“They could’ve killed you. What would I do without you?”
I hugged myself as we rode in the limo.
Don’t say it like that, Kaz. Don’t do that to me.
I trembled.
Focus. Stop thinking about him, and focus.
Tears spilled out of my eyes.
I wiped them away and gazed out of the window.
The limo slowly entered a tunnel. Several cars and vans lined the roads near us.
Where are we going now?
When we entered the tunnel, the limo screeched to a stop.
Louis talked in French over the phone. Those foreign words rushed out in an erratic pattern. More cops sat inside of the tunnel. Their flashing blue lights made the section of our tunnel glow.
What are we doing? What’s going on?
Jean-Pierre shoved me out, made me put his jacket on over his dirty buttoned shirt, and placed me in the back of a taxi.
No. Let’s stay in the limo. Maybe, Kaz saw me. Wait. He did.
“Mouse stop running away. That was dangerous.”
Kaz had seen me. Wherever he was, he had his eyes on me.
Jean-Pierre got in the back of the taxi with me.
An old man sat in the driver’s seat.
A glass barrier behind his seat separated us.
I checked the other window.
Louis guided Gwen into the back of an ambulance. Rafael carried a sheet-covered body to a black truck, decorated with Hello Kitty stickers on the side.
Fuck. They know Kaz is watching too. And who died?
The police cleared a lane in the tunnel, sirens blaring loud.
We all sped off in separate cars.
It was a smart move. Separate cars and paths. If Kaz had eyes on us, he would lose them. I did my best to think of any possibilities to escape.
I can do this. At least it’s just Jean-Pierre and me.
I turned to him.
Jean-Pierre pointed a gun at my side.
That’s how it is now?
We left the tunnel along with other cars. None of us were too close to the other in the lanes.
Five exits passed before the cab left the highway.
Leaning forward, I tried to catch some of the signs.
Jean-Pierre pushed the point of the gun against my side.
I swallowed and sank back into my seat.
The cab turned left three time, and then right. I hoped that knowledge would help me.
Blocks later the cab stopped behind an abandoned building. Other vehicles parked there, along with the black Hello Kitty truck and ambulance.
Louis and Gwen appeared.
Rafael had the sheet-wrapped body in his arms.
Jean-Pierre opened the cab door and let us out.
They’re fast. Efficient. No games. No words necessary. In and out. Fuck.
We walked away from the cab.
Another limo arrived. Mounted Russian flags waved on the front of the vehicle, as if that countries prime minister was inside. Jean-Pierre opened the door. “Get in.”
They’re really good.
Rafael, Louis, and Gwen appeared. They piled into the new limo with the Russian flags and then we sped off.
I have to get out of here. If they do the exchange, and for some reason I don’t get to Kazimir. . .Jean-Pierre will kill me. He’s too good to not have considered the option.
I turned to Jean-Pierre. He glared at me. He hadn’t moved the gun. He looked ready to kill me now. I swallowed.
Things had changed since they’d gone in that house. Rafael held a dead woman rolled up in a sheet. The black woman, Gwen, was still with us too. She watched Rafael the whole time with dread in her gaze. I didn’t know what that was about.
I have to get out of here.
My lungs constricted. Pressure built in my chest. I closed my eyes and focused on breathing.
Calm down. This will all be over soon. Will it? God, it has to. I can’t be. . .
Trapped. I was trapped. I’d been kidnapped before, but no more than four to five hours. It was always due to my brother Daryl. Usually, I could talk my way out of it, make the captor some money, or fix the situation. But this mess had been out of my control
I have to get away from them.
The limo pulled into a rough looking neighborhood ten minutes later. While the other areas they’d taken me too showed glitz and glamour, this one boasted high-rise shabby buildings. Scattered graffiti decorated the dulling brick. In some of the windows, bed sheets hung instead of curtains. Knuckleheads stood on the corner.
It reminded me of the housing projects in Brooklyn.
