Surviving the Chase

by Lisa Renee Johnson

  “Girl, that’s all you ever do. You’re not pregnant, are you?”

  “Sleep is needed when you work for a living, which is what I did last night. And no, I’m not pregnant.”

  “Is Donathan home?”

  “No, he’s not. He’s helping his mother finalize a few things for his father’s recognition dinner tonight.”

  “How did you get out of that one?”

  “We had a grass fire in the compost bin last night, so I was designated to stay behind for the cleanup crew. Besides, there was no way I was going to volunteer for that. I love my mother-in-law dearly, but I can only take so much of her, especially now that her son has been plastered all over the front pages of the newspapers. They need to work through that privately.”

  Payton laughed. “Well, once I deal with my uncle, I was thinking about picking up some Mexican food and coming over.”

  “I’d like that.”

  “Alright, then I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”

  She ended the call and continued to the Mar Ray Motel. She’d barely closed the door to her car when a young man in his mid-twenties approached her. His jeans were sagging, their waistband secured tightly around his hips with a belt and his T-shirt, emblazoned with the words “Head Nigga in Charge,” was sagged across his yet-to-be-fully-developed chest.

  Payton glanced at the cardboard box resting on her front seat and engaged her car alarm. She’d stopped at the real estate office in Concord to pick up the box before coming here, and even though she didn’t believe there was anything valuable in the box, she didn’t want to take any chances. She took a step back. “Have you ever heard of personal space?”

  The scrawny man’s wicked grin exposed a row of gold-capped front teeth. He took another step forward. “Yeah, I have. And that’s exactly where you are... in Ray’s personal space.”

  Payton stepped to the left, then to the right, but the man moved with her, his slender frame blocking her path.

  “Look, I don’t have time for your childish games, so if you’ll excuse me.” She forcefully moved past him. At Sheldon’s door, she knocked and waited, but Sheldon didn’t answer. She retrieved her cell phone from her sweat suit pocket and dialed his number. The phone rang a few times, then went to his voice mail.

  “Damn.”

  Where the hell was he? It had been almost a week since she’d seen or heard from him. He’d never gone this long without contacting her. He hadn’t responded to her text from yesterday, and that didn’t make sense, especially since she had something he definitely wanted. Money.

  The man laughed at her in a mocking tone as she walked back past him.

  “He’s not there.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know,” she mumbled, her steps measured and deliberate.

  “What’s it worth to you?”

  Payton stopped mid-stride, then pivoted to face him. “What?”

  He hitched up his sagging pants and hobbled toward her, the crotch resting at his knees. Payton shook her head. He’d be crippled by the time he was forty. She’d read an article the other day that noted sagging pants forced wearers to rotate their legs out in an awkward manner, and if done over time, could result in hip degeneration and lower back problems later in life.

  “I said, what’s it worth to you?”

  “Look, Ray, or whatever your name is. Like I said before, I don’t have time to play games.”

  “I don’t play games.” He stretched out his palm to her. “Money makes things work in Ray’s personal space.”

  “Are you fucking serious?”

  She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, taking in this pathetic, lost individual who was standing in front of her.

  “You want the information or not?”

  Payton sighed heavily as she reached into her jacket pocket and removed her small wallet. She took out a twenty-dollar bill and placed it in his outstretched hand.

  He smirked. “Now, surely the information you want is worth more than a twenty.”

  “How much?” she demanded.

  “For you... how about a Benjamin?”

  Payton’s eyes narrowed as she counted the remaining bills she had in her wallet and glimpsed the bright-white sneakers that adorned his feet. She couldn’t believe she was getting shaken down by a damn tennis shoe pimp. She finished counting, then stared him in the eyes.

  “I don’t have a hundred dollars.”

  “That right there will be fine.” He grinned.

  She thrust the wad of money into his palm and watched as he neatly folded the bills in half and placed them in his front pocket.

