The Demise (12 page)

“I gave you time to get your head together, Miamor, but all you do is pop these and sleep,” Murder said sternly as he picked up the Xanax bottle that sat on the nightstand of the hotel room. He threw the bottle across the room. “It's time to shake this fucking city. You need to empty them casino accounts and sell your shares so we can take that bread and disappear. I can settle up with the nigga Fly and then we can blow this joint.”

He whispered the last part, knowing he had considered killing Fly and making off with all the money. Miamor could see the treachery in his eyes. She pulled herself up from the floor, her face still stinging slightly from the force behind his blow. “Call Fly,” she said. “I need to go see the Italian about the casino shares. If you want a quick sale, then he is the one to go to,” she informed him. “Otherwise a deal like this could take months. I can't afford to hang around here that long.” The thought of what Baraka would do if he ever caught up with her caused her face to pale. For the first time in her life she feared another man.

“The fuck you need that little nigga for? I can handle it,” Murder said, offended. He had noticed Fly's affection for Miamor. The way he looked at her. Murder had taken Miamor's cell phone in an attempt to keep her from reaching out to Carter. Fly Boogie had frequently hit her up, and it didn't go unnoticed. He couldn't read the full text messages, but each time Fly's name popped up on her screen, Murder felt a type of way. Murder was sure of the chemistry he noticed whenever Fly was around Miamor, and it had him vexed.

“Salerno ain't taking no meeting with you by my side. He doesn't know you. Every single time I've met with him, Fly has been with me. Salerno's comfortable with him. This is the Italian mafia I'm getting in bed with!” Miamor exclaimed. “I'm not going in solo or with a new nigga just to soothe your ego. We do it my way or not at all. So call Fly Boogie.”

*   *   *

Miamor sat, flawlessly put together on the outside. A Fendi jumpsuit clung to her flawless body, and snakeskin stilettos graced her feet. It was the first time she had put on clothes in weeks. Her mood didn't match her Manolos, but she had to make a move. Sitting in the hotel room, rotting away, was making her an easy target. Moving targets were harder to hit so it was time for her to get out of dodge. She had close to a million dollars put up in her bank account, but she was too afraid to withdraw it, thinking it would make her easier to find. As long as Baraka was hunting her, she would have to think about each move before she made it. If she sold the shares at a discount and then had Salerno pay her in cash, he would play ball.

The knock at the door caused Murder to emerge from the second bedroom of the suite as he went to answer. Fly Boogie stood on the other side.

“What up, lil' nigga?” Murder greeted.

“You can kill all that ‘lil' nigga' shit,” Fly replied. Fly had stepped into the big leagues years ago when he became Miamor's go-to while Carter was locked up. He had earned his stripes, and if he hadn't been so in love with Miamor, he would have moved up steadily in his position with The Cartel. His own admiration had turned him into a foe of Carter, but even still he would always ride for Miamor. Whenever she called, he would answer.

The tension in the room was so thick that Miamor could hardly breathe. “Let's just get this over with,” she said as she stood and walked out.

As she passed Murder, he grabbed her arm. “Right back,” he said.

She snatched away, glaring at him as she and Fly made their exit. They didn't speak until they were inside his car. Miamor stared out of her window, arms folded across her chest. She was deep in thought. “You gonna drive or what?” she asked, when she realized they hadn't moved.

“I've been calling you. You can't answer the phone for me now, ma?” Fly Boogie asked.

“I don't have my phone,” she replied.

“Are you okay, Miamor? Why are you even doing any of this shit? You staying with this nigga like you some fragile little girl. I know your résumé. You don't need that nigga. We can pull away right now and not look back,” he said.

“And then what? Stay with you? Be with you?” Miamor asked.

“Maybe,” he said directly. “I can do everything that nigga doing for you. I can keep you safe, Miamor.”

