All Hail the Queen (16 page)

And Naeema demanded it at all times.

“Listen, I was just coming by to check on him because the news was not giving out any more updates,” Tina said, holding up her hands as she rose to her feet.

Naeema walked farther into the room but waved her hand back toward the door. “Have a nice one,” she said, brushing past the woman to reclaim her spot by his side.

Naeema looked down at his face and her heart truly broke to think someone wanted him
dead. The game just completely fucking changed. “Who tried to kill you?” she whispered down to him.

“Kill him?”

Naeema looked up and her eyes glassed over with anger. “Why are you still here?” she snapped.

Tina shook her head and turned up her lips. “There's no need for all that. My fiancé is downstairs waiting on me. I just came to check on a friend,” she said.

“Well, your fiancé's a lame to drive you to check on another dude you used to fuck,” Naeema snapped. “Now raise up outta here before you need a room of your own. Please believe that was your final warning.”

This time she watched the woman until the door closed behind her.

Naeema dropped down into the chair beside Tank's bed.
What do I do next?

Calling the police was never her first option. The way they fucked over the investigation of Brandon's murder was a prime example. Plus, if she planned to annihilate the shooter then clueing the police in that Tank was the true target was a giveaway she couldn't risk.
Fuck that.

Call in the team to strategize?
No one would know better than them if Tank had enemies that would strike out at him with murder in mind.

She eyed Tank lying there, probably the only time in his life he had been helpless.
And while I'm chasing down his shooter who would be here to make sure they didn't finish the job as he lay here unconscious?

Naeema twisted her son's ring on her finger as she tried her best to think straight through the haze of the
weed.
I need help.

She pulled out her phone and dialed Sarge.

“Yuh.”

“Sarge, I need you. Me and Tank we need you,” she said, rising to walk over to the window and look out at the traffic.

“What?”

She took a breath and looked up at the ceiling as she lightly kicked the wall with the toe of her shoe. “Tank was the target. I need to look into the who, what, when, where, and why. I can't leave him here alone, Sarge,” she said emphatically.

“Call the police.”

“No.”

“Naeema—”

She shook her head. “Sarge, I am sending a car service to the house to pick you up. Get in the car. I need you to sit in this room with Tank while I handle this shit, Sarge. Do you hear me?” she said, her emotions tightening her throat.

Sarge didn't say shit but Naeema could hear him breathing into the mouthpiece.

“Get in the car. Let it bring you to New York. Come and sit with Tank for me.”

“No,” he said, his voice gruff, almost like a dog's bark.

“Yes,” she stressed.

“Naeema—”

“I have never asked you for anything, Sarge. Not one thing,” she said, her voice almost a hiss.

“You ask too much . . . and you know it.”

She did. Sarge rarely left the house and then he only ventured onto the porch or into the backyard. She knew she asked a lot of him but it was for Tank and for him she would ask for even more if need be.

She opened her mouth but then closed it, forcing herself to relax. To release. “I need you, Sarge,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper and every emotion that swirled inside her was heavy in the words.

She didn't like to ask for help or to plead. She had just given a lot. And he knew that.

Beep.

He ended the call.

Naeema used her phone to look up a car service in Newark and called them.
Sarge better not let me down.

She grabbed her duffel and quickly pulled out a change of clothes before going in the bathroom to quickly shower. She had just turned off the water when she heard talking outside the door. Quickly wrapping the towel she brought from home around her, Naeema opened the door.

Both Grip and Linx looked over at the door and then looked away out of respect. She stepped back, feeling her anxiety ease. “I'll be right out,” she said, knowing the sight of her wet and draped in a towel probably threw them off.

She dried off and pulled on a thong and sports bra before dressing in black leggings and a black T-shirt with
JUICY
written across it in shiny gold letters. She balled up the clothes she had worn in the empty bag she brought just for that and left the bathroom. “Sorry about that, fellas. I was worried who was out here with him,” she said, accepting the seat Grip vacated to bend down and pull on the black wedge sneakers she carried in her hand.

“No problem,” both men said.

“Listen, I'm actually glad y'all are here,” she said, sitting back up and looking at each of them. “I need
you guys to be straight up with me and understand that I need the truth and nothing but.”

“You know we will,” Grip said, looking down at her from his tall height.

“And whatever we discuss does not leave this room,” she added.

The look in their eyes became serious as they nodded their agreement.

“Does Tank have any enemies that you know of?” Naeema asked, reaching over to take his hand in hers. She was thankful for its warmth.

“Naeema, what's going on?” Grip asked after sharing a brief look with Linx.

She looked to Tank wishing he could truly provide some guidance. “I think Tank was the target that night. Not Fevah,” she said, her eyes still on him.

“Are you sure?” Linx asked.

She bent her head down to touch it to his hand. “No, but it's something we need to look into,” she said.

“I know he testified against Murk last month.”

Naeema stiffened as she turned her head to look back at Grip. “What?” she asked in disbelief.

“He saw some shit. This dude is crazy dangerous. It had to be done, Naeema,” Grip added.

“Lot of good it did with Grip still on the streets,” she said, her voice tight.

Her hand tightened on Tank's. If there was one thing they disagreed on it was the police and the court system. Tank tried to work within their guidelines, then hoped and wished shit turned out right. Naeema didn't fuck with it at all.

Why would he draw fire like that?

Murk was a notorious drug dealer known for heartlessly taking out his competition or anyone who betrayed him. No hit man. No guards. He put the work in himself. He had zero fucks to give.

“And then there's Willie,” Linx added.

Naeema shifted her eyes to the bald white man that had more swagger than some brothas. “Willie who? Not Willie Parker,” she said, referring to Tank's childhood best friend.
Them two are brothers from two different mothers.

