Silence filled the air space between us.
Ralph exhaled heavily. Wrote on a piece of paper. Slid it across his desk to me.
I read: dollar sign, one, zero, zero, zero, zero, in cash. Then responded, “Cool.” Mentally he was slower than I’d thought.
“There is one way, I will give you control,” he finally agreed.
Everybody in my town had a price. Most would do more for a lot less. Slapping my hands together, I smiled. “My brother. You are the man. I’ll have that in your hands at the end of the thirty days.”
No way I was paying him up front. For what? Ralph had just entered the big boys’ league and didn’t know it. My dad was going to have Ralph’s head on a chopping block, but that was not my problem.
Ralph countered, “Half now. Half later.”
“Cool. Let’s see this set up all the way through first,” I said, knowing he wasn’t getting a dime. Not now. Not later.
Dallas tapped on the glass. Before they entered the office, I told Ralph, “That’s my crewe outside the door. Make it happen and I got you, but you have to keep this shit between us, yeah.”
Dallas sat to my right. Kohl on my left.
Ralph regained his professional posture and greeted them. “Welcome, gentlemen. I’m Ralph Leimert. The investment account is set up. All I need is your deposit and your signature.”
Anxious to make my next move, I assumed a poker face.
“Investment? Who said anything about investing?” Dallas held his cashier’s check firmly in his hand.
“I don’t know,” Kohl replied. “That might actually be a better idea. We invest in something safe. Winner takes all of the interest and we each get our initial back in thirty days.”
Dallas nodded.
“Not enough of an incentive,” I insisted. “Plus, Trymm’s not here and his money along with mine is already deposited. But we can discuss that as an option and convert the account later, if agreed.”
I wasn’t changing shit!
“That’s true,” Ralph agreed. “Let me add you guys on. Driver’s licenses, please.”
My banker keyed in the information, handed Dallas and Kohl back their identification, along with their deposit receipts, and copies of their executed documents.
I confirmed, “I’ll give Trymm his package today and have him come by tomorrow with his ID and sign-off.”
“Great, gentlemen. Enjoy the rest of your day,” Ralph said.
Dallas paused in the doorway. “Y’all know I don’t have any other friends. Don’t let this shit come between us”; then he walked out.
“I second that,” Kohl said before he left.
I was the only one left sitting with Ralph. “How soon will I have access?”
“Immediately. But keep in mind, if they set up online, they can view the balance at any time.”
“Shit, bro. Why’d you add that feature?”
“It’s automatically included,” he said. “Long as they don’t sign up, it won’t matter.”
That nigga inserted a snag in my protection plan. I could make a move, but not without the crewe potentially knowing. “Find a way to block that feature. I’m out.”
As I stood in the lot by my BMW, my cell rang. No Caller ID registered.
I answered. Remained silent.
“Hello, Mr. Roulet?” she said.
“Yeah. That’s me.”
“Is this Mr. Blitz Einstein Roulet?”
“Bitch, yes. What’s up?”
“This call may be monitored for quality-control purposes. Your account is two months delinquent. If it’s not brought current by the second of next month, we may start the foreclosure process. When can you bring your account current?”
I knew the rest of her spiel. Payments were contractually due on the first of each month. Late by the second, not the fifteenth. The extra days to pay was a privilege, not an entitlement.
“I’ll bring it current in thirty days. Please stop harassing me.”
“Can you make one pay—”
I hung up on that bitch.
CHAPTER 48
Blitz
Day 1
Trymm parked in front my home, lowered the tinted window of the black Benz he got a year ago. His GLS, Ferrari, and his Range Rover were paid in full before he drove them off the lot.
Digging in my back pocket, I approached the passenger side, handed him an envelope with his deposit receipt inside, along with documentation verifying the balance in the account with each of our names on it. I’d left inside the additional paperwork that benefited only me.
Trymm ripped the seal, peeped inside. “This kinda light. Where the rest of the deets?”
