Yellow Ghost: La Femme Selita Prequel (11 page)

“It’s about your mother.”

My face frowned. I felt it. “The junkie whore.” I rolled my eyes and dropped my butt into the maroon leather chair.

“Yes.”

“On my birthday weekend. This seems highly inappropriate. You want to depress me with tales of crack pipes and track marks.” My insolence never seemed to rattle him. He rarely scolded me for my sass-mouth.

“I promise this particular tale, it will be worth your while.”

“Okay then I guess I have no choice. I’m all ears.”

He smirked. “You always have a choice. I know you will chose wisely”

I crossed my legs and waited to hear a story about Martika Hilton, the poor excuse for a mother.

“What if I told you I knew who killed your mother?”

My eyes opened wide. “My mother died of a drug overdose. A lethal cocktail of drugs killed her.”

“Not exactly.”

My heart hurried in pace. “What does that mean?” I didn’t care. I think I don’t care. Why bother to probe into the death of someone I could care less about.

“No my flower.”

“Martika did drugs. She’s dead, end of story. What does it matter?”

“It doesn’t matter to many sure. Maybe it would matter to her daughter.”

“I’m not her daughter. I’m your daughter.”

“Why are you like this? Why do you despise the one that gave you life?”

“Do you need a list of reasons?” I smarted.

“You disrespect the dead.”

I took a deep breath to steady my heart rate. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“Selita, your mother was murdered.”

“And what does that mean?”

“She was strangled in a cheap motel in Compton by an old boyfriend.”

Why was he saying this? Everyone knew how my mother died, drug overdose. It wasn’t so long ago, just over ten years. Did he forget? My Father had an excellent memory.

“No, she overdosed.”

“No, she was clean. She finished rehab. She was clean for roughly six months before she was murdered.” His words fell heavy on my heart. I wasn’t sure why.

“I don’t. I don’t. Why? I don’t understand.”

“One of my employees killed her.”

“You told him to kill her?” I was asking not accusing. He was in that line of business. Would he tell me the truth? Did he put a hit out on my mother?

“No, of course not. I paid for your mother’s rehab. I made sure she stayed clean. I grew to love you. I never had a daughter. I could see you longed for a mother figure. I thought you would benefit from having your mother back in your life. I needed her to stay clean for one year and then I would allow her back into your life.”

My anger grew with every word he spewed. I didn’t have anyone to direct my anger toward. I knew I had to keep it in check to get to the truth. “Well why did you lie to me?”

“Because you weren’t ready for the truth.”

“How do you know what I was ready for?”

“You were only ten.”

“It was better for me to think she overdosed?”

“Yes. I believe it was.”

“I’m upset.”

“You are doing a wonderful job of covering it up. I am very proud that you have learned to conceal your emotions so cleverly.”

“Thank you.” Praise from my Father seemed to always be something I craved. Although I was angry he always made me feel like I was of sound mind and character.

“Does the topic of your mothers murder interest you?”

He knew it did. “Yes Father, you have my undivided attention.”

“I man that I employ killed your mother. I assume in a fit of rage or whatever excuse he has come up with in his mind. Your mother was free to roam about as she wished. I wanted her to stay clean but it was her idea. She wanted to see you again and she was aware that it was all I required to reunite you with her. She wasn’t under my protection because I didn’t believe she would be harmed in anyway as long as she stayed clean. I was wrong. When she was released from the rehabilitation program I paid her a visit. She had heard that I had adopted you.”

“She knew I was with you?”

“Yes, she was upset of course.”

“Why?”

“She thought I had put you out on the street.”

“On the street?”

“On the street. That’s absurd.”

“No my flower, not absurd at all.”

I frowned as I thought about his words. “What would I do on the street?”

“Martika thought I had made you into a whore? I recall how upset she was when she believed that to be the case. She even attacked me. It was quite amusing seeing her fist flailing about. My bodyguards had to restrain her.”

“A whore. I was only six when you adopted me.”

My father raised an eyebrow and I knew what that implied. “So you adopted me and you--”

“On the day that we met I knew that you were special. You probably don’t remember but you impressed me with your intellect, your manners and your innocence. I saw a beautiful child that could thrive with the right amount of love and nourishment. I was a different man back then and I dealt in prostitution. I had customers with varied tastes. My first intention was not one I am proud of. That was the past. I am legitimate now and you have helped make that happen.”

“This is very upsetting. I only thought you had good intentions for me.”

He chuckled. “I was a criminal. You are a smart girl. Did you really believe that?”

“Yes.”

“Well let this be a lesson in trust and naïveté. Trust no one.”

“Clearly.” He grinned at my snarky remark.”

“I made a deal with your mother. I told her about your progress. I showed her pictures of you. She cried and thanked me for taking such good care of you. I explained to her that if she ever wanted to see you again she would have to remain drug free for a year.”

“She eagerly agreed. It was clear that she loved you. I believed she would relapse but I hoped for your sake that she wouldn’t. We parted ways peacefully.”

“She wanted to see me again?”

“Yes more than anything.”

“You lied about everything. Everything.”

“Yes, I could have never told you these things. You were much too young to handle this information. You would have felt powerless but now you are very strong. I know the man that took the life of your mother. I could have killed him long ago but I preferred to let him believe he got away with murder. He is unaware that I know he strangled Martika.”

“You said she was clean when she died.”

