Chapter Text
RHEA
“Rhea you been smiling and joking a lot lately, girl. I don’t know what-or who-it is, but I like it. Reminding me of how you were when you first started working here.”
Wanda, my shift manager, twirls around in her chair watching me, her glasses low on the bridge of her nose while I finish my end-of-shift notes.
I’m ending a 12-hour shift in the neonatal unit and I’m tired. My feet hurt. We lost a baby today whose mom couldn’t shake her drug habit long enough to make sure her daughter didn’t come into the world addicted to heroin. That was hard, for the mother, the other nurses, for me. I lit a candle in the chapel and said a prayer for the mom and the baby. For my baby who I’d lost 6 years ago.
But Wanda’s right. I have been smiling more, and I’m smiling a lot right now because I know who’s dressed in all black, waiting in the parking lot for me while my shift ends.
“What are you talking about Wanda? I’m just glad to get off my feet and have the next 3 days off.” I smile brightly into her face, the older woman’s eyes travelling up and down my body appraisingly.
Wanda clicks her tongue and speaks in the Jamaican patois she uses whenever she’s switching from being my manager to my friend. “Yah cyaah draw card pan mi. Yah might fool sum body nah mi.” She frowns a bit, her glasses slipping down further, switching back to English, “Only one man made you smile like that before.”
Wanda’s been in my life since I was a new nurse 12 years ago, just graduating from Wayne State University. She taught me everything I know about nursing and watched over me and the other young nurses in work and life. She watched me fall in love, get married, have Marcus, and had a standing Thursday afternoon coffee date with me for years after I quit to be a full-time wife and mom. She gave me my job back when I came to her, newly divorced and needing to start my life over without Christopher.
She’s one of the many people in my life who only know my ex-husband by his government name and don’t know the source of his wealth and influence. She loves me and knows me well enough not to have ever asked. She's not dumb though.
With my mom down in Chicago, Wanda helped me heal after my divorce and maneuver being a newly single mom of a small child. She’s been a true friend, giving me advice, hugs, and Jamaican food to take home for Marcus when I’ve been working multiple shifts. So the look she’s giving me now makes me reach out to reassure her. “I’m not fooling you. It’s just new. But I’m happy.”
Her face softens, a tinge of reproach under the love, “Just be careful gyal. And tell him not to send all those pink roses every week to the hospital this time around. They caused too much of a distraction. I don’t need that headache.”
I smile and shrug on my coat. Of course she knows who it is. She’s talking about Christopher and the dozens of pink roses he used to send to my job every week when we first started dating. “Don’t worry. It’s not like that.”
Wanda scoffs, slides her glasses back up her nose, and swivels back around in her chair to face her computer screen. “You’re batty if you don’t think that man nah ready to post that big pink diamond back on yah fingah gyal. He been just waitin for yah to take him back.”
I bend down and hug her from the back quickly, “Well, he’s only back in my bed for right now. And that’s enough to handle. The other remains to be seen.” I hear her laugh and suck her teeth while I whisper to her, “I’ll see you on Tuesday, my darling.”
“Bye crazy gyal. Just be careful.”
*
RHEA
I walk out of the sliding glass doors and reach for my purse. Pulling out my cell, I send Marcus a string of emojis in response to his text about going to bed and talking to me in the morning. He doesn’t like when I send him emojis because he says only old people use them. I still do it sometimes, just to tease him.
My 35 year old self is officially uncool, according to my 8 year old. That makes me smile.
I record and send a voice note telling him I love him and to call me when he wakes up in the morning.
He’s at his friend Dante’s house for the weekend, meaning I have an empty house. Meaning I can listen to profanity laden trap music as loud as I want, lay around in my underwear eating Takis, and spend the entire weekend making love with my new sleepover buddy, my new secret boyfriend, my ex-husband, Christopher.
