Red Light Special

by Risqué

  “Do I look like I wanna laugh with you?”

  He pointed to her hard nipples. “No, you look like you wanna do more than that with me.”

  Monday paused and took a step back.

  “Look,” Mehki said, “what I was trying to explain to you—”

  “You weren’t trying to explain shit to me!”

  “Look—”

  “No, you look—”

  “YO!” he said sternly, with extreme bass in his voice. “Stop cuttin’ me off! Now cut all that cussin’ and shit out! I’ve had enough of it. Pull your car over to the side, so we can let the other drivers pass.”

  “Pull over to the side? I don’t know who you think—”

  “What did I just tell you to do?” Mehki gave Monday a look that told her he was serious.

  Monday couldn’t believe it. He may as well have just told her to shut the fuck up, then maybe she wouldn’t have been so turned on, but at this moment all of what he just said was nothing but sheer seduction to her ears.

  She stood in the middle of the street for a moment, observing the backed up traffic and the rubberneckers blowing their horns and yelling for them to move on. She looked at his license plate, “Trying to tell me it’s no fuckin’ damage!” She mumbled to herself as she walked to her car and got in. “Think ’cause he fuckin’ cute and shit.”

  They pulled their cars to the side of the street and traffic started flowing again. He stepped out of his car and leaned against the hood. Monday stormed over to where he was and stood in front of him. “You will pay for this!” she spat.

  “Monday, it’s nothing.” He said, doing his all to remain calm, “And you know I wouldn’t steer you wrong. And I’ve apologized for the inconvenience. But when did you start acting like this? This is not you.”

  “I didn’t ask you to fuckin’ read me! And I’m different now and besides you’re missing the point.” She crossed her arms over her breasts, rolled her eyes, and turned her head toward the oncoming traffic, “I’m just soooo sick of all y’all motherfuckers!”

  Instead of feeding her fury he slipped the cigar from behind his left ear and lit it. The smoke rose above his onyx colored eyes like a serpent’s dance. The rim of his New York Yankees baseball cap was fitted like a half moon as he watched her act like a fine-ass fool. Her thick hips swaying in front of him made him unintentionally grab his dick. She would’ve been just right if she hadn’t run off and become the mayor’s wife. Her smooth lips continued to spit some of the nastiest shit he’d ever heard come from her mouth.

  “The only thing saving you right now,” Monday gave a sinister laugh, “is because you so fuckin’ big.” Inadvertently her eyes looked toward his crotch. “Otherwise I would kick…yo’…ass!”

  He lifted his baseball cap and turned it around to the back. Then he held the cigar with one hand and tucked the other hand inside his waistband. He was doing his best to let Monday get all of this off her chest, especially since he realized that none of this had anything to do with him.

  After a few moments of repeating the same shit Monday noticed she was the only one going off. She looked at him, “Why the hell are you so quiet?”

  “Come here.” He said, as the lit cigar hung from the corner of his lips, with bits of ashes flaking toward the ground and some of it floating into the wind, “We need to talk.”

  “I can hear from where I’m standing.”

  “Didn’t I just say we needed to talk?, now come here.”

  Monday didn’t know why she was listening to him, but she did as he said anyway. Now she stood directly in front of him. He grabbed her by the waist and pulled her toward him. They were now chest to chest bathing in each other’s scents. He took one last pull from his cigar before flicking it into the street.

  Being that she was five-five and he was six-four she had to look up at him, a view that she’d always enjoyed.

  Before he spoke he stroked her hair and stared into her eyes. He could see her fighting back the tears. “When did you become like this? This isn’t you. You’re cussin’ like crazy, acting crazy, and I don’t understand it. I mean, yeah, we had an accident but you out here acting like I ran over your mama’s wheelchair. Calm down, you’re too lovely for this. If anything, considering that you left me with a new pinky ring, I should be angry and upset with you, but you’re pissed off enough for the two of us. And maybe you missed the memo but last I checked a lady needs to act like one, and once before you had that down pat. Now whatever the mayor did to you before you left this morning you need to take up with him, but when you come at me, remember that you are a lady. Are we clear?”

