Defenseless (18 page)

D
wayne returned home, slamming his car door.
Where could she be?
He had turned Atlanta upside down, searching for Sonya. She'd been gone now for over twenty-four hours. She hadn't returned home, and Walters Intercorp was still shut down due to the police investigation.
Didn't she realize her life was in danger?

Yesterday's scene played over in his mind.
I shouldn't have left her alone to draw her own conclusion. Why didn't I tell her everything last night?

Dwayne leaned against the gold Lincoln Town Car, deep in thought.
She had to be somewhere, but where?
Tomorrow, Walters Intercorp's employees would return to work. Would she risk going there? At this point, he didn't know what Sonya would do.

Silence greeted Dwayne when he entered the house. Bridget was probably still upset with him. She hadn't said much about what happened, but her heated looks said enough. When the phone rang, Dwayne raced to answer it by the second ring.

“Hello?”

“Dwayne, I finally caught you.”

“Hi, Sharon,” he answered with disappointment.

“Well, I'm happy to hear from you, too.”

“I'm sorry. Things are a little crazy right now.”

“Did something else happen?”

“Let's see if I can sum this up.” Dwayne thought for a moment. He didn't really want to tell Sharon all that went on between him and Sonya. After all, they were good friends.

“I'm waiting,” Sharon persisted.

“It's a long story. Maybe I'll tell you when you get home.”

“Is everything all right? Where's Sonya?”

She would ask that.
“She's not here right now.”

“What do you mean, she's not there? I thought that you were supposed to watch her?”

Dwayne became defensive. “I'm not her mother, Sharon. I can't…” Dwayne got an idea. “I have to go, Sharon. I'll talk to you later. Bye.” He ignored his sister's protests on the other end and hung up the phone. Within minutes, he was out the door. He knew where Sonya was.

 

Sonya pulled the Atlanta Braves baseball cap lower and pushed up her dark sunglasses. She observed the different people on the Marta bus, unsure if her disguise was convincing. She glanced at her attire again: a pair of oversized, faded blue jeans hung low enough to show her men's boxer shorts—it was something she had seen Bridget do. The midriff tank top displayed her flat stomach—it seemed to be the style with the other young girls on the bus.

A young boy winked at her. He had to be at least seventeen, she thought.
Do I look that young in this getup?
The boy stood, then strolled to the empty seat beside her. “What's up, shortie?”

Shortie?
Sonya ignored him. Maybe he would get the hint and go away. He didn't.

“What's your name?” he asked in a fake baritone.

Sonya scooted farther away from him. She heard his disgust as he stood up from the chair mumbling. “Damn trick, thinks she's all that.”

Sonya's eyes widened at his audacity. Maybe she went too far in her disguise. She fingered her big loop earrings.
How do these girls wear this stuff?
Habitually Sonya's hands went to her now-short haircut. She remembered the shock of the hairdresser when she asked for her to cut it all off. Afterward, when she saw the long ringlets of hair sprawled across the floor, she felt her identity had been stripped from her.

She wondered what Dwayne would think of her new haircut. Did he like her long hair? Sonya cursed herself for even thinking about him.

She stared out the window and studied the trees as the bus passed by them. It had been ages since she rode Marta. It was once her only form of transportation. As a young girl, her parents could never afford a car, but she remembered her mother always promising to buy one. Sonya smiled at that thought. Her mother was always planning to do so many things.

Sonya recognized her stop and gathered her things. She waited along with the other passengers for a connecting bus. Bus number 124 pulled up, and Sonya got on. This time, she sat closer to the bus driver. She didn't like being in the back where most of the younger kids hung out. She noticed more approving stares from the younger boys on the bus.

Ten minutes later, the bus pulled up to her stop, and she got off. She stood in front of the big building, trying to gather her courage. She remembered the last time she was here. It was a hard time for her, and she didn't doubt that today wouldn't be any different.

Finally she took a deep breath and walked into the building. She stood at the reception desk for nearly fifteen minutes before the officer pulled herself from the phone.

“May I help you?” she asked politely.

