Anybody's Daughter (Angela Evans Series No. 2) (24 page)

A
pache was pissed off. They were treating him like a friggin’ babysitter. He needed to be where the action was.

“You sick. You know that?” Apache leaned forward and spit in Clint’s face. “Anybody who mess with little girls is a pervert. And I don’t like perverts.”

Clint was all cried out now. “If you let me go,” he said in a whiny voice, “I swear, I’ll pay you.”

“I don’t want no pervert’s money. I wish I had my stun gun. I’d electrocute your punk ass. I can’t believe you wimped out in two zaps. You a little bitch.”

Apache punched him in the jaw and he tumbled to the ground again.

“Get your ass up,” Apache said, kicking him.

Clint tried, but couldn’t seem to balance himself with his arms tied behind his back. He managed to get to his knees, then fell back to the ground.

Apache grabbed him by the arm.

“Owwww! My arm!” Clint squealed. “It must be broken.”

Apache threw him back into the chair. “How many girls you snatched?”

Clint hung his head.

“Did you hear what I said?”

“I…I don’t know.”

“You do know. Now tell me!” Apache slugged him again and this time, Clint hit the ground, headfirst.

Instead of crying out, this time he went quiet. Then all of a sudden, his body began to spasm like a fish flopping around on dry land.

Apache jumped back. “What the fuck?”

Clint’s body finally stopped moving and he was completely still.

“You ain’t fooling nobody. Get your ass up!”

Apache was about to grab him by the arm again when Clint started writhing again. He was now turning grayish blue and foaming at the mouth.

“Fuck!”

Apache pulled out his smartphone and called Dre.

“Hey, man, this dude is having a seizure or something.”

“What did you do to him?” Dre yelled.

“All I did was hit him a couple times. He can’t even take a punch.”

“Man, you better pray that that dude don’t die.”

“He ain’t gonna die. He’s probably just fakin’?”

Dre released a string of curse words into the smartphone.

Apache grew even more nervous as he watched Clint continuing to shake and foam at the mouth. He’d shot a few dudes in his time, but he’d never hung around to watch ’em die.

“I’m gettin’ the hell out of here,” Apache said. “This pervert deserves to die.”

Dre didn’t respond.

“Did you hear me?” Apache asked. “He’s probably gonna die.”

He heard Dre inhale through the phone. “You got your throwaway cell phone with you?” he finally said.

“Always,” Apache said.

“I’m the one who got everybody mixed up in this,” Dre said. “And if he dies, all of us’ll go down. I can’t let that happen. Call nine-one-one and tell ’em where he is. The warehouse is at the end of the cul de sac at Alondra and Maple. Leave the door open, then get the hell out of there.”

W
ith so many girls to watch over, it had been easy for Peaches to slip out of the back door of Harmony House unnoticed. She speed walked past all the impressive Lafayette Square mansions. Peaches wished she’d had time to look around. The only black people she knew who lived in mansions like this were on
The Real Housewives of Atlanta.

When Peaches reached St. Charles Place, she started running at top speed. She got to Crenshaw and looked right, then left. She spotted a Jack ’n the Box and a Mobile gas station a block away. She jogged to the corner and repeatedly pressed the button on the traffic pole. The light finally changed and she dashed across Washington Boulevard. Thank God there was a pay phone behind the gas station. She called Gerald collect.

In no time at all, Peaches spotted Gerald’s shiny black Mercedes SUV with the twenty-three-inch rims.

“Hey, boo!” he said, hopping out. Gerald pulled Peaches into his arms and squeezed her tight.

He was out of his courthouse suit now and sporting jeans and a white T-shirt that came to his knees.

“I really missed you, girl. Don’t you ever leave me again, you hear?” He kissed her deeply on the lips.

Peaches felt so good when Gerald hugged her. She wanted to tell him that, but the words got stuck in her throat.

“What’s going on? The cat got your tongue. You need to tell Daddy you missed him too.”

“I missed you,” Peaches said, suddenly shy.

“You hungry? You want something to eat?”

“Yep.”

“I’ma take you to a nice restaurant.”

Peaches jumped in the car and they drove the short distance to Roscoe’s Chicken and Waffles on Pico.

Gerald parked in back and took her by the hand as they walked inside the restaurant. They were seated in a back booth. He threw his arm around her shoulder and kissed her in the crook of her neck.

“I really do like that new hair of yours,” Gerald said. “You look so pretty, boo. But I gotta get you back into some sexy clothes. I like my girls to show what they workin’ with.”

Peaches stared down at her sweatpants. She’d actually gotten used to having her body covered up.

They sat on the same side of the booth, with Gerald stopping every few seconds to give her a kiss and tell her how pretty she was. Peaches couldn’t remember the last time she felt so special. This was like a real date. The other girls would be so jealous.

Peaches ordered waffles and chicken wings and Gerald had the same thing. They finished their food and walked hand-in-hand back to the parking lot. When they were seated in the SUV, Gerald reached into the backseat and pulled out a shiny gift box.

