Heartless Read online

  A loud bumping in the next room snaps her attention away from her thoughts. The sound of a whimpering voice can be heard faintly. A female’s scream pierces the airwaves. Suddenly, she thinks of Toy and she jumps up from the bed.

  She races into the next room where she sees Toy naked and fighting with all of her might. She looks like a crazy woman with her hair messy all over her head. Even with the man’s back to her, she can identify him as the man they met here last night. Toy is fighting so hard that she doesn’t even notice Storm coming toward her; neither does he. He pins her against the wall as he tries to pry her legs open. “The fuck off me!” Toy cries as she tries to get out of his grip.

  Storm looks around for the first thing to grab, and before she realizes, she has a chain with an open padlock on the end of it, gripped tightly in her hand. Toy now notices her, and with her eyes, she begs to be rescued from the madness. Storm swings the chain with all of her might, just as the man turns around to face her. The lock lands in the middle of his forehead, splitting it down the middle.

  The blood gushes instantly. Storm swings over and over, not giving him a chance to react. He falls to his knees and she continues swinging the chain relentlessly. She whips him until he falls helplessly onto the floor.

  “I blacked out and was awakened by the screams of my friend. I had never seen that much blood in my life. I have no clue how long the whipping had been going on. Apparently the whipping evolved into a more intimate beating because when I awakened the chain was wrapped around his neck. Seeing him lying there unconscious and in a bloody pulp did nothing for me but make me want to continue on with the torture.”

  “Come on! Let’s go!” Toy cries. She runs over to her and jumps into her clothing.

  Storm looks around, not sure of her next move. She quickly locates her pile of clothes and gets dressed as well. Toy pulls the BMW keys out of her pocket and races to the door. The thief in Storm leads her over to the man. She digs into his pockets, looking for any money that he may have. No real surprise to her; he’s penniless. She takes off running behind Toy.

  “I had no recollection of what took place the night before. After listening to my friend, I was able to gather that we had been slipped something through the marijuana we were smoking. It was quite obvious that he had his way with us sexually without either of our consent. That was all the justification I needed for my action. Before you even ask me, no, I feel no remorse at all. Where I come from, all cross deserves consequences.”

  Storm and Toy stand in the back of the garage. Their eyes popped out of their heads in surprise. The getaway car sits parked on bricks, stripped of the tires and rims. Now here they stand in foreign land, hundreds of miles away from home with a homicide on their hands. Not a dollar in their pockets between the two of them, clueless on how they will make it home.

  6

  A homicide behind them, they really have no time waste. Familiarity has guided them back to the beach where all the action is. Today they seem to get less attention than they did when they were cruising the block in the beautiful BMW. They haven’t turned not one head since they stepped out here.

  They really don’t want too much attention. Especially not from anyone who may know that they were the girls who the man left with last night. They know their time is limited. Soon someone may go to the garage and find the man they left soaking in cold blood. Storm has no clue how she is going to get the money to get home, but she knows the clock is ticking.

  “I’m going to the bathroom. Keep your eyes open for the money,” she says to Toy before stepping across the street. As she’s walking, her eyes are scanning the area for a possible dollar. She watches the girls with the huge designer pocketbooks, wondering how much money may be in them. She envisions herself snatching one of the bags and making a run for it. She also envisions herself not making it off of the block before she’s caught. She understands snatching it could easily lead to an even bigger charge and she has to count out the idea.

  Minutes later, she steps out of the small store, and she spots Toy standing in the same place she left her. The only difference is she standing in the middle of a huddle of guys. Her heart races as she wonders if these are the friends or associates of the man they left in the garage. She has the thought to make a break for it while she has the chance, but she can’t fathom the idea of leaving her friend.

  She walks fearfully across the street with many thoughts racing through her mind. As she gets closer, she can see smiles on the men’s face which, to her, is a good sign. This makes her pick up her step. She gets closer to the huddle, and the attention of the men is diverted to her. The man standing closest to Toy continues talking to her, never once looking at Storm.

  “So, you gon’ give me the phone number or what, shorty?” the man begs.

  Storm thinks quickly and intervenes. “Phone number for what?” she asks coldly.

  “I ain’t talking to you, ma. I’m talking to her.”

  “I’m talking to you, though,” Storm replies sassy-like. “Later for the small talk. What you trying to do?”

  “Huh?” the man asks.

  “Ain’t nobody got time to waste. Let’s get right to the point. You want her?”

  “Want her? What you mean by that?” The man looks over to Toy, who looks at Storm more baffled than him.

  “I mean what I said. Money talks and the bullshit walks. If you ain’t trying to let that money talk, let us walk.”

  All the men sit back in surprise at her boldness.

  “You selling her?” All the men laugh. “You her pimp? Y’all trickin’?”

  “Nah, we treating,” Storm replies. “What she worth to you? How bad you want her?”

  Toy looks at Storm with confusion in her eyes. She’s no whore and is furious that Storm would even put her in a situation like this. “You want to get home, right?” she whispers to Toy.

  “Tap those pockets and see if three hundred in there and let’s stop the bullshitting. Time is money, and if you ain’t got the money, we ain’t got the time.”

