by Zaire Crown
Tuesday had the look of a bitch who was knew she was busted. All she could do was roll her eyes, mutter a few curses.
Vega continued. “The night he disappeared, he was here waiting for you to come and pay off the four hundred thousand you owed him. I never heard from him again after that.
“My husband wasn’t perfect. I know all about his whole foot obsession and I’m willing to bet he probably cashed out or gave you a few discounts on some of my merchandise just so he could suck your toes. But in twenty-three years of marriage, there was two things I could count on: One, he would never bring me any disease that anti-fungal powder couldn’t cure, and two, he always brought his ass home.”
Aaron jammed the muzzle harder into Tuesday’s head. “You were one of the last people to see my husband,” Vega sneered. “You’re gonna tell me what happened that night or my son is gonna blow your brains out right here, right now.”
Tuesday met Vega’s stare.
“Your husband is dead,” she said coldly. “I killed him.”
Chapter Thirty
“Tell me why I shouldn’t shoot you in the face right now.”
“Because I am a very rich bitch and I am about to make you a lot of money.” Tuesday tried to keep her voice calm even though her heart was going at a hundred beats per minute. She imagined DelRay’s to be doing a hundred-forty which was extremely dangerous for a person his size.
Madame Vega scowled. “You kill my husband and steal his guns then come back here looking to buy more. I only came to see if you were just that arrogant or stupid.”
Tuesday explained. “That night I showed up here and paid Face his money just like I promised, but the nigga did some slimeball shit. He tried to rob me for three million dollars.
“Now I was a thief too, and I know what come with the game. Three mil is three mil, so it don’t surprise me that even a nigga I been jam with for twenty years would put down a play for it—I could almost forgive that. But somebody snatched my five-year-old stepdaughter and the money was to get her back. Your husband made me miss the ransom drop and damn near got my baby girl killed. I’m sorry Madame Vega, but that’s the part I couldn’t forgive.”
Pain and anger aged Vega, made her look older then her years. “What did you do to my husband?”
Tuesday stared back with defiance. “The same thing he was gonna do to me. Now that you know, can we get back to business?”
The one holding the pistol on DelRay forced him down to his knees. Execution position. DelRay looked at Tuesday, his huge eyes wide as golf balls, searching hers saying, “Bitch, do something.”
Aaron snatched Tuesday’s head back by a fistful of good weave then slung her to the ground. She went down hard, then rolled onto her back with her hands raised. He stood over her with the gun hovering over her face.
She looked up at Vega. “I get how you feel. I was in yo’ same situation ‘bout a week ago. I’m not asking you to not pull that trigger, I’m just asking you to wait.
“If you help me move Reina out the way, that’s gone clear a lane for you. You stand to make millions fuckin’ with me. Millions!”
“You’re just an ex-stripper who robs dope boys. Where’s all this big money talk comin’ from?”
Tuesday stayed cool even from her position in the dirt. She politely asked them to Google Tabitha King. Aaron kept his pistol leveled at her but quickly pulled his phone with his free hand as if eager to call her bluff. A second later he was linked to pictures of Tuesday and Brandon and the glass skyscraper that was Abel’s corporate headquarters. When he passed the phone to his mother, they both looked at Tuesday curiously.
“A long time ago my husband bought a small boat just to help move kilos under the radar. That rusted-out, forty-foot pleasure craft is now an entire fleet of international cargo freighters, and a small shipping company that used to launder cocaine profits is now the third largest importing corporation in America.”
Tuesday paused. “I’m married to Sebastian Caine.”
Everything fell silent. Two of the youngsters abruptly cut short the conversation they were having among themselves. Even the cranking sound from the ratchet quit as the greasy mechanic suddenly stopped tightening a bolt. Everybody froze and just stared at her dumbly, especially DelRay.
Skepticism twisted Vega’s face. “And I’m fuckin’ the Loch Ness Monster.”
