by Zaire Crown
DelRay brought her back to the moment just in time to see an ’84 Chevy 2-door Caprice roll into the car wash. The paint looked sticky and wet like a grape Jolly Rancher. It sat high on twenty-eight-inch Giovanni’s; purple candy and chrome reflected the late afternoon sun. The motor growled like something primal until he pulled into the next stall. The driver was already out of the car when they came around to greet him.
Tuesday didn’t know what to expect but he surely fit the bill of a professional goon. The six-foot-five juggernaut seemed capable of walking through brick walls. She knew men for whom muscles were mostly cosmetic like A.D. and Marcus. His level of swell marked him as somebody who made a living with his might and had the battle scars to prove it. A massive chest and arms bulged under a snug T-shirt that read: ‘Built in Detroit.’
Even DelRay seemed diminished by him despite being four inches taller and a hundred pounds heavier. One was sponsored by Hennessey and fast food, the other protein and discipline.
Tuesday asked, “You Silence?”
He nodded then engulfed her whole hand with a callused palm the size of a bear’s paw.
DelRay’s eyes flashed with recognition. “We did some business a few years ago. I had a spot on the eastside, State Fair off Gratiot. You and yo’ mans in the white Range came through, bought a couple AR’s from me.”
His face remained expressionless. Tuesday thought he was cute even with the nasty welt parting the hair on his left cheek. Only his complexion was lighter than she preferred.
He extended his new Galaxy S to Tuesday who looked at it skeptically before accepting. A message was written out on the screen. Tuesday read it then handed the phone back to him.
“Ten thousand a week is a lot of money. How do I know you worth all that?”
He gave her a bitch, please look.
He typed something into his phone with huge fingers that were lightning quick. He passed it to her and she read the text out loud: YOU KNEW ENOUGH ABOUT MY REPUTATION TO CALL ME SO YOU KNOW I’M WORTH IT.
DelRay said, “I definitely remember you. You ain’t never say shit then.”
“You don’t speak and your name is Silence. That’s cute.” Tuesday let out a phony laugh. “So you actually cain’t talk or is this like some gimmick thing you doing?”
He just stared down on her like a grim statue.
Tuesday looked him up and down. He was built like an action figure but she tried not to look too impressed. “Alright, you cut up, and you probably intimidate all the jack boys and gang banging niggas in the hood. But I got serious beef with professional hitters. I need a real shooter who know how to play wit’ them guns—and I ain’t talking that fake-thug sidearm shit.”
Silence walked away from her while she was still talking. He went to the coin-operated water sprayer, and with one powerful yank, snatched open the locked change drawer causing quarters to spill to the ground. He stooped to pick up a few, walked back to them. He searched his pocket then stood in front of Tuesday with his huge hand cupping what appeared to be about four dollars in quarters, nickels, dimes and pennies.
The message he typed this time was for DelRay to read. “Any number from fifty to two hundred. You want me to pick a number?”
Tuesday wrinkled her nose. “This nigga ’bout to do a magic trick?”
Curiosity made DelRay play along. He didn’t think, just randomly blurted, “one forty-one.”
Silence stepped from underneath the stall and motioned for them to follow. He stood in the lot behind the car wash and when he pulled a Sig Sauer 9 with an extended clip from his hip, DelRay already knew what he was planning.
“Hell naw Playboy. I got two racks that say you ain’t layin’ like that.”
He tapped his nose to signify they had a bet then screwed a silencer into the muzzle. Tuesday still hadn’t caught on yet.
Silence tossed the change high into the air then took aim with the pistol and fired eight shots. A second later when the change struck the ground, he scoured the pavement to collect the coins.
DelRay paid him two thousand dollars right before Tuesday handed over a stack with ten more.
When the man they called Silence opened his palm, he held five quarters, one dime, one nickel and one penny. Each had a bullet hole dead center.
Chapter Thirty-five
Tuesday wanted Silence to start immediately. He revealed that he had offensive or defensive capabilities, which meant he could play the bodyguard or the hitman.
