The Prada Plan 5

by Ashley Antoinette

  “Retainer?” Einstein asked. “From…”

  “From Zya Miller. If you represent her, you cannot testify against her. Attorney-client privilege,” Ethic said. “I trust that all mention of her name in the Indie Perkins case will disappear. If not, I’ll be back to see you. Maybe it will be at your home in Connecticut, maybe I’ll pay a visit to your mother’s nursing home out on Long Island, or to Ohio State, where your daughter attends. You won’t know who to protect or where to hide. So it’s better if you and I just see eye to eye. Do you agree?”

  “Yeah, yeah, okay. She’s a client,” Einstein said.

  Ethic tossed him a wad of money with a rubber band around it, then hopped in the car and sped away. It wasn’t exactly what Zya had instructed him to do, but it served the same purpose. He only hoped Zya saw things the same way.

  * * *

  Ethic’s heart beat rapidly as if he had a thousand thoroughbred horses racing in his chest. It wasn’t nerves. He had bodied quite a few during his run in the streets. He wasn’t a saint and never pretended to be. He had blood on his hands, but this job, this hit, felt completely different. In the game he had once played, he had to believe there was a difference between being wrong and doing wrong. He had done plenty of bad things, but he never felt he was a bad man. He wouldn’t be able to stand by that assessment of his character if he carried out this deed.

  It was a twenty-minute drive to Parker’s place, and he spent every second of it dreading what was about to occur. It was a necessary evil that she had brought upon herself. He pulled up to her building and waited patiently until he saw her come out of the underground parking garage. Damn, she has her kid in the car, he thought. He eased out into traffic behind her, trailing her while leaving two cars between them to avoid detection. This was cold-blooded murder. Sure, Parker was talking more than she should, but still, to cut her life short felt wrong on so many levels. His spirit had been bothered since being tasked with the deed.

  He watched her pull over and get out of her car to walk her son to the door of his school. He didn’t miss one detail about her. She straightened the boy’s jacket and even licked her finger to wipe some crust he had missed off his face. She kissed his forehead and then folded her arms as she watched him walk inside. She then rushed back to her car, unsuspecting, as she continued on her way. So often people bought into their own image of themselves.

  Zya was a boss. She was queen, and she ruled with an iron fist. She believed she had a right to take life, to give life, and she had shortened Parker’s days without even thinking twice. It was arrogance, almost an entitlement, to behave like an animal instead of a higher-thinking, higher-feeling human being. No man, or woman, in this case, should be so arrogant to think that a sin so heavy would go unpunished. Power was a dangerous thing. Ethic had given it up long ago because he had seen how it could backfire and affect those he loved most. Zya was drunk on hers, and the empathy that she was born with as a woman was diluted by the authority that her throne bestowed upon her.

  Ethic waited until Parker stopped at a light. He was directly behind her now, and instead of slowing down, he allowed his car to roll into hers, tapping the back bumper enough to cause a fender bender. It was the bait to get her out of her vehicle, and just like that she hopped out. Anger was written on her face. Ethic quickly screwed the silencer on the nose of his pistol and rolled down the ski mask that he had folded around his forehead, covering his face. He stepped out of the car.

  “What the hell? You didn’t see the light? Look at my car!” Parker shouted. She was so busy inspecting the damage that she didn’t even look his way. She didn’t notice the ski mask. She couldn’t see that he had malicious intent. He walked directly up to her and stuck it in her side. All he had to do was pull the trigger, but the look of pure terror in her eyes as she stared at him stopped her. He couldn’t just dead her on the spot then leave her leaking in the middle of the street. Her son would have to live with the effects of those actions. Her death would be in the news, her body sprawled out on the concrete, another black life eliminated to gun violence. The images of that haunted Ethic, and he didn’t even know her. He could only imagine what it would do to her son. All this crossed his mind in a split second. He decided to do it discreetly. He could slump her and then make sure no one ever found her.

  “Please, please … you can have the car. Just take it,” Parker cried fearfully when she realized he hadn’t hit her by accident.