Sonya smiled. “Yes, I would like to see my mother, Dorothy Walters.”

 

Bridget popped open another book, fascinated by what she had discovered in the library. Why hadn't she come here before? She had no idea there was so much information on coins. She flipped through the books, unaware that she had been in the library going on five hours.

She took notes on the different museums she wanted to visit. She had also listed all the different coin dealers in Atlanta. The excitement she felt was contagious as she looked up at Shock G.

“Hey, Bridge, check this out. Did you know that the coin your dad gave you last Christmas is listed in here?”

Bridget shook her head. “Let me see that.”

Shock G. handed her the book while he grinned confidently at her.

“It's worth twelve hundred dollars,” she said, shocked.

“We're rich.”

Bridget frowned at him. “Rich? Not hardly.” She continued to browse through his book. “This is interesting. Maybe I should check this one out. Perhaps we can see if I have one that would really make us rich.”

Shock G. agreed. “We could be living large, Bridge. We could get married, buy us our own crib. That way we don't have to listen to your father.”

Bridget laughed, but she remembered her conversation with Sonya. “Maybe we're too young to get married.”

Shock G. looked at her as if she were an alien. “What? Are you going to start perpetrating 'cuz you might be rich?”

“No, George, I just think we're too young to get married,” she said, shrugging her shoulders.

“Too young? Girl, you buggin'. I thought you wanted to get married.”

Bridget looked around to see if anyone was listening to their conversation. “George—”

“And what's with this George? You know I go by Shock G.”

Bridget took a deep breath and tried again. “Shock G., I just want to wait until after I go to college and start my own coin shop before I think about marriage.”

“College? Since when did you want to go to college?”

Bridget leaned back in her chair and stared at him. Did she love George? He was fun, and it upset her father to think that she was with him, but the conversation with Sonya had her thinking. Wouldn't it be great to have a career of her own, to have her own sense of independence?

“George—I mean, Shock G.—don't you want to make something of yourself? What can we do with a basic education? Nothing. Things are changing all the time, and knowledge is our only defense.”

George's mouth fell open. “Girl, who on earth have you been talking to?”

Bridget smiled. “Just a friend of my father's.”

“A friend, huh? And what qualifies this friend as a keynote speaker? I mean, that's all adults talk about. College. You don't need no fancy degree to get a good job. Look at my uncle Tyrone. He has his own business. He serves the best barbecue in Atlanta.”

Bridget shook her head, not believing his logic and not believing she once listened. “Geor…Shock G., I don't want to serve barbecue for the rest of my life.”

George pushed his chair away from the table. “Not serve barbecue? Girl, we'll be rolling in the dough when Uncle Tyrone leaves me the business. He's already said that I can start working for him next week. I figure I'll start now and learn the basics, you know, learn the ropes. In a few years, he'll want to retire and we can take over the business.”

Bridget tossed her hands up. “It's getting late. We can talk about this later. I'm going to check out this book and go home. I'm supposed to be on restriction.” She gave him a quick peck on the cheek and smiled. “Come on. We don't have to make any definite plans today.”

That seemed to cheer him up as he got up to follow her to the checkout counter.

 

Laura greedily accepted the spoon of mashed potatoes from the man named Odell. He kept her tied to the chair as he fed her. She tried to keep her pride intact, but it was hard not to beg for mercy from this man.

The way his eyes swept over her figure, she didn't know whether or not he would act on what was obvious in his eyes.
He won't take liberties if his partner, Samuel, is around.

Laura wanted to ask Odell questions. How long were they going to keep her? Would she ever leave this place alive?

She looked wearily at Odell. How could she have ever believed that he was Curtis's brother?

Laura finished the rest of the potatoes and waited for him to leave. But he didn't move. He lifted his dirty hand and caressed the left side of her face. She wished she could wash his touch from her skin. She grew nervous as his eyes studied her lips.

Odell's head lowered, and Laura twisted her face away from him. It didn't matter—he just began kissing her cheek. Laura cringed at the feel of his wet lips plastered to the side of her face. His fingers quickly grabbed her chin and pulled her face back to him.

