Heartless

by Al-Saadiq Banks

  “I bet you we can catch him there any night of the week,” she says with certainty.

  “Indeed. I did the homework already. That’s their spot. They be heavy in there, like it’s their house. We gotta catch him away from there. I got it all figured out though.” He pulls out a phone, still in the box. “We gon’ have to reel him in.”

  Storm sits back, wondering what his plan is. “I found out the ugly nigga love them bitches. Just like all ugly niggas do.” He cracks a grin. “That’s his weakness. I figure we put your homegirl on him and bring him right to us, instead of going looking for him.”

  “My homegirl who?” she questions.

  “The Ethiopian joint. She perfect for this. She not from Jersey, so nobody knows her.” As always, Storm loves his way of thinking. “You think she will do it?”

  “Do I think she will do it?” Storm replies with arrogance. “She will do whatever the fuck I tell her to.”

  “Say no more.”

  * * *

  One hour later, with a throw-away, burn out phone that Breezy bought for the occasion, he works away diligently. Beeba sits back with doubt as Breezy creates an Instagram profile for her. They snapped a few random pictures of Beeba for the profile. The photos show very little of her face, purposely. Breezy understands that the face is the last thing a thirst bucket will be looking for.

  Most of them are of her locs, her butt, and her long legs. She also has one photo where she’s nude, laying on her side. The picture tastefully shows her curves and just the side carriage of her breast, no trace of nipple showing. Overall the profile looks sexy and classy as Beeba really is and not raunchy like the most of the accounts.

  Breezy jumped from profile to profile of the people that were tagged in the initial photo and even some of the comments. Eventually he was led to Big Face’s page. That is where the obstacle presented itself. His page is blocked and a request has to be sent for him to approve.

  “Check it all out before I press the button,” Breezy says as he hands over the phone to Beeba. Beeba doesn’t like the idea of this, yet she keeps that to herself. She never wants to tell Storm no, with all that she believes Storm has done for her.

  Beeba examines her profile until Storm snatches the phone out of her hand. She doesn’t like being involved in this. Storm scrolls through the few photos that are posted. “Yeah, you look good as shit in these pictures. He’s sure to fall for you.” Beeba blushes crazily. “African Goddess,” she says as she reads the name that Breezy has given her. “I like the sound of that.” She hands Breezy the phone. “It’s a go.”

  “Yeah, sounds clean and classy. Use a ghetto name and he may be cautious. Have her looking like a square from nowhere and he will have his guard down,” Breezy says right before he presses the button. He sends the request for Big Face’s approval. “Done. Now all we have to do is wait on him. Could take days or weeks but when it happens. We in there.”

  An alert sounds off in the notifications almost instantly. A smile pops onto Breezy’s face. “Or, it could take seconds. He accepted us. These niggas way too easy. They not even a challenge. Chasing that fame got these niggas posting their whole life and their whereabouts, making their life an open book just for likes. Ain’t no money involved. These niggas don’t wanna be rich. They just wanna be famous,” he says while shaking his head.

  “Motherfucker got seven thousand photos posted,” he says as he scrolls through every photo looking for a lead. “What part of the game is that when gangbanging killers feel comfortable enough to take pictures for the world to see?” He studies the houses to see if maybe he can find where he lives. He studies the faces of every woman he’s in pictures with. He studies the faces of any old person and any baby in the pictures. “And this is why you will never catch me on social media,” he says as he continues searching. “This gon’ be fun, too.” Back to back alerts sound off. He reads the notifications and sees that Big Face has liked every picture posted under the profile. “Yeah we got him. Just liked them all.”

  “Go in for the kill,” Storm says.

  “Not yet. We don’t want to come across as desperate as he is. Let’s slow roll with this, and rock him to sleep. Patience. This won’t take long at all.”

