No More Mr. Nice Guy (21 page)

I was sitting in the car outside the barber shop where MJ had just gotten a haircut when my boy Pooh jumped in the car, shaking his head like he'd just heard some really fucked up shit. We were supposed to be headed to the city. There was a certain Puerto Rican honey I felt the urge to see—and by that, I mean fuck.

“Yo, Majestic, let me tell you about your girl Keisha.”

MJ leaned forward in the back seat. “I wanna see my mommy,” he said.

I shot Pooh a look. “You'll see mommy, later little man, we going to your Nana's house now.”

Everyone was silent during the ride to my mother's house. I knew by the tone of Pooh's voice that whatever he had to tell me was not good, so I was mad before he even said anything. Pooh wasn't the type to make small talk, and MJ was in the back seat eating the lollipop they'd given him in the barber shop. When we got to my mom's house, MJ jumped out of the car and ran straight to her. That boy sure loved his Nana.

After kissing my moms and handing her a few bucks, I said good-bye to my son and got back in the truck with Pooh. We headed off into the city.

“I'ma head over to Carmen's,” I told Pooh. “I'm sure she got a friend.”

Pooh gave me a serious look.

“What? You got a problem with Carmen?”

“Nah, not with Carmen.”

“Then what?”

“Like I was telling you when I got in the car, your baby mama is foul.”

If most dudes had talked about my son's mother like that, I would have smacked the shit out of them, but Pooh was different. He wasn't really the type to talk about much of anything if he didn't have a point to make. “Why?”

“I can tell you right now you ain't gonna like this.” He stopped like he needed to figure out how to spoon-feed me the information.

“Pooh, I ain't got time for the bullshit. Just fuckin' spill it.” My voice sounded gruff, but I didn't like being treated like I needed to be protected. This was my world, and nobody better keep nothing from me.

“You know I just started fucking Keisha's friend Jasmine, right?”

“Yeah, congratu-fuckin'-lations, you and about ten other dudes. That bitch is a ho. What's the fucking point?”

“The point is that she told me that Keisha's been stepping out on you with some dude from Wyandanch ever since you got locked up.”

My entire body tensed up. “What? What the fuck? I knew that bitch was acting mighty bold for some reason. Now that shit all makes sense.”

“Yeah, well, that's just the tip of the iceberg. She also told me that her and Keisha were at Sugar's bar the night that Rodney got killed, and that dude got into an argument with Rodney.”

I clenched the steering wheel to stop myself from putting my fist through the windshield. “Is that the nigga who killed my brother, Pooh?”

“Nah, I can't say that.” He shook his head. “I asked her, but she said no. You can never tell with these bitches, though. Once I started asking too many questions about Keisha, she shut down like she didn't want to get her girl in trouble.”

“Fuck. I need to deal with this right now.” I turned the car around.

“Boss, maybe we should go into the city right now. You get to see Carmen, give yourself a little time to cool down.” Pooh was no doubt worried I would kill that bitch for withholding information about my brother, but I needed to see her face when I asked the questions. The one thing I demanded out of everyone I dealt with—employees, family, friends, and the women in my life—was loyalty, and if I found out my kid's mom, of all people, lied about something this big, then nothing could save her.

“Pooh, if you don't shut the fuck up with that bullshit. . . . You supposed to be a killer and you sound like a little bitch.”

Pooh was still playing fucking nursemaid when we pulled up. “Want me to go in with you?”

“I got this,” I said as I jumped out of the ride and headed to the front door.

Bam! Bam! Bam! I banged on the door.

Keisha looked freaked out when she saw me. “Majestic, what are you doing here? I thought you was taking MJ to your mom's.”

Without a thought, I balled up my fist and hit her square in the mouth, sending her violently to the ground. “What the fuck I hear that you was with some nigga at that bar the night my brother was killed?”

“Good job. I'll make arrangements for the funds to be transferred into your account.” I hung up my phone feeling satisfied and proud of my student. Once again Niles had done the impossible, taking out a man Jonathan's team had been hunting for almost a year. I'd have to do something special for him when he and Willie returned from Venezuela.

