“It’s one in the afternoon,” Lorenz said as he stepped inside and surveyed the place. He could see the kitchen, the bathroom, and the bedroom from where he stood.
“Nine tonight,” Samaad said as he watched Lorenz open his coat closet door and peek inside. “Yo, what are you looking for?”
“Are you here alone?”
“Even if I wasn’t, I wouldn’t put the bitch in the closet. But, yeah. I’m here by myself for now. ’Til this li’l shorty-rock I met at the club the other night gets here. I’m not expecting her until this evening. Then, you know—”
“You’re twenty-nine years old, time to let the club and shorty-rocks go.”
“Ma send you here to mind my business? Or do you need something?”
Lorenz pulled the external hard drive from his pocket and handed it to his younger brother.
Samaad gave a crooked smile. “Where’d you get this?” He inspected it. “Do you know what this is? It only looks like a dime. But it’s a Q75t3E. The only people who have these are spies or hacking the Pentagon.”
Lorenz contemplated how Carson could have easily been either one. Then he recalled when Carson called and told him he’d broken into the computer system at Princeton and changed his biology grade. “I’d go with hacker,” Lorenz said.
Samaad raised a brow. “Word? This is what you’re into? My big brother the—”
“It’s nothing like that. I got it from a friend of mine. And I don’t have the equipment to read it.”
“Of course you don’t. But I do.” Samaad turned away from Lorenz, then quickly turned back around. “How much are you paying me for this?”
“The two hundred dollars you owe me.”
“Yo, do you know how long ago that was? I was sixteen and broke.”
“Still counts.”
Samaad shook his head. He picked up his phone and walked over to the center of the wall. He pressed in a code on his phone. The wall slid back and revealed a dark, padded room with a massive computer system that resembled a musical engineering board. He tapped the computer screen and a hologram keyboard appeared.
“Is this shit legal?” Lorenz asked, eyeing the computer system. “What the hell are you doing, spying on people?”
“If I need to.” Samaad typed on the keyboard.
“Word?”
“Yeah.”
“How?”
“If I tell you I’ma have to kill you.”
“Yeah, whatever. You’re serious, though, or are you bullshittin’ me?”
“I’m serious. I can see what the fuck I want. I mean, it’s illegal. But it pays well. Now, who’re you trying to check out? A chick?”
Lorenz grinned. “Nah, that’s all right. Let’s stick to you transferring that information for me.”
“Bruh, what’s her name, number, and address?”
Lorenz hesitated. “Brooklyn Pryce,” he said, also giving Samaad her phone number and address.
“Oh shit,” Samaad said in amazement, as Brooklyn’s face and personal information, including her social media accounts and the IP addresses of her computer, smart TV, and smart phone appeared on one of the wall-hanging television monitors. “She looks like one of my girls. She’s bad as hell.”
“She looks better than that.” Lorenz smiled. He took in his brother’s computer system again. “You know if the Feds find out about this hacking shit, you’re going to jail again.”
“They already know.”
Lorenz paused. “How?”
“I work for them.” He pointed to a screen. “That’s China. If they piss off the government, I’ll just blink the lights on their asses, and remind ’em who’s in charge.” He smiled. “And before you ask, I’m not in Washington because the government never shows their whole hand. Your employees can never all be in one place. And what better place to hide one than in the middle of the hood?”
Lorenz’s eyes opened wide. “That’s too much for me to deal with right now. Next you’ll be telling me how the government is responsible for the opioid crisis.”
Samaad shot him a look of confirmation. “It’s a zombie experiment. Population wipe out. The herbicide atrazine too, it’s in all the food and that shit is fucking wit’ your dick—”
“Know what,” Lorenz said. “let’s get back to Brooklyn.”
“You got it. And by the way, I have this shit set so that it’s on automatic record. That way when one of my shorties starts lying, I can be like, ‘Yo, Ma, quit, cause at 3:43 a.m. you were not sleeping, you were creeping.’” Samaad laughed as he typed on the keyboard, and a few minutes later they were looking at Brooklyn on the screen.
