by Ashley
She shifted uncomfortably, visibly displeased. Odom stood and placed his hand on her back as he guided her to her chair. He pulled it out for her before reclaiming his own spot. “I’m a fan of the steak,” Odom dismissed.
“Hmm,” Leena smirked. “We’re here to talk about business. Lets be clear.”
“Relax Ms. Devereaux . . . Leena, I understand your position. That doesn’t make me any less intrigued by you. I must be honest. You seem more like a woman who prefers legitimate money.”
“Money is money,” she responded.
“I guarantee you Leena it isn’t. No cop, no district attorney, no enemy can come and take my money away,” Odom said. “My wife will be secure forever.”
His words evoked something within her because she completely understood what he was saying. Just because it was truth didn’t take the sting out of the words.
“An accountant’s money can’t afford me,” she replied, slightly offended.
Odom smirked as the waiter walked up with a tray full of food. “I took the liberty of ordering.”
“You don’t even know what I like,” Leena said.
“That’s why I got a little bit of everything. It’s good to try something new every once in awhile Ms. Deveraux. You never know, you just might like it,” Odom answered suavely. She cut her eyes at him but the scent of the five star-cuisine invaded her senses as the waiter set the meal out in front of them. If this had been a date, she would have surely been intrigued by Odom. He was an eligible bachelor . . . charming, handsome, and well-off but he was too slow for Leena. The white-collar job was too safe to ever make her panties wet. While his efforts were flattering, they were in vain. In the end, all she wanted was the money. Odom though that Monroe was deceased, otherwise he would never have the moxie to push up on his lady. While Leena was determined to draw a professional line clearly in the sand, Odom seemed insistent on crossing it.
“Tell me Leena, how does a woman like you end up in such a delicate predicament?” he asked.
“What’s delicate about it? I have access to more money than people see in two lifetimes. Monroe left no stone unturned. My son and I will be well taken care of,” she reminded. “Once you hand over the funds that is.”
“It is very hard to produce that much money in cash without implicating myself. It would be much easier if I could arrange a trust for the three of you and your children,” Odom said seriously.
“We want cash. Cash is untraceable,” Leena said.
“Liquid cash is also dangerous. A trust makes you legitimate. That’s what you want for The Cartel am I right? Legitimacy,” Odom countered. Leena’s mental wheels turned as he spoke. She was savvy when it came to business and she knew that he was right. If he set up the trust correctly, he could make it appear as though it was earned from legal sources. Cash would be risky. Every purchase would be scrutinized and they would be able to secure no lines of credit. The cash would make them hood rich but Leena and the girls were trying to establish an empire that could rival the likes of the Trumps and the Rockefellers.
The sounds of Nina Simone cut through the air as a live band began their set.
“Dance with me,” Odom said, his white smile decorating his face nicely.
Leena cleared her throat and reached for her wine glass. She took a sip, extending her long neck upwards as she took her time responding. Her red lipstick left a kiss of seduction on the glass.
“That would be inappropriate,” she answered.
“Maybe, but it would also be fun.” Odom stood to his feet and extended his hand to her.
Leena smiled. She would have to watch this man. He was too smooth for his own good. “You gone leave me hanging. Don’t make me tuck my tail in embarrassment. One dance,” he said.
Leena rolled her eyes and gave him her hand while simultaneously throwing her napkin on the table.
“One dance,” she shot.
She stood and he escorted her onto the floor with the other patrons who were gently swaying to the music.
Odom pulled her close, but still left space between them so that she was comfortable. “When is the last time you had fun?”
Leena’s mind went down memory lane but she knew that it had been so long ago that she couldn’t recall exactly.
“Every day of your life should be fun Leena, carefree, comfortable,” he said. He lifted his hand and spun her, then pulled her back close.
“Maybe in another lifetime,” she said. “I’m sure you are a very good man. In fact you seem like the perfect man, for a different type of woman. I am flawed. My life isn’t black and white. I’ve been living in the gray for so long that I could never go back. A square life doesn’t suit me.”
