Smooth Operator

by Risqué

  So she granted him his last wish and when she was sure he was dead, she kissed him on the forehead and called the police frantically. She told them what had happened and they quickly covered up the murder; there was no way France wanted to be embarrassed by a freaky politician, so they closed the case, citing the cause of death as heart failure.

  Shortly after Jacques’s murder she was back on the grind: Los Angeles, California. She’d had stellar plastic surgery and chose the name Payton.

  Payton was sophisticated, and intelligent, and it didn’t take her long to become reacquainted with Carlton. She attended Anderson Global’s annual New Year’s Eve event, and six months after their initial meeting, they were married.

  Payton introduced him to the wonderful sex life of erotic asphyxiation and when it came time for him to depart the earth, it was easy to strangle him and get away with it as a sad case of wild sex gone wrong.

  Shortly after this is when the fuck-up, the trip-up, and the slow ride to hell began—she met Lyfe and took a chance. She couldn’t help it—the first time she saw him she knew what all the girls in high school raved about; she knew what it was to have the giggles for no reason, to have untamed butterflies float in your belly. She knew what it was to have a man because you had to have him—not because you had to have his bank account.

  But it was all a mistake.

  She should’ve seen Lyfe and not seen him at the same time. She should’ve kept her appointment with the plastic surgeon and gone on to become Chelsea Davis, instead of Mrs. Lyfe Carrington; there was no purpose to it, no reason. It was stupid, and now here she sat completely out of control.

  “We’re going to fix this.” Quinton squatted before Payton, as she sat on the edge of her bed, the single stream of moonlight bathing her back as it inched its way into her master suite.

  “How?” she said, holding her cigarette between her fingertips, the burning tip slowly making its way to become one with the butt.

  “Because we may not know where the money is at this very moment, but Lyfe’s ass hasn’t gone any fuckin’ place!” He stood up and began pacing before her.

  “We don’t know if Lyfe is behind it.” Her cigarette ashes flaked to the floor.

  “Who else would do some shit like that to you? Huh?”

  “You have access to that account too, Quinton.”

  “I wouldn’t do anything like that to you, and besides, you know where I was.”

  “There’s been more than one transaction. One last night and one today, Quinton. More than twenty million moved from the company’s account.” She started to tell him about the money missing from her personal account and about the money she’d been washing in Lyfe’s name, but she quickly changed her mind. “I need to know where my goddamn money is!”

  “Well, then you need to look at Lyfe.”

  “He’s never gone into the accounts. I never gave him access; he would have to have hacked …” She paused “No, he wouldn’t do that to me.”

  “I don’t put a damn thing past that niggah,” Quinton spat. “When’s the last time you heard from Lyfe? Has he come back home to see you, to make love to you? Hell, after all, you are his wife. Has he been consulting you about anything? No, he’s been over in New York, pumping his chest and shit. He was never doing an audit; he was trying to figure out ways to swindle you out of your money.” Quinton wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “And now he’s sitting back, laughing and shit, plotting and planning to run off with that whore he’s fucking—on top of your money—while we sit here, too scared to make a move. You need to pump a bullet in his chest, that’s what you need to do.”

  Payton looked at Quinton and without blinking she said, “Why don’t you do it?”

  Quinton hesitated and Payton knew instantly that he was a weak link. The weakest link that she’d ever come across in her years of grifting. It was beyond her how she’d involved this motherfucker in helping her pilfer a damn thing.

  It was a joke, really, a test of his weak rubber-band will, a last-ditch effort to see if she should spare his life.

  Sweat lined Quinton’s brow and he said, “I think he would get the message a lot clearer if you were to do it.”

  He was such a queen.

  “I know what’ll make you feel better.” He smiled at her and began to kiss her along the side of her neck. Payton wasn’t in the mood, really, but she needed something to help her release her stress, so she lay back and allowed Quinton to undress her.

  Payton hated how the clock steadily ticked and invaded her ears as she rode Quinton’s dick. Thoughts of how Lyfe had made a total fool out of her ramped through her mind. She’d risked everything to remain in California with him, and what did he do for her in return? Nothing, zilch. But then again, scratch that, because he did give her one thing: he gave her his ass to kiss.

