and he suggested that I come in and speak with a Mister James about that. Do you know where I can find him?” He smiled.

  Mr. James, who was the kind of guy who couldn’t be mean to a burglar in his own home, stood up and shook Dante’s hand. He smiled and said, “I’m Mister James. And yes, you could talk to me about this. What kind of work are you looking for?”

  Dante quickly sized up the older white man, as he casually reached back and pushed the office door closed. Mr. James looked to be in his late fifties or early sixties, with a balding head and, like Fasil had mentioned, had a New England accent. At only 5’6” height, Mr. James was also a relatively small man who wore thick, black-rimmed glasses – a man Dante did not find the least bit intimidating. He kept his voice down as he answered Mr. James’ question. “Yeah,” he said, “I was just released and I’m desperate for work. I was looking for any kind of job I could get.”

  Mr. James’ demeanor changed, however so slightly. He’d never really been the kind of man to be nervous around felons, but much of his perception of a felon was dependent on what sort of crime he or she had committed. “Oh, okay,” James said, hesitantly. “If you don’t mind me asking, and it’s only company policy, so please forgive me, but what kind of felony do you have.”

  Quickly, Dante explained his drug offenses – offenses that caused James to calm down significantly, as he himself didn’t believe the judicial system should be throwing people behind bars for non-violent offenses. “Okay,” he said, with a smile. “Yeah, you can work here. Now, I need to tell you, however, that I’m not the hiring manager, but I do know that we are looking to hire a couple of people.” James shuffled through some papers and pulled out a job application. He handed it to Dante then grabbed a pen, holding it out for Dante as well. “Fill this out and you can leave it with me and when I get back in tomorrow, I can make sure the hiring manager gets it.”

  Dante smiled as he grabbed the application and pen. Now was his chance. After checking to make sure that the office door was completely closed, Dante swiftly pulled his gun out of his pocket. He pointed it toward Mr. James and leaned in closer to the older man as he backed away in fear.

  “Please,” Mr. James said, “don’t hurt me. I’ll give you whatever you want.” He began to reach into his pocket to pull his wallet out, thinking that this was a stick up. “I’ll give you whatever you want, just don’t shoot.”

  “Shut the fuck up,” Dante commanded, throwing the application and pen down onto the floor. “I don’t want no fuckin’ job at this stupid ass job,” he said. “And I don’t want that little ass piece of chump change that you prolly got in your wallet. That’s not why I’m here, old man.”

  “Well, why are you here?” Mr. James asked. “What do you want? I’ll give you whatever you want, just don’t hurt me.”

  “What I say?” Dante said, pushing the barrel of the gun into Mr. James’ chest. “Shut the fuck up. I’m doing all the talkin’ and shit. I want Breon.”

  “Breon?” Mr. James said, shaking his head side to side. “Breon… Breon is not even here today. He called off. He’s not even here, I swear he’s not.”

  “Old man, I know he’s not here,” Dante said, allowing his rage to show in his face. “That’s not what I want from you. I want the nigga’s address. Where do he live?”

  “I can’t give you that,” Mr. James said.

  “You can give me whatever the fuck I want,” Dante said, hitting the man over the head with the butt of the gun.

  Quickly, Mr. James grabbed his head. The area impacted began to bleed as he had a sudden, intense headache. “No,” he said. “That’s not what I mean. I mean, I don’t have those files in my office. I don’t have that kind of information in here. I’m not the human resources person. Only she would have that kind of information and she works during the days and into the early afternoon. She comes in when I’m leaving. I’m in charge of logistics, like arranging for departing and arriving trucks and stuff. I don’t even have employee information with me. The only reason I even had a job application is because they want all of Johnson & Pearl staff to have some just in case someone comes in and is looking for a job, like I thought you were. Why are you doing this?”

  “Don’t worry about why I’m doing this,” Dante asked. He then took a moment to breathe and think. “Where the fuck is this human resource’s office at and shit? Where is it? You need a key to get in it?”

  Mr. James pointed toward the hallway. “Two doors down,” he answered. “And I don’t know. I don’t think she locks her door, but I don’t really know. I’m sorry, man, but I don’t really know.”

  “Okay, here’s what we’re gonna do,” Dante began explaining. “You’re gonna play it real cool, okay? And we’re gonna walk down to that office and see if the door is open. If it ain’t, then we’re gonna find a way to get into there ‘cause I need to see
that nigga Breon, and a little lady friend of his. This ain’t up for debate. If we can’t get into the office, then I know somewhere in this big motherfuckin’ building, there’s gotta be some shit we can use to get into there.”

  Mr. James agreed, fearing for his life. Having grown up on the East Coast, then moving to Chicago, this was not the first time he’d been held at gunpoint. However, the other instances had been simple robberies – situations where he gave the person whatever they wanted and they left. Reluctantly, he led Dante out into the hallway. Dante slid his gun back into his coat pocket, telling the older man, “If you pull any funny shit, old man, I swear to God I will kill you right here and now in this hallway, you understand?”

  Without speaking, the nervous Mr. James nodded his head. He walked down to Ms. Karen’s office. He prayed silently not only that this crazy guy wouldn’t kill him, but also that Karen’s door would be open. By the grace of God, the door was indeed open. Within seconds, he now stood in her cluttered office with Dante. Dante looked down the hallway and out onto the floor, seeing that the workers were still standing outside on their break.

  “Okay,” Mr. James said. “I’ve got to look for the files because I don’t know where she keeps that kind of stuff.”