Beloved Weapon Page 2

  The woman looked toward the Jazz Hall’s bar and the familiar man behind it. Her smooth, graceful walk and rhythmical footsteps were as melodic to onlookers as the saxophone in the air, as if the sumptuous music were her very own theme song.

  Her eyes met those of the bartender, an older black man in a white button shirt, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he expertly mixed various drinks. The woman eased her thighs across a barstool directly in front of the bartender, a seat one gentleman was more than happy to vacate for her. The bartender immediately prepared a glass of light drink and placed it before her.

  “Your usual, Nia,” the bartender smiled warmly.

  “How you doin’, Marc?”

  Marc Benson was the bartender and owner of the upscale nightclub. He came along when Bobby’s Jazz Hall was desperately in need of funds and on the verge of shutdown. In exchange for majority ownership of the property, Marc kept the club open and allowed Bobby to continue playing his music full time while he handled the club’s business affairs.

  Marc befriended Nia and always seemed eager to hear her stories of adventure. He was no stranger to tales of gunfights and fisticuffs over money and power. The club was host to many colorful characters—hit men, robbers, gangsters and small-time hustlers always gathered at the Jazz Hall, mingling like salt in water with the regular, more lawful patrons. The Hall was one safe, relatively public place where shifty, shady and downright crooked folks could meet and discuss business safely. They respected Marc, because he treated them equally. In fact, much of the Jazz Hall’s success, once Marc took over, came from the good rapport he developed with the big-spenders of the criminal underworld. Marc learned a great deal about the clandestine affairs of the city’s seedy underbelly, knowledge he often shared with his favorite patron, Miss Nia Black.

  “I’m cool, sweetheart. You?”

  “Never better. Had a good time the other night.”

  “I heard,” Marc looked away briefly and nodded toward another customer, taking an order for wine. He turned back to Nia.

  “One of these days, you’re going to get in a lot of trouble messing with the big man.”

  Nia grinned. “That’s what I do, boo. I take risks. But look, I came here tonight to—”

  “To see Bobby, like the rest of the sisters here. Right?”

  “Come on, Marc, you know he’s got a girl,” Nia blushed.

  “That’s not what I asked you.”

  Nia smiled. “Seriously man, did my contact get here yet? I had this thing long enough. He needs to hook me up.”

  “You mean Charlie? I think I saw him…” Marc looked around. “Yeah. He’s sitting up front, next to your favorite seat. He looks a little agitated though. Be careful. Something ain’t right about him tonight.”

  “You know me, I’m always careful,” Nia spun on the barstool and turned away from the bar, tightly grasping the bottom of her skirt to keep it from riding up as she hopped off the seat.

  Nia walked toward the center stage, weaving through the other tables until she made her way to the table nearest to the stage, where the man named Charlie Ross sat. His impatience was evident in his wide, baggy, reddened eyes as they followed Nia’s every move. Missing the dress-to-impress code by a mile, his shabby brown suit, dingy hair and stubble-ridden face stood out amongst the sharp suits and sequined dresses filling the club. He did seem agitated, incessantly scratching his scalp and repeatedly sipping his vodka. It looked like something had him spooked.

  Nia sat down on the only other chair at Charlie’s table and placed the bag she was carrying on her lap. As Nia slid her jacket off and exposed her halter-top, she turned to the sexy saxophonist with a wink and puckered her full, luscious lips at him. Bobby grinned and continued to play his music with seemingly increased fervor, as if her presence empowered him. He finished his set and began anew, this time with an increased tempo, the band following suit with stronger drums and deeper bass notes as another performer, a man who called himself ‘Silk’ appeared on stage spouting poetry.

  “I never get tired of this place,” said Nia in a whisper, leaning forward and sliding off her tinted spectacles. Charlie’s eyeballs slid down, his vision diving into the chasm created by her breasts.

  Charlie abruptly reset his gaze forward when he realized Nia was staring into his eyes.

  “Having a good time?”

  “Yeah, yeah, whatever, Miss Black,” he stammered with every word. “Look, do you have it?”

  Nia squinted back at him. “Come on, man, how long have we been doing this? Have I ever messed up?”