In the meantime I checked my hair and makeup to be sure they were still flawless before stepping out of the car. I'd always made it my business to look my best, especially when I knew I was going to be around another woman. Well, actually, Nancy wasn't just another woman. She was the one person I could tell everything to without worrying about what she would think or how she would use it against me. One thing life had taught me was that you can't trust just anybody with your secrets, unless they have multiple degrees, charge a grip to listen to you, and are bound by law to keep your business to themselves within reason. So sure, there were lines I skirted around in our conversations, but my time with Nancy was as honest as I allowed myself to be with anyone. Crazy thing is, I actually looked forward to it every two weeks.

“Bridget, how are you?” Dr. Nancy Young, the psychiatrist I had been seeing for the past eight years, greeted me as she opened the door to her Manhattan brownstone office. Nancy had no need for a receptionist because she had a very small practice, dealing with only a few celebrities, mobsters, and assassins like me. In fact, she was so exclusive she didn't even keep records on her clients or accept any type of insurance. She just did her job, which was to listen and help direct us through the bullshit we called our lives. “Nice to see you.”

“Whatever. Let's get this over with. I have some shopping to do.” I grumbled my usual greeting, but of course, she was used to my reluctance to admit how much I looked forward to our appointments.

“Shopping. Someone is trying to compensate for a bad week?” She studied me as we took our seats across from each other.

“No. Yes. I don't know. I'm stressed the fuck out.” I wondered why I didn't just come straight out and tell her what was on my mind. I already knew that after all these years, she could read me better than anyone.

“Is this about Niles? Is he still angry with you?” Good old Nancy, always getting right to the fucking point. But what else did I expect? The reason she could afford that Mercedes she had parked outside was because she was so damn good at her job.

“Look, I know I told you that I had to lie to get him to take the job, but I really didn't have any choice. If I didn't, someone else would have. Besides, he's good at it. Really good. And he's made a ton of money. He should be thanking me,” I said frankly.

Then she narrowed in on me. “And you believe that? You really believe he should be thanking you?”

“Well, yeah.” I let out a sigh. “How often do you get an opportunity like this, to be trained by someone like me? I'm busting my ass for that man. Fuck! Why can't he just put it in the past so we can move forward?”

“Why should he? You're the one who lied; not him.”

I gave her a confused look. I was not even sure we were talking about the same thing. “I'm not talking about the lie I told. I'm talking about last week.”

“Last week? I'm not following you. You haven't told me anything about last week.”

Jesus Christ, she was right. I was just rambling like a blooming idiot. I sighed, struggling to get the next part out.

“Fine. I might as well tell you. You'll just pick at me to death until I tell you the whole thing.”

She sat back and silently waited in that oh-so-annoying therapist's way.

“We were on a job together last week, a very important job, and I kind of talked him into screwing me,” I explained without any emotion.

“Talked him into it?” She looked like she wanted to laugh. “Bridget, you're not the type of woman who talks men—or women, for that matter—into sleeping with you. He either begged you or you found some way to manipulate the situation.”

God, I hated that she knew me so well. “Okay, maybe I used my powers of persuasion to get what I wanted, but it wasn't like I raped him or anything.”

Nancy's expression didn't shift in the slightest with this information. Hell, she'd heard a lot more scandalous stuff from me in the past. “Why'd you do that? You already know he has a problem with your manipulation.”

I groaned, shrugging my shoulders. “It wound up being a way to save the job we were involved in. We landed at a sex club, and we had to make it look like we were into that scene. The only way to do that was to either have sex with others or with each other. I decided I wanted to fuck him.”

“I see.” She nodded. “So how'd that work out for you?”

I shot her that look you give your best girlfriend when you're about to get real. “It was great. The sex was amazing. Shit. It was probably the best sex I've ever had, and since you know I'm not anybody's virgin, that's saying a whole lot.” I enjoyed a momentary flashback image of Niles pumping me hard and fast. “Not only did he have the equipment, but he knew exactly what to do with it,” I told Nancy, sounding like a groupie at a rock concert. “Shit, I can't wait to fuck his ass again and see if it was a fluke.”

“Sounds like you had a good time,” she said in her best neutral voice. “So why are you so stressed? Is he becoming obsessive like some of the others?” For a woman who didn't write anything down, she sure as hell had a memory like an elephant.

