Know Your Place

by Shelly Ellis

  He had been calling Dolla Dolla a lot more often, reiterating that he was loyal to him, telling him that he was here to do whatever was needed “no matter what.” He told him that now, with the restaurant and Club Majesty closed, he was short on cash and needed some new work, and whether that work was illegal was irrelevant to him.

  He’d hoped that those reassurances and confessions would lead to something. Maybe Dolla Dolla would finally let him in on the “big things” he was working on that the detectives had heard about. Maybe Dolla Dolla would introduce him to his drug contacts. But so far, neither had happened. And Detectives Ramsey and Dominguez were well past impatient; they were done with their threats and ultimatums. They gave him his final deadline; if he didn’t get them the info they wanted this week, the deal was off. He was going back to jail.

  That was why Ricky was relieved when he’d gotten the text from Dolla Dolla earlier that day.

  Stop at my crib tonite at 7. Got somebody I want U to meet, Dolla Dolla had written, which were the magic words Ricky had been waiting for months to hear.

  Now, as he rounded the corner, he wondered exactly who he was meeting. One of Dolla Dolla’s suppliers from Miami? One of the pimps Dolla Dolla used to help recruit his girls? But when Ricky saw who was pacing up and down the living room, leaving heavy indentations in the plush rug as he walked, his frown deepened.

  “Mayor Johnson?” he murmured.

  What the hell was the D.C. mayor doing here—of all places?

  “Hey, Pretty Ricky, bring your ass over here!” Dolla Dolla said. He was standing at a nearby bar cart, smoking a blunt and pouring himself a drink. “You want somethin’?”

  Ricky slowly shook his head as he descended the stairs into the sunken living room, still stunned that it was the mayor Dolla Dolla had wanted him to meet tonight. He was certain this wasn’t the high-level contact the detectives were hoping for.

  “Nah, I’m . . . I’m good,” Ricky mumbled.

  “You want somethin’, Vernon? What you old folks drink? A Tom Collins or some shit?” Dolla Dolla asked before bursting into laughter.

  The mayor finally stopped pacing, but still looked uncomfortable. “No, I do not want anything to drink, but I would like to know why the hell I’m here!”

  Dolla Dolla raised his glass to his lips and strolled to the sofa. He sat down and motioned for Ricky to sit in one of the armchairs. “Take a load off, my nigga. Told you I had somebody I wanted you to meet tonight.” He glanced at Mayor Johnson. “You have a seat too.”

  The mayor shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest. “Not until you finally answer my question. Why am I here?”

  Dolla Dolla took a hit from his blunt and set his drink on the glass coffee table. “Man, I ain’t gonna tell you but one more time to sit your ass down.”

  “Or what?” the mayor asked, raising his chin defiantly. He buttoned his suit jacket, looking every bit the stately politician Ricky usually saw on TV. “Look, I’m tired of you bossing me around! You might be the H.N.I.C. around here, Dolla, but I think you forget that I am the mayor of this town!” he said, pointing at his chest. “You can’t just summon me whenever the hell you . . .”

  His words died on his lips when Dolla reached behind him and pulled out his Glock. He then rested it on his knee, keeping his finger on the trigger.

  “Keep talkin’, motherfucka,” he said, nodding. “Tell me again what I can and can’t do.”

  Ricky watched as the mayor’s face went slack. The older man looked sick to his stomach.

  “Now you two have a seat. We got some talking to do.”

  Ricky took the armchair as he was ordered. The mayor still looked a bit stunned, so one of the guards stepped forward, placed a hand on his shoulder, and shoved him down into the other empty chair.

  For a split second, the mayor looked like he wanted to buck again, but his eyes drifted to the gun that still rested on Dolla Dolla’s knee. He seemed to think better of it and kept his mouth shut.

  “This my nigga, Ricky Reynaud,” Dolla Dolla said, inclining his head toward Ricky. “He’s been tight with me for a long time. He’s my business partner. We used to own Club Majesty together.”

  “It’s a . . . a p-p-pleasure to m-meet you,” Mayor Johnson stuttered.

  “You too,” Ricky whispered.

  “Ricky, you already know who he is,” Dolla said before taking a hit from his blunt.