  She lifted the satchel from her lap and placed it on the table. Charlie opened it and peered inside. The prototype weapon sat within with nary a scratch on it, even maintaining the luster from the last time its metal housing was buffed.

  “Wow, you’re unbelievable! I mean, you’ve done some great things before, but getting into that lab without getting spotted, then getting past all that security…you’ve outdone yourself, kid!”

  “I know, right?” Nia grinned. “If you could only have seen the look on Hudson’s face when he looked at my little behind jettin’ with this thing. You could tell he was mad! Eyebrows all twitching…”

  Nia calmed down after she noticed Charlie clearly tuned out.

  “So, you got my money?”

  “W-what’s that now?”

  “My money, Chuck.”

  “Oh, right,” the man chuckled. “I almost forgot.”

  “Come on man, don’t play. Let’s get this done.”

  Two days had passed since Nia fought her way out of Romedrux Labs with Corp Hudson’s experimental weapon, and she was fed up. Nia was tired of carrying such a hot piece of property for far too long. Usually after Nia lifted something for him, Charlie met up with her the same night with her payment to make the exchange, freeing Nia from any liability. Then Charlie and Nia would part ways until the next time he wanted her to nab something for him, Nia waiting patiently for the telltale page from her first and foremost contact in the fencing game. This time, Charlie offered neither explanation nor apology for the delay, and this irked her.

  “You wanted the prototype from Romedrux Labs, and I got it,” said Nia. “I could just leave it in your care and let certain people know who has the big man’s recently stolen new toy. And you could have every hitter in the city hunting you down. Everybody on the street knows who you are, Chuck. Nobody out there knows how to find me. I don’t need the loot from you as much as you want to keep living and breathing.”

  “Now, there ain’t any need in getting like that. Your money’s right here!”

  Charlie shuddered when hissing from surrounding patrons telling him to shush blasted him like missiles. He angrily lifted a silver attaché case from underneath the red tablecloth and slammed it upon the table, as if he meant to antagonize everyone else. His drink capsized but Nia managed to lift hers before it ended up wasted on the table and floor. She accepted the attaché, spun it around so the locks faced her and unlatched it, slowly and subtly, avoiding noise, and glanced inside without opening it completely.

  Then she slammed the case shut.

  She wasn’t stupid. She had seen all makes and models of money, and this wasn’t close to any of them. The case contained the work of a clearly amateur counterfeiter.

  “Charlie, what the hell is—?”

  But Nia shut her mouth when she noticed the round, black metal hole aimed at her. Charlie stared at Nia, his forearm rested on the table, his fingers coiled around a Smith & Wesson 340PD.

  Nia immediately focused on the weapon. It was a tiny, lightweight revolver perfect for concealment, and Charlie was clearly just itching to pull it out. She noticed how he had to make subtle adjustments in his grip to keep the gun steady. She saw his finger hovering slightly away from the trigger, ready to pull it. He was serious.

  But that wasn’t why she sat still. She was fast enough and skilled enough to reverse the situation with a flick of her wrist. The gun would then face the
hunter instead of the hunted.

  Then Charlie would gasp…

  Then someone would notice, see the gun, and some woman would scream…

  Then everyone would run in every direction trying to get away from the danger…

  Then chaos would explode and the relaxed atmosphere of the Jazz Hall would give way to a scene akin to the movie Titanic, just after everyone realized the ship was sinking.

  Marc would be pissed. Cops would case the joint every other night thereafter. The Jazz Hall’s attendance would drop dramatically—the shadier clientele would have to find a safer place to hang out. No more complimentary drinks for Nia, if she could even show her face there at all after the fiasco.

  Play it cool, Nia told herself. Keep it chill.

  Charlie spoke with a slight chuckle. “I was trying to tell you that you’re made. I gave away your location here to those guys who’re looking for you. That’s why I waited. You know what happens to people who cross the Corp. You know that better than anyone, don’t you?”

  Nia looked toward Marc, who subtly shook his head. She knew Marc expected her to hold back from attacking Charlie in the middle of Bobby’s performance. Nia had to do her best to stay docile until she could get outside and do her thing. But if Charlie decided to attack, nothing would stop things from going crazy.

