No More Mr. Nice Guy (20 page)

I held onto a pillow, fighting back tears as Majestic stood on the floor by the edge of the bed, pounding me from behind like some deranged animal. His sweat was flying all over the place, and each drop that landed on me made my stomach turn. I was so disgusted by him. All I wanted him to do was finish so I could run to the pharmacy and get one of those morning after pills to prevent a pregnancy. I had hoped that giving him head that afternoon would keep him away for a while so I could figure things out with Niles, but he was back later on that night without Bruce and carrying an overnight bag. He'd been on me ever since.

In less than a day, the wonderful life I'd been living, where I was a single parent with a loving man in my life, had disappeared. Now it felt as if I were the one in a prison, except it didn't have the bars. Make no mistake about it: Majestic was my jailer, and that was the way he liked it.

He finally stiffened up and let out a few grunts before collapsing on the bed next to me. “Now that was some good shit. What you got to eat?”

“I don't know. What you want?” I said. The last thing I wanted to do was get up and feed him, but I also didn't want to set off his temper.

“I ain't had one of your cheese steaks in a minute. You got any Steak-umms?”

“Yeah.” I pushed myself up from the bed, put on my robe, and headed down the hall to the kitchen, thankful that he didn't get up and follow me. If only I could have taken a shower to wash off all traces of his body on mine.

I had just broken out the Steak-umms and a frying pan when my mother came in the back door.

She looked over at what I was doing and broke into a huge grin. “Mm-hmm, thank God things are finally starting to get back to normal around here. I saw Majestic's car parked out front. While you're at it, can you make me one too?” she asked on her way into the bathroom.

The headlights of a car shone through the window as someone pulled into the driveway and parked behind my car. As he shut off the engine and the car's interior lights came on, I could see that it was Niles. I rushed to the front door like my life depended on it—which, in reality, it probably did.

“Niles.” I opened the door and stepped onto the porch just as he was about to knock

“Damn, baby, you all ready for me?” Niles stood there in an expensive navy suit looking like something out of a dream, but I knew for me, the dream had turned into a nightmare. Before I could stop him, he reached out and grabbed me around the waist, pulling me close so that he could kiss me. I hadn't even taken a shower yet, so if I lingered in his arms long enough, he would have smelled Majestic's sweat on me.

“Stop,” I snapped as I pulled away. “I need to take a shower.”

His face broke into a devilish grin. “Why don't we take one together?” Niles said in that deep, sexy voice. He took a step toward the door, but I didn't move. Normally I'd be stripping off my clothes and racing him to the shower, but right now I was feeling sick, knowing that I had to get him out of there before Majestic came looking for me.

“I'm not feeling so good right now,” I said, only half lying. “Can I call you later?” I needed him to leave, but he knew me too well, and he was having none of it.

“What's going on, Keisha? Talk to me.”

“Nothing. I just need some time to myself. I'm not feeling so great. I think my period's about to start. I'm gonna go lay down and take some Motrin.” I knew my lies sounded hollow, but all I could think of was how bad it would be if Majestic came out of my room and there was a confrontation. “I'll call you later and we'll talk, okay? I promise.”

“Come on, Keisha. Don't lie to me. We both know you had your period last week.” He shook his head, looking disgusted; but what else did I expect? I was so ashamed I couldn't even look at him. I sure as hell couldn't tell him the truth—that I was once again the property of my baby daddy, and if he wanted to live, he should stay as far away from me as possible.

“Niles, I can't right now,” I told him curtly, hoping it would work and he'd finally leave. It felt like a clock was ticking down the seconds until Majestic showed up, and I couldn't risk it, especially with me standing here butt naked under my robe. “Niles, you're not getting it. You need to leave.”

He threw his head back and laughed. “Keisha, stop playing with me. This ain't funny.”

“And I ain't laughing. I can't see you anymore. It's over,” I announced, steeling myself for his response.

“What I do?” He started breathing rapidly and the muscles in his face tensed up. Clearly, he was pissed. I had no choice but to rip off the Band-Aid.

“Niles, take the fucking hint, a'ight? It's over!” I said angrily, my fear driving me.

Just then, the door opened up, and my heart was in my mouth. I was so damn scared.

“Keisha.” My mother stepped out and pulled the door closed behind her. She smirked at Niles as she continued. “Majestic wants to know what the hell you doin' and where are his cheesesteaks. I suggest you bring your ass inside and take care of your man.”

“Majestic?” Niles repeated, staring directly at me. “Isn't that your ex?”