  “Try 4B. He’s been spending a lot of time over there with that other uppity bitch,” he spat out, then hobbled away and left Payton standing in the middle of the courtyard.

  “Fucking predator,” she mumbled as she followed him, making her way to the room next door where he had perched himself against the building. He propped one foot on the stucco. His eyes were glued to her when she reached the door and knocked quickly.

  After a few seconds, the door jerked open, but only as far as the safety chain would allow.

  “Who is it?” the female voice said, muffled from behind the rust-colored door.

  Payton frowned, her eyes darting up and down the half-cracked door. She didn’t know what she’d expected, but the twentysomething woman in front of her definitely wasn’t it. The door obscured her face, and the mass of long golden braids further hid her features, but Payton could tell that she was young. Sheldon was old enough to be this girl’s father.

  “Can I help you?” the voice said, this time with more force.

  “Is Sheldon here?”

  “This isn’t Sheldon’s room.”

  “I know, but I got it on good authority that he hangs out here,” Payton said, loud enough for Ray to hear. “Look, have you seen him or not?”

  “Naw, he ain’t here, and don’t come to my damn room no more looking for him.” The woman slammed the door shut.

  Payton stepped back from the door like she’d been slapped. Why the hell was everybody so fucking rude? She turned and locked eyes with the figure who was still watching her. He smiled another toothy grin. Ugh, she thought and shook her head.

  “What? Don’t look at me like that,” he teased.

  Before she eased into her car, she turned around and took one last look at the now-closed door that had just been slammed in her face. The curtains moved, and an eerie feeling washed over her, making her breath catch in her throat. Something wasn’t right. She could feel it.

  Ray called out to her. “Who you gon’ believe, me or that bitch?”

  CHAPTER 26

  The sound of a car horn rescued Najee from Tony’s never-ending lecture. Before he could utter another word she grabbed her backpack and made a beeline for the front door.

  “Don’t forget what I told you,” he boomed after her.

  She couldn’t believe the level of drama she had to put up with just to leave the freakin’ house. Najee hurried down the sidewalk and just as she reached for the car door she gave a quick glance over her shoulder.

  “Hey Lauren. I told Najee that I need to meet your parents. Can you set that up for me please?”

  Lauren twisted her face, then quickly recovered. “Uh, sure thing, Mr. Barnes.”

  “Is there a problem Naj?” he questioned, almost as if daring her to show any sign of defiance so he could revoke his decision to let her get in the car driven by her sixteen-year-old friend.

  “No problem,” Naj replied coolly. He was embarrassing her in front of her friend—something their mother had never done.

  “Thanks for coming with me,” she said to Lauren as she buckled her seat belt and settled back against the leather.

  “Are you sure going to meet this photographer guy is a good idea? And what planet is your brother from? I can’t believe he wants to meet the parentals.”

  “Yes, I’m sure. Dante said it would take no more than thirty minutes tops and the pay i
s three hundred dollars.”

  “Cool. I told Sam we could all hang out after I pick my brother up from soccer camp.”

  Najee shifted in the passenger seat and faced her. “Lauren, I’m not trying to get in your business, but you need to be careful when it comes to Samantha. That girl is bad news.”

  “C’mon Naj, don’t be so quick to judge. Sam is just—misunderstood.”

  “To you maybe. Ever wonder why she doesn’t have any friends? And what’s with the pot thing?”

  “Cannabis is not a big deal. It’s legal, it comes from the earth and I only need a few puffs to take the edge off. You’re acting like I’m taking Ritalin or something.”

  “It’s legal for adults, not a sixteen-year-old.”

  “Don’t get all high and mighty on me now. I seem to recall you taking a few puffs yourself the other day.”

  “Something I’ve regretted since then,” Najee replied with a dramatic sigh.

  Ever since Lauren got her car it seemed as if everyone at school wanted to be her friend, and unfortunately she didn’t have a discerning bone in her body.