“Yes, they do an autopsy on all murder victims. I saw her toxicology report.”

“She really wanted to see me again?”

“Yes.”

The room was silent as I soaked up all the information he shot me with. My confusion soon turned to anger and all I wanted to know was one thing. “Who is this man?”

My father smiled. “You know this man. His name is Antonio White.”

“Antonio, I don’t believe this.” But I did. “He’s worked with me. He worked for Father for years. He knows who I am. He knows Martika is my mother. Why would he kill her?”

“You know why? He is deviant.”

“We all are deviants.” No excuse.

“He’s different. You know this. His brand of torture is unique. He has an affinity for administrating extreme pain. You’ve seen him in action. You know what I mean. He has been a valuable asset to me over the years because he is so cold. He is my gift to you. I’ve been saving him for you for all these years. If you want to kill him you have my blessing. Dispose of him in a proper manner. Avenge your mother’s death.”

“I don’t understand how this is even possible.”

“All things are possible. I thought that maybe you would want to avenge her.”

“Tell me everything. I want to know the truth. So I can decide if vengeance will be mine.”

“Antonio liked to party with my girls. He had been known to be rougher than most. He liked the drug addicts. He had been banned from consorting with my club girls after they complained about his cruel behavior. He decided to pursue the girls that worked the streets for me instead. Your mother was one of his regulars. He had killed a girl once. She was a runaway that was in my employ for two weeks before he strangled her during sex. He begged me to clean up his mess. I did because I didn’t want any of this to blow back on me. I reprimanded him severely. He paid me the money the dead hooker could have earned in the streets.”

Hearing the story made me ill. Killing without any purpose was sickening. He was just abnormal. Somehow I thought myself better than him. My killings were justified. Whores were just down and out girls and women trying to make a buck to eat, drink or get high.

What made Antonio White think he could just kill without reason, orders or an act of war?

“So did he pay you for killing my mother, Martika?”

“No, he doesn’t know that I am aware of his kill.”

“Did the police arrest him?”

“They never even questioned him. Your mother’s case went unsolved.”

“No one even cared that a life was lost?”

“The life of a former junkie prostitute is hardly worth much to the police.”

“It’s worth something to me.”

“I thought you would think so.” He pushed a manila file across his desk in my direction. “In here is all the pertinent information you need.”

“Take care of your business.”

“Of course.”

Father had thrown a big soiree to celebrate my twenty-first birthday. I didn’t want the party but it was in my honor. Only his trusted friends and colleagues were invited. I didn’t have friends. I thought of inviting Jeremy to fly out for my little party but I quickly decided against it. There was no need to intertwine my separate lives. Jeremy knew enough and he really didn’t need to know more.

Takeo flew in from Osaka. It was strange how our once rocky relationship had turned into a loving brother-sister bond. Tak was one of the only people that understood how I felt. He was reserved like me, well trained like me. Over the years we decided to act like a real family, a real brother and sister. Tak was in charge of father’s companies in various cities throughout Japan. Father, Tak and I had flipped all his drug money around and into lucrative businesses.

I was surprised to see that Tak flew out from Japan to help me celebrate my twenty-first birthday. He hated the states. He was most comfortable with his own people in his own country. I didn’t really have my own people. My people consisted of my bodyguard Frank. He was one of the only black people in my circle.

This night was filled with many gifts but the one I treasured most of all was the new Glock father gave me as a gift. It was a beautiful; a little heavier than my weapon of choice but it was time for a new gun. It was time I tried my new weapon out on a certain murderer.

Antonio White was on my radar since Father told me he killed Martika. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to kill him because I liked to kill or because he robbed me of my mother. What’s worse, he robbed me of my anger toward her. All the years of loathing and cursing her were wasted years of hate. She was clean when this asshole motherfucker decided to strangle her for whatever reason.

I remember the first time I laid eyes on Antonio White. It was the first time I walked into the Fantasy FunClub. I was six years old and I had no idea I was entering a strip club. Back then Antonio was just a bouncer. He worked his way up the ranks like all thugs and low-life criminals. He gave me the creeps back then.

It was easy. I snatched his ass of the street outside his apartment. I snuck up behind him, rushed him and I stuck a tranquilizer needle in his arm. He was heavy as shit so Frank helped me dump his solid body in the trunk of the rental. Frank drove and I rode shotgun. We transported Antonio to the basement of the plastics factory my father owned. I had him tied to a chair before the drugs wore off.

I paced the floor for a while thinking of how to handle this situation. My mother wasn’t the only woman he killed. I don’t know if that tidbit made me feel better or worse. Maybe it was nothing personal. Maybe my mother did something to anger him. Bullshit, this motherfucker could have easily broken her legs. He could have just slashed her like that other guy. He didn’t have to kill her. The fact that she was clean and sober raises a lot of questions for me.

Fuck waiting for him to wake up. I walked over to Frank. He was holding my gun in his right hand. It rested in front of him on his jeans. He handed it to me and I took it. I marched over to Antonio’s stilled body. I smacked the shit out of him with the butt of my gun. My Glock, the one my Father gave me for my twenty-first birthday had become my weapon of choice.

He woke with a rumble. He almost fell over in his chair. I hit him hard enough to almost tip the chair with him in it. I was mad, very mad. I handed my Glock back to Frank.

“What the fuck is this?” Antonio choked.

“What the fuck do you think it is?”