Heist

by Kiki Swinson; De’nesha Diamond

  All the men at the table groan as if they can’t believe that someone they love and care about is actually a part of law enforcement.

  “It could’ve been worse,” Jonathan whispers. “She could’ve been FBI.”

  “You ain’t never lied,” Rawlo says, shaking his head.

  “You’re still coming to the barbeque this weekend, right?” Jonathan asks his daughter.

  “If I don’t get called into duty, I’ll be here.”

  Jonathan hops back up and follows her to the door. “Um … you know you can extend that invitation to your mom?” His eyes light up. “I mean, since she and your stepdaddy are separated now. No sense in her just sitting at home alone.”

  Jordan smiles and shakes her head. “I’ll ask her.”

  “That’s my girl.” He leans in and plants a kiss against her cheek. “See you this weekend.” He closes the door behind her and returns to the table, clapping and rubbing his hands together. “It’s just a matter of time now, boys.”

  “Why not? You’ve just been waiting twenty-five years to get back with her momma.”

  “Yeah. Wasn’t she the reason we retired in the first place?” Mishawn asks. “You thought you were going to win her back.”

  “I am going to win her back.” He shrugs. “It’s just taking a little longer than I thought. Just you wait and see.”

  Chapter Five

  During the short drive to my field office, I can’t help but laugh that my dad and his old hanging buddies thought I believed that they had gone back into the bank-robbing business. Uncle Tremaine is as deaf as a stump, Uncle Mishawn is legally blind, and Uncle Rawlo, God bless him, isn’t exactly in the best of shape to be breaking into anything.

  I pull in a deep breath and then laugh. Overall, it hasn’t been easy growing up with the secret that my father used to be a famous bank robber / jewel thief. When I was younger, I wanted to blab to everyone who would stand still. That was when it seemed kind of cool. When I decided to get into law enforcement, it made me nervous when the government ran a background check.

  Jonathan Banks has quite a criminal record, though he never went to jail for being the Jackal. That’s amazing in itself. Despite the fact that the statutes of limitations are up for his eighties shenanigans doesn’t mean I’ve stopped looking over my shoulder, and it certainly doesn’t mean that it can’t come back and bite me on the ass. My mother doesn’t like that I’ve maintained a relationship with my father. She thinks that it’s somehow a big slap in the face to my stepfather—the man who raised me. I would love to point out that was a choice she made because my father always wanted to be there, but it’s not worth fighting over. I like to keep that crazy drama between them.

  And now that Mom and George are separated and talking divorce, I see renewed hope in my dad’s eyes, and it’s kind of contagious. Then again, maybe all children want their parents to get and stay together.

  I whip my ride into my usual parking space at the field office and hustle into the office, because I have a thing about always being on time. And sure enough, as I rush to my office chair, I see Elliott leaning against it and tapping the face of his watch.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I tell him. “I’m on time.” I look down at my watch. “In fact, I have two minutes to spare. Now get off my desk.” I shoo him away and plop down in my chair.

  “We have twenty minutes before Benson goes in for a press conference regarding last night’s raid.”

  I wince. “Are we going in there with him?”

  He nods. “What are you going to do? It’s part of the job.”

  “Twenty minutes. I guess that gives me enough time to work some of those reports you passed off to me last week.”

  “You haven’t done those yet?” He plants his ass on the corner of my desk while I boot up. “Soooo … you left the bar pretty quick last night.”

  “Catch that, did you?” I try to keep a smile from creeping across my face. Despite the money on the table, I can’t deny that I had one hell of a time.

  “Awww. It was that kind of evening, huh?” There’s a tightness in his voice.

  “A lady never kisses and tells,” I answer, and since I know what his follow-up will be regarding me being a lady, I wave a finger in front of his face. “Don’t say it.”

  He tosses his hands up. “All right. Fine.” He gets up from my desk and returns to his own in the next cubicle. But two minutes later, he stands up and looks down at me. “Soooo … Are you seeing that dude again?”

  I roll my eyes upward. “Why? What’s it to you?”

  He shrugs. “Nothing. Can’t I be concerned about you? I mean … what do we even know about this dude?”

