by Zaire Crown
She was thinking about all the other things that she might’ve slipped when Dresden’s call came. The trace went through and he knew where Bree and Baby Doll both were. He tried to tell Tuesday about all the shit he had to go through to get it done, wanting her to kiss his ass, and she played along just to get the information.
He explained that using the different cell phone towers around the city, he could pinpoint their location within twenty feet. In front of him was a large map of Detroit with Brianna and Baby Doll appearing as two colorful dots blinking on a screen. It wasn’t a live camera feed but just as accurate.
Tuesday couldn’t believe it when he said they were on Schaefer and 7 Mile because that meant they were at The Bounce. She couldn’t be sure if Danielle was there with them or if that’s just where they intended for the deal to go down. All Tuesday knew was that the system the police were using to live-track their phones put both of them there at that moment.
The audacity of those bitches to use her own club as their little hideout. With it being closed over the past couple days, they probably figured she would’ve never thought to look there—and truthfully, she wouldn’t have. That De’Lano nigga must’ve taken the spare set of keys off Tushie, which was how they got inside.
Dresden got off the phone promising to let her know if either of them moved. She knew that he was only being so helpful in the hopes of her getting back his share of the money. He wouldn’t have given a fuck if he knew this was really about trying to save a little girl’s life, especially a black one.
Tuesday had to move quickly but didn’t know what her next move should be. She had the element of surprise but not much else. If she went in there guns blazing, she risked getting herself and Danielle killed. If she went in there guns blazing and Danielle wasn’t with them, she risked never finding out where she was.
She needed to come up with one of her brilliant, airtight plans that accounted for every possibility. The problem was that she didn’t have enough information and was too emotionally involved to analyze this properly.
When Marcus woke up, he told her that his father was flying the money in on his jet and that it was almost time to go pick it up. Fifteen minutes later they were out the door and headed to the airport to meet him. Tuesday couldn’t imagine anybody else putting together that kind of paper that fast, but she figured that his old dude probably tripped over three million dollars when he rolled out of bed in the morning.
They met him inside the hangar where the Abel Inc. G-650 was being refueled. Tuesday stayed close to the hangar doors; besides being nauseated by the fumes, she didn’t want to be in the mix when he talked to his father.
She watched as Brandon King stepped off the plane carrying a black leather case about the size of a travel pen for a small dog. He passed it to Marcus and gave him a quick pat on the shoulder. Marcus accepted it with a nod, they exchanged a few words, and then he turned and was headed back toward her while the old man got back on his plane. It didn’t take five seconds and Tuesday was fucked up because she used to have to go through way more than that just to get ten dollars from her mother.
Going back through the airport, Tuesday was a lot more nervous and walked at a much faster pace than he did. After 9/11 it just seemed like it should be a lot harder transporting a case full of cash; apparently it was just another one of the perks of owning a private jet. Marcus was calm, but Tuesday was sweating like he was carrying ten kilos of dope. When they made it out the front exit without being stopped or searched by anyone, she breathed a sigh of relief.
When they got back to his car, Marcus sat the case on the backseat and opened it. Tuesday couldn’t believe her eyes. Ben Franklin never looked so handsome or had so many twins. Tuesday knew the difference between dope money that had changed hands a few times and that crispy shit straight from the treasury. Fresh new one-hundred-dollar bills were bound together in thick fifty-thousand-dollar stacks. She watched, mesmerized, as he pulled out each one and hefted it in his palm. Every brick contained five hundred C-notes, and he seemed to be checking it by weight rather than thumbing through all the bills.
Tuesday had never seen that much money in her life and the sight of it had her in a trance. She thought about all the nights she danced on stage for crumbs, all the trifling-ass niggas she had to fuck, and all the risks she took just to see a small piece of that. She would spend weeks, and sometimes months, putting together the perfect lick for a few thousand; meanwhile, this nigga made one phone call and had millions delivered to him on a silver platter.
