No More Mr. Nice Guy (10 page)

I watched in awe from the porch with a shit-eating grin spread across my face as Niles slipped into the back seat of the Rolls Royce in front. My nephew was something else. I was proud of him for refusing to become a soldier of fortune for Dynamic Defense, but he must have really impressed them during the interview, because he told me they came back and offered him the consulting job after all. In less than forty-eight hours, he had gone from being falsely arrested to being hired by a fancy consulting firm that was escorting him around town in a luxury car.

By the time the car turned the corner, however, not only had my smile disappeared, but I felt like someone had sucker punched me in the gut. How the hell could I look at myself in the mirror after watching my nephew get up and go off to work with his hustle strong, while I had essentially turned into a no-account bum? Hell, I didn't even have the excuse of watching my sister anymore. Along with this new job, Niles had managed to get her transferred to a top-rated facility in the Bay Shore, where she was getting the same kind of care as those rich white people.

“See you tonight?” Tanya came out the door from behind me. She kissed my cheek, and I wrapped an arm around her, hugging her to me. Her sweet voice made me feel just a little bit better, but it was short-lived. As soon as she said good-bye and I was alone with my thoughts again, my mood plummeted. I wanted to try to make something happen with Tanya, but she was the kind of woman who deserved more than an unemployed, unmotivated loser by her side. It was time for me to stop making excuses, get off my ass, and get my life back together.

* * *

I got off of the Long Island Railroad in Jamaica and walked down to the Queens impound yard over on Atlantic. By the time the guy located my car and processed my payment, I'd pretty much worked through most of the money I'd managed to save up, but if I was serious about working, I needed my cab. Now I had to go to the one place I'd been avoiding: my old job a few miles away.

“Monroe, what you doing in here?” Mr. Friedman, the old Jewish guy who ran the Metro Cab Company barked when he saw me get out of my cab and enter his office.

“I thought it was time we had a talk,” I answered, taking a seat in front of his desk so he couldn't ignore me.

He looked over his black-rimmed glasses and focused on me. “Sorry, Monroe, but we can't afford any more liabilities. The insurance is already too damn high. We out here competing with Uber, Lyft, the gypsy cabs, and God knows who else.”

At one time, Friedman and I had been pretty cool. He liked me—until I got one too many DUIs. I hoped that old friendship would still count for something as I begged him for this favor. “I would not be here bothering you if I were still a liability. I'm getting my act together, and the only piece missing is a J.O.B. I really need to work, man. Please.”

He studied me a minute before he responded. “I can't just put you back on the road. You're an insurance nightmare.”

“Mr. Friedman, you've known me for eight years, and during the first seven I was one of your most reliable drivers. You told me that yourself.”

“Yes, and then you fucked it all up when you took to the bottle,” he said, looking at me like I had disappointed him all over again.

I stared across the desk at him, hoping that somewhere inside him he would find an ounce of sympathy. “I'm begging you to give me one more chance.”

He studied me quietly for a minute, and I could tell he was wrestling with his decision. Then I saw his expression soften, and I felt a spark of hope.

He sighed. “The only way I know for you to get your hack license back is sign yourself into one of those alcohol programs and stay sober for three months. If you can do that, I'll make a couple of calls.”

“Woo-hoo!” I jumped up and came around the desk, extending my hand to him. He didn't take it.

“Monroe, this isn't going to be easy,” he said gruffly. “You have to complete the program, take mandatory tests to prove you're sober, and you have to attend those meetings. This is past the point of me being able to take your word.”

“I understand,” I said, and I honestly did. I had really taken advantage of his kindness in the past. “And I want to do it. I want to get sober, not just for this job, but for my life.” It wasn't until I said those words that the reality of their honesty hit home. I was ready to change.

“Until you do that, you will be uninsurable,” Friedman said. “We can't assume that kind of risk, not even for you, Willie, so I wouldn't mess it up if I were you. In other words, this is your last shot.”

“I will not let you down,” I assured him, feeling better and more hopeful than I had in ages.

“Baby, please, I need you to come see me. I'm gonna go crazy in here if I don't see you, boo. I'm mad lonely.” Some young dude was damn near crying into the phone as the line of inmates waiting for the phone wrapped down the hallway. Two prison guards stood off to the side, watching his pitiful ass, ready to react if those in line got out of hand.

