“Byron, man,” he said, “I know we said we would do this for you, but damn, nigga. Can we get out of the house sometime or what? This shit is depressing.”
Byron had been drinking a glass of wine to sort of relax. He snickered and nodded his head. “Yeah, niggas,” he said. “Go on and go outside and play or something.” He then tossed his glass of wine into Juan’s face, causing him to press his lips together and close his eyes as the cold, fruity smell coated him.
“Man, you ain’t have to throw it in my face like that,” Juan said, shaking his head as he wiped the wine off of his skin.
“Nigga, shut the fuck up and get on somewhere,” Byron said. “I said y’all could go on somewhere and look at you. Like a couple of dumb niggas, y’all still sittin’ here, lookin’ dumb as a box of rocks. Go on and get the fuck outta here. Just be back by tonight. I’ll stay here and watch the company.” He chuckled. “Maybe I’ll hit up Jackson and Tramar and let Tramar talk to his family a little bit. I know them niggas had betta have my fuckin’ money in a couple days or they gon’ find they dead bodies in some abandoned house somewhere and shit.”
Not wanting to talk anymore, or see Byron get any angrier, Juan and Knight, who both had been dressed since they’d gotten up in the morning, jumped up. They grabbed the keys to the van and headed out of the front door. Byron watched their silhouettes in the curtains as they walked down the sidewalk and disappeared.
He could hear Vivica and Tramar’s father talking amongst themselves in the bedroom. Byron slapped the wall. “Shut the fuck up!” he yelled. “I don’t know what them niggas told you, but y’all can’t talk when I’m here. Shut the fuck up or I’mma come in there and really give you somethin’ to talk about.”
The bedroom went quiet instantly. Several seconds later, however, Byron could hear the stepmother pleading to have her husband taken to the hospital. The beating that Juan and Knight had given the old man was really having a lasting effect. Byron shrugged it off. He just wanted his money. Anything extra simply wasn’t his problem.
After listening to the woman beg and plead for help, Byron figured that she probably wasn’t going to simply shut up. He poured himself another glass of wine as he sat at the dining room table. Wanting to drown out the noise the woman was making, he grabbed the TV remote and flipped through the channels. Seeing that there was nothing good on to catch his attention, he simply turned to the WGN-TV Evening News and set the remote down.
Byron watched the various news reports until a special report cut in. The news network showed helicopters flying over downtown. Police cars were huddled at the entrance of a bank with traffic backed up, literally for miles into the hazy distance. “Shit, what the fuck done happened now?” he said to himself. Byron quickly grabbed the remote and turned the volume up. He listened closely as a pretty, blonde news anchor explained that the White Savings & Trust, in downtown Chicago, had been robbed.
Bryon placed his glass of wine down onto the dining room table then leaned in, looking closer at the television. “Goddamn,” he said, snickering and shaking his head. “Somebody done really did some bold shit and robbed a fuckin’ bank in the middle of downtown. I ain’t never seen no shit like this.”
Byron listened as the news anchor continued on with the story. The robbery took place just before the bank was closing its doors. The two armed men entered the bank at 4:42 in the afternoon. She then detailed, based on the employee statements, that the robbers were dressed in suits with heavy sunglasses as they ordered the bank employees to get all of the money.
The report went on with other details, including supposed eyewitness accounts from people who claimed to have been walking past the bank when it all happened. However, this report was again cut off.
“We now have footage from the cameras that show the two suspects as they were inside of the bank,” the woman said. “Look at these.” Just then, different camera snapshots from inside the bank popped up onto the screen. At first, Byron hadn’t thought much of what he was seeing. However, upon looking at the camera shots for a few seconds more, he noticed that he was looking at more than just a couple of bold black dudes. He was looking at someone he knew.
“Wait a minute,” Byron said to himself, leaning in toward the television screen. “That look like them two niggas, Jackson and Byron.” He paused for a moment, trying to imagine the images on the screen without the big, black sunglasses and suits that were obviously expensive. He slapped his hands together and laughed as he looked at the wall that divided the dining room from the spare bedroom. “Oh shit!” he yelled. “These niggas done really did it now. They done took some money from somebody you can’t run from. Oh shit!”
