by Zaire Crown
Chapter Twenty-one
The price: three million in cash.
The conditions, the first of which had already been mentioned: no police. Second, they had until eight o’clock that night to get the money. Third, it was to be placed in a duffel bag and delivered to a place that would not be disclosed until minutes before the drop time. Lastly, and the part most baffling to Marcus, the ransom was to be brought by his new girlfriend; and if she didn’t come alone and with the money, Danielle was going to be sent back to him in pieces.
“Why? Why would they ask for you?” He stared at Tuesday again, probing her with those dark brown eyes. “Tabitha, tell me you don’t have nothing to do with this. Baby, please tell me what’s good!”
For most of her life Tuesday had been manipulating and running game on niggas. They’d been nothing more than pawns to be used as ATM’s, boy-toys, or goons when she needed. Lying to them came as easy as breathing. Tuesday couldn’t remember how many times she’d lied about her name, address, her plans, or how she felt. Over the years she had used that smile and those beautiful gray-green eyes to sell more bullshit than all the fertilizer plants in the world combined.
However, at that moment she wanted nothing more than to tell this man the truth. She wanted to get it out, to be unburdened by it, because this lie felt like a heavy weight that she was carrying and she wanted nothing more than to just put it down. She wanted to tell him everything from start to finish. How growing up without a father and having no positive male influences left her with no empathy for men. How her mother didn’t help because she changed boyfriends as often as she changed panties. How from the time she developed she was told that her sexuality was the best way to get what she wanted out of life. How spending years in the strip club caused her to see men at their worst on a nightly basis: tricking, cheating, and so disrespectful to women that it was easy to view them as targets. How coming in he’d been nothing but a mark she was looking to come up off of, but things had changed. How being with him and Danielle had opened her mind to the possibilities of being a wife and mother—things she’d never considered before. How in such a short time she’d come to care so deeply for them both. How guilty she felt because this was all happening because of her. How she was willing to give, not just everything she owned, but her very life to make sure that Danielle got back to him unharmed.
“Tabitha, how could they even know about you?” Marcus pressed. “Why are they so dead-set on you bringing the ransom?”
Again Tuesday wanted to say all those things that flashed into her mind during those two seconds since he asked the first time. She looked at him with a straight face, blinked those gray-green eyes and said: “I don’t know. If they knew about Dani’s school and how to get in touch with you, then they’ve probably been following you. In which case, they’ve seen us together.
“As far as why they want me to bring it instead of you, they probably figure that I’m less of a threat because I’m a woman.”
She stared at him, hoping that he swallowed that, and after a while he nodded thoughtfully. If Marcus had any doubts or suspicion that she was lying, it couldn’t be read on his face.
Tuesday really did want to tell him the truth but just couldn’t bring herself to do so. This was different from the past when she lied to niggas because she didn’t care. Now she was lying because she did.
Regardless of the reason, she still felt bad about it, though.
“Is getting the money together going to be a problem?” she asked, eager to change the subject. “You only got about six hours.”
Marcus fell back against the couch and sighed. “Getting the money here on time is nothing; having to ask for it is the problem.”
Tuesday’s facial expression was one of confusion.
He sighed again and Tuesday could tell by his demeanor that Marcus didn’t want to talk about this. “I work as a financial consultant in my father’s company—I’m not some spoiled trust-fund brat! I put myself through school, I earn my own money, and the only reason I have access to his corporate jet is because my position in the company allows it.
“Tabitha, I do all right—I mean my money straight—but I don’t have nowhere near three million dollars.”
Tuesday then understood what the thing was with him and his father. Why he lived here and like this while Daddy had long paper and a fat-ass mansion out in Beverly Hills. Marcus was determined to be his own man. He was not content to slide through life on his father’s money and name, but to earn everything he had for himself. He probably didn’t even like the fact that he worked at his father’s company, which could explain why he was so secretive about what he did.
Tuesday shook her head. “So now you’ve got no choice but to go to him with your hand out to save Dani?”
“Look, the old man loves Dani, and for her he’d give up three hundred million without blinking an eye. It’s just that I haven’t asked my father for money since I was thirteen and swore I never would. I know it’s just foolish pride, but this is hard for me.”
She grabbed his hand again. “I can understand you not wanting to be in your father’s shadow, but this isn’t about you and him. It’s about Dani.”
He nodded to agree. “You’re right. It’s about Dani.”
Marcus stood up with his phone in hand. “And just so you know, I don’t have any problem with being in the shadows: in fact, I try like hell to make sure I stay in them. It’s being in the limelight that bothers me.” He stepped into the kitchen to call his father, and Tuesday didn’t fault him for not wanting to do it in front of her.
While he was away, she thought about everything that happened today and what was probably going to happen tonight.
Despite what she told him, Tuesday knew exactly why they wanted her to bring the ransom and actually thought it was clever for the girls to set it up that way. After missing her at the Seymour, Tuesday had no doubt that she was about to walk straight into a bullet. In a few hours, she would have to deliver the money and herself right into the hands of her murderers. The trick was for her to figure out how to get Danielle back, kill those bitches, and still walk out of there with her own life.