“Nigga, don’t get new over a bet you’re going to lose. Oh, text me a copy of your driver’s license. My banker, Ralph, needs it for the file,” I reassured him.
“Fuck that. I’ll drop by the bank early Monday to make sure everything is in order. I’ll give it to him then,” he said.
“I got a few female intellects lined up while you . . . at work.” I smiled, flashing my stopwatch in his face. Pressed START. “Your ass late, bruh.”
Then I lied and told him I’d run into his ex, but truth was, I was hooking up with Atlantis tomorrow.
Turning off the water hose, I texted my bartender friend at Tre-nasse, Reserve two seats at the bar for me. Omw for lunch finished sprinkling my front lawn before going inside to shower.
Checking my cell, he’d replied, np.
* * *
Being the son of Henry Roulet afforded me perks at all the five stars in the NOLA. Valet-parked my ride. Strolled through a sea of beautiful sistahs.
“Haven’t seen you in a while, Blitz,” the bartender said. “You want your usual?”
“Two glasses of water for now,” I answered. Had to pace myself. Reel in the right woman.
“Here you go.”
Resting the seat next to me against the counter for whoever appeared an easy lay, I watched women gather in groups. Some had more swing in their hips than others. I’d hold out for the loner. She was generally the easiest to persuade to bed.
I placed one glass in front of me, the other by the empty chair. As the bartenders began taking orders, the only available of the eight spots at the bar was the seat next to me. That was exactly how I wanted it.
Quenching my thirst with a sip, I chilled.
“Excuse me.” A friendly voice resonated in my ear. “Is this seat taken?”
Glancing back at her, I saw she wore fitted jeans with slits at the knees, a T-shirt tight enough to be a second skin. Her hair was in a ponytail. That was okay. What wasn’t kosher was her hair was matted.
It was a definite lie of “Yes. My girlfriend is on her way.”
Turning in the opposite direction, at a ninety-degree angle, I noticed a plus-sized, curvaceous woman heading in my direction. She stood behind the stool, placed her hand on her hip, stared at the glass of water. Sliding her sunglasses to the top of her head, she glanced around the room as though she was looking for someone, then picked up the menu.
Extending my hand, I said, “My name is Roulet. What’s yours, sweetheart? Can I buy you a drink?”
I wasn’t so down on my finances that I couldn’t pick up tabs on credit cards, I’d planned to pay off by the first. My balances were thousands here and there, five figures to satisfy my delinquent mortgage and car notes. My declining stocks, I’d have to take an “L” to trade.
“Looks like someone is sitting here,” she said, eyeing the glass.
“You are.” I handed the water to the bartender, pulled out the stool for her, extended my hand, reintroduced myself.
A fresh glass of water appeared without my asking.
“I’m Lema. Lema Harrison,” she said, sounding as though she were running for office. Placing an oversized designer handbag on the countertop next to the wall, she tugged the hem of her thigh-length dress.
Really? “Are you related to”—I wanted to say “the notorious,” but didn’t
—“the Harrison brothers?”
She smiled. “Don’t be scared. I’m harmless. I’m their baby sister.”
Let the games begin!
Lema seemed sweet, but she couldn’t possibly be harmless with her family’s history. Drive-bys. Murders, with an s, by execution. Drug trafficking. The eldest brother was awaiting trial for beheading someone that had allegedly cheated him out of a dollar. The other brothers were known for putting hits on witnesses that were scheduled to testify against their brother. Already I was on track to eliminate my competition. Lema, minus her affiliation, was undoubtedly Kohl’s type. A little intimidation to minimize his count, throw Kohl off his game, was all I needed.
“Give this lovely lady, Lema, whatever she’d like. And I’ll have a Hennessy on the rocks.”
“I’ll have the same,” Lema ordered, “and a dozen oysters on the half shell.”
“Make that two dozen,” I said, imagining a thank-you was coming from her any moment. Not.
I spoke to the woman on my right. She glanced at Lema, looked at me, turned away without responding.
“That was rude,” Lema said. “Let that bitch do it again. I dare her.”
