by Shelly Ellis
José nodded. Ricky did the same.
“We here to talk business, right?” Dolla Dolla glanced between the two men. “So let’s talk some business.”
As it turned out, José was less interested in talking than he was in getting a piece of ass. While Dolla Dolla went over the finer points of their future escort services and talked about operations José already had in New York and Houston, José kept trying to grope the women. More than once, Vanessa and Candy had to shove him away or ease off of him. When Candy looked only five seconds away from kicking José in the balls, Ricky finally called it. He’d had enough.
“All right, Dolla, I think me and the girls better go,” he said, rising to his feet.
“Already?” José asked. His head lolled to the side as he laughed. “But we were just starting to get to know each other!”
“You wanted to meet the girls, I let you meet the girls. Now I’m taking them back home.”
“But we didn’t even get to test the merchandise,” José lamented. “I came all the way here for nothing?”
“Next time. Next time, bruh,” Dolla Dolla said. “I’ll walk y’all to the door, Ricky.”
The two women practically leapt up from the couch and ran to the front door. Ricky trailed after them, keeping pace with Dolla Dolla as he walked.
“Look, I’m sorry it went down that way, man,” Dolla Dolla whispered. “I didn’t know he was gonna get drunk off his ass and get out of pocket like that.”
“It’s okay, Dolla,” Ricky muttered.
“Nah, it ain’t okay. But he’s real about doing this. If your girls are interested or if you got some others to bring on board, let me know. We can set this up.”
“I will, Dolla.”
“I appreciate that shit, Ricky,” he said, slapping his shoulder. He began to turn away.
“Hey, Dolla, can you do me a favor?” Ricky called after him.
Dolla Dolla paused and turned back. “Go ahead. What you need?”
“I need you to set up a meeting with somebody. Somebody important. I need to ask them somethin’.”
“Who?”
“Mayor Johnson,” Ricky said.
He hadn’t forgotten Jamal’s dilemma. He hadn’t forgotten his promise to help his old friend either.
Dolla Dolla narrowed his eyes. “What you need to talk to him for?”
“It’s somethin’ with the restaurant. Some D.C. tax stuff they’ve been bothering me about. It’s hard to explain. But I need someone at city hall on my side. Who better than the mayor, right? I figured if I talk to him and explain my situation, he might help—as a favor to you.”
Dolla Dolla gradually nodded. “All right. I’ll set somethin’ up for you.”
“Thanks, Dolla,” Ricky said, giving him a fist bump.
* * *
A few minutes later, Ricky and the undercover cops emerged from the revolving doors of the condo complex onto the sidewalk. The sound of the city night filled the air with blaring horns, the chug of a passing bus, and jazz music playing in the distance.
“Sorry about that, ladies. I didn’t know it was gonna go down that way,” Ricky said to them.
Candy shrugged as they walked. “Hey, criminals and assholes are unpredictable. And he’s both. So we know how that goes.”
“I hope it wasn’t a waste though,” he said. “I hope y’all got what you needed.”
“Oh, don’t worry about us, sweetheart,” Vanessa said with a wink. “We got everything.”
Ricky squinted. “Huh?”
He watched as Candy reached up to her wig, like she was scratching her head. She pulled out a quarter-sized mike. He gaped. So she had worn a wire.
“Everything’s recorded,” Candy said.
The women linked arms and strolled away, leaving him in shock.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Ricky mumbled.
Chapter 21
Derrick
“Hey! Hey! Hey!” Derrick said as he strolled through the Institute’s foyer. He had to leap aside to keep from getting hit in the head by a sailing football that was being tossed among five boys. “We don’t do that inside! Y’all know that.”
“Yes, Mr. Derrick. Sorry, Mr. Derrick,” the boys murmured in reply as they jogged down the hall.
Derrick shook his head in exasperation, but chuckled to himself. If the worst offense he had to deal with today was boys playing football in the hallways, he was grateful.