Tushie was the only one she socialized with outside the club and because of this she knew very little about Brianna or Baby Doll on a personal level. She didn’t know who they fucked with, the places they hung, or even where they lived. The idea had been to keep things between them strictly business so Tuesday didn’t know too much about them and didn’t want them knowing too much about her.
Plus The Bounce was a cash business where the girls danced for tips rather than earned a wage. This meant that Tuesday never needed to keep the type of employee records that listed full names, addresses, or Social Security numbers for tax and insurance purposes. The girls didn’t fill out applications; she and Tushie hired them simply on how they looked and danced, so all she had for many of them was a stage name and phone number. It was the same for Brianna and Baby Doll.
That thought gave Tuesday an idea, but in order to make it work, she was going to have to practice what she just preached to Marcus. It meant having to swallow her pride and asking someone that she didn’t like for help.
She needed Dresden. Tuesday would rather have a lit cigarette put out in her eye before asking the dirty lieutenant for a favor, but for Danielle she would do whatever.
Tuesday was almost certain that Tank had tracked Doll to the club by slipping a GPS chip into her phone. While she didn’t have GPS, she figured that Dresden could somehow put a trace on Bree and Doll’s phones to find out where they were hiding out. She didn’t understand the science involved but had seen enough cop shows on TV to know that this was something the police did all the time.
She took her phone into the bathroom to make the call. Tuesday didn’t want Marcus to overhear and didn’t want to have to explain who she was talking to. She closed the door, locked it, then put the lid down on the toilet seat and sat there.
She had not talked to Dresden
in a while, and as far as he knew, everything with the lick was still going according to plan. She knew he was going to grill her about the who, why, and what for needing these phones traced but Tuesday thought up a believable lie the moment the idea came to her.
When she called, he answered on the second ring. There was enough noise and people talking in the background for Tuesday to guess that he was at the precinct.
“What?” he barked sharply in that raspy voice that irritated her.
“I need you.” She purposely said it with a strong sexual undertone hoping to soften him up.
It didn’t work. “What you need is to explain to me why you been ducking me for over a week! You need to tell me how it’s going with Caine and how soon I can have my money.”
“I was just calling you about that. You not gone believe what happened.”
“I don’t wanna hear any bullshit!” he said impatiently. “I just wanna hear how much and where are we meeting to collect.”
“The whole play goes down with no problem,” she lied. “We get this nigga and make ’em take us to the safe. One point three million in cash and at least a million more in jewelry.”
“Two point three million!” he gasped with excitement. Tuesday could hear the gears turning in his head as he tried to calculate his share after a six-way split.
“I knew you could do it!” he said, laughing. “You ruthless, cold-hearted bitch! You cast your spell and the poor bastard never had a chance against those wicked green eyes and that tight pussy!”
Tuesday pretended like his comment didn’t bother her. She hated Dresden, and his opinion of her should’ve meant less than shit, but the fact he viewed her as some evil witch who only lived to torture men was actually a little hurtful. She also knew that it stung only because it was so close to the truth.
“So when do I get my money?” he asked eagerly.
“Now that’s where the problem comes up.”
“Problem? What problem?” Tuesday could hear the excitement in his voice get replaced by panic. “Don’t think for one second you bitches are gonna fuck me outta my share!”
“You already got fucked! Both of us did.”
Tuesday laid out a detailed story in which the girls were back at the club counting up the score when two of them double-crossed the team. According to her, Brianna and Baby Doll decided they wanted it all, pulled straps and took everything. No cut for her, no cut for him. He was ass-out just like the rest of the crew.
Dresden was furious. “Tell me where those bitches are right now. I’m gonna kill them both!”
Tuesday smiled because he was sucking it up just like she knew he would. “Calm down, babe, you’re a highly decorated officer and you don’t need to get your hands dirty on this. I can handle it, but I need a small assist from you.”
The lieutenant was quiet for a moment and was probably deciding whether he could trust her or not. He finally said, “What do you need from me?”
Tuesday gave him the phone numbers and said she wanted him to run a trace. It took everything she had to convince him that she was on the level and that the next time he saw her she would be holding a bag filled with enough money for him to retire on.
Dresden was skeptical, but his greed won out over his suspicion and he agreed to run the trace. He tried to explain the procedure for having something like this done (the department heads to be notified, the trouble it entailed, the paperwork involved) and Tuesday only half listened as he spouted a bunch of codes and cop lingo. He promised that he was going to call as soon as he found out where the girls were at, and that was all she cared to hear.
When she got off the phone, she flushed the toilet and washed her hands just to keep up the front. She came out the bathroom to find Marcus standing right outside the door. Tuesday didn’t know how long he’d been waiting or exactly what he’d heard.
“The money’s coming,” he said flatly. “It’s being flown in and should be here with at least two hours to spare.”
Tuesday nodded, trying to pretend that he hadn’t startled her. “So fast. That was pretty easy.”
He gave her a look. “No. It was harder than you could possibly know.”
Tuesday understood. At the end of the day, a man’s pride was all he had.