  “I know that he can fuck. Does that count?”

  Elliott’s face fell. “I … uh …”

  Aaron popped up. “You guys ready to go down to the press conference? We have to stand behind the special agent in charge and look official and everything.” He looks at Elliott and frowns. “What’s wrong with you?”

  I stand up from my chair, smirking. “I think a cat got his tongue.”

  We head outside where a podium and an American flag have been set up before a truckload of drugs confiscated in last night’s raid. There are a few members from the local press snapping pictures and filming, and there was one reporter from CNN.

  Dressed in our official DEA jackets and hats, Elliott, Eric, and Aaron line up behind the podium while the special agent in charge, Rodney Benson, and Henry Dobson, director of the FBI Atlanta field office, take to the podium and thank the press for coming.

  “Last night at approximately eight-thirty, the DEA, in conjunction with the FBI and the local police department, conducted a raid at Clark’s auto shop. Our agents recovered ninety pounds of cocaine. At the same time, field agents in Mobile, Alabama, and Dallas, Texas, also moved in on connected networks that we believe to be part of the Guzman cartel. The total street value estimated on the drugs is believed be somewhere around five hundred million dollars.”

  Alvaro hits the MUTE button on the remote and smacks a hand against his tense forehead. “My. Fucking. Drugs.” He sucks in a long breath and then starts rocking on the edge of his chair. “This shit is not happening.” He finally hops up and nearly tips over his glass of orange juice onto the three perfect lines of coke on a silver tray, otherwise known as his breakfast. “DELMAR!”

  Storming through his two-story Mediterranean-style Miami home, Alvaro goes looking for his right-hand man. It’s already past nine, and his ass should have been here by now. “DELMAR!”

  Finally, Delmar appears, running down the hallway. “Yes, Alvaro. You called?”

  “Of course I fucking called you. When the fuck am I going to get my drugs back? Those damn government agents out in Atlanta have my shit all over the news.”

  Delmar sucks in a long breath. “I’m on it, Alvaro. It’s going to take a little time for—”

  “Time?!” Alvaro whips out his beloved chromed gun and starts waving it around. “Let me tell you something, amigo. You don’t have any fucking time, goddamn it.” He wipes the end of his nose with the back of his hand and accidentally fires the gun.

  Delmar jumps and then clamps a hand over his ear. Blood trickles and oozes through his fingers. “Shit. Fuck.”

  Alvaro’s eyes bug out a bit, and for a moment it looks as if he’s about to apologize. But then he seems to remind himself that he needs to exude strength. “Stop your damn bitching and get me my muthafuckin’ drugs back. You hear me? I don’t care how the fuck you do it—just get it done.”

  Still holding his ear, Delmar clamps his jaw tight and nods. “As you wish.”

  Chapter Six

  Saturday morning, I arrive at my childhood home out in Alpharetta, a suburb of Atlanta, dressed in pink shorts and a matching spaghetti-strap top. Frankly, I think I’m looking kind of cute. I use my key to enter the house. “Mom! Are you ready?”

  “Here I come.”

  I glance up toward th
e top of the stairs just as my mom appears in an outfit better suited for church. “We’re going to a barbeque, not a revival.”

  She glances down. “What? You don’t like this?”

  I can’t help but shrug. “It’s … a bit much. Don’t you have like a pair of capris or something?” When my mother frowns, I just rush to the top of the stairs. “Here. I’ll help find you something to wear.”

  “I don’t know,” she complains. “Maybe I should just stay home. I really don’t feel like going anywhere anyway.”

  “You’re not going to stay home and mope around the house feeling sorry for yourself.”

  “But what if George calls?”

  “When was the last time he called?” I ask gently.

  She doesn’t answer.

  I turn around and see her sad face. I immediately go to her and wrap her into my arms. It’s strange to see my mother this vulnerable. She has always been so strong. I like to think that I inherited my strength from her.

  “Okay. I’m okay,” she says, sniffing and pulling out of my embrace.

