by Pete, Eric
“See. Alive. We good?” he said.
“Totally,” I replied as I pulled the trigger, sending my love through his brain.
Rio, semi-awake, must’ve heard my voice. He let out a shrill scream as Alejandro’s man fell over beside him. I hated when he did that. Shit hurt my ears.
“Boy, shut the fuck up,” I scolded as I yanked on him to sit up. “Once I get those zip ties off, we gotta move.”
My warning to my brother couldn’t have been more timely. As soon as I removed the ties from his wrists and ankles, I spotted a matching black Suburban coming up the 405 toward us. I doubted this one had only one occupant.
“Oh, shit! Rio, get to the Mustang.” I had my brother, but we were still far from safe.
Orlando
46
After my conversation with Paris, I was even more worried. It was a risk sending her into an unknown situation, and now both of them were in danger. I didn’t know who the dead guy in the hotel was, but the body count was racking up on both sides. It was already a foregone conclusion that LC was going to ream me out for keeping him in the dark, but he just might kill me if anything happened to Paris.
As I stood outside the bar, I stared at my phone, half expecting another call, another disaster, another fire to put out. But no call came, so I entered the bar to take care of another responsibility.
“You haven’t been answering your phone,” I said, interrupting Ruby’s conversation with some young punk who was getting too friendly. I didn’t bother acknowledging him.
“I’ve been busy too,” she answered, gesturing to all the customers around the bar. She’d been working there as a bartender ever since she left Remy and Maria. “You buying a drink?” she asked, her demeanor strictly business. She knew it would piss me off, and it did.
“Look. I didn’t come here for bullshit chitchat. We’re way beyond that. I need to talk to you.”
“You need to talk, or we need to talk?” She wasn’t about to give up the attitude she was giving me.
“We need to talk.”
Ruby rolled her eyes before fixing them on me in a deadpan stare. “Now you have time,” she said, overtly disgusted. “Maybe my life’s not as important and urgent as you and your ‘empire,’ but it’s something.”
“I’m sorry. It’s hard to explain, Ruby, but things are out of control. I’m just trying to keep my head on straight.” I wanted to tell her everything, but it was safer for her if she didn’t know.
“Then what you doin’ at a bar, bro? Go home,” busybody joked as he came way too far into my space. His breath didn’t reek, so it was more simple asshole than alcoholic.
“Look. Can you take a break?” I asked Ruby as I continued to ignore her patron.
“No,” she replied as she grabbed two chilled longnecks and popped their tops, plunging lime wedges into each. “Leave me alone.” She strutted to the other end of the bar to serve another customer.
“See, I think the lady asked nicely,” the man chimed in as he stood up from his seat.
“You don’t know what you’re getting into, so I suggest you butt out and sit your ass back down. Besides, she’s pregnant with my child. Being the big hero won’t benefit you,” I warned.
“You really slept with this asshole, Ruby?” he said loudly across the bar.
Ruby turned in embarrassment at the sound of his voice.
I shoved the man, and of course, he shoved me back. Fed up with the silliness, I swung on him and connected. Unfortunately, the boy was one of those wrestling types that liked to grapple and wear you down. He tried to bear-hug me before I did damage.
Ruby came from around the bar, hurriedly separating us just as I was about to bust him in the head with a nearby bottle.
“Stop! Stop!” she shouted as some of the other staff gathered.
I wasn’t about to stop, though. With the problems in my life, my stress level was maxed out. If that meant that I was going to have to bust this dude’s ass at Ruby’s place of business, then so be it.
“You don’t know who you’re fuckin’ with!” I yelled, jabbing my finger in the air toward his face.
“Whatever, man,” he conceded, throwing his hands up and walking away in search of his lost buzz. “They got better drinks and better-lookin’ women across the street.”
“You’re fuckin’ crazy, you know that?” Ruby scolded as she slapped the open palms of her hands into my chest. “A madman.”
