Luxe (18 page)

“We'll meet the bus at the terminal,” Bleu said to her friends as she headed toward the car without looking back.

“And what if someone takes the bags? Or they find out what's in the bags? This isn't smart. You heard Cinco. He wants us to cross the border with the product,” China said vehemently.

“Well, I don't see Cinco out here! He's not the one that those dogs are going to pounce on or the one who has to do the time if we get caught. Fuck Cinco right now. I'm moving my own way. As long as I get it there he shouldn't have no problems,” Bleu spat. She sounded tough on the outside, but inside she was quivering. The risks had changed, but the stakes were still high. If something went wrong …

She shook her head, not even wanting to think about the repercussions.

*   *   *

There was only one hiccup in Bleu's plan. The buses had a special line that they went through in order to get back into the country. She maneuvered through the thick traffic as she tried to stay on the bus's tail, but she was quickly diverted to a different lane.

“We're losing it,” Aysha said eagerly. Bleu was now the driver. She was in control, and as much as she wanted to keep her eyes on the product, she had no choice but to merge into the lane with all the other cars. The wait was ridiculously long, and she gritted her teeth as the bus eased through customs and out of sight. A slight panic set into her bones. Her anxiety was at an all-time high. China and Aysha had hollered “easy money” so much that Bleu had never expected anything to go awry. She had forgotten Murphy's Law. “Anything that can go wrong will go wrong.” In fact, it had gone to shit.

“We will meet the bus at the terminal. Just relax,” Bleu said.

It took two hours to get to the Greyhound station, and the ride was so silent that Bleu could hear each beat of her trepid heart.

“That bus been back,” Aysha stated as they pulled up across from the bus station. “I'm not going in there. They probably went through the bags and everything by now.”

Bleu eyed her surroundings, scanning the streets, searching for any signs of a setup. She knew that it was very possible that the police had been called. Her bags had been sitting for hours, unclaimed. The stupidest thing that she could do was step inside to retrieve them, but she didn't have a choice. She popped open the door.

“You're going in?” Aysha asked.

“Somebody has to,” Bleu said as she looked left, then right before crossing the street in haste.

She walked into the station wearily, inspecting her surroundings. Everyone seemed suspect. It all felt like one big conspiracy. She tried to keep her cool as she walked up to the ticketing counter.

“Excuse me, where can I find unclaimed luggage?” she asked.

Without even looking at her the woman said, “Lost and found is in the back.”

Bleu located the office and peeked her head inside. No one was around and a pile of lost luggage sat unattended. Bleu just wanted to get out of there as soon as possible. Although no eyes were on her, it felt as if she were being watched. She spotted the three duffels and grabbed them quickly, struggling as she flung the straps over her shoulders. The weight of the cocaine caused the straps to dig into her shoulders, but she kept it moving.

“Ma'am! Excuse me!”

Bleu froze as she turned around, eyes widened and filled with guilt as her stomach flipped. This was it. She was caught. Her bold ass had walked right into a place of public transportation and scooped three bags full of drugs. Her eyes stung and she could feel the tears coming as the man said, “You need some help with those? It seems like you're having a hard time.”

“Help?” Bleu breathed out in relief as she chuckled nervously. “You want to help me? That's all?” She realized that she was on edge and jumpy. “Thank you, but I'm fine,” she said as she rushed out of the doors. She practically ran across the street to the car.

“Oh shit, you got it?” Aysha said, impressed.

“Pull off. I almost shit on myself in there,” Bleu said.

China looked in her rearview mirror and said, “I guess this will be your first and last run?”

This close call should have been enough to scare her away from the game, but now that it was over, the thrill of it all had her floating on a natural high. She wouldn't dare go on the same dummy mission again, but she would do it again … her way. She had found a better way to get bricks across the border and she was going to put it to use.

*   *   *

It took everything in her to keep her cool. She had never held so much money in her hands at one time.
Twenty thousand dollars, for one run to Mexico. I'll do that all day,
she thought as she flipped through the bills, making sure she hadn't miscounted. She felt like she had been to hell and back, but she had to admit it had been worth it. In a short weekend she had made more money than most people see in an entire year. All of her worries had gone out of the window. She clipped off a small stack for herself and then set aside $1,000 for Noah. She made a mental note to drop it on his books before placing the rest of the money inside a white envelope. Taking a pair of scissors, she lifted her mattress and cut a small slit under it, then stuffed the money inside. It would have to be her makeshift safe until she purchased a real one, but she wasn't worried. China and Aysha had been at this a lot longer than she had. They didn't need to steal from her; they had their own dough.

A knock at the door interrupted her. “One second.” She flipped her mattress down and smoothed out her blanket before rushing to the door to answer it.

“I fucking love you!” Bree shouted as soon as she opened the door. He rushed her, picking her up at her waist and running with her until he slammed her on top of her bed. China and Aysha came waltzing in behind him, smiling as positive energy filled the room. “That shit you pulled at the border was genius! If it wasn't for you, the run would have been a bust, Detroit,” he stated. He pulled a knot of money out of his True Religions and tossed it at her. “That's for being on your shit.”

She snatched the money out of the air and thumbed through the bills in disbelief. Bree played with hundreds as if they were singles. In fact, all the women did. They were reckless and carefree with their spending, as if they had the seeds to money trees.

“Pretty soon you'll be so good with the paper you'll know how to count it on sight. That's five racks,” Bree said.

“For improvising?” she said in shock.

“For improvising,” he confirmed. “If it wasn't for you, those bricks would have never crossed the border and all three of you would be sitting in a federal jail right now. You made the right move. There's a reward for that. Cinco sends his appreciation.”

