by Mason Dixon
“Sweet. I don’t have any wheels. Do you mind if we take your car? I’ll kick in on gas.”
“You two sound like you’re planning a road trip,” Dez said. He was going table to table like a host checking in on guests he had invited to a dinner party. “Where are you thinking about going?”
“The Dahlia’s party in New York. Ice invited me.”
“When did he do that?”
“The day you came by the spot and said he wanted to see me.”
Raq got a sinking feeling in her stomach as she stared into Dez’s unsmiling face. Right on cue, Dez said, “Things have changed since then. Before you start making plans for the weekend, you’d better talk to Ice. I think he has a job for you.”
“What kind of job?”
As he slid a toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other, Dez cut his eyes at Bathsheba like he didn’t want to say too much in front of her. “You’ll have to ask him.”
“Is he in the office?”
“Yeah, but make sure you knock first. He had some calls to make, and I don’t know if he’s done.”
“Why you acting like I’m a virgin all of a sudden?” Raq asked with a flash of anger. She crumpled her napkin in her fist to keep from lashing out in frustration. “I’ve been around long enough to know how shit works around here.”
“Hey, don’t bite my head off,” Dez said, backing away. “I’m only the messenger.”
Raq didn’t know what she could say to convince Ice to change his mind, but she was certainly going to try. When she pushed her chair away from the table, Bathsheba rose as well.
“Do you need me to come with you?”
Raq had suspected Bathsheba was the type of person to have someone’s back when they needed her. She looked around her. She had protected every person in this room at one time or another, but how many had come to her aid when she needed help? Just one. And she was staring her right in the face.
“Stay here. I’ll be back in a few.”
Bathsheba nodded and resumed her seat.
Raq tried to get her thoughts together as she headed down the narrow hall that led to Ice’s office. She was glad Ice turned to her whenever he wanted a job done right, but she sometimes wished he’d find someone else he could depend on so she wouldn’t have to be on call all the time. She liked having job security, but she hated not being able to live her life on her own terms. At her own pace. But if Ice did find someone else he trusted as much as he did her, she could go from sharing the load to not bearing any weight at all.
She felt silly by the time she knocked on the office door. She was in no position to make demands on someone like Ice. Not if she wanted to keep getting paid every week.
“Dez said you had a job for me?” she asked after Ice invited her inside.
“As a matter of fact, I do.” Sitting behind a paperwork-strewn desk, Ice looked like any poindexter trying to make ends meet, but Raq knew better. He had so much money in the bank, he could probably live the rest of his life off nothing but the interest.
“What kind of job?”
“Close the door behind you and we’ll talk about it.”
Raq took a seat and waited for Ice to tell her what he needed done this time.
Ice laced his fingers on the pile of paper he had been sifting through. Behind him, a floor safe filled with neat stacks of crisp bills yawned open. There was probably more money in this room than the credit union up the street.
“Thank you for bringing Bathsheba to me. She’s turning out to be everything you said she was.”
Raq didn’t let her head get too big because she could tell there was a “but” coming.
“But she seems too perfect to me. I need to make sure she isn’t hiding something. I want you to check her out.”
“I already did that. I followed her to her job like you asked me to. I watched the shop all day. All they’re doing in there is making copies. There’s nothing shady going on. She goes to work, she goes to the gym, and she goes home. That’s it.”
“I can see you believe she’s on the up-and-up. But before I can be completely convinced, I need you to check out her place. I’ll take her to New York this weekend so the record execs can have some eye candy to look at while we’re doing business. While she’s out of town, search her place to see what you can find.”
“I don’t know, Ice. If it’s eye candy you need, why don’t you take one of the pros? They get paid to be pretty.”
“They get paid to suck dick, but that’s not what I need this weekend.” He scowled at her unexpected resistance. “Do I need to ask someone else to do this job?”
The thought of breaking into Bathsheba’s apartment and invading her privacy made Raq uneasy, but she didn’t want anyone else to take on the distasteful task. They might end up trashing the place instead of leaving it the way they had found it.
“I’m not trying to say I won’t do the job—I’ll do whatever you ask me to do—but what if Bathsheba doesn’t leave town this weekend?”
“A free trip, all expenses paid? She’d be crazy to turn down an offer like that.”
“We were planning to go to New York together. You invited me to the Dahlia’s album release party, remember?” She waited for him to say the invitation still stood, but he remained ominously silent. “Bathsheba might not be willing to go without me,” she said, feeling as lame as the excuse probably sounded.
“Perhaps not, but she doesn’t have a choice.”
From the look in Ice’s eyes, Raq could tell she didn’t have a choice, either.
“Call me when you finish the job,” he said. “I want to know what you find the minute you find it, understand?” He leaned back in his swivel chair. “And don’t worry about your girl. I’ll make sure she never leaves my sight.”
Ice’s words offered cold comfort. Raq prayed her search of Bathsheba’s apartment would come up empty. If it didn’t, Bathsheba’s trip to New York might be the last one she’d ever make.
“Is everything okay?” Bathsheba asked after Raq returned to the table.