  74

  One Week Later

  Attorney Tony Austin sits in the courtroom in front of the honorable judge, Figari. For the very first time in a long time, Tony is early for court. He realizes this case is one of his tougher ones and doesn’t need his huge ego to get in the way and mess things up by pissing the judge off. He needs to everything to be in the proper perspective for this one if he expects a win.

  Tony has been working hard on this case, for the old man’s sake. Despite his personal feelings toward Storm, she’s still a client. On top of that, just like with any other case, his reputation is on the line. He will never let personal feelings get in the way of business.

  Just a few days ago he was able to get a speedy court date for a status conference. Today he will be putting in a motion to suppress the initial murder case for lack of evidence. With Kirah being dead, they have no witnesses. Although the prosecutor and a host of others feel that Storm has murdered her to keep her from coming to court and testifying, they don’t have proof.

  Regardless of anyone’s personal beliefs, everyone knows without proof or a witness, there is no case. One thing that Tony has on his side when it comes to this motion is he’s sure the prosecution fears going to trial with him. In trial is when he makes a mockery of them and really shows them what he’s made of.

  Tony sighs with frustration as he looks at his watch again. The first time in history that he’s ever beat his client into the courtroom. He’s angered believing that Storm is not taking his time seriously. He looks over his shoulder at Mr. Antonelli who shrugs his shoulders.

  Mr. Antonelli has been calling her since last night and hasn’t gotten an answer or return call. He fears that she may have skipped bail on him. He would hate to lose two million dollars but can’t help but to think that maybe that will get her out of his life. If the bail money will buy her out, then he’s willing to take the loss. Something tells him that even if she doesn’t show up, she still won’t leave him alone. He’s been living in fear of her for what seems like an eternity and he just wants it to end.

  Tony plays it cool like he has everything under control. The last thing he wants is for the people to know that he hasn’t heard from his client. He looks to the young man sitting next to him with a confident smile. The young man, his protégé, wouldn’t be recognized by his own family due to his transformation.

  The thuggish-looking young man with the wild afro is no longer. Today he sits in a suit almost as fine as the one that Tony is wearing. The curly afro he wore until yesterday is now the typical wavy top, tapered side haircut that the Wall Street brokers sport. Tony has even lent him one of his classiest watches and best briefcases for the occasion.

  “So, you ready, young fella?” Tony asks.

  “I don’t know, man,” the young man admits.

  “What you mean, you don’t know? We don’t deal with doubt. Listen, in my days as an amateur boxer, my trainer told me that most fighters who lose, lose in the locker room long before the fight. If you think you can’t win, you won’t win.”

  Tony plants a comforting hand on the young man’s shoulder. “I know you’re a winner. I saw that in you from day one, and that is why I took you up under my wing. That and you come from good stock.

  “You come from the Banks brothers’ bloodline, so I already know how you built. They don’t breed mutts. When the book writer put his stamp of approval on somebody, I know not to question it because he and his brother rarely stamp anybody. You’re their younger cousin, so y’all share the same blood. Correct?”

  “Yes, sir,” the young man replies. Tony’s speech makes him feel a hundred percent more confident.

  “Now tha
t’s what I want to hear. Remember this… I’m getting old. I’m teaching you everything I know because, when I fall back, I want to feel comfortable that you will hold down the firm. I’m passing the torch to you. You got next.”

  “Mr. Austin, I thank you for this opportunity. I promise you. I won’t let you down.”

  Deep frustration sets on the judge’s face. “Uh, Attorney Austin. We can’t wait any longer. Are you ready to proceed?”

  Without the presence of his client, he hates to start, but his arrogance won’t let him admit he doesn’t know her whereabouts. Tony taps his protégé underneath the table. The young man stands up with all the confidence he has. “Your Honor, my name is Anthony James, I represent, Austin Law Group, who represents the defendant Angelica Hill.” He stands tall and firm.

  “All fine and well,” the judge says. “I see no sign of your client though. Is Ms. Hill present?”