  Monday had become honey in his hands, sticky, wet, and with a heart that was skipping beats. She could swear he saw her mind envisioning his dick size. She took her index finger and traced the tattoo on the right side of his arm that read Mehki.

  Mehki looked down at Monday’s full breasts and remembered slipping her hard nipples into his mouth. He lifted her face and admired her eyes, which sparkled against the morning sun rays. She was beautiful in every sense of the word. He tilted his head to the side and read her eyes, which told him that she had as much on her mind as he did, “What are you thinking?” he asked, doing his all not to kiss her.

  She knew he was studying her lips as she spoke, “You go first.”

  “I was thinking,” he paused, “if I wanted to kiss you…or make love to you. But I can’t make up my mind.”

  Monday nervously swallowed as she stepped out of his embrace. “Listen,” she said, “I need to go. I have someplace I need to be.”

  “All right.” He smiled. “Here,” he reached in his back pocket and pulled out a card. “Use it.” He boldly took the card, reached behind her and slid it in the rear pocket of her skirt.

  As he turned to leave he winked and Monday watched him get in his car. His business card felt like a seductive chill as she slid into her Mercedes and pulled off.

  “Collyn Bazemore, please,” a tall, lean black man wearing a pair of blue Dockers and a white polo shirt said to Taryn. He took one of the gallery’s business cards and placed it in his beige trench coat pocket while his partner browsed, looking at the art and raising his eyebrows at the prices.

  “Do you have an appointment?” Taryn asked, knowing that he didn’t.

  “No,” the man answered, “but I’m sure she’ll see me.”

  “And you are?”

  “Agent West.” He flashed his silver badge. “FBI, Missing Persons.”

  Taryn blinked. “One moment, please.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Pierre,” Taryn called to the art assistant who was helping a customer on the floor. He turned to look at her. “I have to run in the back for a moment.” Taryn hustled to Collyn’s office. She knocked and entered immediately. “Excuse me, but there are two men here to see you.”

  Collyn looked surprised, “Taryn,” she said politely but sternly, pointing to one of her clients, “you can see I’m already with someone.”

  “Collyn, you don’t understand.” Taryn shook her head. “I really think you should take this meeting.”

  Collyn looked at her client, who was sitting in her chocolate leather wing chair. “Just a moment, please.” She stepped out into the hallway, “Taryn, this is nothing like you. What is the problem?”

  “There are two FBI agents here to see you. Missing Persons Squad.”

  Collyn’s heart dropped. It was obvious that Kenyatta had followed through on his threat and sold the feds some bullshit.

  “It’s fine,” Collyn said, maintaining her composure. “Show them to the clients’ lounge and have Pierre serve them Moët.”

  Collyn walked back into her office. “Mr. Borne, it’s been my pleasure. Your fantasy has been arranged. Janelle will meet you at the hotel in D.C. tomorrow by three.”

  “Thank you.” He smiled.

  “Anytime.” She walked him to the back door; his limo pulled around, and he left. Afterward Collyn sauntered into the lounge, her ru
st-colored wrap dress blending in with the early autumn leaves sweeping the ground as she stood directly in front of the wall of windows. “Gentlemen.” She held out her hand, her onyx and white-diamond tennis bracelet shimmering in the sunlight.

  Both agents accepted her gesture, greeting her with lustful looks and smiles.

  “What can I do for you?” She poured herself a glass of Moët and sipped.

  “You have a beautiful place here,” Agent West commented.

  Collyn smiled. “I don’t do small talk.” She tried to remain calm, not wanting them to know they’d caught her off guard.

  “Ms. Bazemore, I’m Agent West and this is Agent Jones. We need to ask you some questions.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Do you know Eve Johnson?” Agent West pulled a photograph of the woman from his pocket and handed it to Collyn.

  Collyn pushed back her shoulder-length curls as she looked at the picture. “Not off the top of my head.” She handed the photo back to the agent.

  “Look at it carefully.” He shoved it back toward her face. “Because I believe you do.”

