The Highest Bidder

by Chanta Rand

  Tristan waved him away. “I don’t want her to feel like I’m trying to buy her.”

  Lou sat on the couch and propped his feet on a nearby coffee table. “You may not be aware of this, since you don’t date much, but most women actually like diamonds.”

  “Alexa is not most women, Lou. She likes natural stones, like turquoise. Anyway, I want to do something different for her. I thought balloons would be a nice touch.”

  “Balloons are reserved for kids’ birthdays and office parties.”

  Tristan grinned. “Since when did you ever work in an office?”

  Lou pretended to be hurt. “Hey, I’m a well-rounded man. I did have a life before I met you.”

  “Okay, so no balloons. That’s not spectacular enough anyway.” He racked his brain, trying to find a unique gift that would show Alexa how much he cared about her. He wanted to do something to show her that even though he hadn’t seen her in a month, his commitment to her was stronger than ever. “Oh, I got it!” he told Lou. “Instead of balloons, I could take her on a hot air balloon ride.”

  “While you’re at it, how ‘bout NASCAR? The Texas Motor Speedway is less than thirty miles from here.”

  Tristan’s interest was piqued. “You really think that will impress her?”

  Lou shook his head sadly. “Damn, you got it bad. I’ve never seen you go this crazy over a woman before.”

  Tristan stood up, abandoning all thoughts of the Internet. “Hey, I tried to start out small. You were the one talking about NASCAR.”

  “Yeah, right. Admit it. You’re hooked like the letter J!”

  Tristan laughed. “Man, that was so corny. If only your homies could see you now. You’ve become a softie living in L.A.”

  “Oh!” Lou snapped his fingers. “Speaking of homies, I need to check on my cousin JT.” He looked at his watch. “You can roll with me if you want. I know a gift shop not far from where he lives. We can stop through and visit him for a while. Then you can pick up something more suitable for Alexa – like wine.”

  “Good idea.”

  Lou stood up and grabbed his keys. “I know one thing.”

  “What’s that?” Tristan asked.

  “You sure can’t give her any more flowers!”

  * * *

  Lou’s cousin JT lived in a crappy part of town. It was amazing how Dallas could have an exclusive neighborhood on one side of the freeway and worn out apartment buildings on the other. He’d noticed that the last few times he visited. Upscale homes were often separated from “the undesirables” by a few thin city blocks. Tristan watched as, within minutes, the landscape of chic downtown shops and restaurants degenerated into abandoned businesses and dilapidated buildings. It was like venturing into two separate worlds. Here, there were no Dallas socialites, no charity galas, and no high-priced malls. Instead, there were cars on cement blocks, garbage in the streets, and narrow alleys filled with street entrepreneurs. It reminded him of an episode of The First 48.

  A teenage boy sporting stringy red hair and wearing a white undershirt ran past them. Trotted past, was more like it. His jeans were hanging off his ass and they kept falling down, hampering his movements. Tristan stared as the redhead joined a group of other boys who were dressed almost identically. Before coming to Texas, he thought everybody wore cowboy hats and boots. But he could see that the steady infiltration of hip-hop had penetrated even the Deep South. Now, white kids were listening to rap music and wearing low hanging pants.

  “I think that’s JT’s house right there,” he heard Lou say.

  It was a decent house, but the wooden rails of the porch were barely standing. It looked like the Texas Termite Convention had come to town. Why didn’t JT just tear the damn thing down?

  “My mom and JT’s mom were sisters,” Lou explained. “JT’s mom had five boys and we all played right here on this street when we were young.” He looked around. “A lot has changed since then. He lost his mom to Sickle Cell, two of his brothers are dead, and the other two are in prison.”

  “What happened?”

  “Life happened, I guess,” Lou said reaching for the door handle. “My parents moved to Detroit when I was ten, so I kinda lost touch with my cousins after that. All I know is that all the boys were shuffled around in different foster homes after their mom died.”

  Tristan shook his head sadly. Some people were just victims of their circumstances. Once again, he was reminded of Alexa’s patient, Paul. Alexa told him Paul had been released weeks ago. He’d made certain to have the Predator office ship the boy a football signed by the entire team. Paul was a good kid. He just needed some direction.