“I bought something for you, boo.”

Peaches couldn’t believe it. Gerald had never given her a present before. Not even on her birthday.

“Go ahead. Open it.”

She tore through the wrapping paper, lifted the lid and pulled out a sheer, red dress.

“That’s gonna look hot on you tonight, baby. And I don’t want you wearing nothing but flesh underneath it.”

Tonight!

Now she was really excited. Gerald was going to take her on a date too. Maybe they would go dancing. She was so lucky that he wasn’t mad at her.

“I wanna see it on you now, baby. Climb in the backseat and put it on for me.”

Peaches didn’t move.

“Did you hear what I said?” The familiar sharpness in Gerald’s voice frightened her.

Peaches climbed between the seats into the back of the SUV. She took off the sweatpants and T-shirt Loretha had given her and slipped on the sheer dress. It was low cut in the front and barely covered her rear end.

“Take them panties off,” Gerald scolded her. “I told you I didn’t want you wearing nothing underneath it.”

Peaches obeyed and pulled off her panties.

“You lookin’ good, boo,” Gerald said with pride. “You gonna make Daddy a whole lot of money wearing that.”

Peaches smiled and started to pull the dress back over her head.

“Hold up. What you doin’?”

“I’m putting my other clothes back on. I’m cold.”

“You won’t be cold after you walk around a little bit. I brought your red sandals. The ones that make your calves look big. Put them on.”

Gerald started up the car and eased out of the parking lot and into traffic. He turned right then headed south on LaBrea.

“Where we going now?” Peaches asked.

“Where do you think? We gotta make up for lost time. You know how much money you cost me pulling this mess? I had to hire me a lawyer and everything. I’m makin’ you pay me back every dime. Don’t you ever pull no crap like this again. If you do, next time I won’t beat your ass, I’ll kill you.”

Peaches was stunned into silence.

“I…I can’t work tonight,” Peaches whined.

Gerald took his eyes off the road and looked over his shoulder at her. “Why not?”

“Cuz…I’m…I’m tired.”

“Tired? I’m tired too. But we gotta eat. So you gotta work.”

He drove for close to thirty minutes, then pulled to a stop on Long Beach Boulevard. Peaches saw two other girls she knew prancing up the street in stilettos and shorts.

“Now get out there and make me some money.”

“Gerald, please. I…I can’t. It’s cold out there!”

“If you wanna get out of the cold then pick up a trick.”

Gerald climbed out, opened the back door and jerked her out of the car.

“Now get your ass out there and go get my money.”

Peaches stumbled out of the SUV, twisting her ankle as she landed hard on the curb.

“I’ll be parked across the street watching you,” Gerald warned. “And you better not let no dude run off without paying you again.”

Peaches was crying now. Crying over her sore ankle as well as how mean Gerald was treating her. She wished she was back in that courtroom. If she had another chance she would answer every one of that prosecutor’s questions.

Yes, Gerald was my
pimp.

Yes, Gerald busted my
lip.

Yes, Gerald treated me worse than a
dog.

Peaches wobbled down the street, her teeth chattering, brushing her hands up and down her forearms to warm herself up. The cold air breezed right through her dress. Her tears only made her colder.

I’m so
stupid.

Halfway down the block, she eyed the bus bench where Loretha had left her business card.

That only made her cry harder.

D
re lay prone on his living room couch, his eyes shut, massaging his forehead. Mossy was stretched out in an arm chair across from him, his thick arms locked across his chest.

“You don’t have to say a word,” Dre said finally. “I never should’ve let Apache guard Clint. I know that.”

Truth be told, Dre wouldn’t have a problem if Clint did end up dead. Maybe subconsciously he’d left Clint with his cousin because he knew there was a good chance that Apache
would
kill him.

Mossy’s chest rose as he took in air. “You brought me into this to help you get your niece back. I ain’t trying to catch no murder rap.”

Dre finally met Mossy’s glare. “Okay, fine. You can leave then. If it all blows up, you were never here.”

Mossy sprang forward in his chair. “Man, it ain’t like that. We go way back and you know I would never leave you hangin’. But you also know your cousin is a fool.”

“It is what it is,” Dre said, his voice hoarse. “Hopefully, an ambulance will get him to a hospital in time.”

The silence returned, filling up the small apartment. Dre was glad that Mossy had convinced him to get some sleep. Just an hour of shut eye left him feeling re-energized.

He sat up and pulled a bottle of 5-Hour Energy from his pocket.

“Dude, you can’t drink no more of that stuff. You already got the shakes.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. Look at your hands.”

Dre stared down at his trembling fingers, unwilling to believe that they were his. He set the small bottle on the coffee table and rested his head on the back of the couch.

“I’ma run over to Popeye’s to get us something to eat,” Mossy said, standing up. “If The Shepherd calls back, please don’t go off on him. Just say whatever you gotta say to get your girl back.”

When the door closed, Dre eyed his smartphone. He wanted to check on his sister, but he couldn’t face telling her he had not found Brianna yet. The smartphone suddenly began to ring as if he had somehow willed it to. He checked the display.