  Ricky nodded again. “Yeah, I know who he is, but I gotta be honest, he ain’t who I expected to see today. I’m a little confused.”

  “I’m confused as well,” Mayor Johnson ventured. “Like I’ve said repeatedly, I have no idea why I’m here. I told you that we can’t be seen together. If anyone, especially the press, got wind of the fact that I’m here, I’d be—”

  “I don’t give a fuck what you told me!” Dolla Dolla boomed. The calm veneer he’d had only seconds ago abruptly disappeared and was replaced with a fiery one. He raised his arm and pointed the gun at the mayor, and Ricky’s breath caught in his throat.

  He wouldn’t shoot him, would he? It had to be an idle threat. Even Dolla Dolla wasn’t crazy enough to kill the mayor in his own living room, but Ricky honestly couldn’t say for sure anymore.

  “You don’t give the orders around here,” Dolla Dolla said with the blunt still dangling from the side of his mouth. “I do! You may be the mayor of D.C., but my kingdom goes far and wide, nigga. So keep talkin’ shit. Keep doin’ it and see what happens! You feel me?”

  Gradually, the mayor nodded.

  “Good,” Dolla Dolla said, before his lazy smile returned and he lowered the gun to the glass coffee table.

  Ricky finally released the breath he’d been holding.

  “ ’Cause we got some important shit to talk about . . . important shit for all of us.” Dolla Dolla then turned to Ricky. “I brought you here to help Ricky. To help us. You see, this nigga got caught up in the shit with me. They took his restaurant away. They took away our club. He needs to be makin’ some paper again, so we need to make these charges go away.”

  The mayor pursed his lips and clutched his hands in front of him. “Look, I want to help, Dolla. I really do. But I told you, I don’t appoint circuit court judges. I have no control over—”

  “Nuh-uh, I don’t wanna hear that shit. You know you got friends in high places,” Dolla Dolla said before taking another hit and leaning back against the sofa cushions. “The police chief reports to you. I need you to clean this shit up. It’s dragged on for too damn long. That’s what the fuck I pay you for. You think I gave money to your dumb-ass campaign . . . that I clean up your messes because we friends? You think my people took out that reporter and I’m about to take care of yet another nigga who crossed you, because we tight? Hell no! I help you so that you can help me, and so far, all I’m hearing is a lot of fuckin’ excuses.”

  “What do you want me to do?” the mayor asked almost pleadingly. “What am I supposed to do, Dolla?”

  “Get ’em to drop the case against me and against my boy over here.” He leaned forward and slapped Ricky’s shoulder. “My lawyers can’t do it, so you’re gonna have to. The Metro cops are already losing witnesses, right? My people picked off most of them snitches. I got a few more left, but my soldiers are taking care of them. Once they’re gone, that should make your job a lot easier.” He winked. “Thought they could hide from me. One of them bitches even moved out to the boonies in Virginia, living on a farm and shit.” He threw back his head and chuckled and the blood drained from Ricky’s head.

  He knew immediately who he was talking about; from the description, it had to be Skylar. But how had he found her? How had he tracked her down?

  “But she on that shit again,” Dolla Dolla continued, answering Ricky’s silent question. “I had my people on the lookout for her, because a junkie is a junkie and they don’t never change. I figured she’d slip up one day and she did. She thinks she got somebody comin’ there to bring her some blow tonight, but I got
a surprise for her ass.”

  “I shouldn’t be listening to any of this,” the mayor mumbled, shaking his head. “I can’t be criminally culpable for—”

  “Man, shut the fuck up!” Dolla Dolla snarled. “All your damn complainin’ is ruinin’ my high!”

  Ricky’s heart pounded as he listened. He went numb. One of Dolla Dolla’s men was already on his way there. He had to talk to Simone. He had to get her out of there and he had to do it now. He shot to his feet, making Dolla Dolla glare up at him. One of the bodyguards took a step forward.

  “What you doin’?” Dolla Dolla asked.

  “Sorry,” Ricky said, forcing a smile, “I gotta use the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”

  He didn’t wait for Dolla Dolla to respond. He took a step around the guard, who instantly reached out to stop him.