Defusing the situation, I told Lema, “You know you women are catty like that. See another woman and automatically assume we guys are in a relationship.”
Lema ordered more food. Thought she was done.
One hour, four cocktails, conversation, and twenty-four oysters later, felt comfortable enough to present my proposition. “I have two hundred dollars in your hand right now if you help me play a trick on one of my boys.”
She hunched her shoulders. “Cool. Do I have to fuck him?”
I nodded.
Another round followed by a salad with grilled chicken was placed in front of her. “Five hundred,” she demanded.
This was an investment. “Four?”
“Let me see a pic.” Swallowing, she said, “Deal. Now give me the deets.” After she slid her leafy greens aside, her hamburger arrived.
“He owns a hookah slash strip club on—”
“Let me see that pic again,” Lema interrupted. Her smile was wide. “Kash In and Out in the East. That’s Kohl.” She squirmed on her seat.
I smiled. “Okay, you’re familiar. The owner is my crewe. Be yourself, but put it on him real nasty. Then have your brothers scare the hell out of him. Threaten to do him in . . . but don’t take it that far.”
“Gotcha. This will be fun. I would’ve done him for free, but the deal is done. Where’s my money? All of it.” She extended her hand.
I counted four $100 bills into her hand. My cell rang. A number, no name, registered. I sent it to voice mail.
“I got you. Tomorrow night,” she confirmed, eating the remainder of her fries like she was in boot camp. “Nice meeting you, Roulet. Lock in my number.”
Damn, I’d almost forgotten to get her digits. I gave her mine. Lema left. The bartender cleared the empty dishes.
I requested, “Two more glasses of water, man,” then tilted the chair.
Sitting alone, I searched social pages for Trymm’s ex, Atlantis. Came across her profile. DM’d her, How you doing, Atlantis? Looking good.
Wow! Strange hearing from you. How’s my guy? she replied.
You have time for a cocktail tomorrow. Polo Club Lounge? 3:00 p.m.? I had to get all the specifics out.
She replied right away, Sure!
Cool. CU 2mrw. I set my cell on the bar.
Two down. One to go. Have to create a distraction for Dallas.
A cutie suited in a light blue blouse, navy pencil skirt, and closed-toe pumps approached the bar. “Please sit here. The person just left.”
She smiled. “Thanks.”
Time to make her palate and her panties wet. Figured if I got one-point-five lays a day, my numbers would be legit, and no matter how many drawers dropped for Clydesdale, I had something that was going to put his dick six feet under.
“You from here?” I asked her, then told the bartender, “Put whatever she’s having on my tab.”
“Who says chivalry is dead, huh? You’re kind,” she said, then ordered. “I’ll have a mojito and a cobb salad.”
In a friendly tone I inquired again, “You’re from . . . ?”
“Washington. Seattle. And you?”
“Here. Native.”
The first thing out of her mouth was “I hope Katrina didn’t leave you and any of your family members stranded on a rooftop. The footage was horrible. I couldn’t imagine. Did you lose everything?” An eatery setup followed by a black cloth napkin, which was spread in front of her, didn’t silence her monologue.
“Was your home underwater? Did you have to sleep in the Superdome? Did you leave town before the flood?” A large bowl was placed in front of her. Dressing on the side.
“Bartender, give me the check,” I said. “We’re done.”
“Oh no! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. Bartender, please give me the check. And whatever he wants is on me.”
In that case I’d listen a little longer. “That’s extremely considerate. Thank you.” I ordered, “I’ll have a Hennessy, my brother.”
Although Katrina had hit more than a decade ago, people who’d never lost everything didn’t know what to feel for New Orleanians. I understood her compassion, but if she were a chatterbox, I might have to stick my dick in her mouth.
Lalita, Dallas’s mother, was the closet person I knew that had died in the aftermath. Hard for D to have real closure when they’d never recovered his mother’s remains. What if she was alive in a nursing home with memory loss? Or somewhere in a coma? Dallas had never mentioned that, nor would I ever bring up no shit like that.