  “Three hundred?” the man says before laughing in her face. “Ma, I ain’t no trick.”

  “OK, then she ain’t no treat. Let’s go,” she says as she snatches Toy away from the man. As they get a few feet away, the man speaks.

  “Yo! Hold up.”

  Storm stops with aggravation. The man walks over to them. “I ain’t got three hundred but I got two-fifty.”

  “Deal,” Storm replies.

  “I got a room at the Wyndham. Follow me there.”

  “Money in my hand first, and we got a deal.”

  The man forks over the cash, and Storm and Toy follow his lead.

  * * *

  Two hours later, Storm is sitting in the window seat of a Greyhound bus as it speeds up the highway. Toy sits in the aisle staring into thin air. She feels like a cheap prostitute after selling her body for a bus ticket and two number five McDonald’s combo meals. There is no change left over. She’s so furious with Storm that she hasn’t said a word to her since her pleading. Storm wouldn’t take no for an answer. The fear of going to jail for murder was the incentive she used to get Toy to go along with the plan.

  “It was that day I learned that men would pay for whatever they wanted. I also learned that the value of a woman is the price that she feels she’s worth.”

  7

  Two Years Later

  2008

  Storm sits in the office inside of the Mercedes Benz dealership with an acquaintance of hers sitting by her side. She was forced to dress up and get rid of her trusty baseball cap to better fit the role. Being that she couldn’t wear the cap, she was forced to wear a wig that gives her the additional five years she needs to fit the role. She feels extremely uncomfortable without her security blanket, but at least, she’s not fully exposed. Even with the cheap wig making her look almost ten years older: She would rathe
r that than her natural hair being exposed.

  Across the desk from them is a well-dressed, middle-aged black sales representative. He shoves a stack of papers over to Storm. “I just need you to sign right here,” he says. “Here, and here, and here,” he says as he flicks through the pages.

  Storm begins signing her real name out of pure habit before catching herself. She then signs Danielle Bryant at all the prescribed places. Whoever Danielle Bryant is, she has no clue that her name is being attached to a fifty thousand dollar car loan. The twenty-two-year-old college student just got her license few months ago and crashed the used car that her parents bought her.

  With the loan coming up as paid, her credit is in very good standing. Danielle’s information was bought from a salesman at a Toyota dealer. Her acquaintance got that file along with a few more files for a measly five bags of heroin. The man sitting next to Storm is playing the role of Danielle Bryant’s father.

  “Lastly, Mr. Bryant, as the cosigner, you need to sign here, here, and here.”

  The man snatches the papers and forges the man’s signature to perfection.

  “OK, great. Let me just take these back to my manager to overlook and sign off, and I will be back with your keys,” he says with a smile. The man exits.

  “Told you it would be a piece of cake,” the man says when the salesman is out of the room. “Easy money.”

  Storm’s stomach is doing flip flops since she stepped into the dealership. Today she learned that the adrenaline rush that she’s grown to love just doesn’t come with hard crime. It comes with any aspect of breaking the law.

  In minutes the salesman reappears. They both are glad to see the keys jingling in his hand. “Here we go,” the salesman says. The man stands up and Storm follows his lead. The salesman hands Storm the keys with a smile. She exhales in relief when the keys are locked into the palm of her hand.

  “Congratulations, Danielle! You’ve just become the owner of your very first luxury automobile. Drive it in good health. Thank your loving father for cosigning for you. Without him, it wouldn’t be possible.” He looks to the man. “Daddy’s little girl. The things we will do for our daughters.”

  “Yeah, how can you tell them no?” the man replies, hugging Storm around the shoulders. His touch irks her, and it shows on her face.

  Two white men appear in the doorway. Suspicion can be read on both of their faces. The salesman looks over to them. “Y’all must be VIP because my manager and the top dog came out to meet y’all,” he says with humor. “The top dog don’t come out to meet nobody. Mr. Bryant… Danielle, meet the owner of this dealership, Mr. Antonelli.”

  The old man replies by way of head-nod. Both Storm and her acquaintance reciprocate the head-nod.

  They are no fools. When the owner comes out that means something is wrong. The old white man stares at Storm and her acquaintance peculiarly without cracking a smile. He adjusts the lapel on his custom fit pinstripe suit. His diamond pinky ring glistens with every movement of his hand.

  The manager speaks. “Danielle, can we just have a copy of your license? Somehow, Mr. Jones forgot to put it on file.”

  Storm looks to her acquaintance nervously. She’s reluctant to give him the phony license because she now knows in her heart something isn’t right.

  “Give him your license, baby,” the man says.

  She fumbles in her pocket and retrieves the phony license that the man had made up. She hands it over to the manager reluctantly. Both the manager and the old man study the license closely causing her more nervousness. They both step out of the office with their eyes still glued onto the license.

  The air is tense in the office, no one saying a word. She feels like running out of the room before it’s too late. Her acquaintance grips her arm because he senses what she’s thinking. He starts off small talk to break the tension, and the salesman falls right into his trap. She watches the salesman trying to figure out if he knows something. She can’t get a reading though.

