Beloved Weapon Page 10

  Nia reached into the inside pocket of her jacket, tunneling around the lint and the barrel of one of her pistols. She moved gently at first, taking care not to drop her guns. Then her hands moved faster, violently sifting through every orifice of her clothes, patting her hands around every inch of her clothing in vain.

  “I could have sworn it was in my jacket pocket…I must have dropped it when…oh no…that prank call—oh shit!”

  “What? What is the matter?”

  “I have to go, Kim—I’m sorry!”

  Nia dashed to her motorcycle and turned over the engine. She sped away as fast as she could.

  Thirteen

  Charlene unlocked the door to her home and stepped inside. With a sigh, she dropped her purse and jacket to the floor, relieved that another eight-hour grind in the elderly rest home was over. She was looking forward to a steamy shower, cold champagne, and a hot night of passion with her man, with no plans to let a broken music player distract them this time. Charlene flipped the nearest switch, activating the hall light, noticing something as she passed Nia’s room on the base level.

  Damn, Nia must have left in a rush. She never leaves her door open. Oh well, I ain’t even messing with it, a bomb might go off or something, Charlene thought. I would call the cops, but like Bobby said, she is bringing in the paper. I guess I just gotta put up with it for now. But when Bobby gets that record deal, her ass is out!

  She scaled the flight of stairs that led to the bedroom that she and Bobby shared, her mind chaotic with plans of giving her boyfriend a full night of pleasure; she was looking forward to coming home throughout her entire workday.

  Then she remembered: Oh damn, Bobby’s at the club tonight, isn’t he? Hmm… maybe I should go and surprise him!

  As Charlene approached the bedroom, she noticed a small slit of light peering through the crack between the door and its frame. She walked into the room and saw their computer, sitting on a desk near the back of the room and running, the only thing providing light in the otherwise pitch-black room. A screen saver displaying the time bouncing around in 3D against a black background played on the screen.

  “I keep telling Bobby to turn off the computer when he’s done with it,” Charlene said to herself, approaching it. “Ain’t no sense in running the thing if we’re not doing anything with it. Electricity ain’t free…”

  With plans to shut the machine down, Charlene leaned upon the desk and took hold of the optical mouse. When the screen saver disappeared, Charlene saw a slideshow playing on the screen, transitioning between a series of digital photos reading from a memory stick protruding from the computer’s card reader.

  And when she took in what she was seeing, Charlene’s eyes went wide, her heart pounded and her jaw dropped.

  The photos flashing on the screen were poorly aligned photos of Nia and Bobby, completely nude in every pose imaginable and a few that were entirely unbelievable. Bobby’s hands all over her body. Nia’s hands all over his body. The two looking as happy as could be.

  Charlene shook in rage and disgust as she gazed at the screen, watching the lewd pictures fade in and out across the display repeatedly, finally seeing concrete evidence of what she suspected all along.

  Her heart palpitated furiously, her eyes moist. Charlene didn’t even notice her bedroom door creaking shut, and a man emerging from the shadow behind it, a stun gun firm in hand, a small grin on his face.

  ******

  The Jazz Hall was crowded and chaotic that evening, as Marc made it well known, via flyers and radio commercials, that Bobby Styles was finally premiering a new set of music. Bobby anxiously paced about in the backstage area, frequently polishing his saxophone for smudges that didn’t exist. As people randomly whizzed back and forth throughout the club, Bobby’s heart skipped a beat in vain a dozen or so times when he thought Nia finally arrived. A friend approached him with a laugh.

  “Hey, the record company guys ain’t here to see how shiny your sax is. What are you so nervous about, Bob?” said the poet who often performed spoken word in the club. “Your music is tight. The record company reps wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t.”

  “It’s not that…Nia’s supposed to be here,” Bobby replied. “This new set; it’s my gift to her.”

  Marc approached.

  “So, you’re finally ready to stop playing both of them and pick one?” Marc uttered. “You like Nia like that, huh?”

  “About time he made a decision,” added Silk. “We all knew it’d be that thick ass shorty.”

