Heartless

by Al-Saadiq Banks

  She never quite understood what he meant until right now. Of course, when he told her this he wasn’t referring to what she just witnessed, but still it can apply. Her once king, strong in stature, is now shattered into pieces. The respect she once had for him she may never regain.

  43

  Irvington, New Jersey

  The Next Afternoon

  Storm sits in the stylist’s chair, getting a new weave. Last night’s episode at Pleasure Garden destroyed her hairdo. She’s done away with her shoes and her dress as well. They could’ve been cleaned, but she will never wear either of them again. She wants no memories of that night. The smell of his ass, and his perspiration mixed with his cologne made her want to vomit.

  As Storm stares into the mirror, many thoughts race through her mind. The pace so rapid that she can’t hold one thought before another comes. So much is happening in her life all at once. She loves the rush of the fast life, but this is too fast for even her. She studies her eyes and is happy to see that the stress doesn’t show in them.

  Her phone vibrates in her lap, underneath the styling cape, and she gets agitated. Her phone has never rung this much… ever. For days, it was Mr. Antonelli and the dude from Ohio calling her back to back, but both of them have fallen back. Her problem didn’t stop with them though. Beeba’s phone calls have replaced theirs. She seems to be calling more than both of them together.

  Once Storm got to her hotel in Center City last night the phone calls would not end. They called her every ten minutes, and she didn’t answer not one of them. Today has been the same. They’ve been calling her all morning and afternoon. Her reason for not answering is her disgust for him, and her at this point.

  Just as she’s getting out of the stylist’s chair, the phone rings again. Out of rage, she answers. “Yo!” she shouts into the phone. “The fuck?”

  The beautician watches Storm nosily and so do the other women who have heard her.

  Beeba is taken aback by her tone. “Storm?”

  “Yeah, what up, what up?” Storm lowers her voice. “Y’all hitting my line like crazy. What’s good?”

  “We were just checking on you. We were worried about you. Wanted to make sure you were good.”

  “I told you I’m always good.”

  Jay can be heard, pestering Beeba in the background.

  “Hold on for a minute. Jay wants to speak to you.” Storm notices that for the second time ever she refers to him as Jay and not her husband as she normally does. Last night, before the revolution, everything was her husband this and her husband that. Now he’s just plain old Jay. “Here,” she says sounding quite frustrated with him. Storm takes it that Beeba has lost all respect for him.

  “Hey, lady,” Jay says quite cool and calm. He sounds as if he’s feeling better about himself.

  “What up, what up?” she asks hastily, not even trying to sugarcoat her aggravation and disgust with him.

  “I just need to kick it with you about something.”

  “All right. Kick it.”

  “Like, that lil shit that happened last night. That was the first time that ever happened. I mean, that ain’t my twist at all.”

  Storm chuckles into the phone, humiliating him more. “Okay.”

  “Nah, I’m dead serious.”

  “Listen, that’s neither here nor there. I ain’t the judge,” she says coldly.

  “I just want to make sure that stays between us three and never goes nowhere.”

  Storm chuckles again, further embarrassing him. “Your little secret is safe with me. What happened in that room, stayed in that room. No worries.”

  “Cool,” he says, sounding like a man in broken spirits who has been defeated and conquered.

  “Anyway, do you think I’m proud of that?” she asks, further humiliating him. He has not a reply. Just passes the phone back over to his wife.

  “Storm,” Beeba says as she gets back on the phone. “Are you still in Philly?”

  “Nah, I broke out this morning. Why? What’s up?”

  “We wanted to link up with you for lunch or something.”

  Jay is coaching Beeba in the background on what to say. It’s obvious that all of this is his idea. “Nah, I’m home.”

  “When you coming back to Philly though. Or, we can even come to you this time.”

  Storm decides the time is now to test Beeba’s chin. “I don’t really know when we can link up again. I got shit to do. Do me a favor though.” She pauses for a few seconds. “The next time we get together, leave him at home. I need to talk to you on some one-on-one shit. Is that possible? He be in the way of some real shit happening. You get me?” She sits back and waits for Beeba’s reply. This right here will tell her where Beeba stands at this point.

  “Totally,” Beeba whispers.

  “Cool, so when we gone make that happen?”

  “Soon, real soon,” she says discreetly, trying not to let her husband know what they are talking about. “We’ll call you,” she says rushing off the phone. Her husband is in her mouth and trying to hear the details of the conversation.

  “No… You—,” Storm stresses, “call me,” Storm says before ending the call.

  * * *

  After paying the beautician, Storm makes her exit. She steps out of the backdoor of the beauty parlor, into the parking lot. She walks in the direction of where she parked her car. As she lifts her head up, she notices an empty parking space where she thought she parked.

  She stops in her tracks, looking around. Maybe she didn’t park where she normally does. Her mind is so crowded that she doesn’t remember. She looks around the entire lot, and there’s no sign of her car. Her heart is pounding as she stands in the middle of the lot, confused. “The fuck?” she mumbles to herself.

