Love Trumps Game (18 page)

“M
an, this shit is the bomb,” said Zoot, using his rubber-gloved hand to mix up a bowl of poison to be fed to the guard dogs at the place where Hattie was staying. “Rat poison, anti-freeze, and ground-up glass mixed into a savory ground beef with a hint of spices. Now that's what I'm talkin' 'bout.”

“Yo', as long as it does the trick. I'll shoot a mutherfucker in a minute, but I ain't into shooting innocent animals. That's not my thing.”

Zoot was grinning like a mad scientist. “Man, we could probably kill up a bunch of niggas with this shit. Throw a big barbecue and cook up some nice big, juicy burgers. I heard that anti-freeze has a sweet taste to it. That's why stupid dogs lap it right up.”

Topps ignored his accomplice's remark as if he hadn't heard a word the man said. He was checking out his gun and actually thinking about shooting Zoot to put him out of his no-bathing-ass misery. The man stank and Topps didn't know how much more torture he could take.

“Ain't a dog around can resist this shit when I get through pumping flavor into it. Smells so good I feel like eating some myself.”

I wish you would.
Topps remained quiet. He had rented a large room with two beds twelve blocks away from the gated house he'd followed Hattie and his kids to. He needed time to hash out a
plan. Plus, having to take care of more personal business caused a delay.

Three days now. That's how long he'd been holed up in the room with human funk that made him want to retch every time he took a deep breath. It tempted him to plug his nose with cotton, and then blow a hole clean through Zoot's ass so some fresh air could get to it. If it wasn't for the fact that he needed Zoot's help with the task at hand, he would have skied up. But he had to make sure they knew what the hell they were doing when invading the house. A tall gate around the house's circumference, security bars on the side windows of the house, guard dogs patrolling. Hell, he even saw a couple of surveillance cameras. Yeah, they had to take their time and do it right. Errors could get them both killed.

Zoot was excited like a chef finishing his first culinary masterpiece. “Man, this shit actually smells delicious. Come take a whiff of it.”

Shit. The hell with it.
He had to tell the truth. “Yo', my nigga, all I smell right now is ass. What you need to do is hop yo' ass in the shower.”

“Say what?” Zoot looked up, his expression a mix of curiosity, anger and disbelief.

“You heard the fuck what I said. You need to hop yo' ass in the shower and get acquainted with some soap. Know what I'm sayin'?”

“Nigga, what the hell you talkin' 'bout? I washed up.” Zoot looked slightly offended, even though he could smell for himself that he was ripe.

“Man, we been on this fucking mission for three mutherfucking days now and I haven't seen you wash or brush shit. Not once. That ain't right, bro.”

“Are you for real?” Zoot raised a brow. “I didn't know you hired me to see me wash my ass. Hell, you wanna swing that way, it's gonna cost you more money.”

It was meant as a joke, but Topps wasn't laughing. In fact, he took the implication as an insult to his manhood. He was twisting the silencer on his gun. Mostly admiring it. “Damn all this waiting around. We need to seal this deal tonight so it can be over with. You go yo' way, I go mine. But for real, how you gonna be there when you can't even ride in my whip?”

“Dang, nigga. You for real or what?”

“Yo, you can't ride in my whip smelling like that, man. Take a shower. That's all I'm sayin'. In fact, take two and a wash-up. I can't take yo' stank another day. You killing me.”

“Man, fuck you,” Zoot hissed loud. “I smell like a man should smell. It's not like I brought my overnight bag with me.”

“I'll give you a pair of clean drawers, my nigga. I got deodorant and a clean shirt you can have, too. I always travel prepared.”

“Man, I'ma grown-ass man. Nobody tells me when to bathe.”

Topps was glaring at him. Maybe he didn't mean to point the gun in Zoot's direction, but it was aimed that way. “For sho, but I'm a grown-ass man, too, partna', and I say get yo' punk ass in the shower or get popped. The choice is yours.”

Zoot stood and peeled off his rubber gloves. “What? You gon' shoot me if I don't? Man, this is fucked up. You one crazy-ass nigga, you know that?”

“Yeah. That's what I've heard.” Topps kept the gun aimed at him. His look couldn't be more serious. “But I smell clean.”