Byron could hear the woman in the other room, still begging to be freed. He yelled, telling her to shut up before he came back in to pay her a little visit. He then went back to watching the news report. Several minutes later, and after showing the still shots of the bank robbery suspects, the news anchor asked that any viewers who have any information on the possible suspects to please call the Chicago police department at the number listed on the screen.
Bryon snickered at the thought of actually calling the tip line and telling them what he knew. However, he wouldn’t dare do such a thing. The last thing he needed (right now, especially) was to have the police breathing down his neck, wondering how he knew the two guys who robbed the bank. It sure would be interesting to have turned them in. With the number of people Byron knew in the county lock up downtown, as well as in prisons in all three states in the area – Illinois, Indiana, and Wisconsin – he could surely make sure that Jackson and his boy Tramar got the best treatment while being locked up.
As the news moved on to the numerous shootings and incidents of violence on the city’s south side, as the area was known nationwide for this problem, Byron could no longer ignore the whining coming from the woman in the spare bedroom. Pushing his glass of wine further back onto the dining room table, he stood up and went into the bedroom hallway. He smiled as he approached the bedroom door and knocked, knowing that his knock would send ripples of fear through both of his guests’ veins.
Byron grabbed the keys on the table in the hallway and opened the door. Inside, he found Tramar’s father sprawled out across the bed. His wife, as any wife would, was crouched down over her husband. Her eyes darted up toward Byron as he pushed the door open. Byron smiled, looking at how she was still wrapped in nothing but a sheet. Her panties, which he’d ripped off of her yesterday, were still on the floor on the side of the bed.
“Let me get some peroxide or alcohol or vinegar or something, please!” the woman pleaded. “He’s going to get infected with all of these open wounds on his face.”
“Shut the fuck up!” Byron snapped. “I don’t give a fuck about that nigga’s face. He brought the shit on himself. Like I told y’all niggas, if you do what you are told, you ain’t gotta worry about bad shit happening to you.” Byron remembered the way the older man had snuck up behind his boys, striking them in the back of the head. He shook his head. “So, it look like y’all niggas might be here a little longer than we was thinkin’.”
“What?” the woman asked. “What the fuck are you talking about? Why don’t you just let us go? We ain’t got nothing to do with whatever Tramar has gotten himself into. I swear to God, we don’t. We can give you whatever money it is that you want. Just let us go.”
Byron shook his head as he snickered. Vivica’s nostrils flared. Never in her life had she seen a man who was so evil as the man she looked at in the bedroom doorway.
“I heard y’all got a nice house and shit,” Byron said, “but I doubt y’all got the kind of money I’m lookin’ for and shit. Y’all not leavin’ this house until I get my million.”
Vivica’s eyes bugged as she looked away from Byron and down to her husband. When she looked back up, she knew she needed to ask more questions to make some sense – any sort of sense – out of this very messed up and scary situation. “Million?” she asked. “Are you
talking about a million dollars? Huh? A million dollars? Where in the hell is Tramar supposed to get a million dollars from?”
“Well,” Byron said, “I really wasn’t gonna worry too much about that. Them niggas ran up in my house and held a gun to my head while I was naked and just took all of my fuckin’ money. Well, the money I had at that specific house. Where they get the million from at this point, I really don’t care. But, I will tell you this. I just seen the niggas on the news. They gon’ be in real trouble now.”
“What?” Vivica asked, shaking her head. “On the news? Tell me… What did you see them on the news about for? Tell me, nigga. What did you see them on the news for?”
Byron didn’t like when any woman yelled at him, let alone one that should have been grateful that he hadn’t put a bullet into her head yet. Recognizing that he needed to send a message, Byron stepped over to the bed and slapped the woman as hard as he could across her face. She quickly grabbed her stinging face as a tear rolled down her cheek. “Bitch, you betta watch how the fuck you talkin’ to me,” he ordered, pointing his finger at her. “I ain’t gon’ say that shit to you again. You understand me?”