  “Shut up,” he said as he grabbed her roughly by the elbow and dragged her to the front seat. “Get the keys out,” he instructed. She reached in and retrieved the keys. She was shaking like a leaf. Instead of handing them over to him, she tossed them as far as she could.

  She figured he could either go after her keys or stay here holding her. She hoped he would go for the keys so that she could have enough time to break free of his grasp and run for help.

  He didn’t, however. Instead, Ethic pushed her into the front seat of her car, kicking and screaming. She was making a scene, but the intersection was empty. There were cars in the distance, stuck at a red light, and Ethic had only about forty-five seconds to get Parker into the car. With her resisting, it wouldn’t be easy. He could tell she was fighting for more than herself. Somebody who fought like that had his or her child in mind.

  “Help! Somebody help! Please!”

  Ethic grabbed her roughly by her curly hair as he held her head down inside the car. “Pop the trunk and shut the fuck up before I blow your top off in the middle of the street,” he growled.

  Parker sobbed and did as she was told. He forced her into the trunk of her own car and then trotted to retrieve her keys. He pulled his SUV under the overpass and parked it off to the side. He would come back for it later. He then walked back to Parker’s vehicle and hopped inside before driving away.

  “Fuck!” he shouted as he hit his steering wheel. Two to the head would have finished her off quickly. This would have all been over, and YaYa would have been protected. His conscience had complicated things. He wasn’t gooned out like this in his heyday. He was just a man trying to do little damage to the world during the time he was here. This deed he didn’t have a choice but to commit. It was either kill a woman he didn’t know, or the one he loved would be punished.

  He drove her to an old steel factory in Jersey and placed the car in park. He sat there for a minute before getting out and popping the trunk. She laid there, defenseless, helpless, and terrified. Mascara ran down her face, mixing with her tears.

  “Please, please, I have a little boy,” Parker begged. “Please don’t do this.”

  Ethic raised the gun, his finger curled on the trigger, his heart thundering in his ears.

  His mother flashed before his eyes. She had been murdered when he was only seven years old. He still remembered the day he found out. Someone had given her two shots to the head, delivering the same fate that Ethic was about to deliver on this day. His hand was steady, his aim precise, but his resolve waivered. Then YaYa came to him. Then Zya, as Parker shook in horror before him. A nigga had taken his mama from him without thinking, and Ethic was about to do the same to another young boy. The difference was, Ethic wasn’t a nigga, he was a man, a grown one who knew when enough was enough. He couldn’t save her life, but he wouldn’t contribute to taking it either.

  He lowered the gun and slammed the trunk shut, cloaking her in darkness.

  * * *

  “You know, when I received a call from my new lawyer today, I was confused. Imagine my surprise when the man I hired you to kill informed me that I am now covered under attorney-client privilege,” Zya said as she placed the headphones over her ears and sat back to enjoy the view. The helicopter lifted into the air. “I’m beginning to see why Benjamin Atkins loved you so much. Well played.”

  “I’m about my murder game. I’ve been pushed to that resolve a time or two. I just don’t like to commit that type of act senselessly. You sell your soul a little every time you pull the trigger. I
know you got shooters for that, men that handle that part of the game for you. So you don’t carry that burden. It’s a dark place to go to, and every time you do it, you see the light less and less. You do it too many times and you don’t come back, you feel me?” Ethic replied.

  “And where does that leave me with my other problem?” Zya asked.

  “She’s breathing,” Ethic informed.

  Zya’s frustration was hard to mask. Her temple throbbed as she looked out of the window at the Manhattan skyline below. “Normally the person who defies my order would be hanging from this helicopter right now.” Zya checked her flawless red manicure set as she spoke.

  “I ain’t your average hustler. It wouldn’t be that easy,” Ethic replied.

  “And somehow I believe you,” Zya replied. “I still need her hit, though.”

  “I went to take care of it and then I looked at her and I saw you. I saw YaYa. I saw my mother. I saw the women who gave me my children. I saw her son and in him I saw me. Somebody clipped my mama’s wings when I was a kid, and I needed her growing up. I was lost without her. That’s how I fell into the game. Her son needs her. The world needs her. I can’t contribute to there being one less educated sister walking this earth. It would be different if she were in the life, if she knew the rules and risked her hand, but she’s not a part of this. She’s innocent. She just happened to get involved with a man that chose this shit.”

