Chasing the Dragon

by Tiana Laveen

  Gardenia…

  She threw a couple of them in; they fizzed and turned the waters bright pink. Moments later, she was relaxing in abundant suds and bubbles up to her neck. Slowly closing her eyes, she did what she used to do when she was a little girl—disappear inside of herself, playing a game of pretend.

  Fear filled her as she sank deep in her imagination, but she went ahead.

  I’m a queen on a big, snowcapped mountain. I have my golden staff and I’m looking over my land. No one watches me, no one tells me what to do, no one harms me, no one tricks or deceives me. I’m alone. I’m safe. And that’s my freedom…

  She climbed down the steps and he swallowed his own voice. Speechless. When she went past him, he saw her long, thick braids, which reminded him of silky black jump ropes hanging down the middle of her back, grazing the top of her behind. Her gown, a reddish-purple color, complimented her skin tone and she smelled sweet, her aroma teasing him in just the right way. It was 6:12 P.M., almost time for dinner. His personal chef, Jaspar, had made a simple Caesar salad per his request, buttery rolls, wild rice, and a lemon pepper rotisserie chicken. As they made their way to the dining room, he caught her looking at him through the reflection of several mirrors.

  Her voyeurism came to an abrupt halt when they’d entered the dining room. She practically jumped in surprise when he came behind her and pulled out her chair. It had been a long time since he’d had female companionship in his living quarters. He preferred it that way. Funny how things change in unexpected ways. Looking at him for a spell, she finally relinquished and took a seat. Sitting across from her, he unfolded his thick cream-colored napkin over his lap.

  “Did you enjoy your nap?” he asked, grabbing the bottle of white wine and pouring a glass.

  “Yes.” She didn’t look up at him as she placed her napkin on her lap and smoothed it out.

  “Would you like some wine?”

  She shook her head and looked down at her lap, as if something important lay there. Dinner was a quiet affair, the kind of silence that bred a whole set of questions and musings.

  “I want to know if my cousin is alive,” she finally stated, pushing her food away as if it disgusted her.

  “For now.” He took a sip of his wine, then set the glass down. Several minutes passed, and the room grew darker, colder. “He’ll stay alive as long as he cooperates.”

  “I have a question. Was your original intent to capture him and interrogate him like you did me, or to kill him?” He pushed his plate away and folded his hands on the table. “My objective was to locate him, interrogate him, then dispose of him. I decided to alert the authorities after you and I came to our agreement. It was best for me to remove myself from that aspect of the case, to ensure I wasn’t able to go back and change my mind regarding him.”

  “If he’d been home when you first got to Chicago, what would have happened?”

  “He’d be dead right now.”

  Silence webbed between them once more. Pulling the plate closer again, he resumed eating.

  “You didn’t care to hear what he had to say, did you? You already had it in your mind that he needed to go…”

  “It became painfully clear he was responsible. There would have been no damn reason to draw out the inevitable. Things worked out in another way altogether though.”

  “But you still could have gone and got him yourself and not called the FBI or anyone at all. You could’ve finished what you started. What made you change your mind?”

  “You…” The woman sat back in her seat, crossed her arms over her breasts, and simply glared at him. He took a taste of his wine and cast her a wink. “Let’s discuss something else. I discovered you’re a bit of a music aficionado.”

  She slowly picked up her fork and raked through her lettuce, as if looking for a lone piece of radish that remained to be seen. “How’d you find that out? I’m sure it isn’t top secret that the ‘Spring String’ music store is mine, but I don’t go around broadcasting, either.”

  “Taxes?” He smirked.

  “Amongst other things. I like to keep that separate from my other … endeavors.” She kept her eye on her bowl, seemingly unmoved by his statement. But she had to be a tad curious about the whole thing. “So, you can find out whatever you want about anybody, huh? Just like that?” She snapped her fingers.

  “I have my ways.”

  Her gaze was steely. “You find me interesting, huh? Kind of like some new gadget.”

