Boss

by Tracy Brown

  She breathed a sigh of relief, grateful it would be just the two of them today.

  “Uncle Don moved out of this spot a year ago,” Troy continued. “Now he’s in a bigger place uptown, but he didn’t sell his old one yet.”

  She nodded. “How did you convince him to let us go there?”

  He shrugged. “Uncle Don understands. He can tell that I’m feeling you. Last night, after I dropped you off, he sat up talking to me till, like, three o’clock in the morning.”

  Sydney looked at him. “Talking about what?”

  He smiled. “You.”

  She smiled so hard, it made him laugh.

  “Don’t get hype. We didn’t just talk about you. He asked about school. We talked about the party.”

  “What about me?” She pouted a little.

  He grinned at her. “He asked how we met and how your grades are.”

  She drew back, a bit surprised by that. “My grades? Why does he care about how I’m doing in school?”

  “He wants to make sure that you’re smart enough to keep up with me.”

  Sydney laughed.

  “Anyway, I asked him to suggest a place I could take you to spend some time alone with you.”

  Her heart warmed.

  “He offered me his place, just like that. He said to text him when we’re on our way so he can let his doorman know.”

  Sydney couldn’t contain her excitement. She squealed in delight and snuggled into him as they rode the train together to Midtown. When they emerged on Fifty-ninth Street, they held hands as they walked to Uncle Don’s apartment. Sydney felt like the world was all their own. She felt mature, euphoric, and so blessed to be in this relationship. Everything in her young life was going exactly as planned. It didn’t occur to her until later how unreal it all was.

  The apartment was empty except for some staging furniture the realtor had brought in to help sell the place. Although it was unfamiliar to her, Sydney pretended that this apartment was theirs, and imagined a life with Troy in a space like this. She wanted to cook meals for him, to shower with him, and wake up beside him each morning. She wanted to shop for groceries with him, and do all of the things grown-ups in love enjoy. Troy, too, was grateful for their time alone. She had stolen his heart, there was no question. Christmas was two days away. He had something special in store for her.

  He pulled her close and kissed her sweetly. She melted into him, eager for the way he made her body come alive. He did just that, stroking her long and deep, kissing her everywhere, coaxing her with erotic whispers. That winter afternoon would be etched in both their memories for the rest of their lives.

  * * *

  Georgi finished cleaning up downstairs after Sydney left for Manhattan. It was nice having the house to herself for once. For the past couple of days she had been in a lavish hotel with her boo. But there was nothing like returning home to her own bed. She had come upstairs and cleaned the bathroom and had tidied up her bedroom as well while watching The Best Man for the umpteenth time. Now her home was looking good, smelling good, and the scent of her favorite holiday candles wafted through the house. She sighed and had a rare moment of contentment. She hadn’t been truly happy since Quincy went away. The years since then she’d been making every attempt to replicate the joy that bubbled within her before her husband was stolen from her. A lot of time had passed and these days she was beginning to wonder if she might find love again. She wasn’t there yet. But she was in love with that feeling couples experience in the early days of their romance. Malik and Sydney were doing all right. Life was good. Now all she wanted to do was get in the shower and take a much-needed nap.

  She walked toward her dresser and slid open her underwear drawer. Sorting through them, she reached for a pair of black Victoria’s Secret panties. Her hand grazed the lacy fabric and she was suddenly jolted by the throbbing bass of thumping rap music. The shock of the sudden sound caused her to nearly jump out of her skin. She hadn’t heard Malik come home. But she assumed he was the source of the radio blasting from her sound system downstairs.

  In a rage, she dropped the panties. She hadn’t expected him to come back so soon. And she sure wasn’t about to have her peace disturbed by this shit. She flew out of the door and headed toward the stairs, calling his name.

  “Malik!” she called out to her son loudly, hoping to be heard over the music. She was pissed. Was this what he did when she wasn’t home?

