by Zaire Crown
Tuesday freaked out so hard that she had to be restrained. Two men grabbed her when she tried to run to the control switch.
The crusher pressed to the car. Tuesday heard the screams from within.
She panicked. “Stop! Stop! Stop! I’ll pick! I’ll pick!”
They cut the press a moment before it would’ve started to smash the roof.
Tuesday went to the car, saw both girls calling to her, pleading for her. Being raised by a bad mother always made Tuesday fear that she would lack a maternal instinct, but in that moment she began to do something so heartless that she didn’t even think her mother would be capable of it. She actually began to weigh the pros and cons of each child.
For a few seconds she stood there frozen with indecision.
“Make a choice!” Vega urged sternly. “Once we start the machine again, we won’t stop it.”
Tuesday spat at her frustrated. “You can’t expect any parent to choose between their kids. You’re asking me to cut off a limb.”
“That’s an easy choice depending on if you’re a lefty or righty. What you can’t afford to do is lose both hands.”
“This isn’t right. These are just kids.”
Madame Vega was unfazed. “I thought it was clear that we were past the begging stage. Tuesday, go to the car and take out one of your daughters or I swear to God I will kill them both.”
Tuesday’s heart slammed against her ribs as she took a shaky step towards the Hyundai. Tears blurred her vision.
“Pick me!”
When Tuesday turned around, Shaun was staring at her deadly serious. “If somebody has to die, let it be me.”
Vega rejected her. “It has to be a loved one. Somebody she cares for.”
“We are lovers,” Shaun confessed. “We’ve been in a relationship for six months.”
“If she’s married to you-know-who, that would make you just a mistress.”
“You’re right, I was just a side-piece.” Shaun looked earnest. “Tuesday doesn’t love me. She spent months wining, dining, and sleeping with me, but when I poured out my heart, she told me to my face that I was nothing to her.
“But that’s exactly why it should be me. I told her that her husband would never love her as much as I did, and the fact that I’m willing to die for her kids prove that. She has to spend the rest of her life knowing what I did. The guilt will tear her apart.”
Tuesday hissed at Shaun, “Now ain’t the time to play some love-sick game. These people will murk you for real.”
Madame Vega looked at Shaun as if impressed. “You hardly look twenty-two, but love this woman so much that you would give your life to spare the pain of losing a child? You young, brave, beautiful girl.”
Glaring at Tuesday, she said, “I don’t think she’s worth it, but I will accept your offer only because I think it will hurt her more. Losing a child would devastate her but I will still be seen as the one who took it.”
“I will accept her life as repayment for your debt,” Vega said to Tuesday. “But only if you take it.” She motioned to the second of her two Colombian bookends. When she muttered, “Deme un cuchillo,” he presented her the long serrated hunting knife holstered on his belt. Vega studied it for a moment then passed it to Tuesday.
“You have to do it. Right here, right now in front of everybody.” Vega then ordered that Danielle and Tanisha be taken out of the Hyundai.
Tuesday frowned at her. “What type of shit you working out of?”
She shrugged. “The children get to leave with their lives, but not their innocence.”
The girls were unstrapped from the car and pulled from the compressor. Aaron’s young crew walked them over to where everyone was gathered but held them back when Danielle and Tanisha tried to run to their mother.
They all had formed a circle around Shaun and Tuesday, who held the knife in trembling hands.
“Go on,” Vega pressed. “Show ’em what their mother really is. Don’t be shy now. You’ve killed here before.”
Shaun gave her a look filled with fear and compassion. “Just do it quick. I don’t want it to hurt.”
Tuesday took a firm grip of the handle. “Dani, Nisha. I want y’all to close ya eyes and turn y’all heads. Do it now!”
Aaron forced Danielle’s head when she tried to look away. “No they gotta watch. Either they watch or they go back in the machine, right Ma?”
She agreed with her son.
Tuesday approached Shaun with both daughters’ wide, frightful eyes tracking her. Shaun had already begun to cry.