  She hated to admit it, but maybe Quinton and her mother were right: the nerve of this motherfucker to really think that he had a right to not only run the East Coast branch of her company, but that he didn’t have to speak to her in the process. She’d had enough.

  Payton slid two of her fingers between Quinton’s lips and squeezed her velvetly walls around the head of his dick. She knew by the way his eyes rolled to the top of his head that he was off in another world.

  “Fuck!” he screamed, as she continued to ride him. “Break the head!” he hollered out. “Break that motherfucker off!” he howled, as he came like a thunderstorm inside her.

  Payton kissed him and Quinton rolled on top of Payton, and as he slid down her belly, he whispered, “I would kill for you, baby.”

  Hours later and between the blinding rays of the West Coast sun, Payton lay in her king-size bed and the smell of cigar smoke slithered beneath her bedroom door. She blinked and sniffed, and sniffed and blinked, and then she inadvertently did it again. Her heart ran a marathon in its chamber. She eased a deep sigh out the side of her mouth and shook her head. She didn’t smell anything … at least she prayed like hell she didn’t … because that would mean Lyfe was somewhere in the house, while Quinton lay in her bed.

  Shit.

  She sat up and looked toward the door; it was cracked but the only thing she could see was the gold corner of her Picasso painting.

  Untangling the sheets from between her thighs she eased to the edge of the bed. Quinton grabbed her hand. “Where are you going?” His eyes peeled open. “Come back to bed.”

  She snatched away. “I think Lyfe is here.”

  “What?” Quinton immediately sat up at military attention. “I knew we should’ve run away while he was in New York. Fuck,” he said, tight-lipped.

  Payton’s eyes scanned the room. Why was Lyfe here? Why? When he hadn’t been back to California in months? When she hadn’t even heard from him? And why would he show up after millions of dollars had been moved from her accounts. Unless he was behind everything.

  “I gotta get the fuck outta here,” Quinton said nervously, as sweat formed on his brow.

  Payton wrinkled her nose, “Would you,” she said calmly, “shut … the … fuck … up? Is that possible? If Lyfe had seen you, do you think you would be waking up, huh?”

  “That’s not the point.”

  “It is very much the point.” She rose from the bed. “And the truth of the matter is we don’t know if he’s here or not.” Payton slid her feet into her mink-covered stiletto slippers, tied her silk robe around her waist, and walked toward the door. She looked back at Quinton. “Lock it,” she said as she closed the door behind her and proceeded down the corridor, following the smell of cigar smoke.

  Once she reached Lyfe’s home office she pushed the door in slightly, causing the hinges to creak. As the door slowly became ajar, she could clearly see sitting on Lyfe’s desk a glass ashtray holding a burning Cuban cigar, and rising from it was a ghostly screen of silver smoke.

  Payton’s heart dropped to the bottom of her feet and she started to panic. Her chest heaved and she did her best to calm hers
elf down. Think … think … think … Where the fuck is he? She looked around his office in fast-forward motion, but there was nothing … not a footprint, not even a piece of paper out of place. Her eyes continued to scan the room.

  The safe.

  She walked swiftly to her office, checked the safe beneath her desk, and it was empty. All of her papers, all offshore account information—gone. He’d been here and he’d fucked her in the process. Quinton was right. This motherfuckin’ Lyfe was robbing her blind—and judging by the evidence he left, he wanted her to know it without question.

  Payton backed out of her office until the back of her head hit what felt like a brick wall. “Ahh!” She jumped and turned around, only to look into Gretchen’s face.

  “Mrs. Carrington,” Gretchen said apologetically, “I’m so sorry. I was just coming to clean your office.”

  “Was he here?” Payton asked in a panic. “Is he here?”

  “Who, ma’am?”

  “Lyfe!” Payton screamed, “Mr. Carrington!”

  Gretchen jumped. “No, ma’am, the team and I have cleaned the whole house, except in here, and I haven’t seen him.”