“Difference is, I can't keep you safe, Fly. Being attached to me is a death sentence right now. I don't care if Murder catches it behind me. I can't have you on my conscience, too. I know you have this image of me and you're attracted to that, but the pedestal you have me on is too high, Fly. You're my friend, and in another lifetime I could even see you being more, but in this lifetime I was loved by a man named Carter and it's something I'm loyal to, even when we're not together. You don't want half a woman, Fly. You deserve a whole woman, every part of a woman. I can't give you that. My heart is too invested elsewhere, and since C.J., it doesn't even beat the same.”

Fly turned her chin toward him because she was talking at the window as tears glided effortlessly down her face. Her hurt was so palpable that it took over the car.

“I don't give a damn about any of them niggas, Miamor. I want what I want, and that's you,” Fly said.

“Let's just handle this business, Fly,” she said, wiping her face. Miamor just wasn't the same. Her soul didn't feel the same. She felt … so … so … vulnerable, and that was something she had never allowed herself to experience … not truly, not 100 percent. Even with Carter she had been tough, but after losing their child, all guards had been stripped away. She had nothing but pent-up, raw emotion, waiting to explode.

Finally Fly drove away from the hotel. “You strapped?” she asked.

“You know it,” he replied. He reached under the seat and came out with a .38 handgun, knowing it was her preference. He passed it to her. She smirked, took the pistol off safety, and then placed it in her handbag. Each switched their focus to the task at hand, knowing it would require all of their attention.

*   *   *

Benito Salerno sat in the greasy booth of the strip club, spread out like a pig as a young little piece put on a show before him. Exotic dancers were his guilty pleasure. The old man, with his big belly and his half-functioning penis, had no business frequenting an establishment as such. He was a family man—he had a wife and adult children at home. In fact, he had a daughter the same age as some of these girls, but he still had a thing for tasting young snatch. He tipped well and had no problem paying for extras, so he was a favorite among the girls in this particular joint. It was far removed from Vegas; in fact, it was a hole-in-the-wall just outside of Reno. It was important that his extracurricular activities didn't get back to his wife. He respected her, but she no longer held his interests sexually. She was from the old country and lived in a demure way. He was looking for a girl with no morals, and this had been his secret for years. He made the drive once a week.

The dancer in front of him climbed on the couch and positioned herself directly over his mouth. Salerno could practically smell her through the fabric of her thong. The mixture of her womanly juices, perfume, and sweat made him groan in anticipation. He slid her panties to the side and trailed his tongue from the bottom of her slit all the way to her clit and slurped loudly. He was in heaven as he buried his face in her. All of a sudden he felt the cold kiss of steel against the back of his head.

His eyes flew open as he saw the girl collect her things and accept payment from Miamor. “You dirty bitch,” he said to the stripper. The girl fled the room, unbothered.

“Relax, Salerno. I come in peace,” Miamor stated.

“Some peace,” he scoffed. “There is a gun at the back of my head.”

Miamor nodded to Fly Boogie, who lowered the weapon. Miamor thought about sitting, but decided against it as she looked around the disgusting room.

Salerno was visibly disturbed. He was so livid that his skin flushed a bright red. “What is this about? Have I ever brought trouble to you, Miamor? If you wanted my attention, a phone call would have sufficed. I invite you into my city, I help you acquire your casino, and this is the thanks I get?” he huffed.

She didn't want to let him know she was running from anyone, so she didn't explain her extreme attempt to have a private meeting.

“My apologies,” she said. “I'm here to offer you something.” She didn't leave him time to guess her intentions as she continued. “I'm getting out of the casino business. I plan to sell my shares. I thought it proper if I offered them to you first.”

Salerno's entire disposition changed. She had piqued his interests.

“I don't want a public sale. I'd prefer to do this in private,” she paused.

“How much?” he asked.

“Twenty-five million,” she said. “You can wire the funds to a Swiss account.”

He laughed heartily as if she had told the world's biggest joke.

Miamor didn't flinch.

“The way I see it, the only reason you would want an untraceable wire is if you're in a bind,” Salerno said, reading the situation. She knew he was about to stick it to her.

“I'll give you five million,” he said. “Best I can do.” He waved his hand dismissively as if the deal were done.