My body gets excited just thinking about it, feeling the barely-there lace of the red lingerie I’m wearing under my scrubs caress my skin. I feel myself getting aroused in anticipation of him undressing me as soon as we make it inside my house in less than an hour, replaying his responses to the few choice selfies of myself I snapped and sent to him while wearing nothing but the lingerie this morning.
My phone has been blowing up with eggplant, peach, splash, heart, and tongue emojis the entire day. I told him I couldn’t wait to see him and have him fuck me in every room of the house except Marcus’s room this weekend. I know the kink of that got him, knowing he was going to be marking himself all over my house.
When you get down to it, are male humans any different than male gorillas or lions or any other species? They like to claim what’s theirs. If I admit it to myself, I’ve always liked how possessive he is over me. There’s just something about the man I love claiming me.
Feminists would hate me for saying that, but they've never met my ex-husband.
Christopher said he said he was going to feed me all types of fatty foods and do the New York Times crossword puzzle with me in bed on Sunday morning. Then we were going to pick Marcus up together and have a conversation with him about how his parents were in love and together again.
Ever since the first night two months ago when Christopher and I reconnected emotionally and physically, we’d been meeting at his place or hotels, to avoid confusing Marcus. Our son had encouraged us to start having sleepovers again after the first night Christopher stayed over, but I didn’t think we were ready for that yet, as a family. I also knew I was too loud that first night Christopher and I had sex. I didn’t want to repeat my mistake while our son was asleep down the hall again.
Christopher swears Marcus knows we were having sex that night after his birthday party. He even has the crazy idea that he was happy about it, but I can’t let myself think that. I would be mortified if that was really true.
Christopher has started coming around more to spend time with our son, cooking dinner sometimes or just kicking a ball around in the backyard. He’s taken a liking to popping in his earbuds and zoning out while washing dishes by hand, carefully drying them until they sparkle. He says it relaxes him and that it’s much better to hand wash than put them in the dishwasher. I don’t object. One more thing off my plate.
I still won’t accept money from him, but we’ve started doing fun things together on weekends like hiking, visiting pumpkin patches, playing Top Golf, playing 2 on 1 basketball, with Christopher letting Marcus and I team up against him and win every time. He still gets phone calls he has to leave the room for and sometimes calls last minute to tell me he has business that has made him have to reschedule our plans, but we have an understanding it’s for a bigger purpose now.
He’s getting out.
*
RHEA
We all went to his sister’s and my best friend’s, Lupe’s, for Thanksgiving this year, riding in one car, causing discomfort and surprise for our entire family when the three of us showed up together. We had decided to just surprise everyone and go together, not wanting to make the day about us by giving advance notice.
Christopher’s sister, Soli, dissolved the tenseness of the situation by asking why we weren’t dressed in identical clothes like we were at Marcus’s birthday. She said we’d set a precedent for dressing alike at every family gathering and couldn’t just change it up, causing the room to erupt in laughter and Christopher to roll his eyes.
My parents had also come up from Chicago and were surprised to see my ex-husband walk through the door with me and their grandson. My mom hugged and kissed Christopher, not betraying her emotions except for a quick shake of her head at me in chastisement for not warning them.
But my dad stomped outside, sat fuming on the back patio smoking cigarettes and watching his favorite soccer team, Real Madrid, play on his phone the entire day.
When I took him plates of food and tried to talk to him, he just gestured to the screen and said he didn’t want to miss an important play. Even Marcus going outside and trying to coax him indoors didn’t help.
In the end, Christopher buttoned Marcus up in his coat, hat, and a scarf, letting him sit on his abuelo’s lap and watch soccer the rest of the evening until it was time to go home. The couple of times I poked my head outside I caught them eating and laughing, Marcus giving comfort to an old man who was just scared to see his daughter get hurt again.
He gave me and Marcus a quick hug and kiss before he left but barely nodded at Christopher. He has still refused to talk to me about it, saying he’s been busy. He’s also been avoiding my calls to his cell, just texting me short answers. The man’s retired so I don’t know what he’s been busy doing.
