Chapter 3
Jameela
My mom’s church was having some kind of retreat. She wanted to take Bella with her so she could show her off in all the frilly dresses she bought her. Most Saturday mornings, she wanted to take Bella somewhere.
That worked for me because every other Saturday, Sade and I went down to the vacant lot by the corner liquor store in our old neighborhood, to feed the homeless in the area.
My own situation felt so bleak sometimes, but I knew that there were people who were less fortunate than me.
The streets were riddled with drugs and poverty.
I did what little I could to lessen the suffering of the people who lived in the place where I grew up.
Sade had a wedding to attend, so instead of canceling, I got up at six in the morning and made fifty bagged lunches with a small care package of simple things like Tylenol, hand sanitizer, Band-Aids, and condoms inside.
Most people spent too much time wondering what a homeless person would do with the money and things that they gave them.
They worried that they would buy drugs or alcohol, making them hesitant to give.
I could only imagine the struggles of living on the street.
I had somewhere to call home, and I was still ready to pull my hair out worrying about how I would pay my bills.
With that in mind, we started to add a couple of those miniature liquor bottles to each care package.
Even when one of us couldn’t make it, the other went at it alone.
There were a lot of people who looked forward to us coming through.
I loved hanging out and kicking it with the people who liked to hang in the lot.
I loved hearing their stories and how freely they talked about the things that were going on in the neighborhood.
Although I wasn’t on duty right now, I liked to keep my ear to the street.
Smiley, one of the older guys that hung out in front of the liquor store, had been keeping me entertained in Sade’s absence, when a black car with dark tinted windows pulled up. The dark tinted windows slowly slid down as I continued to pass out the sacked lunches and care packages.
“Who is that?” I asked Smiley, barely looking up at the unfamiliar car.
He knew just about everybody who frequented the area.
His quick shrug indicated that whoever the man was just happened to be one of the few people he didn’t know.
After a few seconds, the car pulled away, and I continued with business as usual.
Since there were people who expected us to show up every other week, it only took about an hour and a half for us to pass out everything.
“Wait for me out here. I will bring you a pint for helping me,” I told Smiley once he finished helping me pack my trunk.
I had already given him a little money to put in his pocket, but he explained that he was barred out of the store for shoplifting and wanted a drink. I was out of bourbon at home, so I needed to get a bottle of my own.
Once I made it home, I planned to stay in the house until it was time to pick Bella up from my mom. By nightfall, I would be curled up in bed in my favorite cozy pajamas with a double shot of bourbon.
I drove over to the store’s parking lot and backed into a parking spot in front.
For a second, I considered leaving my car running while I dashed inside.
It ran much better when it was warmed up.
I knew it was crazy as hell to leave my car running while I was in a liquor store of all places. They knew me here though.
Using my better judgment, I killed the engine before hopping out and rushing inside.
There was always somebody outside this place with a sob story asking for money.
I was all for helping people, but I wasn’t in the mood to hear anybody else’s sad story.
I had enough going on. I could barely afford the bottle of cheap liquor.
I sympathized with the homeless even more now that I was about two unfortunate incidents away from being in the same boat.
I grabbed my bottle and almost made it out of the store unscathed.
As soon as I made it to the counter, I felt someone’s attention on me.
I didn’t have to see whoever it was to feel their energy getting stronger.
I looked back, but I didn’t see anyone. I was in a liquor store in the hood, so excuse me for being paranoid.
When it was my turn in line, I placed my bottle on the counter.
“Can I also get a pint of vodka?” I asked the clerk once he walked over.
The woody scent of a cologne that I didn’t recognize made me curious enough to look back again. Just when I thought I was going crazy for thinking someone was watching me, I looked to my right, and my eyes connected with a pair of waiting eyes.
The smoldering, almond-shaped eyes nearly set me on fire as the ebony-skinned man devoured me with his gaze. Vivid tattoos crawled intricately up his neck, making him look equally dangerous and sexy. I had never entertained a street dude, but he made me consider changing that.