  “Speaking of,” Bobby said, “Where the hell is she? I paged her like an hour ago.”

  “You still got that girl still using that old-ass pager?” Silk laughed. “What, you trying to get caught? Don’t you know that if Charlene got her hands on that pager, she would see every number in it, and ninety-nine percent of them would be yours?”

  “So what?” Bobby griped. “That doesn’t mean anything…”

  “It means Charlene would know good and well most of Nia’s phone calls are coming from you and she would know about all your secret get-togethers,” Silk went on. “You’re too soft, Bobby. You can’t have two girls and do right by both of them. See, what a real player would do is buy his side shorty a cell phone just for her, so nobody has to know about when you two communicate.”

  “Man, you know what…” Bobby began, “You’re right! I can’t believe I ain’t think of that! She’s been asking me to get her something too. I’m going to get her a phone tomorrow.”

  “Not a bad idea,” Marc interjected. “I hope it isn’t too late, though.”

  Bobby looked inquisitively at Marc as he peered out from behind the stage, watching as the usual large crowd of stylish and sharp-dressed patrons made their way into the bar and dining areas of the club, taking seats at the various barstools and tables.

  “Looks like it’s going to be another jumping night at the Jazz Hall,” he muttered.

  Bobby looked longingly at Marc, and then turned to Silk.

  “Do me a favor and call my crib, see if Nia’s there,” Bobby said.

  Silk shrugged, walking away. “Everybody thinks I’m their errand boy. Whatever. Be back.”

  Marc took a breath, watching as the club’s bouncers led patrons into the club and ushers guided them to various tables. He looked skyward, and smiled gently.

  “What’s on your mind, Bobby?”

  “You know what’s going down tonight, right? The producers and everything,” Bobby went on.

  “Yeah…”

  “Yeah, well, I was thinking. If everything goes smoothly tonight, you know; if I get a contract…”

  Marc turned and stared at Bobby.

  “…I want to buy back my piece of the club.”

  Marc gently closed his eyes and nodded. “Uh-huh. What’s wrong? You don’t like the way I’m running things?”

  “It ain’t that, man,” Bobby stammered. “It’s just, you know, it’s my club…I mean, I’m grateful you helped me keep it open when times were tough, but if this record deal goes through, I’m definitely going to be able to pull my own weight, you know what I mean? I mean, I could…I could blow up from this! I could end up opening a chain of Jazz Halls; you know what I’m saying? I mean, I’ll be more than happy to keep you on as the manager and everything…”

  Marc chuckled. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, man. Just go out there and handle your business. Now ain’t the time to get into all that. You want to be nervous and thinking about this club when you need to be pouring your heart and soul into that sax for them folks out there?”

  “Yeah, but…”

  “You never know what can happen,” Marc continued. “You need to worry about right now. We can discuss the future later, when things are quieter.”

  Bobby sighed. “You’re right. But we are going to talk about this.”

  Marc grinned. “Of course. Now—”

  “Yo, Bobby!” Silk’s voice suddenly called out, breaking through their conversation. “There ar
e some people here that want to talk to you!”

  Bobby glanced in the direction of Silk’s voice, then back to Marc. “We’re going to talk about this when I’m done with the show, right?”

  “Okay, Bob. After the show.”

  Bobby set his saxophone on a chair and dashed off, toward the front doors of the nightclub. Three men clad in blue suits awaited him.

  “Mr. Styles, can we talk to you for a minute?” spoke the man in the middle. “Let’s step outside. It’s too noisy in here…we need to discuss something important.”

  Bobby followed as the three stepped out of the building. “You guys must be from the record company.”

  ******

  Nia pulled up across the street from the Jazz Hall’s doors. She turned toward the door and gasped; the sparkles of glistening sequined dresses and flickering rims of expensive luxury cars that normally littered the outside of the club were gone, replaced by the all-too-familiar and foreboding red and blue lights of police sirens.

