27

Whistler pulled back the blinds and carefully looked outside. The black Dodge Charger with tinted windows was still parked nearby. He knew they were watching him. It was Jimmy following his every move. Deuce had him on a tight leash. He knew he didn’t have long to lure Lucky into his web and tangle her up so Deuce could sink his fangs into her. He was at Deuce’s mercy.

Deuce was right; he had gone from a king to a peasant. Day by day, Whistler was spiraling downward and losing more and more of himself. The cocaine he snorted daily expedited his collapse. The nose candy was his escape from his troubles, but looking out his window and seeing that black Dodge Charger parked outside, he knew there was no escape. They distrusted him and didn’t hesitate to let him feel the animosity. But tonight, it was now or never. He couldn’t prolong it. He had to take care of business.

He donned a leather jacket, snatched up his pack of cigarettes from the nightstand, and exited the room. He climbed into his Lexus and drove off. As predicted, the Charger followed right behind him. Jimmy was becoming a headache to him. He was on Whistler tighter than white on rice. And if it wasn’t Jimmy, then it was one of his henchmen. For two days straight, Whistler couldn’t take a piss without someone watching him. It was time to execute. He’d promised them Lucky and her mother, and he had to deliver or he was a dead man.

The midnight hour and the winter cold made the streets sparse of traffic. Calmly, Whistler drove into the night knowing time was ticking. He got on the highway and drove a mile and then exited at the gas station/rest stop. The Charger followed. Whistler stopped at a gas pump behind a brown jeep Cherokee, scanned the area, and saw an opportunity. Walking toward the station, he saw Jimmy sitting behind the wheel of the Charger and idling close by. They frowned at each other.

Whistler walked into the station and followed a man into the bathroom. The man was average height, middle-aged, and not put together neatly. Once they were in the restroom, Whistler made his move. The man didn’t even see him coming. The hit was swift and to the back of his head. The man dropped. Whistler hit him again, knocking him unconscious. Whistler rummaged through his pockets, grabbed his car key with the Jeep emblem, wallet, his jacket, and hat. He removed his clothing and put on the stranger’s garb. He dragged the man into a stall and closed the door. One look in the mirror and Whistler was confident he could pull it off.

He exited the bathroom looking like someone else. Composedly, he walked out of the gas station and glanced at the Charger. Jimmy was climbing out of the Dodge and walking toward the station to check in on him. But Whistler was walking right by him with his head lowered and moving toward a different car. Jimmy glanced his way, but there was no recognition. Keep cool, keep moving!

He got into the man’s brown Jeep, the only other car besides his and Jimmy’s, and drove away. He’d finally ditched his babysitter. He got onto the highway and drove north from Maryland. New York was a few hours away. He was free, but he had some work to do. He lit a cigarette and accelerated to 70mph. He wanted to get as far away from the area possible. Jimmy would not be fooled for long. He would figure it out—the brown Cherokee was already marked and maybe Jimmy remembered the plates. The man was good, and there was a reason he was Deuce’s right-hand. Jimmy reminded Whistler of himself—they both took nothing for granted and trusted nothing. They both paid attention to the details and were good at killing and tracking people down.

An hour went by, and Whistler’s cell phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID, and it was Deuce calling. He refused to take the call. What was he going to say? He’d ditched Jimmy and he was on his own. But they would come looking for him, so he had to be ready. He had to give them what he had promised. He’d get to Lucky, and then he’d get to Layla. But he had to be smart about this. He was making enemies everywhere, and one wrong move would wreck everything.

The sunrise over the city was alluring. Whistler had been sitting outside of Lucky’s building for over two hours. He watched everything—people’s comings and goings, the traffic going by, the employees entering and exiting. When he felt he’d inspected the area long enough, Whistler exited the car and approached the towering brick building. He thought back to the last time he was there. It wasn’t a fond memory.

Being back in New York was dangerous. Scott had people everywhere—eyes watching and alerting him from every corner of the city. Whistler knew a bounty was on his head, and all it took was one phone call and his former friend would send out the killing squad.

Whistler walked into the grand lobby of the building and swiveled his head in every direction. The doorman was new. Whistler knew the doorman watched everyone come and go. He would know Lucky’s face; she was hard to miss. Whistler approached him with extreme caution, got his attention with three hundred-dollar bills, and asked, “Have you seen this woman in the building lately?”

The doorman’s job was supposed to come with discretion, but for a few extra hundred dollars, he was easily swayed. “No, she moved out a while back,” the doorman said.

It was all the information Whistler needed. There was no use in prying further. The man wouldn’t know Lucky’s new address. He slipped the man the three-hundred and headed out.

