by Mason Dixon
Bathsheba’s eyes drifted to the ceiling as if she could see through it to what was hidden above the tile. “Yes.”
“Then start using the burner to check in once a week and keep me up to date. If you feel like you’re in over your head—”
“I won’t.”
“Fine. Let me put this another way. If you feel like they’re on to you, let me know ASAP so I can pull you out of there.”
Bathsheba’s sense of duty overrode her concern for her own safety. “Thank you for that, sir, but I’ve got a job to do and I’m not going to stop until it’s done. There’s no way I’m going to let months of prep work go to waste.”
“Your dedication’s admirable, Morris, but don’t be stupid.” Carswell pointed at the screen like a lecturing father. “Ice Taylor’s a dangerous character, and the people who work for him are no angels. If you sense trouble, get the hell out of there as fast as you can and don’t look back. That’s an order.”
“Yes, sir. Same time next week?”
“I’ll be waiting for your call.”
She logged off the computer and shut it down. Before she could put it away, someone knocked on her door.
“Just a second.”
She hurriedly climbed on the coffee table, lifted the ceiling tile, and hid the laptop. She let the tile fall and made sure it had settled smoothly into place before she climbed down and crossed the room to unlock the door. Without waiting to be invited in, Raq stepped into the apartment and looked around the living room.
“What’s up?” Bathsheba asked, reaching for her duffel bag.
“I thought you had company.”
“Why did you think that?”
“I heard you talking to someone.”
Bathsheba forced her twitching hands to still as Raq looked at her distrustfully. “You probably heard me talking back to the TV,” she said with a shrug. “I really get into my soaps.”
Raq’s tense features immediately relaxed into a smile. “I haven’t watched the stories since All My Children went off the air. Erica Kane was my girl. Which show do you like?”
“The Young and the Restless,” Bathsheba said quickly. She hadn’t seen a single episode of the long-running show, but her roommate at the academy had been so hooked, it was all she could talk about. While Bathsheba had tried to study crime prevention techniques for the inner city, Ashley had gone on and on about the happenings in fictional Genoa City, Wisconsin. Bathsheba didn’t know if the characters Ashley had told her about were still on the show, but she took a chance to make herself sound more convincing. “I can’t believe some of the scrapes Victor and Nikki get into.”
Raq nodded knowingly. “I had to stop watching them because they reminded me of too many people I know. They make each other miserable when they’re together, but they can’t stand to be apart. You ready to go? I figured we’d get in some ring work at Pop’s today and head to Ice’s place tomorrow for a workout.”
The abrupt change in subject let a relieved Bathsheba know Raq believed her story. This time. As they began to walk to the gym, Bathsheba felt like she’d dodged another bullet. How many more could she avoid before she encountered one that had her name on it?
*
Raq leaned on the ring apron as she listened to Zeke call out instructions.
“Keep your hands up. Tuck in your chin. Stay on your toes. That’s the way.”
Bathsheba pushed her padded headgear out of her eyes as she stalked her sparring partner, a southpaw with fast hands but not a lot of power. He could pile up points, but he couldn’t knock anyone out, which made him the perfect person for her to test herself against. She could feel what it was like to get hit, but she wouldn’t be in any danger of getting her bell rung.
Raq had expected Bathsheba to look lost when she climbed into the ring for the first time, but she looked good in there. Like she knew what to do even though she had to be reminded to do it.
“Don’t let him run circles around you,” Raq said. “Cut him off and force him into a corner.”
Zeke tossed a sweat-dampened towel in her direction. “Who’s teaching this class, me or you?”
“Sorry, Z. Do your thing.”
Bathsheba tapped her gloved hands against her headgear and closed in on her grinning opponent. Before she could erase the distance between them, the timekeeper banged a tiny metal hammer against the ringside bell.
“Stop!” Zeke, acting as referee as well as instructor, stepped between the combatants to make sure one didn’t sucker punch the other. “All right, you two. Get some water and hit the showers. That’s enough for one day.”