  Payton thought about leveling Gretchen’s ass, but quickly decided that she had bigger fish to contend with. “Just watch where you’re going,” she barked, and swiftly walked toward her master suite.

  She turned the locked knob and snapped, “Open the door!”

  Quinton quickly unlocked it and she walked in, her face revealing clear disbelief of what had taken place. “He was here,” she said in a soft whisper, more to herself than to Quinton. “And you were right. He was behind everything.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “You think I fuckin’ know?” She stabbed her index finger into her chest, as her voice trembled.

  “That motherfucker,” Quinton said, pissed.

  “I have to go, Quinton, so I need you to get out!” She pointed toward the door.

  A smile ran across Quinton’s face. “Where are you going?”

  “New York. Now leave. Go home to your wife. I’m sure she’ll be relieved.”

  “She’s gone. She took the twins and left me, but don’t worry, I’ll be there, waiting for you to come back, and then finally we’ll be able to blow this motherfucker!”

  “Yes, we will,” Payton said, as her thoughts drifted out of the room. “We certainly will.”

  California

  Lyfe watched the air traffic controller swing his arms like flags, one over the other, as he waved the orange caution lights and led the red-eye flight out of the City of Angels. Lyfe did all he could to stop the merry-go-round of thoughts, mixed emotions, and sinking feelings of betrayal from crawling up his spine, but no matter what he did, he couldn’t shake them.

  Payton

  Quinton

  Fucking each other …

  I would kill for you …

  Anything for you …

  Offshore accounts …

  Stocks …

  Bonds …

  Setup …

  Three strikes …

  You’re out …

  Prison …

  Dirty pigs wanting their share …

  “Fuck!” Lyfe screamed as he pounded into the arm of the chair.

  “Is everything okay?” the stewardess asked as the plane began to taxi.

  Lyfe blinked. “Yes,” he said, hesitating, “Yes, everything’s okay.”

  The stewardess shot him a fake smile and patted him on the shoulder. “Well, get ready for the ride. The pilot said there may be some turbulence tonight.”

  “Yeah.” Lyfe nodded as he popped open his briefcase filled with bank statements that he’d collected from the safe in Payton’s home office. “I’m sure there will be.”

  Lyfe reclined his seat and thought about the conversation he had only hours ago with the overseas bank. Each account number that he’d gotten from Payton’s safe had matched up with what the FBI said, with money totaling into the hundreds of millions. There seemed to be a history of money being deposited every few months and then mysteriously leaving, depleting most of the accounts to zero, and then the cycle would start all over again.

  This was crazy. Insane. He couldn’t believe that here he’d come to talk to Payton, holding on to his last bit of trust and belief that either this shit was a dream or the FBI was wrong. But as he stood there in his house, watched his wife in bed with his friend, he knew that nothing in his life for the last few years had been as it seemed.

  Lyfe watched them make love for as long as he could stand it before he slowly backed away from the bedroom door. For a moment the sight and reality of what was really happening to him made him forget his way around their mansion. He couldn’t remember if he needed to go up or down the stairs to get out of there, and then he stood still for a moment and reminded himself that he was there on a mission, to clear his name and get this shit straight. He couldn’t be concerned with who Payton fucked; he had enough to worry about with her trying to set his ass up.

  Lyfe reclined in his seat and as the plane rocked through some turbulence he closed his eyes and prepared for a long flight.

  Six and a half hours later, Lyfe caught glimmering glances of Keenan and Galvin’s ridiculous-ass silver tie clips. They were sitting at the gate, sipping black cups of coffee and leafing through the morning’s paper. Although they didn’t look up, as Lyfe walked past he knew it was only a matter of moments before they were behind him and buzzing in his ear on whether or not he’d made a decision.

  Lyfe walked into the small airport café, and sat near the picture window, where the outgoing planes were the raging view. He placed his briefcase next to him in his chair and a few moments later the waitress came over and he placed an order: “Coffee. No sugar.”

  “I’ll have a cup as well.” Keenan smiled, taking a seat.