Fuck! Whistler thought. It was a wise move. They were at war, and he was now their rival, so he knew they would change anything old. But he was a tracker, and he was on the clock.

Think, think, think, he told himself. He had to think fast and find her. But what if she was no longer in New York? Could she be in Delaware? Or Florida? It would be easy for him to keep on driving, maybe go far out west and start a new life there. But then what? He would spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder, and Whistler wasn’t the type to run. It would end someway and somehow. Even if it meant by bang, bang.

He knew everything about Lucky—her likes and dislikes, her taste in clothing and men, and the foods she loved. Lucky didn’t cook. She ordered out and loved fine dining. But her favorite type of food was Thai, and she only liked the best. His next step was a tedious one, but it had to be done. He looked up all the best Thai food places. He remembered her favorite place was Tue Thai Food near Central Park. She’d moved away from the area, but chances were, she would still be ordering from her favorite restaurant.

Whistler was familiar with the delivery boy; he’d delivered food to Lucky’s old address plenty of times, and Whistler was sure he remembered her well. It took some time, but he finally cornered the delivery boy outside of the restaurant. Whistler held the man’s bicycle hostage and showed him Lucky’s picture and demanded her new address. At first, the delivery boy was reluctant, but for five hundred dollars, he spewed the information out faster than he could breathe.

“I know you. You boyfriend. Why you don’t know?” he asked Whistler.

“It’s best that you just mind your business,” Whistler warned him.

He took the advice and left.

***

Lucky felt like her life was unraveling, but she would not let her father win. She would not go off the deep end. The rift was widening more and more between them. Lucky wanted to shoot her father right between the eyes for what he did to her and her mother. The disrespect was insane, and she wanted to put a stop to it. The man she had once looked up to and adored was now enemy number-one.

Lucky arrived home to her luxurious apartment on the upper west side. Things were quiet and dark, like usual. Inside the bedroom, she dropped her handbag and pistol on the bed and turned on her stereo system to listen to some Sade. She undressed down to her bra and panties and lounged on the tufted chaise near her bed, as “The Sweetest Taboo” began playing.

Whistler hid in her closet, submerged in the dark. He was still and patient, watching her from the small opening in the door. He had to make sure that she was alone. He watched Lucky for a moment, noted the pistol on the bed, and saw his opportunity. He abruptly emerged from the closet and pointed his gun at her.

Lucky’s eyes widened. She wanted to reach for her gun, but Whistler stepped closer in a threatening manner and warned her, “Don’t do it, Lucky!”

She was staring down the barrel of a Glock 19, and the bang from it could easily make a mess of her.

“Why are you here?” she exclaimed.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” he said.

“You could have fooled me. How did you find me? How the fuck did you get into my place?”

“You know I have my ways, Lucky,” he replied.

She glared at him. He stared at her, and she didn’t look too good. Her face still showed the bruises from Scott’s attack. It looked like she had gone five rounds with Mayweather in his prime. It also looked like she was wearing a wig. This wasn’t the Lucky he knew—she looked like she had been through hell and back. He tried not to stare too long at her, knowing how sensitive she had become about her looks.

“Look, we need to talk,” he said.

“Fuck you!” she shouted. She was still itching to reach for her gun and kill him—if she could.

Whistler read her movements, and he knew her like a book. “You won’t get the shot off, Lucky. I have the advantage. I didn’t come here to kill you. I could have been done that. I came here to talk.”

She scowled. Talking was no longer relevant to her. All she wanted was revenge. She wanted to fuck him and Scott up. The two men she once trusted had both betrayed her and had let her down. If they were on fire, she wouldn’t piss on them to put them out.

“I came to make amends. I know I hurt you, and what I did to you, it was wrong. I’m sorry,” he said.

“My father is gonna fuck you up!” she replied. “Fuck your ‘sorry!’”

Coming there, Whistler knew he was risking his life, but he had to try. He had to get through to Lucky somehow. So far, it was a very rocky start, which he expected. And as much as he thought he hated and despised her, he didn’t want to see her dead. Whistler knew that once Deuce got his hands on her, he would slowly tear Lucky apart physically and mentally. He would torture her in cruel ways. The man was a sadist, and he knew Lucky and Layla would be the ultimate prize in Deuce’s hands.

“I’m working with Deuce now,” he blurted out. There was no sugarcoating it, no going around it.

“What?” She was shocked to hear that. “You’re workin’ with that monster? The man who had my brothers and sister killed?”

“Your father left me no choice.”

“So you go and side with the fuckin’ enemy? You fuckin’ coward!”

“I tried talking to you and your father. I wanted to reason with him, but he went crazy. He tried to have me killed.”

