“I have ten pieces of his work in my home. Fine art, yes. I also see it as a reminder that we all have issues. We all are addicted to something, but that doesn’t discredit the creativity and honor of a man. Just like him, society once frowned upon me and looked at me like the scum of the earth.”
He points to the bottom of the painting. “See the title? Keeping the Faith,” he says dragging his finger across the bottom of the frame. “In a nutshell,” he adds as the young woman listens attentively, “that’s your lesson for today.” He smiles. “You got two lessons in one. Now go on and get to work.
“I need you to get on the phone with the prosecutor’s office and find out what’s going on with the Angelica Hill situation. I need those detectives to never enter Mr. Antonelli’s business again. Let them know I have the case. Also, I need you to get me a file on that girl. She has Mr. A’s nose wide open, but something tells me she’s not as innocent as he thinks she is. Typical sucker for love,” he says with a smile.
“OK,” she replies. She quickly steps away from him onto her assignment.
“Oh, but more important!” he shouts. She stops in her tracks. “Cut this gentleman a check for one hundred-eighty thousand for this fine painting.”
The young woman’s eyes bulge. She believes she may have heard him wrong. “One hundred and eighty-thousand?”
“Yes,” he replies. “One, eight, zero, comma, zero, zero, zero,” he says with sarcasm. “If you have trouble with it, pull it up on that smartphone you got in your hand.” The young woman exits the room, absorbing his arrogance. Tony looks down at his tailor. “I work way too hard,” he says with humor.
* * *
Meanwhile Storm is working on her case as well. She sits in her Mercedes, parked outside of the projects. Breezy stands at the window running his mouth a mile a minute as she listens attentively. “So my peoples said, that’s easy. Said he can put me directly with the lil nigga, Juice. That’s her brother. Like he said, as far as he know they got most of the money to bail her out, but they short a few grand. Supposedly they got the signatures, job references and the whole shit. Broad just sitting, waiting on the rest of the money.”
“Well, you gone have to work that out because I can’t go nowhere near them. I don’t know what she may have told her family.”
“Nah, seems like the streets don’t really know nothing. Unless her family keeping it on the hush. All they talking about is the carjacking with them niggas from across town. I was waiting to see if your name or even Man-Man’s name even came up, but it didn’t. You sure she spilled her guts?”
“I mean, who else could have?” she asks.
“I feel you. Ay, it’s only one real way to find out. I’m on it for you, though,” he says as Mud steps toward the car.
“Thanks,” she says with much gratitude.
“No need to thank me, sis. You always been there for me. It’s the least I can do. We gonna get you outta this.”
* * *
A few miles away, an unmarked police car swerves around the corner and bounces onto the sidewalk. All the drug activity seems to stop as everyone is caught dead to the rear. The female detective hops out of the passenger’s seat and the male from the driver’s seat. They run over to the dealer who stands petrified.
The female detective snatches the dealer by the collar. “Y’all get the fuck outta here or y’all going with him,” she threatens. The customers take off in opposite directions. The other dealers kind of sneak away from the scene as well.
She lays the dealer onto the hood roughly as her partner starts to frisk him. He slams the bag of drugs onto the hood. “Dumb motherfucker!” the female detective shouts. She cuffs his hands behind his back and shoves him into the back of the unmarked car.
The unmarked car pulls off, leaving the scene bare. The female detective reads from the man’s license. “Charles, do you have any warrants?”
The man in the backseat prepares himself for the lie. He knows he’s wanted in, at least, three cities right now. “Nah, not that I know of.”
She smiles. “Not that you know of, huh? Well, let me call in and find out for all of us then.”
The dealer bangs his head onto the headrest, knowing damn well this will be his last time on the streets for, at least, another five years. Something told him not to go outside today, but he didn’t listen and now this. “Damn,” he mumbles under his breath.
The female detective grabs the walkie talkie, preparing to call in his name and have him record checked. She stalls the call and turns looking into the backseat. “Charles, before I have you record checked, are you familiar with a young woman who goes by the name of Storm?”
An image of Storm’s face flashes in his mind at the mention of her name. The look on his face tells the detectives that he’s most definitely familiar with her. It would almost be impossible for any street person in Newark to not have heard of her. Her name is almost iconic throughout the city and anybody who is somebody knows her.
He thinks quickly before answering the question. “I know of her but not on a personal level.”
“Is that so?” the detective asks as she places the walkie talkie on her lap. “What exactly do you know of her? You know where we can find her right now?”
He quickly picks up on the game that she’s playing. The young man has always been opposed to snitching but never was faced with a decision to snitch or not to snitch. He thinks of his freedom and he thinks of the no-snitch rule. He then thinks of the five-year charge that he’s on the run for.
He quickly tells himself, It’s only snitching if people ever find out. He realizes if anyone ever finds out that he gave any information up his reputation is tarnished. He debates with himself before replying. He can’t go through with it. “Nah, I just heard her name. I don’t know nothing else.”