“The money’s not going to be here till six,” he said, walking back toward the kitchen. “Nothing to do till then but wait.”
Marcus went into the refrigerator for the ingredients to make a sandwich: whole wheat bread, lettuce, tomato, condiments, and thin deli-sliced turkey. He sat everything on the prep island and began pulling lettuce leaves off the head.
Despite the fact that he hadn’t eaten, Tuesday could tell that he was just doing this to fill the boredom. She saw in his overall demeanor that he was very worried about Danielle and was just trying to play strength.
He was spreading on the mayonnaise when she came and embraced him from behind, just sensing that he needed to be held. He dropped the knife and bread then laced his fingers into hers. For a long time they just stood there like that with neither of them speaking. She placed her ear to his back and listened to the rhythm of his heavy heart.
After about two minutes he finally said, “If anything happens to her—”
Tuesday cut him off before he could finish the thought. “Nothing will! We’re gonna get her back and she’s gonna be okay.” It was a bold promise, being that she was basically powerless on this end.
As much as he tried, Marcus was unable to hold up under the emotional strain. He didn’t cry out loud but Tuesday could tell from the way his body convulsed that he was letting out quiet sobs. She just squeezed him tighter and murmured some consoling words. Tuesday didn’t turn him around because he probably didn’t want her to see this weak moment.
“I’ve taken so much from her. She deserves better than me!”
Tuesday didn’t understand what he meant by that and couldn’t even be sure she heard him correctly because he was so choked up. She figured that he was feeling guilty about Danielle and just chalked it up to that.
When Tuesday took Marcus to his room and laid him on the bed, it had nothing to do with sex this time. They cuddled together and seemed to be drawing strength from each other’s touch. This had been a crazy day for her too with finding Tushie and the shit that jumped at her building, so she needed his support as much as he needed hers.
Tuesday didn’t know exactly when he dozed off, but after a while she looked and saw that he was sleeping. She was still rested from the nap she took at the apartment so she slid out of bed, careful not to wake him.
In the kitchen she finished making the sandwich he started and sat it in the microwave. She thought he might be hungry when he finally got up.
Next she cut on the TV in the den, eager to see if any of today’s drama had made the news. Channel 4 broke a story about a carjacking on West Warren but nothing was said about Tushie or the bodies at her building.
Sitting there reminded her of how Danielle had fallen asleep in her arms during Aladdin. It was just last night that she’d sat safely between the two of them, but so much had happened since then that it seemed like a long time ago.
Tuesday brought her purse and thumbed through the money again hoping that she missed some in the rush count she made in Tushie’s bedroom. Counting money fast and accurately had always been a talent, so it didn’t surprise her to learn that she got it right the first time: $27,450 was all Tuesday had to work with. She had a couple thousand more stashed at her condo, but for obvious reasons she couldn’t get to that.
Rifling through her bag, she came across Tushie’s phone, which she had almost forgot she had. Tuesday still didn’t really know why she took it. She snatched it up just on a whim, not knowing what she thought it might be useful for.
She went through it feeling bad about invading her girl’s privacy—first stealing her money and now this. She saw her calls, some from her new friend De’Lano and a few with a New Orleans area code that must’ve come from family
. Tuesday checked her voice mail and only found the message that she herself had left just before getting to Tushie’s house.
Tuesday got a weird feeling when she saw De’Lano’s name. This was the person that Tushie had been spending all her time with lately and Tuesday thought that she might only be suspicious of him out of jealousy or simply because she didn’t know him. Whatever it was, something about the nigga stirred a bad feeling in her.
Tuesday used Tushie’s phone to call him but it went straight to voice mail. She didn’t leave a message. Truthfully, she didn’t know what she was going to say if he answered.
From the jump something had been nagging that this whole play was deeper than she thought, and it was then that she stumbled across the evidence to prove it. As Tuesday kept looking through Tushie’s phone, she eventually made a discovery that blew her mind.
She was in the photo gallery scrolling through a couple pictures Tushie had snapped with her phone when she saw him. It was a shot of De’Lano taken while he was sleeping on her couch with no shirt on. Tushie must’ve thought that he looked so sexy that she’d taken it just as a keepsake.
Tuesday became so enraged that she momentarily forgot that Marcus was sleeping upstairs. She cursed out loud and began smashing the phone against the walnut table until the screen cracked.
Even in low light and taken from a bad angle, Tuesday instantly recognized him.
Tuesday then knew exactly who killed her girl. It was the same nigga who just tried to kill her at the Seymour.
De’Lano was Slim.
Chapter Twenty-two
Tuesday was still trying to wrap her mind around the implications of her girl being set up. This meant that the kidnapping and the hit on them had been planned for at least a month. They had known enough to put a nigga on Tushie and taught him exactly what to do to reel her in. Tuesday then realized that her enemies were far more clever than she had given them credit for.
The same thing had been done to her girl that they usually did to niggas, and Tuesday didn’t miss the irony. She had taught Tushie how to get close to a mark, but not how to avoid being one. It was something that she never could’ve planned for.