Leena let go of his hand as the music faded. “Now if you don’t mind, let’s talk more about this trust . . .”
The water parted like the red sea as Monroe’s hands moved rhythmically as he swam with aggression. 50 laps had become light work for him. The early morning sun was just rising. He could feel it warming his muscular back. He came up on the edge of the pool, panting as he finished his a.m. workout. He admired the orange rays of morning light as they slowly seduced the slumbering earth into awakening. He eased his body out of the water and stood in tight swim shorts, the V-cuts of his lower abdomen toned and defined. Monroe was built like a Greek God. He was completely conscious of what he put into his temple. After surviving a near death experience he wanted to take care of himself and live as many years as he could. He was still playing catch up for the five years he had lay in a coma. Feeling his pulse racing as he pushed his body to the limit made him feel alive. He did any activity that made his heart pump blood to his organs. Yoga, swimming, basketball, golf, weights, it didn’t matter . . . movement made him feel most alive. He grabbed the towel from the Saudi Arabian woman who awaited poolside. Draped in beautiful fabric she was his personal assistant. The Saudi’s had been very accommodating to them and he felt completely comfortable in the far away land. Carter had instructed them to put home in the back of their minds but being the control freak that he was he always kept an eye on Miami, even from Saudi Arabia.
Monroe walked over to the poolside spread that lay out for him. Breakfast and a USA today were neatly placed out for him. It was a routine that he had done since leaving the states. It was his way of staying abreast in a world that was now so foreign.
“Shall I set a place out for Mr. Jones?” his lovely assistant asked, causing Monroe to raise his head. He saw Carter emerging from the immaculate resort and headed toward him. He wore a casual confidence on his face and a controlled arrogance led the cadence of his footsteps as he approached. For the first time in years Carter wasn’t strapped. He was completely carefree in Saudi. No one posed a threat. They were amongst allies and it felt good. The only thing that was missing was his Miamor. In her absence one thing was very certain, the ladies still swooned over him. Even within a society where religion was so thick and women were held to a higher standard, he still turned their panties to puddles whenever he entered a room.
“Yes, you can set up a place for him. Thank you,” Monroe replied. “Its kind of early for you huh bro?” he greeted. “I know you ain’t trying to join me with the morning routine. From the looks of things Saudi is treating you good. Nigga getting a gut and all.”
Carter chuckled. “I don’t do that sweating shit bro. I leave that for you. I’m feasting like a king, this that money gut play boy,” he cracked jokingly.
Carter sat across from Monroe and graciously accepted the coffee that Monroe’s servant poured for him. “Is there anything else you need Mr. Jones? I would love to oblige any request,” the girl cooed as she batted her eyes.
Monroe smiled as Carter shooed the girl away, requesting privacy.
“Get your own desert girl. That’s all me,” Monroe said.
“Ladies recognize real muscle. That gym shit ain’t working bro,” Carter teased. The men shared a friendly laugh but Monroe could see there was something Carter had come
to get off his chest.
“I know you ain’t up at the crack of dawn to banter. What’s up fam? Speak your piece,” Monroe invited.
“I know I’ve told you and Zyir to dead all communication back home, but I’ve kept my eyes and ears open to the circumstances of The Cartel . . .”
“As have I,” Monroe admitted.
Carter pulled a burner phone out of his pocket and pulled up a picture before passing it to Monroe.
The average person wouldn’t have been able to see the anger that suddenly struck Monroe but Carter noticed the tension that had filled his jawline. As Monroe stared at Leena dancing closely with their accountant Odom, he was livid.
“Apparently, Odom hasn’t given up the money in the Swiss accounts yet. I’m told that Leena is being compliant to his dinner requests, his impromptu business meetings, just to keep things running smoothly until he turns over the cash. He thinks your dead. Leena is a beautiful woman.”