  Shirley Barnes had taught Najee early on that when it came to friends and acquaintances, she had to choose wisely. “People will want things from you because of what you can do for them,” she’d warned her daughter.

  “Don’t say I didn’t try to warn you.”

  The drive to Magnolia Street in the warehouse district of West Oakland went by quickly. As they cruised down the street, Najee read the text message on her phone then carefully perused the buildings for the address the photographer had given her.

  “This street looks so deserted,” Lauren commented.

  “I’m sure it’s fine. He said once we got here to buzz the suite.”

  They arrived at the front of the building numbered 212 and scrolled the roster for Suite L-B. A man’s voice and the loud clicking of the door lock release startled them both.

  “C’mon up the stairs and make a left at the end of the hallway.”

  “Dante?” Najee questioned.

  “In the flesh.”

  On the way up the stairs, nerves started to get the best of Najee. She had never modeled before and wasn’t sure what to expect. When Dante texted to offer the quick modeling gig the first thing that had come to mind was having her own money. Since she wasn’t sixteen yet, she wasn’t old enough for a summer job, and having her own money would make her feel like less of a burden to her brother. She pulled at her tank top, feeling self-conscious about her attire.

  “Stop fidgeting,” Lauren hissed. “You look fine.”

  The door to the suite was flung open and they were welcomed into the space by a familiar thirty-something man wearing jeans, a black t-shirt, and multiple gold chains.

  “Najee, you didn’t tell me you were bringing a friend.” He reached forward, extended his hand, and pulled her into him, almost knocking her off balance. “I’m Dante.”

  “Lauren.”

  “Would you girls like something to drink? Water, soda pop, wine coolers?”

  “A wine—”

  “Water. We will both have water,” Najee responded, giving Lauren a stern side-eye. Sneaking wine coolers out of her parent’s fridge was one thing but this was entirely another.

  “You can get changed in there, he said, pointing to one of only two doors in the huge space. Lauren can stay out here and keep me company.”

  With only a leather couch and a few box lights in the far corner of the loft, the room was sparse, nothing like the type of photography studio she’d imagined.

  Najee entered the dressing room, closed and locked the door behind her. She was overcome with feelings of deep apprehension when her eyes landed on a fuchsia two-piece string bikini that left little to the imagination. Of course she’d seen the ads with Victoria’s Secret models clad in next to nothing but there was no way she was putting this on. If this was what she was supposed to model, then she would have to pass.

  Bikini in hand, she opened the door and made her way across the room to where Dante worked to adjust and position the lights.

  “Excuse me, but I can’t wear this.”

  Dante looked at the swimsuit then back at Najee, smirking lustfully. “That outfit is for the next model. Your attire is the workout gear hanging on the rack. You’re not ready for that one yet.”

  Najee’s face flushed beet red before she turned away and hurried back to the dressing room. She changed into the workout gear, swiped clear gloss across her lips and fluffed her natural curls. She was embarrassed and wanted to get this shoot over with.

  Thirty minutes later, Dante counted as he placed the crisp hundred-dollar bills into the palm of Najee’s hand. “One hundred, two hundred, three hundred. You’re a natural.”

  “Thanks,” Najee squealed. Cash in hand made the hot blinding lights worth her while. At first, her stomach had been in knots, but then Dante turned on Lizzo and directed her every move, which made the time in front of the camera pass quickly. She was in utter disbelief when he said they were done.

  “So, do you think you can do jobs like this for me again? I’ll have more gigs just like this one real soon.

  “Yes.”

  “Alright, I’ll be in touch.”

  * * *

  Dante watched from the window as Lauren and Najee climbed into the brand-new Honda Civic and pulled away from the curb. He had expected the exotic beauty to come alone and the friend showing up threw a monkey wrench in his plan. He reached in his pocket, retrieved his cell, and dialed the familiar number.

  “Speak on it.”

  “She brought a friend, so no go today.”

  “Why not two for one?”

