by Wahida Clark
He allowed his words to sink in as he studied her silhouette by the light of the dying sun. Edgard was a man who never mixed business with pleasure. But never say never . . .
“Shannon, you are a very intelligent woman. I will tell Neeak that if your loyalty matches your intelligence, then I will welcome the opportunity to work with you. And then, he will, of course, fill you in on all of the details.”
Shan turned and smiled at him. Coming from him, the compliment really meant something because most men only wanted what was between her thighs. Edgard appreciated her mind.
“Thank you, Edgard. I do too . . . welcome the opportunity, I mean.”
“An old man once told me the English word for opportunity breaks down into two syllables. Open ports of unity. He said the port is, how you say, for life’s journey, but the unity is because we all have a single goal: happiness . . . I look forward to being a port in your journey, Shannon.” Those last words dripped from his lips. He then kissed her hand and departed, leaving Shan to fantasize about . . . what-if.
Chapter Eight
New York!” Nick echoed as he made his way through the Dumbo section of Brooklyn.
“Yeah, baby. Surprised?” Nyla asked, holding in her conniving cackle.
She was standing in LaGuardia Airport, having just gotten off the 6:20 p.m. flight from Detroit. As soon as Nick left, not more than two hours later she had booked her own flight to New York. She had Shan’s scent, and like a bloodhound in relentless pursuit, she wasn’t about to lose it.
This nigga gonna think I’m a stalker, Nyla giggled.
Goddamn, I hope this bitch ain’t no fatal attraction, Nick thought. The pussy was good, but he didn’t want it in New York. Not that close to Shan. Tiny was his Detroit jump-off, so what the fuck was she doing in New York?
“Yeah, as a matter of fact, I am. When you get here?” he asked.
“Just now. Are you upset with me, daddy?” she pouted, playing to his ego.
“Naw, I’m just sayin’ . . .” Nick stammered, not wanting to hurt her feelings.
“I just couldn’t stand the idea of not seein’ you,” she cooed. “I know you got somebody else in New York, and I promise I’ll play my position. Shit, if she cute, I’ll stick my tongue all up in her gushy while you watch.” She giggled.
Nick’s dick jumped at the thought of seeing Tiny licking Shan’s pussy. The seed was planted just like Nyla knew it would be. He had been fucking Nyla on a regular since her call. Her freakiness had him wide open, and the last time he was with her, he promised her that he would send for her, and obviously, she couldn’t wait. He was getting real comfortable, and it made him feel even cockier to have two bitches in the same city. That gave him the idea of both of them fucking. Nick already pictured the two of them fighting over his dick. He knew he would have to spend a couple of thousand and do a lot of scheming to warm Shan up to the idea. She would enjoy the stroll of heaven as she affectionately referred to Fifth Avenue in New York City.
“Damn, baby, once again, you just made my dick hard.”
“I’m for real. Anything for you, daddy.”
Nick smiled, feeling like a true swordsman. “Yeah, well, hold that thought.”
“I will. Anyway, I came to do some shopping too, so just call me when you’re free. I’ll only be in town a few days. What’s more convenient for you, Harlem or Brooklyn?”
“Harlem.”
Oh, so he got the bitch in Harlem, huh? she assumed, knowing he’d want to have her close by so he could have easy access. Nyla laughed at how easy it was to get information from a man. But she was even happier than she had been in a long time. Revenge was finally within her grasp. She would have her chance to make the woman suffer who destroyed her marriage, broke up her happy home, put her husband into a wheelchair, and then caused his death. She wanted revenge so bad she breathed it. She kissed into the air.
“Then Harlem it is. I’ll be staying at the Aloft.”
“Big spender, huh?” Nick teased.
It’s your money. “Only the best, daddy. That’s why I fuck with you. Mmmwah! Talk to you later.” She blew him a kiss and hung up.
• • •
Briggen sat across from Rudy in the visitation booth, holding the phone and not being able to believe his ears. He was under the impression that Rudy had already filed his motion to get released.
