Rocky barked and pulled her out of her TV trance.
“Yeah. Yeah. I’m coming, boy.” She rushed to let him out the back door so he could handle his business and she could shower and get dressed. But as she turned on the hot water, her cell phone dinged with a text message. Out of habit, she reached for the smartphone and saw a picture from Castillo.
When she tapped the screen, the picture enlarged with Castillo’s texted question, Look familiar?
Tomi squinted her eyes, and recognition bolted through her skull. She quickly hit the phone icon to call Castillo, who picked up on the first ring.
“Where did you get this picture?” Tomi asked, cutting to the chase.
“Just snapped it a few minutes ago at the Hay-Adams,” Castillo answered.
“Do you really think it’s her?” Tomi asked. “I mean, it’s been a while.”
“I’m not one hundred percent sure, but I’m definitely in the high ninety percentile,” Castillo said. “And that’s not all. Notice the dress?”
Tomi hadn’t, but took a moment to do so now. “It looks like . . .” She scrolled back to the previously sent pictures.
“Like the woman from the masquerade party?”
“You don’t think . . . Wow,” Tomi said. “Small world.”
“Tell me about it. Wait. Something’s going on.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. I’ll find out and call you back.”
“All right, but I’m headed into the office to . . . hello?” Tomi looked at the phone and saw that Castillo had already hung up. She shrugged and hurried into her shower. She’d deal with Speaker Reynolds’s dirt later.
Castillo disconnected the call and tried to make sense of the sudden swirl of activity going on in the lobby of the hotel. She wasn’t the only one confused as to what was going on. An elevator bell dinged and two obvious government employees filed out of the sliding golden doors with stern faces and an urgency that made Castillo’s heartbeat kick up a gear.
Manager Asshole raced to meet the men in the center of the lobby. Hushed and fast words were exchanged between them while Castillo pushed away from the counter and crept boldly forward. Once she made it within three feet of the men, Manager Asshole waved for the government guys to follow him. However, she did manage to hear something about security surveillance as the three filed past her.
Something is definitely up.
“Kasey, call the police,” Castillo heard the manager order.
At the girl’s puzzled look, he huddled next to her and whispered something.
The color drained from her face. “Yes, sir,” she said, picking up the phone.
What the hell?
Manager Asshole disappeared around the corner.
Castillo started back to the front to eavesdrop when another bell dinged from the elevator bay, but this time when the golden doors slid open, an African woman wearing a uniform released a gut-wrenching wail that raised the hairs on the back of Castillo’s neck.
A wave of employees rushed toward the short woman to console her.
The other guests entering the hotel glanced around wildly until their focus zoomed in on the hysterical housekeeper.
Castillo’s interest in the manager and government guys faded.
“Someone get her some water,” someone shouted.
“I’ll get it,” another woman wearing the exact housekeeper uniform volunteered and took off.
“Elle l’a tué! Elle l’a tué!”
Castillo dusted off her high school French and was fairly confident in her brain’s translation. “She killed him! She killed him!”
“It’s all right. Calm down,” a coworker cooed and patted her back.
Finally, a bottle of cold water was presented to her, but some of it splashed out of the bottle when the housekeeper tried to drink. As soon as she got a couple of gulps down, she wailed, “Elle l’a tué!”
“Who killed who?” Castillo shouted to the woman.
Everyone, including the wailing woman, stopped to look up at Castillo.
However, before Castillo received an answer, two pairs of strong hands latched on to her arms. “What the hell?”
“Ma’am, you have to leave,” a red-faced security guy said.
“Leave? What for?”
“Come with us,” he said.
Castillo was lifted off her feet and carried backwards toward the front door. “Hey! Put me down!”
When she was carried past Manager Asshole, she knew exactly where their orders to have her removed came from.
“All right. All right. I’ll go. Just put me down.”
Neither guard trusted her at her word and continued to carry her out the front door. Once beneath the portico outside, the men set her back onto her feet.
“Sorry about that, ma’am,” the red-faced guard said with an embarrassed nod.
“Yeah. I just bet you are.”
“If you don’t leave, we’ve been instructed to call the police,” the second security guy warned.
A second later, the wail of police sirens filled the air.
Castillo held up her hands and walked backward. “I’m going. I’m going.” She spun around and jogged back across the street. Once in her car, she didn’t slip her key back into the ignition. Instead, she reached over to the floor of the passenger seat and pulled out her camera and mounted a long lens. “There’s always more than one way to skin a cat.”
33
Abrianna looked like a hot ghetto mess when she stepped onto the city bus, but didn’t give a damn at that moment. Her mind was still wrapped around what she’d left back at that hotel. In a lot of ways, she felt as if she were sleepwalking. Nothing seemed real. So much so that she questioned whether she was still on a bad trip. There were plenty of stories on the street about how the latest craze, Cotton Candy, made people hallucinate.
You have to go to rehab. Shawn’s voice floated inside of her head.
At this point, she would gladly go to rehab if it would erase everything that had happened since she’d agreed to work for Madam Nevaeh.
Her eyes burned as if they swam in battery acid instead of tears. She made a lame attempt to pull herself together. It didn’t work, and soon after, she felt the weight of someone staring at her. Abrianna turned and saw a little girl. No more than six probably, just staring.