  Georgi rushed toward the stairs. Suddenly, it occurred to her that the music was unusually loud. What if it wasn’t Malik? She was filled with a strong sense of impending dread. The music pulsated in her ears. She thought about her gun in her bedroom. She turned, on her way to retrieve it, and saw a figure barreling down on her. Her body recoiled in fright, but the man was on her. He grabbed her by her T-shirt and yanked her roughly toward the stairs. He covered her mouth—her whole face, really—with one big, heavy hand. His other arm encircled her small frame in some kind of reverse bear hug. Georgi screamed against his hand, but was drowned out by the blaring music. He dragged her down the stairs roughly, her feet and ankles banging against the stairs. The bastard seemed familiar with the layout. He dragged her through the shortcut, walking her through the kitchen the back way and into the living room.

  Two men stood staring at her, their faces twisted into angry sneers. The one she didn’t recognize was tall with a scar that ran the length of the left side of his face. He held a large bat in his hand. She had never seen him before. The other was a clean-cut, but equally menacing figure she recognized instantly. Even before their eyes locked in a cold stare-down, she knew it was him. The moment that cold, rough hand covered her mouth, she knew.

  Don—Uncle Don to his nephew Wes, who was restraining her now—smiled at Georgi. Smiling was something that he seldom did and as he stood there now, it looked strange on him. She looked away, her eyes darting to the man beside him. She prayed for some humanity in his eyes, some compassion. She found instead the cold glare of a killer, taught long ago not to ask questions. Just get the job done. Don had made today’s agenda quite clear. Get the money and get out. Or kill everybody.

  The guy with the scar turned the volume down a little on the sound system. It was still loud, but not earsplitting like it had been.

  “Well, well, well,” Don said. “Look who it is.” He stepped closer to her. “I ain’t seen you in years, Georgi.” He spoke with the casual ease of someone who runs into an old acquaintance on the street.

  She laughed, though the brute had her face twisted at an odd angle. His hand still covered her mouth, but less tightly now. She forced her words out through the gap between her lips and his palm. “Not since you set Quincy up.” She struggled in vain against the beast holding her tightly. She wanted to spit on Don. She had respected him once. He had disappointed her by the depths he’d sunken to in the name of self-preservation.

  Don stood inches away from Georgi. He sized her up. The years had been kind to her. “So, this is where you been hiding. Right in plain sight.”

  She kicked at him, her foot nearly connecting with his balls, too. Don jumped back, pissed now that she wasn’t instantly remorseful as he had hoped she might be.

  “Calm down!” He glared at her, his patience thin. “You know I’m not the one to play with.” He stared her down, the music drowning out their voices. Georgi knew that was intentional. Everything Don ever did was calculated and planned. “Let’s handle business and I’ll leave,” he said. “We can keep this short and sweet. Where’s my shit?”

  Georgi panted, breathless after giving her all to that kick. “What are you talking about?” she asked, frowning. The goon holding her tightened his grip even more. She winced a little, well aware of what Don was capable of. He and Quincy had shared war stories plenty of times while sitting around her dining-room table back in the day. Liquor- and weed-fueled tales of men they had tortured, money they had extorted, people who had gone missing. She wished Quincy was here now to see Don leering at he
r this way, his cruel, hate-filled stare making her knees quake.

  Don shook his head. “Georgi, I don’t want to have to hurt you. But I didn’t come here to play games. Let’s get this over with before Sydney gets hurt.”

  Her eyes flew open then. “Sydney? What the hell do you know about my daughter?”

  Don laughed. He sat down on the edge of her sofa. “How you think I found you after all this time?”

  Her breath caught in her throat. She swallowed hard. A million wild thoughts ran through her mind at once. At the forefront was her fear for Sydney’s safety.

  “Right now, she’s okay. But that could change. It all depends on you.”

  Georgi screamed and fought with all her might against the man holding on to her. He covered her mouth again and tussled with her a little, but easily subdued her before backhanding her hard across the face for good measure. She lay pinned beneath him on the floor, stunned now and slightly dazed. Wes loomed over her, staring down at her with an expression that dared her to scream again. His large hands were balled into fists. She could see the imprint of a gun at his waist. She considered grabbing for it, but he had her arms pinned beneath his knees.

