Queen of Miami

by M?ta Smith

  “Trust you?” I ask. “How can I?”

  “I had nothing to gain from using you. You didn’t know anything.”

  Mikhail and Dimitri stop arguing and Mikhail hands Rebeca a gun.

  “Rebeca, I need you to watch these two. If they try anything, pump them full of bullets. Don’t hesitate,” Mikhail says.

  “Leaving them with her is a mistake, cousin,” Dimitri says, clearly angry. “Let me take care of them now.”

  “If what our source says is true, we may need to use the cop as a bargaining chip,” Mikhail says.

  “Well, then let me stay here,” Dimitri says.

  “I may need you,” Mikhail tells him sternly. They lock eyes for a moment, and although Dimitri is the larger and crazier one of the two, he backs down. Mikhail is clearly the man in charge.

  “What’s going on?” Rebeca asks.

  “Nothing,” Mikhail says quickly. “Just do as I have told you. I will chirp you with any information if I need to.”

  “Okay,” Rebeca says. Mikhail gives her a passionate kiss before he and Dimitri exit the room. While they’re kissing, Q whispers to me, “Distract her,” and I nod. With Mikhail and Dimitri gone, there’s no way we aren’t going to take advantage of this opportunity. Dimitri was right. Mikhail shouldn’t have left us here alone with Rebeca.

  “Mikhail is such a good kisser,” she says to me after the door closes. She’s got a smug look on her overly made up face. We’ll see who ends up smug.

  “So is Q,” I tell her. “He’s better. Q has a bigger dick too.”

  “Too bad you won’t get to fuck that big black dick anymore,” Rebeca says snidely.

  “I want you to know that you’re going to rot in hell, Rebeca,” I tell her.

  “Maybe, but you’ll be there before I will,” she says.

  “You’re not going to get away with this, Rebeca. For all you know, Mikhail will do the same thing to you that he’s doing to me. You always had it twisted. You shouldn’t have been hating on me. I didn’t know jack. But Mikhail knew everything. That’s who you should have been hating on.”

  “That will never happen,” she says. “Mikhail loves me.”

  “Right. He loved me too,” I tell her.

  “Shut up,” she says. “Mikhail was using you.”

  “You want to think that he was just using me. But you know he loved me. Look at all he did for me. He gave me the world. He used you to make the money and he spends it on me. You’re a worker,” I tell her.

  “You know, I could put a bullet in you right now,” she says.

  “But you won’t.”

  “Oh, won’t I?” she asks.

  “Nope. Because you’re too sprung to think for yourself. You need Mikhail to tell you what to do.”

  “Shut up,” Rebeca orders.

  “Why don’t you come over here and shut me up?” I say.

  She walks over to me and slaps me in the mouth, hard. I fall back on the pile of rags and Rebeca climbs on top of me, straddling me. Whatever Q plans on doing, he’d better hurry up!

  “I don’t like you like that, Rebeca,” I say, turning my head in disgust. Out the corner of my eye I can see Q jerking his shoulder like he’s having a seizure and arching his back like a fish out of water. I try not to stare because I don’t want Rebeca to turn around, but I really want to know what the hell he’s doing. Rebeca grabs me by the face and points her gun at my forehead.

  “I could blow your brains out,” she says. “You should be begging me for your worthless life instead of talking shit.”

  “Okay, Rebeca,” I say meekly. “Can you just take that thing away from my head? I promise I won’t say anything else,” I tell her.

  “That’s a little better,” Rebeca says, backing off a bit, a satisfied smile on her face.

  What occurs next happens so fast that it’s a blur. Q is as swift and nimble as Jackie Chan. Like some kind of contortionist, Q brings his arms from behind his back and under his feet as if he were jumping rope. With one swift motion he balls his fists and brings them down sharply on top of Rebeca’s head, knocking her unconscious.

  “What the fuck?” I shout. “Oh my God, what the hell just happened?”

