Smooth Operator

by Risqué

  “I haven’t fucked anybody but you. And before you go accusing me, why don’t you ask me?”

  “You don’t have to explain shit to me—”

  “Arri—”

  “Yes, Arri changed her fuckin’ mind. I’m not about to be some weak-ass mistress on the side. I feel cheap as shit. How did you really think I felt with you being gone? Happy? No. I’m done.”

  “And when did you decide this?”

  “The day that Ian was killed right there in my fuckin’ doorway is when I decided that I couldn’t and I wouldn’t do bullshit anymore!”

  Lyfe could tell Arri was hurting; hell, he was hurting too. He grabbed her by the hand and pulled her to his chest. He pressed his forehead against hers and said, “You know what,” he backed her into the corner of the room, “you wanna do this, let’s fuckin’ do this. ’Cause this don’t have shit to do with Payton, or any other bullshit; this has to do with you loving me and not being able to tell me. So say it.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Tell me you love me, so we can get past this argument you’re making up, because you know damn well in your heart of hearts that I’m not making love to nobody but you. Now tell me and don’t give me no politically correct, homegirl fuckin’ answer. And don’t tell me shit about my circumstances and I don’t wanna hear that you’re scared, because I can see that. What I wanna hear is that you love me. In three words.”

  Arri looked into Lyfe’s face and she realized that being in his arms went beyond feeling safe and secure. It was like … like … loving Superman. It was magnetic. Fire. Passion. Finding forever, all in one man. Tears streamed down her face. “I love you,” she practically whispered, “but I can’t do this with you.”

  Lyfe stood up straight and said, “So this is it? That’s what you’re saying?”

  When Arri didn’t respond Lyfe turned toward the door. Arri could tell in his steps that he was waiting or hoping that she would say something. And she could also tell that if she said nothing that this would be the last time she’d ever see him.

  “But I’m scared …” Arri said softly. “I’m scared as hell to love you as hard as I do. And I don’t understand it … and I don’t know what to do with it.”

  Lyfe stopped in his tracks and turned back toward Arri. “It’s simple, just give it to me, please. Because, right now, at this time in my life, when everything I thought was real has turned out not to be, I need you to love me. I need you like air. I want you to have my babies.”

  “I wanna have your babies,” she confided, “and I want your last name, I wanna be …”

  “Say it.”

  “I wanna be your wife.”

  “And you will be, but I gotta ask you something first.”

  “What?”

  “I need you to run away with me. Not like before, where we came back in a day. I mean for good. Just you, me, and Zion.”

  “Lyfe,” Arri hesitated, “why are we running away?”

  “Because I can’t stay here.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because Anderson Global is a cover for a money-laundering scheme.”

  “Say that again.”

  “Payton and Quinton King have been stealing money from the company and setting me up in the process.”

  Arri gasped. “Are you serious?”

  “As hell, and I’m not going back to prison.”

  “But you didn’t do anything.”

  “Arri, listen to me. Everybody in this motherfucker is crooked. Everybody. Nobody has been honest with me—but you. And the goddamn FBI is involved in this shit.”

  “FBI?”

  “Yes, and even they’re crooked as fuck.”

  “What do you mean they’re crooked?”

  “They’re the ones that gave me all the damn information and bank account numbers. That’s the real reason I went to California—to try and get some answers.”

  “And what did you come back with?”

  “That my wife is fucking Quinton and planning to screw me in the process.”

  “And what about the FBI?”

  “In exchange for not turning me in—and only focusing their case on Payton, regardless of the fact that they know I’m innocent, they want twenty million dollars in cash.”

  Arri’s heart dropped in her chest. “Twenty million … Oh my God, what are you going to do?”

  “I’ma give it to ’em.”

  Arri stared into deep thought and then she said, “Well, if Payton and Quinton are stealing all of the money, where are you going to get that kind of money from?”

  “I’ma steal it back.”

  “Steal it back? And how is that?”

