Conspiracy

by De'nesha Diamond

  “Don’t say anything,” Abrianna warned when he opened the door.

  “Not even that you could do better than that loser Moses?” He lowered his own shades so that she could see his sincerity.

  “No. Not even that. Besides, you should see him.”

  Crusher sighed. “I’ll never understand you girls. Always flocking to the bad boys who treat you like shit.”

  A smile ghosted her lips as Abrianna conceded, “We accept the level of love that we believe we deserve.”

  Crusher cocked his head. “That’s profound . . . and sad as fuck.”

  Abrianna shrugged. “It is what it is. The story of my life.”

  Moving through the half-filled club, she kept her head down until she reached the girls’ changing room in the back. Inside, she dropped her bag and plopped into the chair in front of the corner vanity.

  For a long time, she stared at her reflection through the large shades. Be glad you broke up with that thieving bastard. Tears leaked beneath her sunglasses. Pathetic. Her life was a sad stereotype.

  Abrianna removed the sunglasses just as Missy and Cashmere waltzed into the changing room, laughing. Their laughter stopped the moment they took one look at her.

  “Goddamn, Bree!” Cashmere leapt back as if a killer in a horror flick had jumped out. “What the hell happened to your face?”

  Missy, equally horrified, crept closer to Abrianna’s chair for a better look. “Did your man do that to you?”

  “Of course not,” she lied, flinching. “Things got a little wild at the party last night, and I had a little accident and tripped.”

  The eye-rolling Olympics started immediately. The excuse was hardly original.

  Cashmere strutted to her favorite chair before the wall-length vanity. “Whatever, girl. I warned you that Moses had a bad temper. The last girl he fucked with used to have a whole lot of ‘accidents’ too.”

  “Cash—”

  “I’m just saying.” She tossed up her hands, surrendering. “You and ol’ girl sho’ do have a lot of shit in common. A bitch can make an observation, can’t she? I just wonder how long it will be before we find your ass dead in a ditch somewhere.”

  “That’s not fair. Mercedes OD’d,” Abrianna reminded her.

  Cashmere lifted one of her pencil-thin eyebrows. “Is that what your nigga told you?” She laughed. “Then you’re stupider than I thought.”

  “Whatever.” Abrianna leaned over and dug her makeup out of her gym bag. There was absolutely nothing that stage makeup couldn’t cover up. She wasn’t about to tell those girls that she and Moses had broken up. Because then they would want to know why and what happened, and it was none of their business.

  By the time more of the evening dancers filtered into the dressing room, Abrianna was right as rain and ready for her close-up. However, she needed a pick-me-up before hitting the stage. At least the coke stopped all the buzzing inside of her head. It was the only thing that did. But then she argued with herself that she didn’t need it and she had to work on cleaning up her act like she’d promised Shawn. She kept telling herself that she wasn’t going to take the hit even while she prepped the needle and spread her toes.

  Within seconds, the cocaine hit her bloodstream. Her problems and exhaustion melted away and bathed the world in a golden, shimmery light. But Shawn’s voice floated out to her. You need help.

  “I know. I know,” she mumbled.

  Missy and Cashmere twisted their faces.

  “What? What the hell are you two looking at?” Abrianna snapped.

  “Not much,” Cashmere snarled, moving past her. “Alexei has gotta do something about hiring all these damn junkies. It’s bad for business.”

  “For real,” Missy co-signed.

  Fuck you bitches. Abrianna tossed the disposable needle toward a small wastebasket near the pink lockers, not concerned with whether she made the shot. It’s showtime.

  She took to the stage as Autumn Breeze. The cheers, hoots, and catcalls when she hit the stage exploded her ego. After all, it wasn’t too long ago that she had been through a chubby, acne-prone phase. She’d shoved candy bars down her throat rather than deal with the nightmare that she’d lived through. Now there weren’t any traces of that ugly duckling. Her skin was smooth milk chocolate, and no one could pinch more than an inch off of her Coke-bottle curves. Celebrity bitches paid a fortune for an ass like hers. And she was young, so her thirty-eight C cups defied gravity. But, in a lot of ways, she was still that same preteen, only she preferred drugs to candy bars. Heaven knew that she carried the same baggage, the same pain, and the same ghosts around everywhere she went.

