Chapter 15
“Look around. You’re the only one of your kind for a reason.”
—Man at the bar
The dimmed yellow light illuminated the smoky bar as incoherent chatter filled the air. The exclusive spot may as well have had a no-blacks allowed sign on the door because as soon as Miamor stepped foot inside, she was out of place. All conversations ceased as she walked toward the bar. Her expensive heels crunched peanuts under her feet as she made her way through the down home establishment. She slid into a stool next to a young Italian man. He gave her a once over and then poured the remainder of his drink down his throat in one swig.
“You lost sweet heart?” he asked.
“No, this is exactly where I need to be,” she replied.
“Look around. You’re the only one of your kind for a reason,” the man said. “Although I must say I don’t mind the view, you know what I mean?” He raised his hand and motioned for the bartender. The older Italian man had skin as rough as leather. His greasy, black, hair was slicked back off of his face, his top lip completely covered in a bushy mustache. Miamor could see the depth in his eyes and she would put her life on it that the hunch of his back was caused by the many secrets he had weighing down his soul. These four walls have probably witnessed some crazy shit, she thought.
“What can I get you?” the bartender asked as he glanced at Miamor.
“When’s the last time you saw someone like this in the bar? Eh, Fred?” the man beside her asked.
The bartender tapped his finger on the bar and said, “A black girl in a bar is the least of my worries Sonny. Don’t be a jackass,” the bartender said sternly. He turned to Miamor. “What can I do for you sweet heart?”
Miamor lowered her voice. “I need to see Timmy Bono,” she said
The bartender grabbed the bar rag and began to clean the countertops as he shook his head back and forth. “I don’t know what you’re talking about toots. I don’t know anyone by that name. Sure you got the right spot?” he asked.
Miamor had expected to hit this roadblock so she had come prepared. She slid an envelope out of her handbag and placed it on the bar. She tapped it with her blood red fingernail. “After he sees this, he’ll want to see me too,” she said calmly.
The bartender discreetly grabbed the envelope and then disappeared without saying a word. Miamor kept her hand in her purse as she palmed the .45 that rested at the bottom of it. When she saw the wooden door that was hidden in the back shadows of the bar open up she knew that Timmy Bono was there. The bartender returned.
“Go through that back door there,” he said.
Miamor arose from her seat and walked into the back. As soon as she stepped foot inside the door closed behind her. She spun to see two goons posted on the sides of the door. She looked at the man sitting behind the wooden desk in front of her . . . Timmy Bono.
“Please have a seat,” he offered.
“I’d rather stand,” Miamor said as she shifted uncomfortably.
“My men are going to search you,” Timmy Bono said.
She held her hands out at her sides while gripping her bag in one of them as one of the goons stepped up. His hands searched her body gropingly, but he was so distracted by her curves that he neglected to go through her bag. “I’m clean, I’m not a cop,” she spat harshly when she felt him palm her behind.
“So, what brings a pretty little thing like you into my bar?” he asked.
“I’m here to extend my friendship,” Miamor said. She removed another envelope from her bag and placed pictures before him. “Daniel Broome has been building a racketeering case against you. All of the illegal bets that you have placed for him were caught on wire taps.”
“Who are you? How do you know all of this? And what do you have to gain by telling me all of this. If I’ve learned one thing in my line of business it is that people who come in the form of friends are often truly enemies,” Timmy Bono responded with dark eyes.
“I’m neither,” Miamor answered. “I’m a woman with information,” she said. “I choose my alliances very wisely and carefully. I’m sure you are familiar with The Cartel.”
“The Diamond family,” Timmy Bono said. “We call them the black mafia.” Bono laughed heartily and his voice boomed loudly in amusement. “I am familiar with The Cartel.”
“I am the head of The Cartel now and like I said, I would like to be friends,” Miamor said.
“The head of The Cartel?” Timmy Bono asked. “What type of show are yous running over there?”
“That is not your concern. All you should know is that you have a problem with P.A. Daniel Broome. Don’t say that I didn’t try to warn you when the Feds come kicking in your door,” Miamor said.
She turned and headed for the door.
“What’s your name? Ms. new head of the cartel?” Timmy Bono asked.
“Miamor,” she replied with a smile. “Don’t let the good looks fool you Mr. Bono.” She nodded toward the pictures on his desk. “Don’t take my warning lightly.”
Timmy Bono nodded as he watched Miamor walk from the room. She sighed in relief, but didn’t release the hold on her bag until she was tucked safely in the car. As she collapsed in the passenger seat she looked over at Aries.
“Everything smooth?” Aries asked.
Miamor shook her head. “I don’t know,” she replied. She wasn’t sure if Timmy Bono would act on her advice, but if he was anything like her he would eradicate Broome just to be safe. Revenge would be hers and she wouldn’t even have to lift a pretty finger . . . all Miamor had to do was sit back and enjoy the show.