by Lamar Giles
I nearly yelled out. But if I called to them, if I let them know I was a witness to this bold daylight kidnapping … would they take me, too?
They got Freddy inside the van, the doors closed. I ducked behind a recycle bin while the kidnappers returned to the van’s cabin. When the driver closed his door, I spotted an emblem stenciled below the window. Too far away to make it out clearly and lacking the courage to get closer, I went for Dad’s phone, the camera app. I steadied my hands and zoomed in as much as I could, then tapped the shutter icon, taking multiple pics in a rapid burst.
The van pulled away, and I returned Dad’s phone to my pocket and removed my own. My thumb hovered over Molly’s number when someone yelled, “Don’t move!”
Fearing a fleet of clandestine vans and an army of black-golf-shirted cultists, I turned slowly toward the voice. These weren’t the same guys. This pair wore khakis and shirts identifying them as Cosmopolitan security team members.
Relief sagged my muscles, siphoned my adrenaline. I became more sensitive to the pain in my foot, but it was okay. Help was here.
“Thank god you’re here,” I said. “They took him. I thought he was crazy paranoid, but he wasn’t. They really took—”
“Miss,” Security Team Member One said, clutching his radio tightly, “did you run out on a check at China Poblano?”
“That?” I reached for the loose twenties in my back pocket.
“We said don’t move!” Security Team Member Two fingered the extendable baton fixed to his belt.
Those bulky men were, essentially, three of me. Yet they felt threatened enough to ready their weapons? I made up my mind, not another move. Every brown person in America knew how quickly this could go wrong. How quickly it has gone wrong.
“I was going to pay. I have the money in my pocket. If you could walk me back to the restaurant, I’ll take care of the bill. Then I want to tell you about the man I was chasing. How he was taken.” My enunciation improved with terror. Each word was loud enough and clear enough to impress a speech therapist. But I still spoke another language they couldn’t bother translating.
Security Team Member One said, “Can we see some ID, miss?”
Sure, plenty. My driver’s license. My school ID. Each exposing me as an underage truant in a restricted area of an established Strip resort.
I really should’ve paid for those tacos.
The skipped China Poblano check was easily reconciled.
The Cosmopolitan security team had the ability to take cash, debit, or credit. And they provided a receipt. Yay! No petty larceny charge. I reminded Mom of those fortunate and timely conveniences on the drive back to Andromeda’s.
“I don’t care one little bit about those tacos, Nikalosa! Don’t say the word taco to me again.”
We spoke of tacos no further.
“How did you get there?” Mom said as we emerged from the Cosmopolitan parking deck in one of the Andromeda’s town cars. “Did Molly bring you? You left with her this morning, didn’t you?”
“No,” I said quickly and convincingly, summoning every bit of my poker table deceitfulness so as not to implicate my friend. Or Davis. “I got an Uber after first bell.”
Getting caught by security was never part of the plan. Molly and Davis didn’t sign up for this kind of trouble. When Cosmo security granted me a phone call to summon a parent, I also texted Molly a warning.
Me: DISAVOW.
Though Molly, to her credit, didn’t blindly follow the order.
Molly: where are you?
Me: with security. mom on the way. don’t get caught, too, and don’t respond. deleting these texts now.
Aside from deleting incriminating evidence, I forwarded all the calls from my phone to Dad’s. The best preemptive strike of my life.
Mom had arrived at the security office in record time, and she’d taken my phone the moment she saw my face.
Driving too fast and aggressive for Strip traffic, Mom said, “What were you doing in a restricted area?”
Telling her about Freddy Spliff was never an option. “I was spying.”
Her response was a perplexed scowl.
“Our business isn’t doing so hot, Mom. The Cosmopolitan’s been doing great, booking conferences and conventions. I wanted to scope the grounds on a day when it wouldn’t be very crowded. Get a feel for what a successful establishment is doing right.” I emphasized the last words with the intent to burn.
