Please, God.
In my groggy state, I fought to open my eyes. My lids were heavy. So heavy. They felt like they did the time I thought it was a bright idea to take somebody else’s allergy meds and fell into a deep-ass sleep that I couldn’t wake up from. Felt just like that. Is that what’s happening? Did I take some medication and now I’m fighting my way back to my waking life?
Try again, I told myself.
But it was nearly impossible. My mind was trying to will it, but my body was like, ‘Fuck no . . .’
My mouth felt dry, my lips were chapped, causing me to bring my hand to the area. I swiped across my lips, with an open palm; for what, I didn’t know. I guess, trying to gauge just how dry my mouth really was, and probably to see if I could feel my face. It was there and there was no pain when I touched it. All while I’m inspecting myself, my heart is racing frantically.
When I tried to steady my breathing to bring some normalcy to my body, I heard something. Out of nowhere—or maybe it was there all along—I heard music playing!
It seemed that my strength was starting to appear, or was that in my mind? Fuck! The frustration mounted.
Open your eyes, Chanel. Open them!
I sat up, as slowly as I could, to avoid further disrupting the constellation of stars flurrying around behind my eyelids. I couldn’t believe how weak I felt. But then I started to remember pieces of the recent past: driving across the Bay Bridge to meet Tracie at the mall. Buying clothes and joking with Tracie on the way to the car. And then . . . screaming. A lot of screaming.
It was me screaming!
All of my energy returned, immediately, when the full picture came flooding back. A man grabbed me and put me in a truck. I fought! I fought hard until he put something over my face! Oh my god!
I looked down at my clothes to make sure I was dressed and began to cry tears of relief when I saw that my clothes were still intact. I wiggled my hips and squeezed my thighs. I was looking for signs of pain or trauma, down there. When I felt none, I felt a huge relief knowing that I hadn’t been violated.
“Thank God,” I whispered, under my breath.
“You’re finally waking up,” the unfamiliar voice said, startling me.
“Whoa!” I shouted, suddenly becoming fully aware.
My body stiffened from the unexpected surprise. My brain rushed, and my eyes bulged, immediately locking with the woman across the room—a woman I’d never seen before in my life. She was a petite, beautiful woman of average height, with skin the color of raw honey. Everything about her demeanor said that she was somewhere in her late 60’s, but looking in her face, you wouldn’t guess that she was any older than late 50’s. She was well-kempt, and nicely dressed.
“It’s okay,” she stated, in a soothing speaking voice. She sat on an oversized ottoman not far from where I was; all the while, patting the enormous head of some damn creature that was twice the size of Lennox. I didn’t know if she was talking to me, or that thing!
I looked around the room. The bed that I was on sat several feet above the floor and had large posts on all four ends. The color of the room was goldenrod, and seafoam green, with purple accents throughout. There was a retreat area not too far from me, and it was where the woman was sitting. The windows were large, and judging by how it looked outside, it was near dark.
“Who the fuck are you?” I shot at her. “And where the fuck am I?”
Her dog growled, laying a venomous glare on me, his body rigid and ready for battle.
“Pacino doesn’t like your tone. He doesn’t like to sense that I may be threatened,” she warned.
“And I don’t give a fuck about Pacino and how he feels.” Fear had awakened me, but fear wasn’t gonna keep me trapped. I’d made that decision, as I sat there, staring in the face of uncertain danger.
“Pacino,” the woman consoled, rubbing her creature back into submission and onto his hind legs. “It’s okay, boy.”
“Where the fuck am I?” I asked, angrily, looking around the large, earth-toned room.
“You should watch your language, young lady. You’re much too pretty to be using such foul delivery,” she calmly scolded.
“Delivery?” I quipped. “How about we start with who the hell delivered me here! How about that?!”
