by Zaire Crown
Once all the cops and civilians turned away from their inappropriate display, she whispered in his ear: “Shut the fuck up and walk me outta here nigga, and I’ll make you rich!”
Chapter Forty-four
They walked out the front doors of the precinct just as a black van pulled up with three men wearing FBI jackets. Tuesday passed them on the steps, head down, eyes averted. She followed the lanky dude down the block to his car. As they turned off Beaubien Street, Tuesday said she didn’t care where he dropped her off, she just wanted to get away from downtown. She didn’t relax until they were on the freeway.
He called himself Aston Martin Meech, even though he drove a busted 2005 Dodge Magnum on a donut. He was about twenty-seven, a light-skinned nigga with long braids who she didn’t think was bad-looking, until his smile revealed two missing front teeth.
When he asked about money, she told him that his chick was wearing it. Tuesday also suggested that he be back at the precinct in an hour to pick her up before she could trade the watch for fifty dollars in crack.
He believed Tuesday, but also stared at her DSLs and the way she filled out that dress in a way his regular chick never could. The young pimp spent the first part of the drive trying to recruit Tuesday into his stable.
She asked to borrow his phone and the first call she made was to Shaun. She tried three times but only got her voice mail. Tuesday thought she might be avoiding the unfamiliar number.
Next, she called DelRay who tried to ask her a thousand questions about what happened at the airport. Tuesday was too smart to go into all that on the phone. She dodged his whats and whys, then arranged for him to meet her. They agreed on a gas station on the Westside that was close to his hood but far enough from the club.
The last person she called was Brandon. Even though it was a strange number, he answered on the second ring.
“You’re a dead bitch!” Tuesday didn’t bother with an introduction. Rage made her hands and voice shaky.
He was probably surprised to hear Tuesday’s voice. There was a brief pause on the line before he responded. “This doesn’t sound like a jail call. Should’ve known you’d find some way to wiggle out of that.”
“He trusted you. The girls love you. We’re supposed to be family. How did La Guapa get you to sell out everybody you love, Brandon?”
“My name isn’t Brandon just like your name isn’t Tabitha. You see what he does, makes everybody around him play these roles. First, he found a father, then a daughter, and finally brought you in to play the wife. None of this was ever real; we were just actors he hired for The Marcus King Show.
“Well, I never wanted to change my image, and never felt guilty about who I was. Tuesday, if I really wanted a family, I could’ve settled down with some fat bitch forty years ago, got some job at a plant, and pumped out ten kids.”
“If he was here, you already know what he’d do to you.”
“In this game, people either die loyal or live long enough to see themselves betrayed.” Brandon thundered that statement back at her. “And it’s his own fault. Playing this stupid ass game of pretend allowed him to get weak while his enemies got strong. And I warned him a thousand times.”
Tuesday said, “He was trying to be a better person.”
“He was at his best as Sebastian Caine. If he had stayed the course he could’ve been a Master by now.”
Aston Martin Meech was ignoring the road to be all in her conversation. Tuesday gave him a mind your business glare.
To Brandon she said, “You still cain’t do nothing with Abel. I left you as CEO but I’m still the majority shareholder.”
“You were never the majority shareholder—the girls are. As their legal guardian, you were just the trustor over what belongs to them and that gave you control. You relinquished your status as trustor when you turned over your parental rights to me.”
It was as if he could hear Tuesday’s confusion in her silence. He mocked her with a tsk-tsk. “You really aren’t supposed to sign things without reading it first.”
She thought back on those endless stacks of paperwork he had brought to Shaun’s house. At the time, she trusted him like a father, never thinking he would slip some bullshit in on her.
She sneered into the phone. “There ain’t no place you can hide or enough men you can hire to keep me off yo’ ass. Before this is over I’m gonna hear the sound of your death screams.”
“There’s nothing you can do, Tuesday. The legal guardian controls Abel and I already agreed to the sell. You no longer have access to any of the company’s assets and all of Tabitha King’s personal accounts are frozen. Without the money you’re just another broke bitch from the hood with two kids and no man. So you should feel right at home in Detroit.”