“You skipped school to play corporate espionage at this hotel?”
“Not just the Cosmopolitan. I checked the Bellagio and Caesar’s, too.”
“For what? What did you learn? Please, tell! I hope it’s worth me grounding you for two months.”
I feigned hurt. “Does that mean dinner’s off? I was so looking forward to that.”
“Keep it up, young lady. Three months isn’t a stretch.”
Three months. Six months. A year. Whatever. Nothing short of bars and shackles was stopping me. Not after what I’d seen today.
“What happened to your foot?”
An Ace bandage coiled around my ankle and heel … another gift from the Cosmopolitan’s full-service security team since I’d tossed my shoes.
“A gold-and-diamond chandelier fell and shattered. I stepped on the pieces so I could smuggle them out. When we get home, you can pick them from my flesh and pay the mortgage.”
“Three months it is. School and soccer practice. That’s it for you.”
“Sounds fair.”
Ordered to my room, I stayed put into the evening. A struggle. Dad’s room, my notes and photos within, called like a siren’s song. Couldn’t give into it. Things went terribly wrong and I needed to project what Mom considered normal behavior as much as possible. So I sat, considered dropping an anonymous tip to the cops about Freddy Spliff’s kidnapping. It was a distinct possibility for a hot five seconds, but three things—which might be summed up as one thing, fear, if I thought about it too hard—kept me from doing what would be sensible in someone else’s city.
One, what proof did I have? I should’ve gone for video instead of a photo. That 20/20 hindsight.
Two, if I called the cops, and my anonymous tip—they always seemed suspect to me—wasn’t as anonymous as I thought, it circled back to my mom, and we got nuclear fallout I didn’t want to think about.
Three, the cops weren’t being helpful in Dad’s death. The van that took Freddy felt like the law … though that logo didn’t look like Metro. Bottom line: No cops.
With no good options, I resorted to my old hopeless mode. Dialing Freddy’s phone. Like old times, there was no answer.
Late that evening, I got a group text going from Dad’s phone. Molly informed me she and Davis made it back to school without incident on the strength of forged doctors’ notes. In a lengthy exchange, I told them all I remembered about the strange, incoherent Freddy Spliff conversation. How I wrote it off as cuckoo speak until he got snatched by the men in black (golf shirts). I sent the fuzzy kidnap van photo to both of them for opinions. They couldn’t make out the emblem either.
The afternoon went so wrong/weird, I’d almost forgotten about what happened right before Freddy Spliff showed. I hesitated bringing it up, but who else was I going to run this by?
Me: you remember that lady screaming right before FS showed?
Molly: yes
Davis: ✓
Me: i think she was yelling for tomas.
Molly: the guy who likes your mom?
Davis: ?
Molly: @D—N’s mom is smoking. a dude who works for them knows it. details later. @N—you sure?
Me: no
Me: but …
That lady could’ve been screaming for the real El Potrillo, for all I knew.
Me: idk.
Davis: that’s real coincidental, right? if it was him?
That’s just it. The part I was unwilling to say, even in a text. If it was him, it felt like the opposite of coincidental.
But … what
did that mean?
Our texting continued sporadically. Gavin joining late, taking us on a much-needed tangent about—what else?—that Griffin head.
Gavin: word is CG’s pissed.
Davis: wait until we launch phase 2. total psychological warfare.
Me: phase 2?
Molly: phase 2?
Davis: @N—remember that safe alert story i told you?
Gavin: dude! no evidence!
Davis: no worries. all i’m sayin is i gave G a tutorial.
Me: oh god!
The boys continued their thinly veiled discussion of torturing Cardinal Graham, while Molly started a separate private exchange with me.
Molly: what now? that freddy dude made it sound like your dad was onto something. and i know you.
It wasn’t a lie. She knew me, knew I wasn’t going to let it rest. I had no clue what to do next. Bring up Tomás to Mom? Couldn’t see that going well.