“They’ll be okay.” Emotion strained Shaun’s voice. “They’re strong. At least I got to be part of the family.”
Tuesday said, “I didn’t break up wit’ you because I didn’t love you. I broke up ’cause I did.”
She embraced Shaun in a tight hug. They held each other for a long moment before Tuesday whispered, “And I forgive you. I know we didn’t meet in the gym on accident. I know Brandon hired you and I know you’re the one who’s been helping him steal from the company.”
Shaun gasped, but before she could respond Tuesday slipped the blade into the back of her neck, just below the base of her skull.
When her body went limp, Tuesday didn’t just let her drop but gently laid Shaun to the ground. Danielle’s scream pierced the night. Tears stung Tuesday’s eyes.
“Is our debt settled?” Madame Vega’s tone was inquisitive but carried the hint of a threat.
Tuesday gazed down at Shaun’s face, brown eyes still open.
“For now.” Tuesday’s tone carried the promise of revenge.
Vega took a step towards her to prove she was not intimidated by her words or frigid gray stare. “What the girl did for you just now—I’ve never known love like that. Don’t insult me or her by pretending you’re not secretly happy about it.”
Someone dragged away Shaun as Madame Vega headed back towards the white BMW SUV. “Your girls have had an emotional day so take them somewhere and get them fed. Whisper whatever smooth words you can think of to get them to sleep. Then tomorrow you and me will discuss this Guapa business.”
One of the men held the door open for her as she looked back to Tuesday. “But if you have a problem with anything that happened here tonight, I’ll tell you just like you told me: We can settle our problems when our business is done.”
Chapter Fifty
DelRay had waited out front with the car until Tuesday reappeared with her girls. When he asked about Shaun, Tuesday’s grim expression offered a grisly overview. It also indicated that she didn’t want to discuss the details and DelRay had enough sense not to ask.
She rode in the back seat with her daughters. Tanisha clung to her side, whimpered lightly into Tuesday’s shirt. Danielle brooded in silence and Tuesday felt the pain of a heart attack when Danielle recoiled from her touch as if suddenly scared of her. Tuesday did not try to touch her again, especially when she noticed that some of Shaun’s blood still stained her fingers.
Tuesday hoped that Tanisha was too young to fully digest what she just witnessed. Her bigger fear was that Danielle might need to talk it out in therapy one day.
A.D.’s girlfriend was at the house by the time they made it back. Under normal circumstances the introduction would have been awkward for Tuesday considering how she had just beastfucked her nigga a few hours before, but the situation at the junkyard was so crazy that everything after seemed tame in comparison.
Her name was Jeanine, an almond-colored girl with a slim build. She was in burgundy nurse scrubs with her hair pulled back into a ponytail. Tuesday didn’t think she was ugly, just not a bad bitch.
Tuesday soon felt more guilty about judging her looks and screwing A.D. when she realized that Jeanine couldn’t have been a sweeter person. Not only did she not trip about her man’s ex popping up with her two kids, she even offered to cook something for the girls when Tuesday confessed they were hungry.
All A.D. explained to her was that Tuesday had fallen upon h
ard times and had no other place to go. Tuesday hated that it made her sound like a charity case even though it was all true. Still, the woman embraced them with a spirit of generosity that Tuesday didn’t think existed in today’s world.
Even after a sixteen-hour shift at Henry Ford hospital, Jeanine happily prepared tacos for everybody. They were decent but Danielle couldn’t be coaxed into eating. Tanisha nibbled on one and DelRay happily took their leftovers.
A little later, A.D. set Tuesday’s family up in the guest bedroom. The exhausting day knocked out Tanisha within the hour. Danielle claimed not to be sleepy.
Tuesday was curled up on a twin-sized bed with both daughters thinking how quickly her world had changed. Three weeks ago her biggest problem was trying to stay awake through a boring meeting. Her new normal had become a nonstop marathon of running in between shootouts and shady deals.
Tuesday was so caught up in picturing Shaun laying in the dirt bleeding from the back of the head that she didn’t notice Danielle speaking to her.