He also confessed that a childhood illness had taken his hearing. He assured her that his handicap in no way diminished his abilities. He claimed to be an expert lip-reader and had no problem communicating as long as she faced him while talking or used texts.
Tuesday almost asked for her money back. She considered all the ways him being deaf and mute might endanger them in a shootout. Even with armor-piercing rounds, she admitted his trick with the coins was impressive, but she wondered what would happen when bullets starting flying instead of change.
Silence texted that he needed to drop off his car so he had them follow him to the hood around 12th Street and Richton, a notoriously cutthroat part of a cutthroat city. From behind the wheel DelRay watched each pair of young, hungry eyes watching him as he cruised by. Dusk had started to descend and the big shiny Benz had nocturnal predators licking their chops.
This was the type of area that had DelRay leery about parking on the street, so he became even more nervous when Silence pulled deep into an alley that ran behind a liquor store. He frowned at Tuesday before his new European followed the old school over rocks and broken glass.
Silence parked somewhere past the midway point, got out, circled around to the rear of the purple Chevy. Tuesday expected him to grab a gym bag or maybe a few guns from the trunk. Her eyes went wide when he snatched out a man.
She and DelRay exchanged looks as Silence picked up and manhandled some scrawny nigga like he were a child. He wore nothing but a wifebeater and boxer shorts. Thick bands of gray duct-tape bound his ashy arms at the wrists and matching legs at the ankles. Dried blood from his nostrils crusted his upper lip. He was gagged by a Gucci head scarf.
Dude shivered like a cold puppy when Silence pulled a big ass hunting knife. His eyes followed the serrated blade as Silence drew near. He began to plead for his life. Tuesday thought dude would shit himself until Silence cut his wrists free.
Silence tossed him a wallet but held on to the driver’s license. The mute man gave a serious glare that was clearly understood because the ashy one responded with a vigorous head shake for an emphatic no. Silence then pressed the car keys into his palm along with a few crispy hundred dollar bills. He gave dude a friendly pat on the back then joined Tuesday and DelRay in the Mercedes.
Tuesday turned in her seat. “What the fuck was that?”
He already had an answer waiting on his phone, obviously anticipating the question. The screen read: CAR RENTAL.
The quizzical look on Tuesday’s face ran deeper, forcing him to quickly punch out a second message: DON’T KNOW Y’ALL NIGGAS. WASN’T COMIN’ TO MEET IN MY OWN SHIT!
After a few seconds of DelRay sitting there watching the trunk-dweller try to peel duct-tape from his ankles, Silence made a motion with his hands that said ‘we can go now.’
DelRay drove back to 24 Karats where Tuesday picked up her car. From there she and Silence left together in the Hyundai with him insisting to drive. He didn’t share this but Tuesday guessed it was in case somebody tried to follow them.
On the way back out to Romulus, Tuesday made him stop so she could pick up a new phone. As she walked through the Apple store, Silence lingered a few steps behind her, his eyes clocking everything. Tuesday appreciated DelRay but having Silence watch her back made her feel like a politician with her own secret service agent.
Tuesday returned to the Residence Inn and introduced the new bodyguard to the family. Danielle was her usual sullen self but Tanisha seemed less fearful of Silence than she had been of DelRay. Tu
esday smiled when she caught Shaun throwing repeated glances at the brown-skinned mountain of muscle.
Tuesday offered to buy the room next door for him but Silence indicated that he preferred to stay close and agreed to sleep on the couch.
For the next three hours all the women found ways to cope with the boredom of being cooped up while Silence spent the entire time posted like a sentry. He squatted down on powerful haunches staring out the front window, his Sig Sauer hanging from his hip.
Tuesday could sense that Shaun wanted to talk in private for what she assumed was to pump her for a thousand “whats” and “whys” about the situation. Tuesday actively tried to avoid being alone with her.
When Tuesday’s phone rang she knew it was only one of three people who had the number. She didn’t expect to hear from A.D. that quickly. And when she slipped into the bathroom to take the call, she certainly didn’t expect a dinner invitation.
