Chapter 9
Who could have guessed that there would be a swole, brown skin man coming to take me away?
Oh, I would have.
Since I requested a ride to our first stakeout now that we’re in Atlanta. He’s taking what happened last week pretty well considering we’re now officially partners.
In crime.
Technically, we were before now because our families are also in partnership but nothing beats hard evidence, am I right?
I sit in the passenger seat, today in a lilac and white pleated mini skirt with matching cropped jacket.
My platform, ankle-strap shoes are the most fun part because they look like fancy cakes, complete with cherries and sprinkles over the toes.
Resisting the urge to put them on the dashboard to be able to see them better I choose a different method of getting under Vert’s medium brown skin.
“I don't know if you know this, but someone pretty high up in the ranks of Dupont was working with whoever is trying to cause dissent in Lafayette.” Of course he knows, but he hasn’t said a word since I got into the car.
Not even when he could clearly see how great my legs look and how well everything goes with my sharp purple eyeliner.
Though Vert says nothing, his stare says just about anything that you could imagine, and since he doesn't comment, I continue.
“It's pretty sad when you think about it, especially considering he was like, what, number four?
And now y'all still don't actually know, like, who all is involved in this because…
like, it's not just Lafayette, I'm sure, especially if Geno was doing whatever he was doing.
I mean, come on, that's like–really bad.”
“Don't pretend that you know what's good and what's bad,” he finally says under his breath but with how small the space is, I hear him clearly.
“Oh, I know perfectly well. I actually have zero issues with deciding what's good and bad. I think it's whether or not I care what's good and what's bad.”
He rolls his eyes before deciding to give me some patience, I guess. After a long suffering sigh, he spells out, “Look, these guys are supposed to be some of the group that we are lookin’ into, and we really need to be payin’ attention–”
“Paying attention to what—it's not like they're going to hold up some sign that says, ‘Hey, we hate Racquelle.’”
“Doubt they'd be that polite, doll.”
“Exactly. I still think my plan's the most effective plan.”
“Your plan being goin’ over there and tryin’ to, what? Seduce the answers out of them?”
Checking that the little bow charms on my nails are still intact, I say, “It has worked so far.”
“Yeah. Yeah, and causing even more problems for everyone.”
I thought we had turned a new leaf. My head tilts, “No, pretty sure it was helpful.” After all, I was essential in reducing the number of assholes Terrell Jr, was trying to wiggle into Chrome Flame.
“Okay. Well, look, we are gonna just wait here to see if they're gonna meet with anyone else. We're only supposed to be informin’ them of whether or not they're contactin’ someone else besides this group. We already have them as main suspects.”
“Okay, but if we have them as confirmed suspects—”
“No, no. We're gonna do what we've been told, follow directions, and then move on.” He chops each point into the palm of his hand with the other hand.
“Move on, follow directions. Yuck. Do you, like, have an off switch? You seem like you have an off switch. I'd like to know where it is so that I can press it and then hold it in place with duct tape.”
His eyes narrow on me. “I was just thinkin’ the same about your mouth. You ever close that thing?”
“Closing it? Well, that's no fun.” I pop my tongue ring out to work over the edge of my lips, swirl over the edge of my lips. “All the fun's inside. Can't get to the fun if my mouth's closed, can you?”
Though he watched the little metal ball roll over my lips with unparalleled focus, he asserts, “I don't want to get to the fun.”
“Yea, yea. So you say,” making sure to click the ball across my bottom teeth. “Look, I've seen that guy in the club.”
“Which one?”
Squinting a little harder at the man sitting across so far away from us, I try to point him out more obviously. “The one with the blue fucking hat on. Well, what used to be blue. It's so sweaty, it might as well be black now.”
“So you recognize him?”
“Yea, I do. It's not even been a full year since I've been working in the club. I know this man.”
Vert looks at the man I’ve pointed out and then back at me. It’s a good thing these windows are so big. He’s not trying to hide and if he is, that hat was a poor disguise. “He a client of yours?”
“No, not me,” I shake my head. “Liezel, maybe.”
“What's his name?”
I cross my arms over my chest. “I don't fucking know. And who knows if men even give us their real names?”
“Okay,” he says curtly, taking another one of those heavy inhales inward, “You think Liezel will remember him?”
Nodding, I confirm, “I do, actually.”
He stares at me expectantly. “So are you gonna do somethin’ about that, or—”
I lean away from him, my back touching the car door. “Me? You can take a picture. Don't you have her number?”
His brows slam down, “No, you don't have her number. Why would I have her number?”
“Because aren't you, like, third in command? Doesn't that make you somewhat high in the rankings? How come you don't have our highest ranks' numbers? Do you even have Racquelle's number?”