  “You’re fascinating, true. Don’t you like the attention? You do … you enjoy it when people gawk at you, watch you walk into a room. You like to see the envy in some women’s eyes and the lust in men. That’s power, that’s control. You need it more than air, don’t you, sweetheart? You eat up the responsiveness, right?” He cocked his head to the side and slicked his tongue over his lower lip real slow and easy. “People seeing the novelty of all that is Tiffany?” The woman didn’t answer, but visibly swallowed as she averted eye contact. “Now, let’s get to the reasons why I personally find you intriguing.”

  “Okay.”

  “I love listening to music, almost all kinds. It’s what I do in my free time, the little that I have.”

  “Your dogs are named after major rock and roll bands.” She smirked as she stabbed her lettuce a few times, then shoved a forkful into her mouth. “I’m not surprised.”

  “You are an artist. You can play the guitar and violin. In school, you were in advanced orchestra. In fact, one of your teachers regarded you as a wunderkind, a true talent. You play the acoustic guitar so well, you received accolades in several local periodicals; in fact, you made a name for yourself statewide. So much potential…” How it sickened him to see all that natural aptitude go to waste for a life of temporary pleasure and plenty of sparkly nothing.

  “I haven’t played in years.” She took a bite of her salad, her chewing slow, thoughtful.

  “It’s like riding a bike. You never forget.”

  “How would you know?” Instead of answering, he excused himself from the table. He returned with his electric guitar, a one-of-a-kind orange blossom and midnight black 1959 Gibson Flying V.

  “Oh my God, that’s a—”

  “Beaut.” He grinned as he spun it to and fro. The woman practically salivated as she looked it up and down. For a split second, she appeared to all but forget about her predicament, her cousin hanging in the balance. “You want to see it?”

  “Yes.” That was the first time he’d ever seen her smile … really smile. She got to her bare feet and he placed it in her hands. Running her thumb slowly across the strings, she hummed low, as if falling into a trance right before his eyes. “Where in the world did you get this?”

  “An auction in Tennessee.” She handed it back to him and stood there, staring at the thing lovingly from a short distance.

  “You play?” She pointed to it.

  “Yeah. I wouldn’t say I’m the best player in the world, but definitely not the worst. I can hold my own.”

  “Self-taught, professional classes or what?”

  “My dad taught me. He was a police officer in Nevada and very much into music, too … he was damn good.”

  He strummed the strings, just as she had. The sound vibrated through the air. Placing the guitar against the wall, he took his seat once again and she followed suit. Every now and again, he could’ve sworn she was smiling as she looked down at her plate. They looked at one another a few times across the long table, but neither said another word. He felt a million miles away from her, but somehow, in some special way, the distance had unexpectedly lessened…

  CHAPTER NINE

  …Two days later

  It was a gift…

  Tiffany awoke, lying in bed, thinking about what had been happening, and it made her sick to her stomach. Any brief periods of joy and happiness were short-lived as new and old memories collided and she relived her past time and time again. Her brain became her biggest comforter and worst enemy. In a surprisin
g turn of events, Phoenix had allowed her access to Gable and her mother the previous night. She hadn’t asked; he’d simply told her what he was going to do.

  Then, he’d placed the phone to her ear, and she heard Gable’s voice. He didn’t sound in distress, but he also didn’t know she was on the other end. She soon realized that as she called his name, but he kept on speaking as if he’d not heard a word she’d said. She was allowed to hear him speaking to someone else, proof that he was alive and breathing. Regardless of the kind gesture, she figured out things were even worse than she imagined.

  Gable was being interrogated, as she suspected, but he had no idea of the mental fucking he was about to endure—something brutal, much like what she’d succumbed to. She prayed they’d cut him some slack or they’d break him like a twig. She listened to the men with him, speaking calmly. This was the honeymoon stage, when they’d try to play nicey nice.

  Phoenix made it clear Gable hadn’t mentioned her, at least not just yet. Should he do so, Phoenix had a plan for that, too, but he never shared it with her. He abruptly ended the call when Gable asked, ‘What is that?’ in a worried tone to one of the men in the room.