“Apparently he ain't the one who's an ex,” my mother snapped. “Now come on in here, girl, before that man comes out here and you have more trouble on your hands than you already have.”

“Niles, I'm sorry, but I have to go,” I said, holding back tears.

I stepped inside, and my mother followed, slamming the door shut in Niles's face. I felt like I wanted to die, but I refused to let Niles get caught up in the crossfire of my sick relationship with Majestic. I had to protect him, even if he didn't understand, and I knew I couldn't tell him the full truth, because he was macho enough to want to fight Majestic. That kind of mistake would be his death sentence, and even if I couldn't be with Niles, I couldn't bear to see him hurt either.

“Where the fuck is this guy?” I thought out loud to myself. I was sitting on some random street in Queens Village, across from a junior high school, with my car idling like some pedophile. Unless I was getting some ass, I never liked leaving the confines of Suffolk County. With everything Majestic and I had going on, I just felt safer there. I was a true creature of habit. Still, this was where he told me to meet him, so there I was.

I lifted my iPhone and dialed Majestic's number. “Yo, where you at?” I asked.

“On my way to my mother's to drop off my little man. Where you?”

“I'm still out here waiting on your friend,” I said. Majestic had sent me out to gather some information about Rodney's death. “I'ma swing by and get you as soon as I hear what this dude's got to say.”

I had learned real early in my business that most people come with a sticker price, and this dirty cop was no different. I just hoped he came through with the information we needed. I was getting sick of reaching dead ends.

“Yo, don't let him leave nothing out,” Majestic warned.

“Don't worry; I got this.” In my rearview mirror I clocked a Toyota truck parking behind me. Pete, the cop on our payroll, opened the door to my ride and got in.

“Sorry about that. I had to make sure I wasn't being followed,” he said dramatically, like his ass had been watching way too many reruns of Law and Order.

“So what's up? What you got?”

“I got some really interesting shit, that's what I got.” Dude was grinning like he'd brought me a prize.

“Uh-huh, and? Spit it out already. This ain't no fucking date.” I raised my voice at him, growing restless. We were paying this guy too much money to be playing games.

“You were right. There was definitely some type of cover-up pertaining to Rodney's murder.”

I nodded my head slowly. “Okay, okay, so you got the file or what?” I just wanted to read the shit and find out who we needed to exterminate, like, yesterday.

He shook his head. “That's just it. There was no file.” He dropped the information in my lap like he was saying something, but I was hot, 'cause I wasn't hearing shit that was useful to me.

“What the fuck you mean there's no file? I thought you were in charge of the records room,” I snapped at him. “That's what you said, right? ‘I'm your guy. I can get my hands on anything.' If you think you gettin' paid for this bullshit waste of my time .. .” I fumed. This was not the outcome I wanted to bring back to Majestic. This sellout fuck-up was making it impossible for me to do my job.

“Look, Bruce, what I'm telling you is more valuable than a file.”

“You expect me to buy this bullshit? Look, man, just because you a cop don't mean I won't smoke your ass for trying to take advantage.”

“No, you don't understand. Shit gets lost all the time. Cops are notoriously lazy about filing stuff, but there's always some type of record: a notebook, a log book, or fingerprints. Something. Except in this case, there is no record. There's not even a fucking 911 tape. It's like it didn't even happen, which is crazy,” he explained, getting all worked up. “First time I ever seen anything like this.”

I glared at him, ready to toss him out of my car head first. “So you got nothing? Pete, I'm not the kind of guy interested in having a meeting that shoulda been a goddamn text message.”

“No. That's not what I'm saying at all,” he answered cryptically.

Man, I was getting ready to choke this mofo if he didn't stop dragging this out. Maybe he was trying to make sure I knew he earned his money, but he was moving closer to earning a beat down than getting his hands on the cash in my pocket.

“Well, fuck, spit it out!” I finally snapped at his ass.

His eyes widened in fear, but it was enough to loosen his tongue. “There was a lead detective assigned to the case by the name of Fuller. He interviewed whatever suspect or suspects he found. But check this out: there was no evidence of anything, not a single case. And this guy is known for being thorough.”

“Uh-huh?” I said, now following this trail.

“So, I did my due diligence and went to one of the other detectives, who straight up told me, ‘Pete, this is not your problem.' So now I'm really getting suspicious, because I ask about cases all the time. First time I get that for a response.”

“Uh-huh?” Shit was starting to look like a cover-up to me.

“So I nosed around some more, and I found out that this shit was quiet on a really high level. I mean, it went up the food chain and then suddenly just dropped off. Silent.”