“Momma, are we bad people?”
The question took Tuesday by surprise. “No, why would you even ask that?”
She began to shake and sob. “Why do people keep trying to hurt me?”
That hit Tuesday in the chest with the force of a sledgehammer. She wrapped Danielle from behind, kissed her head. “Baby, you are not a bad person. Your daddy and me used to be bad people Dani. We hurt a lot of people and now some of them want to use you to hurt us. I’m sorry baby, it’s our fault.”
“I’m telling you this ’cause you said something to me that I gotta respect. You’re not a regular nine-year-old and it’s time I stopped treating you like one.”
Tuesday talked with her daughter, but more importantly, she listened. She apologized for her parental mistakes and explained how they both had to be strong for Tanisha. Then she and Danielle hugged and shared a good cry that purged all the hostility that had grown between them.
That carried Tuesday into sleep and into a weird dream where Danielle got snatched by an evil wizard. All Tuesday recalled from it was Danielle waving goodbye as some dark and mysterious figure flew away with her. Tuesday could only watch helplessly from the ground screaming for her to come back.
Tuesday woke up the next morning in a panic when the girls weren’t in bed with her. She rushed downstairs to find them in the kitchen. Jeanine had made a breakfast of waffles, eggs and bacon. Tuesday was happy to see them eating, especially Danielle who didn’t have an appetite the night before. She was seated at the table taking in forkfuls of scrambled eggs while staring at Shaun’s laptop.
Jeanine offered Tuesday a plate and a mug of coffee. Tuesday nodded her thanks then joined the girls at the table along with DelRay who had slept on the living room sofa.
Tanisha had a sticky kiss for her mother with lips smeared with syrup. Danielle was too absorbed by the computer that Tuesday didn’t get her attention until she rubbed her head. “Baby, what you lookin’ at?”
“It’s your work stuff but these people suck at math.”
Tuesday leaned over and saw she was studying department spreadsheets from Abel.
“The permutations are all wonky. The numbers don’t add up.”
Danielle had to explain to Tuesday who couldn’t comprehend. She pointed to the screen. “This says fifteen million, 416 thousand, 292 dollars and seventy-nine cents. But it should be nineteen million, 787 thousand, 929 dollars and thirty-four cents, if you factor in the profits reported here and all the cost deductions listed here,” she scrolled down a long list of figures. “And here.”
Tuesday bit into a strip of bacon. “What else is wrong?”
“Well, whoever screwed this up must really like that number because they used it like three more times.” Danielle took her through a few different spread sheets. Four other departments reported profits that equaled the same wrong number.
Tuesday was finally able to understand that Brandon had been skimming a little from each department then having her sign off on the financial statements. And Shaun was the perfect accessory, a pretty bitch from accounting who would keep Tuesday distracted and help him doctor the books.
DelRay asked, “But why would they keep using the same number, fifteen million, 416 thousand, 29 dollars and seventy-nine cents. He had to know that would look too crazy to be coincidence.”
By this time A.D. had joined them. “Because the mistake was meant to be caught. If he was planning to put it on her the whole time, he would want it to be sloppy and obvious.”
Tuesday frowned. “Cause a dumb hoodrat bitch like me wouldn’t know how to be slick about it.”
Tanisha said, “Mommy watch your mouth.”
“Sorry baby.” Tuesday pecked her forehead.
“Dani, you ain’t been to school in a week so here’s yo’ homework. I want you to go through those files and let me know about anything else that seems off to you.”
Danielle gave her a nod with a serious look on her face. Tuesday could see that her little girl was eager to prove she deserved to be treated like an adult and part of the team.
To DelRay, Tuesday said: “I have to meet with Vega in two hours to discuss our play. I’ll understand if you don’t wanna come with me this time.”
“You know I’m down for whatever but after last night can you really trust that bi-” DelRay almost slipped until he remembered the children present.
“I can trust her for right now ’cause we need each other.” Tuesday sipped her coffee. “And I hope you really down for whatever, ’cause when the time comes, I’m gonna need you to bait the hook.”