Tuesday smirked. “Yeah, I know a lotta niggas been pump-faking and hiding behind that name over the years. My bae’s a real private person and he’d be super pissed if he knew I put him out there like this.
“But please believe he’d be more pissed if somebody put a hole in my face. You’ll be puttin’ somethin’ in motion you won’t be able to stop.”
Aaron spat, “This bitch lying. She ain’t been doin’ shit but lying the whole time.”
Tuesday said, “Li’l nigga, it’s a reason yo’ Mama ain’t told you to pull that trigger yet. It’s only two ways a bitch would come here and tell a story like that: one they was crazy, or two if it was true. You just saw what I’m working wit’, so you know I ain’t crazy.”
Madame Vega said, “You might think this strengthens your position but it doesn’t. What is the CEO of a large shipping company and Caine’s wife doing here in a junkyard trying to buy guns and men? You must be desperate.”
“Very,” Tuesday admitted. “But desperate doesn’t mean weak.”
She could tell by the look on Vega’s face that her last statement hit home.
She said, “If money truly is no object, I want an upfront payment of twenty million dollars in cash. And I want ten percent of Abel’s profits for the rest of my son’s life.”
Tuesday got back to her feet, gave her a ‘bitch, you crazy’ stare. “You ain’t getting a single percent of my company—not one. But I’m willing to give you a one-time payment of ten million for twenty shooters. That’s more than you gone make if you selling an AK to every nigga in Detroit.”
Vega agreed. “How soon can I have my money?”
“As soon as I can get my army.”
Madame Vega made Aaron put his gun away. DelRay was let up from his knees.
Tuesday’s purse and money was returned to her.
“Just because I’m willing to do business doesn’t mean it changes anything between us.” Vega frowned. “And I have to know what happened to my husband.”
Tuesday understood because she was just on the other side of that question. “I put him in the trunk of one of these old cars then put it in that big machine that crush it down to a little cube. He might still be here in the yard somewhere.”
Vega gasped. “You psychotic bitch.”
Tuesday shrugged. “Like I said, it was the same thing he was gone do to me, but I do understand the need for revenge. So if you still feel some type of way, we can deal with that after this is done.”
Madame Vega nodded. “We most certainly will.”
Chapter Thirty-one
“My bad ’bout the seat.”
Tuesday had dusted her clothes as best she could before climbing back into DelRay’s Escalade, but her Fendi fit still stained his leather upholstery with sand and gravel.
“We gone stop somewhere so you can vacuum out my shit. Might as well hit the rims while you at it.”
She laughed. “You got that comin’.”
“Was that the way you thought that shit was gone go?”
“Naw, I thought we’d get killed.”
He said, “And I got the feeling we still might.”
For a while that was last thing spoken between them. The radio filled the space but the volume was so low that the deejay whispered. DelRay was in the driver’s seat staring ahead as if totally focused on navigating Greenfield Road’s southbound traffic. Tuesday felt the weight of his unvoiced questions and concerns.
“I broke the rules when I fell in love with my mark, so the team betrayed me and Tushie when I tried to call off the lick. Brianna, Jaye and Baby Doll snatched his daughter.”
DelRay was present that night and had helped Tuesday get Danielle back, never knowing who the little girl was or her connection to his boss.
“That half a million I gave you was s’posed to be part of the ransom. It belonged to Caine.”
He finally turned to her. “The real Sebastian Caine? I didn’t even think that nigga existed.”
“I didn’t either. He was so low-pro wit’ his shit that at first I didn’t believe it was him. That’s how I wound up letting my guard down.”
It took DelRay about a quarter mile to absorb that truth. His expression of utter disbelief lasted until they reached the light at the next major cross-street.
“Can I see what he look like?”
Tuesday shook her head. “My bae don’t do pictures or social media. But you can see my girls.” She used her phone to pull up photos of Tanisha and Danielle.
DelRay studied their faces with a brief smile. “But if you’re married to The Man, why are you back here needing help?”