“I wish he would have succeeded.”

Whistler shook his head. A woman scorned, huh? But he would not give up. He’d come this far. She would hear him out one way or another. He was a serious man, and maybe he needed to remind her of that. But she quickly spoke again, exclaiming, “I loved you! I always loved you! You took advantage of me. You started to care more about your whores than you did me! I wanted to be your fuckin’ woman. I didn’t want anyone else but you. What the fuck did you want, huh? What did you want from me? I gave you the best sex, and I woulda died for you, but that wasn’t enough, was it!” A few tears trickled from her eyes.

“I can’t change the past, Lucky. I can’t change the things that I’ve done. But I can make it right.”

“How can you make it right?”

“Look, you’re in danger,” he uttered.

“You think that’s something new to me?”

“Deuce is out for blood, and he won’t stop until he has you and your mother in his clutches. He wants you dead, but not before he has his thugs exploit you and then bury you on his plantation as a trophy from his drug war with Scott. And believe me; you’d rather be dead than to have him take you hostage.”

“So, you’re here to kill me? Save me the pain?”

“I have a plan.”

“And I’m supposed to just trust you?”

“I know it’s hard, after everything that’s happened, but I’m not gonna let him hurt you,” he said with conviction.

Lucky stared into his eyes, and they were filled with fervor and some sincerity. He lowered the gun. Gradually, he was getting through to her, he felt. He said, “He wants you alive, but my plan is to kill you first.”

Lucky was confused. “Kill me?”

Whistler detailed his plan to her, but first, he warned her through clenched teeth not to double-cross him.

“You double-crossed me, nigga,” she retorted.

“It was my mistake.”

It was a thin line between love and hate between them. But they needed each other. They had to survive.

“I need a female to die in your place, Lucky. I will make it look like an accident off the LIE in your truck. A fiery blaze leaving the body charred beyond recognition.”

“Say what now?”

“You heard me. It’s either gonna be the real you or a fake you, but you’re marked for death. Deuce is gunning for you, and this could buy us a few days.”

He would need her truck and some of her accessories. Jewelry would be perfect, especially her diamond nameplate. She was upset about her G-Wagen and the jewelry, but wasn’t bothered that an innocent girl would probably die in her place.

Whistler continued, “Word will get back to Deuce that you were killed in an accident before I had a chance to get at you, and he’ll be furious and want to kill me on the spot. But I’m putting my life on the line and betting that I can still convince him that a captured, grieving Layla is still worth keeping me alive. Jimmy will object, and this time Deuce will insist on having Jimmy not shadow me but ride shotgun when I drive 95-North to kidnap Layla. And this is where you come in.”

“Me? Why should I help ya sorry ass?”

He exploded. “Got-damn it, Lucky, can’t you grow the fuck up? Our fuckin’ lives are on the line. This nigga done killed half your family, and your father can’t seem to stop him and neither can I . . . I can’t do it alone.”

She rolled her eyes, not willing to park her childishness on a shelf. “What else can I do to help you besides allowing you to burn up my beloved truck and liquefy my favorite necklace?”

There wasn’t an “off” button with her, even in the face of danger. Whistler ignored her sarcasm and wondered, briefly, if he should just tie this bitch up and hand deliver her to his oppressor. Was she even worth the headache? From day one, their affair had cost him. Now it could cost him his life.

“You have access to something I don’t. Shooters. Do you have a couple goons that are loyal to you?”

She nodded.

“Good. Then I am going to set up a trap for Jimmy. After Deuce hears of your death and sends me after your mother, I am going to bring Jimmy to the lake house in Albany that your parents own. Do you remember it?”

She nodded.

“When we get there, your shooters better be on point and take Jimmy out. And, Lucky, don’t get cute and have them take me out too. If you keep up your end of the bargain, then I will hand deliver Deuce to you on a silver platter. So think long and hard on how you want to play this. Is it more important to see me dead, a man who’s loved you until this very day, or the man who murdered Gotti, Bonnie, and Clyde and had you beaten?”

But Lucky didn’t understand it. “Why not just kill Deuce?”

He planned on doing so. Whistler wanted his life back. With Deuce and Scott dead, he could show his face without looking over his shoulders and start up his organization. Once he got Deuce to put his guard down, he would have Lucky’s soldiers kill Jimmy and make it look like Scott’s crew were the culprits. With Jimmy gone, Deuce would become a much easier target to wipe out.