“You make me crazy,” I said, sulking. “Please. Just talk to me.” I grasped her hand. “Okay?” I needed to fix this part of my life so I could focus on the business.
Ruby looked mad enough to slap me, but I didn’t care, because I deserved it. “Lisa, can you cover for me for a sec?” she asked the redhead who was still manning the bar. Her coworker nodded, and Ruby motioned for me to follow her as she went on break.
Outside, I offered her my jacket, but she refused. She just stood there with her arms tightly folded, bouncing up and down to stay warm. She couldn’t even look me in the eyes.
“All this fuckin’ stress. Gawd, I need a smoke,” she said.
“Wouldn’t be good for the baby,” I noted.
She stopped her bouncing, suddenly immune to the effects of the weather. She stared at me with a blank expression, said nothing for a moment, then, “I’m getting an abortion.”
My stomach did a flip. “What? Why?”
“Notice you didn’t tell me not to,” she noted with a sad smile. “I’m too old for this. I’m already doing the single mom thing after one failed relationship. And you’ve already shown me that you don’t have time for me ... or this baby.”
“And that needs to change,” I said quickly. “I’ll admit that I’m not ready for this. But who really is? I wanna try to make this work. For real. But, Ruby, my life is dangerous, and you need to understand what that means.”
Just as I thought I saw a hint of reconciliation in Ruby’s eyes, my phone rang. Talk about fucked-up timing. I motioned to Ruby that I had to take it. She shrugged, that angry scowl returning to her face. At least she didn’t storm off.
I was hoping it was Paris reporting back, but it was Junior.
“Yeah,” I said, keeping my eye on Ruby so she wouldn’t leave.
“Pops wants to know where Paris is and why she won’t answer her phone. He also wants to reach out to the El Salvadorans. Apply some pressure out west in retaliation. Where are you?” my older brother asked.
“I’ll have to call you back. I’m with my woman,” I replied, to which Ruby frowned.
I abruptly hung up. They’d have to get along without me for a moment. My relationship with Ruby needed immediate attention. The family could wait; my ambition would have to wait even longer.
“You acknowledging me to your family now, Orlando?” she asked, her features softening a bit, giving me a glimmer of hope.
“Yeah. I need to if I’m really as serious as I feel. I want you to have the baby. Our baby.”
I was going to be a father. No matter how hard it was, I would make it work, and I’d be a good one.
London
47
“Just wait here.”
“You keep leaving us behind,” my bodyguard said. “Ma’am, our orders are—”
“I don’t care what your orders are,” I said, cutting off the man who was supposed to protect me. “I’m not walking into my daughter’s school with armed men. That’s where I draw the line. I still want Mariah to at least think she’s having a normal childhood. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, ma’am,” they both agreed, no attitude apparent. One exited the vehicle and went around to open my door for me.
“But we’ll pull up to the entrance when you come out,” he informed me as I exited.
I smiled and nodded, allowing them at least the appearance that they were in control. It was a two-way street, after all. They hadn’t told on me yet, so I let them feel like they were doing their job, even though I’d been ditching them pretty often to
be with Tony lately.
I entered the school and signed in to pick up Mariah. Even though they knew me, they always asked for identification, which I didn’t mind at all. A lot of wealthy parents sent their children here, so nothing was taken for granted.
“Any problems with my baby today?” I asked Miss Abernathy, the head administrator. I could swear the woman had a computer inside her head the way she remembered everyone.
“None at all, Mrs. Grant,” she replied. “Just the usual sweet bundle of energy. Want to kiss her to death.”
I grinned, thinking how glad I was that Mariah had such a joyful spirit. Looking at how Paris and I turned out, I sometimes wondered if perhaps my baby had been switched at birth.
After a few minutes, Mariah was delivered to me, her uniform still clean despite her love of cookies.
“Hi, Mommy!” She jumped into my outstretched arms for a kiss.
“How was your day?” I asked as I led her outside and down the stairs to where our escort waited.