Freddy Spliff mentioned a scam. Might be worth hitting up Luciano, a cardplayer like him might know more about that. Though, if his number was in Dad’s phone, it wasn’t tagged with a name, and I couldn’t see going by that house, with its armed security and sketchy surroundings, unannounced.
I scrolled through the contacts, trying to guess which random phone number might be the right one, and paused on a name I definitely knew.
Dan Harris had been fighting for our family nearly three years. More than willing to go out of his way for us when there was talk of lawsuits and bestsellers and movies. Something went south between him and my parents. Having a little chat with him about it might be worth my time while I figure my next move.
Me: i’m thinking about seeing a lawyer.
Mom didn’t trust me getting to school with Molly but couldn’t break away from an early morning hotel emergency (something about a guitar and a toilet) to personally ensure my safe arrival. She left chauffeur duties to Mr. Hectór. In his sweet-as-can-be grandpa way, he gave me the business over my disobedience, and it was worse than getting grounded. If he had kids of his own, his disappointed look would’ve crushed their will in infancy.
“Your mother, she worries about you a great deal, Nika,” he said. Not Nikki. Mr. Héctor did things his own way. “You should be behaving better.”
“You’re right. I know. Is it okay if I turn on the radio?”
When I reached for the dial, he popped my hand, a sound like a whipcrack. “No radio. We haven’t talked in a while. We should now.”
“Ow!” I massaged my stung flesh, flexed fingers, wondered about nerve damage. “Okay. No radio.”
Peppermint and Old Spice was his signature scent. I was used to it being attached to smiles, welcome-home gestures, even a polite curtsy in the days before his bad hip. Not now. His lips were tight, and I knew whatever talk was coming wouldn’t be one I’d enjoy. I rolled down the window.
“You and your mama seem to be butting heads lately.”
“That’s us, a couple of rams.”
“I know things are hard for you, with all that’s happened. It’s hard for her, too. You know that, don’t you, Nika?”
“Of course, but—” I stopped short of saying it wasn’t so hard that Dad should be forgotten, his last days of life dropped in a shoe box and tucked in a closet. This was the first time since the night of the party that a rage wave crashed into me. It felt good, but it needed direction. Not at Mr. Héctor, never him. He might share it with me, given how much he loved Dad.
“She’s got Tomás to help her work through the pain, I guess.”
Even through the jowls that had grown floppy in the last few years, I could tell he’d clenched his jaw. Moments passed before he spoke again, and I thought we might spend the rest of the ride trashing Tomás for line-crossing. Possibly Mom, too, for letting him.
“You lost your father. She lost her husband. Measuring one against the other is a mistake, Nikalosa. A shameful one.” The words came through a grumble at the back of his throat, like a dog’s growl.
“That’s not what I’m doing.”
“What are you doing?”
What no one else would. “You’re okay with it? Dad was your friend, and she’s all in that dude’s face like—”
“Someone who’s shown your father nothing but respect in a difficult situation.”
“Respect?”
This was not going the way I expected. I willed the school closer.
“Your mother’s made plenty of sacrifices for the love of your father, his dreams. You don’t think a strong black woman like her longed for a life of servitude inside a Greek myth, do you?”
“It’s the family business. What else was she going to do?”
“Maybe you should ask her sometime.”
Mom never complained about running Andromeda’s. She complained about stress, and missed quarterly projections, and unreliable staffers. Never the whole. That was my thing. I wanted out. Mr. Héctor probably sensed it—saw me walking in with college brochures or something—and tried playing it like that was something Mom and me had in common. Peacemaking.
“Andromeda’s and Tomás aren’t the same thing,” I said stubbornly.
“What good does it do you hating him? From what I can tell, he’s done nothing wrong other than having misplaced affection and poor timing.”
Taking Mom’s side was one thing, but he was not making me the bad guy over Tomás. “What if he fixed his mistakes?”