Scott had to die too. He couldn’t fill Lucky in on that part of his plan, though. Whistler realized that Scott would never forgive him, and their friendship and partnership was long gone. The extreme was all Whistler had. Scott would never believe that Lucky was killed accidentally on the LIE and would finally snap and go ham on locating Deuce. Scott would be certain that just as his other kids’ murders were made to look like accidents, so was this. He would feel like less than a man to have four children murdered by one man and would move heaven and earth to exact revenge. And Layla wouldn’t rest until they got at Deuce. Deuce, too, would come out swinging and looking for payback for Jimmy. Lucky would help implement this plan whether she liked it or not. She was the catalyst to ignite the fire to burn it all down.

The key to this plan would be that Scott would believe that Lucky had been murdered. It didn’t matter who took whom out; whoever survived would die by Whistler’s hand. It was a long shot, like winning the lottery, but Whistler felt he had to be in it to win.

“If he were that easy to kill, don’t you think Scott with all his muscle and millions would have done it already? Huh? Think, Lucky. This is the only way.”

Lucky pondered the bizarre plan. She was pissed at Scott anyway, so the idea of making him grieve and suffer almost made her smile. But to have the rest of her family think she was dead?

“I hear you, Whistler, but to have my mother, Meyer, and Bugsy think I was killed in a car crash is just cruel.”

Whistler did a lot more explaining and ended with, “It’s the only way.”

It was a lot to swallow, but Whistler knew how to be persuasive. She was up for it. She explained that she wanted revenge on her father anyway. Who did she hate the most, her father or Whistler? Each time she looked into the mirror and saw the bruises on her face and felt the pain and betrayal, her rage toward her father surfaced. Whistler had broken her heart, but he never physically beat her. Her father struck her and damaged her soul. She looked ugly, and she felt it too. She had bald spots in her head from her father’s violence, and her face was still healing. She wanted some payback. Whistler came at the right time with his plan.

But what about her mother? Would she be safe? Layla could handle herself, but Lucky had to be there for her. Whistler assured her that Layla was safe, but she couldn’t know about their plan. It was between them. Everyone had to be in the dark. They couldn’t know that her death was a ruse. They had to feel the emotions, and it had to look and feel real for everyone to see—including Deuce and Jimmy.

“I’m putting my life on the line to save you.”

She understood. And for a moment, they’d reconciled.

Their conversation went from the bedroom to the living room. Lucky picked up a bottle of red wine and drank it out of the bottle. Whistler watched her. The way she was drinking, it seemed harmful.

“Maybe you need to cut back some on the alcohol,” he suggested.

She shot a hard stare at him and barked, “Muthafucka, don’t tell me what to do! You don’t fuckin’ own me. And after what I been through, I need to relax.”

He left it alone. He watched her walk around the room in her panties and bra. She didn’t care to become decent in front of him. Though her looks had changed with her bruises, wig, and her droopy eye, her body was still curvy, thick, and in shape.

Whistler talked about his master plan. He wanted to map it out accurately, to where there would be no mistakes. This was life or death.

Lucky, however, continued to drink. She approached him with a wicked smile, pushed her body against his, and touched the side of his face. “Do you miss me?” she asked him.

Whistler stood there straight-faced. He didn’t answer her.

Her hand went from the side of his face, traveled down his torso, and landed on his crotch. She squeezed his dick and said, “I do miss you. Damn, I do miss him.”

He knew that she wanted to fuck. She tried to kiss him, but he gently resisted. “Now is not the time,” he said.

“What’s the matter? You don’t find me attractive anymore?”

“It’s not that. I just want to take care of business.”

“I am your business, and you owe me,” she said.

“Not like this. I’m trying to save your life.”

She huffed and pouted. She drank more. She was becoming frustrated. The hostility she had toward him earlier had transitioned into yearning with lust for him. He was still fine, and he still had a big dick.

Whistler looked her directly in her eyes and undoubtedly proclaimed, “I still love you, Lucky. I always will. But I just can’t right now. We both have too much going on in our lives to continue something that got me in hot water with your father in the first place. Before we even think about going there, we have to figure out this mess and stay alive.”

She had no words. Strangely, she understood him. It was just that seeing him again, those old feelings crept back and she wanted to be touched and loved once more. She needed the affection—some affection, it didn’t matter from who.

He handed her a burner phone. “We need to keep in touch.” And with that, he exited the apartment.

Lucky stood in the center of her living room and watched him go. Just as easily as he’d come, he was gone. She looked at the phone and wondered if she’d made the right choice by allowing Whistler back into her life. Could she trust him again? What if it was all a ploy to take her and Layla down? Whistler was the master of manipulation. He had a way with words—ways of making people listen to him and believe him. His gift of gab was a superpower.

Was she thinking more with her heart than her mind? There was no telling what Whistler was up to.