The Banks Sisters (8 page)

Since the Neon that Marjorie had swapped Simone's Benz out for, didn't have a MP-3 jack, or even a CD player, Simone was forced to listen to Anthony Hamilton lament about his imaginary money problems on the car's radio.

Simone liked Anthony Hamilton and all, God knows the brother could blow the soul back into a corpse, but the song was killing her vibe, which was already on life support as it was. She turned the volume down on the radio then switched lanes, getting off Interstate 64 at the next exit.

She pulled into the parking lot of a place she knew all too well. Beyond the parking lot was three shiny silver stainless steel warehouses. Each 50,000 square foot structure filled with cow shit. The company, S&S Topsoil, belonged to her father, Simon and his best friend Tommy.

At the beginning of every summer, when Simone was growing up, Simon used to bring her to work with him every day, for the two weeks at the beginning of the summer before camp started and at the end of the summer when it had ended.

Simone hated it with a passion, but her father loved their time together. There was nothing Simon loved more than his only daughter and his company. Not even his wife, Marjorie, but he wouldn't ever admit that to her. Although their summers at S&T Top Soil, ended years ago, Simone still used to drop by, from time to time, and bring her father lunch. But this was the first time she'd stepped foot at the grounds since he died six months ago.

It felt strange . . . really strange.

As she made her way to the main building, she remembered something that her father use to always say to her, “Inhale,” he would say to her, and when she acted like she did, he would say, “deeper than that. You have to really inhale.” And then he would say, “You smell that?”

“What does it smell like?”

Simone always responded the same way, “It smells like do-do.”

Then Simon would always say the same thing, with biggest smile, “Naw baby, that's what it smells like when you are stinking rich.”

It was something about that smile and the man had the prettiest set of white teeth. When she got to be older and understood politics. She'd joke with her father about how he'd, should've been a politician. Not only did he have a way with words, he could make anybody believe anything.

Back then she had taken those moments with her father for granted. Now, memories were all she had of him. And she couldn't get enough of them.

Simone made a right off “memory lane,” and stepped into the main warehouse. The heels of her Giuseppe booties clicked clacked on the vinyl flooring as she made her way to small, but efficient office off to the right.

The lady inside the office, looked up from her computer and greeted Simone with a Queen-sized smile, waving her inside of the cramped office. “Girl,” Beverly gushed, jumping up to hug Simone, “where have you been?”

The last time they'd seen each other was during Simon's funeral. Beverly stepped back and, with a pair of Never-Miss-A-Thing hazel eyes studied Simone from top to bottom. Then said, “What is it?”

Most women were born with a sixth sense, but when it came to reading people, Beverly's gift was Extra Terrestrial. “I'm fine,” Simone lied, spun around so that Beverly could take a 360-degree of her outfit. Some jeans and fitted sweater and her gold Giuseppe ankle boots, “Don't I look it?”

Although she was like family, Simone didn't want to burden Beverly with her personal problems. But Beverly wasn't fooled. “You look like you could model in Vogue Magazine. You are damn sure prettier than all those makeup wearing skeletons in designer clothes, and ten times smarter,” she said, changing the subject. If Simone wanted to confide in her about anything, she would do so when she was ready.

And Beverly wasn't just being nice, with her compliments. Simone was fine by anybody's standards.

“I just hope my skin looks as good as yours does when I'm your age, girl.”

Bev rolled her eyes, like she was offended by the remark. “I know you didn't just call me old to my face?” At forty-nine, Beverly could still pass for a young thirty something. Simone said, “You are only as old as you feel.”

“Then I feel like your slightly older sister.”

A smiling Simone said, “Cool, I've always wanted an older sister.”

“Slightly older,” corrected Beverly.

“That's what I meant,” Simone smiled at Beverly. Talking to her always warmed her heart, and she knew the woman was genuine, too.

After breezing through a couple perquisite chit chatting, Simone asked if Tommy was in the building. “I need to speak to with him if he's not too busy.”

The inquiry took Beverly by surprise. She'd worked for the company for a long time. Simone's father had hired her, personally, two weeks after she had graduated from Reynolds Community College, twenty-two years ago. So, she felt qualified when she said, “Tommy's a damn fool.” She looked off into space and then lightly shook her head before speaking. “As good of a man as your father was—may he rest in peace—but for the life of me, I could not figure out why he went into business with a scandral like Tommy. The man's a pompous pig, with the morals of a housefly.”

Simone couldn't help, but to burst out laughing. Beverly had definitely hit the hammer on the nail, but it had totally caught her off guard.

