“Is that your answer to everything, kid?”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
“Okay, we’ll see.”
He turned toward me in his seat, with a plan. “See, what we’re gonna do is tell her that they wouldn’t let us leave the mall until we took these very special gifts that they wanted to give the heavyweight champion, Dario Caivano. You’re gonna tell her how they were throwin’ gifts at you, right? And then, I won’t tell her that four chicks followed us to several different stores, trying to . . . you know.”
“That sounds like blackmail! Where do you get this stuff?!”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Too much television, I guess. But no, on a serious note, Dario. Why don’t you have security? Those people are aggressive with wanting pictures and autographs and stuff! I would be lovin’ it! But it seem like a lot,” he observed.
“It can be.”
“So, what about security, then? Maybe Kareem can work for you! He’s huge!”
“So, now you want me stealing your mom’s employees? You’re on a roll, Mr. Severide. All kinds of espionage and deceit going on in that teenage head of yours.”
“Yep, but you do need security. I’m just sayin’.”
“Moving right along,” I said, to change topics. “You coming to Wicked with me, while I get a workout in? I mean, since I had to endure that field trip of yours.”
He ran his hand down a fake beard, before saying, “Well, I was thinking that since there’s no school tomorrow, that Lennox and I could go to Freddie’s and hang out while you did that.”
I laughed out loud. “Of course you were. How much more developing do these teachers have to do? I swear you guys are out of school more than you’re in!”
“I know. It’s just a shame,” Rai stated, sarcastically.
“Dial your mom for me,” I requested.
“She’s gonna say yeah,” he said.
“That’s not why I want you to call her. I haven’t heard from her and I texted—”
“She’s shopping. You think that what you just went through with me was bad? You haven’t really gone shopping with her yet, huh?” Rai shook his head. “I’ll call her, but I promise you she’s still there.”
“I don’t doubt it for one second. Just wanna know that she’s alright.”
“It’s on the way to voicemail,” Rai said, a few seconds later. “It’s probably down in her purse or something.”
After I caved in and took Rai and Lennox to my aunt, Veronika’s, I headed to my intended spot to workout. It still worried me that Chanel hadn’t picked up her phone, nor texted back. I was probably thinking on it too much, it just wasn’t like her. But she was with Tracie, and knowing the two of them, they got to the mall and did some extra shopping. Hell, I had just fallen into the same trap! For sure, she was holed up in a dressing room, trying on outfit after outfit. With that thought, I was able to relax my mind and see the situation for what it was—me being overprotective.
As soon as I pulled into my reserved spot in the parking lot at Wicked, I shot off another quick text to Chanel: “I expect a full fashion show. I already figured out that you’re putting a dent in the credit card. THAT’S why I haven’t heard back from you. Lol. Love you, baby.”
I tucked my cell away and grabbed my workout bag from the back seat. I wanted to go into Wicked and get a real workout and hang with some of the guys for a bit.
I quickly checked my text messages, once again, just to make sure that Chanel hadn’t responded, then got out of the car and started toward the entrance.
“Hey, D.C., how’s it going?”
I had just pocketed my key fob when I looked over to see Tony, one of my best sparring coaches, standing not too far away. Tony was the true definition of, ‘Looks can be deceiving.’ He might’ve been an inch or two taller than Kevin Hart—maybe. He was white with blond hair, a baby face and freckles, but anybody looking to test his manhood, would want to think twice. The man was no joke when it came to throwing punches. I had seen him in action a few times and knew, with absolute certainty, he could make a name for himself in the boxing world.
I proceeded in his direction, giving him a bro-dap when I got to where he was. “I’m exhausted, bro. That’s how it’s going.” I laughed out loud, after the words were spoken, realizing just how true the statement was.
“Exhausted? What wore you out?” He released an instant guffaw. “Or should I say, who?”
“Ha ha! Humor, huh? Well, it’s not what you think. I just came from mall-shopping—with a teenager.”