Last weekend, I drove up unannounced to my parents’ house in Chicago, leaving Marcus with Christopher. I had been hoping to make my dad talk to me. But as soon as he saw my car pull into the driveway he walked out the door, saying he was going to the auto body shop down the street to help one of his friends tinker on an old car. I was about to angrily demand he talk to me, but my mom patted my hand, telling me to let him go.
I cried that night while my mom brushed my hair like she used to when I was a child. I’d stopped cutting it since Christopher had started coming around again, and it felt good to have my mom run her fingers through it, soothing me.
“Tu papá necesita tiempo. El recuerda cuando no podias levantarte de la cama ni comer.” My mom told me he needed time. She reminded me he was there when I couldn’t eat or get out of bed after I left Christopher 6 years ago.
I felt the guilt, knowing he didn’t want to see me go through that again. Knowing what it did to him and my mom to watch helpless as I lost weight, went through depression, and hung on by a thread for over a year after I left Christopher. But I also felt hurt by my dad’s refusal to talk to me, because it makes me feel like he doesn't trust me not to repeat the same mistakes. Most of all, I’m angry that he thinks Chris is this horrible man. Because he isn’t. I’m angry he can’t accept that Christopher is simply the man I love. That I’ll always love.
“I tried mama. I really did. I kept him away for years, but I just can’t not have him. And he can’t stay away either. We need each other and we’re tired of fighting it. I’m sorry if it disappoints you.”
My mom turned me around, tears shining in her eyes, one of the rare times she spoke English to me. People think my parents can’t speak English, but they’re fluent. Like Christopher, they both know what face to show the world to get the things they need. “Oh, mi vida. Never say sorry for your heart. Never.”
*
RHEA
Outside of earth-shattering sex that I swear has made me begun aging backwards, doing my body better than any hot yoga or Pilates class every could, Christopher and I have gotten much closer in the 2 months we’ve been seeing each other. We’ve been texting each other like teenagers, having long phone conversations well into the early morning hours when he isn’t working, talking about everything we never talked about when we were married. Some of it was hard to hear, but any question I asked him, he answered.
It was vice versa for me, even divulging my sexual partners since we divorced. He didn’t like to hear it, but the sex got even better after that, which I didn’t think was possible. He’ll never admit it, but his jealousy made him dead set on pushing all thoughts of any other man out of my mind and body.
In these past two months I’ve learned so much more about Christopher… and Rio. I’ve learned that he’s more powerful than I’d ever understood. I’ve also learned he’s much wealthier than I fathomed. And I’ve learned that he has real plans to transition out of the life he’s been living for 20 years.
I now know all the details and I’m struck by how brilliant he is. He’s planned it all down to a T. A new life. With me and Marcus. As an ‘us.’
When I asked him if there were other women, he told me that there were no more women since the night of Marcus’s birthday party. He said the only women he was around were those that he employed, and that they’re all unknowingly helping him transition out.
To keep it light, I jokingly told him I didn’t mind if he was still seeing other women since we didn’t have an official title.
He got angry when I’d said that, his chin raised and eyes flashing. “Don’t even play like the Rhea. Aint nothing casual about us. The only person having trouble committing to this is you. We been official, to me, since the day we met.”
I cut every man from my past off after that conversation, sending them a quick text that I was in a relationship and that they no longer had permission to contact me.
It was the easiest thing I’d ever done.
*
RHEA
We texted all day today, stopping around 6PM, the last text he sent me reading, “See you at 11. I love you.” That’s why I’m surprised he hasn’t appeared suddenly in front of me, the way he always does, as if from thin air.
I scan the parking lot, looking for one of his ridiculously expensive vehicles with tinted windows to slowly pull up to me.
I’d taken a car service to work earlier today because he’d told me he’d be waiting for me at 10:45PM sharp when my 11PM shift ended. My cell says it’s 11:02PM and I don’t see any of his cars. He’s never late. When Christopher says he'll do something he does it.