  In the call to Mama, he dialed the number from an odd-looking phone, no doubt an untraceable one. Of course, he’d know the number by heart—that didn’t surprise her. As she spoke to the woman, she pretended to be on a much-needed hiatus to alleviate her worries.

  Convincing Mama that things were completely copacetic proved easier than she’d initially thought, but things went south when she’d gotten some information from the lady that tore her to pieces. Everything that Phoenix had warned her about was coming to fruition, as in the Book of Revelations in the Bible, for she was now a wanted woman—not by the police, not by her competition, but by the Gangster Disciples. Her home had been vandalized, her hard-earned valuables stolen, and the thieves had absconded with the loot.

  Luckily, her bank accounts remained untouched. She wondered if anyone had managed to get into her safe deposit box before she’d given the information to Phoenix, per their agreement. Hopefully not, for that would seal her fate forever. Coming out of her wayward deliberations, she stretched her limbs and looked towards the window. Abundant sun rays poured in, welcoming her into the dawn of a new day. Rubbing her eyes, Tiffany yawned and got to her feet, then something caught her eye.

  In the corner of the room sat a gorgeous grand auditorium acoustic guitar. She looked up at the camera, then back down at the thing in awe. Making a mad dash across the room, she took it in her hands, unable to break the large smile that spread across her face. She trailed her fingers along the glossy, wooden body, checking out the bridge, turning keys, and rosette. The thing was built to last. Before she knew it, she was sitting Indian style on the bed, strumming it, getting to know its special ways and unleashing its power. Who knew how much time had passed with her also singing, something she hadn’t done in years? This wasn’t her strong suit, but she could hold a note without disgracing herself. The music though melded with the way the instrument felt in her grasp, the two becoming one, a concert of the heart, mind, body and soul.

  She was awakened from her trance by a kick at the door. A shadow appeared behind it, blocking the light. She stared at the slit between the door and the threshold. The man could enter any time he wished; she had no control over his comings and goings. He was the king of the castle in the truest sense of the word.

  “Tiffany…” Phoenix’s deep voice carried to her.

  “Yes?”

  “I’d like to come in.”

  “I’m not stopping you.” The knob turned and he stepped inside. There he was, his beige button dollar shirt hanging partially opened, exposing some hair. A pair of relaxed navy jeans covered his long, muscular legs.

  I hate this fucker for always looking so good.

  The sunlight caught the ocean blue of his eyes just so. In one hand, he held a cup of coffee and in the other, a bagel slathered with cream cheese.

  “You missed breakfast.” She looked at the clock and sure enough, he was right. In fact, it was almost lunchtime. Setting the drink and food on her nightstand, he pulled up a chair, moved it flush with the side of the bed, and straddled it. “I heard you playing the guitar all morning. You’re really good.” His gaze drifted briefly to her fingers before meeting her eyes.

  “I didn’t even hear you come in my room last night to drop it off. Well, I assume it was you, right?” He nodded. “I’m usually a light sleeper but lately that hasn’t been the case. Do you like sneaking around?” She gripped the guitar tight, suddenly hit with a surge of paranoia. She didn’t like how she was beginning to enjoy engaging in conversation with him, looking forward to their chats, to moments when they passed one another in various rooms in the grand house. He had an unnerving tendency to give her these long, intense, bold looks.

  “I like many things, Tiffany.” Her pussy contracted as she observed that shameless look in his eye again. “You call it sneaking it around; I call it business. As far as you being a light sleeper, things change, you know? Sometimes our subconscious isn’t happy with our choices and then when we start to really sit down and think about our lives, our sleep patterns respond to that if it’s something in ourselves that we don’t like.”

  “Who are you? Dr. Phil?” she barked. “I was talking about sleep, not a request to be analyzed.”

  “I disarmed your security system, entered your house, and you didn’t hear me. I sat there and looked at you for over fifteen minutes—that was after going through all of your shit, confirming who you were, and making sure we were alone. I’m not Dr. Phil, but I know a little somethin’ about human nature.”