Raq couldn’t bring herself to meet Bathsheba’s eye. “Everything’s fine, but it looks like you’ll be going to New York without me,” she said, staring at the scarred tabletop.
“What kind of job does Ice have for you that’s going to keep you tied up all weekend?”
“Nothing I can’t handle.” Raq finally looked up. “He’s got one for you, too.”
“For me?” Bathsheba couldn’t hide her surprise. “What does he want me to do?”
“I wish I knew. He’s waiting to see you in his office. If I were you, I wouldn’t keep him waiting long.”
*
Bathsheba checked each of the bathroom stalls to make sure they were empty. Satisfied she was alone, she leaned over the sink and splashed cold water on her face as she tried to determine if she was about to move up or down. When she entered Ice’s office, he would either offer her a promotion or set her up for a fall. She’d walk out with additional responsibility or get carried out with two bullets in her head.
She stared at her reflection in the mirror as excess water dripped from her chin.
“You’re about to make this case or break it,” she whispered. “What happens next is up to you.”
She dried her face and hands, then threw the wadded-up paper towel in the trash. She wished she could toss her fears just as easily. She was about to come face-to-face with the most dangerous man in Baltimore, and she was armed with nothing but her wits and her instincts. She hoped they would be the only weapons she would need because they were the only ones she had.
She walked out of the bathroom and prepared to face her future, however short it might turn out to be.
“Come in. Come in,” Ice said after she knocked on his office door.
Her gut told her his enthusiastic greeting was a cover for something, but she couldn’t figure out what he was trying to hide. He didn’t suspect her, did he? If he did, he’d be surrounded by armed guards waiting to fol
low orders instead of sitting here alone.
“How are things working out for you?” he asked with an ear-to-ear grin as she sat in the chair he indicated. The chair was hard gray metal, in sharp contrast to the sumptuous leather seat he occupied. “Is everyone treating you okay?”
She started to lie and give him the positive answer he probably expected, but remembering the scene in the locker room before the fight on Friday night, she decided to go in a different direction. “For the most part. JoJo hasn’t welcomed me with open arms.”
As she had hoped, Ice’s smile faltered. His cheerful façade fell as his true nature came shining through. “The individual you just referenced has been excised from this organization. For all intents and purposes, she no longer exists. I thank you not to mention her name again. I don’t like to repeat myself, so we will not be having this conversation again. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, sir.” Bathsheba barked the words as if responding to a request from a superior officer.
“Yes, sir?” Ice asked with a chuckle and a mocking salute. “Are you military, ex-cop, or both?”
“Neither,” Bathsheba said, desperately trying to patch the hole in her cover before it spread. “I don’t look good in camouflage or navy blue.”
Ice gave her an appraising look that made her long for a hot, cleansing shower. “I think you’d look good in just about anything—and even better in nothing at all.”
Bathsheba fought to keep from rolling her eyes. She wondered if he’d used the same lines on JoJo and the Black Dahlia or if he’d saved his best ones for her. “Is that why you called me in here, to tell me to quit boxing and try my hand at one of your other business lines?”
He looked at her as if he didn’t know what to make of her. If she could keep him off balance, she might have a chance to knock him off his perch once and for all.
“You did about as well as could be expected in your first fight,” he said. “You got off to a slow start, but the exciting finish left the fans hungering for more. You could probably make some serious money in ‘one of my other business lines,’ as you put it, but people don’t do well in that line of work without the right amount of desperation. You’re more like Raq: hungry for things you don’t have but willing to put in the work to earn them.”
“My father always said there were three ways to go about getting the things you want. The right way, the wrong way, and the fast way. The wrong way and the fast way are usually one and the same.”
“I assume your father took the right way?”
“No, he took the one that got him killed before he turned forty.”
Ice blinked as if he’d just seen a vision of his own untimely end. “If you want to keep doing things your way,” he said, clearing his throat to cover for his momentary loss of composure, “I don’t anticipate having any problems finding a spot for you on an upcoming fight card.”
“Upcoming? What about next week?”
“Friday’s out of the question. It wouldn’t do for your face to be marked up when I introduce you to my business associates in New York.”
“Why me? I can’t sing or rap. No amount of studio magic could disguise that.”
“I don’t need you to sing. I need you to talk. Unlike most of the knuckleheads around here, you seem to be able to string two sentences together without resorting to the colloquial or the profane. Like me, the people I’ll be meeting with have vocabularies that aren’t limited to ‘fuck’ and its various forms. I need someone who can carry on a conversation and look good doing it. I pick you.”
“Thank you for thinking so highly of me, but I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes. Raq has been working for you a lot longer than I have. Why choose me instead of her?”
“Raq is a dedicated soldier, but she has, shall we say, very specific talents. Talents that might not suit my purposes in one venue but could be put to better use in another.”
He sounded like a chess master dispassionately detailing game strategy. Except in his case, the pieces he was manipulating were human beings.
“Do you need an answer right away?” Bathsheba asked.
“I didn’t hear myself ask a question.”
Bathsheba squirmed in her seat to give Ice the idea his hard stare was making her nervous. “I’m supposed to work this Saturday. I can’t take the day off without getting prior approval from my boss.”
