Chapter 8
Chapter
Eight
Honey really keeps her personal life totally separate from this club and everyone and everything associated with it.
No one knows her real name or even what side of town she lives on.
Although there are three dancers with animosity toward her, they have no real intel.
They eagerly spoke on her stealing some of their customers, having favor with the owner Ano, and fucking one of the security guards but they have no clue who she really is.
So, after no luck with the bartenders and the small group of dancers on the floor, Akeem slides off the bar stool and makes his way through the club.
As he treks through the main floor, heading toward the back, he looks for Sunjiya but doesn’t spot her.
Maybe she found someone to talk to, he thinks as he walks.
Always cognizant of his surroundings, especially all entrances and exits, while sitting at the bar, Akeem kept his eyes on the back left door.
Unlike the other four doors in the club, that one had limited to no activity.
In the thirty minutes he watched, he noticed no dancers or even servers walked in or out.
It’s guarded by a security guard who clearly has a nicotine addiction.
About every eight to ten minutes, he pulls a vape from his pocket, takes a puff, then walks to the men’s restroom, still smoking.
He’s usually gone for just a few minutes but a few minutes is all Akeem needs to get behind the door.
When he’s a few feet from the door, the guard pulls his vape out, takes a few hits, and walks off. Akeem inches forward the moment the guard disappears into the restroom, rushing over, pulling his gun from his shoe, and opening the door. His gun is up and aimed as he walks in.
“Nigga, what the fuck!” Ano’s gruff voice barks when Akeem closes the door.
“Relax. I just want to talk,” Akeem says before turning the lock. He notices Ano trying to slip his hand under his desk to retrieve his twenty-two. “If you move, my mouth won’t be talking. My gun will and she loves to pop off,” Akeem warns and Ano angrily shakes his head.
“I got a club full of niggas willing to die for me, playboy. You picked the wrong muthafucking office.” He smirks then flashes his mouth full of gold teeth.
“My man, I assure you I picked the right one and I’m not too worried about your security.
I got in your club and in your office with this,” Akeem says as he nods toward his weapon.
“As far as I’m concerned, it’s fuck your security,” he says boldly and Ano sits up as to puff his bony chest out.
“And I said don’t move. I won’t say it a third time. ”
“What the fuck you want?” Ano spits.
This isn’t the first gun pointed at him and it’s likely not the last but Ano has standards. Two things he will never do: lose a hoe to another man and bitch up to any man.
“Honey. I’m looking for Honey,” Akeem says.
“All of this over some pussy,” Ano huffs.
Ignoring Ano’s far off assumption, Akeem merely says, “Where can I find her?”
“Hell, nigga. I don’t know. If I knew where to find the bitch, I would drag her monkey ass in here and have her shaking ass on my main stage. Shit,” he hisses.
“So you don’t know where she lives?” Akeem asks skeptically. “I know she had to fill out paperwork to work here.”
“The fuck she didn’t. This is a cash business. All I ask for is a damn ID to make sure these bitches are legal. That’s it. That’s all,” Ano insists.
“Then where’s hers?” Akeem asks while stepping closer to Ano’s desk.
“In there,” Anon says while slightly nudging his head toward a small gray file cabinet on his left.
“Stand up. Get it and don’t try shit. I will shoot you and not miss.
Trust,” Akeem says. When he nods toward his gun, Ano stands, raises his hands, then steps toward the file cabinet.
He pulls out the top drawer and uses his fingers to flip through his files.
Because they aren’t in chronological or alphabetical order, he’s looking blindly.
“Hurry up,” Akeem urges with extra bass in his already deep baritone.
“I’m looking. Shit,” Ano says frantically.
Then he shakes his head. All of this for a bitch I should fire anyway, he thinks but doesn’t say out loud.
He’s not talking anymore. His only objectives are to find this damn license and get this nigga with the gun out of his office and fucking club.
When he finally finds the copy of Honey’s license, he snatches it out of the cabinet and tosses it to Akeem. The paper falls on the floor.
With a slight chuckle, Akeem grits, “Do better.”
Huffing, Ano slams the drawer closed then turns to face Akeem. His glare instantly fades when he notices the intensity on Akeem’s face. This nigga ain’t playing, Ano thinks as he grabs the paper. Once he retrieves it, he hands the paper to Akeem.
Finally, he speaks again. “That’s all I have. Leave my establishment please.”