Laura felt her lunch threaten to return when his lips finally made contact with hers. She refused to cry. In a last effort to break away, Laura's teeth bit into his lips.

Odell growled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Laura flinched but prepared herself for the blow she was sure he was going to deliver. When she opened her eyes, she saw that Samuel had returned and was restraining Odell.

“What in the hell do you think you're doing?” he yelled.

“She bit me,” Odell barked back.

“And what did you think she was going to do?” Samuel released his hand. But the look in Odell's eyes told Laura that he still wanted revenge. “Get hold of yourself, Odell. Our time is running out.”

“What are we going to do with her, anyway?” Odell asked.

Laura looked at Samuel—she, too, wanted to know the answer to that question.

“We can't hurt her. She's valuable.” Samuel sneered. “Now get your stuff. We have a lead. Sonya Walters was spotted this morning on a Marta bus.”

Laura's heart skipped a beat. “What are you going to do to my sister?” she asked before thinking.

“Gag her,” Samuel instructed and left the room.

Odell gagged Laura with a look of contempt. “I'll tell you what we're going to do with your sister. First, we're going to see if she has our merchandise. Then we're going to kill her.”

S
onya twitched nervously in a small wooden chair and waited patiently for her mother to enter the room. Every so often, she would dart her eyes around, relieved that no one seemed to notice her. She pulled her baseball cap down farther.
Maybe this isn't a good idea. This is a mistake.

She reached for her purse and stood up from the chair just as the prison door opened. Sonya stopped in her tracks and turned slowly to see her mother enter the room. Dorothy Walters, a heavyset woman, had her massive salt-and-pepper hair pulled into a loose bun. A few strands framed her cinnamon-hued skin. Though her mother appeared older than her years, there were still no wrinkles visible on her face.

A guard directed Dorothy to an empty chair in front of her daughter. It pained Sonya to see her mother in this place, and she prayed for the day of her release.

Dorothy's eyes sparkled the moment she recognized her daughter. “Sonya.”

Despite her agonizing depression, Sonya smiled at her mother.

“My God, what did you do to your hair?” Dorothy asked, leaning in for a better look.

Sonya's hand lifted to her head to pull her cap down tighter. “I thought I needed a change,” Sonya lied.

“And what is with those shades? There isn't a sun in here. Take those off.” Her mother smiled.

If Sonya's nervousness wasn't apparent, it was now as her hands trembled to remove her glasses. “Hello, Mama.”

Dorothy's smile dropped at seeing Sonya's red eyes. “What's wrong?”

Sonya clasped her hands together, not knowing where to begin. Her monthly trips to the prison were meant to brighten both their lives. Since Laura's sudden marriage to Curtis, Sonya's role became the bearer of bad news. And today she would have to tell her mother everything that had transpired in the past month.
Where do I begin?

“I asked you what's wrong. Why are you dressed like that?” Dorothy asked with a twinge of dread in her voice.

“Mama, there's something I have to tell you. It's about Laura.” Sonya longed to touch her mother, so she placed her hand against the glass that separated them. Dorothy followed suit. When she looked into her mother's questioning eyes, she prayed for strength to get through this.

As if sensing the news was bad, Dorothy squared her shoulders to prepare herself for the worst.

Sonya took another deep breath, stared down at her hands and told her mother everything while twisting her gold coin habitually. Her mother's unnerving silence played havoc with her emotions.

“Is she dead?” Dorothy's voice trembled.

Sonya met her mother's steady gaze. “I don't know,” she answered. The uncertainty is what hurts so much, Sonya thought.

Dorothy bit her bottom lip to prevent it from trembling. However, there was no mistaking the pain streaked across her face. “But it's a possibility?”

Sonya knew she had let her mother down. Sonya shook her head, not knowing what else to say.

“Maybe it's my fault,” Dorothy said, wiping away her tears with the back of her hand. “I let you girls down.”