  Minutes pass and the manager comes back into the office and hands Storm the license. “OK, we’re all good now. God bless you and your new vehicle.”

  Storm finally exhales.

  * * *

  Hours later, inside the McDonald’s parking lot, Storm sits in the passenger’s seat of the tinted out convertible Jaguar XK. They watch the E-Class, Mercedes they just got from the dealership cruise off. The man already had a sale for the car. The buyer was a young drug dealer who bought the car for his girlfriend.

  It was explained to him that, as long as he kept up on his payments, he would never have a problem. If he made a late payment, whoever Danielle Bryant and her father are will be notified that the payment on their car is behind and the whole deal will blow up in their faces. It was also explained that if he loses the vehicle for late payments, the fault is his own.

  The acquaintance sits in the driver’s seat, counting through the money he just obtained from the deal. He hands Storm a strife stack of bills, and she looks at it with disgust. “What’s this?” she asks.

  “A thousand dollars.”

  “Thousand? You crazy as shit.”

  “Crazy, why? You made a quick grand for nothing. I did all the work.”

  “For nothing? My face on that license. Anything come up wrong, it all falls back on me.”

  “Nothing will come up wrong. The deal is done.”

  “Nah, fuck that. You giving me more than that. You worked that deal and made eight grand. I ain’t taking no thousand,” she says as she sits up in her seat. The man can sense her threatening aura.

  “All right! I got two thousand for you. I got other people to pay. Gotta pay for the paperwork, check stubs, W2s, DMV, everybody.”

  “I don’t have nothing to do with all that,” Storm replies.

  She’s tempted to snatch the money out of his hand, but she gives him the opportunity to make it right first. The last thing she plans to do is get played in this situation. She’s sick and tired of being played by men. Since she’s stepped into a life of crime, it seems as if the only role for women is to do the dirty work that men can’t get away with. In the end the woman does most of the work and gets the least of the reward or pay. She’s fed up with that whole business model.

  She stares into his eyes with cold murder bleeding from hers. “Give me three thousand.”

  “Three thousand,” he says with a cheesy smile.

  Storm snatches all the money from his hand. She starts to count out what she believes she deserves. He reaches for the money, and they go through a slight tug of war. She allows him to win the tug of war.

  She grabs her phone from her lap and begins dialing. “Yo, where the fuck you at, yo?” she says into the phone as if she’s really talking to someone. She’s bluffing him. She knows that he’s nothing but a scammer who wants no friction, so she preys on his weakness. She looks at all male scammers as dudes that are too soft to get into the drug game. She has no respect for them at all. “Yo! Come to McDonald’s on Bergen. I got a problem.” She pauses as if she’s listening to someone on the other end of the phone. “All right. Bet,” she says before hanging up the phone.

  “Word?” the man asks with nervousness in his eyes.

  “Yeah, word. Fuck that. You ain’t playing me. I ain’t one of them dumb-ass young bitches you can play on. I was willing to take three. Now, I want it all.” She peeks around quickly before drawing her old faithful .38 revolver from her waistband. She never leaves home without it.

  The man jumps back with fear in his eyes. “Yo! Yo! What the fuck? Yo!”

  “Shut the fuck up,” she grunts as she aims the gun at his chest. She peeks around to make sure no one is watching. It’s so dark out that she believes she can shoot him and get away with it.

  He clumsily counts out two more thousand and hands it to her. “Here, here, yo.”

  “I was willin
g to take three, but now I want it all for you trying to play me the fuck out.” She snatches every dollar from his hand.

  The man can’t believe he’s being housed by her. “Word is bond, yo?” he says in disbelief. “I try to look out for you and put money in your pocket and this how you pay me back?” He tries to pull the sympathy card, but it’s not working. “It’s all good. Just go. Get out of my car, yo. We can’t do more business. I tried to make sure you eat, but you on some other shit.”

  “Whatever,” she says while pushing the door open. “Nobody don’t fucking play me,” she says as she steps out of the door. “Fuck outta here before I take your car, too!” The man backs up a few feet and catches up with Storm. “Don’t think you’re getting away with this shit. I’m gonna see you on that.”

  His threat sends chills through her body. “That’s a threat?” she asks as she reaches under her hooded sweater.

  “Nah, that’s a promise.” He notices her reaching for her gun and he speeds off.

  She continues on along the busy street. She doesn’t take his threat the least bit serious. That doesn’t mean he won’t have to pay for making the threat, though.

  8

  Three Months Later

  As Storm rides in the backseat of the Lincoln Town Car, she stares through the dark tinted windows, enjoying the beautiful scenery of Englewood Cliffs. Luxurious homes are spread out along the blocks, so unlike the rundown neighborhoods she’s used to. Her eyes feast on certain houses, imagining what it must be like to live in them.

  As the driver bends the corner and cruises down the block, Storm takes a deep breath, preparing herself for what is to come. The town car slows down before coming to a complete stop at the lovely two-story mansion in the middle of the block. The home resembles the White House with huge columns on each side of it. Bright green shrubbery wraps around it with a beautifully manicured lawn to match.