“Ain't this a bitch.” Mumbling, Zoot swiped the bowl of poison meat onto the floor. “You wrong for this, man. Wrong.” Despite his complaining, he went in to take a shower.

Topps went outside to fetch some fresh clothing from the Rover.
It was close to noon and hot already. It was an oppressive heat that reminded him of being in Vegas. How people enjoyed desert living was a mystery beyond his comprehension. He couldn't wait to be done and get the hell away from this town. Before going back inside, he fired up a blunt and took his time smoking inside the vehicle while listening to some rap music. He counted out some cash from his duffle bag to put in his wallet.

“We can wrap those gourmet doggie burgers up and take that shit over now,” Topps suggested, walking back into the room with a clean T-shirt and underwear rolled up. He tossed the roll over to a sour-faced Zoot who was walking around with a blunt dangling between his lips and a towel wrapped around him. “No telling how long that shit might take to drop 'em.”

“Hey, man, what's this beef you got with this lady we going to pop anyway?”

Topps sat on the bed, his mind thinking about all the bodies that had slept there. Years of other people's dirt, sweat, body fluids, and fallen dead skin cells. It made his skin crawl. “Who the hell said anything 'bout poppin' her old ass? I'm just taking my kids, that's all.”

“Seem like a lot of trouble. Can't you just call her up and ask for 'em?”

“Nigga, what you think? What, you think this shit is a pleasure trip we on?”

Zoot headed back to the tiny bathroom to get dressed. “Damn, man. I just asked. Don't bite my head off.”

“Don't be asking stupid shit about my damn business. I didn't hire yo' ass for that.”

Zoot was back in the room staring at him a few seconds before grinning. “Hired? Man, you one funny dude. We've been in town three days and I ain't seen a dime.”

“Yo, once the job is done, then you get paid.”

“Damn, Topps, how I know I can trust you? You be trippin'.”

“Money ain't a problem, so don't worry about it. You'll get paid.”

“Yeah, okay.” Zoot sniffed. “But on the for real, TJ, I don't appreciate having heat pulled on me like that.” His expression went from jovial to serious. “Don't do it again.”

Topps got up and walked over to him. His favorite mode of intimidation was getting straight in a person's grill. Like now. “Is that right?” Topps sneered. Zoot was close enough for Topps to smell the mint scent of his breath. “And what'chu gon' do about it?”

Two bull-headed men squared off, both too stubborn to bow down.

Zoot made it obvious that he wasn't afraid of him. “Like I said, don't let it happen again.”

“Yeah. That's what I thought you said.”

The icy silence warmed when Topps said, “Pack that shit up so we can roll. We got business to take care of.”

The ride back to the gated house was ten minutes of thick silence. Topps didn't give a damn. In fact, the more he thought about that nigga Zoot giving him grief, he might be paying his ass with a bullet instead of the promised cash. Obviously that fool didn't know who he was dealing with. “I was just playing with you earlier, man.” A lie to ease the tension between them.

“No sweat.” Zoot sniffed. “I was playing, too.”

“We straight then?”

“Yeah, partna'. We straight.”

Topps cruised the Rover to the side of the tall hedges that surrounded the front of the house. The gate was ornamental black iron connected to sides of tall brick. He surveyed their surroundings to see if they were being observed. Not one soul was out walking the neighborhood. Looked like the intense heat was a
plus—made people stay inside their air-conditioned homes. “You know what to do, bro. Get busy.”

“I'm on it.” Zoot hopped out and moved to the front of the vehicle where he lifted the vehicle's hood. After a few seconds of giving the illusion of having engine problems, he eased over to the tall hedges and slipped between the thick curtain of green.

One of the two massive Rotties caught his scent and charged in his direction, running, growling and snarling. It banged its thick, muscular body against the iron gate trying to get at him. All Zoot could see were sharp teeth and drool.

“Easy, boy,” Zoot cooed as he removed the small patties of poisoned meat from a plastic bag he had tucked inside his shirt. “Here you go. That's it, smell it. Smells good. Yeah. Taste it. There you go. That's some good shit, ain't it? Good boy.”