Akeem studies the paper. A front and back copy of a Georgia driver’s license with the name Honey Black. From the quick study, Akeem deduces it’s a fake but stuffs it into his pocket. He’ll review it thoroughly once he’s out of the club.
“Walk out with me,” Akeem says.
“I’m not going nowhere,” Ano states and Akeem merely glares at him. Ano gives in. “I hope you know this yo’ last time in here,” he utters as he steps toward the door.
“Tell your men don’t try me,” Akeem says before pressing his gun into Ano’s back. “I hate shooting men from behind. If a man must die, he should at least see that shit coming.”
“It’ll be cool,” Ano assures him before opening the door.
Just like when Akeem first entered, the door guard isn’t out here.
He’s back in the bathroom, smoking his vape.
“Pussy ass nigga,” Ano utters while shaking his head in disgust. As much as he pays Quanell, this nigga shouldn’t have made it inside his office and he damn sure shouldn’t be able to force him out of his office with a fucking gun in his back.
Ano slows his walk, trying to draw attention to himself, but Akeem presses the gun into his back. “Walk normal. To the door,” Akeem instructs.
Ano complies and speeds his steps. When they pass the main bar, Akeem spots Sunjiya and motions for her to come to them. She slides off the bar stool and heads toward them. She immediately ascertains what’s happening and gets close to them, trying to provide a shield. It’s not needed though.
Not one person is paying them any attention.
The patrons are glued to the two stages with dancers.
All of Ano’s security guards are preoccupied with watching the girls.
The bartenders serve the few people at the bar and the servers are trying to make tips.
It’s Monday and dry. Every worker is busy trying to make as much money as she can from the small crowd.
So with his gun pressed into Ano’s back and Sunjiya providing an unnecessary shield, they make it through the club out of the door to their rental.
Once Sunjiya is inside, Akeem drops his gun from Ano.
“We good now,” Akeem says.
“This muthafucka,” Ano whispers through angry, gritted teeth. While shaking his damn head, he rushes back into the club. Akeem starts the rental and pulls out of the parking lot just when Ano bursts into the club, mad as hell and screaming.
“Ano was pissed,” Sunjiya says while smirking.
“You know his name?” Akeem questions. He’s privy to Ano’s name from the intel Axton collected but didn’t share that with Sunjiya.
“One of the girls said it,” she answers quickly. “But that’s all I learned. Honey is off for the week and nobody knows where she is. Hell, they don’t even know her real name. I hope you had better luck,” she says.
“I don’t think so,” Akeem says before turning.
There’s a gas station about a quarter of a mile down on the right of this street.
Not only does he want to take another look at the copy of the fake looking license, the car needs gas.
The gas needle hovers over the red area near empty.
“Nobody knows shit but Ano had a copy of her driver’s license.
It looks fake though,” Akeem adds after he pulls up to a pump.
“Did you get a copy?” she asks.
“Yeah,” he admits, then pulls the paper out of his pocket. Before handing it to her, he takes another look at it. Honey Black, 1234 Peachtree Lane, Atlanta, Georgia 30394, Date of birth May 15, 2000.
Just in case the date of birth is correct, he takes a picture of the license copy before handing the sheet to Sunjiya. As she examines it, he sends the picture to Axton. It’s definitely a long shot, but at this point, he’ll take any leads. The biggest one they had just slipped through his fingers.
“This is fake as hell. I buy the date of birth and maybe, just maybe, the name but the address looks fake,” she says.
“I’m going to look it up.” Sunjiya pulls her cell out and indeed looks up the generic looking address.
“It’s a charging station for electric cards.
Not a house or apartment. Damn!” She sighs.
“Fuck,” he utters, frustrated. He needs to shoot or smoke something to take the fucking edge off. He chooses the latter but needs a cigar to roll. “You want something out of here?” he asks her.
“Yeah. I’m getting hungry.”
“We can get real food. Actually, after I fill up we can sit somewhere, regroup, and figure out our next fucking move.”
“Sounds good. Then can you grab me a bottle of water please?” she asks.
“I got you.
He exits the car and treks toward the store. After grabbing two bottles of water, he journeys to the counter, gets a two-pack of cheap cigars, and pays cash for his items and the gas. When he’s walking out of the store, he gets a text from Axton.
Axton: It’s fake.
Akeem: I figured. Just was hoping.
Axton: I can run the DOB and cross check the name.
Akeem: It’s worth a shot.