Mr. Héctor shook his head. “I don’t understand.”
“My dad’s gone. Forever. That worked real good for Tomas’s affection, didn’t it?”
“Nika! Stop! What you’re suggesting is cruel. The man is guilty of nothing but having feelings for a woman you don’t give enough credit to.”
He’d never yelled at me before. Never. Guess we’re all trying new things.
He turned the radio on.
Great talk, then.
Mr. Héctor dropped me off at the main entrance, breaking his vow of silence. “Be good, learn plenty. And think.”
Only one of his directives interested me. I nodded, weak-smiled, waved him away.
What did I know about Tomás? Ex-cop. Security guy. Where was he the night Dad died?
I texted the besties.
Me: meet at my locker.
Gavin was slouched against the wall when I arrived, and Molly met me halfway with open arms. “I’m sorry we let you down yesterday,” she said.
“You didn’t. I’m glad you and Davis escaped. Everybody doesn’t need to take a fall.”
She breathed heavy. “Those fake notes we put together worked. The dads never even got a phone call about the classes I missed.”
“Told you we were golden as long as we showed up by end of day,” Davis chimed in.
Nobody heard him approach, and Gavin actually goose-jumped.
“You’re a mastermind,” I said. “Think it’ll work again?”
Molly’s face went slack. “No, sweetie. I don’t. Please tell me that’s enough to keep you attending your regularly scheduled classes today? I mean, we’re already here.”
Davis scanned up and down the hall. “Who’s paying attention?”
Some of Molly’s swagger dissipated. Gavin offered no backup despite her pleading glances.
“I’m not letting you take my car.” In other words, she wasn’t going. That was a problem.
Before I protested further, Davis said, “I drove today.”
Blank stares from us all.
“Cedric got the idea I was ‘riding to school like a real boy,’ told my driver he didn’t have to come in today,” he explained. “I paid him back for being so helpful by stealing one of his cars.”
“Makes perfect sense,” said Molly.
“I’ll help you. Any way you need,” Davis said to me.
My heart climbed into my throat. His offer, with no hesitation whatsoever. Not only that, another Bonnie and Clyde outing. Swoon.
“If that’s okay,” he said, doing a full-on hot and awkward thing.<
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Molly gave him the team captain stare; she had no power here. When he didn’t back down, she turned on me. “Nikki. No. It’s not going to go your way.”
Sure, I was already in trouble. For doing the right thing, though. If I found good intel, and finally told Mom what I was doing, she’d see how wrong she’d been. How … passive. We could go to the cops, or the news, or something together.
“Molly, take good notes today. Okay?”
Davis maneuvered a yellow drop-top McLaren Sport onto the 15 with deft coordination of his hands, feet, steering wheel, and gearshift. I luxuriated in the ride, my schoolbag on the floor because there was no other room for it in the tiny car.
His aviator glasses reflected the oncoming road, and with the morning sun hitting his face just right, I got an eerie premonition of the next decade, what Davis would look like at age twenty-six.
Would we still know each other years from now? Would we have Davis and Nikki stories worth telling?
Implications of such thoughts startled me. I shifted closer to my door, reclined my seat as far as the cramped sports car allowed. Then I propped one foot on the dash. Enjoying now, despite our grim mission.
“Where we going?” Davis asked.
Such. A. Loaded. Question.
“To see a lawyer.”
“Are we getting divorced?”
Laughter, couldn’t help it. “This guy worked for my dad. He might know something about, well, all of it.”
“You know Molly was right. We probably won’t be able to sneak back into the school like yesterday. Your mom’s going to know.”
“So will your dad. You don’t seem worried.”
“I haven’t broken the Carlino Prime Directives, so it will only be so bad.”
“Good for you.” I wasn’t sure I could count on such a casual reaction from Mom. But we were too far gone now. I pointed at the sign over our exit. “Get off here.”