The men scanned the neighborhood like they were arriving for the first time.
When we stopped, Jean-Pierre opened the door, called over several men, and pointed at me. “Stay with her. She’s crafty and trying to get herself killed.”
Lies. All lies.
I kept my expression neutral and walked with the guards. I’d showed my hands. No one saw me as a weak captive. It would be difficult to get away from them now.
They’re going to handcuff me soon, or r tape me up. I would.
The very idea twisted my stomach. I felt like I was going to throw up again. I hugged myself, swallowing down the saliva rising along my tongue.
Breathe. It’s ok. I’m not tied up. It’s okay.
But I was still trapped, no matter how I tried to be positive about it. All my life I’d been trying not to be caged—whether by the government or some man. And here I was, kidnapped in a way that I couldn’t deal with. There was no getting away from these men. No matter how much I fought or tried to outthink them.
Don’t give up. It’ll work out.
For some reason, Gwen raced ahead of us.
We waited for a while as she disappeared into the building.
Is this where she lives? Must be. Why are we here?
I glanced over my shoulder. Rafael carried the dead body in his arms. He stopped behind the limo and whispered to it. Long strands of black hair dangled beyond the sheets. It had to be a woman. I figured as much. They’d been talking about some woman named Shalimar. Perhaps, she’d died.
Who did it? Kaz wouldn’t have.
Jean-Pierre walked over to Rafael.
Louis pushed me forward. “Go that way.”
I took my time walking forward. Guards surrounded and followed my every step.
After a minute, we stopped in front of the buildings front door.
Cracked paint covered it.
We waited for another minute.
Jean-Pierre and Rafael appeared.
Rafael no longer held the dead body. “Come on.”
His eyes shifted to sad. For the first time that day, I missed his cockiness.
I directed my attention to where we were going.
With the guards in front of me, I entered the brick building. It was cleaner than the projects in New York, but there was no hiding the poverty. A homeless man slept in the corner near a few broken metal mailboxes. Another metal stack of mailboxes sat on the other wall.
The elevator stood in front of us.
It screeched down. The door opened painstakingly slow, scraping metal across the bottom.
Do we really have to go on this thing? Why not the stairs?
It looked too small to fit us. Rust coated the edges of the walls. The ceiling had a light that flickered when the doors closed.
We got on.
Some of the guys pressed against the walls. Even worse, they sandwiched me in between Louis and Jean-Pierre. Their muscular arms smoothed against mine.
Can I get some breathing room?
I swallowed and glanced over my shoulder. Rafael stood behind me staring off in the distance.
What happened to the dead body? Was it Shalimar?
My other three guards got in.
I inched back.
The space closed in on us as the doors scraped shut. My anxiety spiked. Maybe it was because I killed Jean-Pierre’s men.
Would he want reven
ge?
I hadn’t eaten either or slept. My bottom lip quivered. My heart hammered.
The elevator still hadn’t moved.
I don’t want to be in here. What if we get trapped? With this fucking day. . .
My head went a little dizzy.
A bell rang.
I jumped.
And then the elevator slowly rose. Every inch, I swore the ceiling creaked, and the cables above us groaned.
Rafael spoke from behind, “This is no way to live life, and how long do you think it took her to get to Shalimar’s every day?”
Is he talking about Gwen?
Jean-Pierre said on my side, “She probably spends an hour commuting in and an hour going back out. This isn’t close to the transit.”
Yeah. They’re talking about Gwen.
Rafael sighed. “What type of car does she drive, Louis?”
Louis said on my left, “Nothing you would like.”
I glanced over my shoulder at Rafael.
He ran his fingers through his hair. “This has to change.”
They care about Gwen? Who is the black woman to them?
Louis stopped my thoughts. “I can put Gwen in my building.”
“No,” Rafael said. “I’ll take care of it. I’m moving the restaurant location anyway…changing the theme…I’ll move Gwen closer to wherever that is. Either way, she can’t live here. I’ll tell her when we get inside.”