Bathsheba and her sparring partner touched gloves and headed to their respective corners. “How did I do?” she asked after she spit out her mouthpiece.
Raq squeezed water into Bathsheba’s open mouth. “Are you sure you haven’t been in the ring before?”
“I was about to ask the same thing.” Zeke loosened Bathsheba’s gloves and removed them with a jerk. “You’re rusty, but you’ve got mad skills.”
Bathsheba unfastened her headgear and pulled it off. Then she opened her mouth for more water and drank greedily. “I’ve been a fight fan for a long time, but I’m not a fighter myself,” she said, wiping excess water off her chin.
Zeke tied the gloves together and draped them over his shoulder. “You must be a natural then because you look like you’ve been doing this all your life. When’s your first fight?”
“Friday after next. I don’t know where yet, though, or against whom.”
“Wherever it is, I’ll be there. I’m not a betting man, but if I were, I wouldn’t bet against you. Same time tomorrow?”
“No,” Raq said quickly. “She wants to try out some of Ice’s fancy toys, so we’re going to head to his place tomorrow.”
“I see.” Zeke looked like someone had just told him Club Peaches had gone under just like most of the other businesses in the neighborhood.
“Are you going to tell Pop?” Raq asked as Zeke climbed out of the ring.
He paused on the bottom step and looked back at her. “What do you think?” he asked, his upper lip curled into an angry snarl. Zeke didn’t get mad often. When he did, it wasn’t a pretty sight.
“I think what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”
“That’s one thing we agree on.” Zeke’s shoulders slumped as if he bore the weight of the world on them. He was much too skinny to be carrying around such a heavy load. “See you when I see you.”
Raq’s relief that he wouldn’t rat her out was mixed with the familiar disappointment she felt each time she had to keep one part of her life separate from the other.
“Antoine,” Zeke said, capturing the attention of a young flyweight with a small frame but big dreams. “Tie your shoes before you trip and break your neck.”
Whenever Zeke raised his voice, the only correct response was immediate compliance. Instead of talking back, the kid stopped jumping rope, dropped to one knee, and tied his tennis shoes, which were worn fashionably loose like the dealers ruling the streets of the neighborhood.
Bathsheba rested her arms on the ring ropes. Even though she had sparred for a full three rounds, she wasn’t even breathing hard. She had the stamina to be a good fighter, but her chin was still untested. Raq needed to see her take a good, solid punch right on the button before she could start considering her as competition. If then. Despite Bathsheba’s obvious talent, Raq still thought she could take her in a fight because she had something Bathsheba didn’t: nothing to lose. Bathsheba was educated with a job she could be proud of. Her book smarts could lead her out of the ’hood. The only way Raq could escape was to fight her way out.
“I don’t want to cause a rift between you and Zeke,” Bathsheba said. “I can work out at Ice’s by myself. I don’t need you to come with me.”
“I know you don’t need me to, but I was hoping you wanted me to.”
Raq wasn’t big on socializing, but she liked hanging out with Bathsheba. And she didn’t
want her going to Ice’s place alone. Ice would put his guys in check if any of them got out of line, but Raq wanted to do it herself to make sure they got the point.
“Of course I want you to come with me, but if it’s going to be a problem for you and Zeke—”
Raq held up her hands. She was used to instilling fear, not easing it. “Stop worrying. Zeke and I are always going to be cool. No one could ever mess that up, all right?”
“All right.” Bathsheba showed off those dimples of hers. Every time she saw them, Raq felt them draw her in a little bit closer. Soon, there might be no turning back. “What do we do next?”
Raq didn’t know about Bathsheba, but she knew what she wanted to do. She wanted to claim the kiss she’d been waiting for, but her phone rang before she could finally take what was hers.
She pulled the phone out of the front pocket of her loose-fitting jeans. She didn’t recognize the number on the display, but that was nothing new. Ice bought a new set of burners every month and had everyone ditch their old ones, so she didn’t bother memorizing anyone’s digits once she programmed them into speed dial. The code she had attached to the number let her know the caller was Half Pint.