  After her first set, she headed to the champagne room to give private dances. Invisible. That was what most of the girls grinding on golden poles inside that room were. Invisible. The johns didn’t see them, not the real women. They never did . . . or even tried. Abrianna was a little girl lost. A barely legal sex kitten, winding her baby-oiled hips and sliding around while a thousand lights from a cheap disco ball turned her into their wildest fantasies. She was what they couldn’t get at home. A perfect body, a constant smile, and no judgment about their base desires.

  It wasn’t much of a life, but it was hers. She wasn’t looking for a fucking pity party. She had a plan. At least, she used to. Now she didn’t know what the fuck she was going to do. The Stallion had been good to her. It wasn’t so bad—better than working the seedy streets of the nation’s capital. The few times her path had crossed with politicians in expensive suits and unnaturally white veneers, she’d wanted to scrub her body with bleach.

  “Marry me,” Father Sherwyn panted above a nasty Rihanna beat.

  She rolled her hips and teased him with quick flashes of her pussy. “You ask me that every week,” she said, smiling.

  “That’s because you keep saying no,” he whined, playfully.

  Abrianna turned around, bent over, and grabbed her ankles.

  “Oh sweet baby Jesus.” Sweat broke out across the good father’s forehead.

  Wiggling her ass, she dared him to take a bite. “Catholic priests allowed to get married?”

  “No, but I’d give it all up for you.”

  “Really? You’d give up your God just for lil’ ol’ me?” She sat, spun and spread her legs in a perfect V. Her pussy was an open banquet.

  Love, lust, and desire visibly battled across his face.

  “Yes. Yes. I’d give you whatever you want,” he promised, caressing her inner thighs.

  Hulk, the champagne room’s watch dog, caught the slick move. “Hands off,” he bellowed.

  Father Sherwyn jerked back. “Sorry,” he apologized, but then refocused on her body.

  Abrianna pretended to be sorry that their fun had been interrupted by silly clubhouse rules. Her eyes said, If only we could be alone. I would rock your world.

  Father Sherwyn tugged on his white collar, and his greedy gaze followed her as her legs lowered to the floor and she pushed away from the table and invaded his personal space.

  “Oh, Father, forgive me for I have sinned,” the priest whispered.

  She placed her hands on the sides of his head and lovingly nestled it between her breasts.

  He sighed and wept.

  Abrianna sliced a bored look at Hulk. When she let the good father up, his face sparkled with body glitter while fat tears rolled down his face. Nirvana.

  Hulk shook his head as if to say, Pitiful.

  Father Cory Sherwyn was harmless. He’d been a weekly regular for a while. The first time he’d requested a private dance, she’d turned him down. She may have played with a lot of things in her life, but she didn’t play with God—just in case he was real. She was an atheist, but she figured, from time to time, she should err on the side of caution. Management disagreed. When word reached Alexei’s ears about how she’d caught the good father’s eye but had steadfastly turned him down, she had been snatched away to a corner so fast that it had made her head spin. Alexei had given her an ultimatum
: dance or take her ass back to the street corners.

  No fucking way was she going back on the street corners.

  No. Fucking. Way.

  “The Stallion Gentleman’s Club,” Kadir grumbled and wondered how he’d let Ghost talk him into meeting here. He personally wasn’t a strip club kind of guy but he’d never knock his friends who frequented such places—often blowing through whole paychecks. He parked, stared at the building, and searched for the energy to go inside.

  “Just a few minutes. No drinking,” he promised himself before climbing out of the car.

  An enormous man at the door greeted him, “Welcome to the Stallion Gentlemen’s Club. Have a good time.”

  “Thank you.”

  Inside, the music was loud, the women were sexy, and the customers all looked happy. It took a few minutes to spot his friend Ghost, waiting in a booth.

  “Welcome back to the revolution, brother.” Ghost and Kadir slapped palms and drifted into a special handshake. “I can’t believe that you’re really out.”