  “And that’s on Indie, not me,” Zya interjected.

  “You’re right. He didn’t protect her, didn’t school her. He fucked with a square and tried to bring her in the circle of vultures, but does that mean she deserves to die? Maybe. She’s telling and you’re exposed so I get it, but I’m not the man for that job. She’s black, she’s a queen. I don’t rock like that,” Ethic answered.

  He handed her the keys to Parker’s car. “She’s at the old factory out in Jersey. The one right off the water. I left her in the trunk. If you want it done, I would advise you to do it. See that taking a life ain’t as easy as you think,” Ethic said.

  Zya nodded as she let his words soak in. “I’m glad that you got out of the game, Ethic,” she replied sincerely. “You’re a good man. A strong black man. I respect you. I have no beef with YaYa. She’s safe.” Zya leaned forward and tapped the pilot on the shoulder. “Put her down.”

  The helicopter descended from the sky, and as Ethic got off, Zya felt compelled to say one last thing. “You should check for YaYa before you leave town.” Zya had been able to tell that YaYa was expecting, and she wasn’t sure if Ethic had been told or not. The love triangle between him, YaYa, and Indie was complicated. Zya knew that YaYa couldn’t know who the father was, but after hearing Ethic speak so profoundly, she thought he had a right to know.

  “She’s not my concern anymore,” Ethic replied.

  “You did a whole lot to protect a girl who isn’t your concern,” Zya answered knowingly.

  Ethic nodded and walked away without another word.

  Zya sighed and then pulled out her cell phone. She was about to overstep her boundaries, but she didn’t care. She searched for YaYa’s name in her burner phone and sent her a text:

  MEET ME AT THE TRUMP HOTEL. ROOM 707. ONE HOUR.

  —Z

  Zya knew that YaYa would go, and when she arrived she would find Ethic. She didn’t know if she was doing this for Ethic or for YaYa, but witnessing the torture of the two of them forcing themselves to be apart was brutal. She didn’t know what would happen when they saw one another, but she knew that it needed to happen. Zya watched Ethic get into his SUV and pull away before directing the pilot to take her back up. Ethic may have been unable to carry out the task, but Zya couldn’t neglect it. Einstein was no longer a threat, but Parker was a loose end that had to be clipped. Black woman or not, Zya would not allow anyone to bring down the empire that she had taken a decade of her life to build.

  * * *

  YaYa had been sick to her stomach all morning. It was like as soon as she found out she was pregnant, the symptoms hit her full force. As she sat in the back of the cab gripping the abortion pamphlet in her hand, her conscience fought with her. She had gone back and forth over this decision for days. She had no more time to think. I’m going through with the abortion, she thought. I have to.

  YaYa had never felt lonelier than she did now. After dropping Skylar at Elaine’s, she was tasked to go to the doctor by herself to handle things. She didn’t even have anyone at her side to drive her there and back, so this strange man in the front seat was her imaginary support system. YaYa felt like the scum of the earth, but she couldn’t change her decision. Her appointment was in an hour. Her visit with Indie had helped to make up her mind. How did I get here? she thought as she closed her eyes. The entire world felt like it was crashing around her. So many things had changed. Love no longer felt like a blessing, it felt like a burden, and she almost wished that she had never known what it felt like at all. At least when she was young and wild, her heart had been protected. Before Indie she had never allowed any man to access her so deeply. She had given Indie the key to her, hoping that she could trust him, but in the end he had done what all men do; he had disappointed her. She blamed herself for being so fool-hearted in the first place.

  Her phone buzzed, and YaYa looked down at the text. Zya? she thought. She checked the time and then wondered if this impromptu meeting had anything to do with Indie. She checked the route to the clinic. The detour to the hotel wouldn’t throw her too far off schedule.

  “Make a right here,” YaYa instructed. “I need to go to West Fifty-eighth.”

