Heartless

by Al-Saadiq Banks

  “And what the fuck is that?”

  “You have to turn yourself in.”

  “Turn myself in so they can lock me the fuck up? Both of y’all fucking crazy if y’all think I’m gonna do that!”

  “You won’t spend an hour in custody. They charge you, and I will be right there to post the bond.”

  It all plays before her eyes. Her being arrested for murder and charged. She then sees herself going away to prison for life. What she can’t envision is her voluntarily walking in there turning herself in to spend the rest of her life in prison. She feels like only a fool would willingly give away their freedom.

  “I don’t know about that shit.”

  “Baby, you have no choice if you want to prove your innocence. Other than that, you appear to be guilty. You are innocent, right?”

  “Damn right I’m innocent,” she lies with a straight face.

  “Well, let’s prove it then.”

  33

  Days Later

  Storm sits alone in the sports bar inside of the Tropicana in Atlantic City while Toy and Jazz work the casino. Wendy had to stay home due to Mother Nature’s arrival. Toy never has a guest due to the depo shot. She’s been getting the shot for so long that she doesn’t get a period at all. That works to her advantage because she’s always in working order. She’s urged Wendy to do the same, but she’s been negligent in doing so.

  Maybe the few days away from each other will ease the turbulence between them and give some time for the black and blue bruise underneath her eye to go away. They have been silently beefing ever since the slap.

  With Wendy not here, Storm is expecting a dent in the earnings. She’s glad that Jazz decided to come along. She isn’t sure if Jazz is with them because she wants to be or because she needs the money, or if it’s because she owes Storm. However she’s here and that is all that matters to Storm.

  Storm is no heavy drinker, but tonight she has been guzzling drink after drink. She’s slightly tipsy, and her mind is not at ease. All she can think about is the trouble that is back in Newark. Mr. Antonelli has been pressuring her so much about turning herself in that she has started ignoring his calls. She realizes that the trouble isn’t going to vanish, but she is undecided about turning herself in. At this current time, it is highly unlikely. She plans to go Ginger Bread man — catch me if you can.

  As she leans her head back to guzzle the remainder of her drink, she locks eyes under the glass with one of the most beautiful women she’s ever seen in her life. The woman is so beautiful that she can’t take her eyes off her. She lowers the glass to put it on the table, yet they still have their eyes glued on each other. Her chocolate brown skin glistens with a haze of perspiration covering her face. Long and neat locs are twisted into a bun on the top of her head, resembling an African Goddess. Thin and silky baby hairs stream along her temples, down to her cheekbones.

  She dances with a man who has his back toward Storm. The woman stares with bedroom eyes. Storm is well aware of what that look in her eyes means and finds it humorous. She isn’t sure what the woman’s thoughts may be, but hers is on money as usual. She’s thinking of the money she can make with that woman on her team.

  She would be the perfect contrast to the three she already has. Everybody’s taste in women is not high yellow. Any man that has a sweet tooth for chocolate would do anything to have this piece of candy before her eyes. With this woman on the roster, she would be able to cover all angles of the board and would have something for everyone.

  The big, husky, wide shouldered man moves awkwardly trying to keep step with the woman. A few moves and he obstructs their stare. The long black evening gown grips her petite but curvy frame. The woman grabs the man by the hips, slightly pushing him out of the way, so she can continue dancing for Storm.

  She looks down at the woman’s shoes just to see the quality of woman she is and is impressed. She recognizes the Christian Louboutin pump because she has the identical pair. She focuses on the woman’s long leg that peeks through the split in the gown and she’s surprised. So petite, but her legs are thick and amazingly sculpted.

  The woman catches her looking at her legs and lifts the split, giving Storm a better view. She sways her hips from side to side before twirling around and giving Storm a long glimpse of her. The way her cheeks jiggle with each sway of her hips, it’s obvious that her ass is bare under the dress. She spins back around and immediately locks eyes with Storm. She has no clue what the woman sees when she looks at her, but she knows all she sees when she looks at the woman is dollar signs. She’s certain she could make some real money with this one.