  At first, Cousin JT was not as anxious as Lou to have a family reunion. Only after Lou held his driver’s license up to the peephole did JT open the door. The man who greeted them was dark-skinned and rail-thin. He wore a black bandana around his head. It matched his intense, midnight eyes.

  Once he confirmed Lou’s identity, he opened up like an umbrella on a rainy day.

  “Cuz, it’s so good to see you!” JT hugged Lou. “What’s it been? Ten, twelve years?”

  Lou grinned. “Fifteen, man!”

  JT shook his head. “It’s been too long. What you been up to?”

  “Staying out of trouble.”

  JT smirked. “That’s more than I can say for myself.” He looked at Tristan. “What’s up, man?”

  Lou introduced them. “JT, this is T. T, meet JT.” Tristan shook his hand.

  “Y’all come on in,” JT invited. He opened the door, which was fortified with iron burglar bars. “Wait a minute,” he pointed at the BMW. “That’s you, playa?” he asked Lou.

  Lou glanced back at the car. “Yeah, that’s my car.”

  JT’s eyes got big. “Man, you rollin’ hard. I thought I was the man. You the man!”

  Before Lou could respond, JT yelled to a group of kids who’d started to gather around the Beemer, looking at it in awe. “Y’all get the hell away from that car!” JT ordered. “Anybody touch it, gonna answer to me!”

  Tristan watched as the kids scattered like preachers caught in a brothel. Apparently, JT really was the man – in his world, at least.

  The interior of JT’s house matched the exterior. The furnishings were shabby. It was dimly lit. And there was a faint smell of a brand of tobacco that he knew damn well wasn’t from cigarettes. DVD players, car radios, subwoofers, and other electronics were stacked on the floor. Tristan didn’t know what kind of business JT was into, and he didn’t want to know.

  He gave Lou a warning glance that said I wanna get the hell out of here. Lou held two fingers to his nose, letting Tristan know they would leave in twenty minutes. They had their own silent form of signals that they used to communicate. One finger meant ten minutes, two meant twenty, and three meant thirty. Sometimes, they used code words too. Tristan didn’t really want to wait twenty minutes, but he also didn’t want to be rude. He sat down on a dingy couch that had springs sticking out of one side.

  JT addressed Lou, “Last I heard, you were in Cali working with some famous guy.”

  Lou nodded toward Tristan. “This is him. T-Rex.”

  JT’s dark eyes lit up. “Man, I thought you looked familiar. You be kickin’ ass on the field. You legendary, man!”

  “Thanks,” Tristan accepted the compliment. Wouldn’t that make a great advertising campaign for the Predators? T-Rex – he be kickin’ ass on the field.

  “I watch you all the time,” JT continued. “Nobody can touch you out there.”

  “Please, don’t stroke his ego,” Lou joked.

  Tristan chuckled. He could always depend on Lou to keep him grounded. He sat and listened while the two cousins caught up. After about ten minutes, he heard loud gunshots being rattled off nearby. Instinctively, he jumped. He’d never been around guns, other than the firearm he kept at home for his personal protection. Even as a celebrity, with his secure high-rise condo and his bodyguard, he’d never needed a weapon. He didn’t like this shit at all
.

  “Don’t worry about all that,” JT instructed. “Want a beer?”

  Tristan was ready to leave. He didn’t want to stick around for a drink. “That’s a nice cap,” he told JT. “I used to have one exactly like it, only it was purple.” Lou flashed him a look and nodded silently. Purple was the code word for Let’s Split!

  Lou got the message, loud and clear. “Look Cuz, we’re just passing through,” Lou said to JT. “We can’t stay long. I just wanted to drop by and check you out.”

  JT looked disappointed to be losing his visitors so soon. “Y’all should stay awhile. Hang out with me.”

  Lou shook his head. “We have to take care of some business before it gets too late.”

  “All right, man. It was good seeing you again.”

  “Likewise.” Lou stood up to hug his cousin goodbye.

  “Don’t wait so long in between visits next time!”

  “I won’t,” Lou promised.

  “Hey, maybe next time, I can come see y’all. I ain’t never been to Cali before.”