When Pacino yanked his massive body and showed me all of his teeth, again, I stared him down. I had no idea why I wasn’t scared into pissing myself, but I wasn’t. The only thing that I was, was mad as hell. I had a memory of me and the guy who grabbed me fighting in the back seat of that SUV they had me in. I tried my best to take out his eyes, and the flesh behind them, but he won in the end. I just remember feeling weak under him, at a point.
“You’re not in danger, Miss Norwood. I think when you realize that, you’ll calm yourself. Right now, you’re—”
“Fuck the lectures. Are you gonna answer my question or not? Why am I here? I was taken and brought here?! Why?!”
I went to make a move off the side of the bed and Pacino barked a succession of unveiled threats, revealing teeth that could cut steel. As frightened as I was, I didn’t want to show it. But what was the end result of all of this? Was she going to let this dog mutilate me? Rai . . . my baby. What about my baby? Will I see my baby again? The more I thought about it all, the more difficult it became to contain my ultra-hard persona. Not wanting to show weakness was stupid, when I had so many questions. Acting out could possibly get me killed earlier than she . . . or they… had anticipated. I had to try to play my cards right. If I had a hand at all to play.
“Did you make that guy take me?” I asked her. “Do I have something that you want? Do we know each other? Why did they bring me here? Who are they? Who are you?”
I asked a barrage of questions, my heart beating like an African drum, as each one poured from my heart. The more I talked, the less she did anything—speaking or moving. There wasn’t a peep from either her or Pacino, and my fear grew, exponentially.
“I’m gonna die right here in this room . . . in this place. “I’m never going home again, am I?”
“You’re going home—soon,” she answered, in response to the question I hadn’t realized I had spoken out loud.
CHAPTER 28
Dario
I felt sucker-punched. It was just like when I lost Lucas. Like I’d been hit with a blunt-force object that took me to the ground, incapacitated me. Enough to keep me from recovering. All the strength I’d come to Wayne’s house with . . . gone. On some level, I couldn’t let go of the fact that I’d missed the signs. Was I to blame for this shit? Had I ignored a bunch of shit that could’ve made this moment avoidable? It was all there! Why hadn’t I questioned this shit at a higher level?
I thought back to all the media attention Hit Man had been trying to get by mentioning my name and basically trying to call me out in front of the world. To tell the truth, I never took him seriously, which was why it was so easy to ignore the stupid shit he was saying. And judging by everything that was getting back to me, he’d been on a roll.
“Hold on,” I said, looking at Wayne, when the downpour of epiphanies hit. “I had a run-in with that punk the other night at Chanel’s club.”
“With Hit Man? I didn’t know about that.”
“But did you know about him having diarrhea of the mouth in interviews and shit lately?”
“I heard something about it.”
I paused for a few minutes. My mind was going a thousand miles per minute; all the thoughts were crashing into each other, disallowing me the opportunity to process any particular one.
I saw the regret in Wayne’s eyes, and in the slump of his shoulders. It almost looked like a weight had been lifted, but I didn’t give a fuck about that.
“That day you called me over here, and when I got here, you had people—”
“That was the day that the tone of the conversation turned. That was when the threats started. It was sudden, Dario. Before that . . . it was something else completely. I mean, I
knew they wanted the fight, but I honestly didn’t think that it was anything like . . .”
I used the meat of my fingers to massage the sides of my head to relieve built-up pressure.
“You have his contact information, right?”
“I have a number that he gave me.”
“Good. And I know where to find Ace. But first, I need to know the players and all of that, so I can know where to strike, and who to fucking strike. They want a fight? They got one. But it’s not the kind they expect.” I paused for a few minutes to gather my thoughts. “I can’t believe this shit,” I said, under my breath. “I just can’t believe this shit. Chanel has to be scared out of her fucking mind. I need somewhere to start,” I expressed, out loud. “Keep talking,” I ordered Wayne. “Don’t stop until I hear something that resonates.”