“Wassup, man?”
“Little Tony caught a case of the blue flu. I need you to come to the spot and watch my back.”
Half Pint’s voice was reedy and panicked. Raq could hear the fear he was trying to hide. He and Tony were tight. Seeing his partner getting tossed into the back of a cop car must have been like seeing himself get popped.
“Did you tell Ice what happened?”
“Yeah. He’s the one who told me to call you. He’s sending a lawyer to the police department to see if he can spring LT, but the cops caught Tony with two bags in his pocket, so I think he’s going to be stuck in the can for a while. Forget about him, though. I need to take care of me and mine. You coming down here to handle your business or what?”
“Where are Winky and One-Eyed Mike?”
“Don’t know, don’t care. If you were in my place, would you want a couple of dudes who are blind in one eye and can’t see out the other looking out for you? Because I sure as hell don’t. Besides, Ice asked me to call you and that’s what I’m doing. Do you want me to call him back and tell him you’re too busy getting your nails done to help his top earner out of a jam?”
Raq had known Half Pint long enough to know his threat to bring Ice into play wasn’t an idle one. Sometimes the little runt acted like he was driving the ship when he was nothing but a passenger just like she was.
“Calm down, dude. I’m on my way.”
“That’s more like it.”
“Do you have to go to work?” Bathsheba asked after Raq ended the call.
“Yeah. I don’t know how long I’m going to be, so I won’t make any promises about trying to hook up with you later. I’ll see you at Ice’s tomorrow, okay? Same time as today.”
“Okay.”
Raq turned to leave. Because she had planned to watch instead of work out, she was still wearing her street clothes, which made it easy to make a fast transition from doing what she loved to what she hated.
“Hey,” Bathsheba said.
Preoccupied with her own thoughts, Raq turned back to see what Bathsheba wanted.
“Be careful out there.”
Bathsheba grabbed a handful of Raq’s oversized sweatshirt and held her fast. Raq’s first instinct was to try to free herself because she hated being anyone’s prisoner, real or imagined. But when Bathsheba leaned forward and pressed her lips against hers, she didn’t want to be anywhere else. She moved forward, melting into the kiss. Drowning in it.
She felt herself going under. She wanted to stay there, but she forced herself to come up for air.
“I gotta go,” she said hoarsely.
“Are you all right?”
Bathsheba’s eyes were filled were concern. She reached out with one bandaged hand, but Raq pulled away from the attempted caress. Despite how much she wanted to stay with Bathsheba—to allow herself to be touched by her—she had made a previous commitment she couldn’t afford to break. Whenever the streets called, she had to answer.
“Yeah, it’s all good, but I gotta go.”
Bathsheba frowned and fisted her hands on her hips in disapproval. Raq slowly backed away to make sure Bathsheba didn’t intend to follow her, then she turned and rushed out. On the sidewalk, she flipped the hood of her sweatshirt over her head and affixed the scowl she used to keep rivals at bay. But the expression that once seemed so natural now felt like a mask. A mask that kept turning into a smile every time she allowed herself to think about Bathsheba Morris.
Bathsheba’s kiss had affected her in ways both expected and not. In addition to making her want a slow-motion replay, the kiss was making her do something she hadn’t done in a very long time: dream of a life far different from the one she knew. The only one she had ever known.
The streets are calling, she thought as she ran to stand lookout over Half Pint until he sold the rest of the inventory he had been allotted for the day, but they don’t have to be my home.
With someone like Bathsheba by her side, she could go places. Be somebody.
“Who do you think you are, Jesse Jackson or some shit?” she asked, laughing at herself before someone could do it for her. “You were born on these streets, you live on these streets, and you’re going to die on these streets. If you let a pretty face soften you up, your time could come a lot sooner than you want it to.”
