Checkmate: The Baddest Chick (27 page)

It was news that Chico had been waiting for. He had gotten the address from his informer, and he and Dario rushed to the location.

A half hour later, they parked in front of a weathered two-story teal building with bars around the windows and an iron gate up at the front entrance. Chico knew it was the place the man had told him about.

They got out and proceeded into the building. There was no security. When they entered the building, there were over a dozen whores around.

Chico instantly began searching for Apple, hoping she was one of the girls in the place. The men went from room to room, sometimes interrupting a sex act of some kind, startling the whore and her trick.

The madam approached Chico and Dario and asked, “
¿Puedo ayudarte?
”

Dario looked at Chico and translated. “She’s asking if we need help.”

“Yeah, tell her we’re looking for a girl.” Chico showed her Apple’s picture.

The madam looked at the picture and shook her head.
“No sé quién es,”
she replied.

“What?”

“She hasn’t seen her,” Dario explained.

“Fuck that! We close. I can feel it. Alba, ask about Alba,” Chico said.

Dario began asking about Alba.

The madam knew the name but was leery about letting them know which girl it was.

Dario lifted his shirt to reveal the pistol tucked in his jeans, to give her some incentive.

Her eyes widened.

Dario calmly asked again in Spanish for Alba. The madam reluctantly pointed to a petite, young girl seated on the couch in the next room.
“No duele le,”
the madam stated, saying, “don’t hurt her.”

Dario assured the madam that they were only there to talk.

Chico and Dario walked over to Alba, who was dressed in a yellow sundress and barefoot. She became confused. She looked up at the men with frightened eyes.

“You speak English?” Chico asked.

She shook her head, so Dario took over. He showed her a picture of Apple, and the recognition immediately showed on her face.

She uttered, “Apple!”

“You know her?” Chico asked.

“
Sí.
”

“Where is she?” Chico asked, and Dario quickly translated.

Alba had no idea of Apple’s recent whereabouts. She told Dario about the shootout and kidnapping at the old place in Los Mochis. She described the men to him as American and black. She then went on to give critical information about Shaun, telling them that he might be farther south in Culiacán, a city in northwestern Mexico, and the largest city and capital of the state of Sinaloa. She also told them that Apple always knew that ‘
Chico
’ would come to rescue her. That last line nearly broke his heart in two.

****

They left for Culiacán the following hour. They were in the town a few hours later, pursuing Shaun and Apple.

Dario and Chico searched throughout the city with their routine, but to no avail.

The third week was exhausting. Until, with enough cash spread throughout the city, Chico was led to an important acquaintance of Shaun’s. A street prostitute pointed them in the direction of Rivera, one of Shaun’s closest friends. He was a regular at a local bar in the rough, seedy section of town. The prostitute gave the two men a full description of Rivera, describing him as tall and lean with long braids, and having a birthmark on his right cheek.

They found Rivera in a bar called Rio Grails, a quaint bar with cheap drinks, a tough crowd, and shady activity. When Chico and Dario walked in, the interest was on them so hard, Dario kept his pistol close, alert to his surroundings.

Rivera was seated at the bar with a prostitute.

Both men approached Rivera and swiftly flanked him, one on either side.

“You Rivera, right?” Chico asked.

Rivera turned and glared at Chico then at Dario. “What the fuck y’all niggas want?”

“We lookin’ for a Shaun, and Apple,” Chico told him. “You probably know her, a young American girl wit’ a disfiguring burn across her face. We know you seen them both recently. Just tell us where, and make it easy on yourself.”

“Don’t know who you talkin’ about. I’m busy right now.” Rivera turned his back to Chico. “Get the fuck outta here!”

Chico glanced at Dario.

Dario nodded and slowly removed the pistol from his waistband. He gripped it by its handle and watched Rivera ignore them as he continued to chat with the short, big-breasted prostitute.

Chico stepped closer to Rivera. He hooked his eyes into him, tightened his fist, and said, “I’m gonna ask you again—Shaun or Apple, have you seen either one of them?”

Rivera shouted, “Nigga, fuck—”

The blow came fast, like a strike of lightning, across the back of his head from the pistol in Dario’s hand.

As Rivera wailed and stumbled from the bar, Dario hit him again in the same spot, and he dropped to the floor.

The regulars looked on, but no one intervened. The violence was a normal thing to them. The men and women around knew to mind their business.

Dario dragged Rivera outside unconscious. They placed him into the back of the pickup truck and sped away. Dario drove away from the city, into the night, en route to the countryside and then pulled off Route 15 going south. He drove for forty minutes.

Rivera was waking up when they stopped.

Dario removed him roughly from the truck and held him at gunpoint.

“What the fuck is this? You know who I am?” Rivera shouted madly. “This is my fuckin’ town. You two won’t make it a mile from this city alive when I get fuckin’ done wit’ y’all!”

The men were unmoved by his threatening rants. Rivera’s wrists were bound, and he was placed on his knees against the rocks and dirt under a blanket of vast stars above, and nothing but miles of grassland around.

Chico stood over Rivera, determined to get the truth from him. “We gonna ask you this one more time—Apple or Shaun, where are they?” he asked coolly.

“Fuck you!” Rivera spat. “I ain’t tellin’ you shit!”

Dario scowled. He pressed the barrel of the pistol to Rivera’s forehead and cocked back the hammer.

“You think this shit scares me? Do it, muthafucka!
¡Ir a joder gilipollas de tu mamá!
” he shouted.