  Don pulled out his own gun now and set it beside him on the sofa.

  Georgi began to cry at the sight of it. She wasn’t ready to die. And if he did kill her, what would happen to her children? She had no idea what Don might do to them. Her kids were innocent in all of this. But she knew that she couldn’t say the same for herself. Fear weakened her guts. “Please,” she pleaded between sobs.

  “Shut up!” He cocked his gun. “I could have killed you already if that’s what I came here for. So calm down and listen.”

  Georgi fought to catch her breath.

  He glared down at her. “All I have to do is say the word and your daughter is dead. It’s that simple. And your son could be coming in that door any second. What’s his name again? Malik?” Don was grinning now. He saw her eyes go wide when he said it. “Yeah, that’s it.”

  She began to cry again. Not just out of fear for her children, but by the fact that Don knew so much about her family. She wondered what else he knew.

  “Listen, I’m gonna ask you again. Where’s my shit?”

  Georgi tried to keep her voice steady as she spoke. “What shit, Don? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She shook her head, dismayed.

  He stared at her, unmoved. “Georgi.” He shook his head. “You gotta stop playing with me.”

  “I’m not,” she said, her voice anxious and high-pitched. “I never got involved in you and Quincy’s business. You know that. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Don gave her a look of disbelief. “You were always right in the middle of Quincy’s business. What, you think I forgot? Always at the parties, always helping him stash the drugs, move the guns, hide the money.”

  Georgi sucked her teeth. “That was before the kids were born, Don. You know that. I wasn’t on the scene like that all the time.”

  He smirked a little at the memory of her back then. He had always liked Georgi. Over the years, she became like a little sister to him. Her man, Quincy, had been Don’s right-hand man. And Quincy loved his lady. Georgi had been fly with the perfect blend of sweetness and streetness. Quincy had always kept her close. He knew she was bad and never wanted to give another hustler the chance to offer her a better deal. Quincy had loved showing her off until they got married and started a family. Then he stopped bringing his wife around as much, encouraging her instead to make friends in their Brooklyn neighborhood rather than hanging in Harlem. Don realized now that he should have seen it coming then. The way Q strategically started drawing a wider line between his work life and his personal one. Q’s Brooklyn became his alternate universe, his hideaway after he had done his dirt uptown with Don and his crew.

  “I guess you want to do this the hard way,” he said. He stared at her, waiting for her to respond.

  She quivered under his menacing glare. “You talking about that thing in the Diamond District?”

  Don grinned. “Yeah. That thing. The reason your husband is doing twenty-five years in Clinton right now. That two-million-dollar diamond heist that went wrong. A man got killed. Some diamonds came up missing. That thing.”

  Georgi couldn’t look at him anymore. She knew exactly what Don was talking about. Quincy had accompanied him on that heist. They had an inside man who worked for a jeweler in Manhattan’s Diamond District. He buzzed Don and Quincy into the building dressed as delivery men. The robbery should have taken a couple of minutes, but the jeweler put up a fight. Quincy said that he tried to calm Don down, tried to quell his rage. But Don had shot the jeweler anyway, twice in the head.

  It had seemed to Quincy that the whole thing was more about Don’s pride than anything else. He couldn’t accept the fact that the man had the balls to defy him. Don was a man accustomed to having his way. Like most Harlem natives, he liked to put on a show. Any sign of disrespect, especially in front of his protégés. When Don ordered the man to empty the safe, the man twice boldly told him no to his face. Q had seen the look in Don’s eyes. He told Georgi about it afterward. Despite Quincy’s pleas, Don shot the jeweler. They managed to snare several precious stones and a handful of assorted pieces before escaping.

  It hadn’t taken the authorities long to hone in on the inside man. It had happened quickly. Under tremendous pressure from the cops, he had given Don up in exchange for a sentence of five years. Don was arrested, though the jewels had never been found.

