Devin had been feeling the plan until J. Seed mentioned double-crossing Meagan. It must have shown on his face.
“I know you not feeling this old bitch after she lied to you?” J. Seed asked, staring intently at Devin’s face. “She already showed you she can’t be trusted.”
Devin didn’t see it that way. He looked at it from a business standpoint, after seeing the lifestyle she was living. He felt she lied to him about who she was only to keep him from fucking up what she already had going. After spending the night with her in her bed, Devin knew the love in their relationship wasn’t one sided, but he had to play the role for his boy’s sake.
“Naw, hell naw. I’ll work on finding out where the money is stashed, and then we’ll hit that bitch. I’ll keep fucking her afterward, so she won’t ever suspect it was us,” Devin assured him.
“That’s what I’m talking about, my nigga,” J. Seed said, pulling him in for a handshake combined with a shoulder-to-shoulder dap. “Let’s get this cheese . . . cheddar and mozzarella.” He laughed.
They hadn’t come up with a plan right then, but that didn’t mean Devin’s boy hadn’t devised one and put it into motion. Devin knew he needed to get off the phone with Meagan right now so he could slow J. Seed down and figure out a way to renege on his agreement to rob her before his boy made a move on that too.
* * *
A week had passed since the shooting outside the lawyer’s office, and William was still battling the same thought. Would Meagan put out a hit on me? The thought wouldn’t free itself from his mind, and the liquor wasn’t helping. He didn’t know anyone as conniving and evil as his first wife. If she pointed the finger at Meagan, he’d take heed. But why now? He wasn’t cheating, and he had made it his business to keep his hands to himself more. It wasn’t only for Meagan’s sake; the truth was he was getting too old for the shit. Whupping her left him feeling wiped out for days afterward. His battle with diabetes was getting worse, as he had advanced to the use of insulin by injection, and he felt like the only way he would beat the karma that was after him was by doing right by her.
William had worked in a kitchen all his life. It was ironic that his lifelong love for food would be the reason his life was shortened. He looked at it as his punishment for the treatment he had given the women that crossed his path. Although diabetes wasn’t a laughing matter, he thanked the Lord that his infidelity had never given him more than VD, and that was almost forty years earlier. He had made it through a lot of incurable sexually transmitted disease epidemics, so he accepted his diabetes as a blessing.
The idea that Meagan wanting him dead, knowing his health was on a downward slope and she’d get everything he owned, didn’t make sense to him. Why would she rush the inevitable? She can’t be that fed up with my shit? he thought, but he had also thought before that he’d left his past behind him. Yet Clara was back and was blackmailing him for everything he had. He’d never forget the day of her return.
“I love you. And don’t forget to call me as soon as the pilot gives the okay to turn on your phone,” William said, his arms wrapped around his wife’s waist. Their new Georgia Peach chain in Hollywood wasn’t producing the numbers they had planned for it, and since Meagan was the one with the degree in business, they both had agreed it was best for her to go there for a week to see firsthand what issues the restaurant was having.
“You know I will,” she said and then gave him a final kiss before she boarded her flight.
He didn’t like sending her to the West Coast by herself, but it came along with the dream. He rode home in silence, hoping and praying that the issue wasn’t the location. He had found the Gower Street location on the internet and, after visiting it a couple of times, had decided he would go forward with the location. The area was heavily populated, which meant lots of foot traffic, so he had thought he was making the right decision, but he had failed to calculate his competition. That street belonged to a Chicken and Waffles place; this he knew. Georgia Peach’s was an upscale soul-food restaurant, which had led him to think he wouldn’t face any problems, but at the same time, May & May Soul Food had recently opened their Crenshaw and King Boulevard location. The restaurant was miles from his, but with mass radio promotion and word of mouth from celebrity patrons, the restaurant had a buzz, and Georgia Peach’s didn’t.
After arriving at his house, William decided he’d take a nap until Meagan confirmed her safe arrival. He was two hours into his nap when his house phone rang. He picked up.
“Hello. This is Grady Memorial Hospital. May I speak with Mr. William Tolliver please?”
The word hospital sent his legs out of the bed and woke him all the way up. “This is him. How may I help you?”
“Your wife came into our emergency department, and she asked that we call you to inform—”
“Is she okay? What happened?” he asked, cutting the caller off. “I don’t want her there. Send her to Emory.”
“Your wife hasn’t signed a release that allows me to provide information by phone regarding her care. I’m not at liberty—”
William slammed the phone down on its cradle, ran out of his house, and hop in his car. He was sure he made it to the hospital in record time. He asked several nurses for his wife’s emergency-room number, and each one said the hospital had not admitted a Meagan Tolliver. Just when he decided he’d go from room to room, checking on his own, he heard a familiar voice talking down the hallway. He followed the sound, and it took him to a nurses’ station and the nurse who had just called him.
When she stopped talking, he addressed her. “Excuse me, miss. My name is William Tolliver. I believe you are the one who called to notify me that my wife is here.”