Lorenz stared. Damn. She’s beautiful. He looked over to Samaad, who, by the size of his smile, agreed.
“What did you tap in to?” Lorenz asked.
“The camera on her phone. She’s texting. I can get into the text thread if you want me to.”
“Nah, that’s enough of that,” Lorenz said. “I don’t feel right spying on her.”
Samaad smirked. “Umm-hmm. ’Til, like I said, it’s 3:43 a.m. and you can’t find her ass.”
He had a point. Lorenz hesitated. “Can you seriously read her text thread?”
Samaad tapped the keyboard and half a second later the group text Brooklyn had just sent to Meechie and Joy popped up. “I CALLED HIM.”
“WHO?” Joy responded.
“WOMB SLAYER?” Meechie asked.
Samaad looked at Lorenz. “Nigga, who the fuck is womb slayer?”
“Man, keep reading.” Lorenz snapped.
They looked back at the screen. The texts continued. “YEAH, HIM.” Brooklyn responded, “LORENZ. HE ASKED ME ON A DATE.”
Samaad turned and looked at Lorenz in surprise. “What the fuck you over there doin’?”
Lorenz pointed to the screen.
The text continued, “DID YOU SAY YES?” Joy responded.
“DON’T TELL ME YOU SAID NO.” Meechie texted.
“I SAID YES.”
Meechie sent an eggplant emoji then asked, “WHERE ARE YOU TWO NASTY ASSES GOING?”
Brooklyn responded, “I DON’T KNOW. I’VE BEEN WANTING TO CHECK OUT THE NEW AFRICAN DIASPORA MUSEUM AND CAFÉ DOWNTOWN.”
Lorenz smiled and stroked his chin. He looked over at Samaad. “Ai’ight, that’s enough spying on her. I need you to read that external drive for me.”
“Whatever you say, womb slayer.” Samaad turned back toward his computer and pushed a button. A hidden drawer slid out of the wall. He placed the portal drive Lorenz had given him into the drawer, and a few seconds later documents appeared on the screen.
“What the hell?” Lorenz looked puzzled as he stepped in closer to the screen.
Samaad handed him a microchip. “That’s yours. I transferred everything on it from the original drive.” He pointed to the monitor, then handed Lorenz a wireless mouse shaped like a ballpoint pen. “Just click the top.”
Lorenz clicked on the first document and began reading.
Port manifests.
ICC vessels.
ETA.
ETD.
Dock numbers.
Ship’s crew.
Port crew.
Drivers.
Warehouse.
He clicked on the next document.
Records of payments between Fields and ICC.
He paused.
Records of payments between Fields and ICC.
He drifted off into thought, then continued reading.
Manuel Cable Company.
Opioid treatment center.
Kutz Water Company.
Lenzo Waste Management.
Each One Reach One.
“The fuck?” he said to himself.
Vacant warehouses.
LA condos.
Apartment buildings in Citrus Hills.
El Dorado brownstones.
Vacations.
Lorenz’s phone vibrated. His editor had texted him, “Governor Fields has called a press conference. I need you there.
Now.” He looked over to Samaad. “Yo, bruh, I gotta go.” Lorenz tossed a peace sign behind him. “Thanks,” he said as he rushed out the door to his car. Lorenz placed his key in the ignition, then spoke into his Bluetooth. “Hey, Siri. Call Rebecca.”
A few seconds later, Rebecca’s voice mail came on. “Rebecca. This is Lorenz. I need you to meet me tonight. Say nine, at the Blue Light on Thirty-Third in Oakland.”
Chapter 38
Brooklyn
“You ever think about Mama?” The voice seemed to come from nowhere.
Brooklyn stood before the full-length mirror in her walk-in closet, pressing a fitted black dress close to herself, before carelessly dropping it.
She turned around and faced Meechie, who sat Indian-style on the carpeted floor. Alani sat next to her, showing Meechie her Barbie doll.
“Today’s Mama’s birthday,” Meechie said.
“Whose birthday, Auntie?” Alani asked.