Chapter Fifty-one
A caravan of burgundy SUVs left the private air field outside of Los Angeles where La Guapa’s jet sat on the tarmac. Four Tahoes escorted the limited-edition Range Rover with heavy tints. The five vehicles traveled single file with the Range third.
Minutes later, they were on the highway that led back to downtown Los Angeles when an economy-class white panel van approached from the rear driving with intercept speed. Once it pulled within ten feet of the convoy, one of Vega’s longhaired Colombians leaned out the passenger window holding a fully automatic HK assault rifle.
The van pulled along the left and began spraying bullets at the group, but the drivers of the Tahoes moved to put themselves between the Range Rover and the shooter. These ordinary-looking SUVs had undergone expensive customizations. The rounds scarred the paint but only ricocheted off their reinforced metal plating and special shatterproof glass.
Another van sped down the freeway on-ramp opposite the convoy. The Tahoes took a more protective formation by sandwiching the Range Rover: two in front and back on either side.
A sliding door opened on the left side of the second van to reveal the other Colombian. He motioned for a weapon and someone handed him a Swedish-made AT4 rocket grenade launcher. He balanced the forty-inch tube on his shoulder and took aim.
All together the Range Rover and the Tahoes sped up, trying to put distance between them and the vans. Only their formation took up three of the four lanes on the freeway which caused innocent drivers ahead of them to get pushed out of their path. A tiny red Subaru coupe was spun into the median when one of the Chevys slammed into it from behind.
They cranked it up to a hundred and ten miles per hour, but their souped-up V-8s or even the Rover’s supercharged V-10 couldn’t put enough distance between them and a launcher that was effective from three hundred yards.
Vega’s man steadied himself against the wind and lurching van then fired a rocket carrying four hundred and forty grams of Octol, a highly-explosive anti-tank substance. It streaked to and erupted under the right rear vehicle just as they were approaching a freeway overpass. The blast lifted the Tahoe into the air high enough to flatten it against the underside of the bridge. The wreckage crashed back down, making the white vans and other drivers swerve to avoid the flaming debris.
With one defender down, the three remaining Tahoes adjusted their position
s. They slipped back, allowed the Rover to pull ahead and established a three-lane blockade between it and the pursuing vans. The convoy moved together perfectly synchronized, which suggested all the vehicles were communicating and had drivers with tactical training.
The AT4 was a single-shot weapon that took time to reload and this gave them a chance to return fire. All three Tahoes opened their tailgate windows and had black-clad soldiers crouched within. The vans were not bulletproof. So when the clatter of automatic gunfire penetrated their grills and cracked their windshields, Vega’s men were forced back a quarter mile.
Freeway traffic condensed when construction funneled four lanes down to two. The Range started to race past an off-ramp but took an abrupt turn at the last second, narrowly missing the orange barrels. The three Tahoes quickly merged back into a single file to follow.
On the surface streets the burgundy SUVs weaved seamlessly into the downtown traffic. Seeing that they had gained some separation from the white vans, they negotiated the drivers, pedestrians and bike riders with restraint. They sought a direct route to the Abel building, which from miles away gleamed like a beacon in the afternoon sun.
The motorcade was stopped at a light on a major street with the Range Rover in front. They pulled off on the green but a huge diesel-powered dump truck with a plow shovel purposely charged through the red light that halted traffic on the cross street. It T-boned the last vehicle hard enough to bend the Tahoe’s customized armored frame. People fled with panicked screams when it flipped onto the sidewalk and crashed through the glass front of an ice cream parlor.
Like before, the remaining SUVs pressed on, only driving with more urgency.
Soon the white vans from the freeway caught back up with them. Both groups took lefts and rights while trading short bursts of automatic gunfire.
Another turn put them on a service street that ran parallel to a large boulevard. More of Vega’s men managed to get ahead of them because two more vans appeared at the end of that block to box them in. The Colombians formed a road block. The shooters jumped out and took up positions behind the vehicles. Two of them ran partway up the street to throw down a police spike strip.