Rottie Number One took the bait with no problem. Rottie Number Two ran up on the scene growling and almost foaming at the mouth. Sharp teeth promised a gruesome outcome, but that didn't stop Zoot from trying to soothe the beast. “Easy, boy. Easy now. Calm down. You want some of this, too? Yeah? Sure you do.” Rottie Two was different, untrusting. The snarling beast took his time sniffing at the pattie, growling in protest, then sniffing some more. “Taste it. It's good stuff, boy. There you go, just a little bit. Now try some more.” Once all the meat was exhausted, Zoot walked back to the car and put the hood down before climbing back in.

“They eat that shit up?” Topps asked, flying some white powder up a nostril with a rolled-up hundred-dollar bill.

“Like candy to a kid.”

“Good. Want some of this?”

“Hell yeah.” Zoot held his fist out for Topps to tap out a small pile of powder from the tiny brown vial he held. He took up the
rolled bill and flew the pile in one strong sniff, then licked the residue from his hand. “Damn, that's straight pure.”

“Only the best. So how long before them bitches are down?”

Zoot sniffed hard. His nostril burned and felt numb as heck, confirming good stuff. “Uh…we should be good to go by nightfall. If they ain't dead, they should be too sick to care who comes over the fence. And that's for real.”

“I'm sure there's an alarm on the house. The element of surprise might be our best chance.” Topps started the engine and drove a few blocks down, turned the vehicle around and parked. “We'll squat here for a while to see who comes and goes out that muther. That way we'll know what the hell we dealing with.” He left the engine on so he could run the air conditioner. Too much heat might start Zoot to smelling again. He'd pop him for sure then.

“This area is the bomb. Shit, I could live up in this muther,” Zoot observed, looking around at his surroundings. Fairly new, large homes with manicured lawns painted a pleasing picture. “Probably mostly white folks, I bet. Maybe even a few Klan members waiting to burn a cross on a nigga's lawn.”

“Screw this place.” Topps snorted. “I couldn't stand being no desert rat. Once I get my son, I'ma get ghost outta here quick. Maybe head up north. Nothing but green and more green.”

“Your son?” Zoot raise-browed him. “Thought it was two kids.”

“It is, but…you know how it is with girls. They like they mama. Walking trouble and hard-headed. The more I think about it, I might have to leave her ass behind. Once I get my business back and runnin' up north, the plan is to get my boy trained for it. Know what I'm sayin'? Gotta keep my shit poppin'.”

“Ain't never havin' no damn kids.”

“Good for you.” Topps snorted. “I love my son. He'll be rich like his father.”

“Need some new soldiers, let me know. I'm game.”

“Yeah, I'll keep that in mind.”

Luck was on their side. The wait wasn't long before the massive black gate opened and the white panel van pulled out. The cautious driver paused to look both ways before pulling onto the street.

“Well, looka' here.” Topps grinned, pleased. “Looks like the little family is going on a little excursion.” He took up the binoculars for a better look at the driver. Male. A face that looked hard, but unfamiliar.

“Whad'up?” Zoot sat up looking excited. “Shit, man, let's run up on 'em now and blast they asses!”

“Man, my kids might be in the back of that mutherfucker. You hard trippin'.”

Zoot looked insulted but held his tongue.

“Nah, let's do it right. Give them dogs some time to die while we go get somethin' to eat. Don't know about you, but I'm starvin'.”

“Yeah, I could stand some grub.”

“They'll be back,” Topps sneered. “That's when we have the element of surprise and no witnesses. It's perfect.”

“A
fterwards, we can take the kids shopping for a few things, then head over to the Cheesecake Factory at the Gardens.” Bruno sounded excited.

“The Gardens? What's that?” Hattie asked. This thing about her having a makeover was making her a little nervous. What if she looked too young or like some floozy? What would her church members say when she returned?

“Victoria Gardens. It's an outdoor mall off Foothill. A few major stores, a few places to eat. My favorite is the Cheesecake Factory. Hopefully, it will be a little cooler by the time we head that way.” After being in the house for three days, Bruno was almost like a child on his way to the toy store. In a strange kind of way, it felt like he was part of a family—his own family, something that he had wanted for a long time, but had to put on the back burner when the cancer had reared its ugly head. “Having dinner out might do us all some good.”

“I want ice cream after dinner,” Brandon announced. For most of the ride he'd been quiet, his way of letting Hattie know that he was still upset about getting spanked.

“Is that how we ask?” Hattie corrected. She hated to ride him so much, but if that's what it took, so be it.