Abrianna gave her the “What the hell are you looking at?” stare, but it had absolutely no effect on the nosey child.
“You’re bleeding,” a woman said.
Abrianna lifted her gaze from the little girl to a woman sitting and frowning next to her.
“Your nose,” she added. “You’re bleeding.”
“Oh.” Abrianna touched her nose and then examined her fingers. “Shit.” She dove into her clutch, retrieved a travel-sized Kleenex packet, and cleaned up as fast as she could. In the compact mirror, she noticed her fresh-out-of-bed hair was pointing in all directions. Her eyes were still bloodshot, and her nose was swollen.
When she finished cleaning her face up, she smiled at the woman. “Thanks.”
The child’s mother just rolled her eyes and shook her head.
Fuck you then. A few transfers later, Abrianna finally reached her block. She pressed a bell, alerting the driver she needed to get off at the next stop. But as she stood to go, the .45 in her coat slipped. Time stopped as she watched the gun fall and hit the floor. She braced for it to fire.
It didn’t.
Relieved, Abrianna snatched the gun up. When she looked up, the other passengers darted their gazes away to pretend that they hadn’t seen shit. Standard hood protocol: no snitching.
Awkwardly, Abrianna shoved it back into her pocket.
The bus rolled to a stop and Abrianna exited the back door. The barefoot walk to the apartment felt long and humiliating. “Where is this damn key?”
“Ms. Parker!”
Abrianna whipped her head toward the voice and groaned when she saw her landlord rushing toward her.
“I need that rent. You guys are two months behind.”
His words didn’t compute.
The man was red faced and wagged his finger at her. “I’m not running a damn charity. Rent is due on the first of each month.”
Abrianna didn’t have time for this conversation. “All right. All right. I’ll get you a check this afternoon.”
“No more checks from you two. Money orders only!”
Finally, Abrianna found her key during her fourth frantic search.
“Do you hear me?” Mr. Gordon shouted.
“Got it. Money order only,” she shouted, jamming the key into the lock.
“I mean it. I’ll put your ass out!”
Abrianna rushed into the apartment, slammed the door, and collapsed against it. After several deep breaths, she rewound everything in her head and played it back—slowly. There were so many images blurring together that she struggled to make out what was and wasn’t real. She could still feel some of the Cotton Candy sloshing in her system, causing her hands and legs to tremor.
What about Kitty? Abrianna suddenly wasn’t even certain that the woman had even been real. That reality unnerved her. It wouldn’t have been her first time hallucinating while high. Abrianna racked her head some more, but remained unsure whether she could trust her memory.
Hot, Abrianna pulled off the chinchilla and then slid the straps of her dress over her shoulders so that it glided off of her curves and pooled at her feet. Once she stepped out of it, she slid down the door and sat with her knees to her chest. What now?
Remembering the clutch, she quickly dumped out its contents. Spotting her cell phone, she picked it up. Out of habit, her first call went to Moses.
No answer.
Her second went to Shawn—but it was before noon and her best friend was a notoriously late sleeper. Her call went to his voice mail.
“Shawn. It’s Bree. Call me. I’m in some serious shit.” She wanted to say more, but knew better to than risk it. She disconnected the call and thought about whether she should call Madam Nevaeh. But how in the hell was she going to explain a dead client? What about her money? Maybe something like this had happened before? Surely, she or Zeke had people who could clean this mess up. Either way, shouldn’t she give her a heads-up about what had happened before the police came poking around?
Thinking about the police, Abrianna realized that she was wasting time. She had to bounce. Disappear. Her fingerprints had to be all over that hotel room—not to mention a fancy place like that was bound to have surveillance cameras.
Cameras. She felt sick.
Abrianna’s gaze shot toward the television at the other side of the living room. Maybe they were reporting on the murder right now? She rolled onto her knees and crawled across the floor to power it on. However, the mad scramble on all the local channels had nothing to do with a dead body found at a five-star hotel but everything to do with a bombing. It took a few minutes for it to sink into Abrianna’s mind that the reports were talking about Reagan National Airport.
“The hell?”
“A large explosion rocked Regan National Airport earlier this morning at nine eleven a.m. One hundred and twelve people so far have been counted dead and over sixty-two wounded, twelve critically. All numbers are expected to rise much higher. Several of the injured had limbs blown off by the force of the explosion. This was the first terrorist attack in the D.C. area since the attack on the Pentagon on September eleventh, 2001.”
Abrianna shut off the television and stared at the blank screen. What the hell was going on today? Digging back through the pile of clothes that she’d just pulled off, Abrianna retrieved her cell phone. But once she had it in her hands, she stopped herself from dialing Madam Nevaeh’s number. What the hell am I going to say? What kind of protection can she even offer?
She lowered the phone. Abrianna needed more time to think about this one, but after another five minutes, she still drew a blank. Call Madam Nevaeh. Surely, she would know what the hell to do. How else could she survive in her business and in this town?
Abrianna retrieved her cell phone and punched in the madam’s contact number. She coached herself to remain calm, but as the line continued to ring, her anxiety mounted. “C’mon. Pick up the fucking phone!”