His days had been pretty trying as of late. This was the first in weeks that had been humdrum, almost uneventful. He’d had his meetings. He’d even conducted a few job interviews, one of which was for Morgan’s replacement. The candidate had looked very promising, but Derrick was holding off on making a final decision. In his heart, he was still hoping against hope that Morgan would change her mind about leaving the Institute. He wished she would stay.
Now the day was over and he could head home to his quiet apartment that was still filled with boxes he hadn’t unpacked, though he had moved in weeks ago. He just couldn’t find the energy to do it. He wondered why but realized once again that Morgan was the answer. Now that he knew for sure that he’d never be sharing his new apartment with her, he still didn’t have the will to try to make it a real home.
“Y’all have a good night. See you in the morning,” he now said to the boys over his shoulder.
“See you, Mr. Derrick!” a few called back.
Derrick then pushed open the glass door and stepped onto the sidewalk. He reached into his pocket but halted in his steps as soon as he saw them.
Dolla Dolla’s men stood around his parked car like they had been waiting there the whole damn day. One of them, the chicken-chested thug who had been the big talker last time, was even reclining on the Nissan’s hood.
Damn, Derrick thought.
He had spoken too soon. It turned out his day wasn’t going to be uneventful after all.
“There he is! The man himself,” the chicken-chested thug said, smiling and pushing himself away from Derrick’s hood. “We been waitin’ on you, nigga.”
Of course they had. Derrick knew Dolla Dolla wouldn’t wait long. He’d want his answer eventually. Unfortunately, Derrick still wasn’t certain what his answer would be even after the counsel he’d received from Mr. Theo, but it looked like his time to contemplate had already run out.
“So you ready to do business?” Chicken-chested asked. “Dolla’s given you plenty of time to think this shit over. He wanna know your answer. He wanna know now.”
Derrick stared back at him. He then glanced at the faces of the men who stood around him. They were all glaring at Derrick. They looked like junkyard dogs, dark and hulking, trying to sniff out the fear in him, ready to pounce at the slightest sign of weakness.
“Yeah, I’ve thought about it.”
“And?” Chicken-chested asked.
“If I say yes,” Derrick began, trying his best to buy a few precious minutes as he contemplated his answer, “what does that mean for me?”
Chicken-chested cocked an eyebrow. “So we are talking business then?”
“That’s what it sounds like, right?”
“I think I like you, nigga.” Chicken-chested laughed. “Well, if you wanna know how much you get out of this, Dolla said he’s willing to give you a cut of everything that comes through your school. That can mean a lot of money for a dude like you who drives a ride like this,” he said, jabbing his thumb at Derrick’s car and sneering at it derisively. “For what Dolla can give you, you at least can get a better whip for starters, bruh.”
“And by stuff coming through . . . you mean like the suitcases Cole brought in here?”
“Sometimes,” Dolla Dolla’s emissary said. “And sometimes other things.”
“What ‘other things’?” Derrick asked, squinting at him.
“Shit, I don’t know, man! What’s with all the damn questions? Either you gonna do this or you’re not.”
“I just wanna know what this all means. If I’m putting
myself and my kids at risk, I wanna know all the terms.”
“Your kids? All them little niggas yours? You they daddy?” Chicken-chested asked, laughing again.
Derrick shrugged. “I may as well be. For a lot of them, I’m the closest thing they have to a father. I don’t take that shit lightly.”
The emissary eyed him. “Well, if that’s the case, you know what your answer is then, right? If you so worried about your kids, you don’t wanna bring no smoke here. You make sure you ain’t gonna have any problems. Because if you say no to what Dolla is asking you to do, you gonna have a lot of problems, my nigga. You feel me?”
Derrick considered his warning. He also considered the numerous mistakes he had made in the past and his selfish decisions. He had disappointed so many people—Melissa, Morgan, and even Mr. Theo—all because he had put his needs, wants, and desires above theirs.
He didn’t want to run amiss of someone like Dolla Dolla or “bring smoke” to the Institute’s campus, but the boys inside the facility thought of the Institute as a refuge. Their entire lives they’d dealt with dealers, hustlers, pimps, boosters, and bullies who had brought nothing but chaos to their lives. But within those walls, they were free of all that strife and pain. At the Institute they were offered a path to change their lives. They were shown a different way.