Monroe slid the phone back over to Carter. “Don’t worry about it,” he said arrogantly. “That square ass nigga don’t got a chance with my girl. If a nigga can pull my bitch he can have her.”
Carter nodded. “Just wanted to let you know what Leena and the girls are up against.”
“Who do you have as your eyes in Miami?” Monroe pondered.
“F. Boogie, who else?” Carter answered, matter of factly. “Miamor doesn’t even know that I’m in communication with him yet.”
Monroe nodded. “He’s a smart kid. Definitely need to promote him for his loyalty when we return,” Monroe said. “I’ll get with you later fam.”
Monroe headed up to his penthouse suite. Although he didn’t wear his heart on his sleeves he was highly bothered by Odom’s blatant lack of morals. He hadn’t been “dead” long enough for anyone to push up on his lady, especially not a close family friend. There were two things that Monroe didn’t play games about. His money and his woman.
Chapter 7
“The young diamond princess always has been easily shaken.”
—Aries
Miamor knew Aries well enough to know that when the time was right she would make her presence known. After Breeze’s spotting Miamor decided not to call her old friend, but instead to give her room to work. What the hell do you have up your sleeve Aries? Miamor wondered. She looked at the text message she had received from an undisclosed recipient. Anonymity did little to hide the identity of the sender, it was Aries. As Miamor went to the place she used to call home so many memories flooded her system. Miamor was headed to her old condo in Miami. It was the one that she had sat in with all of her girls, including her sister, plotting in. It was the place where she had first realized that her love for Carter was real. It was familiar to Miamor and when she pulled in front of the building she smiled. It was nothing like the castle she lived in now, but at one time in her life it had been home. She left her car on the street and fed the meter before heading up. She was cautious because she feared being under the federal scope. She drove around in circles for at least an hour before heading to her true destination. She took the steps, an old habit from her hit-woman days. She never liked closed off spaces. Elevators left her vulnerable. She would rather go up and down a million stairs than to be a sitting duck in a confined space. Her calfs burned until she conquered the fifteen flights that led to her old doorstep. A light sweat had formed under her clothes and she gave herself a moment to still her racing heart.
“It’s a lot of steps right?”
Aries voice echoed in the stairwell causing Miamor to spin around. Aries was one flight above her. She was the only other person in the world who would have opted for the hard route. They were one in the same.
“Bitch I should have known,” Miamor said. “Now you mind filling me in on how you weaseled your way inside the P.A.’s office? You nearly sent Breeze on a tirade after she bumped into your ass. Thanks for the heads up!”
“The young diamond princess always has been easily shaken,” Aries recalled. “Let’s go inside, I’ll explain everything. I think I have something that can help you.”
Miamor watched as Aries unlocked the door and walked inside. The apartment was white walls and white carpet; bare with the exception of a blow-up mattress that filled the space.
“What made you decide to help me?” Miamor asked.
Aries placed her hands on her wide hips and shrugged. “I knew your crazy ass would have tried to do it yourself if I didn’t help. Through it all Miamor you are my sister. We are the only ones left.”
“Where’s your son?” Miamor asked.
“Somewhere safe,” Aries said shortly. “I’m not here to stay. I will never move him to the place where I have done so much dirt. Once the job is finished I’m going back into the shadows.”
“Understood,” Miamor replied. “How did you get a job at the prosecuting attorney’s office?”
Aries reached into her skintight jean pockets. They hugged her thighs so snugly that her hand barely fit into the pockets. She pulled an ID badge out and handed it to Miamor. “Shit I don’t work for the prosecuting attorney. I snagged an ID badge, clipped it to my shirt, and walked in the building like it was home. There are so many interns running around there; fetching coffee and making copies that no one even batted an eye. They just think I’m another face to do their odd jobs and make lunch runs.”
“You are a bold bitch Aries, I’ll give you that. If one finger print is traced . . .”
“It won’t be. I’m careful,” she asserted.