A short time later, I leaned against a wall in Wayne’s kitchen, watching him gulp down a large glass of ice water through one side of his battered mouth. It wasn’t just his mouth either. His face was fucked up, and there was blood on his clothes. I subconsciously looked down at my knuckles, which were also bruised. I didn’t realize the damage I’d done to his face, until now. It was bad; but he’d brought it on himself. I wasn’t going to apologize for it. Maybe after Chanel was home, and maybe not.
It could very well be that I’d probably never see his face, or step foot in his home ever again, once she was home.
The more he hydrated, the more his color began returning to his face. When his glass was empty, he walked it over to his sink and placed it inside. He stood there in place, and then started to spill more details.
“Right before you retired, I got a phone call from Dexter. I hadn’t talked to him in a long time, and even when I did, we never talked business. The boxers that he managed were in B group, so our business never touched each other’s.” Wayne stopped talking for a few seconds, before turning around to face me. “I met up with him for drinks one night and he started to elude to the fact that he wanted you to fight Hit Man. Honestly, I laughed. That man is a joke and a clown, so I didn’t feel the need to bring that to you. He’s out of your league, honestly.”
“For damn sure,” I commented.
“After that day, Dex started calling more and wanting to hang out more. At first, it was cool because, you know me, I’m all about work. But with you talking retirement, your workload slowed. In turn, I had more time to spare. But, when I started to notice that every time I was in his presence, the talk found its way to you, I got pissed off. It was like dude had some sort of hard-on for you. Shit made me uncomfortable. The last time he called to hang out, I let him know that I was good on doing that. I told his ass straight out, to stop the bullshit.”
I listened, intently, as Wayne spoke. The more he said, the more I saw a clearer picture. The bottom line of it all was that once he did see what was happening, he should’ve said something. At a point, he should’ve recognized that the situation involved other people—namely, me and my family—and that was information that needed to be delivered.
“When I called him to the carpet, he owned up to the shit.”
“And what shit was that?”
Wayne was reluctant, with delivering his response. “They wanted that last fight . . .” He looked to the side, and then shook his head.
“So, this has been in motion for months, Wayne?! Months! Oh my fucking god!” I exploded.
“But D.C., even then, it was still with a nonchalant approach.” Wayne walked over to one of the large barstools against his island and pulled it out to sit down. “When you moved forward with the last fight, shit got real tense. Initially, I was open to trying to convince you to stay because the talks were around money and how much money could be made. It wasn’t all about the . . .” Wayne stopped his sentence to reach into his pocket for his cell phone. “It wasn’t . . .” He paused, and then looked up at me, signaling with a single finger, and took the call. “Hello?” he answered. The blood appeared to be draining from him, once again.
“Who is that?!” I asked, impatiently.
Wayne closed his lids, briefly, then opened them. He appeared to be processing whatever was being said on the other end of his phone. I was about to snatch the phone from him, so that we could finish our conversation, when he suddenly pulled the damn thing away from his ear and then pressed a button. Seconds later, I heard a voice over the speaker.
“Tick tock . . . tick tock?”
I couldn’t move fast enough, when I leapt and grabbed the phone from Wayne’s hand. My hands were shaking and my heart was pounding.
“Where the fuck is Chanel?!” I demanded to know.
“Calm down,” the caller urged, his tone menacing. “She’s in perfect condition, as beautiful as ever, and safe.”
“Calm down, you said?” My heart was beating so fast I was scared that my breathing was off. “I’ll tell you what. Tell me where to come, so you can see how calm I am.”
“Chill, Caivano. Chill.”
“Where the fuck is she?!”
“Like I said, your fiancée is in perfect condition,” he stated, calmly. “Not to mention, she’s a perfect specimen. You have great taste in women.”
“Watch your fuckin’ mouth!” I roared, losing all sense of control.
“You’re not in position to act a damn fool. Now would be a good time to practice some self-discipline, so that things can move forward in a more positive direction.”
“What is it that you want?” Wayne interjected.
