Kirah is all ears. “What?”
“I saved myself. I told the police it wasn’t my gun and he threw it under my seat. Now, is the only time you have to save yourself. If you tell all you know, I may be able speak to the prosecutor and get you five years for conspiracy, instead of the minimum of twenty years for carjacking.”
“Five years?” Kirah cries. “I can’t go to jail for five years. I have three kids.”
“Well, you need to save yourself for your kids’ sake.”
Kirah goes into a frantic frenzy, pulling her weave. “Wait… wait. What if I can provide you with information on a robbery with three homicides involved?”
The two male detectives stop pacing. This is music to their ears. They both walk over to the table. They are more interested in the murders than they are the carjacking. A triple murder would get them more recognition than they can imagine.
The three of them zoom in on her with their undivided attention. The female detective speaks again. “Now, that can get you no jail time at all if your information leads to an arrest.”
The young woman doesn’t waste a second before she starts spilling the beans. The detectives let her run her mouth for twenty minutes while they jot down notes on their pads.
“There you have it. That’s all I know. So can I go home now? I been here for almost a week. My kids need me.”
The female detective ignores her question. “What did you say his name was?”
“Man-Man,” she replies.
“We need better than that. You know his real name?”
Kirah thinks hard, back to their high school days. His name jumps out at her. “Leonard— Leonard Hall.”
“And her name was what again?”
“I don’t know her real name because I don’t know her. That was the first time I met her. All I know is her street name. Storm. Can I go home now to my kids, please?”
“Not so fast. It doesn’t work like that. We will need you to identify them in our mugshots, and we have to get out there and find them. The more you tell us the faster we can capture and charge them and the faster you can get home to your kids. So, tell us more.”
She digs into her mental Rolodex and tells any and everything that she can think of that may aid the detectives. She has very little information on Storm, but she gives up everything she knows about Man-Man, except that he’s dead. That, she has no knowledge of.
16
The Next Day
Storm stands in front of the full-length mirror inside her bedroom, appreciating what she sees. She barely recognizes the woman in the tight jeans, riding boots, and short chinchilla jacket. It’s as if this woman has appeared out of nowhere in the past few months. She has fallen in love with the new her and has no plans of ever going back to the old her.
Her confidence is at an all-time high these days. The life she lives is a life she never knew was obtainable. Her new car, her new clothes, new attitude and even new apartment. She has Mr. Antonelli to thank. He hasn’t only changed her way of thinking; he’s also changed her way of living.
Although her apartment is nowhere near as lavish as his home, it’s her own. She’s decorated it in a cozy, vintage style that fits her to perfection. Of course, she would love a house in some rich suburban neighborhood, but for now she’s content. Mr. Antonelli pays the rent way in advance faithfully and never once has he stepped foot near the apartment. The cute little garden apartment in the quiet middle class neighborhood is like crawling before she walks. She has big plans and she’s sure, with her grind and Mr. Antonelli’s help, she will meet those plans in no time at all.
She runs her fingers through the silky weave one good time as she spins around and takes a view of how her jeans are hugging her apple bottom. The look in her eyes is pure satisfaction. She gets onto her knees and fumbles under the bed. She stands back up holding a jewelry box. She pops the lid and there is a block of shiny white with interior scales that shine like a diamond. While looking at the block, she doesn’t see cocaine. She sees promise.
She drops the block into her Chanel purse. Before locking the door, she presses the code onto her alarm system’s keypad. She stands in the doorway, peeking out. Out of habit, she takes a quick survey. Her shiny red Mercedes sticks out like a sore thumb among the more common American-made cars that are spread throughout the parking lot.
She drops into the driver’s seat and starts the ignition. The sound of “Hustlaz Ambition”, by Young Jeezy jumps out of the speakers, enhancing her grinding state of mind. She backs out of the parking space and zips out of the parking lot. “I came so far from the bottom couldn’t even see the top!” she sings along.
Minutes later, Storm’s Mercedes sits parked on a side street, alongside the projects. From where she’s parked, she can see the hustle and bustle of drug activity taking place on the other side of the gate. She notices the man who has just stepped out of the gate and makes his way toward her. He stares into the car with unfamiliarity for seconds before he realizes it’s her. His eyes light up with joy when he spots her sitting in the glorious vehicle.
This young man is the oldest friend that Storm has. There’s only one friend that she would have had longer. Sadly, he is dead at her hands. This is one of the men that witnessed the murder of her best friend back in their clubhouse days. They’ve both moved on since then, and it hardly ever comes up in conversation. They’ve all went on with their adult lives, but they stay in contact. They don’t see each other much, but they are always, one phone call away from each other if need be.
Breezy is a slim, laidback handsome dude with a temper that doesn’t fit his appearance. He can easily be underestimated, but one of the most streetwise men that Storm knows. She’s a few months older than him yet she’s learned a lot from him.
Breezy gets into the car, super-hyped. “Yo! What the fuck, yo?” he asks while reaching over to shake her hand. “You done came all the way the fuck up!” he shouts while looking around in the car at the beautiful interior.