“Sorry, Nanny. Can I please have some ice cream after dinner?”

“That's much better, Brandon.” Hattie smiled with a sense of
pride. “You sound like a little gentleman, and yes, you may have some ice cream after dinner.” If she had known that a good spanking would do the trick, she wouldn't have waited so long to give therapy. She was almost looking forward to Brandon's next “treatment.”

“Nanny, may I have some ice cream, too?” Of course, Raynita wouldn't be outdone.

“Of course you can, sweetie.” Hattie winked over at Bruno, who obviously was impressed at her disciplinarian skills. “Oh, don't let me forget to call Myra later to see if she went by to check on my house and pick up my mail.”

“I won't.”

Hattie sighed. Actually, it wasn't so bad being at Bruno's house. In an odd kind of way, she felt more comfortable being at Bruno's than at Myra's place. How odd. Still, there were spells when she missed her own place. “My bank finally mailed me another ATM card, so that helps. I wish they could speed up working on my house.”

“Stop worrying, it's all coming.” Bruno exited Interstate 15 at Baseline and headed east into the city of Fontana.

“Easy for you to say.” Hattie snuck a quick glance over at him. A nice-looking man with no wife. No kids. How strange. She hadn't been made privy to the full history of his life, but it wasn't difficult to put some of the pieces of the puzzle together. The man had been in a serious relationship before he became sick with colon cancer. His ex-fiancée couldn't deal with his illness, packed up and split. He bred and trained dogs at another residence he owned. He had run with a gang in his younger days, but after witnessing his brother being shot down like a dog, he had enough of death and destruction. Bruno, being shot two times and surviving, sealed his removal from the lifestyle. That was
twenty years ago, in a place called Tacoma, Washington. According to Bruno, he never looked back.

“This play sister of mine is good at what she does. You'll like her.”

“I hope so.” Hattie sighed, folding her hands. For this excursion she had worn some form-fitting denim and a black top with a wide belt around her waist. Soft leather flats on her feet. It was a youthful look she had to get used to.

The Dashing Diva salon was small but clean. Hattie and the kids followed Bruno into the shop and took a seat while he went looking for his play sister Queenie. Seeing the two walking toward her made Hattie more nervous.

Queenie looked to be in her early thirties. She was a tall woman with gentle brown eyes. Small on the top, and wide on the bottom, her fleshy face suggested a woman that had once been larger. The black apron she wore was faded some, but her hair was tight.

Brandon pointed and grinned. “Ooh, she got a big booty.”

Hattie shot him a look. “Did you say something, Brandon?” For good measure, she'd brought the leather belt with her and Brandon knew it.

“No, ma'am.” The child put his head down.

“I didn't think so.”

“Hattie, this is my play sister Queenie,” Bruno said proudly. “She'll be hooking you up today. Queenie, this is Hattie Sims.”

The two females exchanged pleasantries with Queenie touching and examining Hattie's hair like she'd discovered a patch of peat moss on her head. “Give me a good two hours.”

Bruno frowned. “You need that long?”

“For intense conditioning, yes I do,” Queenie sassed back.

“Okay then. Guess I'll take the kids to the Mills to play some games. Is that okay, Hattie?”

“Ah…yeah, that's fine.” Hattie gave Brandon a stern look. “I'm
sure that Brandon will be on his best behavior. Right, Brandon?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Good.”

Two hours later, Hattie was ready to go. The kids ran into the salon excited about the video games they had played at the Ontario Mills' game center. Bruno was right behind them. The three stopped dead in their tracks at the sight of Hattie. Mouths sagged open.

“Nanny?”

“Hattie?”

“Nanny is a babe!” Brandon yelled.

The woman that had come in harried and dowdy-looking had been transformed into a younger-looking diva mama with shoulder-length, dark-auburn hair. Hair that swayed. Add to that, a facial, pedicure, and a manicure with French tips. The little makeup she wore was perfect.

Hattie was a little nervous about her new look. “Well? Is it too much with the hoop earrings?”

“No way.” Bruno kept checking her out. “Wow.” He liked what he saw. In fact, he liked it a lot. “You…you look great.”

Brandon got in the mix. “Yeah, Nanny. You look young and sexy.”