Tony held up his hand and nodded his head. “Say no more. I got a pair of ‘em at the house—twins, at that. So, I feel your pain, man.”
We were mid-laughter and had just opened the front doors, when my cell phone rang. I was sure that it was Chanel, calling to laugh at the text messages, and admit that she’d bought out the mall. But, when I was finally faced with the display, I saw “Q” pop into view.
“S’goin’ on, Q?” I asked, after accepting the call.
“D.C., man, where are you right now?” Quinton asked. There was a strong presence of urgency in his voice. He sounded on edge.
“What’s going on, Quinton?”
“Where are you?” he pressed.
“I’m at Wicked. Why? What’s up? Why do you sound like some shit is way wrong?”
“I need you to meet me right now in San Francisco. How quick can you make it happen?”
“What am I coming to The City for?” I asked him. Not that I wouldn’t jump for my boy, but I did want to at least know what it was I was about to get myself into.
Tony turned around in my direction, probably because he heard the peak in my voice. “You good?” he mouthed.
I nodded, in his direction, and signaled with my hand that I’d call him later, as I rushed back out the door I had just walked in minutes before.
“Man . . . Q, you gotta give me somethin’ to go on. This shit sounds crazy.” I hopped in the driver’s seat of my car and quickly started the ignition. “Where, in The City, am I coming to?” I asked, while backing out of the driveway and rushing down Harbor Bay Parkway.
“I need you to come to the Westfield Mall. I’ll be waiting for you on the second floor of the parking structure.”
“Parking structure?” I queried, confused.
“Yeah . . . second floor.”
“Alright, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Just make sure—”
“Wait, Q,” I said, stopping him mid-sentence at the sound of my other line beeping. “Hold on for a minute. Actually, this may be Chanel. I’ll just see you when I get there.” I disconnected the line and took the call.
“Hel—”
“D.C., where you . . . uhhh . . . where you at, man? I need to . . . uhhh—”
“Wayne? Shit, I thought this was . . . never mind. I’m on my way to San Francisco. What is it?”
First Quinton and now Wayne asking where I was. I didn’t know what was up with these dudes. Maybe today was just a day for everybody to be sounding like the world was coming to an end. Whatever it was, Wayne was going to have to wait.
“To The City? Wh-wha-what are you—?”
“What the fuck are you stuttering for, Wayne?!” I yelled, in frustration, still pissed at him for that sneaky-ass move he pulled the other day at his house. “I don’t have time for this shit right now!”
Quinton already had me heading to the unknown, but my loyalty to him didn’t allow me to do anything but what he asked me to do. But now, here I had Wayne on some cryptic-ass shit at the same goddamn time.
“Man, some shit is in progress and I’m not sure—”
Just then, my line clicked, again. This time, I was at a light, so I had a chance to see that it was Quinton calling me back. I figured that he was calling to see how far away I was.
“Let me call you later, Wayne. I gotta take—”
“D.C.! D.C.! This can’t wait until later!” he proclaimed, desperately.
“What the fuck
do you mean it can’t wait?! You and this shit! It’s gonna have to wait. I already told you that I—”
“Dario . . . it can’t wait.” He paused for a few seconds; all the while, my line was clicking. “I think something has happened to—”
“Dude! It’s gonna have to wait!” I yelled.
All the stuttering and pausing was pissing me off, and I needed to get to Q to see what was up with him. Wayne was every bit of a confusing-ass distraction, so I disconnected him and continued on my way.
CHAPTER 24
Dario
I didn’t regret hanging up on Wayne. Nor did I regret letting the other four, back-to-back calls from him after that, go to voicemail. Everything seemed like a situation to him lately, and I was getting tired of it. When things settled, I had plans to meet up with him so that we could have a man-to-man about what was going on. Because it was definitely something. His behavior, since I announced my retirement, had gotten to a point that made me question who he was at times. Money did funny shit to people, it seemed.
Out of the blue, I began to feel uneasy. Real uneasy. My thoughts went from hanging up on Wayne, to Quinton, and why I was furiously speeding up a ramp right now trying to find him. I put my pedal to the metal, gunning the gas, hoping like hell nobody got in my way on the way up.