Sonya's hands covered her mouth.
How could she think that after all she'd done?
Sonya shook her head. “No, if it's anyone's fault, it's mine. I was responsible for Laura. I could have taught her not to be like—” Sonya stopped herself, but it was too late.

“Like me?” Dorothy asked as tears glistened in her eyes.

Sonya removed her hand from the glass. She would give anything to hold her mother, to comfort her, to assure her that none of this was her fault. “I didn't mean it like that.” When she didn't respond, Sonya called to her, “Please, don't cry.”

Dorothy removed her hands, her face drenched with tears. “I have to believe that she's all right,” she said, thrusting up her chin. It was her strength talking, strength that Sonya had always admired. “What are the police doing about this?”

“I really don't know. I have to keep moving. Someone might recognize me.” Sonya glanced around to the other visitors.

“I don't understand why someone would be trying to kill you.” Dorothy followed her daughter's gaze.

“I don't understand it, either—but I'm not going to stick around and find out.”

Dorothy continued to wipe at the tears flowing down her cheeks. “Surely the police can do something to protect you.”

Sonya shook her head. “I don't trust them. I don't trust anybody, really.”

“That's a pretty harsh statement,” Dorothy said.

“It's a harsh place we live in.” Sonya regretted the words immediately. She was speaking out of pain, and she knew it. Her heart had been broken, and she didn't know how to handle it. This is what she had fought so hard to prevent, and now she was confused: confused about her life, and what she wanted.

“Something else is bothering you, Sonya. Do you want to talk about it?”

Sonya smiled. Her mother could always see through her brave facade. “I don't know where to start.”

“Start with his name.”

Her mother knew her well. Sonya took a deep breath before starting. “His name is Dwayne Hamilton, and I think I'm in love with him.”

 

Dwayne ran through the floors of his office building, wanting to get his hands on Sonya's file. He couldn't remember which detention center her mother was held at. That was the only place he hadn't checked.

He turned on the light in his office.

“What the hell?” Everything was in shambles. Books had been thrown from the shelves, and important documents covered the floor. Dwayne pinched the bridge of his nose. He needed to calm down.

He walked over to his desk and checked all the drawers. Empty. Next he went to his knees and began turning over all the papers on the floor. He had to find that file. He had no doubt whoever shot up Walters Intercorp had trashed his office.

Hearing heavy footsteps enter the room, Dwayne looked up to see Anthony staring down at him. “Don't ask,” he instructed, but the question had already fled from Anthony's mouth.

“What happened?”

“You don't want to know.” Dwayne continued to search through the scattered papers.

“Mind if I ask what you're looking for?” Anthony asked, taking off his jacket.

“I'm looking for Sonya's file. It has to be around here somewhere. Didn't you leave it in my office?”

Dwayne stood up from the floor and walked out to Carmen's desk. He tossed papers around as he tried to find the missing file. When he couldn't find it, he looked back at Anthony. “How about Laura's folder?”

“I delivered it to Malik.”

“Damn!” Dwayne snatched the phone and dialed Malik's office. As he waited for the connection, he tapped his hand impatiently on Carmen's desk.

He hung up the phone after the tenth ring. “I have to find that place!”

“What do you need to know? I prepared the charts.”

“I need to know at which facility Dorothy Walters is held.”

Anthony looked away, tapping his right index finger against his temple.

“Think, Anthony. Which center?”

“Oh,” Anthony kept repeating to an impatient Dwayne.

Dwayne pinched his nose again, this time harder.
How hard could this be?
“Anthony, who did you get your information from?”

“Aha!” Anthony shouted. “Atlanta's Correction Detention Center Annex. Quite a mouthful, huh?” Anthony's smile faded behind Dwayne's retreating figure. Anthony raced after him.

Dwayne ignored the curious stares from his office mates as he ran down the hallway with Anthony right behind him. When he reached his Lincoln, parked illegally in front of the building, it had a ticket stuck behind the windshield wiper.

The men jumped into the car and quickly sped through the busy intersection. Anthony reached for his seat belt. He knew Dwayne's driving well.