Headlights flash in front of me from a dark car I don’t recognize and the driver door opens. I squint, grabbing the pepper spray on my keychain, cursing myself for getting rid of my taser against Christopher’s wishes.
A short, muscular man with face tattoos, a thick beard, wearing all black walks towards me. He waves. It’s Mick. I relax and then instantly panic.
Where’s Christopher?
*
MICK
Me and Boss known each other 21 years next month, since we were youngings in the game. We came up under Raleigh’s crew, and it wasn’t even a question for me when Chris split off on his own. I followed and never regretted my decision.
Here I am, more money and comfort in my life than a half-Cuban, half-Mexican orphan raised in the foster system ever thought I’d see.
I gotta do things sometimes that I don’t want to do. I’m not a good man, but I try to be, and that’s all I can do. I’ll pay for it in my next life, but I’m ok with that.
I never been much of a leader. I like to just do what I gotta do and call it a day. Send most of the money I make to my daughter’s mom, Renee. I don’t see my daughter much, but Angelica, she’s better off that way.
I like to relax with some good weed, good food, and a glass of whiskey, maybe entertain a woman from time to time. I’m a pretty good cook. If my life had gone another way, I’d mighta been a chef. I’m a good shot too, but that’s a necessary skill for my job. Overall, I’m a simple guy.
Caring for my bonsai trees taught me, prune what you don’t need cause the dead shit weighs you down.
But Chris always wanted more, even fresh out the pen. Nothing satisfies him. He’s the type of dude to burn his house down to stay warm, but the new one he builds will be 10 x’s bigger and better, making you forget the other one was there in the first place.
I’ve never understood him all the way but it’s fine. I know enough. If I’m gonna follow somebody, nobody else I’d want it to be.
I’m the closest to a friend he got, if a man like Chris can even have friends. Maybe more like brothers, because brothers don’t always like each other, sometimes even fight, but it’s always love. We’d both give our lives for the other in a heart beat, and that’s what counts.
So it’s hard for me to wait for Rhea to walk up to me, knowing what I’m here to tell her.
I’m here to tell her there’s another woman in Chris’s life, and she’s brought a ton of shit down on the crew tonight. Brought a ton of shit down on Rhea and Marcus too. The world now knows the true identity of Christopher Aguila, and surprise, he aint Batman.
*
MICK
I tried to tell him but he didn’t listen.
Chris has always liked pretty women. He sees something he likes, he takes it. Simple as that.
Women are no exception. Some of them fall in love with Rio, coming around our bars and spots asking for him. Some of them do crazy shit to try to get his attention after their one night stands. I keep most of that away from him, but the shit be sad sometimes.
Plus, I know my man. He makes it clear to these women they’re gonna be nothing but the entertainment for the night. But they let him, so it’s partly their fault for catching feelings for a man that aint capable of reciprocating. He wears who he is out loud for anybody with eyes to see. They just gotta pay attention.
No kids but Marcus. Never even seen him claim a woman until Rhea. None since then either.
Some women work for him, some of them are just for fun, but none of them last.
Rhea was different because she was wifey. He fucked that up real good and I coulda slapped him for it. Since then he’s been casual with the ladies.
But there’s something different about this one.
Mrs. Boland never would’ve come off to me as his type, but I could tell from the first time he saw her.
He wanted her.
She’s not a bad looking lady, but she’s white and prissy and wears fuckin pearls. More than that she’s entitled. She think she deserves whatever she wants because she’s white and pretty and a mom. Who gives a fuck. Life’s hard for everybody.
The worst part is that she’s dangerous because she been sheltered her whole life and don’t know how to move in our world.
You carry that hunger and arrogance into our world it’s ok. But mix in the entitlement and the naïve recklessness and bombs go off.
She set one off the day she robbed that store. He gave her a pass and I knew then she was gonna be trouble.