  “Sure, sure.” Lou stuttered. Tristan remained silent. He knew Lou was lying. This was probably the last time the two would see each other.

  Suddenly, all the hairs on the back of Tristan’s neck stood up. He heard a loud noise outside, and he knew something crazy was about to happen. In the next instant, the door to JT’s house was kicked in. Six guys brandishing guns came bursting into the tiny living room. He watched, horrified, as JT pulled a gun from the waistband of his pants. Tristan had no idea he was packing. What the hell was this fool thinking? One 9mm was no match for six men with assault rifles.

  The moment JT reached for his weapon, one of the men shot him. JT doubled over and dropped to the floor. Tristan’s jaw dropped as he saw blood spilling from JT’s stomach onto the raggedy carpet. Damn! How was this happening? When he’d heard about guys getting themselves in trouble off the field, he shook his head in pity and amazement. Now he saw how quickly an innocent situation could suddenly catapult from bad to worse. He watched as the shooter stood over JT and shouted at him. “You think you can screw with us and get away with it?” he spat. “Now you gotta pay, fool!”

  A bald-headed man stepped forward. “Where’s my money, Slim?” Tristan had to admit, that was a perfect name for JT. He lay sprawled on the floor, looking like a broken needle. Blood was oozing everywhere.

  “Where’s my money?” the man repeated. He was furious and spit was flying out of his mouth.

  “In…the back room,” JT stammered. He was barely hanging on.

  The man looked at the shooter. “Go git it,” he ordered. He watched as the shooter disappeared into a back room. Tristan figured the bald-headed man giving the orders must be the leader. The others stood like watchdogs waiting for him to make a move. Baldy turned to Lou. He looked him up and down, real slow. Tristan had a bad feeling. “You work for Slim?” the man asked.

  Lou shook his head. “Nope. Just passing through.”

  “Gimme your car keys.”

  Tristan’s heart sank. They must have seen Lou pull up in the Beemer. How were they going to get back to the hotel with no car? The concierge sure as hell wasn’t going to come pick them up!

  Lou hesitated. “Hey, we didn’t – ”

  “Give me the goddamn keys!” the man yelled, pointing his gun directly at Lou. “And empty your pockets, both of you.”

  Tristan was fuming as he laid his wallet on the table. If Baldy didn’t have that gun, he would kick his ass.

  “Take off your watch, too. Hurry up!”

  Tristan did as instructed. His father had given him this watch for Christmas two years ago. Now was not the time to be pissed off about it being stolen. Now was the time to shut up and pray to God he lived through this.

  The bald man signaled to another member of the group to collect the wallets. Tristan watched as the man opened his wallet and sorted through the billfold. They would pick the day I’m carrying five hundred dollars in cash. The man quickly pocketed the five crisp, hundred dollar bills. As an afterthought, he looked at Tristan’s ID. His eyes grew wide with surprise. “I’ll be damned. Look who we got here.”

  He showed the leader, who was just as shocked. “Tristan Rexford? You’re T-Rex?”

  Tristan nodded. Since his identity had been found out, maybe these thugs would cut him some slack and return his belongings. Maybe they were Predator fans.

  His hopes were dashed when Baldy spoke up. “Heard you went to one of them Ivy League schools. Yale or something.”

  “Nah,” Tristan answered. “I went to a public college.”

  “Bet you never had to work for nothing,” the man sneered.

  “I worked hard for what I got, just like everyone else.”

  Lou jumped in. “Look man, we ain’t got no beef with you. Let us bail.”

  “Shut up!” Baldy ordered.

  Another man stepped forward. He had braids and his face was sunken in. He looked like a wilted jack-o-lantern. When he flicked out his long switchblade, Tristan eyed it with suspicion. Everyone else had guns, but this fool had a knife. Either he was an idiot or a damn good fighter.

  The man stared at him. “I lost two hundred dollars on a game you played in.” A dark shadow crossed his face. “I never did like you.”

  Tristan shrugged. “Everyone’s entitled to their own opinion.”

  No matter how screwed up it is.