  “Don’t worry about that.”

  “I have to.”

  “Would you let me handle this?”

  “How are you going to handle it?”

  Lyfe drew in a breath. “I need you to sit down and let me tell you about a few things that I used to do.”

  New York

  The only light in the room came from the crackling end of Payton’s cigarette. She took hard and long tokes as she sat in Lyfe’s hotel suite, waiting—the last two days—for him. She’d come dressed for the occasion: coal black and fitted Vera Wang strapless dress, four-inch sling-back stilettos, and a midnight black .9 millimeter.

  She patted the gun against the center of her Chanel-covered lips and wondered about the exact date when she’d been replaced. It was obvious that she’d withered to nothing. That she’d lost. But so be it. If he’d chosen some broke, pathetic bitch over her, then fine. But one thing was for certain: there was no way in hell he would take care of that whore with Payton’s money. She’d kill his ass first, and that wasn’t about bruised love, jealousy, or any other heart-pacifying bullshit—that was about business.

  It was obvious that Lyfe was a bad investment. But that was fine, she could take being loved and left on the chin. But the one thing that rocked her mind and ached her spine was this ungrateful motherfucker stealing from her. How could he have no regard for her after she’d saved his life? He wasn’t shit, had never been shit, and would never be shit. He may have been hood but he was a white-collar fuckin’ thief, and given the way he snuck in and out the house, leaving behind cigar smoke and wet tire tracks, she knew without a doubt that this niggah was up to his old tricks again.

  Payton checked her magazine clip.

  Get ready …

  The clock steadily ticked and before she knew it an hour had gone by and then two … and three … And at the exact moment when she thought she would have to prowl the city to find his ass, the doorknob twisted.

  She knocked the safety off the gun.

  Get set …

  The door pushed open.

  Go … !

  “I wouldn’t make any sudden moves if I were you.” She looked Lyfe over as he stepped into the center of the room and dropped the briefcase he carried in his hand to the floor, causing it to pop open and papers to scatter everywhere. She could see him staring at her through the dark in utter surprise. “Don’t look at me like you’re stupefied or some shit.” Payton blinked. “You had to know I was coming, goddammit. You knew when you stole all my fuckin’ money that you’d declared war. So man up, soldier, walk in here with the same heavy-ass balls you had when you ripped me the fuck off.”

  Lyfe looked down at the gun. “What … the …”

  “Oh please, cut the bullshit.” Payton sucked her teeth. “We’re not on TV, now sit the fuck down.” She pointed at the chair sitting on the opposite side of the desk where she sat. “Right there.”

  Lyfe hesitated and she repeated herself, arching her eyebrows with every word. “Sit … the fuck … down. And a bitch ain’t playing.” She pointed back to the chair.

  Lyfe didn’t know what to think, but he knew he needed to remain calm. “What’s this about?”

  Payton laughed. “Are you fucking kidding me?” She smiled sinisterly. “Are you serious? What’s this about? You need to freshen up o
n your acting skills, because they’re a little rough around the edges. You know what this is about.”

  “Nah,” he eased into the seat, “I don’t.”

  “Well let me refresh your memory. You snuck into my house. The same house that when I took you off the streets I let you stunt in. Then you stole all of my banking information, hacked my accounts, and now all of my money’s gone. Sound familiar?”

  “Nah.” Lyfe did his best not to sound nervous, but sweat had gathered in the palms of his hands. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.” He looked perplexed.

  “I swear to God, you better not deny another fuckin’ thing or you’ll die sooner than expected.” She massaged her temple. “Now, my advice to you is to turn on your computer,” she pointed to his laptop, “and transfer my fuckin’ money back where it belongs. You understand? Get on that computer, and on the count of ten you better be done.” She cocked the gun. “One.”