Why the hell would I be coming to yet another mall—in the same day?
The thoughts were burning my brain cells. Why in the hell would Quinton call me to a mall with so much urgency in his voice and not tell me why? But then, I dismissed all the burning questions because since when did we ever have to tell each other ‘Why’ we needed the other? We just showed up. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right, though. It had to be something serious.
Then, like a bolt of lightning, the thoughts I’d just relaxed on were upon me, again! I hadn’t heard from her in hours.
Chanel went to the mall.
Is that why I’m here?
Did something happen to her? Stop with the crazy thoughts! I told myself.
She’s fine. It has nothing to do with her.
But I couldn’t control the nerves. The closer I got to where I was to meet Quinton, something in the pit of my stomach had me feeling a type of sick that I had only ever felt once before. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but I was scared as shit.
Once I reached the second floor of the structure, I was forced to slow down due to some activity taking place yards ahead. I continued inching forward . . . at least as far as I could, without being turned back.
Everything was happening in fast motion: Cops in uniform, a few in plain clothes, police cruisers, a canine unit, yellow tape, and onlookers, trying to see what the situation was. Going any further was prohibited by the fact that officers had lined the immediate area.
Shit. What the fuck? I sighed, as I looked around at the energy.
As I was about to call Quinton to see if I was in the right place, he rang my phone.
“I’m here—”
“Yeah, I see you,” he said. “Look directly ahead of you,” he instructed.
When I did, I saw his hand in the air, flagging me toward him. I backed into a space that wasn’t actually a parking space and hopped out to head his way. At the same time that I was walking to where he was, over his shoulder, I thought I spotted Tracie. At least from a distance, it looked like her. A thick lump formed in my throat, instinctively prompting me to look around for Chanel.
Mall . . . hold on . . . my chest began to implode, beating violently against my chest. It was suddenly really hot, and I found myself taking off my top layer shirt and slinging it over my shoulder.
That is Tracie! Why is she here but Chanel isn’t?!
I pulled my phone from my pocket to dial Chanel, but then stopped, when I got a closer look at what was happening.
“Hold on, D.C.,” Quinton said, when he made it to me. “Stop for a second.”
But my eyes were on Tracie. A few yards ahead, she was talking to a cop and she looked to be having some sort of meltdown.
“Hold on for what, Q?! The fuck! Where is Chanel?! I see Tracie, but where is Chanel?!”
“That’s why I—”
I looked away from Tracie and at Quinton, who stood right in front of me. “What the fuck is going on, Quinton?!”
“Dario . . . listen to me, man,” Quinton pleaded.
Ignoring him, my eyes darted around, in panic and fear. I spun around, taking in as much as I could, looking for signs of Chanel. I felt like I was choking on emotion. My heart was pounding out of my chest, as the worst of the worst thoughts began to attack my psyche. The yellow tape! The fucking police!
“Did that mutherfucker, Tyler, do something?!” I hollered. He was the first person that came to mind, with all the bullshit that he’d put Chanel through when we first got together. “I knew I should’ve fucking killed—”
“Shhh! D.C.!” Quinton hissed into my face. “It’s not that. Let me tell you what I know, man,” Quinton said, trying to reel me in and get my attention.
“That’s my baby’s car! Where the fuck is she?! Tracie!” I yelled, as the police officer that she was talking to turned in my direction. Before I knew it, I’d grabbed Quinton by the front of his shirt and was pushing against him. “Where is she, Q?!”
“Sir!” I heard from either side of me. Immediately after, I felt the aggressive pull away from Quinton, as they sought to restrain me.
The look on Quinton’s face said more than I was ready to accept. His eyes were darker than usual, and his jaw was tightly clenched.
“Q! Talk to me, man! Please!” I begged, unapologetically. Pride had no place in this moment. “Where is she?!” I charged. “Tell me where the fuck she is!”