Lots of people died due to grief, stress of losing their loved ones and their property. The government and insurance companies were the real assassins. With my dad being a politician, I cashed out better than most. Bought expensive purses and jewelry for females. Gambled at the casino, trying to hit the jackpot. When I won the bet, I wasn’t fucking up again.
Taking advantage of the woman seated next to me, I said, “We’re better now. My parents are back to work.” They’d never had time off. Mom was an oceanographer. The demand for her field had increased. Dad was taking calls from his constituents around the clock. “I finally restored my house off of St. Charles Avenue.” That was true.
Her fork was midair. Eyes wide. “You own one of the historical haunted homes?”
Historical, yes. Haunted, hell no! Black people didn’t cohabitate with dead people. I nodded. “You should see it. When are you leaving?”
“Tomorrow afternoon,” she said.
“Say, dinner. Tonight. Seven. My place.” I’d offered little in exchange for what I wanted from her. “Excuse my manners, I’m Roulet. What’s your name?”
She had the most brilliant smile. “Aurora. And I accept your invitation. Here’s my number. Text me your address.”
I locked her in. “Crawfish are out of season. You’re not supposed to eat oysters in a month that doesn’t have an r, though we natives do it all the time, but I try to only do the flame-broiled ones June to August, inclusive. I’ll get you some blue crabs, make a jambalaya, and pick up a doberge cake from Gambino’s.”
“Oh, you’re handsome and you can cook? I’ll bring the wine,” she insisted, then handed the bartender her credit card, closed out our tab (and Lema’s) without X-raying the bill. “I have to get back to my conference. Great meeting you, Roulet.”
Aurora exited the bar. A woman dressed in fitted slacks, a buttoned-up, long-sleeved shirt, with the top three buttons undone, sat next to me.
I told the bartender, “Put whatever she’s having on my tab.”
She frowned. “Thanks.”
“Hi, my name is Roulet. And you are?”
CHAPTER 49
Blitz
Day 2
“Bruh! That’s my space,” he said, jumping down out of his 4x4. Brother man left his engine humming and his door open.
Stood six feet in front of me, pulled up his pants. In one continuous motion, they fell below his waist. His car blocked mine in, as if I gave a damn about him, the upper and lower gold grills in his mouth, his black wifebeater, rope chain, or his sagging jeans. What the fuck was the belt for? Needed to snatch it off of him and beat his ass the way my dad did me growing up.
Wasn’t about to get into a fight over a spot. Wasn’t moving my BMW. Wasn’t explaining that I’d circled each floor of the garage four times. Clicked my remote, locked my doors.
“Nigga, you leave, trust and believe your shit gon’ be missing when you get back,” he said, sucking his teeth. “You know who I is, nigga?”
On that “is” note, I was done wasting my time.
I’d worn a nice short-sleeved, buttoned-down white shirt, blue tailored slacks, navy leather loafers, no socks. My platinum diamond-face wristwatch was my only jewelry. Got a fresh haircut this morning for my face-to-face with Trymm’s ex-girlfriend.
“Nice Rolex, nigga. Let me hold it,” he said as though we were familiar, then slid his tongue inside his upper lip.
My heart pounded against my chest worrying if I were about to get jacked during daylight. The closest couple and the elevators were approximately one hundred feet away. The one thing I didn’t do was doubt that this dude would make good on his threat in reference to my vehicle, but I was not taking off the sentimental graduation gift my parents had passed on to me from my grandfather’s collection.
A dude in the passenger seat—damn near looking like dude’s twin—got out, twisted his hand sideways, pointed the barrel of a gun at me. “What’s taking you so long to unleash the fucking watch?”
Should’ve left when the first guy accosted me. Now there were two. Used my peripheral to view my surroundings. I was from a generation that respected their elders. These teenagers were on some “I don’t give a fuck about nothing and nobody” bullshit.
Texted Atlantis, Running fifteen minutes late.
Head Games Page 24
