Chapter 6
Chapter Six
According to Meka, the plan was simple.
“Okay, look. Before we go into the store, I need to lay some shit out for you.” Meka lowered her voice.
“Ground rules. I go first. You wait a few minutes, then come in separately. If anybody gets caught, you’re on your own.
I can’t catch another charge. And whatever you walk out with, I get fifty percent. ”
Zena stared at her. “Fifty percent.”
“I’m putting you on, giving you clientele. So yeah, fifty.” Meka shot back.
Shit didn’t add up, but Zena looked at Amari, who gave her a small shrug.
Meka disappeared into the boutique first, then Zena counted two minutes on her phone, then followed. Amari slipped in behind her.
“Hello, welcome to House of Chyna!” the clerk at the front counter said in a cheerful tone. “Let me know if you need help with anything!”
The store was tiny, roughly the size of a shoebox, with white walls, cement floors, and racks of clothing arranged in tight rows.
Most of it was body-con and leisurewear, nothing that matched Zena’s taste.
She liked her clothes the way she liked most things, comfortable.
She drifted toward the sunglasses display at the counter, picked up a pair of cheetah-print frames, and tried them on in the little mirror mounted on the stand.
Across the store, she felt Meka’s eyes on her before she saw them. Meka gave her a slow nod, signaling go.
Zena pulled the glasses off, set them back on the rack, and walked toward the rear of the store. She took a breath. Raised her hand.
“Excuse me, can I get some help, please?”
The petite, brown-skinned clerk with big baby-doll eyes, whose name tag read “Shanice,” walked over to her with a huge smile. “Of course! What are you looking for?”
Zena held up a navy-blue two-piece set. “Do y’all have this in all black?”
“Ooh, let me go check in the back.” Shanice disappeared through the stockroom door.
On cue, Meka moved. Zena kept her back to Meka, eyes forward, listening to the soft rustle of hangers. She heard the zip of a tote bag, and before she knew it, Meka and her oversized tote bag slipped out the door just as smoothly as she had come in.
“So we don’t have it in black,” Shanice said, holding up a red version instead, “but we do have it in...”
“Nah. I’m good. Thanks anyways. I’ll just keep looking.”
Shanice nodded and retreated to the stockroom again.
Zena moved fast. She grabbed a tracksuit off the nearest rack and got the pants into her bag in one swift motion. But when she reached for the jacket, it slipped from her fingers and hit the floor with a soft thud, just as she heard the jingle of bracelets behind her.
Her heart fluttered. fuck
She crouched to pick it up, and her mind went somewhere it had no business going. She could see her father’s face and hear her mother’s voice, both equally disappointed in her for not being raised like this. Was this really her life? Boosting a forty-dollar tracksuit from a boutique?
“Excuse me, can I get some help over here?” Amari’s voice cut across the store. “You’re helping everybody else but me.”
Shanice sucked her teeth but went in Amari’s direction.
Zena dumped the jacket back on the rack, shoved everything out of her bag that didn’t belong to her and headed straight for the door.
She almost made it.
“I need to check your bag.”
The voice was different this time. Zena stopped. Turned around slowly.
It wasn’t the clerk, but a different woman—light-skinned with a flawless long blonde buss-down. The woman had her hand on her wide hips, her eyes scanning Zena like she was beneath her.
“I’m sorry?”
The woman rolled her eyes. “You heard me. You’ve been in my store for over twenty minutes and ain’t bought shit. And I just checked my inventory, and we have a few items missing.”
“I didn’t know that walking into a store without buying anything was a crime. This store isn’t exactly my style,” Zena said, holding her ground.
She flipped her hair and stepped closer to Zena, who hovered by the door. “Fuck all that. I need to check the bag.”
“Back the fuck up!” Zena said, securing her grip on the bag.
“Then you ain’t leaving. Shanice, lock the door and call the police. You got me fucked up!”
The women stood in a standoff.
“Hey, Chyna, I don’t think it was her,” Shanice cut in nervously. “I think it was the other girl who just left.”
Chyna’s eyes turned into slits. “And? How do I know these hoes ain’t together?”
Zena blinked, puzzled. “Hoe?”
Chyna pointed her long stiletto nails at her. “Yes, hoe! Bitch. Whatever. I’m so fucking tired of people coming into my shop and stealing.”
Zena didn’t say a word. She quickly opened her tote bag, spilling its contents onto the floor. Lip gloss, coins, her wallet, a bus pass, and some candies scattered across the tile floor. “See? I haven’t stolen anything from this raggedy store.”
“Then where the hell is my merchandise? You ain’t leaving until I get my shit back,” Chyna shouted.
A man strolled from the back to see what all the commotion was about.
Zena’s breath caught the moment her eyes landed on him. The charming stranger from Lucky’s—the one opening a studio or whatever he said he was doing. His name was D… Something. His business card was still somewhere in her apron. A slight wave of embarrassment washed over her.