  “Oh, really?” She looked him slowly up and down.

  “Yeah, you know how to survive in a small bubble. I’m trying to show you how to make it in the big sphere. And another thing,” he said, his lips curved in a grin. “Don’t be so defensive when I’m talking to you about flaws, the cons of life. If that’s a pattern for you, then that’s a weakness.” She casually looked away. “It means your thin-skinned, people with that sort of characteristic don’t get respect; they get ulcers. Besides, it’s unbecoming.” He smirked as he got comfortable.

  “Duly noted.” She couldn’t help but roll her eyes … but her heart beat a little faster at his words that hit too close to home. “How’s everything going? I mean, the information I gave you that uh… you said could help.” The man hadn’t updated her in a while. Did he have what he needed? And if he did, what were his next plans?

  “It’s fine. I took your lead and confirmed the evidence for my new investigation. Interesting.”

  “Evidence for your new investigation? Like what?”

  “That safe deposit box of yours … I got it.” Her heart felt instant relief and panic all at once. There was no turning back now; he had her entire world in his possession. She stifled a yawn, fighting with a pending nap that wanted to take her down or perhaps she simply wanted to escape the feelings, the rush of attraction, the worry, the funeral she’d had for her old life all at once.

  She yawned, unable to control it this time. She’d been so tired as of late.

  “Do you need to rest?” He looked like he really cared. Her left eye twitched like she’d had too much caffeine. The words flowed from his mouth as though coming from someone who loved her, someone who gave a damn.

  Why am I looking at him like this? What do I think I’m doing?

  “No, I think I’m okay. I might have stayed up a little too long last night.”

  “You’ve been sleeping hard ever since I’ve had you in custody, Tiffany. I make my rounds here inside my home early in the morning and late in the day, and it doesn’t seem like you hear me.” His eyes narrowed on her.

  “Maybe you’re just always in stealth mode,” she joked.

  “I know how to make my presence known, and how to stay in the shadows until it’s too late. I’m good at it. But, I’m not hiding my comings and goings around you … Now.
” He cleared his throat, giving her a much welcomed ‘out’. “What was it that you were playing before I came to the door?”

  “The song is called, ‘I Don’t Care’, by Elle Varner. One of my favorites.”

  “You don’t just play very well. You have a nice singing voice, too.”

  She gave the guitar a strum then, pressing it into her gut, rumpling the over-sized Bob Marley shirt she’d slept in. Like that, she began to play a few notes of the song, the final hanging in the air like the last wisp from a blown-out candle.

  “Why don’t you eat?” He pointed to the bagel he’d placed down. “If you don’t want that, lunch is soon.”

  “I’m not hungry.” She set the guitar off to the side and retied the scarf on her head. “Look, I’ve got some questions.” Crossing his arms over his chest, he nodded, as if giving her permission to ask. She jumped on the opportunity without hesitation.

  “How did you manage all of this?” She looked around the bedroom.

  “Manage what?”

  “You know, keeping me here out of harm’s way? What’s going on? And where is your family? Don’t you have a wife and kids?”

  He looked at her curiously, his head cocked, and grinned.

  “I’m keeping you out of harm’s way because that was our agreement. What’s going on? You’re in protective custody at this point, Tiffany, and even if I was going to explain it all to you, things are quite complicated and you knowing the details won’t change anything. In fact, they might just make your sleep patterns all the worse.” He rested his chin upon steepled fingers. “Wife and kids? I’m divorced. I have no children.”

  No wife. Girlfriend?

  “I think I have the right to know the details of what’s going on, even the information you think won’t benefit me in any way. This is my life we’re talkin’ about.” She pointed a finger at her chest. “One minute, you were going to kill me; the next, I’m staying in your home, taking spa baths, being given expensive guitars and fancy foods. You said you were a former DEA agent and now you look over and revise national drug laws. You’re all in the President’s ear about this sort of thing.”