Beverly's face twisted into a frown, like she'd just tasted something bitter or spoiled and needed to spit it out right away. “Yeah, he's here,” she finally said.

“Tell me how you really feel,” Simone teased. Although she knew Beverly as the kind always, spoke the gospel. Simone often wondered about the answer to the million-dollar question herself, what had her father seen in Tommy that no one else did?

Using the wireless intercom system, Beverly informed Tommy that he had a visitor.

Simone walked to the back of the warehouse, toward where the offices were located. Tommy's was next to her father's old office.

Seeing the door, with her father's name
S
IMON
G
UNN
still stenciled on the outside, stirred up more memories for her. She tried to shove them away. It was hard, but she reminded herself that she needed to take care of what she'd come for before imploding to an emotional wreck.

“What can I do for you, Princess?” Tommy was standing in the doorway of his office grinning. “Come on in,” he said.

Inside, Tommy's office was enormous; large enough to harbor a midsize aircraft. He hugged her, and whispered his condolences before offering her a seat.

The embrace was tighter and lasted longer than Simone thought was appropriate. Respectfully she pulled away.

“I need to talk to you about my daddy's will.”

They took a seat on a coffee color leather sofa. “Anything I can do for you Princess. You know good and well, all you have to do is ask? You know without a doubt, Uncle Tommy got ya!” He placed his hand on her leg and lightly squeezed her knee, pretending as if it was an act of comfort instead of perverted lust.

Since the day Simone had turned eighteen, whenever her father wasn't looking, Tommy gazed at her with lust in his eyes. Her skin felt the heat emanating from his touch. Simone could take care of herself then, and, as a grown woman she could take care of herself now. Simone casually brushed Tommy's hand from her knee, replacing it with her Louie tote bag. She took out a small notebook and pen.

“I would like to ask you a few questions,” she said, looking him square in the eyes, “about my father's estate.”

Tommy straightened up, putting his sleaze-ball tendencies in check, at least temporarily. “Me and Simon were business partners. Your father's estate . . . well, that's more like
personal
business. And your Simon's personal's business was exactly that, as far as I was concerned.”

If Tommy had been connected to bullshit detector the meter would have put someone's eye out, Simone thought looking into his eyes.

“Give me break.” Simone chided. “You and my father were friends since middle school. Five decades. I'm not asking you who he lost his virginity to, a question I'm somehow willing to bet that you could surely answer without much contemplation. I'm simply asking you about his will. Anything you can tell me would be helpful and appreciated.”

Nothing!

Dead Silence.

Tick-tock . . . Tick-tock . . .

The only sound in the room came from an antique Howard Miller Grandfather Clock.

“Tommy?” She urged, bordering on his aspiration from his reluctance to help.

Tommy had a straight face and didn't say a word.

Simon once told his daughter that Tommy lost a ton of money playing poker because of a tell: he scratched the bridge of his nose every time he bluffed. “I don't know what you want me to say,” Tommy was fidgeted. “If I knew anything about a will I will let you know. Why wouldn't I?”

Good question,
Simone thought to herself.

“I don't know anything,” he rubbed his nose, and she knew he was lying. “But why are you so anxious about this will.”

“Listen, I'm sure you've heard. Marjorie has everything and I have nothing. Not even a job anymore. The bank I started at yesterday was robbed.”

“Not what I saw on the news?”

“Yes.”

Hearing her problems somehow prompted him to spark up the conversation. “Did they offer y'all any kind of compensation?”

“No! Nothing! And Marjorie took my Benz from me under my nose.”

“She did?” he questioned, not really seeming too surprised.

“Yes,” Simone said, starting to feel the emotions coming.

“Well, you know that. You know she's going to milk the situation for everything she can get.”

“I know.”

“Now you know all the papers we had here, everything went to Marjorie by law.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I wish it was different,” he said, then dropped his head, “imp . . . imp . . . imp . . . it's a crying shame all the bad luck and the hard time you having.”

“I will be okay,” she said about to break down. “I know I will. I'm smart and strong. I will figure out something,” she was trying to convince herself, but felt so weak. She couldn't stop the tears from coming.

Tommy took her in his arms and allow her to let loose her tears. “It's going to be okay. Uncle Tommy got you.”

“Thank you, I appreciate you,” she managed to get out in between tears.

“I appreciate you, too. Don't worry I'm going to help you,” he said then before she knew it, he had his hand in between her legs and started tongue kissing her.

She pulled away, “What are you doing?”

“What you mean?”

“Just relax, I got you,” he grabbed her and pushed her back on the couch.