“What the fuck do you mean why are you gettin’ me out? Rudy, that’s your goddamn job! And if you don’t do it, you better put my muhfuckin’ money back in my account and someone else damn sure will!” Briggen threatened him. He was so mad spit sprinkled the plexiglas that separated the two men.
Rudy sighed. “You haven’t heard me out, Calvin. I just don’t want you to get out and end up dead or right back in here.”
“What the fuck? I’m not payin’ you to concern yourself with whether I come back to jail or not. You’re my lawyer not my social worker! I’m—”
“Calvin, how long have I been your lawyer? Haven’t I always found the loopholes? Haven’t I always worked the angles? I’ve been with you almost from the beginning, and all I’m trying to say is, when is enough enough? I can’t concern myself with your well-being? You are not going to be able to always worm your way out of these situations. Those streets ain’t the same. It’s damn near drying up, and you now have two kids to think about! Have you considered that? All I’m saying is, Calvin, you’re a smart man. But this thing is bigger than you. Think about the kids, and when I do get you out, go legit,” Rudy said encouragingly.
“Are you finished?” The two men glared at each other as if in a standoff. Briggen had to admit. What Rudy was saying made perfect sense. He just wasn’t ready to let the game go. He needed one more run. One. Then he could go totally legit. He knew it was cliché. The theme of so many sad hustler stories that ended with one more run, but he would be different. He had a plan.
“Look, Rudy, I’m just sayin’, the path has been cleared. We can move now. File the goddamned paperwork and let’s move,” Briggen ordered.
“You’re the boss,” Rudy said with sarcasm.
Briggen caught the tone but let it go. He was too happy to let that bring him down. He had awakened a few days ago to Mo’Betta’s Welcome Home text, and he knew he was home free. It was time to put his team back together, only better this time. Mo’Betta would be his right hand, but he wasn’t about to make the same mistake he made with Woo.
Welcome Home. That text made his heart sing. Yeah. Ol’ Brig still got it.
When he got back to his cell, he took out his phone. He couldn’t wait to talk to Shan. She was a part of his come up, but after that, he definitely had plans for her. Payback was a muthafucka, and he felt that she couldn’t get hers fast enough. He never betrayed her. But she would wish on their kids that she hadn’t betrayed him.
“What up, sexy? How you?”
“Oh, hey, baby, I’m good. Early today, ain’t you?” Shan inquired as she drove, heading to Midtown.
“Just thinkin’ about you. You sound like you’re drivin’. Where you takin’ me?” he joked.
“Just goin’ to meet some friends.”
“Oh, do I know him?” Briggen asked.
“No, you don’t know her. Actually two hers,” Shan answered, hating herself for feeling the need to explain herself, even casually.
“Sounds kinky, can I listen?”
She laughed. “You so stupid.”
“On the real, though, when you gonna come see me so I can see my new li’l girl and my man?” Briggen asked.
“I told you, baby, I know you want to see Brianna, but I’m not ready for that. I know I’m being selfish, but I just need some time, Briggen,” she explained.
“I understand, but tomorrow ain’t promised. I just don’t want to take any day above ground for granted anymore. Besides, it’s behind the glass. It ain’t like I can stick my tongue in the pussy.” Briggen chuckled, adding in his mind, or choke the shit out of you.
“Although I’
m sure you’d try. Nasty ass!” She snickered.
“Please, baby, I don’t know what these crackas gonna do. I need to see my family.” He played on her heartstrings, purposely not telling her that as soon as the ink dried on the paperwork he would be out and about.
When she sighed, he knew he had her. “Let me . . . check on some flights, okay? And, Briggen, don’t make this complicated for me. Things are complicated enough as it is.”
“I won’t, sweetness. I won’t. I’m still in love with you.”
• • •
The clerk of the court’s wife was a fat slob. He wished he had never married the nagging bitch, but after three kids and seventeen years of marriage, it was definitely cheaper to keep her. Besides, he himself was no prize. He looked like Elmer Fudd and not the cartoonish character but a flesh and blood version. That’s why when the curvaceous, sunflower blonde girl smiled so sweetly and cocked her head just so, he couldn’t help but fantasize about smelling her panties.