  Mysteriously, in the days after Don’s arrest, the authorities raided Quincy’s home in Brooklyn, arresting him after discovering a gun that matched the murder weapon in his car. From the start, Q knew it was a setup. After the robbery, Don had taken the gun with him, seemingly anxious to get rid of it. How it wound up in Quincy’s car was a mystery he found easy to solve. The authorities raided Quincy’s home, but found nothing. All it took was for the forensics team to confirm that the gun in the car was indeed the murder weapon. He was locked up for the better part of his life.

  “Don, you got a lot of nerve coming in here like this,” Georgi said boldly. “Fifteen years Quincy’s been away. For something he didn’t do.”

  Don leaned toward her. “You don’t know what Quincy did or didn’t do. You weren’t there. All you know is what he told you.” He sat back again. “Quincy took something that belongs to me. We’re not talking about something small. Couple hundred, a few thousand. Maybe even a couple hundred thousand, I might look the other way. Q was my boy. But it’s more than a little bit.” His expression was serious. “I want that money. I want it today, Georgi.” He looked around the room. “I see you got some expensive taste. Got this big home theater system. This is a nice neighborhood you’re in, too. You been having your fun. Spending my money. Now it’s time to pay up.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t have nothing that belongs to you, Don.” Her voice shook as she spoke and it pissed her off. She didn’t want him to know how scared she was. “If anything, you should be here to give Quincy some money for taking the fall for you.”

  Don looked at her smugly. “The cops locked Quincy up. Not me.”

  “You set him up.”

  “Where’s the diamonds?”

  “Fuck you, Don.”

  Wes slapped her so hard that the sound of it resonated in the room against the beat of the blaring radio.

  He stared down at her.

  She was dazed, but she twisted her face into what she hoped was a sneer. It was a source of pride for her that Quincy had managed to outsmart Don the way he did. But, behind her bold front, she was scared to death.

  “What did Q do with the diamonds? Just tell me. Who has them? That shit was so hot, there was no way he moved it before he got locked up. He could have never done it that fast. So what did he do? Leave it with you? It wasn’t at your house in Brooklyn, ’cause we went there, searched everything. You left a house full of furniture, clothes, shoe
s, everything. You left there like you were coming right back. But you disappeared, just you and his kids. His mama stayed. She was at his little trial every day. But not you. You never came to court once. You and Q were like Whitney and Bobby, but you were missing. Y’all must think I’m retarded or something. I knew he set you up, sent you off somewhere with the dough. I looked for your black ass everywhere.” Don shook his head. “Where’s my shit?”

  Wes pulled her up to a kneeling position. She wondered if this was it. She began to pray out loud.

  Don was seething. He laughed at the irony that she was hiding in plain sight the whole time. Right there in Staten Island, probably mocking him every time she spent his money.

  Wes pulled his gun out and held it by his side.

  Georgi was crying more softly now, praying silently. The cold steel of the gun against her face sent shock waves through her body. The gun was heavy, the force of the blow rocking her. The next one caught her on the arm as she attempted to block the blows raining down on her. She felt the pain of the pistol-whipping against her face, arms, and head. Balled up on the floor, she attempted to shield herself beneath the coffee table. She felt like she might pass out at any moment. Throbbing pain seared through her body. Wes stomped at her legs now, his heavy winter boots grating against her fragile frame. Her leggings offered little barrier between her skin and his Timbs. She prayed even louder, her voice drowned out by the music. She wasn’t sure if the volume had been turned up or if something had shifted in her brain during this beating. She prayed that it would stop. And then, just like that, it did.

  The blows ceased and she felt the looming presence of Don’s merciless goon recede. She dared to peek out of the one eye she could still see through and she saw what looked like a struggle. Feet moved around the room as if a bunch of people were doing some awkward dance. She heard a steady ringing in her ears and tried her best to ignore it. She focused instead on the feet in the room, all dancing around. She thought about her own feet, counted them in her mind. She tried to wiggle them while she counted. One foot. Two feet. She felt encouraged. She could at least move her feet. At least she wasn’t paralyzed. The ringing in her ear was nonstop, but at least her feet worked. She watched the dancing feet again, all circling one another in some unrehearsed routine. Slowly, her mind wandered back to life. She realized the men were fighting, not dancing.