“Oh yes. You’re Mr. Send Her to Emory. That’s her room right there.” She pointed. “Your wife was wondering if you’d show up or not, since you hung up on—”
William darted in the direction of the room before the nurse could finish talking. He ran through the door, and there was Clara, in a seated position on the bed, with a gun pointing at him. She had tubes supplying her oxygen through her nose
“Do you remember taking me to the shooting range on our honeymoon?” she asked. “I told you I didn’t want to go. Hell, I even begged you when we arrived to change the plans, and you told me no. I’m glad you didn’t agree, because after I pulled the trigger for the first time, I was addicted. You know, like I know, that I’m damn good with a three-eighty-five revolver. And at this distance even if I wasn’t a good shot, you’d be dead if I pulled the trigger, so have a seat.”
William had heard her words, but he was in shock. He shook his head erratically, because he was sure he was still asleep. For years, he had dreamed of Clara, but in his dreams, she’d been wearing angel wings and confessing her love for him. But the look on her face now showed anything but love.
“I said, have a seat.” Clara cocked the hammer back to let him know she meant business.
Slowly, with his eyes moving from her frail face to the revolver, he took a seat. A million questions flowed through his mind, but only the most important came out of his mouth. “How are you still alive?”
When Clara had popped up six years ago, he’d been taken by surprise, since he’d believed she died in the car with Meagan’s mom. Six years ago, he had felt that he had to agree to her terms. Especially after she’d told him that she knew he married their goddaughter and she was ready to get payback for it. She had threatened to lie and say that William had covered his car in gasoline and set fire to it as he forced her and Rita at gunpoint to stay in the burning car. She had even perfected her lie about how she made it out of the car alive and why she had to fake her death. She was going to be the key witness in the criminal case against him for murdering Rita and attempting to kill her. Just for kicks, she would also make Meagan an accessory to her mother’s murder and her attempted murder. If money was what Clara had wanted back then to keep her mouth shut—and thus ensure that he and the true love of his life remained fr
ee, he’d give Clara every dime he had as payment for her pain and suffering.
Giving her money had been easy. It was her forcing him to have sex with her while she was close to death that had been the hard part. He had sworn after getting caught creeping with a customer seven years earlier that he’d never cheat on Meagan again, and he’d meant it. He had learned to tame his lust, but he had had to break his promise to dick down the almost corpse. Sex with her had been horrible before the cancer spread, but now that she was in the last stages of the disease, on oxygen full time, and in a makeshift hospital room that he created, it was gruesome.
“What’s wrong with your dick now?” Clara grunted after finally getting her body temperature to rise a few degrees so William could stop complaining that he was fucking a corpse.
“That sound, it’s distracting me.”
“What sound?”
“I don’t know what it’s called, but the sound that comes out of the hole in your neck when you breathe in. That rattling, it’s creepy,” he explained.
“You’re pathetic. Did you know that? And don’t bother answering the question. The fact that you used that childish word creepy says enough. Creepy or not, I want some dick. If the medicine didn’t fuck with my blood flow and make me numb down there, I’d have you to lick it instead.”
“See? That’s what the fuck I’m talking about,” William said, climbing off her. “I know I told you that I don’t like you talking like that through that thing in your throat. My dick doesn’t like it.”
“That’s foreplay.” She giggled. “You don’t want me to talk about you licking my pussy through my voice box, Daddy?”
William fled the living room naked.
* * *
If Clara could come back after fifteen years and put him through all this, he wouldn’t sleep after the twenty-one years of hell that he had put Meagan through. He needed to hire someone to get close to Meagan and find out what she had going on. He prayed the meeting with Angelo would provide him with just that.
“What’s up, boss? These condos are nice,” Angelo commented as he stood in the hallway outside William’s condo in his own building.
“Thanks. Come in and have a seat. You want your Hennessy on ice?”
“Come on now, boss. Only weaklings need the rocks. I’ll have it straight.” He laughed.
Angelo had never been past the entrance to the building, and he had gone that far only when William needed help with bags. He stepped into the foyer and proceeded into the living room. He immediately gained a newfound respect for his boss, as he saw that the entire living room had been turned into a hospital room. There were machines hooked up everywhere to monitor his mother during her stay. There were clean gowns and diapers stacked halfway to the ceiling. He had gone the extra mile to bring her comfort, and Angelo realized that was her reason for declining a nurse.
“Well, I called you here to talk business. Like your drink, I treat life straight, so let me get straight to the point. I want to hire you to keep tabs on my wife,” William said, handing him his drink and placing the bottle on the coffee table.
“I already do. That’s what I thought all those extra tips were about.”
“They are, but I need you to turn it up a few notches. I’ll give you twenty thousand dollars to become her best friend and report what you find out back to me.”
“And how am I supposed to do that?” Angelo said before killing his drink.
“By fucking her,” William said, refilling his glass and placing the bottle back on the coffee table. “She’s lonely, and Viagra no longer works for me. My diabetes medicines don’t mix with it. She needs some dick, and if you’re giving it to her the way she needs it, that satisfaction will make her talk.”
“You had me interested until you said that shit. Ain’t no way in hell I’m fucking your wife, boss. You need to go back to the drawing board with that shit.” Angelo had already killed his glass again and was extending his arm for round three.