“Excuse me sir. What’s your name?” she asked with the sweetest country lilt he’d ever heard.
“Harold, li’l lady, Harold Kent,” he replied, tipping his imaginary hat.
“Well, Mr. Kent, can I call you Harold?”
“Li’l lady, pretty little thang like you can call me cow manure, long’s you don’t spread it around,” he replied, making a vain attempt at being witty.
She giggled like a schoolgirl. “You’re funny.”
“What can I do for you, Miss Lady?”
“A friend of mine had to go to court today, and I was supposed to meet him, but I was too late. I really need to catch him, but I don’t have his number. I was hoping I could leave a message with his lawyer,” she explained.
Harold nodded.
“What’s his name?”
“Robert Lincoln.”
Harold looked down in his computer and pulled it up. “Your friend’s a little bit of a hothead, ain’t he? Shootin’ in an occupied dwelling and all.”
“It was a break-in.”
“Mmm-hmmm,” Harold replied, not believing her. “It doesn’t say he had a court date today.”
“Maybe it’s tomorrow,” she said.
He shook his head, and then looked at her with a mischievous smile. “And anyway, how’d you know he had a court date if you haven’t talked to him?”
She dropped her eyes. “Okay, you got me. He’s not really a friend.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“I’m really a reporter for the Tennessee Star, trying to get the exclusive interview, and I need his lawyer’s address to catch him,” she lied.
Harold laughed. “I figured as much. You look like the reporter type, tryin’ to get the big scoop,” he joked, wiggling his eyebrows.
She giggled again. “The bigger the better,” she flirted.
His dick twitched. “Got ’em . . . I’m not supposed to do this, li’l lady, but for that smile, I’ll make an exception. His lawyer is Stanley Reed. Need the address, too?”
“No, thank you.”
“Need mine?” He winked. “Maybe you could do a big scoop on me.”
They both laughed. “I would love to, but I don’t think your wife would like that,” she pointed out, touching his wedding ring.
“Well, then, we’ll be even, because I don’t like her either,” he replied truthfully.
“No comment. Bye, Harold. Maybe some other time,” she remarked, wiggling her fingers good-bye.
He watched her walk out the door, and for the millionth time, cursed his life.
Outside, Mac waited behind the wheel of a rented Chrysler 300, smoking a blunt. When Heather got in, he passed it to her.
“Stanley Reed,” she told him, inhaling the weed.
“Good girl,” Mac replied, pulling off and merging into traffic.
• • •
“Mr. Reed, please.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No, but I have this,” Mac said, pulling out a stack of one hundred dollar bills. “Will this get me an appointment?”
The secretary looked up at him. Her boss had all types of characters stopping by and trying to get him to represent them. But this one here looked crazy, and she wanted to get his marijuana-smelling behind as far away as possible. She would tell the police later that he was tall, wearing those awful dreadlock things in his hair and donning a scraggly beard and smelled of marijuana. But that knot spoke volumes. She got on the phone, and then several seconds later, said, “Mr. Reed will see you now.”
I’m sure he will, Mac thought.
He adjusted the wig and fake beard as he walked down the hall. Moments later, he opened the door to Mr. Reed’s office. Mr. Reed, an older man that fit the description of the consummate country gentleman, sat behind the desk.
“Hello, Misterrrr. . . .?” Reed greeted, getting up to shake hands.
Mac ignored his outstretched hand. Instead, he turned and locked the door.
“What the hell—” Reed started to protest.
Mac turned back holding a .44 revolver. Reed froze.
“Sit down, Mr. Reed.”
Reed sat down.
“Close your mouth, Mr. Reed.”
Reed shut his gaping mouth with a snap.
“This ain’t about you, so don’t make it be. You have a client, Robert Lincoln,” Mac told him.
Reed nodded.
“You can speak, Mr. Reed.”
“Y-y-yes, I do.”
“Then you’re about to get on the phone right now and call him. You’re going to tell him exactly what I tell you. If you do, you’ll live. Are we clear?”