I tried to get him to see the humor in letting her gain access to us, her getting passes, how crazy it was, but Chris didn’t do much laughing. He sat up about her and started watching real still and quiet. Waiting for something. And it was the watching and waiting that worried me. Cause I’ve seen Chris laugh with somebody and then blow their brains out two minutes later. Laughing and smiling about something is nothing to him. It’s about the stillness for him.
And people are talking. People under me. People in other crews and other parts of the city. The people me and Chris and everybody I know work for, those who shall not be named living on big villas and rancheros down in Mexico and Colombia.
They know there’s a woman named Elizabeth who’s getting passes from Rio. That he talked 12 down from arresting her and her friends after they robbed that store and stole his money. That he grave them grace and waited while they paid it all back. That he yanked Eddie up and put the fear of God in him for returning her van to her with bullet holes. That Chris had me put Eddie down a few days ago for getting messed up in the shit Mrs. Boland caused. That he covered for her when her friend shot Big Mike’s toe off, souring our relationship with one of our biggest printers in Canada. And I know he got a set of keys made for her house cause I was the one who made em.
I’m not even sure if they’re fucking. Yet. But there’s something there. And it’s jeopardizing all we’ve built.
But I guess I see the appeal.
It’s not about her looks to him I don’t think. She got that same hunger in her he does. Because even though she tries to hide it behind being a soccer mom and the baking and the dog and all the minivan shit, I know what ruthlessness looks like. And intelligence too. It don’t matter what color or gender you are. It don’t matter how much money you got. Some people are just built the same. Some people just got it.
She got it. Chris got it. I don’t. It is what it is.
Rhea don’t got it either. She got something better, but the world aint set up to reward what she got.
That’s why he loves her so much but can’t make her happy. That’s why she’s too good for him. And he knows that too. Everybody but Rhea knows it.
And I know that when I tell her what he sent me here to tell her, he might lose her for good this time.
I’d rather shoot her in the leg than tell her this. That pain would hurt her less.
I don’t wanna see her crumple into herself like she used to. She’s a good person, a good woman. She brings the best out Chris. The part that makes me follow him. The part his son needs to see because Marcus is more like him than his parents want to admit to themselves. So if he’s gonna turn out good, he needs to see his dad, Chris, keep that goodness in him. He can’t see the light go out of his daddy like it did before. And if Rhea leaves him again it just might.
He loves her more than his own life. He always did. Maybe even more than Marcus. Even when she left him, he let her go because he loved her, not cause he didn’t care. If I was him I woulda taken my millions on millions and dipped to Belize or Iceland or someplace far away a long time ago. The cartel woulda never found me or my wife or my kid. That’s what I think.
But this is the life I lead as Rio’s rook. I don’t get paid to think. I get paid to do. I move on the chess board to protect him, just slightly less powerful than his queen.
He’s a king who can’t leave the game alone. He’s just lying to himself when he tells me he’s done. I nod and say 'mmhmm' and ‘sure Boss, I’ll help you get out,’ but it’s just hot air. It’s too deep down in him.
He thinks his queen is Rhea. He wills her to be his queen.
But Chris still aint learned this yet. You can’t control people.
People are just people. Unpredictable. Messy. Human.
The problem is, I don’t think Chris can admit the truth about Rhea to himself. No matter how bad he wants Rhea to be his queen, she don’t want all the position requires. She couldn’t do it even if she wanted to. She’s not built like him.
There’s a queen rising, but it aint Rhea.
That’s the only reason Mrs. Boland is still alive. He just can’t admit it. He don’t see it yet. I do.
But I play a lot of chess. I know that even a queen can be taken down by a rook.
I’ve done it plenty of times.
*
RHEA
My legs go slack but I grip my purse and run towards him.
“What happened? Is he? Is he…” I gasp. I can’t say the words.
Mick stands in front of me, impassive, neutral, waiting for me to finish. His hands are folded in front of him, covered in tattoos, a cotton beanie, dark blue pea coat, a turtleneck covering all the other tattoos. The bright parking lot lights glint off his eyebrow ring. He smells like aftershave. I have a crazy thought to text Lupe and tell her I’m standing in the parking lot at my job with her crush. Tease her that he looks very handsome tonight.