“Good,” she said, making that adorable face of hers. It meant she was about to ask for something. Maybe she was related to Paris, after all. “Dora’s coming to town. Ayanna told me. Her mommy’s taking her and her sister. Can we go see Dora too?”
I pretended to consider her request, even though I already knew my answer. “As long as you promise to behave, we might be able to do that,” I said, squatting down to face her and adjust her shirt collar in a motherly fashion. Of course I would take my daughter, but I had to teach her that you couldn’t just get anything you wanted. My daughter would not be growing up to be like my spoiled sister.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she gushed, hugging me tightly.
I buckled her into her car seat, and we headed away from the school. As soon as the car was moving, Mariah had another request. “Can we go see Grandpa today?”
“No, baby. Grandpa is kinda busy today.”
Saying he was busy was an understatement. As bad as things were sounding, I wondered if maybe I should head out to the Hamptons, or perhaps Florida, to get my daughter clear of what was becoming a militarized zone at the mansion. It bothered me that I should have to be thinking of those plans on my own. Harris was supposed to be the man of the family. Pity he hadn’t considered moving us out of there long ago.
At the red light, a scraggly-looking panhandler was coming up to cars with a bucket in hand. I wasn’t paying him any mind, until he became aggressive at our window. The driver motioned for him to go on, but the man in the old army jacket and cheap sunglasses kept knocking.
“C’mon, help a vet out,” he chided our driver as he shook his bucket again.
“If you blast his ass, he’ll stop,” the other escort joked, until he remembered Mariah was present. “Oh. Sorry, Mrs. Grant,” he offered as he looked back, regaining his professional demeanor.
The man continued knocking even after the light ahead turned green. Traffic had snarled in front of us, so we had no escape from his persistence.
“I’ma just give him some change so he can be on his way,” our driver said.
“Ain’t he in the wrong part of town?” our other escort joked, leaning over to better see the panhandler.
“Probably makes more money on this side,” our driver joked.
“Bless you, sir,” the man said before the window was fully down. He tilted his bucket inward, giving us a glimpse of his success—several crumpled dollars. As our driver reached to drop some loose change, his head suddenly exploded, sending a gruesome spray of blood onto the dashboard. The shotgun blast that killed our driver had rung out from the bottom of the panhandler’s bucket, peppering the front cab with pellets and torn remnants of the dollar bills.
I screamed and covered Mariah’s eyes, trying to shield her from the horrible sight of the twitching body slumped over the steering wheel.
“Oh, shit!” The bodyguard in the passenger’s seat reached for his gun. That was when I noticed the three ski-masked men coming up along both sides of our van. I screamed for him to look out, but he didn’t have a chance as they sent a hail of bullets in his direction. The poor man howled in pain from the pellets that ripped into his body.
Mariah was my sole concern now, and I unhooked her seat belt as fast as I could. One of the masked men turned his gaze inside the van, toward us, and motioned to cease fire. In addition to my daughter’s sobbing, I could hear people outside as they screamed and ran for cover.
When the man reached to open the door, I kicked against it with all my might. It came open, bowling him over. I yanked Mariah up with me and darted out of the van.
I bounded over the downed man, holding Mariah like a sack of potatoes. He reached up and grabbed my ankle. Robbed of my momentum, I suddenly tumbled forward. My poor daughter fell from my grasp, yelping in pain as she bounced off the concrete. I went down face-first near her feet.
As the other masked men and the panhandler came around, I tried to get up and grasp a hysterical Mariah. Instead, I was viciously stomped and tumbled back down to the ground again.
“Mommy!” Mariah shrieked. My poor baby. The panhandler chambered another round with his shotgun and took aim at me, smiling with pride over being the most effective of them all.
“No,” said the one who’d just stomped me, commanding my would-be executioner to stop. “Get the girl.”
“No ... no! No!” I pleaded as I crawled toward Mariah, her arms outstretched and begging for me. I was shoved aside as I watched my daughter get scooped up by one of them.