Tuesday hung up, couldn’t stand to hear his voice anymore. She couldn’t reconcile the same man who had smiled and played with her daughters for every day of their lives with the asshole on the phone. It was hard for her to believe that someone could be so close for so long while only pretending to love so convincingly. She hated herself when she remembered that she had played the same game for so many years before meeting Marcus.
She had Meech drop her off at a gas station on Wyoming and Schoolcraft. She thanked the snaggle-toothed pimp then joined DelRay who waited in a mid-90s Bonneville that he claimed was his shooter. When Tuesday jumped in, he scanned the pink dress and green hair with amusement. “If a clown could be a thot, that’s what it would look like.”
“Fuck you Fatboy!” She slammed the door and snatched off the wig. “It’s been a helluva day.”
She gave him the quick version of everything that happened since the airport: Ms. Jackson, the fake money, backstabbing Brandon, and the armband switch-up.
When she asked if Silence got in touch, DelRay shook his head. “That nigga already move like a ghost: no address, no social media. I guarantee he in the wind, just like you need to be.”
Tuesday agreed but didn’t know how she could. Brandon left her in a serious bind. She was on the run with two children, a mistress, and no money. Vega was waiting on ten million that wasn’t coming. The last of her petty cash was in the purse at the First Precinct. She quietly contemplated her few options as DelRay drove her out to the Residence Inn in Romulus.
When they pulled into the parking lot, Tuesday nearly jumped from the car before DelRay could bring it to a complete stop. The door to their room was kicked in and hung half off its hinges.
Tuesday rushed inside to find the space violated. Food and clothes littered the floor.
Shaun and her girls were gone.
Chapter Forty-five
At the reception office, Tuesday asked about the break-in at Room 115, and it may have been her hot-pink hooker attire that made the clerk on duty so dismissive. Tuesday was treated like a disgruntled customer whining about a faulty air conditioner. The white lady barely listened as Tuesday explained that her nine and three-year-old daughters were missing. When she offered Tuesday a form to file a complaint, DelRay had to stop her from climbing over the desk.
Tuesday started pounding on doors like the police, asking tenants in the neighboring units if they saw or heard anything. Most were still in fuck-sleep from the night before and many creeping on spouses or main partners, so nobody was in the mood to be interviewed. The few who answered their doors slammed them in her face after one or two quick one-word denials. Eventually, enough of them complained to the receptionist who threatened to call the actual police.
This forced Tuesday and DelRay to bail, but not before they ran back to check the room for a clue. On impulse Tuesday snatched Shaun’s laptop off the floor.
It was upon leaving that Tuesday noticed the rental car was nowhere in the parking lot. Her hope was that Shaun had taken the girls before whoever kicked in the door.
Tuesday blew up Shaun and Danielle’s phones but hope faded each time she was sent to voice mail. She figured Brandon would have told her if he had the girls; she tried his number ag
ain, but this time he didn’t pick up.
“We’re gonna find ’em.” DelRay offered that confidently, with a nudge from his elbow.
Tuesday sank deeper into her seat. “This all on me. I could’ve just took the money and avoided these problems. I thought I could handle this.”
DelRay said, “We are gone handle this. We gone find yo’ girls and handle this. We just need to go to my crib and lay low for a while.”
Tuesday was dejected. “Agent Jackson know about you and they gone be looking to question you about the shit that popped at 24 Karats. I bet the feds watching your crib already.”
DelRay wasn’t fazed. “Then we go somewhere else to lay down for a minute.”
“Where?” she spat, exasperated. “Nigga I’m broke. The last couple of bands I had was in my purse—I ain’t even got enough to get another room. And in case you didn’t notice, I ain’t gotta bunch of people I can count on.
“You done already lost two cars, your club, and probably getting indicted. You might wanna step away from me.”