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah.” She nods and flashes me a smile. “Let’s find me something to wear and get on over to your friend’s barbeque. I think it’s sweet of them to invite your mother. Are you sure I don’t need to bring something? We can run to the store and pick something up in the deli.”

  “No, no. That won’t be necessary,” I say, suddenly trying to avoid her gaze. No way am I about to tell her that I am taking her to my father’s barbeque. She would flat out refuse to go. But if I can just get her there, then who knows?

  “No, Mom. It’s just a come-as-you-are kind of thing,” I say, and then rush to find her something to wear. In the end, I hook her up in some nice white capris and a blue top. At least it’s something that will show Dad that she’s maintained her nice curves over the years. When we make it to Dad’s crib in the heart of Atlanta, she’s already frowning suspiciously.

  “Who’s giving this barbeque?” she asks.

  “Huh?” I park the car and quickly jump out of the vehicle. The smell of barbeque has saturated the air, and George Clinton and Parliament Funkadelic’s “Knee Deep” is on serious blast. People are milling about out front of the apartments dancing or bobbing their heads to the music.

  Mom climbs out of the passenger side and has to jog just to catch up with me. “Jordan, hold up. What’s your big hurry?”

  “Oh, nothing. I’m just ready to eat me some good barbeque.” I ring Dad’s doorbell and then turn to face her. “Now, I want you to be nice,” I tell her.

  “Nice? Why do I—”

  Dad jerks open the door.

  “Jonathan?” Her eyes nearly bug out.

  Dad’s face splits into a big-ass smile. “Sandra. You came!” He steps out and sweeps my mother into his arms. “I was afraid that you wouldn’t come.”

  Mom’s gaze cuts over to me, and I give her a guilty shrug. “Surprise?”

  “Robyn.” Dad turns and then sweeps me into his arms as well. “I got my two favorite girls back. Life is good.” His smile is wide, and his eyes are so bright I’m praying that Mom will just be on her best behavior.

  “It’s … um … good to see you again,” she says stiffly, pushing out of his arms and cutting me with another look that promises an ass chewing later on.

  “Well, y’all come on in.” He steps back and allows us to come inside. The music is still bumping as we push our way inside. The place is crammed with wall-to-wall visitors. Frankly, I didn’t know my father had so many friends.

  “GUESS WHO’S HERE?” my father shouts over the music as it changes to “Flashlight.”

  “ROBYN!” they all shout.

  My mom cuts me another hard look. “Sorry. Dad just insists.”

  “Soooo … can I get you two ladies something to drink?” Dad asks, still grinning. “Sandra, I know you don’t drink, so I made a batch of sweet tea.”

  “No. I think I’m good. Jordan and I aren’t staying long. We—”

  “Mom.” I elbow her.

  “What?”

  Be nice, I mouth to her. She clamps her jaw together for a minute and then returns Dad’s smile. “I guess one glass won’t hurt.”

  “I’m on it.” He winks and takes off toward the kitchen.

  Suddenly, I’m aware of the floor moving, and for an insane moment I’m thinking we’re having an earthquake until I see Uncle Rawlo in the middle of the living room getting his groove thang going with Ms. Davis from next door. Watching him bump and shake his four-hundred-pound body all around her ninety-five-pound one has everyone else in the room pointing and laughing. Ms. Davis seems to be having the time of her life until she gets too close to a hip swing and is sent flying across the room.

  That shit cracks me the hell up. I turn to see Momma smirking as well, and I feel a little better about bringing her to the party. “Having a good time?”

  She wipes the smile off her face but not from her eyes. “We’ll talk about this later.”

  In the dining room, there’s a poker game going, of course I can tell by the way Uncle Tremaine is focused on his cards and not the argument going on around him that he has his hearing aid turned off. He’s kind of cute like that.

  “I see the gang is all here,” Momma says, pulling a deep breath.

  “Not everyone. I don’t see Uncle Mishawn.”

  “Oh, Jordan. These criminals are not your uncles,” she hisses.

  “I know.” I shrug my shoulders. “But I kind of think of them that way.”

  I get another eye roll for that one.

  “Here you go.” Dad returns. “One sweet tea and one root beer,” he says, handing me a brown bottle.