Dario whacked him across the face with the pistol.

Rivera began to bleed, but he was still defiant. He glared up at his captors. “Yeah, you lookin’ for that burnt bitch, I remember her. Yeah, we made some good money off that piece of trashy pussy. She was fuckin’ every day and night. We had that pussy bleeding and shit.
¡Puta perra!
”

Chico was angry. “These muthafuckin’ Mexicans! Just tell me where she’s at!”

“Fuck you!”

Chico looked at Dario and nodded. Dario understood the signal. They weren’t getting anywhere with Rivera. He had become a dead end. It was painful.

Rivera continued to curse and taunt Dario to pull the trigger.

Pop! Pop! Pop!

Dario put three into Rivera’s head, leaving him sprawled out on the ground.

Looking at Rivera’s dead body made Chico even angrier. He was his last hope in finding Apple.

“What now, Chico?” Dario asked.

Chico didn’t know. He had no more resources, and he had been away from home and his business for too long. He didn’t want to give up on his search, but reluctantly, he had to fly back home to take care of business. To keep looking was affecting his mental state. The guilt, the grief, was overwhelming. He couldn’t listen to another muthafucka tell him how they’d fucked Apple, or call her a beast or a monster. It was all too much for him.

“We tried, Chico. If you want me to keep on looking, I can. But it will cost,” Dario said.

Chico thought long and hard about it. “Nah, I’m done looking. Fuck it! She’s ghost to me as of right now.”

CHAPTER 23

A
pple awoke slowly from her hazy dream, stirring and turning under a dimmed light. She started to regain consciousness. The room was quiet and still, except for the soft hum of a fan blowing. She opened her eyes and saw that she was someplace different—in a room, lying on a bed.

The bedroom was comfortable and modest. The bed was soft like clouds. She wasn’t in hell anymore. She started to wonder where she was. The filth from the whorehouse had been washed away from her. The clothes that she had on were different. Someone had taken the time to place her in a clean cotton nightgown.

Apple remembered her nightmare. There was shooting and screaming. It felt like Armageddon. And then she felt herself floating in mid-air—like the wind or the hands of God had reached down and grabbed her soul.

Am I still dreaming?
She looked around the room. It was clean.

Apple placed her feet on the engineered wood floor and stood up. She had strength in her body. She didn’t feel sick or tired.
Was I eating?
she asked herself.

She walked toward the windows to look outside, curious about her location. She pulled back the blinds and gazed outside. The humongous yard she looked out at was grassy and stretched for acres. The trees were tall and plentiful with leaves, and the bright sun beamed across the land for miles.

“Is this heaven?” she asked herself.

She turned from the window and continued inspecting the room. There weren’t any electronic items in the room, only the bare necessities. There was fruit in a bowl placed on a table, a few books on shelves, and the walls were bare of pictures or posters. There was a dresser and mirror set near the window.

Apple thought,
If it’s heaven, then my wounds would heal
. She walked over to the mirror and stared at her reflection.

Nothing had changed—Her disfigured face was still there as a reminder of the horrors from her past. She touched her wounds and sighed.

Apple wondered if she was still in Mexico. There weren’t any clocks or calendars in the room, so she had no idea what day or time it was.

She began to think about Chico. She smiled and said, “He came for me. He found me. . .” It was the only rational reason as to why she was suddenly free from her prison.

Apple had a quick flashback of the event. She briefly remembered the masked men, and heard the violence, but one of those men was her savior.

She turned in the direction of the door when she heard someone entering. She smiled, walked toward the door, ready to jump into her man’s arms and kiss him lovingly.

The bedroom door came open, and a man appeared in the doorway.

“Chico,” she called out.

Apple fastened her eyes on the man entering the room. She froze. She couldn’t believe her eyes. It had to be a dream. It couldn’t be him.

“I see you’re awake,” he said.

“How is this even possible?”

“You don’t look happy to see me.”

“How did you find me?” Apple asked.

“I have my ways.”

Fear crept up Apple’s spine. She didn’t know if he was a friend or foe. She slightly backed away from him and looked around the room, trying to find an object to grab in case she needed to defend herself.

He moved closer. He kept his eyes on her. He didn’t smile, but looked relaxed and non-threatening to Apple.

“Why did you bring me here? For revenge, huh?”

Apple stared at his chiseled physique. He was shirtless and wearing relaxed jeans with sneakers. He looked the same, but his body had improved greatly. He had been working out. She locked eyes with him as he approached closer.

“I didn’t bring you here to hurt you, Apple. I knew you needed help,” he said.

“I don’t need your help,” she spat.

“If it wasn’t for me, then you would still be turning tricks at that godforsaken place. You needed rescuing, Apple. And I needed to shut that place down. I knew you were dying in there, and I couldn’t let that happen.”

“Why?”

“Why not? We go way back, and I still love you.”

“After what I did to you?”

“I forgive you. What happened between us was a long time ago. It’s forgotten. I’m willing to let bygones be bygones and start something fresh. Harlem was a different life for me. But, here, I’ve become a different person; a better person.”

Apple stared at him. She was wary about getting closer to him. His eyes showed a natural calm, a look she hadn’t seen in a long time—since they were young.

She stood against the wall, nowhere to run, her heart racing like a thoroughbred’s on a racetrack.

He lifted his hand to her face and touched her wound gently.

“Karma’s a bitch, right. I’m ugly to you now, huh?” Apple sadly stated.

“No, you’re still beautiful, like how I remembered you.”