Relapse: A Novel (32 page)

A door creaked open, and the man led Beijing into a room that smelled of mildew.

“Sit down,” she was told.

Someone pushed her firmly down onto a sturdy wooden chair. Next, another man—not the Negotiator, she could tell by his scent—roughly secured her hands and feet with plastic ties so that she couldn’t escape.

Beijing heard her phone ring. “Yo,” she heard a familiar voice say. “Who is this? Who are you? A friend of hers?” he questioned, and then took over the conversation. “And you want to make sure she is okay because the phone went dead when she was talking to you?”

Beijing thought hard as she listened to the one-sided conversation. “Well, nigga, she ain’t aight; she’s being held captive until somebody she knows or loves coughs up ten million. So at this stage, playboy, I don’t know if you can get your hands on ten mil or not. I wouldn’t be surprised if you can, because from what I hear she only deals with big hats anyway. Or maybe if you contact her other boyfriend—he goes by the name of Lootchee—maybe you can get that nigga to pay one half and you can come up with the other.”

Damn, Beijing didn’t know how this was going to end. She wasn’t sure what Lootchee’s money was looking like, because she knew that half of it was tied up being laundered. Or—after the whole altercation when she’d last seen him—if he would even pay that kind of money to get her back.

It hit her that this all had something to do with Lootchee. She thought about all the risks she had taken for him, but the risk that seemed to bother her most was the way he gambled with her heart. As much money as he had, he always needed to be bailed out; now that she needed to be bailed out, would he come?

Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard the guy say, “Naw, nigga, this shit is serious as world peace, cancer, or AIDS in Africa. Nobody’s on joke time. I got your number and a few others we plan to alert, so you got forty-eight hours to get that money. Or I don’t have to tell you what. You seem like a smart dude.”

After the guy hung up, Beijing heard footsteps coming from down the hallway, somewhere. Then there was more talking.

“Were there any problems?” a voice asked.

Beijing thought she might have heard the voice before.

“A walk in the park,” the Negotiator replied.

“Good, knew I could count on you.” It was the familiar voice. “Get the video camera so we can get this show on the road. We about to get rich.”

Ain’t this a bitch? I know who the voice belongs to
. Beijing had met the man only twice before, and she didn’t want to believe it, but her ears and gut had never lied to her, and they had no reason to start now.

Someone sent the email from Beijing’s account to all the key people in her life—her father, Lootchee, Thaddius, and a couple of her other powerful clients. Thaddius was the first to receive the video with Beijing tied to a wooden chair in which she spoke with tears in her eyes, “This is not a horrible joke of any kind. I’ve been kidnapped and they are asking for a ransom of ten million dollars. If you don’t pay them they will kill me. Please wait for a phone call.” The video went black and then the words came up, “This is not a fucking game. Look forward to our call.”

Thaddius was the first to receive his email and the first to call the police. The police had put two and two together when someone had reported hearing gunshots in the neighborhood near Chyna’s school. A witness had seen three men in a big black SUV snatch a young African American woman, while one of the others quickly changed a flat and drove off in the Lexus. The witness didn’t have much of a description of the kidnappers, but she did
have the plate number of the Lexus that the girl was driving before they took her.

Because Sterling was out in the field grinding as usual, he didn’t get the email. It was Greta who called him when the police had showed up on her doorstep to give Sterling the news. Sterling fled back to the house and saw for himself.

Inside, Sterling’s home was rapidly filling with concerned friends, family, and clients along with police.

From his street days before the birth of Beijing, Sterling had developed a natural dislike for the police. Now as a successful legitimate businessman, he still wasn’t all too fond of them. However, he’d put his own feelings aside if it meant they could help his only child.

As the police tried doing something to the computer and asked countless questions while prepping for a phone call from the kidnappers, Sterling decided to make some phone calls of his own.

He began putting word out that his daughter had been kidnapped and he wanted people to put their ear to the streets to find out where she was. In the midst of everything, Stash called Sterling to fill him in on what he knew. They agreed to meet at Sterling’s shop because Sterling needed all the help he could get.

Someone stepped from the shadows as Sterling climbed out of the truck. Instinctively Sterling removed the .44-caliber revolver from his waist. He pointed it at the shadow.

“No need for that,” Stash said, “it’s only me.” He had his hands up. “Did anyone follow you here?”

Keeping the revolver locked and ready, Sterling replied, “I don’t think so.

“What do you know about the kidnapping?” Sterling went on, getting straight to the point. “That’s why we here, isn’t it?”

“Right now,” Stash admitted, “I don’t know much at all. But
I’m calling in favors from all over the country. I got everybody I know and everybody they know looking and listening for any little thing that might lead us to her. I want to get her back safe just as much as you do.”

Since he was the biggest fence on the entire East Coast, Sterling was still not sure if Stash was there to negotiate the return of his daughter or to offer a helping hand. The latter would be better, but what vested interest did Stash really have in Beijing? As far as Sterling knew, his daughter had only met Stash by way of telephone just a few months ago when she enlisted his help getting the Escalades over to Cuba. Sterling knew that Stash had personally set up the formalities to get Beijing’s task done. It seemed odd that Stash would go out of his way to involve himself in such a public situation. Especially since the man went to every precaution to maintain a low profile in his business and life in general. He preferred to play the role of ghost.