The mention of Cinco made her cringe. She didn't want anything from him. Was this a gift to make up for his forcing himself on her? No amount of money could make up for the fact that he was an asshole. She started to decline the extra money. She wanted no favors from Cinco, but this was what she had done it for. The paper. It was all about the money, and she had earned it.
Fuck Cinco,
she thought.

“You ready to burn down a mall, chick?” Aysha asked. “Now that you've got it, you can retire them clothes you been wearing. Time to step your game up, mama.”

“I can't. I have class and then work,” Bleu replied as she frowned while biting her bottom lip. She had already missed three days in a row. She wasn't paying tuition at UCLA. They would pull her scholarship just as quickly as they had given it to her if she didn't keep up her end of the bargain.

“Okay, well, while you're in class, we'll be riding with the top down on Rodeo,” China said.

As she watched them leave, she thought,
One more day isn't going to hurt. I can always call in sick to Picante.
She rushed to the door and stuck her head out as she yelled, “Hey, I'm coming. Just give me ten minutes. I'll meet you in the lobby!”

She rushed to her desk and gathered an envelope and a piece of paper before pulling out her chair. Almost as soon as the money graced her hands she thought of one obligation she had to meet. Noah. She owed him, and she wanted him to know she had his back. The first dollar that she spent would be on him. She jotted down the words quickly before placing it in the envelope and stuffing it in her jacket pocket and rushing out the door.

 

14

Noah,

I don't even know if you're getting my letters. I've written you before and you didn't write me back, so I'm going to keep this one short. I put $500 on your books. It's against the rules to deposit any more than that per month. I'll keep sending it, though. On the first of every month until you're home. I miss you so much. So much has happened since I last saw you. I wish I could talk to you and hear your voice. Tell you what's been up with me. Things are finally good with me. I miss you every day. L.A. is everything I thought it would be and everything I never thought it would be all at the same time. I wish you were here. I hope you're okay.

Always,
B

Noah folded the letter and placed it under his mattress. Hearing from her was like tasting a little bit of freedom. She was his rib, and their separation only intensified his feelings for her. He wouldn't let her know, however … he couldn't. Putting himself out there and telling her what he was feeling would only make her come running home. Without anyone on the outside to keep her safe she would be easy prey. He smiled as he thought of the money she had sent. Bleu was real. She had kept her word and he loved the shit out of her for that. There were women twice her age who couldn't hold down a nigga during their bid, but so far Bleu was proving to be thorough. He was grateful for the money because finally he could get himself right.

Since he had found out that he was Khadafi Langston's son, things had turned around dramatically. Noah's father had never done a thing for him in his life, partly because he had no idea he existed, but now that it was known, his last name carried enough weight to guarantee his protection. He had been brought into the fold of Khadafi Langston's empire … an empire that Noah would inherit upon his release. He was young, so a lot of the old heads hated him from afar, but for the most part he was doing an easy bid. He had an army of goons behind him, which meant protection. On behalf of his father Noah had been labeled street royalty. Nobody wanted those types of problems and the few who did hadn't stepped to him since the shower incident. A quick stay in the infirmary and a few stitches had put him back on his feet. Inmates and even a few of the guards had offered him gifts just to show respect. Goods were just as valuable as money inside. Everything from food and soap to razor blades had been offered to him as a show of good faith. Once word of who he was spread through the prison his status became legendary, but he wasn't naïve. Nothing was given freely. If he accepted any of the handouts from any of the other inmates he would owe an unspoken debt. He wasn't that desperate. Bleu's $500 would come in handy because he was going to flip it. The prison's drug trade was practically nonexistent. No one had figured out how to get product on the inside. There was a void in the market, and Noah was looking to fill it. It was the only way he would be able to keep his head above water during the five years. He wasn't sure if Bleu would ride out his entire sentence with him. Surely she was struggling herself; he had no idea of the newly acquired hustle she had attained. He didn't want to be a monthly bill to her, so he would flip her money once, which would allow him to eat repeatedly.

He turned to his cellmate. Noah hadn't said anything to the old man. In fact, Noah didn't even know him. Noah's original cellmate had been moved out in the middle of the night and the old man had moved in. When the switch had occurred only a few words had been spoken.

“I'm Bookie. I used to run with your pops,” he had said. “You need anything, you let me know.”

That had been weeks ago and the two hadn't said much since. Noah kept to himself, as did the old man, both keeping a comfortable distance in the tomb-like cell. It wasn't until now that Noah actually broke the silence.

He sat on the edge of his bed, elbows resting on his knees as he folded his hands.

“You hunched over in contemplation, young buck, might as well speak your piece,” Bookie said as he sat, reading a book, his glasses hanging so far off his nose that they looked as though they would fall off. He had gotten his nickname because his head was always stuffed in a book.

“You said you know my father,” Noah said.

“Everybody knows your father, young buck. The whole city. They respected him. Loved him,” Bookie said.

“The thing I can't figure out is why you sometimes talk about him in the past tense, but other times … times when you slip up, you talk about him like he's still alive,” Noah said.

Bookie looked up from his book but quickly diverted his eyes back to his reading. “Slip of the tongue, I guess,” he dismissed.

“I want to see him,” Noah said in a hushed tone. “I don't know why he faked his death, but I know he's out there. Niggas is too scared and his reputation is too strong for him to be six feet under in a grave somewhere. He owes me. I've never asked him for shit. He's never done shit for me. I've never even seen his face. I want one sit-down. That's it. Tell him to come for a visit.”

Bookie didn't respond, just kept reading his book as their usual silence fell over the cell. Noah didn't need a response, however. Bookie had heard him and he knew that Khadafi would get the message. All he had to do was wait.

*   *   *

A couple days of stunting and flossing turned into an entire week, and as Bleu walked inside Picante, she felt horrible about flaking on Marta. The woman was always busy. She juggled the duties of the busy restaurant as if she had octopus arms, doing eight different things all at once.