“I know my wife, and that’s the only way she’ll trust you enough to tell on herself. I know I’m asking for a lot, so let’s make that fifty thousand.”
“How about hell no? This ain’t a soap opera, where you can just do whatever you want. Who wakes up, pisses, and says, ‘Today I’ll just pay my limo driver to fuck my wife to find out what she’s up to’? If you think the shit works like that, next, you’ll think you can die and come back every other season because you’re good at faking your death. You can’t pay me to befriend your wife, and yo’ ass can’t come back from the dead. Shit just don’t happen like that.”
“If you only knew,” William mumbled. “I’m not asking you to kill anyone. All I’m asking is for you to get closer to my wife for information. Why are you making a big deal out of it?”
“Because I’m black. Niggas don’t just say, ‘Hey, man, I have a job opportunity for you. It pays fifty thousand a year, and all you have to do is fuck my wife and keep me updated on how she feels about me.’ Come on, boss. Listen to yourself. I know juggling to crazy bitches is hard, but why not pick one and throw the other away?” Angelo tried not to look too interested in William’s answer, but he knew his answer would resolve a lot of his questions.
“It’s not that easy. Trust me when I say, if I could, I would. And, honestly, I’m not sure about what I want to do anymore.”
That wasn’t the answer Angelo wanted.
“How about we make it a hundred thousand and an extra fifty thousand dollars for me not to tell your wife about your plan? If we gone let this shit ride out like a daytime series, I’m signing up to be one of the evil villains.”
William stared at the floor, then lifted his gaze. “You want me to pay you not to double-cross me and double to let you fuck my wife, when I know she’s going to get your weak-minded ass sprung?”
“If the pussy is that good, and I’m going to have to walk away one day, then make it two hundred thousand. I mean, let’s be real, boss. You just asked me to ho for you. History states that the pimp always comes out on top, so the only way you’re going to get me to do this is to make it worth it for me to.”
William wasn’t in a position to agree to one hundred fifty thousand dollars or to two hundred thousand, not with him being blackmailed by Clara, but he knew Angelo wasn’t up for negotiations.
“Get the fuck out of my building, and take that envelope on your way out. There’s twenty thousand dollars in there. I’ll pay you as you bring the information in. If you give me enough to dish out a hundred fifty thousand, then that’s what you’ll be paid. You can use that active imagination of yours to pretend that it’s two hundred thousand. And, Angelo, you’re officially on duty as of now. Pick her up for lunch, and then take her to get a manicure and a pedicure. Meagan will like that.”
Angelo grabbed the overstuffed envelope on the coffee table and put his empty glass in its place. “If I spend my own money to wine and dine her, I need to be reimbursed. Don’t worry. I’ll keep the receipts.”
“You’re a cocky little fucker,” William said before turning up his drink.
Angelo snatched the bottle of Hennessy and headed to the front door. He paused right in front of it and turned his head. “If that’s the nickname you’re giving me to ho with, you need to change that to cocky big fucker. Your wife will agree,” he said, then grabbed his dick and walked out.
* * *
Angelo had done as William had told him to do, and with some convincing, he had got Meagan to take the rest of the day off and have lunch with him. Then he drove her to the nail salon without letting her know that was where they were headed.
“So, what is this all about? Lunch and now this? What have I done besides let you keep your job to deserve all this?” she asked when he parked in front of the salon.
“You keep taking his fist. It ain’t my place to keep throwing the shit in your face, so I thought I would show you how he should be treating you.”
“I don’t need your sympathy,” she snapped as they heade
d inside.
“Good, because I’m not giving it to you. I don’t feel sorry for you allowing the shit. I’m sorry for throwing it in your face like I do.”
They fell silent as two Vietnamese workers ushered her to a chair and held a conversation in their native tongue. One of them went right to work on her pedicure.
“Do you know what they’re saying?” Angelo asked, attempting to change the mood.
“No, I don’t have a clue,” she said, with laughter in her words.
“The lady doing your toes told the man next to her that your feet smell like they’ve been soaked in old cooking oil. She said they are making her want to fry some egg rolls or something.” He laughed.
“Oh, is that what she said?” Meagan chuckled.
“Yep. Said she’s charging your ass more for putting up with it.”
Meagan held in her laugh until the woman working on her feet put on a face mask.
“You see? I told you she said your shit stink.”
They laughed until Meagan cut it short with her question. William had mentioned they were around the same age, but Angelo was so immature, she had to know if this was true. “How old are you, anyway, Mr. Hurley?”
“Aw shit. Here you go with that ‘Mr. Hurley’ shit. I just made forty-three the day I took this job. Is that all right with you?”
“You’re older than me. Where are you from? And don’t say Atlanta. You have a southwest Georgia accent.”
“What do you know about southwest Georgia?” he asked, buying himself some time. He couldn’t tell her they were from the same place.
“I’m a southwest Georgia, girl. I was born and raised in Albany.”
“Not too far from me. I’m from Blakely.” Blakely was almost an hour away from Albany, but it was still considered southwest Georgia. She couldn’t dispute that.
“Okay, you’re near my neck of the woods. So what brought you to Atlanta?”
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