I shook my head, lowering it in embarrassment. “Not even close.”

She sat up in her chair. I refused to make eye contact. “So how do you think he feels about this?”

“He's pissed, but he's being professional, which is pissing me off even more.”

She focused a little too closely on me. We'd just reached uncharted waters, Nancy and I. “Well, this is interesting. I never thought I'd see this day, but Bridget, I think you like him.”

“Sure. What's not to like? He's smart, handsome, and incredibly good at his job. We have a lot in common.” A smile escaped. “Hell, when he lets go, he's actually fun to be around.”

“Do you hear the way you talk about him?” Nancy asked. “You don't just like him; you really like him.”

I waved my hand to dismiss her suggestion. “Don't trip. He's a nice guy to work with and a really good fuck, but that's it,” I said, fighting to maintain my innocence.

She smiled. “And that's all? Nothing else?”

“Well, yeah, that's all. I already admitted that the sex was fucking awesome, but it was just sex. It's not like we're getting married or even moving in together,” I said glibly, hoping she'd let it die.

She didn't. “Oh, Bridget, you really don't hear yourself. Why can't you let yourself go and enjoy life?” She said it like it was the easiest thing in the world when, for me, it was harder than taking a human life.

“I don't know,” I admitted, feeling the heaviness of that statement. “Why is it so godddamn hard for me? Maybe because every man who has ever wanted me doesn't even really know me. It's like that Marilyn Monroe quote: ‘They go to sleep with Marilyn and are disappointed when they wake up with Norma Jean.' ”

“Is that what you think?” she questioned.

“It's what I know. Men see me as this tough-as-nails, badass bitch, and that's what they want. They like my not-gonna-take-any-bullshit-from-you attitude. They don't want me vulnerable, or, for God's sake, needy or acting like some basic bitch.”

“And that's what you'd be if you were in love?” She always managed to use my words against me.

“Probably. I'm not superhuman. I mean, isn't that the whole point of a relationship, to let someone in? To allow another person access to your deepest, darkest self?” I said dramatically, making fun of her work.

“Yes, but it's more. We're in a relationship. You allow me to see you and to have access to your vulnerabilities. Why can you do it in here and not out there?” she asked gently, probing even deeper.

I laughed. “Because we're not fucking.”

“No, we're not” she responded, sounding amused. “I'm not letting you off that easily. What if you started to like this guy? Would it be so awful to let him in?”

“Yes. If I started to like him, it could affect everything. What if I had to sleep with someone and I had this boyfriend? Could I even do it? Would I suddenly morph into some straight-laced chick and not be able to do my job? Probably. And I don't think I'd want to do a lot of things the job requires. I don't know if I can have a relationship and have this job,” I admitted.

She watched me, not speaking for a moment. “And this job is worth you not having a full life? Is it worth not ever being in love? Is that what you're saying? ”

“Ugh!” I groaned. “I used to love my job: the thrill, the excitement, the satisfaction, and just knowing that I was really good at something. I could count on it. I loved that.”

“Loved?”

Hearing the word repeated back to me made me realize I'd said it in the past tense.

“Yes, but lately I don't know. I'm not so sure that I'm cut out for it anymore.” I confessed a fear to her I'd never voiced out loud, and just hearing myself say it shifted something.

Then she went back to the beginning. “So when you had sex with this guy and it was the best you ever had, were you able to let yourself go?”

“Well, yeah,” I said meekly, not sounding like myself at all.

“And do you think that has anything to do with this revelation?”

I really didn't know how to answer, so I just stared at her as she continued.

“Do you think your feelings for this guy are changing your feelings for your job?”

My head was spinning when I finally answered lamely, “I don't know!”

Nancy leaned back in her chair and focused on me. “I think you do, and I think this guy may be getting in there—that place that you decided a long time ago to wall off from the possibility of feeling anything more than a passing fancy.”

“That's ridiculous,” I scoffed. “I haven't known him long enough to feel anything more than excited about the dick. That's all. It's a new, exciting dick,” I thundered, desperate to be let off the hook. Why wasn't she just agreeing with me?