Must be nice to have a rich daddy! she thought to herself. As much as she liked Marcus, and respected that he was trying to be his own man, there was a part of her that was really hating right then.
It took some time but he finally counted sixty of those 50K bundles. When he was done, Marcus stacked them neatly back into the case and zipped it closed.
“It’s all there?” Tuesday asked innocently. She tried to pretend that her eyes weren’t glued to the money the whole time he was counting it.
He nodded to confirm it was, then put the car in gear and pulled away from the airport. Tuesday heard it calling to her from the backseat but resisted the urge to turn around and just stare at the bag.
They were on the Lodge Freeway and headed back out to Romulus when Tuesday began to feel sick. She was holding her stomach and rocking in her seat. She was moaning and her face was contorted with pain.
“You all right?” he asked, glancing over to her with a concerned look. “You say I make you, but I didn’t think you meant sick for real!”
“It was the smell of that jet fuel at the airport,” she groaned. “That shit got my head bangin’ and my stomach fucked up.”
“Don’t worry, babe, I’m gone hit a Rite-Aid before we get to the house. Chase down a couple aspirin with some Pepto and you should be straight.”
Tuesday shook her head. “I don’t think I’m gone make it!” she cried. “Pull over. I think I’m ’bout to throw up!”
Marcus quickly made his way to the side of the freeway and Tuesday cracked the door then stuck her head out. He listened as she spent a minute making some disgusting sounds, but from his angle he couldn’t tell if anything came up.
When Tuesday pulled her head back inside, Marcus asked if she felt better but she didn’t answer. When she went into her bag Marcus thought it was for a breath mint or some gum. He didn’t know what to think when she pulled out the Heckler.
Tuesday shook her head. “I’m so sorry about this. I like you, Marcus, I really do, but I need that money!”
He thought that Tuesday was joking but there was nothing in her face to suggest that she was. Her eyes were the color of dirty ice and she had the pistol aimed at his ribs. For a minute the only sounds to be heard were the vehicles racing past them on the freeway at eighty miles per hour.
Marcus was confused. “Tabitha, what the hell are you doing?”
Tuesday sighed. “Look, I’m not who you think I am, Marcus. There’s a lot going on here and I don’t have time to explain it. I need you to slowly undo your seat belt and get out the car. Leave the money!”
Marcus just stared at her with his mouth hanging open. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You would do this to me when you know I need that to get Dani back? If you steal this money, it’s just like you’re killing her yourself.”
“I’m not gonna leave Dani hangin’. I promise you that I’m gone get her back, but I need to do it my way. The whole ransom drop tonight is just a set-up. They’re gonna kill Dani and me then just take the money. I know how these bitches operate!”
“You know how they operate?” He paused for a second and Tuesday could see the exact moment when the truth hit him by the expression on his face. Marcus put his hands over his eyes and slowly shook his head.
“Sonofabitch! How could I be so damn stupid! That’s why they wanted you to bring it in the first place.” He looked at her with a little smirk. “You set all this up. You been playing me from
the start.”
The way he was staring at her made Tuesday’s chest feel tight and she could hardly breathe. She wanted to tell him everything, but the explanation was too long and complicated to get into right then. She had a plan on how to get Danielle back but time was a factor.
Tuesday explained: “I’ll admit that I came into this for the wrong reasons but I didn’t have anything to do with Dani being taken; I done my share of dirt but I don’t kidnap kids.
“Now I know who’s got her and I’m gonna get her back, but I need you to trust me!”
“That’s pretty hard to do while you’re pointing a gun at me!”
“Look, Marcus, I don’t have time for this. If you wanna see Dani alive again, you need to do what I say.”
“That’s funny, because you sounded exactly like a kidnapper just then.”
“Get out!” she said, thrusting the pistol deeper into his ribs. Tuesday was wearing a vicious scowl. “Don’t make me peel yo shit!”