  Ironically at the mention of her name, the double doors swing open wildly. Everyone’s attention is captured by Storm who struts down the aisle, dressed in a classy skirt suit and high heel pumps. The ruffled satin blouse has her looking more like the first lady of the United States than the cold killer that she really is. Storm looks so amazing that the man that she’s accompanied by is barely noticed.

  Tony is the only one who pays notice to the man and knows exactly who he is. The young, Caucasian man is quite shabby in appearance in Tony’s eyes. A traditional Brooks Brothers blue blazer, crisp white dress shirt, beige khakis and turned over Rockport, soft bottoms makes him look like a pauper. His hair is full of curly locks and his face is clean shaven. He appears to be no older than thirty years of age.

  The young man looks to Tony with a viciousness in his eyes. Tony smirks as if he’s a joke. At the sight of this man, Tony has already read the play. Tony has nothing against the man but for some reason he hates Tony’s guts.

  The young man is an up and coming attorney that wants Tony’s spot. He’s only been practicing for a few years, but already he’s been compared to Tony with his relentlessness in the courtroom. The young attorney has climbed the ranks positioning himself as the second best attorney in the state, with Tony being the number one guy. The young man has plans of taking that spot and has told Tony on many occasions. When Tony hears the young man compared to himself, he feels like Michael Jordan does when the younger players are compared to him. He feels with all the work that he’s put in the game of law, there’s no way a kid who hasn’t made his bones should be mentioned in the same sentence. He understands it all though. There comes a time in life when the people get tired of watching the same man win. They will get so tired of the champ’s name that they will be quick to replace him with just anyone.

  Tony smiles as he thinks to himself. “Dirty, bitch,” he mumbles under his breath.

  The young man speaks as he’s walking. “Your Honor, Aharon Levy, I’ve recently been hired as legal representation for Ms. Angelica Hill. May I approach?”

  The judge, the prosecutor and even the court stenographer all look at Tony with disbelief. This can’t be happening to the great Tony Austin. The man digs into his briefcase and hands over documents.

  The judge flashes a smile, loving what is happening right now. He hates Tony so much and loves the opportunity to get one up on him. The judge calls the prosecutor over and they include him on the details of their conversation. At this point, it’s Tony who is the outsider. Still he plays it cool as a fan.

  The judge speaks. “Attorney Austin, can you approach for a sidebar conference?”

  Tony leans back in his seat with his normal amount of cockiness. This is quite surprising to the people, under the circumstances. “Your Honor, I respectfully ask you to read it for the record. As there is no need for a sidebar,” Tony says loud and clear.

  After thinking long and hard, Storm decided it’s at her best interest to find an attorney that she trusts. She feels the way the old man has been acting toward her shows how they feel about her. She feels she would be a fool to have her life in their hands at this point, especially with her not knowing if Mr. Antonelli has told Tony about the incident at his house and her forcing him to sign the will.

  She truly doesn’t believe he would risk his life by telling, but she can’t take a chance like that. After researching the best attorneys in Jersey, this man’s name came up as number two. She already has the number one guy who she hates and doesn’t trust so she feels the number two guy will be her best bet. She’s already paid the new attorney fifty thousand for her defense.

  The entire courtroom is shocked at what’s going on. They are all expecting to see Tony pitch a fit. Tony’s protégé looks to him quite baffled. Tony looks to him and flashes a wink of reassurance.

  “Mr. Austin, I have a letter of representation superseding Austin’s Law Group as representation of the defendant Angelica Hill. You have been dismissed off the case,” he says with satisfaction. “Do you wish to add something onto the record?”

  “Nah,” he replies nonchalantly. “It’s all been said.”

  “Okay, Mr. Austin, you are free to go,” says the judge.

  Tony stands up from his seat and grabs his briefcase from the table. He taps his protégé. “Let’s go.” He looks to the judge. “Have a great day, Your Honor.” He walks over to Storm and her new attorney who are both watching his every move. They are expecting him to be irate, but he’s quite the opposite.