Tuesday could list twenty good reasons why she shouldn’t go. She knew the smart thing would be to just lay low and wait for Brandon to send the money. She was facing a deadly foe who always seemed to be a step ahead of her and could possibly be exposing A.D. to that threat. She was still hurting over Marcus and a dinner date seemed a little too intimate, a little too soon at a time when she was a little too vulnerable.
She could have made a rational decision if it were any other man but A.D.
Tuesday got an earful from Shaun and an eye roll from Danielle upon announcing that she was going out with no explanation. Silence only nodded compliantly when she ordered him to stay behind with Shaun and the girls.
Tuesday convinced herself that A.D. coming back into her life just when she lost Marcus was too much like Fate. She couldn’t resist the pull to her first true love any more than a falling object could resist the pull of gravity.
Chapter Thirty-six
Earlier, DelRay had surprised her with that reunion but Tuesday refused to let A.D. see her looking bad again. Since her entire wardrobe burned along with her house, she caught an outlet mall minutes before closing and bought a tight off-the-shoulder dress by Julien MacDonald and pair of Louboutins. Another glitch with her credit card forced her to spend from her dwindling reserve. She wore both right out of the store.
Tuesday used to be able to walk into her favorite salons and get straight into a chair regardless of how many pissed off bitches were ahead of her. She’d been gone too long to have that type of juice anymore. She had to pay extra to get squeezed in late without an appointment and still waited an hour and a half to be seated.
After getting worked on by a hair stylist, a makeup artist, and a nail technician, Tuesday checked her reflection and felt more like herself than she had in weeks. Long spiral curls, red bottoms, skimpy black dress. She was a little insecure about the new scar on her leg but would eventually get that tatted over. She was ready to face A.D.
It was twenty minutes after ten when she finally met him in the parking lot of the place where they had their first date. Her club had been in a strip mall that also shared space with a rib joint, a beauty supply store, a clothing boutique and an empty storefront. Luckily the fire that burned The Bounce had not spread to the adjoining units. Bo’s BBQ was still doing business.
He drove a modest fifteen-year-old Mercury Mountaineer with a dented quarter panel. A.D. stepped out in a button-up shirt and slacks that were cheap but hung on him well. Despite them both insisting they were only meeting as friends, Tuesday was already thinking of all the ways she could upgrade him.
He held the door for her as they entered an eatery they were overdressed for. Tuesday brushed past him, close enough to inhale his soapy scent. She walked with a wiggle that was supposed to draw his eyes to her ass.
At the counter it pained Tuesday to learn that the owner and namesake passed eighteen months prior. For twenty years, Bo had been more than a neighbor, he’d been a friend.
His eldest daughter ran the establishment, so Tuesday offered her condolences and intended to leave a generous tip out of respect for the old man who had been kind enough to give a starving young stripper a lifetime of free barbeque.
She and A.D. used preliminary chitchat to hold them over until their orders were prepared. Bo’s BBQ was primarily a carryout but offered a small dining area with five tables. Tuesday took a seat that faced the entrance, Heckler in her small clutch. She let A.D. explain how he was adjusting to the free world.
“Things done changed like a mutha in the years since I left the streets. The city looked like somebody dropped a bomb on it. These young dudes crazy off the pills and codeine. All the OG’s who had the bag in my era either smoked out, dead or doing Fed time.”
Tuesday listened for a while and answered his questions when he inquired about mutual friends he lost touch with, but when A.D. innocently asked to be caught up on her life, he wasn’t prepared to have his mind blown.
Tuesday told him everything, even things she had been keeping secret when she was still going to visit him. It was an epic story of shoot-outs, setups, and a kidnapped child. She’d been raped by a dirty cop and nearly crushed to death in a junked car. The L.A. chapters included the fire, the ambush at the restaurant, and the fight for her company.
A.D. sucked it all up, wide-eyed like a kid by a campfire. He didn’t butt in and only commented to say “Damn!” at the most unbelievable parts.