  “Alhamdulillah,” Kadir said.

  “Amen, brother. Praise God.” Ghost’s smile blanketed his face. “Please. Please. Have a seat.” He gestured to the leather U-shaped booth he’d just vacated. A double shot of whiskey awaited his return.

  “What’s your poison?” Ghost asked, signaling the waitress.

  “I’ll have a ginger ale,” Kadir said, looking around the place. The scantily clad women were definitely hard to ignore.

  “Ginger ale? For real?”

  “For real.” Kadir chuckled and resumed scanning the place.

  “Are you expecting someone?”

  “No. Why?” He glanced over his shoulder again.

  “Oh. I don’t know,” Ghost mused. “Maybe because you keep looking around.”

  A bubbly waitress with breasts bigger than her petite frame arrived. “Afternoon, gentlemen. Drinks?” The pretty blonde ignored Ghost and zeroed in on Kadir.

  Kadir returned the smile, but not her open interest.

  “Two whiskeys,” Ghost ordered.

  Blondie squeaked a perky, “You got it!”

  When she spun away, Ghost’s gaze zoomed in on her tight ass. “God, I love this place.”

  “I see you haven’t changed,” Kadir chuckled.

  “What can I say? Once an ass man, always an ass man.”

  “Duly noted.”

  “What about you?” Ghost centered his attention to his old friend. “Any action since you’ve been out?”

  “A gentleman never fucks and tells,” Kadir said.

  “Ha! I’ll keep that in mind when I meet one. But what about you? Are you fucking anyone yet?”

  “No.”

  Ghost cocked his head. “Would you tell me?”

  “No.”

  “Asshole.” He swigged his drink. “You got to get Malala out of your system, bro. It’s fucked up what happened and all, but it’s time. Time to move on. You know what I mean?”

  “If this is going to be the conversation, then maybe I will need that drink.”

  “Look. We go way back, right?”

  Kadir nodded, shrugged.

  “As boys, I know that . . . the touchy-feely stuff is off limits but . . .” Ghost leaned over the table and lowered his voice. “I’m worried about you. Men aren’t built to go so long without pussy. Six years?” He whistled and fell back against his seat. “Ain’t natural.”

  Kadir managed a half smile while his thoughts drifted to what might have been. While he was locked up, Malala had waited for him—for four whole years—then she had been killed in a car crash. Before then, she’d never missed a visit, letters had arrived like clockwork, and she’d planned their wedding with such lavish detail that he saw it each night in his dreams. Then she was gone.

  And the world kept spinning.

  “Yeah. Sure. Time to move on,” Kadir mumbled and checked over his shoulder.

  “Seriously, man.” Ghost dropped the smile. “What is it? You’re making me nervous now. Are you hot?”

  “No. Nothing like that.”

  “Then what?”

  Their waitress returned. “Here you go, fellas. Two whiskeys.” The wattage on her smile boosted. “Is there anything else I can get you? Wings, nachos—my phone number?”

  “No. I think—”

  “He’d love your number,” Ghost interrupted.

  She hesitated.

  “He is shy,” he added.

  “Is that right?” Eyes twinkling, she grabbed Kadir’s hand and wrote her info on his palm. “My name is Crystal. I get off at midnight,” she said, winked, and sauntered off.

  The men watched her ass bounce and jiggle away

  “You think it’s real?” Ghost asked.

  Kadir frowned.

  “A lot has changed since you’ve been gone,” Ghost picked up his drink and evaluated Kadir. “The revolution really could use you, man. You’re tech savvy and ex-military.”

  “What does my military service got to do with anything?”

  Ghost shrugged. “Honestly? I was thinking about starting my own little paramilitary security firm. For the people. Truth. Justice. Revolution. The usual shit.”

  “Another revolution? So did you invite me here to recruit me back into doing the same shit that landed my ass in jail or to get me laid?”

  “Yes. To both.”

  Kadir laughed.

  “C’mon. Taking down The Man is a lifelong commitment. Deep down, you know that you’re still a true believer. The shit has gotten worse out here, bro. Everything that you railed against back in the day has come to pass. The American people are asleep, man. They can’t see what’s right in front of them. The NSA, global corporations—both national and international.”