I cut to the front of the line, serving him the kind of attitude that made most of my fellow inmates shake in their boots. “Get off the phone!” I growled, letting him know that his life could depend on him giving the right answer.

He bitched right up, just like I expected, stuttering into the phone, “B–b–baby, I'll call you tomorrow.” He hung up and handed me the receiver as a sign of respect. The inmates waiting behind him stayed real quiet as I made my call. That was the kind of respect I was used to, and I expected nothing less.

I dialed 0 and followed the prompts to make a collect call.

“This is a collect call from the Suffolk County Jail at Riverhead,” the automated voice spoke when Debra answered. “Will you accept a call from . . .”

I inserted my name. “Majestic.”

“Yes. Yes. We accept!” Debra damn near shouted. She sounded pretty excited to hear from me.

“What's up, Deb?” I asked, already feeling salty that Keisha, who hadn't visited me once, hadn't answered her own phone.

“Nothing. How you doing, Majestic? I was real worried about you.” She'd always been my biggest fan. “They treating you all right?”

“This ain't nothing but a thing,” I told her. “What I really want is to talk to my little man.”

“Oh, he right here. Let me get him.” I could tell that she turned her head away from the phone, but her voice was still too damn loud in my ear as she hollered to my son. “MJ, your daddy's on the phone. Come talk to him.”

I could hear my son running to answer the phone, and then I heard his voice on the line.

“Hey, Daddy!” He sounded so happy to be talking to me. I could just imagine the big smile on his face, which put one on mine.

“You a'ight?” I asked.

“Mm-hmmm. Where you at, Daddy?”

For a kid his age, I was sure that my sudden absence made no sense at all. I ain't gonna lie; it made me a little emotional.

“Daddy's away for a little bit,” I told him, pissed off that Keisha hadn't even bothered to make up a lie to help the kid deal with my absence.

“But where? I wanna come see you,” he told me.

“I wanna see you too, little man, but I'm at a camp for grownups. No kids allowed,” I said, although every part of me wished he could come visit me. “I should be home soon, okay?”

“Okay,” he answered, but I could hear the disappointment in his little voice.

I had to get off the phone quick before my emotions got the best of me. With all these dudes in the line behind me, I couldn't risk being seen as no emotional little bitch. “Be good, son. Let me talk to your grandma.”

“K. Bye, Daddy,” he said then handed the phone back to Debra.

“Where's Keisha?” I asked not so nicely.

“She's out at the grocery store,” she said hurriedly, and something in her tone made me not believe her.

Before I had a chance to tell Debra I knew she was full of shit, a guard approached and motioned to let me know that I had a visitor. I'd have to deal with Keisha's triflin' ass another time.

“Tell her I called and that I expect her to be at my next visit on Saturday. And tell her to bring my son,” I said, changing my mind about not letting him see me locked up. “Look, I gotta go.”

I hung up without waiting for Debra to answer and strutted past all the guys waiting for the phone, headed into the visiting room.

Bruce stood up as I approached. “Hey, man. Good to see you.”

We did a little handshake then a quick half-hug before sitting down to face each other.

He jumped right in with the reason for his unexpected visit. “I think I got a line on who killed Rodney.” He waited for the information to hit me.

“Who?” I seethed between clenched teeth, trying to contain myself.

He looked around to make sure no one was eavesdropping, and then he spoke quietly. “Rodney's baby moms, Tisha, said he had some beef with her ex, DaQuan Braithwaite, and a couple boys from Sonny Williams' crew a couple of nights before he was killed.”

This was not good news, but it made sense. Sonny Williams was an old school cat that ran one of the toughest crews on Long Island. Shit, the Bloods and the MS13s might have gotten more airtime, but Sonny's crew did way more real damage. Like us, they were also connected to the Duncan family and the Black Mafia.

“You verify any of this?” I asked.

“Yeah, DaQuan definitely had a confrontation with Rod, and your brother was talking a lot a smack. Shit, most motherfuckers wouldn't talk, especially with everyone knowing you in here.”

I leaned in close. “You need to handle this.”