  Nia stealthily concealed herself in the shadows of a nearby alley, hiding from the multitude of cops standing around the doors. She focused her eyes and ears on four people she saw standing near the club’s doors. One was a police officer, another was Silk, the third was Marc, and the fourth was one of the Jazz Hall’s bouncers.

  No sign of Bobby.

  She was able to clarify the words even over the random jumble of sounds; the running motors, the gossip and the whining of departing customers and would-be customers, the banter of police and the moan of the night. Her eyes grew irritated as she incessantly wiped away tears, fearing the worst. She finally decided to press her cycling goggles over her eyes and focus on the conversation across the street.

  “…told you, these guys said they wanted to see Bobby. Next thing I knew, he was gone,” said the bouncer.

  “Yeah, they even left a note, it’s not addressed to anyone, but it says—!” Silk began.

  Another cop approached the scene and stuck his palm in front of Silk’s face, compelling him to stop talking. The cop addressed his partner, whispering. Then the police turned to Silk and Marc.

  “Uh, there’s not much we can do right now. Come down to the station and file a report after your friend’s been missing for more than 24 hours. Have a good night.”

  “What the hell?” Silk gasped. “Y’all supposed to be the cops! My friend was kidnapped by some goons and y’all just gonna leave? It wasn’t even that long ago! Y’all might be able to track them down! Use the traffic cams or something!”

  “Look, he probably just went for a smoke or something,” the officer went on. “Just give him a couple of hours and he’ll probably be back. Let’s go, guys.”

  “Bobby doesn’t smoke, you jackasses! And besides, why the hell would he walk off somewhere when he’s supposed to be performing tonight? This is foul, and y’all know it!”

  Suddenly, Marc touched Silk on the shoulder, nudging his head in the direction of the alley across the street and the bike parked there. Silk appeared to recognize it.

  “You know what? Never mind. Get lost then, you useless…” the poet hissed as the cop cars drove off one by one. Nia carefully made sure all the cops departed, listening to ensure their cars were long gone. When the venue was finally clear, she rushed across the street and ran up to Marc and Silk.

  “What happened?” cried Nia.

  “Some men in suits took Bobby! You know anything about this?”

  Nia looked down. “Damn.”

  “Hey, you better not have gotten Bobby in no kind of trouble,” Silk growled. “I know you’re into some shady stuff, but you promised us you wouldn’t bring that mess to the club! Now look at what happened after you went wild the other night. This has that damn corporation written all over it, doesn’t it? They came after Bobby to get to you, didn’t they?!”

  “Chill out, Silk,” Marc intruded. “Whatever happened, I’m sure it’s not Nia’s fault.”

  “Look,” Nia asked Silk, “What were you saying about a note?”

  “How’d you hear…? Never mind. Yeah, they left some kind of note. I think it’s for you.”

  Silk handed an envelope to Nia. She withdrew the contents and examined the typed print on a sheet of paper.

  The Riley Warehouse, just off of Route 23. Come alone. They won’t be harmed, provided you come a.s.a.p.

  P.S.: Nice pictures.

  Nia groaned. Fuck. The pictures…I guess it’s all out in the open now…Charlene must be pissed off…probably doesn’t even want to be rescued—at least not by me.

  “The hell with it,” she grunted, turning back toward her bike. Marc suddenly grabbed her shoulder.

  “Where are you going?” he asked.

  “Away from here,” Nia said back. “I’m not walking into that trap.”

  “So you just gonna abandon Bobby and Charlene?”

  Nia clenched her fists. “Look, they’re not after Bobby, they’re after me. If I get my ass out of this city, they’ll be just fine. Hudson’s goons will let them go. They won’t have no reason to hold them!”

  “You sure about that?”

  Nia fought back tears. “It ain’t my problem what happens to them!”

  Marc stood before her, running his hand through Nia’s hair. He pulled out his handkerchief and blotted Nia’s moist eyes. She snatched it and used it herself.