  “And I’ll take another,” Galvin snorted, at the waitress, as he took his seat. “Especially since I don’t know how my morning will be.”

  “We didn’t know if you needed a ride home from the airport or not, Lyfe.” Keenan smiled as the waitress set their coffee on the table and walked away. “So we took the liberty of showing up. You know,” Keenan said, “just in case.”

  Lyfe felt like putting holes in the walls with his fists, but fought like hell to hide it and seem as if he was in control. “Appreciate the gesture,” Lyfe said as he pressed his coffee cup to his lips.

  “So what’s the jury going to find?” Keenan asked.

  Lyfe looked at Keenan and then at Galvin. “That I’m innocent.”

  “My boy.” Galvin smiled.

  “I’m your boy now?” Lyfe’s vein started thumping.

  “You know I didn’t mean it like that.” He turned to Keenan, “You talk to him, ’cause I just got pissed off.”

  “Oh wow,” Lyfe said condescendingly, “I didn’t mean to do that. Certainly isn’t my style.”

  “I tell you what better be your style,”—Keenan leaned into the table—“twenty million dollars in cash. No slick shit. Don’t try and put no trace on the money or no other crazy shit, because believe me, we will turn your ass in, and you’ll be exchanging your name for a row of goddamn numbers. You know I don’t give a fuck. Instructions,” he tapped the envelope, “on how the money needs to be delivered. Don’t fuck up or it will be a problem.”

  Keenan and Galvin rose from their seats and Lyfe watched them walk out of the café. A few moments later he left, and hailed a cab to the office.

  When Lyfe walked into his office at Anderson Global he could feel anger creeping up his back. “Motherfuck!” he said, flopping down in his chair, his heart racing out of control. “What the fuck am I supposed to do now?”

  He held his head down and a few moments later he shook his feelings of uncertainty off, and made up his mind that he knew exactly what to do, especially since he had everything to lose.

  This chick …

  New York

  “Auntie,” Zion tugged on Arri’s arm as th
ey walked across the street from his school, “there goes Iron Man.” He pointed to Lyfe sitting on the small brick stoop in front of their building.

  As if remote-controlled by his presence, Arri’s pussy creamed and her nipples hardened. She watched Lyfe slowly puff on his Cuban cigar, and the memory of his tongue holding the same exact grip on her clit caused her brow to sweat. She fanned her face, and Khris, who was walking with her, said tight-lipped, “Is this creative overtime?”

  “Would you be quiet?” Arri whispered. “You know he can hear you.”

  “Yeah, he does hear every damn thing, doesn’t he?” Khris shot a phony smile at Lyfe. “Mr. Carrington,” she said, “funny seeing you here.”

  “Wassup, Khris,” Lyfe said. “And by the way, Lyfe is fine.”

  “Hell yes, he is,” she snarled. “Zion, Tyree, come on upstairs with me.”

  Once the door closed behind Khris and the boys, Arri walked up the three short stairs to where Lyfe sat. “I thought you were going to be in California for a few days,” she snapped with a little more edge than she intended.

  Lyfe looked taken aback. “What’s that about?”

  “What?”

  “The attitude.”

  “I don’t have an attitude. I’m very clear on how I feel.”

  “And how is that?”

  “I’m done.” Arri turned away from him, and walked into the building.

  He followed her into the elevator. “What the hell is this?”

  Silence.

  “I asked you a question,” he said as they stepped off the elevator. “What the fuck is your problem?” He slammed the door as they walked into the apartment.

  “Don’t slam my goddamn door!” she screamed.

  “Then answer my damn question!”

  “You wanna know what the fuck my problem is?” Arri waved her arms frantically in the air. The ache in her head caused pain-filled tears to well in her eyes. And though they danced in her throat, the fact that they threatened to spill out fucked with her even more. She wasn’t ready to be this vulnerable, but there was only so much she could take. Her words warred with her tears as she spoke. “You really think you can go out to California, fuck your wife, and I’m supposed to what, sit here and be okay with that? Hell no. I’m done with that bullshit.”