Before Meechie could respond, Brooklyn interjected, “Alani, go pack what you want to take with you to Auntie’s house for tonight and an outfit for school tomorrow. I need to speak to Auntie for a moment.”
“Okay, but whose birthday is it, Mommy?”
“What did I just say?” Brooklyn replied sternly.
“All right,” Alani said as she stood up and said to Meechie, “Auntie Meechie, watch Hood-Rat for me.” She pointed to her Barbie.
“Hood-Rat?” Meechie said surprised. “What kind of name is that?”
“I asked Uncle Luck what I should name my Barbie and he said with all that weave I should name her Hood-Rat. So I did.” She shrugged. “Auntie, can we get chicken nuggets on the way to your house?”
“Yes, baby.”
“And a chocolate shake?”
“Alani.” Brooklyn pointed to the door. “Go.”
“Yes, we’ll get the shake,” Meechie whispered. “Now go and get your things like your mommy said.”
“Thank you, Auntie! Okay, Mommy, I’m leaving.” Her single ponytail bounced as she skipped away.
Brooklyn walked out of the closet and into her bedroom. She closed the bedroom door, then walked back into the closet.
Meechie picked up the black dress and hung it on the rack. She pulled out fitted jeans, a white pussy bow blouse, and signature Gucci loafers. As she walked past Brooklyn, she said, “Wear this. It’s cuter.” She placed the outfit on the bed and the loafers on the floor. “Where’s the iron? I’ll press the blouse for you.”
“I can press my own blouse,” Brooklyn snapped. “And what the hell kind of thing was that to say, and in front of Alani? You know I don’t fuck with your mother.”
Meechie drew in a breath. Slowly let it out. She tapped her foot, then walked into the closet and came back with the iron and ironing board. She carried them into the bedroom and set them up. She picked up the blouse and began to press it.
“Demetria!” Brooklyn called.
No answer.
“I know you can hear me,” Brooklyn insisted.
Meechie shot her a look but never stopped ironing.
Brooklyn continued, “Look, Meechie, you can feel how you feel. But just because you have been off visiting that woman in prison and pretending that nothing ever happened, does not mean you get to shove that fucked up fairytale off on me. Fuck that and fuck her too. As far as I’m concerned, Beverly Pryce is dead to me, and dead to Alani.”
Meechie gasped. “Have you lost your rabbit-ass mind? To say something fucked up like that about our mother! No, she wasn’t perfect, but she did her best to take care of us—”
Brooklyn shoved a hand up on her hip. “The hell are you talking about?! I took care of us! Not that junkie bitch. I’m more of a mother to you than she has ever been or ever will be, and you gon’ stand in my face and say some shit like that to me?
“Who wiped your snotty nose and your tears, took care of you when you were sick, helped you with your homework, stood up for you, fed you, protected you from all the no good niggas she had running through? Who protected you when we were shuffled through the foster care system like a deck of goddamn cards! Me! That’s who. She ain’t never did shit for you. The best thing that bitch ever did was dis-a-fuckin’-pear!”
Meechie blinked back tears. She cleared her throat. “Sister, I hear all that shit you talking, but guess what? Pretending she’s dead and acting as if she doesn’t exist doesn’t make it right. She didn’t disappear. She’s in prison convicted of killing a motherfucker for raping you, or did you forget that too?”
As if the wind had been knocked out of her, Brooklyn flopped down on the edge of the bed. You look just like your mama . . . She rubbed her temples and shook away Stony’s voice. “I can’t believe you said that.”
Meechie walked over to Brooklyn and crouched before her sister. “I know that you took care of me, and I love you for that. You and my niece are all that I have. But what I’m not gon’ do is pretend with you that our mother is dead when she’s not. And maybe she doesn’t matter to you, but she does to me.” She stood up.