  “It sounds like Bobby and Charlene could use your help, Nia. You gonna abandon the only people who were there for you when no one else would help you out? You gonna leave them in the hands of Corp Hudson? You know the big man practically owns this town. The police won’t help them. If Bobby and Charlene disappear for good, you better believe it’s going to end up looking like an accident.”

  “What; what do you mean?” Nia wondered, trembling with worry she fought in vain to conceal. “Why would they even go that far?”

  “You saw what happened to Charlie that night. These ain’t cops you’re dealing with. Corp Hudson wants you bad. They’re going to do whatever it takes to get you to fall in line. If it takes killing Bobby and Charlene to get your attention, they’ll do it and no one who matters will know the difference. If that don’t work, well, they do know about how much you like this place, thanks to your boy Charlie. They’ll just come here and find someone else to use against you. They might come pick me up tomorrow.”

  Nia pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose in frustration.

  “Remember what we talked about the other day?” Marc said. “I thought you said you didn’t want innocents getting hurt because of you anymore. Ain’t that what you said? Well, Bobby and Charlene are innocent, and they got snatched because of you. Now, if you were lying to me, and you don’t give a damn about anyone but yourself, fine. Go. Just don’t show your face around here again.”

  Nia trembled.

  “But,” Marc went on, “…if you’re ready to woman-up and deal with this, you need to go wherever they’re telling you to go, and you need to go now.”

  Nia groaned. It pissed her off, but she knew Marc was right. She couldn’t stand the thought of leaving Bobby to whatever Corp Hudson’s men were planning to do to him.

  “But…” Nia began.

  “You still making excuses?” Marc growled.

  “No, it’s just…I don’t have any weapons. All I have is my Baby Eagles. I don’t have enough equipment to go up against no army. I don’t have time to go to my other contacts. I don’t know how many of them—”

  Marc sighed. “Oh, is that all? Come on with me.”

  Nia gave him a bewildered look.

  She followed Marc into the Jazz Hall. The two walked through the vacant ballroom area, winding their way past the tables. Marc led Nia to a door in an alcove behind the bar; a door that until that moment was closed and securely locked. Marc drew three separate keys and unlocked the padlock, deadbolt and latch that sealed the door and it creaked open. He gestured for Nia to enter; she did.

  She gasped when she looked inside.

 
It was a room of wooden walls and floors, with makeshift shelves built along the perimeter. On one side were stacked a variety of liquor bottles and filled kegs, but the other side was what Nia transfixed her gaze upon.

  She saw guns, and lots of them. Revolvers, semi-automatics, fully-automatics, grenade launchers, scope-mounted rifles, explosives, grenades…

  Nia finally found words. “Marc…what the hell?!”

  Marc smiled. “Don’t look so surprised, sweetheart. Why do you think the hoods in this town like to hang out here? You think they come for the music and the booze?”

  Nia shook her head. “I never figured you for a gun runner.”

  “This club was a big ol’ money pit,” Marc explained. “When I took over, Bobby never asked where I got the money from. It’s probably better he doesn’t know. I spiced this place up, and now, I don’t need to sell this merchandise. But a lot of my old clients, and a couple of new ones, keep coming by with money, so what you expect me to do? Tell them ‘no’?”

  “How much?” Nia mumbled.

  “Ain’t no time for that, Nia. Just let me know what you need,” Marc said. “I’ll start a tab for you. You are my favorite customer, after all, and Bobby’s my friend too.”

  Fourteen

  Nia quickly but meticulously sifted through Marc’s arsenal, after sliding a coat with several pockets and compartments over her shoulders, designed to hold gun magazines. Nia was planning to carry a lot of ammo.

  Fastening a thick leather belt around her hips, she was able to secure two AK-47 machine guns to straps designed for them. Around her shoulders, she secured two more straps for a pair of powerful sawn-off shotguns, modified specifically to have an increased fire rate and extreme stopping power. She snatched a pair of hand grenades from the shelf and affixed them to the coat as well.

  After loading her main weapons, the chrome-plated Baby Eagle handguns that served her so well, so often, Nia filled all remaining pocket space with ammunition before turning about and leaving the room.