  Lyfe stroked his beard. “Payton—”

  “Nine.” She pointed the gun directly at his forehead. “Didn’t I tell you to cut that goddamn computer on? Are you testing me? Is this what new pussy does, cause you to turn into some disrespectful, play-too-much li’l bitch? Is that it? You think I care anymore about who you want to be with? You don’t have to want me, but one thing you’re not going to do is elevate that broke-down bitch off of my money. Fuck that.”

  “It’s not like that, Payton.”

  “Not like what?” She blinked. “Did I dream you playing house with this bitch—”

  “She’s not a bitch!”

  “And you taking up for her? I oughta shoot you for the motherfuckin’ audacity—” Payton’s heels tapped against the floor as she walked around the desk and kneeled before Lyfe. “I’m not the bitch you need to play and I would think that you would know that.” She shook her head. “And after all I’ve done for you, this is how you repay me?”

  “I didn’t do anything to you, Payton.”

  “Oh, you did a lot to me—and you know what’s funny? I was more of a widow being married to you than I was to Carlton, and I killed him. Now,” she stood up, “give me my fuckin’ money back!”

  Lyfe felt as if a thousand pricks of jagged glass stabbed their way through him. “You did what?”

  “Don’t act stupid, you know I can’t stand subpar.”

  “Payton,” Lyfe shook his head, “I swear to God, I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. I don’t. All I know is that Anderson Global has gone from being an upstanding corporation to some money-washing bullshit. Now you run up in here,” he stared her down, “all willy-nilly and shit on me, and where you leave your boy? Is he still in your bed?”

  “So you admit it, you were in the house? So I know for a fact you stole my shit.”

  “You better check Quinton, ’cause I don’t have a damn thing.”

  “I checked the safe, you took all of my banking information.”

  “I didn’t take shit.”

  “You’re willing to die behind a lie?”

  “Fuck it, you’re going to kill me anyway. Ain’t that right, didn’t you just admit that you killed your last husband? And for what, money?” He looked into her eyes. “The only irony here is that you’re going to kill me and I don’t have a dear fuckin’ dime.”

  “You have the money you stole from me.”

  “What did I just tell you?” Lyfe stood up and looked down at Payton. “Why would I steal from you? Huh? What purpose would that serve? I wanted to love you, to be committed to you, but you acted as if you owned me.”

  “I did own you! But you wouldn’t go with the fuckin’ flow!”

  “What flow? Two sets of books? Stealing? Your turning this company into a front? Hell no, I was in prison twice—two strikes—and then I’m down for life. You think I made a change to go back to prison? What the fuck! I ain’t have no problem driving for UPS!” he screamed. “I’m not risking my freedom for greed! Fuck that.”

  “Niggah, please. Are you done?” She looked at him as if he’d gone crazy. “Really, are you? ’Cause that little criminal-turned-civilian speech just worked my fuckin’ nerves. What you are is a hacker. Now, er’body else might think you went to jail for drugs, stealing cars, or whatever other typical li’l Compton shit they do, but I know better. You were too busy on your foster mother—or whatever the fuck you had—computer stealing money directly from rich motherfuckers’ accounts, setting up your own transactions. Trust me, there’s not much difference between you and me, which is why we’re husband and wife, so don’t try and act as if you’re so upstanding, because I ain’t buying it. Now, like I said, get me my fuckin’ money back and not a penny less. Otherwise, it’s gon’ be some slow singing and flower bringing.” She nodded her head for emphasis. “Just so you know.”

  “I don’t believe this!” he said, more to himself than to Payton. “Here you accusing me of some bullshit I know nothing about! Got the FBI muscling me and shit—”

  “FBI?” Payton said, taken aback.

  “Yeah.” Lyfe walked over to the window and pulled the drapes back and pointed out the window at the Caprice Classic. “The F.B. fuckin’ I! They follow me all day and all fuckin’ night. And you wanna know why? Because you set me the fuck up, put some bullshit in my name.”

  “How do you know that!”