“Wayne, Wayne,” he remarked, condescendingly. “You know exactly what I want. You’ve known from day one. Your own stupidity just didn’t allow you to take shit seriously enough. Now, look what you made me do.”
“Fuck that part of it. What can be done right now to bring Chanel home?” Wayne asked.
I was trying my best to keep my cool. The way I was feeling, and the things I wanted to say, might’ve done some shit that was irreparable. So, I resolved to listening. All I was waiting for was where I had to go to get Chanel and whether or not I’d see him when I got there. But it didn’t matter if I saw him or not; my life’s mission was to destroy this person. He wouldn’t make it to his next birthday. That had been determined, in just a short amount of time.
“It’s not as easy as that. Not anymore. I’ll send you a picture of her to let you know she’s good—which she is. But as far as seeing her or talking to her, that’s gonna have to be after all the plans are made and set in stone. Not a moment before.”
“Wait. You’re not serious? You know this shit is on the news, right? You know that—”
“I’m sure that’s something we can take care of. Because, if the police get involved, then this could have a whole, different turnout.”
“What the fuck?!” Wayne hollered. “What did you expect, pulling some bullshit like that in broad goddamn daylight?!”
I leaned against the wall, my eyes closed, in deep thought. This fuck didn’t know, nor need to know that I had already made plans to get the police off the trail. There was no way I was letting law enforcement get their hands on any of these pieces of shit before I could. I wanted to blowup so badly. Say and do all kinds of destructive shit. But I had to play it cool, safe. I needed Chanel safe.
“Listen, we could debate this all day, Wayne. The bottom line is that we need to make some shit happen and quick.”
“What do I need to do?” I asked, hurrying the shit along. “I’m done with all the talkin’.”
“We need that fight. You and Hit Man. We need it soon. If we can get it in place of Shane and Hit Man, that would be ideal.”
“But . . . wait,” Wayne said. “That fight was supposed to happen in about two weeks!”
“Exactly,” the person said. “Make it work.”
“Dex—”
“Wayne, the clock is ticking.”
I wanted to ask his ass why they wanted me, but it really didn’t matter. The only thing that I was concerned with was doing whatever needed to be done to secure Cha
nel’s release. I still couldn’t even believe that this shit was happening. That this was our life. That I was going to have to tell her son that she wouldn’t be coming home.
“Done,” I said, coming out of my own head. “Let’s do it.”
Chapter 29
Tracie & Quinton
“What am I supposed to do, Quinton?! I was right there! They took her . . . when I was right fucking there! What kind of monsters are these people?! I didn’t even see them, until it was too late . . .”
Quinton stood in Tracie’s apartment doorway, consoling her. She’d been crying since they left the scene at Westfield Mall.
“Did you call Alika?” Quinton asked. “Because I think you need to be with somebody. You won’t be okay being here by yourself.”
“I don’t want to be by myself, Quinton,” she said, looking up at him, her eyes bloodshot red. “I can’t.”
Quinton cupped her face in his hands and leaned in close. “As soon as I can, I’ll come back. But right now, I have to go, so that I can help Dario with—”
She began to sob harder. “Dario. He must hate me. He probably wishes it was me that they took instead of Chanel,” she said, in a low tone. “I don’t blame him.” She placed her hands on top of Quinton’s. “Go help him find her. Please, find her.”
“We’re gonna do our best,” Quinton confided. “Let me get you over to Rush and Alika’s, before I go, though. You don’t need to be by yourself.”
Tracie walked out of Quinton’s arms, almost in a daze, and started talking to nobody in particular. She leaned against the threshold in her hallway, near the door.
“They just kept asking the same shit over and over. Like, how the hell does that help to find a person? Same questions over and damn over!”
Quinton kept quiet. He knew that she was in shock and that her emotions were all over the place. He knew that would be her state of mind, for a while to come. That was why he was trying to get her to a place where she would have a live person with her. Somebody that could be there, as she came in and out of the shock, and needed to release her thoughts.
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