Breezy takes a long stare at her, not believing what he sees. “Look at you, looking all beautiful and shit. No hats, no sweats and even got makeup on. You one of them diva bitches now, huh?”
“Absolutely not,” she says sternly. “I’m the same cold bitch I always been. You can change your clothes, but that’s just the top layer. You was who you was before you got here,” she sings in her best Jay-Z impression. They both smile.
“I feel that, but what’s up though? What’s really good?”
“Nigga, it’s all good,” she says as she digs into her purse. She drops the block of coke in the Ziploc bag onto his lap. His eyes pop wide open. “That’s like eight hundred grams right there. I need your help.”
“Well, damn,” he sighs as he looks at the cocaine in amazement. “What you trying to do, off it as weight? That’s the fastest way.”
“Nah, fuck that. Take it to the earth bottle for bottle and let’s make some real money. I ain’t pressed. Look at me. I’m good,” she boasts.
“I see,” he smiles.
“I wanna make sure you good,” she says with all honesty.
“I respect that, but how the fuck you come up like this? And why the fuck you didn’t bring me in to come up with you?”
“Ask me no questions, and I will tell you no lies,” she says with a smile. “Fuck all that though, I’m bringing you up now. When I’m up, you up. You already know.”
“I can dig it.” A group of men come walking in their direction. Breezy conceals the work. “Here come, Mud ass,” he says with disgust.
Mud is another one of their friends from the clubhouse days. Mud is the name people have given him because he was the dirtiest kid in the neighborhood. He’s grown up and cleaned himself up, but the name never left him. His spirit has always been dirtier than his physical, so even cleaned up, he will always be the low-down, dirty slime ball that very few trust.
&nb
sp; “What he up to?” Storm questions.
“Same old shit, pot dropping. You know he can’t get right for shit. Everything his hands touch turn to shit.”
“OK, with that, help him get right.”
“Man, I done tried and tried wit’ that motherfucker. Done went broke fucking with him, came back alive and went broke again. I had to cut him off. He waiting on me to hit him again. He only been home for a month. Just laid down for three years the last time.”
“That’s because you using him wrong. You know he ain’t no hustler. He the muscle. You’re putting him in the wrong position, like giving a center the ball and expecting him to run the point guard position. It’s not possible. He’s gonna lose the ball.”
Storm is correct in her way of thinking. For as long as Mud has been around, he’s never been a hustler and he’s never been a part of a lucrative venture. He’s always been their muscle. His muscle is underestimated because he has very little of them. He only stands at about five foot eight inches tall and weighs no more than a buck sixty. He has the heart of a lion, though, and the knuckle game of a warrior. If both those fail, he has the accuracy of a sharp shooter when you put a semiautomatic weapon in his hand.
All of the approaching men in the group have their eyes on the Mercedes. They recognize Breezy, but their focus is on the female driver.
“Oh, shit!” Mud yells. He steps toward the driver’s side. “Oh, shit!”
A bright smile spreads across Storm’s face. She rolls down the window. “Let me get outta here with this shit before the Jake come through,” Breezy says as he makes his exit. He slams the door shut and disappears.
“Storm, what’s good?” he yells.
Storm gets out to properly greet a friend that she hasn’t seen in years. They hug for a few seconds before he steps back. “Damn! Look at you, girl? What’s goodie?”
She blushes from ear to ear. “What’s up, crazy?”
“You!” he shouts.“Shit! You what’s up, all shining and shit.” Mud looks her up and down in admiration. “It’s dark on my side. Tough out here.”
“Ay, Mud, you know how it goes,” she replies. “When it gets tough for everybody else, that’s when it’s getting just right for us.”
“Yo, Mud, come the fuck on!” one man shouts hastily.
“Yo, I’m in the middle of something right now, but give me your number. I need you, yo!”
“You need me? For what?” she asks as if she doesn’t already know.
“Yo, I got something major I been plotting on. I just need some backing. These other niggas be flaking,” he claims. “Motherfuckers quicker to feed you when they know you’re full than they are when they know you’re starving. What I got my eyes on will definitely be beneficial for you.”
“Is that right?” she asks, already knowing his story.
“Damn right! Major paper, too, even though it don’t look like you need it. But shit I do.”
“I got you,” she says as she leans in her car and jots down her phone number. She already knows he will blow anything that she does for him but still she can’t turn her back on him. He’s one of her truest friends, and she could never leave him out to dry like Breezy has. She hands him the paper with her number. “Hit me.”
He stares her up and down for seconds, setting up. “Sis, let me hold something though,” he begs with no shame.
She was sure this was coming next. She gets into the car and digs into her purse. She begins sifting through the bills in her hand.
“Snap was just asking about you. I was with him the other day.”
She looks up from the money. She can’t hide the disgust on her face. Just hearing his name infuriates her. “Oh, yeah?” she asks as if she really cares. She hands him five hundred-dollar bills and his face lights up like a kid on Christmas Day.
“Yeah, I’m gone tell him I saw you. Maybe we all get together and catch up for old times’ sake.”
“OK,” she nods, pretending to be interested.
“But, yo, I’m gon’ hit you tomorrow with all the details of what I’m trying to do. Serious money, though, you hear me?”