Reluctantly, Vivica nodded her head. “Okay, okay,” she said. “Just tell me what are you talking about? What do you mean you just saw them on the news? What done happened?”
Byron stepped back over to the door and grabbed the doorknob. He looked back at the woman. “Them niggas done really took the wrong person’s money now,” he explained. “I just saw they asses on the news for robbing the White Savings & Trust downtown. It just happened, like not even an hour ago.” Byron began to slowly pull the bedroom door shut. He snickered softly as he did so. “Ooh wee,” he said. “Y’all niggas betta hope that they get my money to me before them boys in blue get to them. If not, y’all may wind up being with me a lot longer than we had planned.”
Just as Vivica was piecing together what this man had said and what it could mean for her and her husband, he’d closed the bedroom door. Vivica wanted to scream at the top of her lungs. However, she knew she’d be putting their lives in danger if she did such a thing. Suffering in silence, she went back to caring for her husband. He clearly was not doing well.
***
Tramar thought that he’d feel somewhat more at ease once they’d gotten back to the motel room with the money. Nothing could have been further from the truth. Thanks to unpredictable and staggering Chicago traffic, it had taken them nearly an hour and a half to get back to the motel. Ayana was pleased with this time, however, and happy that the chaos and confusion of the Friday evening rush hour would have definitely thrown any police officers off of their trail.
The three of them rushed back into the motel room with the money and closed the door. Tramar looked out into the parking lot, the feelings of paranoia practically causing his hands to tremble as he split the curtains and looked out at the motel parking lot and the busy road.
“Okay, we coo,” Tramar said.
“Fuck,” Jackson said. He sat on the edge of the bed and leaned back. “Nigga, that shit was intense.”
“The fuck it was,” Tramar said. He then leaned against the door. For the first time since about 4 o’clock in the afternoon, his heart had slowed down. “Man, I’m just glad that ain’t nobody have to get killed or nothin’.”
“Yeah, man,” Jackson said, standing up. He gave his boy a handshake and a hug. “Man, you was so smooth with that shit.” He then turned to Ayana. “You shoulda seen this nigga. He walked up in there like he done did this shit before or some shit. Everything went just as we planned. If the news even do talk about us for a couple days or somethin’, we gon’ be known as them niggas who robbed a fuckin’ bank downtown and did it all by whispering and shit. You know they prolly pullin’ niggas over left and right, thinkin’ they gon’ find bags of money at the end of the rainbow and shit.”
Tramar shrugged his shoulders and walked over to the bed, looking at the bags. “Oh well,” he said. “Now, nigga. Let’s count this shit so we can see how much we got before we go gettin’ too comfortable.”
“We not gon’ stay here tonight are we?” Ayana asked. “I mean, just in case they do find a way to find us or something.”
“Shit, baby,” Tramar said. “I don’t know yet. Let’s just count this money and see what we workin’ with. Shit, we might have to hit up another bank tomorrow if what the woman told Jackson is true. I don’t care what we gotta do. I just wanna see my family and shit. After that, we can change our fuckin’ names or do whatever. Get passports and shit like white people and go live in some other part of the world or some crazy far out shit like that.”
Ayana looked at the money as Jackson and Tramar each grabbed a bag and emptied it onto the bed. She’d thought that the money that Tramar had shown her from Byron’s house was a lot of money. This money – the bank’s money – was a completely different story. With the stacks lying out across the bed, it literally looked like piles of money. She couldn’t help but smile at the sight of so much money. However, she knew that it was money they all wouldn’t be able to keep and spend on themselves.
“So,” Tramar said. “How is some niggas gon’ count this shit without gettin’ all confused and shit?”
Jackson shrugged, standing up and looking at the bed. “Nigga, I say we just keep this shit simple,” he said. “I say we each just take a pile, count it in a different part of the room so we don’t get confused, and keep track of what we counting. At the end, we add all the shit up to see if we got enough.”
Tramar nodded. “Bet,” he said. “That’s wassup. We can just do that.”