  Ten minutes later she pulled up to the five-star hotel. She cringed as she paid the cabbie. All the money she had to her name was in her pocketbook. A thousand dollars isn’t going to last me very long, she thought. She peeled off a twenty-dollar bill and then waited for her change.

  “No tip?” the cab driver asked in annoyance.

  YaYa snatched her change and climbed out of the cab in embarrassment. She needed every dollar because she had no idea how she would survive once her pockets ran dry.

  Inside the hotel she caught the elevator door just before it closed and then pressed the button for the seventh floor. She didn’t know what she was walking into, and as she exited the elevator she thought, Zya wouldn’t come to this hotel in the middle of Manhattan. She’s a wanted woman. She doesn’t move like this.

  YaYa found the room and knocked on the door. She didn’t know if she was visiting friend or foe. With the sensitivity of Indie’s case, this could have very well been a hostile request for her presence. She shifted uncomfortably, but when Ethic answered the door, the entire world stopped. Everything. Time. Space. It all stood still; even the rise and fall of YaYa’s chest ceased as she stood there, staring at him in disbelief. This was a joke, a cruel joke. How could he be standing here? Ethic was right here in New York, and she hadn’t known about it. They were supposed to be states apart. That distance was supposed to be the only thing keeping him away from her, yet here he was. Suddenly all the reasons she came up with to have an abortion went out the window. Her feelings for him intensified when he was within her reach. She knew if there was even the slightest possibility that he could be the father of this baby, she couldn’t get rid of it.

  “What are you doing here, YaYa?” he asked. His eyes burned a hole through her as she hypnotized him with her stare. Her uterus was going crazy, or perhaps it was in her mind, but she felt like her baby was trying to give her signs that this man, this handsome, strong, empathetic man in front of her, was the father. She hadn’t felt this connection when she had seen Indie, but then again, a wall of glass and anger had separated them.

  “I, um, I got a text,” YaYa whispered. She gasped as she looked at him in awe. “I can’t believe you’re here right now.” Tears welled in her eyes, and Ethic moved to the side, welcoming her into the room. She noticed his bags were packed neatly, waiting in the foyer of the suite.

  “You’re leaving?” Y
aYa asked. “You came to town without telling me.” It came out as an accusation. She was offended that he could be so close and not reach out. She stared at Ethic, afraid to move any closer to him because she knew that his energy would consume her. He was like the common cold, easy to catch and hard to get over.

  “We both know the view is better from a distance. Can’t touch the sun. Might get burned,” Ethic said as he handed his bags to a bellboy who had arrived. He was poetic in that way. He said things that made YaYa feel like the most beautiful girl in the world. Despite her scars, emotional and otherwise, Ethic made her feel as if she were the fairest of them all. She had no idea that she was even still relevant in his mind. He had an inconspicuous way of caring for her, of doting over her. His suffering was self-inflicted because if Ethic ever put effort toward attaining her, YaYa would be his. By not doing so, he wasn’t doing Indie any favors; it was about respecting YaYa. She was the reason he didn’t pursue what he wanted. He didn’t want her to feel conflicted loyalties. He pulled out a fifty-dollar bill and held it out for the bellhop, then waited until he and YaYa were alone before continuing, “I ain’t here to cause a rift.”

  “Why are you here?” YaYa asked.

  “I had business here,” Ethic replied vaguely. He didn’t want her to know that he had come to protect her.

  “And you weren’t going to call me?” She was wounded, her feelings hurt by the fact that he could be this available to her and not try to access her. He was the one person she would have moved mountains to see. For Ethic, she would have played Indie’s game of half-truths to sneak away for a moment … to catch up.

  “Reach out and say what, YaYa? What we gone do, YaYa? Have coffee? Lunch? Pretend like we’re just friends catching up?” he asked with a smirk. “When I make that phone call, it’s not gone lead to something that simple. I’m going to leave with the taste of something else on my tongue. You know that. I know that. We can’t be cordial, we can’t be anything but what we are and that’s lovers. So instead of fucking up your situation, I tried to slide in and out. I didn’t expect to run into you.”