It was Miamor's turn to laugh. “The shares are worth close to seventy-five, maybe more,” she countered. “I was giving you a deal the first time.”

“Yeah, well, the bounty on your head would cost me nothing. I could easily make a better deal with the Saudi that you're running from,” Salerno threatened.

Miamor could see the satisfaction shining behind his eyes. His fat, greasy face was smug, as if he had the upper hand. She was shaken, but didn't show it. “You see, I thought you might say that,” Miamor said. “It's unfortunate that we have to take this route.”

“Take a look at this, big man,” Fly Boogie said as he reached around Salerno with a phone in his hand. He flipped through pictures on his phone, and Salerno's eyes turned big and his face turned white. “While you out here tricking, you leaving your family exposed.” Pictures of his daughter and wife, sleeping soundly in their beds made him jump up in alarm. Fly Boogie put a firm hand on his shoulder. “Sit your ass down.”

“Like I said,” Miamor started, “this could have been an amicable deal. I didn't want to force your hand.”

“I don't have that type of money on hand,” he said.

“You've been shaking down every business owner in Vegas for years. You don't think I know the type of paper you're getting?” Miamor replied. “The casino is a good investment. I'm a businesswoman. I'm giving you a great deal. You'll make the twenty-five million back within three months.”

Salerno wanted to say no. He was usually the terrorist; he had never met anyone, especially a woman, who'd had the moxie to shake him down. He had made a mistake by underestimating her pretty face.

“Make the call,” she said sternly. “Before I lose my patience.”

“It's two in the morning! Who am I supposed to call at this hour?!” he said in a panic.

Miamor checked her watch and nodded. “You're right,” she said. Fly Boogie hit Salerno over the head with the butt of the gun. “Get your ass up. You're coming with us.”

Miamor led the way as Fly Boogie walked Salerno out of the club. When they were outside, Fly pushed him into the trunk. “Guess you'll have to stick by my side until morning,” she said before slamming it closed.

*   *   *

By morning, Miamor had the money in a Swiss account and had left Salerno stranded in the middle of the desert. As Fly Boogie sped down the highway, he glanced over at Miamor. “You sure you want to go back?” he asked. “I can take you anywhere you want to go.”

She knew that wherever she went, Murder would eventually follow. Despite her disdain for him, she trusted him with her life. “No, I'm going back, but I want you to leave. I want you to take half a million dollars from this money and go somewhere else, start somewhere new. Murder says he's going to pay you for what you did. For infiltrating The Cartel for him … but I know him. He's going to kill you,” she admitted.

“I ain't never ran from a nigga in my life,” he said. “And what I look like? Taking your paper, ma? That's your money. I've got my own.”

Miamor turned in her seat so that she was facing him. “Just go somewhere and start over. I'm no good for you. Leave Vegas in your rearview, Fly. Start your life. You're the right type of man for the right type of woman … that's not me,” she said. “Pull over right here.”

He did as she asked, stopping in a small hick town. She opened her door and got out. “What are you doing, Miamor? Get in and close the door,” he said.

“Drive away, Fly,” she stated.

“Where will you go? You can't stay in Vegas,” Fly stated.

Miamor shrugged. “I don't know. Maybe I'll take this money and buy a little beach bar in the Bahamas,” she joked. Fly could see a bit of truth behind her words. “I just want to leave everything behind. All of it. It's too painful.” She nodded as she began to choke on her emotions. Sniffing back the tears, she finished. “Actually, that plan is sounding kind of nice.”

He got out of the car and stood, looking it over as he rested one hand on the roof. He was conflicted, and she knew it. He wanted to be her man, but she couldn't allow that. She had already let the lines between them blur a little too much. They were more than friends, but not lovers. Fly's emotions ran deeper than hers ever could for him. Her heart was already taken, so she was letting him go.

“I'll be okay.… Go,” she insisted.

He bit his lip sexily, clearly troubled by her request. He was handsome, suave, and so fresh that it was ridiculous. She smiled. “You're going to make one of these young girls very happy,” she said. “Take care of yourself, a'ight?”