He had already let Dolla Dolla weasel his way in once, with the two suitcases, and he’d ended up sacrificing Cole in the end because he didn’t stop it as soon as he knew what was going on. If he gave Dolla Dolla a permanent foothold at the Institute, what would it mean for the rest of the boys? Would Dolla Dolla think he ran the place? Would he start recruiting them to work for him, to be his soldiers?
No, Derrick thought. He couldn’t let that happen.
“Yeah, I feel you,” he said with a slow nod, “but I can’t do it. I’m not gonna do it. Tell Dolla I appreciate the offer, but the Institute ain’t up for sale. I ain’t either.”
Chicken-chested didn’t immediately respond. He simply glowered at Derrick. He then glanced over his shoulder at the other men who stood around his car. He flicked his hand at Derrick, like he was flicking dust aside. He sucked his teeth.
“Handle this nigga,” he said.
Four of the goons stepped forward. Derrick tossed his satchel to the ground and took a stance with his hands up, ready to go down fighting if he had to. But he was stopped short by the sound of several feet hitting the pavement behind him.
“Yo, you okay, Mr. Derrick?” he heard a voice call out.
Derrick turned to find almost a dozen boys running out of the lobby door toward him. Among them were the boys who had been in the lobby tossing around the football. Unbeknownst to him, they must have been watching the conversation the entire time through the foyer’s windows. They must have seen when it had gone left and alerted the other boys to what was happening.
“We got a problem?” one of the taller boys barked at Dolla Dolla’s men.
Derrick had seen the boy around the Institute. The other boys called him Snoop because of how much he resembled the rapper. Derrick noticed that the boy’s hands were curled into fists at his sides. He wasn’t the only one. Several of them looked like they were willing to fight for him at that moment. Derrick was touched, even honored that the boys were willing to defend him, but he didn’t want to put them in harm’s way. He knew what Dolla Dolla’s men were capable of.
“Nah, we good,” Derrick said. “They were just about to leave.”
For a few seconds, there was a silent standoff. Dolla Dolla’s men didn’t budge, and neither did the Branch Avenue Boys who were huddled behind Derrick. Finally, Dolla Dolla’s emissary sucked his teeth again, realizing they were outnumbered.
“Man, fuck this,” he said to his men. “If we don’t get this nigga today, we got other chances.” He eyed Derrick. “We won’t forget this, nigga.”
Derrick watched as they all turned and walked away, feeling a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach.
He would pay a price for what he’d done today; he just didn’t know what that full price would be.
Chapter 22
Jamal
“Good morning,” Jamal murmured as he stepped out of his apartment building’s elevator with his head bowed.
“Good morning, young man!” his elderly neighbor sang.
She wasn’t wearing a pink tracksuit today like she had months ago when he’d last spoken to her. She’d switched it out for a green one with silver piping. She looked like an elderly inhabitant of the Emerald City in the Land of Oz. As he passed her and walked toward the lobby doors, she held up a wrinkled hand.
“I heard what happened to you a couple of months ago. The shooting, I mean,” she said, making him pause and turn to face her again. “This is a nice neighborhood. I was surprised it happened, but I’m glad to hear they arrested that boy. I’m happy to see you’re okay, that you’re doing better.”
He nodded and forced a smile. “Thank you, ma’am.” He turned to face the door again.
“You are doing better, aren’t you?” she asked, halting him once more.
Jamal stifled a sigh and nodded again.
He hadn’t planned to get dragged into a conversation this early on a Saturday morning, before he’d even had his coffee, but he wouldn’t disrespect one of his well-meaning elders. He could hear his mother’s admonishment of “I taught you better, Jay,” even in his head.
“Yeah, my shoulder’s healed. I’m not wearing a sling anymore,” he said, pointing to his arm.
“Not all wounds are on the outside, sweetheart. Have you healed on the inside, too?” she asked, squinting at him.