When her mask fell into place this time, it felt like she did every morning when she woke up in the Middle East: like it belonged there.
Chapter Nine
Bathsheba checked her watch as she worked out on an exercise bike programmed to mimic the terrain displayed on an attached projection screen. The majestic mountain trail was jaw dropping in its beauty and probably could have captured her attention for hours if she didn’t have other things on her mind.
Raq was late. They had agreed to meet at Ice’s apartment at noon, but it was well past one and Raq still hadn’t showed. Bathsheba told herself not to be worried—Raq had been running the streets for years with no issues—but she was a woman of her word, and Bathsheba didn’t think she would break it without unwanted help.
Bathsheba turned to Bigfoot, who was turning the pedals of his own exercise bike at almost glacial speed.
“Have you heard from Raq?”
“Not since the last time you asked me that question,” Bigfoot said breathlessly, his bulk shifting from side to side as his legs slowly churned.
His sweat-soaked T-shirt clung to his massive chest and shoulders. He watched the scenery on the screen with the gimlet-eyed wonder of a kid sprawled in front of his favorite Saturday morning cartoon. His obvious fascination with the bike and its high-tech accessories made it clear he didn’t use the apparatus often, if at all, which let Bathsheba know his presence at her side was deliberate instead of coincidental. Just like he’d done with Raq, Ice had asked Bigfoot to keep an eye on her. Smart move since Bigfoot’s surveillance kept her from performing a great deal of her own. Instead of using her camera phone to document the penthouse’s layout, she was being forced to commit it to memory until she could return to her apartment and sketch it out for her records.
Memories and impressions would do for some parts of her investigation. For the rest, however, she would need tangible evidence. Photographs. A recording. Something—anything—she could use to make sure Ice Taylor finally paid for his life of crime. What she had so far was a good start, but it was mostly circumstantial. She didn’t have nearly enough to make a solid case. She needed more. But with all these eyes on her, how was she supposed to get it?
What she wouldn’t give to be able to film her visit today. If her visits became more frequent, perhaps she could figure out a way to set up a hidden camera in her duffel bag. It was a risky move, considering Ice’s bodyguards searched her and her belongings the instant she set foot in the door, but their se
arches weren’t as thorough as some she had endured. If she found a camera that looked like something innocuous instead of what it really was, perhaps she could get away with sneaking it inside.
She looked away from Bigfoot and turned back to the projection screen attached to her bike, seeking but unable to find solace in the images displayed there. “Raq didn’t get into any trouble, did she? I heard on the news this morning there was a shooting in the Middle East late last night. An unidentified man’s body was found dumped in an alley. The newscaster said he was shot execution style. Since Raq doesn’t carry, she’s defenseless when she’s on the street.”
“She’s at a disadvantage, but I wouldn’t call her defenseless. In a fair fight, she can knock a motherfucker out like nobody’s business.”
“When was the last time you heard of anyone on that corner fighting fair? Guns are the great equalizer.”
“True that. True that.” Bigfoot nodded his head like a bobblehead doll as he continued to huff and puff. Then he shrugged his thick shoulders helplessly. “Raq should carry a piece since everyone around her is strapped up, but she made a choice not to. That isn’t a move I would make. I’m not into that old school shit. I don’t even go to the crapper without my nine. But she’s grown. She can do what she wants.” He paused to catch his breath. “As for the shooting, none of our people were involved. If they had been, someone would have called Ice and he would have sent Dez to take care of it. Since both of them are playing video games in the front room, I don’t think there’s a problem. Now, if you’re done asking me fifty million questions, I’m going to get something to eat. All this exercise is making me hungry.” He climbed off the bike and hitched up his baggy sweatpants. “You want something?” he asked, toweling off his sweaty face and neck.
“No, I’m good.”
“Ice’s refrigerator looks like Noah’s ark. He’s got two of everything. Are you sure you don’t want me to hook you up?”
“Maybe when I’m done working out. I’ve got a rhythm going and I don’t want to stop.”