  She walks back toward the beauty parlor, thinking of retracing her steps. She turns back around, looking all over the lot, and it’s evident that her car is no longer here. The first thing she thinks is it had to be stolen while she was in there. Then thoughts of the police creep into her mind. She stands there stranded like Gilligan on that little island. Without even thinking, she starts to dialing.

  Mr. Antonelli picks up on the first ring. “Yes?”

  With no introduction, she just yells into the phone frantically. “Somebody stole my fucking car! I’m here at the beauty parlor, and I come out, and my shit gone! I’m here stuck like a motherfucker!” she yells. Her mindset changes and she looks around expecting the cops to swarm in on her any second now.

  “I haven’t heard from you in weeks,” he says calmly.

  “Did you just hear what the fuck I said?”

  “Yes, I heard. Did you hear me?” he asks like a wise ass.

  He never speaks to her in this tone, and it’s pissing her off even more than she already was. She’s used to having him wrapped around her finger. “Look. Are you going to do something about this? I can’t call the cops. So are you?”

  “Why haven’t you been answering or returning my calls?”

  “Yo, listen!”

  “No, you listen,” he interrupts. “Is that what it takes for you to call me? To need something? I figured that. Look, nobody stole your car. I reported it stolen. Just as I put a hold on your credit card. And just as I figured, you called.”

  “Look, motherfucker, I ain’t got time for your childish-ass games! You a grown-ass one-hundred-year-old-ass man and you playing kid games? You got twenty minutes to get here and pick me up, or else! You know where the fuck I am. Get the fuck here!”

  44

  The Cadillac Escalade pulls in front of Mr. Antonelli’s house. Storm gets out and leaves the door wide open. She stomps to the house angrily. She expected him to come and pick her up, and she had all plans to let him have it. Instead he sent his driver to get her. The anger only built up more throughout the ride here.

  The hous
ekeeper opens the door for her and walks away to not have to see Storm or even deal with her. That may be best at this time for her own good. Storm stomps throughout the house to his room. In his room, she finds him standing there with a stern look on his face.

  She doesn’t hesitate to let him have it. “Motherfucker, you playing with my freedom? You reported my car stolen? What if they would’ve pulled me over and locked me up for car theft?”

  “Car theft would be a misdemeanor with all you have going on right now.”

  She’s shocked at his response. She’s never experienced this much abrasiveness from him. He normally folds at the first sign of her anger toward him.

  “So selfish of you. You’re only worried about yourself. I didn’t know what was going on with you, and I was worried.”

  “Worried about me? For what? I’m the one that should be worried, not you.”

  “We have been together for five years. I don’t hear from you in weeks, and I’m not supposed to be worried about you?” The word, together plays over and over in her mind, but still she’s in denial. “Where have you been all these weeks?” His face turns cherry red. “You weren’t with me, so where have you been?”

  “What?” she asks, noticing his possessive demeanor. “Oh, now I have to answer to you? Where’s all this coming from?”

  “Where were you? Were you with another man?” he asks.

  “Fuck a man! I got shit on my mind and a man ain’t one of them.”

  He continues on with his streak of jealousy. To her surprise, his jealousy is turning her on, instead of pissing her off. “I only gave you one clause to our relationship and you are to never forget it,” he says with a demanding tone.

  “What clause?” she asks, clearly knowing what he’s speaking of. She just wants to hear it come out of his mouth. His jealousy is doing something to her.

  “You know the clause, and there’s no need for me to remind you.”

  The clause he speaks of is the one rule he gave her back when, in his mind, they first became an item. He told her he would provide all that she needs in life as long as she never let another man enter her. She’s never forgot it and she’s never breeched their agreement. She’s stood firm, partly out of loyalty and the other part being that she hasn’t found a man that she sees worthy of having her sexually.

  Well, Money Sal was almost an exception to that, but he blew his chances. So because of that, she can say with all honesty. “I haven’t had sex with no other man! I been away just trying to get my mind right. I ain’t thinking about no fucking nigga!”

  “Well, now that you have had your time away to clear your mind, now what? Are you ready to do what has to be done?”

  She huffs and puffs. He’s been able to break her down and bring her right back to the place that had her avoiding him. Her silence leads him to speak again. “The problem isn’t going anywhere. You can’t just ignore it.”

  “I know,” she says sadly. “Did you know they raided my apartment and confiscated my shoes, all the jewelry you bought… and my coats?” She purposely left out the mention of the money. She’s sure, if he finds out the amount of money that was in the apartment, there will be many questions to be answered, even though a hundred and fourteen thousand is a drop in a bucket to him, but for her, that is unexplained wealth.

  “How would I know if I haven’t spoken to you? When?”

  “Days ago,” she whispers.

  He’s saddened at hearing this. “Baby, they won’t stop until they get you. You can’t run forever. Tony says you are only making it harder for yourself and him. The longer you run, the angrier they will be and the harder they will make it for you… for us,” he says as he grabs both of her hands and pulls her closer to him.

  He stares down into her eyes. “He’s informed me that, if they catch you on their own, it will look like you were never going to turn yourself in and your chances of posting bail will be slim to none. Turning yourself in will look good on your behalf, and he can get you in and out. At this point, the choice is all yours. You must decide, right here right now.”