Jamal raised his brows, surprised at her question. He began to nod a third time but stopped himself. Instead, he pursed his lips. He shook his head. “Not yet,” he finally whispered.
“Aww, baby.” She reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder where the scar from the bullet wound still lingered and would probably never go away. “Give it some time. I’ll pray for you.”
“Thank you,” he said before turning and finally crossing the lobby and heading out the glass door. He continued down the sidewalk to his neighborhood coffee shop a few blocks away.
The truth was that Jamal felt slightly worse now than he had right after the shooting. Everything still had yet to be reconciled as long as Mayor Johnson remained free, and Jamal had lost his solace, his emotional rock when he lost Melissa. Well, he hadn’t lost her, exactly—he had voluntarily walked away from her. He hadn’t seen or spoken to Melissa in almost a week, and he planned to keep it that way. He would have to go cold turkey—a full Melissa Stone cleanse. He knew he had to, in order to protect himself. He had bared himself emotionally to that woman too many times for her to continue to shove him away, to tell him that the love he wanted from her, she could never give. Why continue to be Sisyphus, pushing a boulder up a hill over and over again, only to see it roll back down to the bottom? He’d just have to let the boulder stay where the hell it sat. Melissa would go her way. He would go his.
Five minutes later, Jamal stepped through the door of the coffee shop and walked straight to the end of the counter to pick up his drink. He had preordered that morning. He just wanted to grab his coffee and head back to the solace and quiet of his own apartment.
“Grande espresso, no foam with a double shot of mocha,” the barista called out before placing the paper cup on the counter.
Right on time, Jamal thought as he reached for the cup. But rather than his fingers gripping paper, they grasped onto thin air. He stared in surprise as a petite blonde swiped the cup and raised it to her lips to take a sip. She tossed her hair over her shoulder and turned to walk away.
“Uh,” he said, “I think that was my order.”
She stopped and turned to face him again. She blinked and lowered the cup from her mouth. He watched as she raised the cup and stared at the label. They both saw his name clearly printed on the side.
“Oh, my God! I’m so so
rry!” she cried. Her pale cheeks flushed pink with embarrassment. “I ordered the same drink. I thought it was mine!”
Jamal grimaced, smothering his annoyance. “That’s . . . that’s all right. I’ll just . . . uh . . . order another one, I guess.”
“Or you can have mine,” she offered, pointing at the counter where several other cups sat waiting, none of which were a grande espresso, no foam, with a double shot of mocha. “It’s not there now, but they should have it up soon.”
“Yeah. Sure,” he muttered.
“Again, I’m so sorry! Next time I’ll be sure to check the label.”
“Yeah, next time,” he said, turning away.
“Wait. Wait!” she said, making him pause. “You seem really familiar to me for some reason. Have I seen you somewhere?”
He shrugged. “I used to be deputy mayor.”
“Deputy mayor! Yes, I remember you now. You were one of my patients. You’re Jamal. Jamal Lighty! Your mother was a hoot. I’m Sam!” She pointed at her chest. “Samantha! I was your nurse at the Washington Hospital Center.”
His eyes widened. “Oh! I didn’t recognize you.”
She laughed. “Most patients don’t when I’m out of my scrubs.” She pointed to her crown. “And my hair isn’t in a ponytail. I usually wear it down outside of the hospital. It makes my face look a little different.”
“It kinda does.” He nodded appreciatively. “It flatters you though.”
Her cheeks flushed pink again. She lowered her eyes and ran her fingers through her hair. “Thanks.”
She really did look cute with her hair down. He didn’t remember her being quite so cute at the hospital, but his focus hadn’t been on her at the time.
I’d been more focused on being grateful that I was still alive—and on seeing Melissa again, he thought.
“Grande espresso, no foam with a double shot of mocha!” the barista shouted, setting another cup on the counter.
“Guess that’s me,” he muttered, reaching for the cup. He glanced at the label and saw the name “SAM” written on it. “It was nice seeing you again,” he said to her before turning away from the counter.