  “Her cell phone records indicate that she spoke to you daily,” Agent Jones put in.

  “Spoke to me?” Collyn smirked as she sipped her drink, her lipstick making an imprint on the glass. “Really?”

  “Also,” Agent Jones continued, “there were a stack of receipts found in her apartment from your gallery, totaling well into the tens of thousands of dollars.”

  “And I’m certain you would remember,” Agent West added, “someone who purchased such large quantities of art from you.”

  “Agents,” Collyn said with ease, “surely you didn’t come here to describe a lover of art to me? People buy art from me all over the world. As a matter of fact, people commission me to find them one-of-a-kind pieces. So do you think I should remember someone specifically named Eve Johnson? Do you know how many Johnsons there are?”

  “But this one called here daily,” Agent West snapped.

  “And so do a lot of other people,” Collyn responded.

  Agent Jones grimaced and waved the picture in her face. “She disappeared a little over two months ago.”

  “Then why aren’t you looking for her?”

  “We are.”

  “Not in here you aren’t.”

  “We think you know her,” Agent West stated again.

  Sensing that they had no real evidence, Collyn looked at him as if he were silly.

  “Listen.” Agent West pulled up a chair. “Why don’t you just tell us what happened? Perhaps if you tell us the truth, then we can talk to the prosecutor and see about cutting you a deal.”

  Collyn forced herself not to flip. “Cut me a deal?” She all but laughed in his face. “Are you charging me with something?”

  “Listen—”

  “I’m not listening to shit anymore,” she said.

  “Okay, you wanna play that game?” Agent Jones growled. “How about this: I have five people who say you know exactly who Eve Johnson is. Those same people also said you argued with her over money and that the next day, the very next day after your argument, she was missing. Coincidence? I don’t think so. Now, why don’t you tell us what really happened?”

  Collyn clapped her hands. “Agents, it sounds to me like you have a beautiful case sewn up, especially with five people who all seem to know exactly what happened. So I don’t see what you need my statement for. Charge me with whatever they said I did and get the shit over with.”

  When they didn’t respond, she continued, “That’s what I thought. Now, let me explain something to you. This is an art gallery, and unless you came to purchase some of my pieces, get out and don’t come back, do you understand?”

  The agents glared at her. They had no charges and the theory they presented was bogus, so they couldn’t go anywhere with that. All they had was a daily log of cell phone calls and a ton of receipts for art. “Funny thing is,” Agent West said, “there were a lot of receipts for art, but we didn’t find any art in Eve’s apartment.”

  “Have a good day, Ms. Bazemore,” Agent Jones said as they nodded and left.

  Collyn simmered as she watched them get into their gray Crown Victoria and leave. Once they’d disappeared down the busy street, Collyn turned to Taryn. “I’ll be back. I gotta motherfucker I need to see.”

  Twenty minutes later, after ducking and dodging through traffic, Collyn was at City Hall. She went through the metal detector, signed in, and caught the elevator to the floor where the mayor’s office was. Collyn didn’t wait for Kenyatta’s secretary to call him on the intercom, instead she stormed passed her, flung the door wide open, and slammed it behind her.

  There were scrambling noises as she walked in and sat down in the burgundy Queen Anne chair facing him. She crossed her thick thighs and her purse made a loud thud as she threw it onto Kenyatta’s desk. “Okay, motherfucker.” Collyn tapped the pencil heel of her stiletto on the eagle’s face woven into the blue carpet. “What the fuck was sending the feds to my office about?”

  Kenyatta cleared his throat. It was obvious that he had been caught off guard. Collyn was the last person he expected to see, especially since he was in the midst of taking care of some personal business. “What are you doing here? I didn’t send any feds to your office. And I’m busy.” He waved security away as they rushed into his doorway.

  Collyn stood up and leaned over his heavy mahogany desk. A pair of brown kitten heels protruded from under the desk on her side. “Do you think I give a fuck about that bitch suckin’ yo’ li’l-ass dick under your desk? Do you think I give a good goddamn?” She kicked the woman’s shoes. There was a thump under the desk.