It’s illogical how our minds can shoot off in so many directions when we’re in the grip of shock. I sway on my feet a bit but catch myself.
Mick sees me sway but doesn’t move to touch me. He knows me by now. He knows I pride myself on always setting myself back right again.
“No. He’s not hurt. He got picked up by the feds. Get in. I’ll catch you up when we get to your house, Rhea.” He walks to the passenger side of his Tesla (Mick drives a Tesla? But of course he does…) and opens my door for me. Always a gentleman. A silent laugh bubbles up in my throat because I still have that urge to text Lupe. I want to tell her that her crush even opens doors and I wonder if he pulls out chairs too.
Chivalrous but deadly, that’s how me and my best friend like them.
I get in and sink into the leather, feeling the lace from my lingerie sticking to me in all the unpleasant crevices. A few minutes ago it felt like a caress and now it feels like it’s pinching me, making me sweat.
Mick gets in, checks his rearview, and starts the car. He turns to me, “Seatbelt, Rhea. This car’s acceleration makes you feel like you’re floating but we gotta be safe. Being an electric car is just a plus.”
I don’t even know what that means so I just look at him. He slides his eyes back in front of him, waiting for me to put it on.
As the belt clicks in place around me he starts the car and pulls out the parking space.
I look at my phone and see 4 missed calls from Lupe, 5 missed calls from some of my other friends, 1 text from Wanda, telling me to call her ASAP. Looks like everybody knows what’s going on but me.
I text Lupe and tell her to meet me at my house. I need my best friend’s support for whatever it is I’m about to hear.
*
MICK
We ride in silence. I’m not surprised. Rhea’s a lot like me and Chris in that way. She don’t talk much.
I can almost feel the worry radiating off of her. The anger too. I’m not sure if it’s directed at me or him, but I don’t think it matters.
She needs to be angry. It will help her.
I’m angry too.
I’m angry I’m once again I’m bein sent to clean up his mess cause he was reckless. Last time it was with drugs. That was years ago and I even understood it back then.
He’d just lost his family for some shit that was out of his control.
This time it’s with a woman that don’t give a fuck about him. That’s just using us. I gotta look Rhea in her face and tell her he got caught up with the FBI cause of a bitch.
Channel 4, 8, and 10 are all reporting on tonight’s 11PM news cycle about a local gang laundering money out of businesses in the greater Detroit area. Gang, Christopher Aguila, FBI, money laundering, racketeering, and criminal syndicate are words being used in the same sentences on every local news station across the Great Lakes region tonight.
A clip of Chris being led into a car in handcuffs, jaw tight, eyes screaming murder, is being replayed. The newspapers and internet sites have already started posting about it tonight and will well into the morning, copying the information from the news channels. The police are gonna leak information about the investigation to the newspapers and blogs, pissed that the FBI took it out of their jurisdiction, making the news carry the story on long after everyone is our crew is released.
And I’ve been screening my calls, waiting for international numbers from countries to the South like Mexico and Colombia to start coming in. For Canadian area codes to start blowing up my phone.
Such is life.
Nick was the one who told me what happened two hours ago. I was sprawled on my couch, watching the game, eating a sexy meatball sub with extra parm, when I got the call.
He told me when and how the news was gonna break and what it was gonna say. He told me he would get Chris, Cisco, Mulaney, and Cortez out, get the charges dropped, but it was gonna take a little time. That I needed to prepare Chris’s family, the women in his life.
He said Chris’s only instructions were to pick Rhea up after her shift ended and take her home. Let her know what was goin on. Nick said verbatim, “Chris wants you to tell her everything.” To stay with her for the night and keep my head on a swivel.
I look at the clock on my dash while I pull up to her front door. It’s 11:19PM. I’m not surprised to see Lupe’s white Jeep sitting in the driveway.