It was a bluff because the Heckler was empty. Tuesday had spent her last few bullets flattening the tires on Slim’s Cutlass.
Marcus seemed to be calling her bluff, because he just sat there staring at her defiantly. “You’re not gonna shoot me, Tabitha. I know you won’t.”
Tuesday brought the pistol up to his head and cocked it. “Do you see my hand shaking? Do I look nervous to you right now?
“Quit acting like you know me because you don’t. We didn’t meet by accident—you was a mark. These feelings we got for each other ain’t real. This what the fuck I do. Don’t get it twisted just because I gave you some pussy and a little bit of head.
“Now you can give up the money or I can pop yo ass and take it! It don’t make me none either way.”
That seemed to be enough to convince Marcus. She ordered him out of the car and he slowly undid his seat belt just the way she instructed. He had to make sure traffic was clear before he opened the door and slid out on his side.
Tuesday scooted into the driver’s seat. She pulled the door closed and spoke to him through the open window. “This might not mean much, but I’m sorry about this, and I’m really gonna get Dani back for you.”
Marcus mugged her with some combination of anger and disgust. “Why should you feel sorry? You’re just doing what you do, right?”
It wasn’t exactly an insult but to Tuesday it felt like one. She would’ve felt better if he called her a “trifling bitch” or “scandalous slut” but even in a situation like this, Marcus was the personification of class.
She whispered the words “I’m sorry” one last time before she meekly looked away from his eyes and rolled up the window.
When Tuesday pulled off in his Audi, she looked back and saw that Marcus was just standing there as if he really did think it was a joke and expected her to come back. Once she merged into freeway traffic, Tuesday checked again in the rearview after she’d driven about a quarter mile and saw that he finally started walking along the shoulder.
Her emotions welled up and her throat got tight but Tuesday fought back the urge to cry. She reminded herself that this was the game she played. Marcus was cool and she really liked him, but three million dollars was enough to get her shit all the way together. Then she had already peeped enough to know that he was planning to leave anyway so it wasn’t like there was any future for them. His father had enough money to where three tickets wouldn’t be missed. Plus, she was about to risk her life to get his little girl back, so that ought to count for something.
Tuesday told herself all these things so she wouldn’t feel so guilty.
It didn’t help.
Chapter Twenty-three
Tuesday was on the freeway with a bag containing three million in cash on the backseat. It would’ve been easy just to bust up right then with the money but she was going to stay true to her word and get Danielle back first.
However, no part of her plan involved paying one penny in ransom. As far as Tuesday was concerned, that shit was already hers; and for what they did to Tushie, all she had for those bitches were bullets.
Speaking of which, the first thing she had to do was get to some heat. The Heckler was empty and was too little to get the job done anyway. The five full-automatic M11’s that she bought from Face for her and the girls at the start of this mission were all stashed at her condo. Even if she could go back there, the problem was that the cops were probably sitting on the Seymour waiting for her to come home.
She called Dresden to see if she was hot and after he checked around with some friends within the PD, he called her back to confirm that she was. Dresden told Tuesday that the security cameras on the fifth floor had caught her shooting the lesbian at the elevator. Warrants had been issued for her and the unnamed suspect who shot the innocent bystander who lived next door to her.
Dresden also informed Tuesday that the police had already raided her apartment and seized the guns along with the last of her money. Although that case was being handled by a different department from his, Dresden said that the five converted assault rifles and the silencer offered a good chance that the case might get picked up by the feds. So to answer her question, she wasn’t just hot, she was scorching.
In light of what already happened, the image of twenty officers going through her personal things didn’t mean much to Tuesday. She had already chalked up the condo and everything in it as a loss. Her clothes could be replaced and the money they confiscated was just change compared to the three tickets in the backseat. Tuesday was only concerned about her cat.
Dresden grilled her about the shooting and Tuesday told him everything. She let him know about Tushie and how the situation popped at her building, but left out the real reason why it happened. Instead she tied it all into the lie she told earlier: Brianna and Baby Doll were behind the set-up, only Dresden thought it was all about them stealing their money and not taking a little girl.