What was I talking about? There was no telling what kind of criminal activity he was into to afford a diamond encrusted Cuban link and watch combo.
I hated the fact that I immediately thought the worst of our black brothers, but my spidey-senses had yet to prove me wrong.
My line of work only made me more jaded.
The intensity in his stare made me keep my eyes on him to figure out if I recognized him from somewhere.
After so many years, I had made a lot of arrests.
Naturally, I wouldn’t remember every single name and face.
The lack of malice behind his eyes made me think there was no bad blood between us.
I had no idea what his problem was, but me not recognizing him didn’t mean that he didn’t recognize me.
“Someone must be having a rough day,” he commented with a cunning smile.
“Humph.” Coming to my senses, I snorted a laugh as I snatched my eyes away and turned back to the cashier.
“Excuse my manners, jamila,” he said.
His voice hit my ears just right. The rasp in his deep baritone would have made my knees weak if his calling me by name didn’t put my guard all the way up.
“No need,” I replied without bothering to look back at him.
After paying for the drinks, I snatched the brown bag off the counter and rushed out to my car.
The last thing I needed was some drug dealer threatening me in a hood liquor store.
I wasn’t taking any chances these days. I had a daughter to get home to.
There were too many people who wanted to kill a cop just to say that they did it.
Once I was safely seated in the driver’s seat of my car, I felt a small sense of relief.
That was short lived as I tried to crank my car up only for it to cough like hell before stalling out.
As I made a second attempt at starting my car, I could see the man, who I still couldn’t place, stroll out of the store from my side mirror.
He was way too sexy to be a stalker, but in my line of business, I knew it was na?ve to think that way.
I tracked his movements until he showed up at my driver’s side window. My shoulders dropped as I turned the key back and let the window down to hear what he had to say. It wasn’t like I could burn rubber on him. I was stuck.
“You sure look like you’re in a hurry to drink that black top,” he said, brandishing a boyish grin that made my stomach flutter.
“Can I help you with something?” I asked, lifting my brows.
“I was going to ask your name before you dashed out of there like somebody was chasing you. Now it sounds like you might need some help out here.”
I rolled my eyes. “Obviously, you already know my name.”
“I’m a lot of things, but psychic isn’t one of them.”
“Well, explain how you know my name is Jameela,” I demanded.
That made him laugh, but I didn’t find anything funny.
If this was some kind of setup, I wasn’t going to be the only one having a bad day.
My car not cranking didn’t mean that I was vulnerable.
I made sure to be armed and dangerous at all times.
You never knew what kind of crazies were out lurking these days.
He squatted down so that we were eye to eye. Over the years, I stared down some of the hardest criminals in the city, but for some reason, this man’s gaze intimidated me. I had to fight not to avert my gaze. What the hell was going on? I didn’t get intimidated.
“Jamila is also Arabic for beautiful, habibti. It was only a coincidence that your name suits you so well.”
I was briefly disarmed by his response but quickly recovered. He took the pregnant pause between us as an opportunity to speak again.
“Are you OK, Jameela?”
“Uh, sure. I just wanted to make sure I had everything I needed before I left,” I said, hoping he would move the hell on so I could figure out what I needed to do.
“Turn your key again. Have you had someone to check your fuel injectors?”
“Are you a mechanic?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.
“No, I’m actually a proprietor and an investor.”
“Humph, let me guess. You invest in trap houses.”
“Oh, wow. So, you just automatically assume that I’m a criminal?” he asked, placing a hand on his chest like he was offended.
“No, I don’t have room to make assumptions. That doesn’t mean I don’t have enough sense to ask if you are. I’m from this area. I know where all the drug holes are.”
He found that comical. I wasn’t sure if I would have.
I was trying to encourage him to go away, but that didn’t seem to be working so far.
I didn’t care how handsome he was or how his eyes made me want to look deeper and turn away at the same time, I wasn’t getting involved with some thug that I met at a liquor store.
The only thing I wanted him to do was get out of my face so I could figure out if my car had finally put me down.
“Turn the key, Jameela,” he ordered.