It wasn’t just for dramatic effect that Tuesday was slow to reveal the biggest plot twists. It was hard to confess that she was a mother, considering they had mutually agreed to abort two pregnancies during their relationship. It was harder to explain who the child’s father was.
The second revelation knocked A.D. into a stunned silence that had him unable to formulate words for a full minute. He glanced at the massive diamond on her finger then back to her. She could tell he was recalling the details of her story and could pinpoint by his expression the exact moment skepticism became belief.
Tuesday had never known A.D. to be a coward. She had met and fell in love with him as a thoroughbred street nigga with a slick mouth and a big .40 caliber to back it up. But right then he seemed ready to jump up and run out of the restaurant.
Tuesday tried to calm him. She reached out for his hand but A.D. snatched away from her like she were contagious.
She hid how much that hurt behind a smile. “Come on boy, it ain’t that serious.”
“Your baby daddy done killed more niggas than cigarettes and you got me in a public place with you. Girl, what the fuck is you thinking?”
“All the rumors we heard ’bout him being a monster is bullshit. He’s a regular guy. Look and act a lot like you. I told you I had a type.”
A.D. wasn’t feeling her attempt to be funny. “Well if he anything like me, I know he won’t be cool with his wife being on a date with her ex. It didn’t end too well for the last dude who got caught messing with Caine’s woman. I like my head being attached to my neck.”
“That story about him cutting those people heads off ain’t never happen.” Tuesday hoped that lie would ease his tension.
A.D. was still looking sick when their plates arrived: two half-slabs of beef ribs, two small salads, and one platter of large-cut steak fries to share. They both chose pink lemonade to wash it down.
Tuesday pulled a bone from the slab and eagerly tore into it, but the first two bites revealed that these were no longer Bo’s ribs. The taste wasn’t bad, just unfamiliar. Either the daughter didn’t inherit the old man’s recipe for his amazing barbeque sauce or she didn’t inherit his culinary talent.
For a while, Tuesday watched A.D. pick at his food with low enthusiasm. She could tell that it wasn’t the flavor that had him put off.
“So what, you scared of me now?” she said irritated. “Adrian, you was the first nigga to put a dick in my mouth, and my ass! Don’t sit here and act all weird like you don’t know me.”
He shook his head. “I’m not scared of you—I’m scared of your husband. I’m intimidated by you.”
Arms crossed beneath her bosom. “What’s the difference?”
“When I met you, you was just this fine little green-eyed girl with a cute smile, dancing at a rinky-dink club and surviving off Top Ramen. Only beef you had was with the next chick trying to steal your tips.
“Now you bossed up to Beverly Hills mansions, private jets and hundred-million-dollar corporations. You’re married to a real-life kingpin and beefing with the cartels.”
Tuesday asked, “Would you be happier if I was just another bridge-card bitch out here waiting on the first and chasing every nigga wit’ a Rolex?”
A.D. dragged a hand over his face. “You know that ain’t what I mean. It’s just that I’m the one who started you out helping me stick guys for thousand-dollar sacks. Part of me is happy that you doin’ big things but another part of me feel responsible for introducing you to this life.”
Tuesday had seen him like this before during their visits at the prison and had no interest in watching him guilt trip.
“I went through hell to get my hair done and stuff myself in a dress two sizes too small. Can a bitch get complimented on her sexy? Damn nigga, at least sneak a peek at my cleavage or something.”
“I see you still use dick-teasing to throw niggas off balance. I got a situation, you got a situation. And your situation is complicated.”
“It’s not like I’m asking you to get a room. I just wanna hear that I’m looking good after all these years. Just cause you on a diet don’t mean you can’t scope the menu.”
A.D. laughed. “You still crazy as hell. And you still lookin’ good.”
That seemed to make A.D. comfortable again so the two of them reminisced while the ribs cooled on their plates. After another forty-five minutes, they got the leftovers bagged up and Tuesday still left that generous tip despite the subpar sauce.
She felt A.D. tense up a bit when she linked her arm into his on the way out.
“He’s not in the picture,” she said eyeing him seriously. “I wouldn’t play a game like that with him, or you.”