  “I’m getting us the fuck out of here, that’s what happened. I don’t know how much time we’ve got.”

  “So what, are you some kind of supercop?” I ask him. “You’re on some old MacGyver, James Bond shit,” I say.

  “Something like that,” he says. Q rips the duct tape from his wrists with his teeth. He takes off my stiletto and uses the spike heel to rip apart the duct tape around his ankles. Then he helps free me from my bonds. There’s still a little tape on my wrists and ankles because some of it didn’t come off easily and Q is trying not to rip my skin. I kick away my other shoe and dust myself off.

  Q takes Rebeca’s gun and checks the bullets.

  “We’ve got a full clip,” he says.

  “Good,” I say. “Now bust a cap in her ass.”

  “Come on,” he says, ignoring me.

  “I’m serious. I know that you’re a cop and all, but that isn’t going to protect us in the long run. We’ve got to kill these motherfuckers.”

  “I can’t just kill people, Bobbi,” he says.

  “I can,” I tell him. “Give me the gun.”

  Q grabs me by the arm and opens the door.

  “Stay against the wall, and stay alert,” he says. “That phone call Mikhail got was a warning. There’s about to be a takedown.”

  “How do you know?” I ask him.

  “I’ll explain later. We’ve got to move. If Mikhail is still here, he’s monitoring the surveillance cameras.”

  Q opens the door and we move quickly through the rear end of the club with our backs against the wall. We’re almost to the service entrance when I hear gunshots coming from behind me. I’m paralyzed with fear. I don’t know whether to drop to the ground or run. Q steps around me and starts to shoot at Mikhail and Dimitri, who are headed toward us, guns blazing. I feel searing hot pain burn through my thigh, and I know that I’ve been hit.

  “They hit me,” I say to Q. I look down at my leg to see a stream of blood pouring from a gash about a half-inch wide. I don’t believe that the bullet is lodged in my skin; it’s just a graze. But it hurts like bloody hell and just the sight of the blood is making me want to pass out.

  There’s a loud clap that sounds like thunder and the service door is blown off the hinges. A team of men in black uniforms wearing helmets and carrying shields infiltrate the club. Bullets are flying as I slide to the floor and cover my head. I feel like I’m caught in the middle of a battlefield as the SWAT team swarms in and exchanges fire with Mikhail and Dimitri. I’m light-headed; there’s so much blood coming from my wound. I’m on the verge of consciousness and unconsciousness as I see Q go down. I reach my hand out to him, but before I can touch him, I’m placed on a gurney and wheeled out of Babylon.

  OUTRO

  WHEN THIS SAGA ALL BEGAN I HAD ONE GOAL: TO BECOME a star. I wanted to make a name for myself, but getting caught in a web of international intrigue wasn’t a part of the plan. So many details were uncovered as the media got ahold of the story. The fall of Babylon and the Petrov crime syndicate has been the talk of the newspapers and television for weeks.

  Mikhail and Dimitri suffered some serious injuries, but both of them survived their wounds and were taken into custody, along with Rebeca. Her dumb ass didn’t even realize that Mikhail was using her until the end. He and Dimitri were going to make their escape and leave Rebeca holding a loaded gun as the feds infiltrated the place. As soon as detectives questioned him, he promptly placed everything on her.

  I wish that I could say that Q made it out okay, but I can’t. He lost his life trying to save mine. I’m pretty conflicted about it all. He lied to me, played me like a guitar. And there’s still a part of me that feels so used. But he claimed his love for me until he took his last breath. I don’t know how I’m going to deal with the fact that
two men in my life died because of Mikhail. I’m pretty screwed up and I don’t see that changing. Physically, it turns out that the bullet that grazed me actually hit a major artery in my leg. If I had gone any longer without medical attention, I may have bled to death. I had to have a couple of surgeries, but I should come through everything okay. My only lasting scars will be internal . . .