Dwayne cursed his luck when a pair of flashing blue lights appeared in his rearview mirror.

“You know, for a lawyer, you get more tickets than anyone I know,” Anthony commented.

Dwayne gave a scornful look as he pulled over and reached to retrieve his insurance card from the glove compartment. When he reached for his back pocket, he remembered leaving his wallet on his dresser this morning.
Could today get any worse?

“License, registration and proof of insurance,” the policewoman asked after reaching the driver's side.

Dwayne looked up and gave his Hollywood smile, as Bridget called it, hoping it would have some effect on her.

She asked again.

Dwayne could only shake his head. The angels were definitely not with him today. “I seem to have left my wallet at home.” Dwayne purposely talked slower. Bridget often teased that he sounded like Barry White when he did that.

When the officer pulled out her pad, he knew he was getting a ticket. He made a conscious note to extend Bridget's restriction.

“Hello, Rhonda.” Anthony waved.

“Anthony!” she said, waving back at him. “I haven't seen you in a while. How have you been?”

“Great. I just got back from my trip to Bermuda. Beautiful place.”

“Really? That's great.”

Dwayne looked over at his assistant. He observed his skinny frame and his regular-joe speaking voice. He looked back at the officer, who was obviously smitten by Anthony.

“Is this going to take long? We're kinda in a hurry.” Anthony glanced at his watch.

The officer looked back at Dwayne, who gave her what he thought was a friendly smile, but she didn't seem to notice. “Is this your boss you were telling me and the girls about?”

The girls?
Dwayne looked back at Anthony. Was he aiding and abetting a playboy?

“Yes, we're on a big case, so can we hurry this up?” Anthony asked.

“Well, I guess I can let you go on a warning.” She looked back at Anthony. “If you pick up that rain check I've been holding.”

Dwayne gave Anthony a pleading look.

“Deal,” Anthony agreed.

The officer blew Anthony a kiss, and Dwayne started the car and continued on his way. Just as he rounded the corner, he of course picked up speed.

 

“Whoa! Where's the fire?” Shock G. commented as a gold Lincoln flew past him and Bridget.

“That was my dad,” Bridget said, leaning over the steering wheel. “I wonder what's going on?”

“Someone should tell him that the speed limit is forty-five on this road and not ninety-five.”

“Get out.”

“What? I was just joking, Bridge,” Shock G. replied.

“I know. I'm going to follow him. He would hit the roof if he saw you with me. I'll call you later.” Bridget gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and fanned him to get out of the Jeep.

“I don't think that's a good idea.” Shock G. reached for the door handle.

“George!”

“I'm going, I'm going.” George got out of the car and watched Bridget hang an illegal right to chase after her father.

Bridget fussed at the hard time she had keeping up with her father. But she did learn from the best and was able to remain no more than three cars behind him.
Where is he going in such a hurry? Is something wrong?

Bridget ran a stoplight to stay behind her father, but she was thankful no cop witnessed the dangerous act. Someone else was in the car with him. She couldn't make out who it was, but she had every intention of finding out.

She reached the highway, and it was the battle of the race cars. The car chase soon turned into a game for Bridget as she fought to keep up with the Lincoln.

 

“So you love him?” Dorothy said, smiling at her daughter.

Sonya didn't see anything worth smiling about. The man she allowed into her private world had made a fool out of her. She had promised herself she would never fall into the same trap that so many women had.

“Sonya, don't look so sad. Love isn't that bad.”

“Don't mind me if I don't share your opinion,” Sonya retorted.

“Come on. I think it's past time you found a little happiness for yourself.”

Sonya could only shake her head. “I don't understand you. After all you went through, how can you preach about love being this glorious thing to celebrate?”

“All I can do is hope that you could find something I never had. I have to believe in a greater love. Look what I'm forced to endure every day. I have less than a year before I'm up for probation, and I promise you, I'm not going to live in fear of men.”

That statement got Sonya to reflect on the many years her mother had lost, and a deep sense of guilt consumed her. “I'm so sorry. It's my fault that you're even in here.”