Reed nodded, and then remembered he could speak. “Crystal.”
“Very good. Now pay attention. You fuck up, you get fucked up,” Mac warned him.
Reed gulped.
• • •
Rob’s phone rang. He rolled over. It rang again. He woke up. It rang a third time, and he answered.
“Yeah.”
“Mr. Lincoln, this is your attorney, Stanley Reed.”
Rob yawned. Scratched his nuts. “Yeah?”
“Mr. Lincoln, you told me I would be defending you against a charge of shooting in an occupied dwelling.”
“You are.”
“Not anymore. The police have informed me that, that gun was used in several homicides.”
“Homicides?” Rob echoed. He sat up, now fully awake.
“Homicides, Mr. Lincoln. That changes my fee drastically. The police want to question you right away. Now, I suggest you get to my office immediately and bring another ten grand if you want me to represent you in this matter.”
“Fuck!” Rob cursed.
He got up and began pacing the floor, trying to remember who he got the gun from. It was quite possible the gun had bodies on it. He thought about going on the run, but he quickly dismissed it. If the police had something they would’ve already arrested him. They just wanted to question him, which meant try to get him to tell where he got the gun from. They could eat a dick, because he wasn’t telling them shit. But he had to go because running would only make him look guilty, and then an arrest would be inevitable.
“Mr. Lincoln, are you there?”
“Yeah, man. I’m here.”
“Well, you need to be here within the hour and bring my additional retainer. I feel confident that we can get this matter cleared up quickly,” Reed said, which made Rob feel better, just like Mac knew it would.
“I’m on my way,” Rob assured him.
• • •
“He just pulled up,” Heather told him.
“Yep. Remember, two blocks.”
“Okay.”
They hung up.
Rob got out of the car and crossed the street to Reed’s office, carrying a McDonald’s bag. When he entered, he said to the secretary, “I’m here to see Mr. Reed. He’s expecting me.”
“I know. Go right in,” the secretary told him.
Rob walked down the short hallway and knocked on
the door.
“Come in,” Reed called out.
Rob entered, seeing Reed behind the desk looking almost . . . chalky. As if he was deathly ill.
“Mr. Reed, are you—” were Rob’s last words as Mac stepped from behind the door and put the gun to the back of his head.
Rob froze.
“Game over,” Mac hissed, blowing the back of Rob’s head through his face.
Reed threw up, and then passed out. Mac stood over Rob and hit him three more times. He contemplated killing Reed and the secretary, but decided against it.
They couldn’t identify him so they weren’t a threat. Besides, they were white. One dead nigga was one thing, but two dead white people changed the game.
Mac grabbed the McDonald’s bag and peeped in it.
“I should’ve said twenty grand, muhfucka,” he laughed.
Mac dipped into the hall and out the emergency exit. It led to a back alley. He quickly took off the dreadlocked wig and fake beard, and pulled his hood on and kept his head down. As he reached the street, he took off the hood and walked naturally. On the second block, Heather sat waiting in his tricked-out 300. He got in.
“What now, baby?” she asked, feeling this gangsta shit.
He smiled. “You ever been to the D?”
“No. And I’m tired of Oak Ridge. How many bags do I need to pack?”
• • •
Crystal definitely knew how to play the boss diva. Everywhere she went, she was always accompanied by two big, black, buffed bodyguards and rode around in a bulletproof burgundy Hummer. Dark let her play the role because it kept her out of the way, even surprising her with a dachshund. He paid almost seven grand for it. And she took it everywhere with her. She treated it as if it was her baby. Dark figured it would give her something to do.
Every Tuesday and Friday she had her hair and nails ‘done at her favorite salon, Majestic Beauty, on Grand River. She would arrive, her bodyguards would exit first, and then she would get out. The salon owner had offered to shut down the shop while she was there, but Crystal refused. What good was having money and power if you couldn’t flaunt it in people’s faces sometimes? She wanted those hood bitches to recognize a boss bitch when they saw one. How many of them had to place their thousand dollar weave on lay-a-way? Or better yet, wanted to live her life? Only in their dreams.