Rhea puts her head back on the seat, breathes out, closes her eyes, pinches the bridge of her nose. I see the exhaustion all over her. My favorite foster mom was a home health aide. I saw how tired she was every night after caring for other people who couldn’t take care of themselves. Not the same thing, but I respect people who work 9-5’s, especially single moms.
And I know Rhea chooses to work instead of taking money from Chris. Cause he got more money than he knows what to do with and she would never have to work a day in her life if she didn’t want to. I respect the shit out of her for that. Them getting back together over the past few months was about love for her. She always been with him because he’s Chris, not Rio.
I always kept it quiet, but if I had a lil sis I’d want her to be like Rhea. And the shit she be going through for him aint right.
And if I was a better man, a good one, I would tell her to cut his ass off and take her kid and move far away. If he can’t get it right with her after 10 years of tryin he aint never gonna get it right.
I love Chris but in this life we live you can't have one foot in and one foot out. He's made his choice. It's not Rhea and Marcus he chose.
But that aint my place. I don’t get paid to think.
I look at her, wait for her to open her eyes. I see Lupe’s light turn on in her Jeep and then hear Rhea’s phone buzz. Those two are thick as thieves. I’m glad Lupe’s here. She’s my favorite of Chris’s sisters.
Rhea opens her eyes at the sound of her phone. Does something I see Chris do all the time. She sits up straight, rolls her shoulders, and nods. I watch her transform, making herself bigger, making her face lose all emotion. Maybe he’s rubbed off on her more than I thought.
“Alright Mick. Let’s do this.”
*
RIO
Even though I can’t see through the two sided plate glass, I know Zorada’s out there slicing through the jugulars of every FBI suit within ear shot.
The retainer I pay her is enough to feed a small country for a year. She's worth every penny.
Agent Turner, my new pal, had a nice chat with me earlier. When I met him at that diner a coupla days ago, I watched him walk in. He was taller than I thought he would be. Carries himself like he used to play ball. The file my P.I. got me on him and his team a few weeks ago been reviewed and studied. He was the only one worth sitting up about.
That’s why Eddie had to go. He wasn’t gonna snitch on me he said, but the soccer mamas. I asked him why snitching on them would keep me clean. They would just snitch on me.
I watched the wheels turning while he tried to talk his way out of it.
In the end, he said what all snitches say. He didn’t want to go to jail. I told him he was gonna go somewhere either better or worse than that.
It was hard, cause I took Eddie in when he was just a shorty. But he was gonna snitch. Period. God bless the kid’s soul, but he coulda come to me. Let me work it out.
But he didn’t.
Snitches get put in the ground.
Still, Rhea had to let me lay on her chest and hold me tight that night after that one.
Turner’s file showed him to be a University of Maryland grad from Baltimore, some money issues, some gambling, some shady shit he did on cases making him get sent out to Detroit. Been in the FBI 14 years after serving in the Air Force. Got a chance to redeem himself by handling the influx of gang activity, illegal import and exports from Canada. Left his family back in Baltimore while he’s out here playing house with his boyfriend. I don’t judge him for being gay but I do judge him for cheating on his wife.
You can’t stay faithful to the woman who carries your name and birthed your children, you capable of doing anything to anybody.
So yeah, when I met him I already knew what he was about. Today I got a good look at him. He walked in cocky, arrogant, predatory. Under different circumstances, he looked like the type of man I might be able to see as an equal in business. But he has no character. He’s shackled my hands for the second time in my life, he gets paid to take other men’s freedoms away, and he cheats on his wife. So that means he’ll never be my equal.
This tall man of small character, I know he made a mistake somewhere in building his case on me. Cause he got no self-control, no respect, and wins for the sake of winning. That means he’ll be so desperate for a win that he’ll have made mistakes.
That’s where Zorada comes in.
She told me that earlier this week there were documents left at a Fine and Frugal robbery, addressed to an Agent Turner of the FBI. She’s fighting to view them but the FBI is keeping her boxed out. Turner has built a case accusing me and my men of illegal transport of goods over an international border, money laundering, and racketeering.