“Because he’s gone.” It seemed to pain Tuesday to even admit that. “Some shit came up from his past, he tried to get out in front of it, but—it’s just me. It’s all on me to protect what he built.”
DelRay would have liked details but there was enough irritation in her voice for him not to pursue them.
A delay near Chicago Ave. slowed traffic to a crawl. Up ahead, a garbage truck had apparently stalled trying to make a left turn from a side street. It blocked two lanes causing congestion as commuters waited to be funneled into one open stream. The Escalade rode the far right lane, creeping slower than the people who bypassed them on the sidewalk.
Tuesday had run to the woman whose husband she had killed for help against the woman who killed her husband. Tuesday was thinking of Marcus as well as how Webster’s defined irony when the phone interrupted her musings. She expected a call from Shaun or maybe even Brandon just checking in on her.
“Hello green-eyed girl, what are you up to?”
Her pulse quickened. Tuesday only needed a second to get composed after the initial shock of hearing that scholarly voice.
“Looking for a new place to live. You probably didn’t hear, but I lost my house in a fire.”
“I’m so sorry. I pray that no harm came to either of those lovely girls.” There was no sarcasm in her voice but then there didn’t need to be. Tuesday understood the entire call was about mocking her. It started with the fact that she had the connections to get Tuesday’s new and unlisted phone number.
Remembering that look of fright on Tanisha’s face as they fled in the back of the van burned Tuesday. She bit down on her lip but refused to get emotional like she did at the warehouse.
“Me and my girls are just fine but everybody didn’t make it out okay.” Tuesday threw a slick jab referring to the two men Brandon killed. “I could halfway buy that shit about Marcus being strictly business but you done really made this personal by sending them clowns after my daughters.”
“It sounds like you’re making unfounded accusations against me of a criminal nature. I have a very large team of very expensive lawyers who take slander quite seriously.”
The bitch was clever. Tuesday understood that she was taking precautions just in case the conversation was being recorded.
The line was quiet for a beat. “Hypothetically speaking, who’s to say what your enemies did at the house wasn’t a complete success?”
Tuesday said, “Because I’m still alive and I still got my girls.”
“Maybe you’re the one who never understood what their purpose was. What if your enemies’ moves are just that far beyond your comprehension? Just for fun, let’s play a game of ‘What if.’”
“Marcus was right. You thank everything is a game. And that’s where you fuckin’ up.”
Reina said, “What if your enemies weren’t really trying to kidnap your daughters, just wanted to illicit a certain response? And what if the fire was never designed to kill as much as weaken you?”
Tuesday played along. “So you’re saying these people, whoever they are, burned down my house just to weaken me? What does that even mean?”
She explained. “Home provides a sense of comfort and stability that people desperately need in times of duress. Try to imagine a king with no castle or fortress for where he can retreat.
“The additional benefit would be that it takes away a multimillion dollar asset from you. Tuesday, wars are expensive. Insurance companies move incredibly slow on claims that large. Even slower when they suspect arson.”
A heavy breath expelled from her nostrils. It was proof of frustration that slipped from Tuesday and she could almost hear Reina’s smile through the phone.
“I told you, Tuesday, I’m smarter than you.” Despite her words, the tone was not condescending. “There’s no move you can make that I haven’t accounted for.
“I already know you’re back home in Detroit. I already know you’re looking to spend from that inexhaustible war chest. I already know you have a short list of people who you trust.” Then after a pause she added, “Like the fat man sitting next you in the white Escalade.”
Tuesday eyes snapped wide enough to startle DelRay. She screamed at him, “We gotta move this bitch now!”
Reina added, “And to finish our game: What if this entire conversation was just a distraction?”
Tuesday didn’t even have time to warn DelRay. She pulled his head down into her lap a split-second before the windows exploded. The automatic gunfire that erupted on the afternoon was like a drum-roll played on a tight snare. Tuesday couldn’t tell where the shooters were located. The volume indicated they were close.