Finally, the line transferred to voice mail and she stuttered after the beep, “Uh, yeah. Nevaeh, this is Abrianna Parker. I-I kind of have a situation. I need you to call me back as soon as you get this message. Please. It’s an emergency. I’m currently at my apartment, but I have my cell right next to me. Call me back. Bye.” Abrianna disconnected the call, and then fretted on what to do next.
Pack.
Quickly, Abrianna stormed out of the living room. In the bedroom, she grabbed a weekender and gym bag and started stuffing them with clothes. She moved like a Tasmanian devil between the bedroom and the bathroom—until she caught her reflection in the mirror again.
“What the hell?” She leaned in and then looked down to see that she had splatters of dried blood all over her. “Fuck!” Immediately, she stripped out of her underwear and turned on the shower.
Once underneath the hot spray, unexpected tears flew down her face, blending with the water. She did nothing to stop them. The shower had always been a safe place to let her real emotions run loose.
Thump!
Someone is here.
Hyper-alert, Abrianna held her breath as her tears dried instantly. “Moses?”
Silence.
Abrianna shut off the water. “Moses, are you out there?”
Silence.
Her heart racing, Abrianna strained her ears to listen.
On the other side of the door, the hardwood floor creaked.
Someone is out there.
Abrianna pulled back the shower curtain and liner and stepped out of the tub. Quickly, she grabbed a towel and wrapped it around herself before she searched the countertops for a weapon. There was nothing, except for a package of razor blades. She took one, knowing that it would only come in handy if the attacker got extremely close.
She tiptoed toward the bathroom door, imagining everything from the Loch Ness Monster to a terror squad of ISIS militants on the other side. At long last, Abrianna placed her hands on the doorknob and twisted.
“Shawn!” Abrianna slumped with relief. “You scared the shit out of me.”
“Good. You not calling me all weekend scared the shit out of me too!” He nestled his hands on his hips. “I’ve been dreaming that you were taken by another serial killer or some shit.”
Abrianna rolled her eyes while her heart struggled to find a normal rhythm. “I see that you’re in your feelings this morning.”
“Damn right I am,” Shawn snapped. “Haven’t you been paying attention to the news? The damn world has gone crazy. Bombs are going off at the damn airport and shit.” He took a deep breath. “So . . . how did it go? I don’t want too much graphic detail . . . but . . . you know. Well?”
“I don’t even fucking know where to start,” she said, exiting the bathroom to head into her bedroom.
“I can’t tell if this is going to be good or bad news. You weren’t hurt, were you?” Shawn asked, following.
“I wasn’t hurt, no. Well, other than my fucking pride, but it’s pretty much used to the shit at this point.”
“So are we talking in riddles today? Is that it?” Shawn asked and then noticed the bags stuffed with clothes on the bed. “What’s going on in here?” Shawn asked, gesturing to the bags. “You going somewhere?”
“I . . . I got to leave town for a little while,” she said, sliding on a clean black T-shirt. “And I need some money. Do you have any on you?”
“Uh. Slow your roll. Why the hell are you leaving town?”
“It’s a long fucking story,” she huffed and then searched for a pair of shoes.
“Does it look like my ass got somewhere to go? Spill it.”
Abrianna didn’t answer while she shoved her feet into a pair of black
Timberlands. Hell. She didn’t have the words yet.
“Bree . . . you’re stalling,” Shawn said impatiently.
The buzzing started up in the back of Abrianna’s head. She blinked as her double vision kicked in. Oh God. Not now.
“Okay. This is clearly serious. You’re upset,” Shawn said, concerned. When she stood from tying her shoes, he took her by the hand. “C’mon. Let’s go into the living room. I’ll make you some green tea and you can just tell me what’s gotten you so upset. Whatever it is, we can fix it together.”
Abrianna allowed him to pull her along, but said, “Shawn, trust me. There’s no fixing this.”
“Don’t be silly. Of course there is.” He directed her into an armchair and told her, “Sit down. I’ll put some water on.”
She sat, but soon felt that she was wasting time. Who knew how much time she had before the police came banging down her door. But where in the hell was she even going? Or what she was going to do when she got there? Mexico floated in her head, but she didn’t know the language and she was sure that the country extradited fugitives back to the United States all the time.
Shawn returned. “Okay. It’ll take a few minutes for the water to heat up and then we’ll be in business.” He sat catty-corner to her on the sofa. “Now. Tell me. What happened?”
“I got to get out of town,” she said slowly.
“Yeah. You covered that part,” he said. “You haven’t told me why.”
“The party . . . was nice. Different. I was, uh . . . chosen by this guy who called himself Mr. Lucky at the party. I’m pretty sure that wasn’t his real name.”
“I hope not.”
Abrianna sighed.
“All right. Go ahead. I’ll be quiet. Finish.”
“That’s just it. I . . .”
Shawn reached over and covered her trembling hands. “Take your time.”
“He, uh, took me to the Hay-Adams Hotel downtown.”
“Nice.”
“Uh, we, uh . . . you know.”
Shawn nodded.
Conspiracy Page 17