Or they used to be.

It was true they had fell out a few years back but murder? Nah.

“He's been hounding Tank pretty hard lately about the business being half his,” Linx said, his face serious.

Naeema leaned back in her chair and covered her face with her hand. It was too much. In less than five minutes she went from no suspects to two.
The fuck?

“I need time to think,” she said. “Uhm, don't make a move until I call you. Let me sit on all this for a second. Please.”

Linx and Grip both moved toward the door.

“No police,” she added, dead-ass serious as she looked back at Tank's profile.

She fell quiet after they left, her thoughts scattered but her eyes focused. She didn't even realize how much time had passed until the door opened and she looked over at Sarge standing there. She was glad to see the oddball vet in her life, scroungy hair, worn fatigues, and all. She smiled at him and he waved his hand at her dismissively as he shuffled
into the room with a walk only Fred Sanford could replicate.

Naeema was thankful for his cranky ass.

“I'm here,” he said gruffly, walking over to stand on the opposite side of the bed to look down at Tank.

“Keep your friends close and your enemies closer,” Sarge said. “And sometimes they're one and the same.”

Naeema looked pensive.

“Ain't right,” he said.

“It's wrong. It's real wrong, Sarge,” she said, feeling a coldness flow through her veins that should make a smart foe fearful.

He cast his gray eyes on her. “Two wrongs ain't right though.”

Naeema didn't bother to argue the point. She thought her days of pseudo-vigilante justice were done with the bodies she took down in pursuit of her son's killer.

She'd thought wrong.

“You want me to get you something to eat until I get back, Sarge?” she asked as she rose to her feet.

He shook his head and came around the bed to claim the lone chair she vacated. “I brought my own,” he said, patting the bulky pockets of his fatigue pants.

She bet good money his pockets were stuffed with those tiny cans of Vienna sausages and baked beans.
Something to blow his ass up. Thank God Tank's unconscious because the farts might send him back under.

“Be careful, Wonder Woman,” he said dryly.

Naeema reached the door and looked back at him. “You mean Foxy Brown, sugar?” she said, playfully imitating the 1970s accent of the character played by Pam Grier.

“You can't keep asking God for forgiveness for the same thing,” he called to her.

Sarge knew she had killed in the name of avenging her son.

“Well, it's a good thing I ain't did nothing to need forgiving yet.”

With that she left the hospital room.

“Excuse me,” Naeema said, stopping at the nurses' station.

A harassed-looking woman with more cheeks than chin turned to eye her. “Yes?” she asked, her tone annoyed and annoying.

For Tank, Naeema. Don't flip. Swallow this one for Tank.

“Uhhm, I just wanted to ask that my husband not have any visitors except my grandfather,” she said, using her proper voice and a pleasant smile.

“That's the job of security downstairs. Not mine,” she added, turning her back on Naeema.

One, motherfucking two, damned three, shitting four, fucked-up five, slap a hoe six—

“Anything else?”

Naeema opened her eyes and eyed the nurse, letting her ten count to not whip ass end. She glanced down at the woman's name tag pinned to her scrubs. It was turned backward. “You should play the lottery because this is the luckiest day of your life,” Naeema said, before lightly slapping the desk and walking away to the elevator.

She had more important shit on her to-do list than to ruin a nurse's day.

Pressing the button to summon the elevator she pulled Tank's cell phone from her back pocket unlocking it and
scrolling through his contacts. The doors opened and Naeema looked up to see a Latino brother with tattoos covering his entire neck.

Their eyes met briefly.

Naeema stepped into the elevator and turned, her eyes on his back as he disappeared down the hall.
What if he's a hired goon? What if he's going to hurt Tank right now?

The doors moved toward each other but Naeema jerked her arms between them and pushed out before running down the hall and pushing the door to Tank's room open as she exhaled in short bursts.

POW! POW! POW! POW!

Sarge looked confused by her reappearance and he raised his arm to turn down the volume on whatever sitcom he was watching on television. “What's wrong, Naeema?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“Is everything okay, Mrs. Cole?”

She turned to find two of the nurses standing at the door. They pushed past her to enter and check on Tank.

“I'm sorry. I just I heard his alarms on the machines,” she lied. “My fault.”

Sarge squinted as he studied her while the nurses checked Tank.

Naeema turned and walked back down the hall aware of the curious eyes on her.
Get your shit together, Naeema.

She was thankful to get in the elevator alone and ride down in silence.

Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. And sometimes they're one and the same.

The realest shit ever.

Sarge was an oddball nut who every so often in the midst of one liners and sarcasm would drop knowledge. The moments were rare but always insightful.

As she left the hospital and made her way to the adjacent parking lot, Naeema programmed the address she took from Tank's contacts into the GPS on her phone. She had the directions she wanted in less than a minute.

Behind the wheel of the Tahoe she made her way from NYC to Jersey.

“Your destination is on the right.”

She eyed the modest brick home as she drove past it slowly. The driveway and the spot on the street in front of it were empty. It was just nearing late afternoon and the homeowners on the tree-lined block were mostly still at work. Naeema took advantage of this and parked the Tahoe around the corner. After tugging on the Chinese bob wig to cover up her Caesar cut and grabbing her key ring along with Tank's, Naeema walked the distance to the house all easy-breezy like she was a homeowner in the neighborhood just enjoying a friendly stroll.

She walked up to the house and bent to play with the strings on her sneakers to covertly look around and make sure no one was eyeing her from a distance.

I should have waited 'til dark.

She turned and walked up the drive to the side entrance. She was thankful for the tall gate between the homes and the trees partially blocking her from anyone's view from the street. Saying a silent prayer there was no alarm, she used the small metal hammer on her key ring to crack and then break the glass.