Chapter Sixteen
Melody
I don’t know how I kept letting Bags drag me along to meet up with Mr. Brooks. I didn’t want nothing to do with his prehistoric disposition. I didn’t trust him. I just kept having an eerie feeling something was going to happen. . . and it would not be positive. And when it did, I knew Mr. Brooks wouldn’t be nowhere in sight to help us.
Walking through the restaurant door, there he was sitting in his favorite booth. I hated that I even saw him to get the word about this new gig. Nonetheless, he would’ve got at Bags anyway it went. After all, she was living in his private loft.
“So, hey, good morning, sir.”
“Good morning, you two,” Mr. Brooks replied to Bags while I shrugged my shoulders as if to say, “What-the-fuck-ever.”
“Sonya told me a little bit, but you tell us about the new job on the floor.” Bags was beyond all in. She was resting on her elbows, ready to do whatever Mr. Brooks said. He could have said jump off the Belle Isle Bridge to see if you make it across to Canada, and it would have been done. That’s how brainwashed he had her dimwitted self.
“Here’s the skinny. I have an interest in a private after-hours off Mack and Bewick. A lot of older guys make up the bulk of the membership; real movers and shakers in the city. Some white collar, some blue collar. But they all deep in their hustles.”
“All right, okay, then.” Bags’s eyes grew, knowing the conversation part detailing the money that would be circulating that night was on the verge of being revealed.
Mr. Brooks knew at least he had Bags strong on his line. “Well, there’s going to be a $100,000 lockout.”
“Huh? What’s that mean?”
“Simple. It means each player, member or not, has to have at least a $100,000 cash to get in the door.”
“Wow, that’s crazy,” I finally interjected, thinking that this was going to be no more than a suicide mission. “So, how many players are you expecting?”
“Eighteen to possibly twenty guys. Depends on who’s in town and who’s not.”
“And all we get is a $100K to split?” I shook my head, thinking aloud.
Mr. Brooks and Bags looked over at me as if I were out of line. But it was too late. I had said it, and that’s exactly how I was feeling. In all honesty, we should get more money—especially if there was going to be nearly two million circulating in there. And besides, we were the ones putting our lives on the line to get it.
Mr. Brooks tried to clean it up, knowing I was wise to his game of underpaying us. “Oh no, Miss Melody. You must have misunderstood me yesterday. What I said was $100,000 each.”
“I know what the hell you said, and I know what you meant.” I glared at his greedy old ass. “I’m far from being deaf, Mr. Brooks.”
Bags felt the increasing tension and cut in. “Hold up a minute. We’re not concerned with the money.”
“Fuck all that. If I’m doing any damn thing, I’m all the way concerned with the money and all I have coming.”
“Well, like I was about to say, my only true concern is who do we have to kill to get that cash in hand, ’cause I’m down.”
“Hopefully, no one.” Mr. Brooks focused on Bags and only Bags. “But who knows what tomorrow may bring. As they say, shit happens.”
“Wow, really?” I sat amazed at how in she was. She was straight sucker stroking and had been for weeks.
Mr. Brooks ignored me and kept talking to who he knew for a fact was a live wire trained to go. “Things are going to go easy peasy. My doorman is in on the take. He’ll be the one to let you both in. So y’all gonna be good. We gonna be good.”
“But what about the gamblers? Ain’t they gonna be strapped?” Bags finally asked a sensible question that mattered.
“I’ma keep it real, as you young people like to say. For the most part, they’re all my age, except for a few younger hustlers who are heavy hitters in the streets. They’re all gonna be hand searched going in. Nevertheless, you both still need to be careful.”
“Seriously, you think?” I snidely interjected, rolling my eyes.
“Well, you know us old men are stubborn when it comes to being robbed. We’d rather die than to let you take something from us. So, what’s the deal, goddaughter? Can you handle it?” Mr. Brooks was pouring it on thick. “After this, you’ll have enough money to get your little brother, and both be living on easy street. Maybe take him to Disney World or something. How does that sound to you?”
“It sounds like we can handle anything you got going.” Bags sucked up the man’s false admiration for her.