Brooklyn clapped her hands and stood up from the bed. “Good for you. Bravo. But all of that motherly-love you’re feeling, because it’s this heifer’s birthday—leave me out of that.” She turned away, then back. “Here I am supposed to be getting ready for a date and you spring some shit like this on me, and then to bring up why she killed Stony . . . Thanks for ruining my damn date before it even happens, I don’t even feel like going anywhere with Lorenz now. I need a moment—”
“Bitch please.” Meechie rolled her eyes. “Sister, this has nothing to do with your date with Lorenz. Don’t use this as an excuse not to go.”
“It’s not an excuse, it’s the truth.”
“Lies. All of what I just said to you is the truth and you know it. What you need to do is just accept it.” She paused, giving Brooklyn the space to soak in her words. “Now stop looking for excuses, get your ass dressed—in the fly outfit I picked out—knock down that damn fortress you have built around yourself—and go out with a man who can date you in public, and not have you hide out in the house.” She kissed Brooklyn on the cheek, then blew against it like she used to do when they were kids. “Love you, sister.”
“Umm hmm.” Brooklyn twisted her lips.
“I know you wanna talk shit, but not now, later—over some drinks—what you need to do now is get dressed for your date with womb slayer.”
An hour later . . .
“Aw get it-get it now! Look at my big sister! Looking all juicy and cute!” Meechie said as she twirled Brooklyn around.
“Mommy, you so pretty!” said Alani.
“Why thank you.” Brooklyn forced herself to smile. “But I’m running late, I was supposed to meet up with Lorenz fifteen minutes ago.”
“Well come on, my sweetness,” Meechie said to Alani, “Let’s go. Uncle Luck is waiting for us and he has chicken nuggets!”
“Yay!” Alani ran down the stairs, out the front door, and over to Meechie’s blue Honda Accord. Brooklyn and Meechie followed close behind her, as Meechie unlocked the car doors and Alani jumped in the back seat.
Meechie reached for Brooklyn’s hand as she stood on the stoop. “Have fun.”
“I will . . . well, I’ll try.”
“Don’t try. Do.”
“If you say . . . so . . .” Brooklyn paused and stared down the street.
“What?” Meechie asked. “What’s wrong? What are you looking at?”
“Nothing. Just thought I saw someone.”
“Monty?”
“No.”
“Sister, is it him?”
“No.”
“You want me to stay and you leave first?”
“Stop worrying about me. I’m good. I’ll see you later.”
Meechie hesitated. “Just make sure you call me when you get to where you’re going.”
“I will.”
“Promise.”
“Yes, I promise. Now go.”
Chapter 39
; Elle
In the distance, Elle sat in her white Mercedes 550, taking in the scene. Light clouds of smoke danced before her as a neglected cigarette hung out in the ashtray. She let down her window, putting Brooklyn into full view.
Elle knew she should’ve stuck to the original plan of leaving Lydia’s and going straight to the bank. But once she stepped out of her attorney’s office, though, there was a sudden urge to see, confront, and tear up this home-wrecking bitch, Brooklyn.
Elle’s heart pounded in her throat, and sweat gathered in her palms.
What does she . . .
She did her all to shake her thoughts.
Have . . . that . . .
She couldn’t.
I don’t . . .
Pangs of jealousy pricked her.
She’s overweight.
Hips too wide.
Ass too fat.
Short.
Dressed in typical Gucci loafers, a stupid blouse, and jeans. The poster-bitch for Ghetto-tricks.
And is that back fat?
Elle picked up a cigarette and took a pull.
Here I watch everything I fucking eat. No stretch marks. Designer clothes. Stilettos. Meticulous weave. I was the one who pushed him beyond his fullest potential. Taught him to dream bigger, wider, and want for more.
And he loves this whore? An underwhelming fat ass?
Mmmph.
And here I thought maybe I didn’t aim high enough, when all along he wanted someone like this. An underachiever.
No purpose.
No aspirations.
Just an average, everyday Jane Blow with back fat.
Elle stepped out of her car and walked up behind Brooklyn, who beheld the street as if she waited for Meechie to make a U-turn and round the corner. Elle reared her shoulders back, stood tall and firm in her heels as she said, “Brooklyn.”
Role Play Page 17