The screams of women and children as other drivers fled their cars, the ping of lead striking the metal frame and shattering windows, the chatter of what experienced ears knew to be multiple AR-15’s: all those sounds melded to produce a deafening cacophony.
The Escalade rocked from the impact of the bullets. Glass rained on DelRay and Tuesday as they crouched in their seats. They were trapped and didn’t know if the shooters were on foot or in the surrounding vehicles. Tuesday squeaked when she felt pain stab her lower right leg.
She snatched the Ruger from DelRay’s waist and fired blindly out the missing window. She didn’t expect to hit anyone. Tuesday only hoped the return-fire would delay the killers from running up to finish them.
“Nigga, we gone die if you don’t get us the fuck outta’ here!”
The Cadillac was boxed into the far right lane. With his head still low, DelRay stomped the gas and rammed the car in front of him. He pushed an abandoned Honda Civic several feet until it bumped the car ahead of it then reversed to take advantage of the added space. He cut the wheel sharply to the right and powered over the curb.
It was then that Tuesday got her first glimpse of a shooter. He was crouched between two cars wearing the puke-green coveralls of a city worker. He sprinkled the Escalade as DelRay barreled through the pumps of a Shell station, sideswiped an old Chrysler Lebaron, then bounced over another curb at the far end.
As they sped down a side street, Tuesday twisted in her seat to watch a burgundy Tahoe bend the same corner in pursuit. She recognized the vehicle of choice for La Guapa’s henchmen.
“Punch this bitch. They on our ass.”
DelRay was hunched over the wheel like an old man, squinting hard through a shattered windshield. He took that residential block doing eighty and hit the corner so hard that they skated on two wheels.
The Tahoe stayed close behind. The tinted glass in DelRay’s tailgate window had been blown out, making easy targets of him and Tuesday. They stayed low in their seats. A well-placed bullet through that open sight-line could find a home in the back of one of their skulls.
From that side street, he turned onto another residential block then quickly pulled into the first driveway he saw before the Tahoe could make the corner. He sandwiched the long LSV between two burned houses while their pursuers sped by on the street.
Because
the property was without a garage or fenced-in backyard, DelRay continued up the driveway and whipped into the alley at the rear. He navigated around dumpsters and debris like a stunt driver then plowed through a grassy field that was littered with car parts.
They came out on the neighboring block. A left and another quick right sent them in the opposite direction they had last seen the Tahoe headed.
After a few streets when they didn’t catch sight of a burgundy SUV, DelRay finally chanced to sit erect. “What the fuck was that?”
Tuesday had dropped her phone when the shooting started. She retrieved it from the floor between her feet and noticed the call was still active.
La Guapa had remained on the line. “Hey hoodrat, are you still with me?”
She screamed, “Bitch, dis how you want it? We can do whatever cause I’m about dat life!”
“Calm down, Tuesday, you’re getting emotional again.” She spoke with the calm tone of a therapist. “Back when I was playing chess competitively, I could always tell when my opponents were rattled by how they—”
Tuesday hung up on that bitch. She was done talking. She was too angry and embarrassed for their little game.
Half a block later, she flung the phone out into the street just to be safe. Tuesday had used cell phones to track people so she knew Reina could do the same.
“What the fuck was all that?” DelRay repeated since she didn’t answer the first time.
“Just drive, nigga.” Tuesday’s heart was still booming, at first from fright and then fury.
Chapter Thirty-two
She had to convince DelRay to leave his truck. Driving a bullet-riddled Escalade would attract too much attention and Tuesday explained how important it was that she avoid the police. They parked it behind the ruins of a closed-down KFC. She promised to pay for the damages.
DelRay called for an Uber as they started down Schaeffer Road on foot. Tuesday moved awkwardly at his side, wincing with each step.
She rolled her pant leg up to inspect the wound. She was only grazed, but the bullet had cut deep. A gash of seared flesh ran across her right calf. She would need antiseptic and possibly stitches, but luckily not a doctor.