Wicked Intentions (2 page)

CHAPTER 3

“Was he cute?” London Pistol asked in a hushed voice

“A doll,” Shakira assured her best friend.

“Hmph,” London scoffed, throwing Shakira a doubtful look before staring back up at the ceiling. “After Charlie, I doubt your cute-antennae.”

Like Shakira, London was a rich shade of chocolate milk, but that was where the resemblance ended. While Shakira was tall and slender, at barely five feet, London was a petite ball of fire – literally. Her hair had been shaved at the sides, coaxed into a soft Mohawk and dyed with striking red, purple and white streaks.

“Charlie was cute!” Shakira protested without looking away from the laptop she had propped on her lap. Keying in the pass-code to her bank account, she said, “A dog, but cute. Nathan’s more than cute though.”

London harrumphed disbelievingly again.

“You don’t believe me?” Leaning forward slightly, Shakira reached for her handbag. She rifled inside it before pulling out her phone. She scrolled through her phone to come up with the picture she’d taken of one of the photos of Nathan while he was in
her
bedroom changing into his clothes. She knew she’d need to do a bit of investigation of her own to make sure that he was Eve’s victim and not just a squatter in her home. She held her phone over London’s face, “Fine, see for yourself.”

“Oh my G-”London started loudly but when Shakira slapped her arm her voice dropped to a whisper. “That’s Nathan Hollis.”

“Yeah, I just told you that.”

“No.” London turned on her side facing Shakira. “Kira, that’s Nathan Hollis.”

“Yes! I know.”

“
The
Nathan Hollis,” London emphasized. If her eyes widened any further, they’d pop out of her head. “Don’t you recognize him?”

Beyond the fact that he was the man Eve had illegally leased her house to, Shakira didn’t know who the man was. She glanced at the picture again. All she saw was a deliciously sexy man smirking back at her. Even though the photo was a second hand image, it was almost as good as the man himself. She shook her head, “Nope. Don’t recognize him.”

“I can’t believe you don’t know him.”

Rolling her eyes, Shakira said, “Just tell me who he is already.”

“He’s a big-deal choreographer. Almost every hip-hop artist uses him.” London explained excitedly before her expression turned incredulous. “Where did Eve meet him?”

“Beats me!” Shakira shrugged as she refocused on the laptop. A spreadsheet reflecting her account balance covered the expanse of the screen. She breathed a sigh of relief. All her monies were intact and safe from Eve.

“I can’t believe you didn’t take his offer to stay with him!” London exclaimed interrupting her concentration. “You could’ve gotten a little something something from the king of dance.”

“London!” Shakira cut her eyes at her.

“What?” London chuckled. “I’m just saying it ain’t natural for a girl to go so long without getting her lady parts cleaned out. And you could do worse than Nathan Hollis.”

“Nasty,” Shakira reprimanded even though she’d been thinking the same nasty thoughts barely an hour ago.

Of course she couldn’t have stayed at Nathan’s. For one the man had just been conned by her mother. It just didn’t seem like good etiquette to mooch off him. Second she’d only met him today – it was too early to establish he wasn’t some serial killer.

But the way she’d reacted to him was just ridiculous. Her whole body had lit up like the fourth of July. Not that she blamed it – six months was a hell of a long time to go without some good loving and Nathan in all his deliciousness looked like a walking, talking vibrator. If she’d stayed, she’d probably have jumped him by midnight.

Nah!
Staying with Nathan Hollis in the same house was definitely not an option. After their discussion, she’d taken a cab and come straight to London’s apartment.

Shifting slightly on the bed, Shakira sighed. “I just can’t believe Eve would do this to me.”

“Can’t you? I can,” said London as she arched one eyebrow. “She’s been doing this all your life. Remember when she sold your Pokey collection so she could go to Vegas. Or when she and Ramon used your number to organize their nasty meetings and his wife thought you were Ramon’s ho. Or when she took you to the park on your sixteenth birthday then left you there so she could-”

“I get it,” Shakira interrupted, blinking rapidly to chase away the tears that sprung to her eyes. She wasn’t stupid. She knew what her mother was and that being her daughter didn’t make her exempt from Eve’s ‘small business deals’ as she liked to call them. However, these last three months it’d seemed like Eve had grown up. This was the longest her mother had stayed in any one place and Shakira had flattered herself that it was because for once Eve wanted to support her as any mother would’ve done. Obviously she was kidding herself.

Once again her mother had shown her true colors

She couldn’t even begin to explain the kind of disappointment and hurt she felt.

Eager to just fix the mess that Eve had left her with and just move on, Shakira clicked on the withdrawal tab, then keyed the amount of money she wanted to transfer as well as the account number.

“What are you doing?” London asked rising slightly off the bed on her elbows mimicking and peering at the screen.

“Sending Nathan fourteen grand.”

London started loudly, “Hell-”

Shakira bumped her friend’s shoulder as she threw her eyes towards the door.

London screwed her lips in irritation but lowered her voice anyway. “Hell, no! You can’t pay him. You’re not the one who scammed him.”

“I’ve got no choice,” Shakira explained. As much as she was angry at Eve, she couldn’t let Nathan report her. Her mother already had a record and this time the judge would probably throw the book at her. Nathan had agreed that if she could come up with twelve grand and reimburse him for his moving costs, he’d go quietly.

She clicked on the send button but immediately a message flickered on the screen.

“We’re unable to transfer money from your account at this time,” London read. “Kindly contact your branch.”

“What?” Shakira’s brow furrowed in confusion as she again tried to transfer the money to Nathan’s account. The same message met her.

“Are you sure you have enough money?” London asked.