  * * *

  Jazz prances through the casino when she believes her name is called. Her heart skips a beat, but she goes on, thinking that maybe she’s hearing things. “Yo, Jazz!” shouts a male voice behind her. Still she continues on with her heart racing.

  She can’t imagine who this could be behind her calling her name. She hopes that by her continuing on without turning around he may figure he has the wrong person. She’s scared shitless when she hears her name called again, but this time, the voice is closer. Her hand is gripped, and she has no choice but to turn around.

  She slowly turns around and her face turns to shit when she sees a familiar face. The man is not just a friend of her husband’s but he’s his business partner as well. “Hey, Jeff,” she says with her smile covering her fear and guilt.

  He hugs her tightly. “What the hell you doing here? Smooth know you here?” he says over-protectively but covering it with a fake smile.

  “Yeah, of course, he knows I’m here,” she lies. She hopes her face doesn’t give her away.

  “Oh, all right, just checking.” Still he decides to protect his partner’s best interest. “Who you here with?”

  “My grandmother,” she lies with rapid fire. Her husband knows how much her grandmother loves to gamble, so it would be believable. “Old as hell with a gambling problem,” she says accompanied by a smile. “We came here on a bus ride.”

  The man chuckles. “I hear that. Where she at though?” he asks looking around.

  “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” She pretends to be looking around in search. “She around here somewhere, losing all of her damn money.”

  “That’s what it’s for,” he says. He quickly digs into his pocket. In his hand, he grips a hefty amount of crisp one hundred dollar bills. He counts out five of them and hands them to her. “You and your grandmother go on and enjoy yourselves.”

  Jazz is just about ready to reject the money until she thinks of all the bills that she’s behind on. “Aww! Thank you.”

  He grips her hand, not letting go. “It’s nothing. I’m just doing what I know my man would do for me.” He finally lets her hand free. “Anything you ever need, don’t hesitate to call me. All right?”

  Gratitude covers her face. “Thank you. Now let me go find my grandmother.”

  “All right. Bet.”

  Jazz walks off and the man’s eyes are glued onto her butt in the tight miniskirt that she’s wearing. “Jazz!” he calls out.

  She turns around and is surprised by the way that he’s looking at her. “Anything. You hear me?”

  The look makes her feel uncomfortable. “I hear you.” She turns around quickly and continues on.

  His eyes stay on her butt, which has him almost hypnotized. Suddenly his eyes are drawn to her left hand. No trace of her wedding band has him perplexed. He steps to the side out of her view, but he doesn’t take his eyes off of her. He watches like she’s one of his own, wondering where she’s really going. Something about this doesn’t sit right with him.

  * * *

  After dancing to another song and a drink in between, the beautiful woman finds her way over to Storm’s table. Storm truly respects her courage. She stands across the table from Storm with a huge smile. Her bright w
hite teeth look like those that belong in a commercial. She’s even more beautiful up close than she was from across the room. Her distinctive features like her high cheekbones, pointed nose and cartoon character shaped eyes gives Storm reason to believe that she’s a foreigner, but from where? She can’t put a finger on it.

  “I just had to come over here and tell you how beautiful you are,” the woman says as she fiddles with the bun on the top of her head.

  Me? Beautiful? Storm thinks to herself. She snickers taking the compliment as game. Obviously this woman can’t spot game when she sees it or else she wouldn’t be standing here shooting the bullshit at me. She decides to entertain the woman instead of shooting her down and crushing her spirits. Anyway she would love to have this woman as a part of the team.

  “Thanks,” Storm says with one brow raised. She chuckles inside as she looks away.

  “What is your name?” the woman asks.

  “Storm. Yours?”