I know they must have flipped at least one of my local businesses to have them bring up charges on money laundering and racketeering. Illegal transport of illegal goods is the handywork of none other than Elizabeth Boland.
I’m fuming. These assholes haven’t uncuffed my hands and I been in this cold room and the stiff chair for at least 3 hours. Motherfuckers are playing with me.
Because they coulda been taken these off. Given me some water.
I promised myself I’d never be shackled again, but here I am.
Stupid Chris. Why did I let this crazy bitch into my kingdom? I would have put a bullet in anybody else’s head by now, but her, I kept letting her live. And now everything I’ve worked for is jeopardized.
My family is going to be hurt by the fallout of this. Marcus. Rhea. My sisters. My abuela.
Rhea. I promised her I was getting out. I was supposed to pick her up tonight and spend all weekend with her. Pick up our son from his friend’s house on Sunday and tell him we were together again.
I know she’s gonna flip. There was cameras all in my face when I got arrested, so I know it’s all over the news by now.
The door opens and I welcome the break in my thoughts. My legs are doing that nervous habit thing they do from the anxiousness. Doesn't happen often but I'm feeling amped up right now. I got blindsided. If I wasn’t cuffed I’d be up pacing with worry about Rhea and Marcus being impacted by my arrest.
I raise my head, expecting to see Zorada.
It’s Nick. He’s a licensed lawyer in Michigan so me and Zorada have it set up for him to be a consultant in her law firm for times like this.
He tries to keep his face blank as he walks in and closes the door, but I see the happiness simmering just under the surface.
He was there 21 years ago when I got popped. He enjoyed it then.
Here he is again. Enjoying it but he gotta keep that contained. Too much of his money and clout in Michigan is tied up in me remaining free.
“Hey bro, sorry to see you caught up like this again. It’s been a long time since you were in this position, huh? How are you feeling?” Nick’s dressed in a grey suit, shirt collar unbuttoned, military tight 5-point haircut.
I shift in my seat and nod at him, wincing at the pinch of the handcuffs that are slowly cutting off my circulation. “You know me cuz, I roll with the punches.”
He sits down across from me at the metal table and nods towards the camera. “It’s off but let’s keep it light.”
I look into his eyes and feel angry that once again I’m the one in cuffs with my name in the mud while he’s leaned forward in his chair, arms folded over his Brooks Brothers suit, looking like Mr. Latino USA. A small smile plays on his lips, meant to look like encouragement but a micro-expression from his eyes shows he’s happy we’re playing out this scenario again, decades later.
Round and round we go.
“I need you to call Mick and have him go pick up Rhea from work, then take her home and stay at her place tonight. Tell him she needs to know what’s going on. Tell her everything.”
“Even about Blondie?” Nick’s eyebrows raise, an expectant look on his face. He leans forward an inch, shaking his head. “You didn’t think I knew about her, Chris?”
“She’s nobody. It’s none of your business.” He has no right to question me about my business or any of the people I deal with. That’s our agreement. I handle the dark and he handles the light.
He laughs softly and runs his palm over the back of his neck. “See, it is though. She’s the reason we’re all here. The reason I’m not warm in my bed with Kristen and Zorada is missing Bingo night. She’s the reason your ugly mug is all over the news.” I want to roll my eyes, he’s so corny. I keep my face composed.
We hold each other’s eyes, but I refuse to speak. I hate being lectured, especially by him. I hate being caged in. I hate having to depend on people to help me.
I hate that I got caught slipping.
“You’ll be out of here soon. Zorada’s breaking balls out there. The family will be ok. I’ll swing by grandmas and call Mick to pick Rhea up. But this is just the beginning. You know that right, bro? My phone’s been ringing all night. International numbers.”
I don’t answer and he gets up from the table, knocking on the door twice.
I nod at him and slump back into my chair.
I’m going to kill this fucking bitch.
*