“Okay, before you go all James fucking Bond on me, how do you know there was anything? What if this guy just didn't find any witnesses?”

“That's the thing. There would still be paperwork. This buddy of mine happened to be working that night and told me that initially they did pop someone for it, but again, when I went to do the research, no records. Nothing.”

“And this Fuller? Where is he?”

“Gone. Retired not too long after the case.” He finished his report with a goofy look on his face, like he was proud of the useless shit he'd just fed me.

“So tell me more about Fuller,” I pressed.

He looked slightly guilty as he continued. “He was a really good cop.”

I chuckled, letting him know I didn't believe there was such a thing. He didn't seem to care what I thought.

“Fuller was like one of my mentors,” he continued. “A nice guy.”

“Uh-huh. And how do I find this ‘nice guy'?”

He pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to me. “That's his information—address, everything.”

Five minutes later and five thousand dollars lighter, I was on my way to sit down with Majestic.

“You okay, boss? I know you back there thinking about Keisha.”

Willie wheeled the BMW into the E-ZPass lane of the Midtown Tunnel, headed into the city. He'd been singing old school songs that were playing on the radio most of the ride, while I was doing what Willie said: thinking about Keisha and the fact that she so easily dumped me for her ex-boyfriend.

“I'm fine. And stop calling me boss,” I snapped at him for no real reason at all.

“Look, man, I like Keisha, but you gonna have to let that broad go. You can't be pining over no woman while you're working on a mission,” he advised me.

“I just don't understand what went wrong, Unc. I thought we were falling in love with each other. At least I know I was.”

I could see him shaking his head up front. “You know how these women are about their baby daddies. There's something about popping out a puppy for a brother that gives them undying loyalty. She done made her decision. You need to leave that shit alone.”

“You're right, but I just can't believe I was so wrong about her.”

“Damon Dash said the same thing about Jay-Z, and look where that got his ass.”

He laughed, but I didn't.

I needed to do something to put a smile on my face, so I checked my account online to see if my latest payment had been deposited. I definitely smiled when I saw I had over a quarter of a million dollars in my account in less than three months. Even better, Bridget had said that she was finally going to let me plan and do most of my contracts without her standing over my shoulder. She was still my handler and we were going to be partners on larger jobs, but for the most part, I was finally on my own.

Once through the tunnel, Willie drove four blocks into a nearly deserted parking garage and parked next to a plain white van. We'd already checked to make sure the cell phone reception was good two days earlier, when we dropped off the van.

Willie got out and opened the door to the van, pulling out the magnetic signs that he slapped onto the side of the van. I popped the trunk of the BMW and removed a bag containing work coveralls with a patch bearing the name of the same dry cleaning service that was on the magnetic signs. I put on the uniform, and I was ready to roll.

“Need anything else, boss?” Willie handed me some clothing on wire hangers covered by a black garment bag—my props to make it look like I was delivering dry cleaning. He also gave me an all-plastic, silenced gun in three parts, which I strategically placed in compartments in the garment bag before I got into the van.

“Happy hunting,” Willie said as he climbed back into the BMW to wait.

“Yeah, this shouldn't take long,” I told him. I was prepared for this. Uncle Sam had trained me well for this new life, and so did Bridget.

I drove the van a few blocks, parked in front of an expensive high rise on Park Avenue, and grabbed the fresh dry cleaning from the back. I put on a baseball cap and a pair of sunglasses to conceal my face before heading into the building. This wasn't your normal office building. It had crazy cameras, uniformed security, a metal detector, and armed guards who were supposed to look inconspicuous in their plain clothes.

After making it through security, I took an elevator up to the third floor, where a cute, curvy brunette receptionist and a beefy security guard watched me the moment I entered the office. He looked all business, while she looked like a potential bed partner, if that was what I was into at the moment. A quick glance around the room told me there were no security cameras, so it was safe to take off my sunglasses. I stepped up to the receptionist's desk and flashed her a smile just as the security guard stood up.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

I gave her my rehearsed line. “I have a delivery for Mr. Wilcox.”

“I'll take it,” the security guard said, coming from around his desk.

I took a step back. “I'm sorry, sir. This is Mr. Wilcox's tuxedo for tonight's Tea Party fundraiser. I have strict orders to place this in his hands.”

“That's ridiculous. I take stuff for him every day,” he scoffed at me.

“I'm sorry, but my boss will have my head if I don't personally place this in his hands. There was some kind of mix-up last time, and I'm supposed to assure it doesn't happen again.” I tried to sound apologetic, hoping that my reason would resonate with him, one blue collar worker to another.