  “Let him go,” Dolla Dolla said with a nonchalant wave. “A nigga can pee around here.”

  Ricky beelined for the bathroom down the hall, shutting the door behind him. When he did, he reached into his jeans pockets for his cell to call Simone and tell her what was happening, but his pockets were empty. He grimaced when he remembered he didn’t have his cell. It was still with the guard by the door.

  “Shit! Shit! Shit!” he whispered fiercely.

  He yanked open the bathroom door again and raced back into the hall.

  “I’m sorry, Dolla, but I’ve gotta go. My stomach is . . . uh . . . real fucked up. I-I don’t know what the hell I ate but . . . I’m a mess.”

  Dolla Dolla squinted from his perch on the sofa. “What?”

  “I gotta go,” he said again, turning toward the door, not caring that his lie was feeble and he looked conspicuous as hell right now. His bigger concern was getting his phone back. He had to get to Simone before Dolla Dolla’s men did. “I’ll catch up with you though,” he shouted over his shoulder.

  He then raced into the foyer. The guard stood in front of the door, barring his exit.

  “I need my cell,” he said, reaching out to him. “I’m leavin’.”

  The guard cocked an eyebrow, but he didn’t budge.

  “I said I need my cell,” he repeated, holding out his hand.

  The guard’s gaze was focused over Ricky’s shoulder. Ricky turned around and saw Dolla Dolla standing there. Two guards stood behind Dolla Dolla, blocking the other end of the foyer, closing him in.

  “You okay, my nigga?” Dolla Dolla asked, strolling toward him.

  “Yeah, umm, I’m fine. I’m just . . . I’m just not feeling well. Like I . . . Like I told you,” Ricky said, glancing apprehensively around him, getting the distinct sensation of walls closing in on him.

  Dolla Dolla took a step toward him, then another. “Mel told me you was acting funny after that thing with Tamika a while back. He said he didn’t think you had the stomach for that shit. You ain’t buggin’ after what I said about them other girls, are you? Pretty Ricky ain’t goin’ soft on me, is he?”

  Ricky let out a nervous laugh and shook his head. “Nah, it’s not that, Dolla. I don’t give a damn about those bitches, but I’m not about to shit myself on your leather chair. That’s all it is.”

  Dolla Dolla seemed to regard him for almost a full minute longer. He then finally nodded and gestured to the console where Ricky’s cell now sat. “Give him his phone.”

  The guard finally turned and reached for his cell phone. He handed it to Ricky and Ricky tucked it into his jeans pocket.

  “Peace out, bruh,” Dolla Dolla said to him as the guard stepped aside and finally unlocked and opened the door.

  “Yeah, peace out,” Ricky called over his shoulder before striding into the apartment building’s hallway.

  He waited until the guard finally shut the door behind him before he began to dial Simone’s number. When he reached the elevators, he pressed the down button just as her phone rang once . . . twice . . . three times. Finally, he heard her voice message.

  “Hey, you know who it is. If you don’t, you’ve dialed the wrong number,” she answered cheerfully, making him roll his eyes. “Leave your name and number and I’ll hit you back!”

  “It’s Ricky. Pick up the phone,” Ricky said, just as the elevator doors opened and he stepped inside. “They know where you are. They know and they’re on their way. Call me back and let me know you got this. I’m on my way there right now,” he said as the elevator doors closed behind him.

  When he arrived at his car three minutes later, he backed out of the parking space and floored the accelerator, pointing his Mercedes towards Virginia.

  Chapter 27

  Derrick

  Derrick twirled Morgan on the dance floor, feeling more jubilant than he had in months. They were attending the annual Mayhew Student Achievement Benefit and Morgan had already introduced him to the Mayhews, a white-haired couple who lived on Capitol Hill and were third-generation old money but weren’t selfish enough to keep it all for themselves. They were the couple who used to buy custom furniture from her. He’d spoken with them for a good half hour, while Morgan had stood by his side, charming them.

  “Why don’t we stop by the Institute next week and you give us a tour?” Mr. Mayhew had said before taking a sip from his champagne glass. “Doris and I are always looking for new worthy causes to donate to. We’d love to see what you and your staff are doing there.”

  Derrick had been too stunned by the offer to say yes, so Morgan had said it for him.