Aries pulled out her phone and opened her email. “I’ve been around the office for a few weeks now and at first I couldn’t find anything. The fact that Broome was so squeaky clean is what made me determined to keep digging. Nobody has no dirt. There is always something. A cheating spouse, a kid or parent on dope . . . your homeboy Broome was pulling up too clean.”
“So how does this help me?” Miamor asked, impatient.
“I started clocking his movement, his emails, his calendar and on Thursdays at 4:00 p.m. there is a firm meeting he leaves the office to attend. I logged into the system with his ID but I couldn’t get an idea of who he was meeting, so I followed him,” she said. Aries went into the hall closet and retrieved a leather MCM back pack. She removed a DSLR camera, unscrewed the expensive lens, and then passed the body to Miamor. “Flip through the pictures,” she instructed. “You know who that is?”
Miamor went through the still images. “I can’t tell. You don’t have any of his face. Is he gay? He’s meeting with his lover? I don’t understand . . .” She kept moving the images until finally, Timmy “Two Time” Bono appeared on the screen.
“He’s meeting with the mob,” Miamor whispered as her brow furrowed and her fingers clicked the buttons anxiously, while she gripped the camera tightly. She was speeding through the pictures so fast that they began to play in front of her like a movie. Broome was passing Timmy Bono a stuffed, yellow, envelope but before she could inquire about the contents the next flick showed Timmy Bono pulling money out and thumbing through it.
“Are they paying him off for a case?” Miamor asked.
“He’s placing bets,” Aries said. “He’s into horse racing bad.”
“How can you be sure?” Miamor asked with a gasp and a glint of mischief in her eyes.
“Gamblers have a language of their own. My husband used to gamble. If you sit back and listen they don’t talk about favorite sports teams, they focus on the numbers. The over, unders, the spreads. They talk about the breed of a horse, its bloodline. I know an addict when I see one. Timmy Bono is the biggest Italian gangster in Florida. He retired here from Chicago. He’s not into the drug scene, but he’s head of the largest underground gambling ring on the East coast. Everybody places bets with him. Athletes, actresses, rappers, and apparently prosecuting attorneys.”
“The question is what is he betting on?” Miamor asked.
“The races,” Aries replied, matter-of-factly. “The Kentucky Derby is coming up and he’s p
reparing to put it all on the line. I told you. He’s got a bad itch for horses.”
“Than let’s put him in a position where he has everything to lose,” Miamor whispered as she painted a beautiful picture of deception in her head.
The smell of money laced with cigar smoke and manure filled the air. Elaborate hats with feathers and jewels sat atop the heads of the women in attendance and everyone had brought out their finest wears. Aries and Miamor blended with the eclectic crowd. They didn’t want to gain attention so they kept their presence demure.
“The entire front row around the entire track is big fish,” Aries schooled. “Mostly Asian. They always have the most money in the pot.”
“This shit is unreal,” Miamor said as she looked around the massive track. She had thought the Miami championship crowds were thick. The entire city came out whenever the popular team played, but the entire world seemed to show up for the derby. She bumped into so many people that her shoulder was beginning to feel sore. Miamor had to check her temper and keep a level head. Everything is riding on today, she thought.
Inside of her Birkin she had an envelope filled with 75k. More money than any stable hand would ever see at one time. Miamor was sure that this would get her next to Mona Lisa, the prize winning, legendary horse that Broome had placed $100,000 on. When Miamor found out that Broome was a gambling man, she knew she had him. The question was, how had he come up with such a hefty sum of cash to place the bet in the first place. After much digging, Aries discovered that Broome had borrowed the cash from the evidence locker in a federal case. His horse was what the gambling world would call a favorite. All of the odds fell in its favor. Once Broome collected his winnings he would be able to replace the cash while keeping fifty thousand that he had flipped in the race. The plan would have been foolproof had it not been detected. Now Miamor was about to ruin his life.