  I laugh. “Dad, I drink the real stuff now.”

  “Not at my house you don’t,” he answers sternly.

  No matter how hard I try, I’m never going to be more than just his little girl. So I drop the subject and pull a long chug of my icy-cold root beer. “Ahhh. Thanks, Dad. Where’s Uncle Mishawn?”

  “Where else? Out on the grill. Every barbeque he just takes over my shit.”

  “Well, he got it smelling good up in here,” I tell him.

  “That’s because he got his son out there helping him. Otherwise he would’ve probably burned the place down by now. Don’t tell him, but his eyes aren’t what they used to be.”

  “His son?” I frown while I search through my memory Rolodex. “Since when did Uncle Mishawn have a son?”

  “Since thirty years ago when his baby momma kept it to herself and married some other dude with health benefits and a retirement plan.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with a woman wanting to settle down with someone with a little more security.”

  “There is if she doesn’t love the man,” Dad challenges.

  Seeing that they are gearing up to rehash an old argument, I decide to exit stage left. “I’m just going to say hi to Uncle Mishawn,” I tell them, but I might as well have been talking to a brick wall for all the attention they paid me.

  I melt into the crowd and dance to half of Rick James’s “Bustin’ Out” before I make it out onto the balcony. “Hey, Uncle Mishawn, I—” I stop cold when my eyes zero in on the man standing over the grill next to Uncle Mishawn. “You. What are you doing here?”

  Keston blinks at me with the same look of surprise on his face, but before he can answer, his father cuts in.

  “Hey, Robyn!” Mishawn lights up behind his large glasses and quickly rushes over to give me a hug. “Glad you could make it.” He steps back. “I hope you brought your appetite, because me and my boy are putting a hurting on these ribs.”

  My tongue nearly falls out of my head. “You’re Uncle Mishawn’s son?”

  “You’re Robyn Banks?”

  Chapter Seven

  Ribs, hamburgers, and hot dogs sizzle on the grill while Keston and I continue to stare at each other as if we’re ghosts that just popped up in each other’s lives. However, my body doesn’t think that h
e’s a ghost. My tits start tingling, and my clit is thumping so hard in my panties I’m afraid that someone is going to notice.

  “I take it you two know each other?” Uncle Mishawn asks, swinging his head back and forth between us.

  “We’ve … met,” I tell him. “Briefly.”

  Keston finally blinks out of his trance and slides on an easy smile. “I don’t know about it being brief,” he says.

  “Ha-ha.” I roll my eyes and then flash Uncle Mishawn a quick smile. “I’ll leave you to your work. You make sure that you save me one of those burgers.” I plant a quick kiss on his cheek and then turn and rush off the balcony.

  “Whoa, Robyn. Wait up.” Keston chases after me, but I keep it moving. Of course this would be the time I can’t spot my mother so that we can get the hell out of here.

  Keston grabs me by the arm and pulls me back. “Yo, wait up, Ma. Where’s the fire?”

  “Anywhere you’re standing.” I snatch my arm back and roll my neck.

  “Is there something wrong?” He actually has the nerve to look confused.

  “Are you fucking kidding me? You left two hundred dollars on a nightstand, asshole.”

  Keston looks around. “All right. All right. Lower your voice.”

  “Fuck you,” I say, backing up. “We don’t have shit to talk about.” I try to turn away, but clearly this fool doesn’t take rejection lightly. His arm snakes out and grabs mine again, but out of reflex I flip his big ass over and he hits the floor with a bam!

  People jump out of the way, and for a few seconds everyone freezes.

  Keston, lying on his back and blinking up at the ceiling, is clearly trying to review in his head what just happened. Seeing him dazed and confused, I cross my arms and smile down at him. “You shouldn’t grab women like that.”

  “Point taken.” He finally attempts to get up, checking for broken bones along the way.

  The crowd now feels comfortable about laughing and pointing at him. To show that he’s a good sport, Keston holds up his hands and smiles at everyone. “Ha-ha. Chuckle it up.” He turns those adorable dimples toward me. “Does that make us even now?”