  “The FBI fuckin’ told me, who else. You, oh and your boy. Quinton laying up in bed, laughing and shit. Plotting to do me in. And here you are accussing me of stealing your money? You can’t be serious. Who you better check is Quinton.”

  Payton blinked. “Quinton? Don’t put that shit on Quinton. He wouldn’t have the balls to do no shit like that.”

  Lyfe snorted. “Yeah, and that’s just what he wants you to think. And all while he’s robbing your ass blind. What did he do, convince you it had to be me, tell you you needed to fly to New York and take care of me? Where is he, Payton? Because if you think he’s waiting on you to come back to California, you better think again.”

  “You’re bluffing, trying to twist shit.”

  “Are you listening to yourself? Quinton moved all of your fuckin’ money into his accounts. That’s what I was coming back to California to tell you, but instead of being able to hold a conversation with you, you were too busy sucking the devil’s dick.”

  “Yeah, and you got mad and went into my accounts.”

  “Nah, I didn’t go into your accounts, but I hacked the shit out of Quinton’s.”

  “And why would you do that?”

  “Because when I did the audit, guess what I came up with, some online transactions to an unknown account. Dig a little deeper and guess whose name is on it? Quinton’s. Not only did he steal from you, he was sloppy in doing the shit.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “Fuck it, then.”

  Lyfe picked the papers up off the floor and quickly returned to his seat. “Look at the dates,” he stabbed his finger at the bank statement, “look at the fuckin’ dates. Two days after we got married, money in, and three days later money out. And where did it go? Quinton’s account. Same thing here …” he pointed to another month, “and here—”

  “But all you’re showing me is money from the company’s accounts. I had other accounts … in your name … where is that fuckin’ money, ’cause it’s gone.”

  “Accounts in my name?” Lyfe swallowed. “You were trying to set me up for washing money?” He clinched his jaw, “I can’t believe you would do some shit like that to me,” and rose from his seat.

  “Sit your ass down!”

  “No, fuck that! If you gon’ shoot me, shoot me. Fuck it. Go hard or go to hell. You only married me to set my ass up and be your fuckin’ fall guy—”

  “I loved you!”

  “You didn’t love shit! You were so busy trying to own me and make me into what you wanted me to be that you missed Quinton pulling the okey-doke on you. All while I’m out here busting my ass and this motherfucker’s making a fool of you. He’s probabl
y somewhere laughing at your ass right now, hoping you killed me, all while he packs his shit and leaves you high and dry. And how are you going to get away this time? Huh? Investors are liquidating like fuckin’ crazy, the economy is fucked, and people are going to want their money. And what are you going to give them?

  “Are you going to tell them that the statements you’ve been sending out are all phony? That the losses you may have reported on some of their statements are nowhere near what they’ve really lost? Huh? What are you going to tell the FCC? That they have the wrong person? What are you going to get, plastic surgery? You won’t have any money for that, because you’ll be broke—courtesy of Quinton King.”

  Payton’s whole body stung as Lyfe’s words rang true in her mind. She felt dizzy, as if she was going to fall. She braced herself by holding on to the sides of the desk. She looked Lyfe dead in the eyes and backed out of the suite, leaving him standing there.

  New York

  It was a minute-by-minute struggle for Lyfe to keep it all together, knowing that once this transaction was made he would be gone. And he wanted nothing more than to pick up his shit and run, especially since he’d hacked all of the accounts and transferred the money into Arri’s name.

  But he couldn’t flinch now; he had more to lose now than he’d ever had. Besides, there was no way in hell that he was going to surrender or shake hands with defeat. He was in too deep and he knew that if he slipped, even for a moment, that it would be the death of him.

  Lyfe lit a cigar and laid his head back and smoke floated out the crack in his driver’s-side window. He watched Keenan and Galvin pull behind him in their Caprice Classic.

  Fuck.

  He hated doing this shit, but he had no other choice, especially since time was of the essence—yet it seemed that each passing minute was taking forever to get here.