“I heard. Just hit me. Only if it’s serious money, though. You know I love that money.”
He cracks a huge smile. “Don’t we all? I got you!”
17
The Next Evening
It is half an hour before closing, and the Mercedes dealership is still flowing with business. A few customers sprinkle the showroom floor looking at vehicles, and a couple customers sit before salesmen in their cubicles. The door opens and a couple steps into the showroom. They stand and take a survey of the place.
A desperate salesman attacks them quickly. “Hello! May I help you?”
The man digs into his coat pocket and flashes a badge. “Newark Police. Is Mr. Antonelli around?” the man asks with no shade. His words capture the attention of everyone.
“Uh-uh,” the salesman stutters, not knowing how to reply.
“Uh-uh! Get Mr. Antonelli,” the detective says with sarcasm.
“One second,” the salesman replies. He slowly makes his way to the back. He shrugs his shoulders at a salesman across the room.
In two minutes flat, Mr. Antonelli appears in the doorway with a perplexed look on his face. He steps to the detectives. “I’m Mr. Antonelli. May I help you?”
“Can we go to your office?” the female intervenes. “You have customers out here.”
“Sure,” the old man says as he leads them through the showroom.
Once they are in his office, he offers them a seat. They choose to remain standing, keeping control of the matter. He takes a seat behind his desk. “Is there a problem?”
“Problem?” the detective asks like a wiseass. “Of course, there’s a problem, or two detectives wouldn’t be here in your office.”
“What can I help you with?” he asks.
“Glad you’re willing to help. Do you own a Mercedes coupe?”
“Do I own a Mercedes? One? I own about two hundred of them.”
“OK, smart ass. Let me be more specific then. A black Mercedes CL. The license plates come back to your dealership.”
“License plates? You mean the temporary plates? Like from a customer?”
“No, like to your corporation.”
The old man thinks. With his old age, it takes him quite some time before Storm’s old car comes to mind. “I’m sorry but that doesn’t help me much. Many cars belong to the corporation.”
“Well, are many of those cars accessories to murders?”
“What do you mean?” he asks with his heart banging through his chest. His face turns beet red from fear.
“We have surveillance tapes with the black Mercedes leaving a murder scene last week. Do you know who could have been driving it?”
“I have a hundred employees,” he says, in an attempt to keep his love protected. “My employees, sometimes, take vehicles home. Whether it be a salesman or a mechanic. At this time, I have no clue of who could’ve had the vehicle.”
“Well, we will need you to find out who had the vehicle,” the female says. “By chance, do you have an employee that goes by the name of Storm?”
The old man swallows the lump in his throat. Although he would never call her that, he’s familiar with the nickname. He tries to keep a straight face, but it’s hard under these circumstances. “I’m not familiar with my employees’ nicknames. All my dealings with my employees are strictly business.”
“So—” the female manages to say before Mr. Antonelli interrupts.
“I would love to help you, but at this time I’m requesting that you leave my business. Leave me your card, and I will forward your information to my attorney. Anything from this point on, we will discuss in the presence of my attorney.”
Steam blows from the man’s nostrils. The female detect
ive passes her card over. “Here you go.”
“Thank you and have a good evening. I will forward the information over.”
“Get in touch with us, or we will be here to get in touch with you. Next time we will be taking you out in cuffs,” the man says in a threatening manner before they exit.
The old man exits shortly after them. He walks to the showroom door and watches them pull off. Many thoughts race through his mind. He can’t believe that his baby is in the middle of such trouble. He quickly pulls out his phone and dials her.
* * *
Storm’s phone rings back to back as it lay on the passenger’s seat of the Pontiac. She’s not in the car to answer it. Her, Mud, and Breezy are leaning on the gate of West Side Park when a tinted out Dodge Charger parks behind Breezy’s Pontiac.
The driver, Snap, gets out with no hesitation. A big smile covers his face as he sees all of his old friends. He hasn’t seen them all in one place in years. As he walks up, his focus is on Storm. He hasn’t seen her in many years and is shocked to see her looking so grown up.
He shakes Breezy’s hand first. “What up?” he asks, totally overlooking Storm.
He looks to Storm again. “And you?” he says as he looks at Storm. “All grown up, looking like a grown woman,” he says as he opens his arms for a hug. “Give me a hug, girl.”
Storm is irked just being in his presence. It was Mud’s idea for all of them to meet. As he stares at her with that perverted look in his eyes that he always had for her, it takes her back to how uncomfortable he always made her feel as a kid. “You not gon’ hug me, girl?” he asks as he snatches her into his arms. He hugs her tightly, and she doesn’t reciprocate. He finally lets her go. “Damn! You ain’t no little girl no more,” he says as he stares her up and down in lust.
“Nah, all grown up,” she says with a fake smile.
Snap finally gets to Mud and shakes his hand. “Mud, what’s up, baby?”
“Same shit. Just like old times, right? All of us together.”
Storm takes a step to the side as she peeks into the Charger. Once she notices the passenger’s seat is empty, she sneakily draws a gun from her coat pocket. She aims at Snap who has his back facing her. Both Mud and Breezy look at her in a baffled state.
Heartless Page 8
