Chapter Six

Sonya

I could tell that Melody didn’t care one way or the other if we hit the lick. She was on some real shook shit thinking that it was all a setup and that Mr. Brooks was rocking us to sleep. I was tired of hearing all that scared talk. I was not about to let her blow them twenty-four stacks promised. I mean—damn, all we had to do was move some punk-ass vehicles from one spot to the next. Since Mr. Brooks was part owner in the Ford dealership, what could go wrong? Besides, we even had the keys, so how hard could it be? That loss would be between him and his partner that he had come to hate.

No longer in the mood to baby Melody, I gave it to her raw. “If I have to stay up all night and transport the vehicles one by one, I will. And if so, no matter how close we are, you ain’t gettin’ no parts of the cash.” Having thought about having half of twenty-four racks versus none snapped her back to reality.

“I’m in,” she said. My hustle buddy was back.

Dressed in black and Jordan sneakers, we worked all through the night. Moving the Navigators first, then the Expeditions, we were on a roll. Styling in a few Mustangs, the task was close to being completed. It was a little shy of three in the morning, and we were exhausted. We’d made eleven trips in total between us and had one more truck to move before calling it a night. I was riding shotgun with Melody as she pushed the stolen, fully loaded F-150. Floating down East Jefferson, we were soon right back at the dealership ready to get it in.

“Okay, Melody, last one. Then we home free.” I grabbed the door handle and jumped down out of the truck and confidently walked across the lot, keys in hand. Then I pushed the alarm button as I cut across the grass, seeing Melody pull off.

Hurriedly, I slid behind the wheel of the midnight-blue Mustang, cranked the engine, and backed out of the space. After pulling out into traffic, my heart sank. A Detroit police cruiser drove by on the other side of the road. Seeing how late it was, the officers were, of course, suspicious. The driver and I locked eyes. It was easy to know what was about to take place as the car hooked a hard U.

I weighed my options. If I just hoped and prayed they weren’t focused on me and were suddenly headed somewhere else that required a swift change in direction, I’d be a fool. Without delay, I exercised Plan B. I floored the bitch, putting the high-performance engine to work.

I could see the cops’ light flick on in the rearview mirror. I had them by a good enough distance, though, because they weren’t prepared for a full-blown pursuit that I was willing, able, and prepared to take on. For the cops, them catching me was just them doing their job. For me, getting away meant me keeping my freedom and collecting that huge cash payout from Mr. Brooks.

I gripped the wheel with both hands and punched it down a random side street. I busted a sharp left and gunned it down a few blocks over. I assumed the cops thought I would try jumping down on the freeway so I could punch the Mustang wide open. However, I didn’t. I couldn’t risk possibly having not only the Detroit police on my ass but also the Michigan State Police as well. Instead, I played it smart and cautiously doubled back in the direction I’d come from. After ducking and dodging here and there, I ended up near the old, abandoned Packard plant. I couldn’t go to jail, not tonight anyway, was all that stayed on my mind. All I had to do was make it back to the collision shop. And I would. Taking a few more back roads, I knew I was home free. I made the last turn down the dimly lit block. Thankfully, I could see Melody parked across the street, waiting. I hit the horn and flashed her a huge smile. She pulled behind me, and the garage door to the collision shop flew open.

Earl was on edge from all the sirens he’d heard. He waved us both in. Then he stepped out and looked up and down the block before snatching the garage door closed. I could easily see why he was so cautious. He had well over a million dollars’ worth of stolen cars and parts inside his chop shop. They had everything from air bags, door panels, rims, bumpers, engines, seats, etc. Melody jumped down from the F-150. After stepping out of the Mustang, we both joined the musty, shady-looking king of the illegal castle near his office door. He wore a soiled wife beater and muddy, oily jeans but had to be making money by the boatload.

“Yeah, so, these are the last two on the list,” Earl acknowledged, marking something onto a clipboard which he clutched diligently. Slowly, he walked all around both vehicles, inspecting them for damage, then checked the interiors just as he’d done the others.

“Man, they all perfect, so what up, doe? Is we good?” I snapped, ready to get to the good part . . . leaving from that hot box building of felonies.

“Yes, we’re good. I’ll pass the word along,” Earl said, not taking his eyes from the clipboard.

“Well, let us out then,” Melody insisted, who was jumpier than I was.

“And look, I don’t know what you doodling on ya li’l pad and whatnot, but all them shits were straight when we brought ’em up in here,” I made it clear stopping at the door. “So, I don’t want no bullshit.”

“For two females, y’all both mighty feisty. Now, damn, I said that I would pass the word, so relax. You’ll get paid.” He pushed the door open while keeping his eyes on me until the door closed.

“What happened back there?” Melody asked as we started walking down the block.

“Let’s grab some Coney Island and go chill at my crib until daybreak when it’s time to get cashed out. I’ll tell you then. But just know your friend is the shit.”