Dresden was worried about Tuesday, but it was only because she might get arrested before he got paid. He warned that by tomorrow her face would be all over the news. His final piece of advice was to handle her business quickly and get that money back, then to just lay low somewhere until they could meet. Tuesday pretended to agree just to get him off the phone, but she planned to be long gone by tomorrow.
With the heat on her head, this made time even more critical. It was six thirty and the deal was in an hour and a half. The police might be swooping down on her before she could even get Danielle back.
Then Tuesday had another thought that disturbed her. What if the police were using her phone to track her the same way that Dresden was doing Brianna’s and Baby Doll’s?
She pulled the phone from her bag and tossed it out the window right there on the Lodge Freeway. It got crushed by a large auto-hauler that was behind her carrying a shipment of Hyundais to a dealership.
She still had Tushie’s and the Tabitha Green phone; she pulled out the latter to call Face. She still had to deal with Dani’s kidnappers, which meant she needed to buy more guns. Luckily, Tuesday now had more than enough money to clear up her debt with him.
It was just before seven when she got to Face’s junkyard and the exchange was only an hour away. Tuesday parked the Audi outside his garage and left the car with her big Louis bag practically bursting with cash. It was loaded up with five of those fifty-thousand-dollar bundles and she figured Tushie’s twenty-seven stacks was more than enough to cop something for the work she had to put in tonight.
Before she got there, Tuesday was smart enough to stop and move the big black case with the rest of the money to the trunk. It was so heavy that the effort exhausted her, but it had to be done. Face was notorious for hiring crackheads to work as mechanics and the last thing she wanted was for one of them to peek inside the car and get curious.
When Tuesday walked up, Face greeted her at the door. “Damn, girl, that’s the new A8. Is that you?”
She ignored him. Tuesday made a beeline straight for his office without bothering to
speak, went into her bag and just started slamming the cash bricks on his desk one after the other while Face watched with wide eyes.
When she was done, Tuesday stood there with her arms folded. “Two fifty nigga, just like I promised!”
Face picked up two of the stacks and began clapping with them. “I never doubted you for a second. Mind if I ask how you came upon it?”
Tuesday was in no mood to explain. “Don’t worry ’bout it. I owed you and now you paid.”
“You owed me four hundred!” he reminded her. “I took The Bounce for one fifty out of love.”
“I don’t give a fuck about that club, nigga, I’m on to bigger and better shit! I’ll bring the paperwork over for you to sign tomorrow.” That was only half true. While Tuesday didn’t care about owning The Bounce House anymore, she figured that by tomorrow she would either be dead, locked up, or a thousand miles away.
Face thumbed through the crispy new bills and noticed that each bundle was wrapped in the official Federal Reserve band. He looked at her skeptically. “This shit look more like bank money than dope money. Don’t tell me you and yo girls done went Queen and Jada and set it off?”
“I ain’t got time for this,” Tuesday said impatiently. “You got what I owed you, that’s a done deal. Can we get on to new business?”
“Sho nuff!” Face found a plastic bag and swept the money into it. “What can I do for you?”
“Shit might get hectic tonight. I need something I can keep close to me. Heat ain’t shit if you can’t get to it, nigga! I need another one.” Tuesday pulled out some more money to indicate that she was ready to go shopping.
Face nodded then reached for his phone. “Hold up, just let me text the wifey right quick. I was s’posed to be on my way to the cut an hour ago.”
Face lifted the trapdoor and took her down into The Gun Store. While in the cellar Tuesday was adamant that all she wanted was another M11—a gun she’d already fired and was familiar with— but Face kept trying to show her a bunch of different models. This made her suspicious, because Face had never been one for the hard sell. Seeing that two-fifty must’ve given him the idea that she had plenty more to spend and Tuesday guessed that he was just trying to get a little deeper into her pocket.