  45

  Newark

  Hours Later

  Storm stands in front of the Franklin Street Police Precinct building with horror rippling through her body. She can’t believe that she’s allowed herself to be talked into this. This goes against everything she believes. The only reason she’s here is because the walls seem to have closed in on her, giving her nowhere to run. She just wants to end the chase, so she can get back to her normal. She’s been promised it would be in and out. Once she posts bail, she can get back to the money without ducking and dodging.

  She’s dressed down in her war gear, ready to meet her problem head on. The Chanel sweatsuit and matching sneakers have her looking incredibly fashionable for a woman on her way to jail. The huge hood swallows her head. She looks very low-key, like she’s hiding from paparazzi.

  Mr. Antonelli paces back and forth with the phone in his hand. They’ve been standing here for over thirty minutes waiting impatiently. Just when he’s about to dial Tony again for the twentieth time, a beautiful Bentley GTC pulls in front of them. The stainless steel beauty is filled with a creamy caramel colored middle that erupts over the convertible top. Driver, disguised behind pitch black shades, nods his head at them, announcing his arrival.

  Attorney Tony Austin gets out of the Bentley and crosses the street toward them with a cocky bop. Dressed in a full-length burgundy shearling, fitted distressed jeans, a huge overlapping cashmere turtleneck sweater and Giuseppe three-quarter sneakers. He looks like he’s been ripped from a page of a men’s fashion magazine.

  He walks past them with no formal greeting. “It’s show time,” he says as he holds the door open for them to enter.

  Storm steps in behind Mr. Antonelli. She’s still in disbelief that she’s here. Where she’s from gangsters hold court on the street and have the ‘catch me when you can’ mentality. As she walks through the doors, she feels like she’s already crossed the point of no return.

  Tony steps in and takes the lead. As he presses the button for the elevator, he looks at Storm for the first time. “You trust me?”

  “I don’t know you to trust you,” she says with a cold aura.

  “That will change,” he replies arrogantly. “Lift your head up though. You’re on the winning team. As winners, we take our losses the same way we take our wins… head up and chest out. Erase that doubt from your face. It says you’re not sure if you’re innocent,” he says as he stands to the side for her to enter the elevator. “Ladies, first.”

  Tony steps to the front desk confidently. He removes his shades as he looks at the woman behind the desk.

  “I’m looking for a Detective Sykes,” he says.

  The woman looks him up and down before speaking. “You are?”

  “Tony Austin. Attorney Tony Austin,” he replies.

  “Hold on.” She gets on the phone and whispers into it.

  In minutes Storm watches a well-dressed, beautiful woman walking from the back. Finally she sees the woman who has been making her life hell the past few weeks, and she looks nothing like she expected. From across the room, the detective recognizes Storm’s face. The soft and pleasant demeanor of the woman disappears and is replaced by a rough and edgy one.

  Storm has every mind to make her escape right now while she still can. Instead she watches as two other men come out behind her. The female detective stops short right before them with her eyes on Storm. The other two detectives stand by her side for what looks like reinforcement.

  “Detective Sykes,” the female detective says while looking at Tony with an arctic blast.

  “Detective Sykes, I’m Attorney Tony Austin, and this is my client, Angelica Hill. She’s turning herself in, as promised.”

  Rage spreads across all of their faces, but not a one of them say a word in reply. Storm i
s surprised at how Tony handles them with no regard but still somewhat respectful.

  “This way, please,” the detective says, leading them all to the back.

  * * *

  One hour later, after an extensive interrogation, Storm continues on with her innocence. They’ve all listened with no emotion on their faces. She’s sure there is so much more they want to say but are not because of Tony’s presence. She now respects his stature.

  Detective Sykes finally stands up and says the words that Storm has been dreading to hear. “Angelica Hill, you are under arrest for murder.”

  That’s all she hears before her ears go deaf. The detective continues to read her rights. Storm stares at Mr. Antonelli as if she expects him to save her. Seeing the helpless look in his eyes makes her look to Tony for help.

  “Please, empty your pockets and remove your shoelaces,” the detective demands.

  Tony looks at Storm. “Do as they say. It’s all procedure.”

  She follows the instructions and hands her possessions over to Mr. Antonelli. As the handcuffs are brandished, her life flashes before her eyes.

  “Please assume the position,” says the detective.

  Storm lifts her head high despite the feeling of confusion and defeat that’s in her heart. She turns around slowly and is cuffed and escorted away. She looks back at Tony with one long glare, hoping for reassurance that he has her back.

  “Despite your allegations,” Tony says sternly. “I suggest you handle my client with care. She will not utter a word without my presence, so no need attempting.”

  The detectives ignore him and continue walking to the back. Once they are out of sight, tears of sadness fill Mr. Antonelli’s eyes. Tony plants his hand on the old man’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. Bail will be set in the morning, and you will take it from there and I will do what I do,” he says with his normal amount of cockiness. “Go on home and get some rest. You look like a train-wreck. I got it from here. See you in the morning.”