“Mommyyy!” My panic-stricken daughter screamed just before they covered her mouth and threw her into an old van that had driven alongside us. The masked one in charge quickly followed them.
Adrenaline took over, and I rose to my feet, quickly closing the distance behind him. He swiftly turned around, as if sensing my approach. He had to know a mother wouldn’t just give up, despite the odds.
“Don’t be stupid,” he said as he pointed a nine millimeter at me. “She won’t be hurt as long as you do what we want,” he said in a voice that was both chilling and calming, for reasons unbeknownst to me.
“What do you want? Whatever it is, I’ll give it to you.” I could still hear her muffled screams, yet I was powerless to advance.
“We’ll be in touch.” When he turned and jumped into the van to leave, I swiftly lunged at him, stabbing him in the back with the pen I’d snagged off the floor while shielding Mariah.
“Ow! You black bitch!” he yelled as he swiveled and kicked me dead in my stomach. I fell over, barely able to breathe as the van’s doors shut.
“Mariah ... ,” I called out before succumbing to the pain. Curled up in the fetal position, I helplessly watched them pull off as tears streamed down my face.
Rio
48
“Rio! You okay?” Paris reached over from the driver’s seat to feel if I had any bullet holes in me. The Suburban that had just shot at us had been joined by another, following in close pursuit, probably trying to herd us into a trap.
“No, dammit! Will you keep your eyes on the road?” I pleaded, trying to open my eyes sparingly. Even if it was keeping me alive, her intense driving was making me sick to my stomach. Just let it end already, I prayed.
“Bro, I’m almost out of gas. And these putas know L.A. too well for me.”
“What are you saying?” I almost yelped as we took another freeway exit at speeds way in excess of the limit.
“Three options,” she said, calmly checking the rearview mirror.
“Other than dying right here? Okay, I’m listening.”
“One, I get the po-pos involved and we go to jail. Their helicopters are gonna be out soon anyway. News choppers, too. But that doesn’t mean we don’t get shot up before the arrest.”
“On the plus side, we’d be famous,” I offered. “And maybe die on camera. Next option.”
“Two, I go somewhere crowded like a mall, and we probably get away. Probably. But it would be wet for civilians. Ve
ry wet,” she said. “Don’t matter to me, ’cause I’m down for whatever.”
“Going out as baby-killers. Tasty. And the final one?”
“We find somewhere secluded, like under the freeway, and play hide-and-seek. Give me a chance to do what I do. Pop, pop, pop. Can’t guarantee that one, though, ’cause I didn’t do any advance recon. All I can say is I’ll do my best, bro. Maybe we get lucky and my team gets here before it’s over.”
I opened my eyes just in time to see that we were drifting sideways into oncoming traffic on Venice Boulevard. I clenched the door handle in a death grip and stifled a scream, squirming at the sight of passing cars swerving to avoid us.
Once we straightened out and got back into the correct lane, I reached over and touched my sister’s arm, acknowledging my choice to her.
“Suit yourself,” she said, although I knew my sister well enough to know she would have picked the same one with or without my input.
The SUVs drew closer, and one of the drivers shot off the door mirror near Paris’s hand. She cursed out loud over the near miss. Our choice made, she began looking for the right conditions to end this.
As the low-fuel indicator light came on, our search became a little more desperate. Paris made a hard right turn onto a side street off Sepulveda, then crashed through the chained gate of a warehouse complex near the airport.
“Paris, they’re speeding up!” I yelled as the two black Suburbans in hot pursuit moved quickly to close the distance between us.
“Thanks. You’re such a fountain of information, bro,” my sister spat as she made a beeline for a warehouse and office building that reminded me of LC’s back home. She was gunning the Mustang’s motor, which seemed to be suddenly failing us. “Overheating,” she stated grimly.
“Give me a gun! Give me a gun!” I screeched.
“Here,” she said, tossing me something other than a gun.
“A phone? What the hell do you want me to do with this?”
“It’s off your buddy back at the hotel. Figured he had no use for it.”