  He knew he was in a dangerous position, but he wasn’t the type of brotha to let people roll over him. He stood his ground and looked Pumpkin Face dead in his cold, black eyes, letting him know he wasn’t afraid of him. They had a staring battle for ten of the longest seconds of Tristan’s life. Suddenly, the man raised his arm and slashed Tristan across the face. Too late, he saw the silver sliver of the knife’s blade catch the light. But he did feel the sting of the sharp tip slice deep into his cheek. The left side of his face burned like it was on fire.

  He felt like he was watching the scene unfold from the third row of the theater. It couldn’t be his hand cradling his face. It couldn’t be his blood dripping over his fingers down to his elbow. It couldn’t be his life hanging in the balance.

  Then he realized it was.

  After that, all hell broke loose.

  Lou lunged forward and tackled the leader, throwing him to the floor. A loud crunch of bones vibrated in the air as the others pounced on him. Tristan swung at Pumpkin Face, intent on crippling the monster who’d slit his face open. He knocked the knife from his hand and punched the man square in the jaw. The man staggered backward and Tristan went after him, swinging wildly, determined to land a flurry of punches. He jumped on top of the man as he fell to the ground. Suddenly he felt a searing pain at the base of his skull. He heard shots ring out and then his world went dark. Either somebody had turned out the lights, or he was dead.

  Chapter Twelve

  Alexa pushed her grocery cart slowly down aisle seven of the Stop and Save Supermarket. Usually, grocery shopping was a tedious chore for her, something that had to be done merely so she could eat. There’d been plenty of nights when she’d practically ran through this store, skillfully maneuvering her cart like she was the star of the roller derby. But tonight, she took her time. She was in good spirits because she was shopping for two.

  This was the first time she’d ever cooked for a man. She wanted everything to be perfect for Tristan’s arrival tonight. She’d told him she could cook, but that wasn’t exactly the truth. Well, she could cook a few things, like Spaghetti and pancakes – not together, of course – but that was where her culinary talents dried up. She wasn’t even close to being Martha Stewart, nor did she want to be. Thank goodness she had Greta. She’d insisted that Alexa make chicken parmesan. The recipe sounded simple enough. After all, how badly could you mess up chicken? Greta had even offered to come over and help her prepare dinner. Alexa readily accepted her offer. It was the perfect solution because it also meant Greta would get to meet Tristan.

  When she
got to the cash register, a young, freckle-faced clerk scanned her items. One pack of boneless chicken breasts. One bag of Parmesan cheese. Two cans of tomato sauce. One large onion. One package of spaghetti noodles. And two long, tapered candles. The clerk’s eyebrow shot up when she rang up the last item. “This looks like a romantic dinner,” she observed.

  “Yes, it is,” Alexa smiled like a kid waiting on the Tooth Fairy. She had spared no detail. She’d even bought a bottle of scotch earlier. She knew that was Tristan’s favorite. “I’m having dinner with my …” she stopped in mid-sentence. What was Tristan to her?

  Her friend? No, it was deeper than friendship.

  Her lover? Well, that sounded so temporary.

  Her man? Yeah, that was a perfect fit. Her man.

  A voice over the loudspeaker blared abruptly, instantly snapping her back to reality. “Clean-up on aisle five! Clean-up on aisle five!”

  She hurriedly paid and grabbed her bags. She had a lot to do before Tristan arrived.

  Ten minutes after she made it home, Greta rang her doorbell. She had lost a few pounds, probably due to the stress she’d been though. But other than that, she was no worse for the wear. Her blue eyes were bright and excited as she helped Alexa prepare dinner. “I’m glad you listened to my advice and decided to take a risk,” Greta told her. “You look so happy and content now that you’ve found romance.”

  Alexa washed the chicken breasts in cool water. “After I got over my initial resistance, it was a lot easier than I thought. And it helps that Tristan is such a good guy.”

  “Well, you certainly didn’t make it easy for him.”

  Alexa smiled. “I was protecting my heart. But once I saw that other side of him, it changed my opinion of him. He’s kind and giving. Nothing like his on-field persona.” She wished Pawpaw and Tristan could have met. But having Greta here to meet him really meant a lot to her. She was the closest thing Alexa had to family now.