“What’s going on?” He spoke in a low, even tone; his eyes fixed on Zena. She imagined he recognized her.
Chyna’s energy eased. “Shanice told me someone was stealing, but I stopped her.” She pointed at Zena. “She didn’t have anything in her bag, but the inventory I just put out is now missing.”
Amari stood nearby, scoping out the scene. “Yeah, that was enough for me. I won’t be making a purchase,” she said and walked out of the store.
“This is overwhelming.” Chyna exhaled loudly.
“Did y’all check the cameras?” The man asked.
“No. We didn’t install them yet,” Chyna said sheepishly.
“So did you see them take anything?” He turned toward Shanice, trying to mediate the situation.
“No, but—” Shanice said in a whisper.
“Then let that shit go. You don’t know this girl. You can’t assume they’re stealing without proof. That’s a lawsuit waiting to happen. If she doesn’t have the inventory, then let her leave. I’ll replace whatever is missing.”
“Just get the fuck out of my store.” Chyna stomped off. Shanice followed her like an obedient puppy.
Zena bent down to pick up her items, stuffing them into her Tote bag. She was secretly happy she didn’t actually take anything. When she reached for her wallet, the man grabbed it before handing it back to her.
When she touched the wallet, bolts of electricity shot through her.
“You good?”
Zena pulled her tote over her shoulders. “Yeah. Thank you.” Keeping her head down, she counted her steps to the door.
“Stay out of trouble...Zena.”
Fuck. He remembered her name.
Tate sat on the couch, counting the twenty-dollar bills for the third time before placing them in two neat piles on the coffee table.
He and Rodney had hit a small lick, knocking off a drunk leaving the casino after winning a couple of hundred dollars.
They had gotten just under eight hundred bucks, which didn’t even make a dent in the money Tate owed for his growing gambling debt.
Rodney paced the floor. “We need to start thinking bigger. I get tired of this play money. This shit ain’t cutting it.”
“Why you always complaining?” Tate said. “We make way more than we would be making if we were flipping burgers.”
“Fuck outta here.” Rodney waved him off. “Don’t you want your own spot? A nice whip? A vacation somewhere in the tropics? I’m tired of seeing the same ol’ shit, man. You can’t lay in my bitch crib forever.”
Tate sprang up from the couch, fist clenched.
“First,” he said, jaw tightening, “the only reason I’m in this situation is because of YOU!
You got careless with swapping the plates.
I was doing well. I was in school, but I took that deal so you wouldn’t get locked up.
They pressed me to snitch, but I ain’t say anything. I lost my scholarship because of you!”
Rodney started to open his mouth, but Tate continued.
“And how do you suppose we get that bread? Rob a bank?” He laughed bitterly. “Oh, I have an even better idea. Let’s rob one of those armored trucks. If we don’t get shot or killed, the feds will be after us. I ain’t going back to jail for any more of your stupid ideas. I’ll figure this out myself.”
His mother had warned Tate about Rodey his whole life.
Even as a little kid, she could tell he was money-hungry, the type who would steal your drawers if you didn’t hold onto them tight.
Only two years apart, they shared the same fucked-up excuse for a father.
Whenever their father blew through town between his casino stunts, he would visit both his boys, making them bond.
Since they lived a few blocks apart, they often ran the streets together.
Tate’s mother, Janelle, hated it. Tate had never been a follower; he just wanted his brother’s approval, so he followed anyway.
No matter how fucked up he was. Things really shifted when Rodney’s mother, Rita, OD’d when Rodney was sixteen.
After that, he shifted from petty crime to straight felonies.
So, when the car Tate was riding in came back dirty, Tate took the charge, got kicked out of school, and now makes a living as a schemer.
“How many times do I gotta say I’m sorry, man?” Rodey said. “You know I wouldn’t have let you take that charge if I were in the car.”
Tate sat down on the couch. He stared at the money on the table.
They needed to get lucky. Interest was piling up daily on the thousand he already owed.
Then came the guilt that plagued him because he wanted more for himself.
More for Zena. She needed money for a nice place.
Money for studio time. Money to eat, but the problem was that money wasn’t gonna just fall out of the sky.
“Shit over with now. We just gotta lock in and get this money.”
Tate, out of habit, began scrolling through his social media. Suddenly, a certain profile grabbed his attention, making him stop. The dude was flashy, adorned with chains, watches, and cash spread across his arm.
Tate smirked. It was as if the universe had decided to bless him. “You know something? You’re right. I think I just found our next lick.”
Tate turned his phone toward Rodney. He grinned like a Cheshire cat. “How are we gonna pull that off?”
Tate didn’t respond; he was already two steps ahead. Instead, he texted Zena.
Tate
I need you to do something for me