Basketball Jones (21 page)

There were only three people in front of me and they couldn’t move fast enough. When my time came, a young African American woman with two-toned hair asked how she could help me.

As calmly as I could, I said, “I would like to withdraw two hundred and fifty thousand dollars from my SmartMoney account, and I would like it all in hundred-dollar bills.” No matter how I tried to psyche myself up for that moment, I couldn’t quite get it right. I’m sure I looked as suspicious as I sounded. I had more than enough money in my account, but I was still nervous about taking out such a big withdrawal and walking around with it.

“You want to do what?” she asked with one of those “sister-girl-child, please” looks.

Just as calmly, but no less nervous inside, I repeated, “I would like to withdraw a quarter of a million dollars from one of my accounts and I would like it in hundred-dollar bills.”

“I guess you want crisp, new hundred-dollar bills,” she wisecracked.

“That would be nice, Nikita,” I said, looking down at her name tag.

“I’ll need some identification.”

“I have three pieces,” I said, handing her my Louisiana and old Georgia driver’s licenses and my black American Express card. For good measure I had my dog-eared social security card on stand-by.

She looked at my identification, then at me, and then once again at the cards.

“Where did you open your account?”

“In Atlanta,” I said.

“Is that where your signature card is?”

“I guess so.”

“What’s the last four numbers of your social?”

“Eight-one-one-nine,” I said, from memory.

She clicked my information into the computer in front of her. “What is your verbal password?” she asked.

“Basketball thirteen.”

“Hmmpt. There it is,” she said, sounding surprised. She sized me up, as if to figure out where I got all this money and what I was going to do with it after I made the withdrawal.

I gave Nikita a quick smile, hoping to speed the transaction along.

“I have to talk to my supervisor, and this may take a minute.”

“Take your time, Nikita,” I said. “I’m not in a hurry.”

About ten minutes later, Nikita came back, smiling, with a middle-aged white female. I could see a middle-aged black security man out of the corner of my eye. Nikita sat back down at her computer and proceeded to explain my transaction in detail. Then the supervisor looked at me and asked politely, but sounding concerned, “Mr. Richardson, is everything okay?”

“Everything will be just fine once I complete my transaction,” I said firmly.

“I understand. We’re waiting for your Atlanta branch to fax us a copy of your signature card since you’re not a regular customer at our branch. I expect it any moment.” She smiled again, eyeing me more than a little suspiciously.

“And how long will that take?” I asked.

“Not long. But I hope you understand, we’re trying to protect you,” she said. I started to say, “Yeah, by keeping me from
my own money,” but I didn’t see any advantage in playing my angry-black-man card, so I simply smiled back politely. Nikita still looked at me with a hint of suspicion, like she was thinking, What is this nigger up to?

“Why don’t you sit in my office while we get this finished for you,” said the supervisor, who identified herself as Mrs. Curtis.

“That sounds like a great plan,” I said as I looked to the glass office off the lobby that she pointed to.

“I’ll join you in a few minutes,” Mrs. Curtis said.

“Fine. I’ll be waiting,” I said, heading toward the office.

Inside the office I noticed a couple of certificates on the wall. I learned that Debbie was her first name and that she had an undergrad degree from the University of Alabama and a masters from Southern University. I’d heard that there were a lot of white people in the area who’d gone to the graduate and professional schools of the predominantly African American Southern University. Somehow I couldn’t picture Debbie Curtis being one of them. Just as I was getting ready to look closer to see what kind of degree Debbie received from Southern, she walked in, carrying a blue bag and noticeably friendlier. She closed her door quickly and took a seat behind her desk.

“Thank you for your patience. I was able to verify everything and complete your transaction, Mr. Richardson,” she said as she began to remove hundred-dollar bills from the bag. “This sort of transaction, in such large amounts of cash, is highly unusual for us. I hope you understand.” She laid out the stacks of bills in front of me. Once the surface of her desk had nearly been covered with money, she said, “I would advise you to count it, although I can confirm with absolute certainty it’s all there.”

After ten minutes of counting under Mrs. Curtis’s watchful eye, I nodded to her as if to say, “That’s everything.” I opened
the duffel bag and began to place the bills inside. She had gotten clearance but her demeanor told me she couldn’t figure out what the hell I was up to.

“Would you like me to get one of our security officers to walk you to your car?” she offered. “That’s a very large amount of money.”

“Thanks, but that won’t be necessary.” I had my own security in the form of Cisco waiting on me right outside the bank. He had offered to be my bodyguard when I handed over the money in the park. Although I figured this asshole wasn’t about to try to hurt me, having Cisco close by did offer some comfort.

“Well, thank you for banking with Bank of America, Mr. Richardson. Maybe sometime soon you can come in and sit down with someone from our brokerage. We might help you to invest some of your remaining funds. We’d be happy to speak with you anytime,” Mrs. Curtis said, offering me her slender hands.

“I’ll think about that, but I have someone handling my investments for me right now. Thanks for your help with this matter.”

I headed out of the bank with Nikita’s eyes following me, a smirk on her face.

When I got back home, I waited for the phone call with further instructions. Clearing out wasn’t going to be easy. I looked around the house and thought I would miss this place. I recalled the first time Dray saw the place decorated. He walked in and his mouth dropped open. He said that I’d outdone myself and maybe one day we’d share a place like this.