That made me calm down a bit. They cared. Had compassion for others . And the fact that she was a black woman made me feel even better.
I glanced back at Rafael again.
Jean-Pierre whispered, “Stop looking at him.”
Well, excuse me.
I directed my view back to the front.
Jean-Pierre spoke to Rafael. “Yes. I think changing the location of the restaurant is a good idea. Get anything from me that you need, whether for the restaurant or Gwen.”
The elevator screeched to a stop.
Thank God.
Yet, the elevator remained there for several long seconds. Just when I was about to scream, the doors creaked open.
We all rushed off. I didn’t think anyone appreciated the tight ride.
“Jesus Christ,” Rafael grumbled. “Was that elevator even running on electricity, or were there two men on the roof lifting it up on a crane.”
Now that’s funny. Okay. Maybe he has some jokes.
I had to focus on anything but my anxiety.
Either way, no one responded to Rafael as we walked down the hallway. Everybody appeared worn out. Even the guards looked weary, as they stopped at a the door marked , 5E.
Jean-Pierre knocked and then eyed my dirty clothes. I still had on his dingy shirt and big ass jacket.
What? I’ve been good.
“We’ve got to get her some food and clothes,” Jean-Pierre said.
Naw. Why don’t you just let me go grab some clothes myself.
Louis spoke, “Should I run out and get it? We’ve already asked enough from Gwen.”
“Let’s check with Gwen,” Jean-Pierre said. “I don’t want you out there right now. No matter what, Gwen won’t have any regrets for her help. She’ll be more than taken care of. If she wants, she can start her own restaurant.”
“No.” Rafael’s voice held an edge. “Not yet.”
O-kay. What’s that about?
Jean-Pierre sighed. “Well. . .Rafael will help her, but she’ll have no regrets.”
Another woman opened the door. She looked like Gwen. Same dark brown skin. High cheekbones and big eyes. But this one had a long ponytail, instead of an afro.
“Hey, I’m Natalie,” she said. “Gwen’s baby sister. Come on in.”
Exhausted, we all stared at her.
I read the words on Natalie’s shirt, Dance, Pray, Fuck.
Natalie widened her eyes. “Hey, are you all coming in or not?”
Jean-Pierre rubbed his face. “Sorry.”
Natalie giggled. “It’s all good. Come get some breakfast. I was making eggs and bacon. Is anybody hungry?”
Bacon! Yes.
I could already taste the crispy strips on my tongue. I attempted a smile. I had no idea what everyone else looked like. But I swore as a group that we stumbled forward at the mention of bacon.
“O-kay,” Natalie inched back. “I’m getting you all something quick. We can do S.O.S.”
“What’s S.O.S?” Louis rushed before us, pushing me into Jean-Pierre. I began to walk in, but Louis stepped in front of me, almost knocking me out of the way.
Really, dude?
We followed Louis.
Natalie rushed off in front of us. “It’s Shit on Shingles. You’ve never had it? It’s a rendition of biscuits and sausage gravy—”
“Yeah. I want that,” Louis growled. “S.O.S. it is.”
We arrived at a small living room. We crowded the area. My guards stood close to the walls.
I scanned the space for somewhere to sit and maybe a sharp object that I could sneak. Jean-Pierre interrupted my assessing and guided me into the kitchen.
Louis already sat at the kitchen bar. Jean-Pierre pointed at a stool. I propped myself on there. Two guards flanked my back.
Natalie stood by the stove. With a spatula, she flipped sizzling long links of sausage.
Natalie turned to Jean-Pierre. “I have some clothes she can fit.”
What about a knife or gun?
Jean-Pierre nodded. “That would be good.”
“Just grab something from the bedroom.” Natalie pointed in the opposite direction. “It’s over there.”
They must help these guys with kidnapping or something. Thanks a lot, sistas!
Jean-Pierre gestured to her room.
I rose.