  Surprisingly, my family rallied behind me once they found out what was going on. Thanks to my father, and Q’s reports to the DEA before he died, I’m not going to be charged with conspiracy. I realize that I’m getting off a whole lot easier than most people in my situation would. But it isn’t without a price. I will have to testify in court, some shit that I am not looking forward to.

  And the RICO laws are a motherfucker. I lost the club, but I’m sure that it’s better that way. No one is going to try to attend any event associated with me for fear of getting caught up in some kind of mafia vendetta, so for the time being, my career is on hiatus. Babylon is going up on the auction block eventually, and some other shady character will buy it and the whole thing will start all over again. But that’s South Beach for you.

  The famous Ms. Bobbi is dead. No more long nights partying with celebrities, no more jet-setting to the most exotic locales around the globe. I’m over the club scene; I’ve got bigger mountains to conquer, like the music industry. Maybe when all the dust clears I can do some production, or maybe start my own record label. I still have plenty of money, though I’ve had to go to unbelievable lengths to hide my assets while this case is still open. But who am I kidding? Chances are, I’m going to have to enter some kind of witness protection program. What good will money do me, if I don’t have a real life?

  Most of the Apostles had charges brought upon them, but the authorities only cracked the tip of the iceberg in regards to dismantling Mikhail’s organization. A couple of the Apostles fled their countries and are on the run. And then there are all the lower-level members of his organization. Mikhail had crews everywhere. For all I know, there’s a hit against me, so making plans for the future is something I will have to do one day at a time.

  My father assures me that they will take every necessary precaution, and that everything will be all right. I’ve been staying in a leased home in a gated community, with personal around-the-clock security, compliments of the U.S. government. There are motion detectors and surveillance cameras and all kinds of high-tech security systems, thanks to good old Uncle Sam. But it doesn’t stop the nightmares. It doesn’t prevent me from thinking that mercenaries have arrived to finish me off in a Scarface-styled bloodbath every time someone comes to the door.

  Every morning I look at the sunrise and the memories bombard my brain like floodwaters raging through a breeched levee. I marvel at the Miami skyline and the famed coastline in all its majesty, so deceivingly beautiful. Every now and then I see a rainbow, and I’m reminded of how I vowed that I was going to claim some pot of gold at its end the day that I won the DJ Spin-Off at the Winter Music Conference. I went for the gold all right and I got plenty, but I’ve lost more than money can replace. I debate if it was worth it, if the good times outweigh the bad. But the story is still being written, so I can’t give a concrete answer. It was what it was.

  It’s going to be a long time before I can even pretend to be “normal” again. I’ve had and lost all the money in the world. Everyone knows my name, and while it was good, it was very good, but that’s no consolation. Because of Mikhail I’ve lost my fiancé, my friend, my lover, and my career. But for one brief shining moment, I was the queen of Miami, and I reigned over Babylon, the best club South Beach has ever seen. And although Babylon has fallen, at least I’m alive.

  Babylon is fallen, is fallen;

  and all the graven images of her gods

  he hath broken to the ground.

  —Isaiah 21:9

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Méta Smith was born in Philadelphia and raised on the south side of Chicago. She attended Clark Atlanta University, where she majored in mass communications, and later transferred to Spelman College in Atlanta, where she received a bachelor’s degree in English.

  Her adventurous spirit took her to Miami on a vacation that turned into a six-year residency. In Miami she fell in love with the South Beach club scene and worked a myriad of jobs to support her nightlife addiction, including waitress, promotions coordinator for the local UPN affiliate, middle-school English teacher, nightclub promoter, exotic dancer, and music video model. The latter two positions inspired her to pen her debut novel, The Rolexxx Club.

  Méta has also worked extensively in the field of fundraising for philanthropic causes, using her social skills and her gift for writing to raise millions of dollars for a variety of non-profit organizations, including the United Way and the Benedictine Sisters of Chicago, an order of monastic nuns. She lives in Conneaut, Ohio, with her fiancé and son.