It was Donna.

Dre started rubbing his forehead again. It rang three more times before he finally answered the call.

“Hey, sis. How you doin’?”

“This ain’t your sister. It’s your mama.”

“Hey, mama. How’s Donna doin’?”

“Goin’ stone crazy. She called all the TV stations and accused ’em of racism because they wouldn’t run a story about Brianna. She calmed down a little bit after Reverend Robinson dropped by to pray with her.”

Dre hung his head.

“But what I wanna know is how are
you
doin’?”

“I’m fine, Mama.”

“No, you’re not. I had a bad feelin’ come over me late last night. I know you doin’ everything you can to find Brianna. I just want you to be careful.”

“I am being careful, Mama.”

“I have faith that the Lord is gonna take care of Brianna and you gotta have faith too. I don’t want you out there doing anything stupid.”

Dre grumbled. “Mama, what did Anthony tell you?”

“Nothing. I asked your brother a dozen times to tell me what you were up to, but he wouldn’t say a word. That’s how I knew you were in trouble. Then this chill just came over me. So I got down on my knees and started praying.”

When Dre was a kid, he used to think his mother was psychic. She seemed to know when something was wrong with him even before he did. He knew what was coming next. He could not handle one of his mother’s sermons right now.

“Yeah, okay, Mama. I gotta go.”

“Don’t rush me off the phone. I’m ain’t done yet.”

Dre closed his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck.

“I’ve never said it before,” his mother continued, “but I want you to know that I’m really proud of you. You stopped sellin’ them drugs and turned your life around. I ain’t seen too many young men do that. You turned out to be a fine young man. If your daddy was alive, he’d be proud too.”

Dre felt a lump the size of an orange expand in his throat.

“But then again,” his mother said with a chuckle, “you are
my
son.”

Dre laughed. Though he couldn’t bring himself to say it, he could really use a hug from him mama about now.

“I love you boy, and I’ve been praying to God that you don’t do something stupid and end up back in jail.”

“I won’t, Mama,” Dre said.

Not unless that’s what it takes to bring Brianna back
home.

F
reda paced up and down the hospital corridor, her smartphone pressed to her ear.

She was trying to reach The Shepherd to give him an update on Clint’s condition, but he was deliberately ignoring her calls. When Shep had called her earlier to report what had happened at the club, Freda couldn’t believe it when he started ranting about Clint being an idiot. This wasn’t Clint’s fault.

A nurse walked past, looking her up and down. Freda was wearing a slinky, silver T-strap dress that looked more like a top than a dress. She wasn’t wearing a bra and her nipples stuck out like headlights. Her bright-blue eye shadow matched the large flower she’d pinned in her hair.

“You got a problem?” she said to the nosy nurse.

“Ma’am, we don’t permit cell phones in ICU.” The woman pointed at a sign on the wall.

“I know that.” Freda shoved her smartphone inside her purse. “I can read.”

A young Asian man in green scrubs approached from the far end of the hallway and slowed near Clint’s room. “Are you Clint’s doctor?” Freda asked.

“Uh…yes, I am.” The man was having trouble keeping his eyes on Freda’s face.

“Can you tell me how he’s doing?”

“Are you a family member?” the doctor asked.

“Yes. I’m his wife.”

“Your husband suffered a very brutal beating. He uh…” The doctor seemed to lose his train of thought.

Freda put a hand on her hip. “Can you please take your eyes off my titties long enough to tell me whether Clint is going to live or die?”

The doctor’s face turned crimson.

“Oh, uh…he’s got several broken bones and he suffered severe damage to his internal organs. He’s no longer critical, but still very serious. The police are going to want to talk to you.”

Freda didn’t want nothing to do with the police. If they started sniffing around, they might stumble upon something they didn’t need to know. She had to leave before they got there.

“Is Clint able to talk to me?”

“I’m afraid not. He’s conscious but his jaw was broken, so his mouth is wired shut. And he really does need to rest.”

“Can I see him anyway? I won’t stay long.”

The doctor stole another quick look at her chest. “Uh, sure.”

She entered the room and grew frightened by all the beeping lights. Clint’s face was a big, swollen ball. His eyes were bloody slits.

“Oh my goodness!” Freda hadn’t been all that close to Clint, but she didn’t want to see him like this.

She walked closer. “Can you hear me, Clint? If you can, just lift a finger.”

Clint raised the index finger of the hand closest to her.

“You’re gonna be okay,” she said stroking his head. “Shep’s gonna get whoever did this.”

Though Brianna’s uncle hadn’t been one of the men who entered the club and kidnapped Clint, they’d known immediately that he was responsible. This was Shep’s fault as far as Freda was concerned. They should’ve given Brianna back the minute they learned about her uncle. Now they were in the middle of a street war. And for what? They had dozens of girls like Brianna.

A single tear rolled from the corner of Clint’s eye back toward his hairline.

“That little heffa,” Freda seethed through clenched teeth. “I hope Shep makes her ass pay.”