  “Ayinabeba.” Her smile is dazzling. She finally has her locs out of the bun. “I know it’s hard to pronounce.” Storm is caught up in the woman’s accent. It makes her even more sexy. “My friends just call me Beeba. I do hope to be friends.” She shakes her head, to allow her locs to untangle on their own. Her hair once unloosened, falls to her waistline.

  Storm decides to shoot the shit back at her for fun. “Beautiful name, matches your beauty to a tee,” she says, causing the woman to blush. “What is that Indian?” she asks, taking a wild shot at it.

  “No, Ethiopian. Means ‘eyes like a flower, beautiful eyes.’”

  “I totally agree,” Storm replies, hitting her again before she could recover from the first blushing blow. “Is that where you’re from? Ethopia?”

  “Yes, born and raised for the most part. Been here in the states for a little over five years.”

  Wow, Storm thinks, The woman could still be ripe and not yet Americanized. That could easily work to her advantage when it comes to her game of manipulation and getting into the woman’s head.

  The brolic man steps over toward them. Storm gives him a quick once over as he approaches. Although he looks big and intimidating, he has a rather clean-cut edge. He carries it kind of borderline thuggish, not a drug dealer but not completely square either.

  “Storm, this is my husband, Jay. Jay, this is Storm.”

  “Storm, it’s truly a pleasure to meet you.” He stops the waitress who is walking past and he places an order. He looks to Storm. “Can I buy you a drink?”

  “No, no, thank you.”

  He flashes a big smile. “Come on, I insist.”

  “I said, no. Thank you,” she says with agitation.

  “Baby, she’s even more beautiful up close, right?” the woman says, smiling from ear to ear.

  “Yes, she really is. My wife couldn’t keep her eyes off you. For the past half hour, you are all she’s been talking about, right baby?” he asks his wife.

  “Yes, I was like, I have to get over there and tell her how beautiful she is. It’s not every day that you come across natural beauty. Everything today is so plastic. Don’t you agree?”

  This is starting to look crazy to Storm. Their whole angle is weird to her. She had no clue the man was her husband and now the two of them are here shooting their whack-ass game at her. Storm just smiles in response but her attention quickly diverts to the matching stainless steel Datejust Rolexes on their wrists. The faces and the bezels are iced out with class. Mr. Antonelli has exposed her to watches, and now that is the first thing she looks for. She doesn’t know how she missed the huge stone on the woman’s ring finger.

  The man examines Storm closer with no shade. “Yes, baby, she’s absolutely gorgeous.”

  Storm is becoming livid, knowing that they must think she’s some slow chick that they can run game on. That is the incentive for her to play along with them. It’s obvious to her that they are in search of a menagé and he sent his wife over to catch.

  “Thank you. You two make a beautiful couple, too.”

  Now, both of them are blushing. “Storm, where are you from if I may ask?” Beeba questions.

  “New York,” Storm lies with the quickness. “Brooklyn, and y’all?” she asks quickly switching it. She prays they are not from Brooklyn and catch her in a lie. This woman looks like she could be the Brooklyn brownstone living, organic food eating, yoga type. She prays they don’t ask her which part of Brooklyn she’s from.

  “Philadelphia. You ever come to Philly?” Beeba asks.

  “Nah, never had a reason to before now,” she says with a sexy smirk.

  They both nod their heads, thinking she must understand their language. Storm smiles back at them. “Y’all wanna play? Let’s play,” she mumbles under her breath.

  34

  Wendy drags herself along to the door, groggy and angry. She’s not a morning person and hates to be awakened, especially not during this time of the month when the cramps are unbearable. She just wants to sleep the pain away.

  “Who?” she shouts from behind the door. She peeks through the peephole and fear takes her over as she sees badges hanging from the necks of the people who stand at the other side of the door. “Oh, shit!” she says nervously.

  “Newark Police,” the man says sternly. “Can you open the door, please?”

  Wendy wonders what this could be about. She’s clean as a whistle, so she’s sure it’s nothing that she’s done, but one thing about growing up in the ghetto, the cops always seem to be against you. While those in the suburbs grow up with the mindset that the police are there as their servants, to serve and protect.