Fast, he grabbed my arm, pulled me in, and whispered, “If you kill them, then we’re going to have a problem.”
Then they better stay out of my way.
“I won’t.” I headed to where she’d pointed. The three guards stayed behind me.
I opened the door, walked in, and closed it behind me.
Will you let me be alone?
I backed up and watched the door.
No one opened it.
A long sigh left me.
They’ll leave me alone.
I ran to the window and opened the curtain.
Five flights up. No fire escape or anything to jump on. Shit.
I turned around and took in the room.
Natalie was a serious lover of ballet. Ballerinas decorated every inch of the space. Porcelain ones stacked the shelves. Stuffed ballerinas piled in two different corners. Many wore pink tutus, but some dressed in white lace or silk. Posters of ballets covered the walls.
I walked over to the main bookshelf. Several ceramic figurines of ballerinas twirled and turned along most of the shelves. On the ones with figurines, there were tons of books on the craft.
At the headboard, a large poster was plastered on the wall.
Of course, if she likes ballerinas. . .then she’ll have a picture of Kaz’s ex.
There, Kaz’s old lover posed in front of me.
I looked back at the bookshelf. I imagined myself picking up the figurines and breaking them across Jean-Pierre’s head.
That may do.
I checked out the other bookshelf. It was only a collection of worn out ballerina shoes with dates written in marker on the bottoms.
I could maybe use the ties to choke someone, but there’s too many people in this apartment to kill like that.
I turned to the dresser.
A big porcelain black ballerina covered the dresser.
I looked under the bed. A shoe box was there. People barely kept shoe boxes like that, but the ones that did tended to put something in it.
Am I lucky?
I pulled the shoe box out and lifted the top.
A gun lay inside.
Hell yes.
I picked it up and checked the barrel.
No bullets. What th
e fuck do you have a gun for. . .with no bullets?
Movement came from outside of the room.
Fuck.
I put the gun back in the box and pushed it back under the bed. By the time I rose, the door opened.
Natalie stepped inside. “Did you see anything you like?”
I nodded.
She shut the door.
Just when I thought she was going to talk, she stared at me.
I watched her, unsure of where this was going.
What’s this?
Then she stepped to me and came closer.
I remained where I was, unsure of what to do. She had a small frame. A few bruises on her leg, but she didn’t look to be getting in any fighting stance.
Natalie stopped a foot in front of me and kept her voice low. “Why did they take you?”
Holy shit. Is she going to help?
I cleared my throat. “B-because. . .someone took Jean-Pierre’s woman and—”
“Did you kill anybody?”
“No.”
“So, it’s gangster shit?”
“Um, yes but—”
“I don’t want to get involved, but you can use my phone.” She handed it to me.
I reached for it.
Natalie yanked it back. “Just don’t bring it to my house. I have my son and sister here. We don’t have anything to do with this stuff.”
Nodding, I kept my hands to the side.
She didn’t bring the phone to me. “And don’t tell Jean-Pierre or anyone—”
“Never. You won’t have anything to do with it.”
“Here.” She gave me the phone.
I took it.
“Wait.”
I paused.
“Let me go out and make sure it’s cool.” Natalie held out her hands. For the first time, I noticed they were shaking. “I’ll get you a washcloth.”
“Okay.” I put the phone in my jacket pocket.
She walked out, letting the door swing open a little. Off in the distance, I spotted Jean-Pierre from the kitchen bar, watching me.
Hey. I’m being cool. I learned my lesson.
I almost smiled and waved, but knew that would make me appear even more suspicious. My guards ducked their heads in, looked me up and down, and then went back into the hallway.
Nothing to see here, guys. I’m cool.
Natalie returned with a soapy red washcloth, stepped in, and shut the door behind her.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
“You’ve got a minute or two. If they catch you with it, I’m going to say it was already in the bedroom.’
Dirty Minds: The Lion and The Mouse (Book 4) Page 9