“Yeah!” Shakira pointed to her balance. Her bank account was well-padded. Being Eve’s sidekick for the better part of her life had inculcated an almost obsessive saving habit in Shakira. She was never going to sleep on the street again. It was the reason she’d chosen to buy a house rather than rent and invested heavily in stocks, bonds and mutual funds with what little money she had.

“Maybe the bank’s closed or something,” London suggested.

Shakira shook her head. “It’s an online transfer I should be able to-”

Her words were cut off by a loud knocking on the door. “Loooondon.”

Both Shakira and London froze. They both looked at the door before exchanging a silent look that said ‘
Maybe if we keep quiet she’ll go away
’.

No such luck.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Loooondon! Loooondon! Loooondon.” The knocking persisted and so did the squeaky female voice abusing London’s name. “I know you’re in there.”

“What do you want, Farah?”

“We were wooondering,” Farah said, “what time is Shakira leaving?”

“She’s already left.” London didn’t even bat an eyelid.

“But we didn’t see her leaving.”

“She used the window.”

“Oh. That’s good.” There was some shuffling by the door then the sound of fading footsteps as Farah walked away. Shakira and London traded looks because they knew it wasn’t over. Sure enough a minute later heavier footfalls than Farah’s sounded.

The knocking on the door was more like a thump this time. “London.”

“Yes, Amani,” London returned as she turned on her back.

Amani was the head-bitch in their little two bedroom apartment. She ruled with an iron fist – or at least tried to. Pint sized as she was, London was not the type of person you ruled with an iron fist.

“I thought we agreed that you couldn’t have guests until you paid your rent.”

“I don’t have a guest.”

“Open the door.”

“What for?” London asked unaffected by the vitriol in Amani’s voice. Shakira wasn’t. Tense with anxiety, she stared at the door.

“I need to talk to you,” Amani said.

London lifted her fingers above her face, observing the luminous blue polish before she said, “I can hear you just fine from where you are. What do you want?”

“Open the door,” Amani yelled. “I swear if Shakira is still there-”

“Bitch, bye!” London lost her cool. She picked a book from her bedside table and hurled it at the door. It hit the wood with a dull thump muted by her yelling, “Get away from my door.”

“Open the door.” Amani pounded on the door so loudly that the wood shook on its hinges. Was she trying to beat the door down?

The woman was large enough that Shakira was nervous that she might even succeed. She watched the door with trepidation expecting it to land flat on the ground in a couple of seconds.

London, it seemed, had no such worries because she settled back on the bed and picked up Shakira’s phone. Undisturbed by the increased strength of Amani’s pounding on the door and yelling, she scrolled through Shakira’s phone. When she still had a home to her name, Shakira had tried to convince London to come and stay at her house but London had some pride issues that not even crazy roommates could erase.

Eventually the door-massacre petered out. Amani yelled, “London, I’m going to look for your spare key. If I find it…” She left the sentence hanging ominously.

“Whatever!” London yelled back as Amani stomped away from the door angrily.

“What if she finds the key?” Shakira asked once Amani was gone.

“She won’t. I already stole it.”

“Maybe I should go.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” London refused stubbornly. “This is my house too.”

The next morning Shakira and London snuck out of the house before Amani and Farah woke up. It’d been touch and go for a while when Farah had left their shared room to go to the bathroom but a bit of creeping, hiding behind sofas and darting, and the girls had escaped unseen.

“See, it’s working!” London exclaimed as the ATM machine coughed out five one hundred dollar bills.

“Yeah, it’s probably just a problem with electronic transfer,” Shakira agreed as she tucked the money into her handbag. She was too grown to be hiding behind couches and the five hundred would be enough to carry her over the weekend in a motel. “I’ll go to the bank on Monday and make an over-the-counter withdrawal.”

“Where to next?”London asked as she tucked her arm in the crook of Shakira’s arm.

“Don’t you have to go to work?” Shakira asked.

“Don’t worry about it. Miss Wendy will understand.” London waved her hand airily as they exited the enclosed space that held the ATM booth. They were welcomed by the morning bustle.

Cabs and cars plodded along in morning traffic while men and women rushed past bumping into the girls, their expressions determined and steps purposeful. It didn’t matter that it was a Saturday. New York still had things to do. After months of confinement, the flurry of activity was jarring, but Shakira wasn’t complaining. She’d take jarring any day if it came with freedom.

She took a deep gulp of the air before announcing, “Let’s start with Goodwill. I need to get some clothes.”

“I told you I’d lend you mine until we find out where your mother kept yours.”

“Eh! No!”

“Are you dissing my fashion sense?”

What London called fashion sense was ripped, holey or cropped everything. Shakira had searched her closet for anything that was close to her own sedate style and fit, to little avail. Finally she’d settled on an off the shoulder cropped top with the flag of the UK and her own slacks.

At Goodwill, Shakira lucked on a nice pair of dark wash skinny jeans and a green t-shirt. Posing for London with her hands on her hips, Shakira asked, “How do I look?”

London arched an eyebrow. “Like you just shopped at Goodwill.”

“Hater.”

“Cheapskate,” London retorted. Shakira chuckled as she picked her bag from the seat. She wasn’t going to waste money buying new clothes while she knew that somewhere out there she might still have a perfectly good wardrobe. London announced, “Next stop
Nappy Palace
. We need to get rid of those Big Bertha plaits.”

“Aren’t you afraid Miss Wendy’s going to fire you one of these days?” Shakira asked a few minutes later as they sat in the bus on their way to South Bronx.

“She hasn’t fired me yet.” London shrugged. While they were in the bus, Shakira called Nathan.

“Nathan Hollis,” he answered on the first ring, his deep voice sending a thrill through her. Damn! If his voice could do that to her she didn’t even want to think what his hands would do.