Bruce nodded calmly. He knew exactly what that meant, even if I didn't use more plain language. I couldn't risk incriminating myself, and there was no telling who might overhear our conversation, no matter how quiet we were trying to be.

“What about Sonny?” I asked. Then something came to me. “No, Sonny just landed up in here. I'll deal with him. Either he's going to be part of the problem or the solution. That's up to him, but either way I don't really care.”

“That's what's up,” he answered, rising. “I'll let you know what I find out.”

The two of us locked eyes. “Just let me know you handled it.”

I rose up from the bed, anxious to get into the shower and scrub off the afternoon's work. In other words, I wanted to act like this shit had never happened, despite the fact that the sex was some of the best I'd had in the past year. He did, after all, know how to work the stick. If only he weren't so damn clingy.

I could feel his fingers gently touching the soft skin on my ass. His dick wasn't going to be worth shit for at least another fifteen minutes after what I'd put on it, but he was one of those men who liked to cuddle. I didn't have time for that. I needed to get back to my day job.

I stepped forward, moving toward the shower to escape his grasp.

“We're even,” I spat out unceremoniously, done with owing anybody anything—especially him. I stopped, waiting for him to acknowledge my words.

“For now.” Jonathan leaned up on one elbow, giving me the once-over as his expression revealed his lecherous thoughts.

“For now, my ass,” I shot back. “You got laid, and now Niles is mine. From this point forward, my debt is paid and we are done.”

Jonathan raised his hands in temporary submission. “So how is the new recruit? It's been two weeks. He living up to expectations?”

“Better. He's breezed through most of his classes, killed every psychological exam we've given him, and his gift for languages is extraordinary. I can't wait to start training him in the field this week.” I was excited about how well things with Niles had been going. Something must have shown on my face, because suddenly Jonathan's mug flooded with distaste.

“You seem to have taken a real liking to Mr. Monroe.” He plastered on a fake-ass smile, but I'd been doing this too long to let him manipulate me.

I shrugged it off as he got out of bed and approached me. “Yeah,” I said, “he's a great recruit. He should be a real asset to the company when I'm finished with him.”

“Uh-huh,” Jonathan said, rubbing a hand along my arm. “He's young and obviously easy on the eyes, but let's not forget that he's my gift to you, and just as I give it, I can take it away.” He placed his hand over my breast, squeezing my nipple gently. “So, St. John, have you fucked him yet?”

“I would tell you to kiss my ass, but you've already completed that task. And for the record, let me assure you that you don't own me or control me. What I do in my own time is my business, and I really don't care if you don't like it,” I snapped at him, knowing that watching me with an attitude was his favorite foreplay.

“You haven't answered the question.”

I lobbed another question back at him. “Have you fucked that new assistant of yours yet? What's her name? Nadja?”

Jonathan straightened up and his face turned red as he pulled his hand from my breast. “No. Nadja's the daughter of one my Far East counterparts. She's on loan to us. Her father asked me to show her the ropes.”

“Is that what you call it these days, showing her the ropes?” I snickered. “When I was your assistant, we just called it fucking.”

He threw his head back and laughed. “Damn, you're hot when you get all hostile. Look what it's doing to me.” He pointed at his penis, which had risen back up and was standing at attention. Not what I wanted to see. “Why don't you come back here and take that anger out on my cock? I know you want to,” he murmured, running his hand up and down his shaft.

“We are done, Jonathan.” I hated the fact that he thought he could just fuck me whenever he wanted.

“Does this look done? I'd say he's just getting started.” He gave me a commanding look that told me I didn't have an option.

If this had been a few years ago, when I was his assistant, he would have been correct. I would have been out of options, and I would have climbed right back in the bed with him and did exactly as I was ordered. Things were different now. I was not obligated to take those kind of orders from him anymore. I was damn good at my job, and I refused to be reduced to a piece of ass. No one but me was in control of my body.

“I will repeat myself once more, Jonathan. We're done.”

I headed to the bathroom to wash his stink off of me. He let me go, but he still had to get the last word.

“Bridget.” The tone of his voice stopped me in my tracks. “We are never done. And that—” He waved a hand to indicate that he was talking about my body—“is always going to be mine.”