  “Pathetic…” She shook her head. “Consider this a promise: if you gon’ fuck with me, then you better come wit’ it, because I’m not playing games with you. Let another goddamn cop, agent, who-the-fuck-ever come to my place of business, get in my face again, and see if I don’t regulate everybody up in this motherfucker. Won’t nobody in this bitch have a political career!”

  “Wait a minute now—”

  “I don’t have another minute to wait for your ass. So my suggestion to you”—she pursed her lips—“is to take heed to what the fuck I just said. Be clear, I am not the one you need to fuck with.” She grabbed her purse and stormed out of his office, brushing the security guard, who was standing outside of the doorway, on the shoulder.

  By the time she arrived back at the gallery, she exceeded furious. “Where is Taryn?” she snapped at Pierre.

  “She had to leave for a moment. The sitter called and said the baby was sick. But Collyn,” he said as if he were in a hurry, “the mayor’s—”

  Before he could finish, Monday stood up. “I got a problem with you, and you will speak to me right now!”

  Collyn took a step back. She hadn’t seen Monday in years, and looking in her face today, the reunion was too soon. She looked Monday over, noticed that not much had changed, and said slowly, “What…the…fuck…do you want?” Suddenly the entire gallery became quiet and all the customers froze in their spots.

  Finally remembering where she was, Collyn smiled and said to Monday, “Follow me please.”

  Their heels clicked in an angry rhythm as they stormed toward Collyn’s office.

  Once they reached the office Collyn slammed the door, then turned on the TV to drown out the argument that was about to ensue.

  “How fuckin’ dare you service my husband!” Monday screamed. I moved away from you, but I swear to God, everywhere I go, there you are. I’ve been through enough shit in my last life and I don’t need you reincarnating the same goddamn drama in this one!”

  “What—” Collyn scrunched up her face and looked at Monday as if she had two heads, “Excuse me?”

  “I’m not finished,” Monday said, enraged. “All this time I’ve been thinking that I was dealing with an average everyday bitch and it’s one of your hoes! Make no mistake, if you send Tracy or whatever other b
itch again—”

  “Tracy?” Collyn said, put off. “What are you talking about?”

  “You know what I’m talking about!” Monday balled her fist and slammed it on Collyn’s desk, rattling the phone and the penholder, causing the holder to topple over and fall to the floor. “Don’t even attempt to lie, because I found the dummy receipts from your gallery in his e-mail. You must think my life is a game that I’m playin’. Leave my fuckin’ husband alone!”

  “Your goddamn husband—”

  “Is none of your concern.”

  “It is when it’s affecting my business.”

  “If you didn’t have some bottom bitch named Tracy fucking him—”

  “Who the hell is Tracy?” Collyn screamed. “Kenyatta’s bottom bitch was named Eve,” she spat coldly.

  “Eve?” Monday said, filled with air.

  Monday took a step back and Collyn spat, “Don’t you ever bring yo’ ass up in here like this again! Perhaps I need to remind you of just who the fuck I am.” Collyn got in Monday’s face, squinted her eyes, and said in a sinister whisper, “I am your pimp, bitch.” She pointed into Monday’s face. “Once a ho always a ho. You met that niggah because of me and my dough. You were on my payroll—or did you actually start to believe that made-up bullshit you tell the press? Did you forget that sucking dick paid your way through law school?”

  Silence.

  “Oh yeah, baby, it’s me, superbitch. I’m Godmama,” Collyn pointed to her chest, “and don’t you ever in your life forget that shit!”

  “I didn’t forget! But I chose a different life.”

  “Well, you didn’t run far enough!”

  “I don’t want to keep being haunted by this shit! That’s why I came to New York. That’s why I worked so hard for my life to be different. I have no one, except my husband, and I never expected to see you again. I thought that part of my life was over when I left Atlanta, only for me to wake up one morning and find you here.”

  “What? What the hell, are you, nuts? I was born and raised in New York, I don’t have to run from you, that’s your m.o.”

  “Then why are you in my fuckin’ life again?”