“Whoa. Whoa. How we gon’ get those old niggas to stand still when we going in with the two old janky throwaways we got? If it’s gonna be some real players in the spot, they gonna take one look at them pistols, coupled with the fact that we some females, and try us.” I was giving it to Mr. Brooks in hopes he’d listen to reason and abandon the whole idea. Or at least find two more dummies to attempt to pull it off.
“Listen, stop by here later this evening before close. I’ll have some hardware for you that not only looks the part but will also put a hole through a brick wall, if need be.”
“Now, that’s what I’m talking about. Oh yeah, I almost forgot. Where do you want the money taken to when we’re done?” Bags smiled, ready to go to war for the old man.
“I’ll pick it up from the loft.” Mr. Brooks was smug, knowing once more he’d convinced his little weak-minded protégés to do his dirty work. “By the way, Sonya, how do you like the place? Are you good down there? Alex isn’t bothering you, is he?”
“I love it. And I use the back entrance, so I haven’t really even seen him.”
“Wow, so maybe someday, I’ll see this famous spot,” Melody said.
“When we leave here, I’ma show you the crib, Melody. That shit is hot.” Bags bragged as if it were truly hers and not on loan until Mr. Brooks grew tired of her . . . or she was locked up . . . or dead. “Sir, when can we invest some of our money into some business like the ones you have?”
“Listen up. No more ‘sir’ or ‘Mr. Brooks.’ You girls can call me ‘Uncle Phillip,’ okay?” he grinned. “And as far as that goes, first you have to have enough money to make an investment but still live comfortably. Just continue to save your money, and when the time is right, I’ll be happy to help you girls make that transition. And after this next job, you two will be well on your way to living large.”
I could tell his old bitch ass was lying. He didn’t have no room for us in his plans outside of robbing people taking penitentiary chances and playing casket games. And no matter how much cheese I made dealing with him, I would never be as stupid as Bags. I wasn’t putting a single coin in his greedy palms. Her foolish ass was sitting there buying everything Mr. Brooks, Uncle, or whoever he wanted to be, was selling. Sonya’s sick-in-the-head ass just didn’t get it. We were merely stickup pawns to this dude—and nothing more.
* * *
Just as mentioned, Sonya took me to her place. As much as I wanted to hate it because our “godfather/ uncle” had blessed her with it, I couldn’t find fault. Even though it was small, every square foot of it was plush.
We kicked back and watched the mild current of the Detroit River. It had me entranced. My mind kept playing through scenarios of the robbery he asked us to pull off. None of the options seemed good. Mr. Brooks made it sound so easy, but I knew it wasn’t gonna be that way. Just like the previous jobs we’d pulled off, he swore this one would be just the same with a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.
“Mel,” Sonya said, breaking my meditation.
“What up?”
“You gonna do this, right? You know I need my homegirl by my side. It’s 100K. I need this.”
I sighed and continued to watch the river, her desperation obvious. I couldn’t believe I was going to say it, but I did. “I’ll do it. But this is the last time I do anything for that old-ass con man.”
“I knew you were a down bitch.”
I frowned. “Yeah, I’m a down bitch.”
As planned, we slid by the restaurant near closing time. Like clockwork, Mr. Brooks was there anticipating our arrival. Waving us over to his favorite booth, he gave Sonya a duffle bag and told us to go into the bathroom and see what we thought about the contents. I unzipped it and could only shake my head. Leaning over to peek in, a gigantic smile graced Sonya’s face. There were plastic gloves, two AK-47s, and two extra thirty-round clips each. At the bottom lay two bulletproof vests. I’m not going to lie. Holding up one of the vests had me a little shook. Taking a bullet was not on my list of things to do for the year.
Zipping the duffle back, we returned to the booth.
Mr. Brooks looked intensely at us. “When you get inside, by all means, pay attention. You’re dealing with men who are and have been playing for keeps for decades. So, you gotta be extra careful we get all the money. In and out. You two girls got it?”
“We can handle it,” reassured Bags, ready to kill again, if need be, all in the name of money.
I regretted getting deeper and deeper in with both Sonya and Mr. Brooks. I didn’t like that feeling I was getting about going into an after-hours spot, guns practically blazing. Murder was never my hustle. I’d made up my mind for sure. This was my last lick with these two. Sonya had gone off the deep end and was following Mr. Brooks like some member of a cult. If I made it out alive after this, I would definitely never deal with Bags again . . . point-blank, period on any level.