  He places his hand over his brow and salutes the young attorney. He shakes the attorney’s hand firmly. “Good luck.” He looks to Storm. “I wish you well,” he says like the good sport that he is not. Storm rolls her eyes without even a thank you. Tony diddy bops up the aisle with his protégé at his heels.

  * * *

  Minutes later, Tony and his protégé wait in the parking lot for the car. The young man seems to be taking this matter harder than Tony. His head hangs low in defeat. It hurts him to have witnessed his idol crushed in this manner.

  “Mr. Austin, can I ask how you were able to take that loss so well? Like didn’t it bother you that you were fired in front of all those people? I know you saw the smiles on their faces.”

  Tony chuckles. “Young fella, as long as you’re in the game, suited up and prepared to play your hardest, you can never take a loss. Fuck what the scoreboard says,” he says with passion. “In the game of life, we can’t win them all and we won’t win them all.

  “What separates us from losers is our mindset. Losers fear losing and they play with doubt. We play to win, determined to win, but if by chance we don’t, we learn. You win like a man, and you lose like a man. The best part of falling like a true man is the ability to stand back up like a man and still have the respect and honor of the people. More important, to still have respect for yourself. Honestly, I don’t even pay attention to the scoreboard. I just play the game. Let the people on the sideline keep score. That’s what they are there for.”

  The young man sits back slowly sipping on the drink that Tony has dropped on him. The parking attendant pulls up in the black Maserati Gran Turismo Spyder. The car is stopped short right in front of them. The top is dropped, giving all the privilege of viewing the black interior which is piped out in subtle red trimming.

  All the people standing around waiting for their cars watch in admiration. Tony signals his protege to take the wheel. The young man diddy-bops to the driver’s side, trying hard to conceal his excitement. They pull their suit jackets off and place them onto the back seats before getting in.

  Tony looks to the young man who has a spark in his eyes. He feels Tony has passed him the baton. “You like the attention?” Tony asks. “I can see it in your eyes.”

  “I love it,” the young man replies.

  “Get used to it. This is just the beginning.” Tony immediately pulls two cigars from the console and hands one to the young man. After Tony lights the stick for him, he doesn’t hesitate to
spark up his own. He inhales and blows a huge ring into the sky. “A celebration stick,” Tony says with a smile. The young man takes a small but cautious puff.

  “You, young fella, saw it as a loss, but I saw it as her doing us a favor. No doubt in my mind, with us on the case, she would’ve beat the charges, no matter the odds. But to beat that case and have her around to torture my good friend for the rest of his life, who would be the winner? My good friend is late into the last quarter of the game.

  “We are young and fly and we got time to lose and learn. Him, he’s too old to learn. At this late second on the shot clock, he can’t learn from his mistakes. He can only lose. I’m glad she kicked me off the case, so I wouldn’t be the cause of his losing streak and witness his legacy be destroyed by getting blown out in the last quarter.”

  By now the young man is dizzy and drunk from the back to back drinks Tony has dropped on him. He sits back comatose. Tony fiddles with his radio until he finds his selection of music. He raises the volume and Michael Franks’s “Tiger in the Rain” rips from the speakers and seeps into the air as the young man cruises through the parking lot, marinating in the beginning of his own success.

  “He’s a tiger in the rain!” Tony sings along with happiness. Even in defeat, today has been victorious for him.

  75

  11:30 p.m.

  Beeba stands in the hallway of the raggedy apartment building here on Fourth Avenue and Oraton Parkway. The glass front is shattered so badly that she has to peek outside through a small corner of the window. Behind the glass, she looks amazing, dressed in a long white linen dress that accents her curves. On her head, she wears a silk scarf that covers her locks as well as shields her face. The scarf adds a lovely sense of mystique to her exotic appearance.

  A Jeep Cherokee pulls up and parks right in front of the apartment building. Beeba inhales deeply. Today is the day that she’s been dreading. In the Cherokee is Big Face. After many weeks of online chatting, today is the first time they will see each other in person.