  “We would love to give you a tour, Mr. Mayhew. Next Tuesday would be perfect if you can schedule it in,” she’d said.

  Derrick now realized what a good couple he and Morgan were. They were a solid team, and with her help he knew he could do great things not only for the Institute, but in his life in general.

  She wants me to succeed. She loves me like crazy, he thought as he wrapped her in his arms as they danced.

  As if sensing his thoughts, Morgan wrapped her arms around his shoulders too, and gazed lovingly into his eyes. Derrick allowed himself to be drawn into those two green irises and the deep well of emotions that lay within them. He then let his gaze drift to her sensual smile, those plump cherry-red lips that begged to be nibbled.

  He’d been so focused on his past that he’d barely noticed what was standing right in front of him. Admittedly, it was hard after being with Melissa for damn near twenty years to finally let go of her. But he hadn’t spoken to Melissa in months, and she’d made no bones about not being able to forgive him for cheating on her. She had obviously moved on. And he was moving on too. He and Morgan were slated to sign the lease on their new apartment tomorrow. He had already given his landlord notice that he was moving out.

  Derrick tugged Morgan closer and lowered his mouth to hers, a physical sign that he was finally ready to give her his all. She didn’t hesitate before raising her lips to his and meeting him with a warm kiss, lacing her fingers through his dreads. For a few seconds, it seemed as though the rest of the dance floor disappeared and it was only them grinding to the music, kissing in the dark. She abruptly pulled her mouth away.

  “Hold up, baby,” she whispered breathlessly.

  “Why? What’s wrong?”

  “If that kiss gets any heavier, I think we might have to leave the party.”

  “We can do that,” he said, cupping her bottom. “Makes no difference to me!”

  She laughed, rubbing her hands along his broad back. “We can’t leave just yet. I don’t want the Mayhews to think we came here just to get them to agree to show up to the Institute, then we jet. Besides, there’s more people we could meet here. Maybe even more donors, baby.”

  “Maybe. But I’d rather spend my time kissing up on you instead,” he said, lowering his mouth to hers again. She stopped him short by playfully slapping his shoulder.

  “Boy, stop!”

  “What?” he asked, feeling a little rejected. “I’m just trying to show you how much I love you.”

  Her face softened. “I love you too, honey. You know that. But you
’re starting to sound a little tipsy. How many glasses of champagne have you had tonight?”

  Four, he thought. Maybe five. He couldn’t say exactly. He had been having so much fun that he hadn’t counted.

  “I’m not tipsy! I’m happy. There’s a big damn difference. I’m finally thinking clearly now. Things are looking up for me—for us! That’s all!”

  “If you say so, baby.” She glanced toward the ballroom’s doors. “Look, I’ll be right back. I have to go to the ladies’ room.”

  He reluctantly loosened his hold around her. Just then the band finished the slow song and the crowd around them erupted into applause.

  “You’ll be okay, right?” she asked, staring at him worriedly.

  He waved her off. “I’ll be fine. I’ll be at the bar getting a cup of coffee to sober up some, if it makes you feel any better,” he called to her over the sound of clapping and the rising voices.

  She nodded and laughed. “Grab two! One for me and one for you!” she shouted back to him, then headed to the exit with a few of the women departing the parquet dance floor.

  Derrick strolled across the ballroom to the bar, where several people were now gathered, some drinking but most casually talking. As he drew closer, he scanned the lacquered counter for an open spot where he could sidle up and get the attention of one of the bartenders. His eyes paused when he spotted a woman leaning against the counter with a wineglass in her hand, talking to a man whose back was facing him. Derrick did a double take as he watched her lower the glass from her plum-colored lips and throw back her head and laugh. Recognizing her instantly, his stomach dropped to his black leather shoes.

  There stood his ex, Melissa Stone, in a purple silk gown that clung to her like a second skin, emphasizing every supple curve. She wasn’t wearing her long goddess braids anymore. Her hair was golden red now, and in twists that were all braided atop her head like a crown. She had adorned it with two twinkling rhinestones. She looked beautiful, sexy, regal, and . . . happy. She actually looked happy, even though she was standing there without him.

  Derrick didn’t know what to make of that.