He looked at her like she was crazy. “Tuesday, you the reason I had all that shit in the first place. And it ain’t like you don’t got nobody in your corner.”
Tuesday lowered her head, covered her face with her hands. DelRay looked over to see she was wrapped in a cocoon of her own pity. He wanted to continue the pep-talk, but knew it wasn’t the time. Clearly none of his empty platitudes could ease the concern for her daughters.
A blanket of clouds cloaked the city, producing a gray day. The weather reflected Tuesday’s eye color and mood.
She didn’t pay attention to the roads and turns that DelRay took. At some point she glanced up to realize they were in an area of Detroit’s Westside called Brightmoor. What had once been an affluent neighborhood filled with auto-workers during the ’70s and ’80s had been in constant freefall since the decline of the industry. Since the ’90s, it had been referred to as “Blight-more.” Closed liquor stores and gas stations anchored every corner. Residential blocks had ten empty lots for each house. Some of the streets were so unused that weeds had started to grow right up through the asphalt.
DelRay pulled into the driveway of a small wooden house that surprisingly still had all its windows and doors. The front porch sagged on the verge of collapse, and fiends had stolen much of the aluminum siding. On either side of the dwellings were firebombed shells.
Tuesday frowned. “Who live in this raggedy muthafucka?”
DelRay threw the transmission in park. “Probably the one person in the world who would fuck wit’ either of us right now.”
They left the Bonneville and he led her to the side entrance. As they approached she heard the sound of multiple locks being undone.
When the door opened, A.D. was quick to usher them inside.
Seeing him broke Tuesday’s emotional dam. She latched on to him and immediately began to cry into his chest.
Chapter Forty-six
A.D. told DelRay to hide the car in the garage while he took Tuesday into a modest but neat home. Through a clean kitchen with rusted antique appliances, he led Tuesday to the living room where the fake-leather sofa set and smoked glass coffee table were about twenty years out of date. He sat Tuesday on the couch, tried to console her.
Through sobs and sniffs, she caught A.D. up on everything that happened since their dinner. By the time she recounted the shootout, the arrest and the Residence Inn, DelRay was seated across from them on a matching loveseat.
Tuesday wiped her eyes. “I don’t know who has my girls or what’s happening to them. I’m caught in between a fed bitch who wants me in a cell and a cartel bitch who wants me in a grave. Either one would try to use them for leverage.”
A.D. offered his hand to hold. “So what’s your plan?”
She shook her head. “Ain’t nothing I can do. Brandon worked me out of the company and the deal happens in two days. No money means no help from Vega. And La Guapa was kickin’ my ass when I had access to unlimited bank, so what the fuck can I do against her now?”
“You were always the mastermind,” A.D. reminded her. “It was your planning, your leadership that allowed your crew to do so well in the stick-up game.”
“I used to be that bitch who could peep all the angles. I used to be able to see a mark and know exactly what type of woman it took to put a hook in him, then be that woman. I played the game like I had nothing to lose ’cause I didn’t.
“I’m not that bitch anymore. Me and my family was just at Disneyland taking pictures with mouse ears on. I’m used to walk-in’ barefoot over seventeen thousand square feet of Italian marble with a personal chef feedin’ me gluten-free waffles and avocado toast. I had an office seventy floors up, where bitches with Masters degrees fetched me low-fat lattes.”
A.D. shrugged. “You sayin’ that to say what?”
Tuesday got to her feet as if suddenly needing to move. “I’m a square now. My mind don’t even work the same way no more. When I see a handsome man who look like he got paper, I don’t see a mark. I just think about how nice his suit is and wonder if my husband has the same tailor.”
DelRay voiced his disagreement: “You makin’ it seem like being up made you lose some part of yourself. You still got all that gangsta in you, Boss Lady. I saw it at the junkyard.”
A.D. said, “You in a situation where you need to be that chick again. The money didn’t make or break you, Tuesday.”
Frustration made Tuesday explode. “It’s easy for y’all to say that. Y’all used to being broke, used to living fucked up—like this!” She threw her hands out at her side. “I’m used to havin’ it. Y’all don’t know what it’s like to lose it ’cause y’all ain’t never seen it.”