  Ghost stopped suddenly. “You don’t have a cell phone on you, do you?”

  “Just a burner, charging outside in the car.”

  Ghost relaxed. “Well . . . you make sure that you toss it every three days.”

  “Why three days?”

  “I don’t trust even numbers.”

  “Makes sense.” Kadir reached for his glass.

  “Look. All of this sounds crazy, but the government ain’t playing with whistleblowers anymore. They got the whole damn country convinced that we’re domestic terrorists instead of truth seekers.”

  “Preaching to the choir.” Kadir laughed.

  “You were among the first and second wavers, man. Now the government isn’t bothering to run us through the courts. Muthafuckas. The government declared war on its own citizens, and the people haven’t even noticed the prison bars. The country is one big fucking police state.”

  Kadir looked around. “This is a prison?”

  “I’m telling you, people are disappearing. And that crooked judge that threw you in the clink, she’s nominated to be the damn chief justice on the United States Supreme Court now.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me in the least.”

  “Remember my man Stevie Jay? He was a savant with security walls. There wasn’t anything that brother couldn’t hack into. Trust and believe that he’d amassed a hell of an enemies list. China, Russia, and the good ol’ U.S.A. were all looking for his ass.”

  “So what happened?”

  “Don’t know.” Ghost went for another sip of his drink. “He just poofed into thin air.”

  “That doesn’t prove anything.” Kadir shrugged. “Maybe he just decided to get out of the game. Retire.”

  Ghost dismissed the comment. “Dude was set to marry the girl of his dreams. I was his best man. No way Stevie would’ve left Felicia crying on her bridesmaids’ shoulders, five months pregnant like that. No way.”

  Kadir digested the information but still couldn’t see how it was proof of anything.

  “That firm you hacked into six years back that landed you in the clink?”

  “Yeah?”

  “They are the worst of them all. Part security firm, part paramilitary, and they aren’t only operating overseas. It�
�s all fucking scary as shit, man. Sheep. The whole damn country.”

  Kadir set down his drink. “Not to criticize, but this is a pathetic recruitment speech.”

  Ghost’s smile resurfaced. “The cause is righteous.”

  Kadir hedged.

  “Am I wrong?” Ghost prodded.

  Kadir smiled, but only one corner of his lips shifted upward. “Six years was a long time to sit and think.”

  “Yeah, man, but—”

  “And for what?” Kadir challenged. “What have any of our sacrifices really ever done? We get one or two laws passed that no one ever follows? Laws are just words on a piece of paper.”

  “Wow.” Ghost stared as if Kadir had sprouted a second head. “You’re really tossing in the towel? You’re like . . . a legend. A lot of guys on the team look up to you—to what you accomplished.”

  “I accomplished losing years of my life, my fiancée, and my family. I’m not proud of any of that.”

  Ghost insisted, “The truth still matters.”

  “To whom?” Kadir finished off his drink. “The truth and a nickel will get me exactly where I am right now: broke and unemployable. Now you’re telling me that people are disappearing? Nah. I’m good.”

  “C’mon, man. I told my guys that you were a shoo-in.”

  “Sorry. You’ll have to disappoint them—but I wish you well, man. Really.” Kadir eased out of the booth and stood. “It was good seeing you again.” Digging into his front pockets, he pulled out a twenty and tossed it down onto the table.

  Sighing, Ghost climbed out. “I can’t tell you how disappointed I am . . . but I understand.”

  “Do you?”

  “No. But it sounded like the right thing to say.” Ghost offered his hand.

  Kadir debated and then shook it. When he looked back up, Ghost smiled. “What?”

  “You’re tempted.”

  “No. I’m not,” he lied.

  “Yeah. Yeah. Keep telling yourself that.” Ghost’s smile spread wider. “How about you sleep on it? You know how to find me.”

  The club’s DJ boomed over the club. “Gentlemen, the moment that you all have been waiting for. Please welcome her return to the stage: the sexy Autumn Breeze!”