Dray and I had had some good times here and I really believed I could be a lot of help in rebuilding the city. But somebody else didn’t think so and wanted me gone, baby, gone.

Right at noon my landline rang.

I took a deep breath. “Hello?”

“Did you get the money?”

“Yes, I did,” I said.

“Good. Now I want you to meet me right in front of the fountain on the square at five thirty sharp. Don’t be late and the money better all be there.”

Ignoring his threat I asked, “When will I get the disc?” I wondered why he wanted to meet in a place so public. There would be dozens of witnesses. Could he be afraid of me?

“I told you when you’d get the damn disc.”

“Oh shit,” I said, suddenly remembering that I had a seven o’clock flight to Phoenix to meet Dray for his game.

“What’s wrong?”

“Can we meet a little earlier? I have something I have to do early this evening.”

“Hell no, and make sure you don’t tell anybody or you’ll really be sorry.”

“No one knows,” I lied. Cisco made me promise I wouldn’t attempt the drop-off alone.

“If anything seems funny to me the whole deal is off and that won’t be good for you.”

“How will I know you?”

“I’ll be dressed in black,” he replied quickly.

“What am I supposed to do when I get there?”

“I want you to sit on the bench on the west side of the fountain with the bag with the money right next to you. Just look straight ahead the whole time. You’ll know it’s me when I arrive. I will take your little package, make sure everything is straight, and then I’ll give you what you want. You do what I tell you and this won’t take long.”

“Okay,” I said, looking at my watch. I wondered how I was going to explain missing my flight to Dray. Where would I begin? “Sorry I missed my flight. I had to meet my blackmailer.” I needed Dray more than ever.

“Be smart and all your troubles will be over.”

“ Five thirty?” I said.

“Five thirty sharp.”

I clicked off and suddenly I found myself wondering what you wore to a blackmail drop-off.

When I arrived at the square, I saw no one dressed in black. Instead there was a group of young guys throwing a football and the usual smattering of tourists strolling through the park. I saw in the distance—across from the square—Café Du Monde and thought of Jade. She’d been the one reliable, good friend I’d made in town. I felt lousy about ducking out without telling her. Until that moment I’d not realized how much I’d miss Jade.

As instructed, I took a seat on a bench on the west end of the fountain. It was well past 5:30 but no one had shown. Just as I was wondering if this was some kind of joke, a black man, about five-ten and close to two hundred pounds, walked toward me wearing all black. This fool had a tarnished gold-colored grill in the front of his mouth. The first thing that came to mind was that there’s no way this idiot was smart enough to pull this off by himself. Would he even be able to count the money to see if the amount was correct?

He stopped and looked at me cross-eyed and then down at the black leather bag I’d transferred the money into. I nodded as if to say, “That’s the money, idiot.” He stared at me, then
coldly threw a white envelope toward me, grabbed the bag, and started to haul ass through the park.

He almost bumped into Cisco, who was sitting on a bike, shirtless, drinking from a bottle of water looking like just an ordinary guy out in the park for an early evening ride.

So this was the guy who’d turned my life upside down? I shook my head in disbelief and watched the rich evening sunset cover the city. I let out a deep breath, glad that this episode of
The Streets of New Orleans
was over. I could now head home and get ready for my trip to Phoenix. For the first time in weeks, I was going to be able to enjoy my time with Dray.

I walked a few feet toward the lamppost where Cisco was stationed when I bumped into a woman who was quickly rounding the corner without looking where she was going. When I turned to apologize, there was a moment of instant recognition. Her face was a little fatter and I almost didn’t recognize her, yet I knew who she was. Those olive-green eyes were just as cold and her styleless bleached-blonde hair just as messy as when I spotted her at the mall. Still, it didn’t make sense. What was she doing here?

Confused, I asked, “Do I know you?”

She had a look of deep loathing yet at the same time a self-satisfied smile on her face. “You know me, asshole,” she said with an icy tone that matched her eyes.

She was obviously pregnant, with a pumpkinlike stomach sticking out of her yellow Empire dress. What in the hell was Judi doing in this park, giving me so much shade?

“Who are you?” I asked, trying not to let on I knew exactly who she was.

“Stop playing, Aldridge. You know damn well who I am. I’m your boyfriend’s fucking wife, you little idiot.”

“My boyfriend?”

“Cut the crap.”

“Who are you talking about?”

“Drayton Jones. You know who that is?”

“Yes I know Dray, but he’s a friend. So you’re his wife? Nice to meet you,” I said extending my hand.

She brushed it away and said, “You think you’re cute.”

“I haven’t a clue as to what you are talking about. What are you doing here all alone?”

“Just making sure that our transaction came off without a hitch, and to give you my own personal message,” she said with a steely directness.

“What are you talking about?” Was this
bitch
behind all this shit?

“I’m talking about you and my husband. If you don’t want your D.C. escapades broadcast all over the world, then you will leave him alone and I mean for good. We are getting ready to start a family and we don’t need your ass in the picture.” She moved in closer. “You better be glad that I let you keep some of Dray’s money, but if you contact him in any way from this moment forward, I will take it all from you. That would be very easy for me to do. I’m his wife, not some pathetic faggot boyfriend he keeps on the side. That money belongs to me anyway. Do I make myself clear?”