A.D. stood with her. “I don’t wanna sound cold but you fucked up too now. Where’s your house? Where’s your personal chef and your company? Where’s your family, Tuesday?”
That made her look down to her shoes.
A.D. continued. “You can play the game like you ain’t got nothing to lose again because you done lost it all.”
Tuesday waved them off. “I need a shower. Feel like I got something growing up under my arms.”
A.D. saw in her face that she was too exhausted to keep fighting about it so he let it go. He walked her upstairs into a short hall that terminated in a small master bedroom. The bathroom was the first open door to the right.
A.D. motioned toward a linen closet built next to the tub. “There’s clean towels and rags in the top drawer. I’ll find you something to change into.”
Tuesday stopped him before he could leave. “I’m sorry ’bout what I said downstairs. I wasn’t trying to take shots. You gotta nice home.”
A.D. glared at her. “Tuesday, I ain’t your husband. I’m not some kingpin with private jets and Rolls Royces. Even without prison I probably wasn’t gone ever be that guy.
“I ain’t got much but I’m proud of what I got. I bought this house outright for just under three G’s; my car a piece of shit but it run like a champ. I’m free and didn’t have to rat on nobody and don’t owe nobody shit. Baby, I’m winning.”
She nodded. “Plus you could get in a lot of trouble for having us here. And I show my appreciation by disrespecting your spot.”
“Don’t worry about it. You dealing with a lot right now. I can give you a pass for actin’ bougie on me.”
A.D. held his fist to dap her up but Tuesday pressed into him and pushed her tongue into his mouth. She kicked the door shut then attacked him like she was trying to steal the air from his lungs.
She tried to pull A.D. towards the shower. He followed her a step then broke away from the kiss.
“This thing with yo’ girls got you twisted and I get wanting to take you mind off of it. But this ain’t a good look Tuesday. Remember, I got a situation.”
She scanned the bathroom and saw evidence of his woman. If she didn’t live there, she was putting other bitches on notice like a dog pissing on a tree. Flat irons and hot curlers
were purposely left on a shelf above the toilet.
Tuesday didn’t care. While he was still talking she peeled off Sha’Quarla’s elastic minidress along with her panties and bra. She stepped into the shower and let hot water rain on her naked body.
He stared at her in awe. Brown quarter-sized aureoles crowned her plump titties; her stomach was flat and the waist hardly measured twenty-five inches; her hips and thighs looked too voluptuous to belong on her frame; even two weeks overdue for a wax, her fat pussy looked sweet enough to eat. It was all wrapped in glistening flesh that reminded him of butter pecan ice cream.
A.D. watched her mesmerized. Tuesday saw him chew his bottom lip the way he used to do when he was super-horny.
She put her head under the nozzle then let the wet curls spill down her neck. Her eyes were some indescribable shade of green. “Come here.”
He shook his head but Tuesday noticed A.D. stroking himself through his pants.
“It’s not just ’bout my relationship with my girl,” he explained. “I also gotta relationship with the Man upstairs. Am I supposed to ignore that you wearing somebody else’s ring?”
“Don’t think about what’s on my finger.” She poured liquid soap into her palms and lathered her breasts in slow circles. “Just focus on all the soft, fun parts.” She turned around and wagged her enormous ass at him.
When a moment passed and she saw that A.D. was still hesitant, Tuesday became serious. “Adrian, we was together for twenty years. Wouldn’t you consider me a loyal woman while I was with you?”
He looked her off. “C’mon Tuesday, don’t do that. You held me down for twelve in the joint. You paid for my attorneys, kept my books straight. You the downest chick I know. Loyal don’t do you justice—Webster’s ain’t got a word.”
“Well I’m broke and homeless. My husband is dead, my daughters might be too. And in the next day or so I could be joining them, or be cuffed up about to spend the rest of my life in prison. I ain’t never been this scared.”