Sterling asked, “Why the personal interest?”

“It’s a long story. And the clock is ticking, but for now we need to put our heads together to figure out as much as we can.”

“I’ll take the abbreviated version,” Sterling told the younger man in a no-nonsense tone.

“Well …” Stash sighed in thought. “I was deep in the dope game, wildin’ in the streets. School by day, slaying narcotics as soon as the school bell rang, until one day I was dropping off a package and saw firsthand what kind of power and perks drugs could give to the wrong person. To save a little girl from a pervert motherfucker, I murdered a man.”

Sterling stood there in shock. He knew what incident Stash was speaking of. Even after years of counseling Beijing had always denied that she knew how the dead man got in that kitchen or that she had seen anything. He wanted to thank the guy that stood in front of him, but instead he listened.

“That incident changed my life and my lifestyle. From that
point on no matter what kind of money it could put in my pocket, I never sold another narcotic whatsoever. I didn’t want to destroy lives anymore.

“For years I always wondered what became of that little girl with the most intense brown eyes I’d ever seen. Then I saw Beijing’s picture in a magazine article a couple of years back as the best concierge in the country. Still have that article to this day. That’s the day I fell in love with your daughter.”

Sterling could not believe how small the world was. That the man who’d saved his daughter had been under his nose and he didn’t even know it.

Stash added, “When you contacted me, the only reason I agreed to talk directly to her and allowed you to give her my direct number is because I knew she could hold water. To the best of my knowledge, she has kept our deadly secret for all these years. Though it was hard, I made up my mind that I wouldn’t intrude in her life. That’s why I only dealt with her by phone, text, and email. But now”—Stash leveled his eyes with Sterling’s—“all that has changed. I’m going to find her, and I’m not going to let her get away from me again if I can help it.”

As Thelma faced the vanity mirror in the marble-floored master bathroom and applied the finishing touches to her makeup, Isador slipped up on her from behind, planting a soft kiss to the back of her neck.

“You’re going to make me mess up my face,” she said to him.

The two had gotten married right after high school. They had raised two wonderful kids and been happily married, give or take a few hundred disagreements, for more than three decades. This day was their thirty-fifth wedding anniversary.

“Your face is as beautiful now as it was on our wedding day,” Isador said.

Thelma blushed. Thelma might not look like an eighteen-year-old but at fifty-three, she could still pass for a woman in her mid-thirties. She still worked out at least three times a week and tried to eat right. The rest was genetics.

“My husband is still strikingly handsome too,” Thelma tossed back.

Isador ran an open hand across his full head of sandy red hair. “That husband of yours is a lucky man,” he said. “Now hurry. The kids are downstairs. I just saw them.”

Thelma smiled, knowing those two children of hers were never on time. Her son had suggested they have a home-cooked meal prepared by a chef before they left for the Golden Princess cruise—fourteen days to Hawaii and back—he’d given them for their anniversary. Thelma and Isador could hardly wait until morning when they were scheduled to set sail; they had been packed for over a week.

Thelma locked eyes with her son after coming down the steps. He was watching CNN with his sister. “Every time I see you,” she said to Lootchee, smiling, “you look more like your father.”

Lootchee stood to give his mother a hug. “Happy anniversary, Mom and Dad. You two look great. Congrats.”

“Don’t they?” Gia chimed in, embracing her dad.

“Let’s make a toast,” Lootchee suggested.

Isador went to get four glasses and the bottle of Moët & Chandon he’d been saving, and then popped the cork.

“Allow me.” Lootchee removed the bottle from his father’s hand and filled the flutes. “May health, wealth, and wisdom never elude you,” he declared. The four glasses of bubbly kissed with a high-pitched “ting” when they touched. Then they drank.

As Lootchee sipped on the champagne, he couldn’t help but think of the lies he’d told Beijing about his parents. He felt bad, but he had to come up with something to get her to come back with him. For the first time, he thought how the truth might have sounded:
I love you, B, but when I feel like you are giving me the least bit of rejection, I just get preoccupied, sometimes with my girl on the side
.

They still had a few minutes to kill before it was time to eat, so Lootchee asked his sister to get him online.

“It doesn’t make no sense you still don’t know how to use a computer,” she teased.

“Just get me on the thing. That nigga Jeff told me he emailed me a picture of his new car.”

“I ain’t yo’ damn secretary,” Gia fussed, but she logged on to his email account. “It’s easy to get on; you need to sit still long enough so I can teach you how to do it yourself.”

Lootchee stood over his sister’s shoulders as his email account opened. “Go to the one that says Beijing Lee,” he said with a big smile. Lootchee was shocked but happy that she had emailed him. He hadn’t heard anything from her since she tried to ruin his birthday

Gia did as she was told, causing Lootchee’s smile to be wiped off his face, “What da fuck?” The contents of the video shattered his thoughts. Gia sat mesmerized as everything came together in her mind.

“Watch yo’ mouth,” his father quickly scolded him.

Before Lootchee could react, Gia gasped, “Oh my God!”