  She stands there quietly, wishing she had never said a word. Then maybe they would think no one was home and went about their way. The knocking on the door this time is harder. “Open up!”

  Wendy opens the door reluctantly. She stretches her T-shirt down to cover her panties as she stands face to face with the man and woman detective duo. Her heart pounds loud enough for them to hear.

  The male detective has his eyes glued onto Wendy’s chunky thighs. The way her hips explode, he can only imagine what the back looks like. Wendy is uncomfortable with his glare and stretches the shirt as far as she can. She doesn’t have enough material on the shirt to cover herself. Even in granny-period panties, he finds her sexy.

  “Where’s Storm?” the female detective asks as she attempts to push Wendy to the side so they can enter. Wendy puts up resistance and pushes the door in between them.

  “Hold up! Y’all can’t come in my house. Y’all got the wrong house.”

  “Oh, do we?” the female detective asks. She pushes Wendy out of the way, and they enter the apartment. She isn’t even playing the normal good cop role today. She means business. Bodies are dropping, and they need Storm in their custody.

  “Do y’all have a search warrant?” Wendy asks, chasing behind them. She leaves the door wide open.

  “Shut up before I arrest you for obstructing justice,” the male detective says. His eyes are now fixed on her nipples through the shirt. The female detective catches him in perversion and nudges him to get himself together.

  They both draw their guns and start looking through each room. They open closet doors, look under the beds and anywhere else a person can hide. The man continues on with his searching and makes sure there is no back door that she could have escaped out of.

  “I’m gonna ask you again. Where is Storm?” the female detective asks.

  “I don’t know no Storm,” she lies.

  “Angelica Hill, this is her apartment, right?”

  “Oh, you talking about her. She don’t live here no more,” Wendy says with sincerity in her eyes.

  The faking of sincerity is easy because she is telling the truth. This apartment here is Storm’s old apartment that she lived in before the old man upgraded her lifestyle. Storm then passed the apartmen
t on to Toy, and once Wendy joined the team, she moved in as well. This apartment is part of the perks of being on her team. She pays the bill, allowing them to live rent-free.

  “It’s me and my roommate that live here now,” she says still tagging along behind the woman. “That’s her room there, and this is mine,” she says as the woman takes liberty to go into the room. She peeks around nosily and finds a few pieces of mail lying around. She reads from the envelope. “Who is Gwendolyn Jackson?”

  “That’s me.”

  She tucks the mail in her hand and quickly walks to the next room. “You got a copy of the lease around here?”

  “Listen, I don’t know no Storm. Y’all can’t be searching my apartment without no warrant.”

  “Get me a copy of that lease right now or get dressed and take a ride with us to the precinct. Your choice!”

  * * *

  Minutes later, Wendy is trembling like a leaf, very shaken up. She practically had to beg them not to take her down to the precinct. She has no idea what Storm is being sought for but whatever it is has to be serious. As she peeks out of the window and sees the unmarked car pulling off, she starts dialing on her phone.

  * * *

  Toy speeds up Route 95 in the rented Impala, while Jazz sits in the passenger’s seat, just observing the scenery. Storm is in the backseat sound asleep. Toy’s phone rings, and she picks it up from her lap. “Wendy, what’s up?”

  “Where y’all at?” she asks nervously. Y’all still in AC?”

  Toy doesn’t like the sound of her voice. “Nah, we on the Turnpike almost home. Why? What’s up?”

  “Listen, I need you to come home soon as you get to Newark. Something crazy just went down. Oh, and, tell your friend, not to come nowhere near here,” she says with sarcasm but really her anger toward Storm is over. She’s too concerned about her well-being right now to be mad at her.

  “What happened? Talk to me!”

  Storm is awakened and sits up in her seat, wondering what’s going on. She watches the expression on Toy’s face through the rearview mirror.