I was in a blind rage, trying to fight my way out of the two idiots’ grasp on me. “Sir, you need to calm down!” one of them ordered.
I turned to him, and with clenched teeth, told him, “I’m calm. Let me go. Now.”
I wanted to floor them both, but I knew doing that would land me in cuffs, with no answers. At that instant epiphany, I simmered, as quickly as my anger and confusion would allow. All I knew was that if anything happened to the woman that I had come to love more than life itself, there would be hell to pay, and deadly consequences. I would, for sure, end up in a maximum-security facility.
“Come on now, let him go,” Quinton reasoned, on my behalf.
The officer talking to Tracie turned around and signaled for the two cops to release me. Tracie’s cries became loud, frantic. She quickly turned away, as though she was unable to face me.
“What happened?!” I demanded, talking to anyone that had the information.
“Mr. Caivano, I recognize you,” one of the officers on the scene said. “Do you have a direct connection to the missing woman?”
Missing . . .
Missing . . .
I have to be in a bad dream. This has to be a mistake.
“Mr. Caivano,” he repeated. “Did you hear—?”
“He has a direct connection to her,” Quinton answered, now standing right next to me. Even as close as he was, his voice seemed far away, as I struggled to process fact from fiction. “She’s his fiancée,” he revealed.
I watched, in a daze, as the officer flipped a page on the little-ass writing tablet he had in his hand. “So, the missing woman is your fiancée. I’m sorry. We’ll do everything we—”
“The missing woman?!” I roared, the devastating reality setting in. “She has a fucking name!”
“D.C., calm down, man,” Quinton urged, placing a hand on my shoulder.
“What the fuck do you mean calm down?!” I yelled. “I can’t calm down! How the fuck am I supposed to do that?!” I stared dead in my friend’s eyes, looking for answers that I knew he didn’t have, couldn’t have. “I’ll calm down when I find out where the fuck Chanel is!”
I felt numb. My heart was the only thing I felt, as it beat in a rage on the inside. But I didn’t feel shit else. Regret
and anger set in. It shouldn’t have taken me so long to call her! I was texting and waiting to hear back! I should’ve known something was wrong when she didn’t text back! I should’ve known! It’s not like her to not respond!
“Dario! I’m so sorry, Dario,” Tracie said, as she sobbed, uncontrollably. “It . . .” she hiccuped. “It . . . just . . . It just happened s-s-s-sooo fast. It was so fast! I’m so s-s-sorry!”
I couldn’t even look at her overflow of tears, the obvious devastation in her demeanor. I couldn’t. I wasn’t ready to bear witness to sadness and remorse, when I was filled with my own range of emotions. I couldn’t forgive Tracie or give her the approval she sought, when she stood there untouched, unharmed, and safe. She was perfectly intact. Yet, Chanel’s fate was still undetermined.
A man’s voice, talking to me, snapped me from my misplaced focus.
“Sir . . .” he started. “From everything we know, your fiancée had just finished shopping and was on her way to her car when another vehicle pulled alongside her and forced her inside . . .”
Forced her. Forced her.
Somebody put their hands on her.
I saw red. I saw a constellation of roaming stars, floating around before my eyes, as his voice came back into focus.
“. . . Right now, we only have the color of the vehicle and possible make and model. We have someone speaking with Risk Management right now to obtain surveillance. We’re hoping . . .”
They put their hands on her.
They touched her—aggressively.
They took her!
I didn’t hear a goddamn thing that the detective was saying anymore. Somebody had to die. Some bodies had to drop. Slow and fucking painfully, they had to motherfucking die! And somebody would die for this. That was one thing I knew for certain. Everything they’d done from start to finish was in complete violation! The fact that they’d trespassed on my territory . . . was a huge problem.
“I’m sorry that this is happening, but rest assured, we are doing everything we can to make sure that—”
Mid-sentence, I walked away from the officer and, in a daze, proceeded toward my car. There was nothing that law enforcement needed to tell me. Not shit.
In the Ring 2 Page 11