“Stop! No! You fucking better not. Let me go,” she screamed as she pounded on his chest.

He was still on top of her and his penis was hard as a rock.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a letter thick glass heavy frame on the table in front of the sofa. She reached for it and slugs it on top of his head.

“Oh, shit,” he said, out loud and let loose of his tight grip he had on her. Simone was up and out heading for the door as fast as she can, when he grabbed her arm and looked her in the eyes, “Listen, as tough as things are for you,” he said as sincere as he knew how. “You gone need a sugar daddy, if so, I will definitely take care of you. Will pick up where your father left off, if you wanna share some of that sweet, juicy pussy with me,” he said then stuck out his tongue and made it motion as if he was pleasuring her vagina with his tongue.

Simone snatched her arm from him, “Go to hell. You disgusting pervert.”

He palmed her butt with a smack and smiled, “This the real world baby. Real shit like that exists.”

“Fuck you, Tommy,” she stormed down the hall.

“If you ever need me, Uncle Tommy will be right here for you.”

The loud pungent smell of weed assaulted his nose as soon as Tariq walked across the doorsill. He closed and locked the door behind him.

“Damn . . . my nigga, I got a contact and you ain't even took it out yet.”

“This that shit . . . man this that shit.”

“What's the heavy news you gotta lay on me man?”

“I just stumbled across a sting for two million dollars, nigga!”

“Foooo . . . real!” Spoe asked.

“Yeah, for real! When you known me to play fuckin' games about this paper?”

“Never.” Spoe shook his head. “Run that shit down to me. Make that shit like music to my ears,” Spoe put his hands up to ears. “Two mill, huh? Who gave you the line on this hit?” Spoe needed details because he was the one that usually put the plans together, but he was happy that Tariq had came up with a job for them. He'd still have to check everything out though.

“Tiff did . . .” Tariq said with pride. Proud that he had a chick that could help them get money and not just spend it.

“Tif? Who the fuck is Tiff?”

“You know the li'l bad bitch, drive the SL, I been fuckin' wit', Tiffany man.”

“Oh, one of the ones from the strip club.”

Tariq, nodded, “A'ight with that shit now.” He laughed at himself. “You trying to say something 'cause all my joints come from the strip club.”

“And the same strip club at that, but I won't even mention that shit tho.”

Tariq laughed at himself. “I'm ridiculous, but the stripper hoes love me tho'.”

“Naw, nigga don't get that shit twisted. They like that money. That's what their loyalty is to. Speaking of which, let's get back to it.”

“And I don't never forget it . . . where their loyalty lie.”

“Don't ever forget and when you get ready for a nice chick, Bunny got somebody for you.”

“I bet sis do, and I'ma let you know the word.”

“No doubt,” Spoe said and then asked, “Yo, so is shorty official?”

“Yeah Spoe, I wouldn't be here right now if I felt for a second that she wasn't official. I been fuckin' wit' her for a couple of weeks now.”

“That's a long time for you.” Spoe had to admit.

Tariq smiled, “Real talk.” He agreed and then got back to the topic at hand. “The bitch couldn't make no shit up like that. She knows how we get down Spoe! She got the address and everything. The nigga got a mini mansion, too.”

“A'ight if you fuck with shawty and trust her word then lets move on it. We are going to have to leave that nigga in there stinking, too. Ain't much to it, we got to leave him, when its that much paper on the line, he won't take that shit sitting down, Reek.

“He ain't gone be in there and shawty want two-fifty for her cut, too.”

Without hesitation, Spoe agreed. “She could get that! Shit, she putting us on to two free mill. Good job Reek, that's a nice sting sho-nuff,” Spoe said, commending Tariq on bringing a lick to the table. Spoe was always the one who tended to stumble across their jobs. But all the excitement aside, Spoe had to ask. “But what the fuck you mean he ain't gone be there?”

“She going out with him and while she out with him, we going to shoot to the crib and take care of what we got to do.”

“My nigga, you know I'm not on that B&E type shit. Fuck all that sneaking around shit, Reek,” Spoe said disappointed. “Man you know I like to be in control when we do shit this kind of shit, so it ain't no slip-ups.”

“Man I know,” Tariq agreed. “I just thought it was a good quick come up.”

“But I'll go, my nigg,” he said hesitantly, “for a million dollar profit, I'll go,” he said again, more so trying to convince himself, of how he could sit back and chill, travel the world with Bunny. Then he spoke up again, this time more confidently, “A million fucking dollar, you got damn right I'm in. Then the two dapped and just like that. It was about to go down.