  “Charlie, how could you do me like that? You’re the one that got me started in this game! And now you’re going around making deals with Vincent, throwing me under the bus?”

  Holding the gun steady, Charlie stood up and snatched the bag out of Nia’s grip.

  “Look, there are some people you just don’t screw with. Hudson is one of those people. You’ve been messing with the big man for too long, and frankly, he’s sick of it. His people found me and offered me a big payoff, way bigger than what I could even pretend to hope to get for this weapon on the street. Don’t be mad at me. It’s business. I go where the money goes, you know that.”

  Nia Black sighed. “Can’t trust nobody. So now what?”

  No one seemed to notice what was going on at the table in the front row. The performers were that good; Bobby Styles, blowing skillfully and stylishly into his saxophone with his eyes calmly shut, the poet uttering lyrics in cadence with the music. It didn’t hurt that Charlie held his small gun close enough to his body that even someone looking from the side probably couldn’t tell what exactly the black object was in the dimly lit hall, and would most likely take it for a cell phone.

  For his part, Bobby knew what was up—he couldn’t miss it since Nia and Charlie were sitting closer to the stage than anyone else—but he knew not to react. Nia could handle it.

  Charlie took advantage of the moment. Holding the bag tightly, he wormed his way out of the hall, shoving his pistol into his pocket. He turned back to Nia with a snide smile.

  “I’m going to return this thing. Hudson’s guys will be outside waiting for you. Don’t keep them, kid.”

  Nia remained at her table, tightly gripping the tablecloth as she bit her lip. She could have been upon Charlie in a second. But after one bad incident in the past, Marc told her nicely, chill here whenever you want, just don’t start no mess up in here.

  She had to take deep breaths just to remain civil. It was one thing for Charlie to set Nia up. She expected that to happen eventually.

  What truly pissed her off was that Nia had nothing to show for what she did but a stack of counterfeit cash.

  Outside the club, Charlie made his way to his black sedan, parked some distance down the block. On the way toward his car, Charlie noticed Nia’s ride, a powerful and exotic silver sport bike. He checked out the vehicle with a smile.

  She’s done for, he thought; he considered hotwiring it and keeping it for himself. But he didn’t actually know how to ride a motorcycle, so he let that idea go. Just to add insult to injury, he kicked the motorcycle over and roared into laughter as it clanged on the ground.

  Another man approached, flinching at the clang of the bike hitting the asphalt. He was a stocky African-American man, his haircut low and sharp, eyes covered in dark shades, wearing a blue suit.

  “Vincent Marks,” Charlie grinned. “Now, what kind of an asshole wears sunglasses at night?”

  “Why did you kick over that motorcycle?!”

  “What do you care? It’s not your bike!”

  “Never mind. Give it to me,” Vincent retorted, muttering curses under his breath. Charlie did as ordered, placing the satchel in Vincent’s hands. The gentleman opened it and examined the contents.

  “All right, good to go. Now, she’s in there, right Ross?”

  “Just like I said, the girl always comes here after a job. So you’ve got the weapon, and you’ve got the girl. Can I get my money and go already?”

  Vincent shot a glance toward the parked van behind him and nodded.

  Then on cue, a half-dozen men in combat gear, carrying rifles, burst on the scene. Charlie gasped as the soldiers surrounded him and aimed their weapons.

  “I thought you’d be smarter than that, Ross,” said Vincent. “I mean, you bought some info about the weapon, you sent your best girl to snatch it so you could fence it, on the same day that Mr. Hudson himself—my employer, I might add—is touring the facility. She embarrasses his security and gets away right in front of my boss with one of his most important projects, all because of you. You thought we’d reward you for that?”

  Charlie snarled. “What the hell, Marks! We had a de—!”

  Then a blunt force struck him between the neck and shoulder, and Charlie Ross collapsed to the ground. The soldiers flex-cuffed his wrists.