What in the world would a seven-year-old know about sexy?
Hattie didn't even want to ask. “Thank, you. What about you, Nita? You like Nanny's new look?”

“You look pretty.”

“Thank you. Here, let me pay the lady.” Hattie opened her purse.

“Hey, it's my treat. I got this.” Bruno walked over and paid Queenie, which wasn't much because the woman owed him a big favor. Good-byes flowed back and forth as they headed out for Victoria Gardens.

After shopping at the mall, they dined at the Cheesecake Factory before heading back to the house. Bruno made a point of checking
out every vehicle coming and going around him. Earlier he had spotted a new Land Rover with tinted windows parked not too far away from his gate. The windows were so dark he couldn't see if it was occupied or not, but it was gone now. Probably belonged to one of his neighbors that paraded a slew of Mercedes-Benzes, Land Rovers, BMWs and Lexuses up and down his street. He used a remote to open the iron gate before pulling the van in.

“That's odd,” Bruno observed.

“What's that?” Hattie asked, feeling sluggish from the wonderful meal she had eaten earlier. Her plan was to sleep for hours. The kids had fallen asleep already in the back of the van.

“My dogs didn't come greet.”

“Oh Lord.” Hattie perked up quickly. She felt her heart speed up.

“Calm down. They've been known to dig out at the rear of the house. Dogs will be dogs. They might be roaming the neighborhood. I'll let you and the kids in the house and go check to see what's up.”

Hattie looked alarmed. “But…what about Bull inside?” The only time she'd been around the large dog that lived inside the house was when Bruno was present.

“You and the kids go straight to the kitchen and stay 'til I come inside. Wake the kids. Bull is trained not to enter the kitchen unless he's summoned.”

“Are you serious?”

“Hattie, it's okay. Get the kids inside.”

Bruno got out and unlocked the door leading into the house from the garage, turned the alarm off before going in search of his prized Rotties. At the rear of the house, he found one dog laying in vomit, barely breathing.

He knelt down to the animal, a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. Poisoned. “Son of a bitch!” He was about to rise to go
search for the second yard dog when a baseball bat came crashing down on his back. The hard blow knocked instant fear into him as he shot up and swirled around to deal with his assailant, Topps Jackson. The two men struggled hard, breaths coming quickly. Bruno managed to knock Topps into the pool, giving him time to reach for the gun strapped to his left leg. Bruno fired off one shot at Topps coming up for air, but missed. So busy aiming for another shot at Topps that he didn't hear the bullet that struck his leg, Bruno felt a sudden burning and knew he was hit. He grabbed his leg, at the same time seeing another assailant rounding the side of his house coming at him with a gun.

Bruno fired back at the second attacker, barely grazing his shoulder. Zoot aimed and fired again. The second bullet whizzed past Bruno's head, prompting him upright to hop toward the garage leading into the house. More bullets whizzed by as he made it to the door and attempted to get inside, but his two assailants were right behind him. He dragged his wounded leg across the tiled floor leading into his living room, bleeding. It was him against the two of them. His small twenty-two was no match. In a situation like this, his thought was that cooperation might save Hattie and the kids. “Don't shoot, please.”

Zoot aimed the silenced metal at him. “Drop that damn gun, partna.”

Bruno did what he was told. The earlier blow to his back had him dizzy with pain. His vision was blurry, almost like he was seeing double. The bullet in his leg was screaming for medical attention. “Look, you guys…this can all be worked out. Whatever it is that you want, let's talk about it.”

Topps kicked his gun to the far end of the room. “Man, don't shoot his ass yet. We need him to open up the safe. I'm sure he got one up in this muther. I can smell money.”

Having heard gunfire, Hattie told the kids to stay in the kitchen. She ran back toward the front of the house to find Bruno on the living room floor bleeding from his leg, obviously in pain.

Water dripping from his clothes, Topps stepped from behind Zoot. “Oh my God! Bruno. Oh no. I'm so sorry.” She turned hateful eyes toward Topps. “Why won't you leave us alone! Just leave us alone!”

Bruno laid his dizzy head on the floor. “Hattie, don't even sweat it. If he's a real man, he'll sit down and talk like a man.”

Topps lowered his gun, grinning. “Ain't shit to talk about. Know what I'm sayin'? I'm here to take what's mine. I didn't have no beef with you, but you in it now. End of story.”