Eyes still slitted in agitation, he says, “Yea.”
“So then you should have Liezel's number.”
He pulls his phone out. “Why are we having this conversation?”
“I just don't understand why you want me to do all the work,” I say, pulling my own phone out.
“Do all the work?” he breathes out, followed by a curse and then a frustrated scratch of his head. “What fuckin’ work have you been doin’?”
“I got a ride here—”
He cuts me off, his voice louder than usual in the car. “I made the plans. I've been the main point of contact for this entire operation since we got to Atlanta. What exactly have you done?”
“Do you know how much of a burden it is to be the visuals of this team?” I gesture to my outfit which he still has not addressed in all its glory. “I am carrying the visuals.”
“We are not supposed to be seen,” he bites out.
I scoff. “Who cares about that?”
“Everyone,” he says, “Everyone cares about that when you’re casing someone.”
“Mmm, I bring joy to every space I come into,” I insist, straightening the lace of my bra top underneath the jacket. Who isn’t happy to see me coming in a fit this nice. It’s the perfect distraction from the roiling goo underneath.
He looks around the car, “What space?”
“This one. I'm like the spirit of the team.”
“Spirit?” he asks slowly.
“Yeah. I mean, you kind of, like, bring the mood down. I'm more on the up and up, you know?”
“The up and up,” he repeats drolly. Does he know how to make his own sentences instead of repeating mine?
“Yea. So, like, here, for instance, you're like, ‘Oh, grumpy, these guys,’ and I'm like, ‘Here's the solution. Liezel probably knows who that is.’”
“No, you—” he interjects, but then stops himself. “Please, just take a picture and send it to your boss so that we can figure out if she knows who this man is.”
“All right, all right. God, you're literally so dull.
Like, if I had a color, it'd be fuchsia, or, like, bubble gum. Something very bright that, like, makes your mouth water. Oh, watermelon. That's the color I would be. Like, you, on the other hand, you would be something more like greige, you know?” I pause for a moment to give him an opportunity to respond but he doesn’t so I continue, “Pointedly neither beige or gray, which are both colors that go with other things, like very boring and can disappear against anything.
Together, they pointedly make everything look more drab, and that's you. You're like the most drab color.”
“Don't give a fuck about what color you think I am. Did you take the picture?”
I put my phone back into my purse since it will vibrate when Liezel gets back to me.
“Yea. I already did that. God. And what's your deal, huh?
Like, everybody says that you're like a vampire, like a vamp. Did you choose that name? Is that, like, your name? Like, because everybody else has, like, their own, like, secret names, like Blue and Redd, and then Geno, he was Orange. So, like, what are you?”
“Vert.”
“Yea, but that's, like, your name.”
“Yea.”
“And what's a Vert?”
He doesn’t know whether to trust my question by the way his eyebrows remain low on his forehead, but he responds either way. “It's green.”
Green.
“Oh, so, like, everything is always about the green, huh? Like weed, money. That's, like, Dupont's whole thing. So, like, you—technically—are the Dupont mascot.”
“Nina,” he growls but I’m on a roll now.
“Oh my god, we're like the same. Same, same, but, like, obviously Lafayette and, like, everything that Racquelle has going on is just, like, way better than, like, what y'all have going on.”
His head hits the head rest and grumbles, “When can this be over?” he says to no one in particular.
I lean the seat back in the car so I’m able to catch his eye. “I was hoping soon, because I could really go for a nap. I have worked myself into a stupor. Oh, or better yet, lunch. When are we going to do that?”
He sighs, “We?”
“Yeah, we. You and me. After we've been just doing all this really hard work, we have to eat, right?”
“No. I need to check in with Redd and let him know what happened, what intel we gathered.”
“So then he can also be at lunch. And, you know what? I know a really great barbecue spot. He is kind of obsessed with it. Since we need to talk to him anyways, we could have this discussion over lunch.” I'm so pleased with this idea that I grab my phone and begin typing to Redd without confirming that Vert is on board.
Vert unlocks his phone to read the notification that’s just popped up. “Did you just send me an event request for lunch in thirty minutes?”
“Yea, so everybody knows exactly where we're going. On top of the fact that it also has everyone who's involved in the event. So we don't have to, like, do that, like, group message thing. It just seems kind of dated.” I shrug.
“I really don't want to talk about it that much.” As in going to have lunch and talk with me there.
Oh well.
“We should leave it up to Redd. I don't imagine he has any pushback. He can always email me if he doesn't want to do a lunch meeting.”
“I don't want to do that. I want to go home and not have to listen to you yammer on about whatever the fuck it is that you're always yammerin’ on about.”
“Yea. But we need to debrief him on what happened today, what we saw.”
He doesn't say anything else, just putting the key into the ignition to drive away.