“First, you said you know of her. Now you saying you know nothing. Which is it? I tell you what… I’m gon’ close this partition and give you a few minutes to decide if you want to help us or not. Once you decide that you want to help us, think of anything that could lead to her capture. In return, we keep your bag of goods, and you will be let out the car to be free another day,” she says before slowly closing the partition in between her and him.
Minutes later, the partition slides open. The female detective doesn’t even look his way. “So, you going with us or are we dropping you off at the next corner?” she asks, still staring straight ahead.
The man immediately starts spilling the beans. “Like I said, I don’t really know her personally, but I know the area that she used to be in. I knew some people that know her that could probably help y’all better than I can. But y’all can’t throw my name in the mix. If niggas find out I did this, I will be murdered for sure,” he says with fear in his eyes.
“Of course we won’t do that,” she replies. “Just give me three solid names to look up, and we will shake them down, and they will never know how they got under our radar.”
“Y’all sure?”
“We would never throw you out there like that. We know how deadly she is,” the detective says. She attempts to ease his fears and reel him in at the same time.
“I’m trusting y’all on this one. I don’t have three, but I have two that definitely know more about her than me.”
The detective pulls out her pen and pad. “OK, shoot.”
21
Atlantic City, New Jersey
The Next Day
Storm and the girls just checked into the Tropicana an hour ago, and they are already out and about in the casino working. They work the Atlantic City casinos every weekend faithfully. They can always bank on making money here. When all else fails, this spot is always wide open, flourishing with potential.
Because she’s not much of a gambler, Storm sits at a penny slot machine. She’s paying little attention to the slot machine because her eyes are on he
r investments, Wendy and Toy. She watches them wander around the room, trying to get to the money. Her phone vibrates on her lap. She sees the name on the display and grabs it quickly. “Yo!” Her mouth drops open. “Atlantic City. Are you sure? I just took that ride. Please don’t make me come there for nothing. All right. Bet! Hit you when I get there.” She ends the call.
She races past Toy like a flash of lightning. Toy takes a double-take at her as she exits the casino. Toy doesn’t miss a beat. She continues on with her work.
Toy glides across the floor elegantly. To keep shade on herself and not look like a working girl, she has her attire toned down. Instead of an evening gown and stilettos, she’s in a tight miniskirt and flat sandals. The average eye may perceive her as the everyday person here gambling their money away. The men who are looking for action can spot the adventure in her eyes.
She locks eyes with a handsome older man. His gaze tells her that he wants to play, and her’s state that she’s ready to be played with. Once she looks down at the chips in front of him and sees a bunch of white and blue, the game between him and her is over before it even starts. The dollar chips are a turn off for her.
She’s experienced working the casinos. Her eyes don’t even pick up the white, blue, or even the red five dollar chips. She assumes that they don’t have money and are here looking for a miracle, hoping to leave rich. She looks at the men with the green twenty-five dollar chips as misers. They may have the money, but they are too stingy to part with it.
The only way she will entertain a man with black hundred-dollar chips in front of him is if his clothing and trinkets are in order: Meaning his shoe game must be tight, as well as his suit and his watch game. Although he’s playing with hundred dollar chips, he can afford to go bigger. That is his level of comfort, and he’s not trying to impress anyone.
As she walks, she makes an assessment of the casino, looking for the biggest money table in the place. Quickly she locates the money table, a blackjack table with piles of purple, five hundred dollar chips and orange, one thousand dollar chips stacked high in front of every player. She realizes that is where she needs to be. The money is obviously there, but that’s only half the battle. The other half is identifying who is in need of her services.
The men at this table are low-key for the most part, and are not concerned with looking like they have money. They have nothing to prove because they are confident. Their shoes are run down and their clothes are boring. The common watch at the table is the classic, gold, Day-Date Rolex, clean with no diamonds. She refers to these type of men as “old money.”
She kindly makes her way over to that table. She wanders around like a tourist, pretending not to be paying them any attention. The smell of her perfume reaches the table long before her. She takes a glance, but no one seems to notice her. Just as she’s about to pass, she hears, “Hey, beautiful girl!”
Toy looks over and locks eyes with a fat older man who has obnoxious written on his forehead. “Come here, girl!” he shouts.
Toy walks over hesitantly as if she’s shy. She stands before him bashfully. He pulls her by the hand. “Come stand next to me and bring me some luck,” he says as he wraps his arm around her. “What’s your name, girl?”
“Toy,” she replies, batting her long eyelashes.
“Well, I’m a big kid and I love toys. He takes a long look at the cards that have just been dealt to him. Discreetly he slides an orange chip in front of her. “For your time,” he whispers out of the side of his mouth.
Toy just stands there, looking pretty. She wonders if the money is to just look pretty until she feels his huge hand palm grip her ass. She then understands the grand is a down payment for what he really wants. She looks at the chips that value at about two hundred grand and realizes, if she plays her hand right, this could be a beautiful night.