“If you do a good job this weekend, you won’t have to worry about asking him for anything because the only person you’ll be working for is me. You won’t have benefits, but you don’t have those now. Unlike minimum wage, my pay scale is something you could actually live on.”
“What if I let you down?”
“That’s a possibility neither of us wants to consider.”
Threats and intimidation. Bathsheba was pretty sure Ice’s leadership style didn’t match those of the heads of Fortune 500 companies, but it seemed to work for him.
“I’ll send a car to your place to pick you up first thing Saturday morning. The drive shouldn’t take more than a few hours.” He handed her several folded hundred dollar bills. “After you check into the hotel, buy yourself something nice to wear to the party.”
Bathsheba unfolded the bills and fanned them out. “A thousand dollars?”
“You’re going to be representing me this weekend. Buy yourself something that projects a professional image.” He popped the collar on his crisply starched shirt. “Pretend you’re me.”
Something Raq and others like her had been doing for far too long. But if Bathsheba got her way, she would turn him from a role model into a cautionary tale. The person in the Middle East everyone wanted to emulate would become the convicted criminal no one wanted to be.
“See you next week,” he said as she stood to leave.
“You can count on it.”
Chapter Twelve
Raq tugged the hood of her sweatshirt over her head as she watched the black town car pull away from the curb. Bathsheba had just climbed in the backseat and was now being driven to New York, a trip they had planned to take together until Ice’s paranoia got in the way.
Raq didn’t relish what she had been asked to do, but Ice was counting on her. As much as she wanted to, there was no way she could say no. She needed to force her way into Bathsheba’s apartment, take a look around, and report what she found ASAP so Ice could realize what she already knew: that Bathsheba was on their side.
She needed to be fast, but she needed to be careful, too, or she might get caught in the act. Getting caught would fuck up Ice’s plan by calling attention to it and ruin whatever she had going with Bathsheba. She didn’t know if they were dating or just kicking it, but whatever it was felt good and she didn’t want it to stop. A B&E charge would keep her off the streets for a few months, but Bathsheba might never forgive her for the betrayal.
“Focus,” Raq said to herself, trying to get her mind right as she cased the scene.
People were everywhere, some putting a late end to their Friday night and others getting an early start on their Saturday morning. Raq couldn’t do the job now. The block was too busy and Bathsheba hadn’t been gone long enough. If she got it in her head she had left the stove on or something similar, she had time to ask the driver to make a U-turn so she could check the burner. With that in mind, Raq decided to wait until dark. There would be fewer people around and, by then, she’d be certain Bathsheba would be out of pocket for the weekend.
Raq went to Pop’s to work off the anxiety most of her friends depended on weed to ease. Several hours later, after day had faded into night, she slipped out of the darkness and approached Bathsheba’s apartment door. Even though the locks were new, Raq picked them in under two minutes. Not her fastest time, but it would do.
The latex gloves on her hands would prevent her from leaving fingerprints. The tight skullcap over her cornrows would prevent her from leaving DNA. She had watched CSI enough times to know how forensic investigators did their thing—and how to keep from
leaving them what they were looking for.
She slipped the lock picks in her back pocket and took a quick look around before she let herself into the apartment. She didn’t see anyone looking her way. Most people’s attention was split between the dice game taking place on one end of the street and a territorial dispute between two homeless men wielding junk-filled shopping carts on the other.
Raq closed the door behind her and secured the locks that had given Bathsheba a false sense of security.
“Where to start?”
She had to be quick in case someone she hadn’t noticed had called the cops, but she needed to be thorough so she could guarantee Ice her search results were accurate.
She started in the bedroom, the most obvious place for keeping secrets. She searched in the nightstand, in the dresser, in the closet, under the bed, and under the mattress, but she didn’t find anything that wasn’t supposed to be there.
A squat table lamp and battery-powered alarm clock sat on the nightstand. The standard-sized bed was neatly made. Raq made sure the cotton sheets and thick down comforter were as smooth as she had found them.
In the closet, blouses and pants hung on wooden hangers, the clothes arranged by color. Imagining how Bathsheba would look in some of the outfits, Raq ran her gloved hand over the rainbow of fabric. She visually checked out the small selection of tennis shoes, boots, and low-slung heels on the closet floor, then reached for the boxes lining the shelf. Instead of the shoes advertised on the outside, the boxes contained mementoes and souvenirs of a life Raq was able to piece together in less time than it had taken her to break into the apartment.
She headed to the small kitchen next. The cabinets were filled with the usual stuff. Canned goods, cereal, cleaning supplies, and pots and pans. The only thing she found interesting besides Bathsheba’s endless supply of ramen noodles, was a Maxwell House can that contained cash instead of coffee grounds. Bills of various denominations were crammed inside the economy-sized tin. Mostly twenties, but ones, fives, tens, and a few fifties and hundreds, too. Whether it was rent money, a rainy day fund, or something else, Bathsheba was taking a chance having this kind of cash in her apartment. Anyone could find it if they knew where to look.