When it became obvious that he didn't give a shit what my reason was, I turned my attention to the receptionist. “You understand, don't you?” I asked her, my eyes roaming subtly along her body so she knew I found her attractive. It worked.

“Howard,” the receptionist said, “you know how Mr. Wilcox can be. Remember what happened last time with his dry cleaning.”

The security guard's face went pale as he picked up the phone and dialed an extension. “I understand that. Let me see what I can do.”

I had to give props to Bridget. Hacking into Wilcox's email and seeing that his dry cleaner had screwed up his tux the last time was brilliant—maybe as ingenious as me sending Willie over to the cleaner's to pick up his tux as his personal valet.

“Mr. Wilcox, I have a deliveryman here with your tuxedo. He says you need it for tonight?” He finished the call before turning to me. “Sure, sure Mr. Wilcox. No problem. I'll send him right down.”

“Sir, if you'll just follow me.” He walked over to his desk, which was right in front of two very heavy doors. He picked up a metal detector. “I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to scan you for metal objects before you can come in.”

“They already scanned me downstairs,” I said, keeping a friendly tone.

“Sorry. Anyone who goes through those doors gets scanned,” he said with no warmth at all in his voice. This guy was anything but friendly.

“Okay.” I shrugged. “I ain't got nothing to hide. What the hell is this place, the CIA?”

“No, this is a conservative think tank and super PAC,” he replied as he scanned me.

“Whatever the hell that is,” I responded. That one got him to laugh finally. He turned and punched in a code, which opened the doors.

“Straight ahead, last door on the right.”

I walked down the corridor of what seemed like a nice office. When I got to the end, I was greeted by a secretary, who buzzed me into Wilcox's office. I was surprised when the door opened directly into an office with views all over the city. Wow, this place was spectacular. A balding, middle-aged man involved in a phone conversation motioned for me to hang the tux in a closet near the door.

“You guys get the stain out of the collar this time?” he asked, placing his hand over the receiver of the phone to speak to me.

“Yes, sir,” I answered, slyly checking out the surroundings. “I'm sure we did.”

“'Cause I don't want to have to come in there and cause hell again,” he barked before returning to the phone conversation. “You got that handled? Good. Talk later,” he said, hanging up the phone. I'd pieced the gun together before he hung up. He looked surprised when he noticed I was still in the room. I guess he was used to his servants just disappearing when he was through with them. “Fuck you waiting for, a tip?” he snapped at me.

I stood silently, which seemed to confused him a little, but he tried to maintain his air of superiority.

“Don't bet on black. How's that for a tip?” He threw his head back, laughing at his own joke, and that was just enough time to catch him off guard.

“What the hell is this? Do you know who I am?” he said, still not understanding that the tables had just turned.

“Actually, Mr Wilcox, I do. You're the scumbag who's behind over a hundred million dollars in drug money that's secretly finding its way into the Tea Party.”

His eyes grew wide with surprise that he'd been discovered, and then fear when I raised the gun.

“My sister died of a drug overdose, so I hate drugs.”

Thunk, thunk, thunk. Three bullets to the chest and he was on the floor, the life draining out of him.

“I hate drug dealers even more.”

I tucked the gun back inside my jumpsuit before heading out the door. On the walk back to the reception area, I pretended to be cooler than I felt. When the doors opened, my eyes went immediately to the armed security guard leaning against the reception desk.

“Sir,” the receptionist called out as I passed. My heart started racing as I envisioned my freedom slipping away. Would my first solo assignment also be my last one? Bridget would be so disappointed in me.

I turned around, a big smile on my face. “Yes?”

“Everything go all right with Mr. Wilcox?” the security guard asked.

“Yes. Better than I expected,” I commented as I stepped on the elevator with legs that felt weak from nerves. I slipped the sunglasses back on. Through the glass I could see that the van was less than one hundred yards away. Keep your head down and be cool, Niles, I told myself. All my energy was focused on getting off the elevator and out the door and into the van.

“It's done,” I told Bridget as I left the building and spoke into the burner cell included in my kit. I knew I'd have to trash this one before I reached Willie and the BMW. I pulled over onto a side street and spotted a large trash bin. I smashed the phone, wiped it clean, and threw it away.

“My man!” Willie called out, the relief written all over his face when I parked next to him. “How did it go?”

“It went just the way we planned,” I told him. He didn't need to know that for a minute there, my self-confidence had taken a deep dive. Now that the job was done and I was safely out of there, I was feeling invincible again.