22
Hours Later
Storm sits in the passenger’s seat of Breezy’s car impatiently. The block is dark but busy with traffic. “Damn! What’s taking them so long?” she asks.
They’ve been sitting out here for hours, just idle. The door of the county jail opens and Storm’s eyes spark with joy. As she watches, Kirah, the girl that has her jammed up, rage overflows from within. She gets fidgety in her seat.
“There she go,” Breezy sings. “So how you wanna handle it? Want me to talk to her first?”
Storm keeps every step within her scope. Kirah walks to a car that awaits her. The lights of a raggedy little car shine brightly upon her entrance. It’s no surprise to them because Breezy was already aware that her brother was here waiting for her. “You gon’ holler at her or you want me to?” he asks.
“Nah, just hold up. Follow them. I will talk to her, just not right here.”
“Bet,” Breezy says as he turns on the lights of his car.
The car pulls out of the parking space and so does Breezy. He allows the car to get up the block before he tails them. The car bends a right at the corner, and Breezy steps on the accelerator to catch up with them.
The traffic light switches to red and the only cars on the dark block are theirs.
“Pull up on the side of them at the corner,” Storm instructs. The car is in the right turning lane, which is perfect for Storm. “Yeah, pull up on my side, so she can see that it’s me.”
Breezy pulls his car around, just as he’s told. Storm rolls her window down. Just as they are side by side, she looks into the car. Both the man and the woman look into her face, not even recognizing her before she aims the gun precisely. Not even Breezy saw it coming.
Boc! Boc! Boc!
The driver’s body is forced into the passenger’s seat.
“The fuck yo!” Breezy shouts in shock.
Storm forces the door open and jumps out of the car, gun waving in the air. The driver mashes the gas pedal in fear of what is to come but still it comes.
Boc! Boc!
The car crashes into the mailbox, preventing it from moving. Storm rushes over to the other side where she finds the woman hiding under the dashboard. Storm snatches the door open with her heart racing uncontrollably.
“There she was… the person that had me in this mess. If it wasn’t for her nothing would have led them to me. She was the only one standing in between me and my freedom, so I had no choice.”
Boc! Boc! Boc! Boc! Boc!
Storm fires relentlessly, all head shots until the woman shows no sign of life. Her rage leads her to continue on, knowing the woman is dead.
Boc! Boc! Clink— Clink— Clink—.
The sound of the empty cartridge snaps her out of her zone.
She takes off toward the getaway car. Once she’s inside, Breezy speeds off.
“What the fuck wrong with you, yo?” Breezy shouts. “Why the fuck you didn’t tell me you was gone do that?”
Storm doesn’t say a word to him. She holds the blazing gun in her hand. The smell of the gun smoke fills the air, giving her more of a rush. Breezy speeds through the streets recklessly. He’s screaming rage at her, yet she doesn’t hear him.
* * *
Minutes later, they arrive safely to Storm’s car. Breezy parks his car in the parking lot of the projects. They get into her car, neither of them saying a word to each other. Storm starts her car and pulls off in a nonchalant demeanor that is surprising to Breezy.
“Yo! This the second time you done put me in the mix without telling me shit!” he shouts. “I been in contact with them people. I gave them the bail money. This shit gon’ fall back on me,” he says as he covers his face with both of his hands. “I don’t believe this shit, yo!”
Storm speaks for the first time, staring at him with a blank look in her eyes. “Breeze, you know I love you like a big brother, right?” He has no reply for her. “Don’t ever put me in a position where I have to choose between love and what I think may be the right thing to do.”<
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As calm as she may sound, Breezy still recognizes her words as a threat. He looks down at the gun that she still has gripped tightly in her hands and that threat is confirmed. “With all we been through together in life, you threatening me?” he asks. “I been loyal to you from day one, Storm.” Tears drip from his eyes. “You would take my life?”
“I never questioned your loyalty until tonight. I never heard you lose it like this over shit that had to be done.” She fights to keep the gun on her lap and not aim it at his head. “This the second time you have questioned my decision. Understand this… as leaders we don’t make tough decisions because we want to. We make tough decisions because we have to.”
She stares at him as a vision of blowing his head off rips through her mind. “Please don’t make me think that you are questioning my leadership skills.” She clenches her jaws tight, temples pulsating with anger. “And please, don’t ever make me think that your loyalty to me has an expiration date.”
“Young lady, have you come to the understanding that murder is not the answer?”
Angelica stares at the man in a cold stare. “In my world, sometimes, you are faced with two decisions, and neither one of them may be a choice that you want to make. So you make the best decision based on two bad choices. Murder may not be the choice you want to make, but it’s the best choice for the time being.”
The man shakes his head with no words for her in return.
23
Atlantic City
Six hours of Storm missing in action and she comes back to find her original seat at the penny slot vacant. She’s been sitting here dumping dollars into the machine with no real interest at all. She’s quite calm for a woman who just committed a double homicide a few hours ago. She barely revisit the murders.
Heartless Page 10