  Another soldier approached Vincent and spoke low. “Media blackout is in effect. Local law enforcement’s been directed to stay out of the district and disregard any calls from this area until we say otherwise. You’ve got the floor, Mr. Marks.”

  Vincent nodded. “Good. We have the prototype back. Get everyone ready. Next comes Nia.”

  Three

  Nia Black finally calmed down, and allowed Bobby’s music to soothe her. Soon, she became less concerned with Charlie’s warning, and she leaned forward, returning the gaze from the saxophonist. Nia didn’t even wonder how the night would turn out. She had other things on her mind, like whether or not Bobby had been working out. It looked like it.

  Bobby snatched his sax from his lips when a deafening boom from outside—a gunshot—interrupted the peace. Immediately, frightened patrons leaped from their seats and scrambled for the exit. People were running, shouting, crouching, and cursing in every direction. Then, finding logic among confusion, someone must have realized how foolish it was to go in the same direction that the blast came from, and slowly people settled back down in the center of the club, taking positions under tables and crouching near the bar.

  As the other patrons’ panic and inquisitiveness killed the calm ambiance, Nia finally stood from her seat, straightening her skirt with a sigh. The noise was the telltale sign; the time for relaxation was over. It was time for action. Like a light switch, her calm instantly became edge, her reflexes got primed and ready, and her mind switched to the battle to come.

  She lifted her jacket from the back of her chair, securing a pair of silver-plated semi-automatic pistols within its inner pockets. Throwing the jacket on her shoulders and sliding her arms into her sleeves, she approached the door, the one calm element among the pandemonium of the club as she ambled in the midst of their chaotic behavior. A dozen people took a dozen actions between each one of Nia’s soft and graceful steps. She drew one of her pistols as she closed in on the club’s main entrance, taking care to keep the people inside the club from seeing it and getting even more excited. Before she could grab the knob, a powerful voice amplified by a bullhorn called her attention.

  “Nia Black. I know you’re in there. You know who I am and you know why I’m here. Come on out. We don’t want any innocents hurt.”

  Nia stopped.

  Vincent! So you decided to come after m
e yourself, she thought. Damn it.

  “Hold up, Nia.”

  A man’s deep voice caught her attention. Bobby approached Nia from behind, accompanied by Marc.

  “Bobby, what’s the deal?” asked Nia. “Why are you off the stage? You should keep playing so everybody calms down!”

  “I had a feeling something was up,” Marc said.

  “So why didn’t you say anything?”

  “You know how it is, Nia,” Marc grinned. “That’s your thing. I ain’t trying to step on your toes. ‘Sides, I told you he was acting nervous, didn’t I?”

  Nia rolled her eyes.

  “Go out through the back. I don’t want you getting hurt,” said Bobby.

  Nia smiled. “Hurt? By them? That ain’t nobody but my old boyfriend. Nice guy and all, but he’s in the wrong line of work.”

  “Look, you’re not fooling anyone, Nia,” Marc said. “I know you’re upset. I saw it in your eyes when you found out Charlie made a deal with Vincent. Hudson’s been after you for a while now, and you know he’s serious if he sent his number one guy after you, especially given your history with him.”

  “Vincent ain’t the problem,” Nia groaned. “It’s what Vincent might have brought with him that I’m worried about. He’s the only one Hudson lets play with the big toys. Look, I’m going to go out there and draw his attention away from the club. Clear it out or lock it up or whatever you’re going to do. Just know it’s going to get hot out there.”

  “Be careful, all right? I want you to make it home tonight,” begged Bobby.

  Nia snickered. “Why, Bobby, I didn’t know you cared.”

  “Yes you did,” Bobby finished as Nia kissed his cheek. She turned and headed for the rear of the club.

  “Good luck, girl; you’re going to need it,” added Marc.

  “Hey, you watch yourself out there, you hear me?” yelled Bobby.

  Nia blushed as she walked off, overcome with elation. “You boys…I feel so loved.”

  Soon Nia found her way to the back alleys behind the Jazz Hall and positioned herself between the battered garbage cans, examining the distance between her position and the top of the building. All was quiet save the humble sounds of droplets hitting the ground and the scrambling of stray felines looking for scraps.