As the three of them grabbed handfuls of straps and went toward different sections of the motel room, Jackson interjected with, “So, what we gon’ do, if?”
“If what?” Tramar asked, wanting to know what his boy Jackson was alluding to.
“What if this ain’t enough money, nigga?” Jackson said. “What we gon’ do and shit if this ain’t enough money?”
“What you mean what we gon’ do, nigga?” Tramar said. “We gon’ go hit up some more of them little banks tomorrow and shit. You ain’t try’na cut out on me now when you the reason my family done got kidnapped and shit, is you?”
Tramar briefly glanced at Ayana, making eye contact with her as the two of them both thought about the inference Ayana had made about Jackson.
“Naw, nigga,” Jackson said. “Nigga, you know I’m your boy. You know I wouldn’t do shit like that, nigga. I know a lot of this shit is my fault ‘cause I fucked up. I was just askin’ and shit so we know.”
“Yeah,” Tramar said, a little skeptical. “Let’s just count this money so we can see what we gon’ do. I hope it’s enough so we ain’t gotta go being serial bank robbers and shit. But if it ain’t, niggas gotta do what niggas gotta do.”
Ayana sat on one side of the bed, using the adjacent nightstand table to count money. Jackson went and stood at the vanity in the bathroom area. Tramar, who counted the fastest out of any of them, sat at the small eating table to the left of the door. For the next twenty minutes or so, the three of them counted their money, quietly saying numbers out loud to themselves. They each started with the larger bills and gradually worked their way down to the smaller bills. Even though this money was not hers and would not stay in their possession for very long, it was still nice to feel the bills slide through her hands as she counted them. She felt like one of those chicks she’d seen in the gangster movies where they had to count money naked in front of a drug pin or somebody like that.
As the three of them got into a groove with counting their respective portions of the bank money, Jackson’s phone vibrated. The three of them stopped.
“Nigga, don’t you answer that shit unless you really have to,” Tramar warned. “Swear to God, don’t answer that shit unless you really have to, nigga.”
“Hold up, hold up,” Jackson said, pulling his phone out of his pocket. Normally, the three of them might not have noticed Jackson’s phone
vibrating, especially when it was sitting across the room. However, with Byron having found out that they had been staying at a motel out in Indiana, and the two of them having just robbed a major bank downtown, there would be no such thing as being too cautious.
Jackson saw that it was Byron calling. “It’s that nigga, Byron, calling,” he announced. “It’s Byron, nigga.”
“Answer, answer,” Tramar instructed.
“Hello?” Jackson answered. He stood up and stood in the middle of the room, holding the phone away from his body as he put it on speaker phone. The three of them looked into one another’s eyes as their nerves trembled.
“Well, well, well,” Byron said, in a voice imitating the evil nemesis in cartoons and movies. “Y’all niggas think y’all really special, don’t y’all? Real special, huh?”
“Nigga, what the fuck you talkin’ about?” Jackson asked. “Nigga, we workin’ on gettin’ your money like you asked. You ain’t gotta kill his family and shit. We workin’ on gettin’ yo money for you.”
“I know you are,” Byron said, snickering. “Oh, I know you are. As a matter of fact, I got a new level of respect for y’all niggas.”
Ayana, Tramar, and Jackson all looked into one another’s eyes. They couldn’t help but wonder why Byron, who even sounded pure evil over the phone, would be telling them that he had a new level of respect for them.
“What you talkin’ about, nigga?” Jackson said, his voice sounding hard. “What the fuck is you talkin’ bout you got a new level of respect and shit for us?”
Byron snickered. “Niggas, don’t try to act brand new with me,” he said. “I ain’t the police. I ain’t the feds. I ain’t out lookin’ for y’all niggas.”
Tramar’s heart instantly jumped. He now knew exactly what Byron was referring to. He shook his head as he clinched his fists.
“Yeah, and?” Jackson said.
When It All Falls Down 2 - Strapped Up: A Chicago Hood Drama (A Hustler's Lady) Page 9