  “It crossed my mind, but the friend would bring heat we want no part of. I was right about the mark. Her mother is dead, so she probably lives in some type of group home—the kind of situation that’s good for our business.”

  “How long? I already promised this one to Atlanta.”

  “She’s going to need to be broke in—”

  “Good. New pussy is the best pussy.”

  “Man, I hear you, and when the time is right, I’ll bring her to you.”

  CHAPTER 27

  Sydney was enjoying her afternoon of solitude, but it also gave her room to think. Her relationship with Donathan was a disaster. She missed the easiness of it, and now they were out of sync. Things were so tense that she was looking forward to some time by herself, but she was also coveting some time alone with her friend.

  Even though Payton wasn’t the most sympathetic person, they had a lot of catching up to do. She clicked on the seventy-inch TV, which took up a good portion of the family room wall, then turned to the news. The banner ticking across the lower screen read Breaking News, and on the screen a red pickup truck with lawn equipment in the truck’s bed caught her attention.

  She blinked a few times in confusion. It looked almost identical to the way she’d seen it when he rear-ended her a few weeks ago, except the front windshield was shattered with a few bullet holes on the driver’s side. She turned up the volume so she could hear the female reporter.

  “The Oakland Police Department had an overnight standoff with a man on Twenty-Third and Bancroft. Police say the man tried to run them over with his vehicle, and fearing for their safety, shots were fired. The driver has been confirmed dead, but no information about his identity has been released until notification of his next of kin. Stay with KTVU2 News for more on this developing story.”

  Sydney stared at the television bewildered. Damn. Was that the same guy she had the accident with? The man was crazy, true enough, but he needed mental health services, not a bullet to the head. This was the fifth officer-involved shooting of an unarmed man in the United States in less than a week. These killings had to stop.

  When the security gate chimed, Sydney hopped off the couch, made her way to the wall display, and let Payton in through the front gates. She padded barefoot to the front door, opened it, and stood in the doorway, wai
ting for the Lexus to come to a stop.

  Payton exited the car and made her way toward Sydney, balancing bags of takeout food on top of a banker’s box. When she reached her, Sydney grabbed the food.

  “I thought you said the fire was in the compost bin? Your entire front yard is torched. What the hell happened?” Payton asked, stepping inside the foyer and using her hip to close the front door behind them.

  “According to the El Cerrito Fire Department, the mixing of old and new grass clippings in our compost bin got too hot and caused spontaneous combustion.”

  “Spontaneous who?”

  “My thoughts exactly, but what it boils down to is that the grass in the compost bin had some kind of chemical reaction and ignited all by itself last night.”

  “That shit sounds crazy.”

  “I know. It happened around four this morning. If it weren’t for Mrs. Brown, the house might have caught on fire.”

  “I swear, that woman doesn’t miss a beat. Her nosy ass just waved at me as I was driving through the gate.”

  “For once, I’m grateful for nosy and that damn purple sweet potato pie she makes.”

  They both laughed.

  Sydney grabbed two plates from the cabinet, along with some silverware. She then took two stemmed glasses from the wine rack and retrieved the chilled bottle of V. Sattui Gamay Rouge from the fridge, filling their glasses.

  “So, what’s in the box?”

  “Once we eat, that’s what we’re about to find out.”

  An empty plate and a bottle and a half of wine later, they sat cross-legged on the floor with their backs resting against the sofa, the banker’s box between them.

  Payton removed the lid and scanned the contents. Her hand went to the groupings of pictures held together by rubber bands. She pulled out a few stacks, keeping one for herself and handing the other to Sydney.

  They continued drinking wine and laughing at the many pictures of Payton growing up. Sydney joked about the various hair ribbons in the photos, laughed at the outrageous bangs, and scanned the familiar faces of Payton’s grandparents, father, and uncles during happier times. They had gone through most of the box’s contents when Sydney picked up a yellowing envelope at the bottom.