Chapter 22 Quest
QUEST
Kacey called while I was at the hotel getting dressed and I already knew from the energy in her voice that this conversation was about to ruin my evening.
“I got into his Apple ID,” she said, wired and amped like she’d been up all night on some detective shit. “I paid somebody. A forensic data recovery guy. He cracked the iCloud backup and pulled the messages.”
I set my cufflinks down and sat on the edge of the bed. Here we go.
“There’s texts to someone named Mehar. A lot of them. Going back months before he disappeared.” She paused. “Do you know her?”
My jaw tightened but my voice didn’t. I’d been lying about Thad for six months and at this point it was second nature. Like breathing. Like adjusting my cufflinks. Like pretending everything was under control when the walls were closing in from six different directions.
“Yeah, I know who she is. She’s connected to the family through my brother’s wife. But whatever she and Thad had wasn’t serious, Kace. She’s just a young girl. She ain’t got it in her to take down Thad.”
“You sure about that?”
“Positive.”
“Does she have a brother? Someone who might’ve wanted to do something about how Thad treated her?”
“Not that I know of.” Lie number two hundred and something. I’d lost count at this point. “Listen, Thad had a lot of real enemies. Niggas he owed money to, niggas he crossed, niggas from back in the day who had beef. If you want answers, start there.”
“I will,” she said. And the way she said it told me Kacey wasn’t about to let this go. She had Mehar’s name now. She had the texts. And Kacey was smarter than anybody gave her credit for. She was gonna pull on that thread until the whole sweater came apart.
I hung up and stared at my phone. This was getting tight. Way too tight.
But I had somewhere to be. And for the first time in a long time, the place I was going had nothing to do with business and everything to do with a woman who made me feel like I was eighteen again and discovering that the world had colors I’d been ignoring.
I texted Mehar.
Me: Hey. Got tied up with work tonight. Rain check on the call about Serenity? How about we link up tomorrow night instead. I want to see you.
Three dots. Then:
Mehar: Fine. But we’re talking about your sister.
Me: We will. I’ll pick you up at 8.
Mehar: I can drive myself.
Me: I’ll be there at 8.
Long pause.
Mehar: 8 is fine.
I smiled at my phone. Actually smiled. Like a whole cornball. Then I put it face down because Quest Banks does not sit in hotel rooms grinning at text messages like a nigga who just got his first number at homecoming.
Next night I pulled up to her building at eight on the dot. There was something about being around her that got me excited in a way no woman had in years. I didn’t know why. The girl was mean as hell. But that was something I looked forward to breaking down. Getting beyond her tough exterior.
I tried to fight the way I felt about her because I had too much shit on my plate. But fuck that. I wanted her.
She popped out in a fitted black dress, that hugged her curves.
Gold jewelry catching the streetlight at every angle.
Heels that turned her legs into a whole situation.
Box braids down around her back instead of pulled up, and she’d done her makeup in a way that made her eyes look like they could see through walls and into whatever bullshit you were trying to hide.
Her lips were painted red and her mahogany skin had a sheen to it that caught the light just like the gold.
“You look good,” I said when she got in the car. Understatement of the century but I wasn’t about to give her the full reaction because this woman would use it against me.
“I know.”
I laughed. “No ‘thank you’?”
“Thank you implies I got dressed up for your benefit. I got dressed up for mine.” Seatbelt on. Eyes forward. All business. “Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise.”
“I already told you, I don’t like surprises.”
“You had fun the last time we went out.”
She didn’t respond but I caught the corner of her mouth twitch before she turned to the window. And that twitch was worth more than any yes she could’ve given me out loud.
The Parlor was my spot when I wanted good energy without the noise.
It was a chill lounge for adults without mumble rap.
We got a booth in the back and she sat across from me this time.
Not next to me. I noted it but didn’t push.
She was choosing to be here and she was choosing her distance and both of those things were hers to decide.
Drinks came—Banks Reserve for me, tequila and pineapple for her—and we got into it about Serenity.
She told me everything. The drug use. Mega blowing up the phone every thirty seconds.
The bruises from months ago that Serenity blamed on some rough sex shit that didn’t sound right.
The fight at the restaurant. The way Serenity stormed out.
“She’s in trouble, Quest. And she can’t see it because she’s in too deep.”
“I know.” And I did. But knowing and doing something about it were two different things when the person you’re trying to help keeps telling you to mind your business.
“I’mma kill that muhfucka,” I barked.
“See, no, that’s the problem. You can’t just kill him. You need to talk to her. You can’t solve all your problems like that. Besides… you kill him and it just sets off a chain of events.”
“Says the woman who got a nigga in a cage,” I smirked.
“It’s not the same.”
“How is it different?”
She looked down because she didn’t have a response. She knew that it was no different.
“Speakin’ of which, you need to get rid of him soon. Get that shit out of your system. You’ve been carrying it on too long.”
“I will soon, when I’m good and ready,” she rolled her eyes.
“Your lil angry ass. But I’mma talk to my sister. Prime, Quest and I will host a lil intervention.”
“Yeah, save her. And don’t jump to killin’ Mega. That shit would start a war.”
She had a point. It would. But my sister was worth going to war over, but not if she wasn’t ready to leave that nigga. I needed to get her to leave first.
“So, you my lil advisor now? You got all the wisdom?”
“I know a little,” she playfully winked, as a smile stretched across her face.
“There she is. Thank you for reaching out to me about Serenity, though.”
“Of course. I love her. We got divorced at the same time and we went through that shit together.”
“I’m glad she had you since she’s shut us out. My grandmother wants you at her eighty-fifth birthday party,” I said.
“Grandma Rita is my homegirl. She may be turning eighty-five, but her heart is so much younger.”
“I know, I feel like I need to get her a babysitter sometimes. You never know what she’s gonna do,” I laughed.
“Yeah, that’s why I love her. So she asked you to bring me? That means you were talking about me,” she smiled. Her lips looked so kissable.
“Yeah, I mentioned you,” I tried to play it cool.
“I’ll think about it,” she smiled again.
“You’ll be there.” The walls were coming down brick by brick and I was trying not to stare at the progress like a contractor watching his own renovation.
We talked for another hour about everything and nothing. Her medspa plans. The casino opening. She told me about the little brother she recently reconnected with and the baby he had on the way.
She laughed twice—real ones, belly ones, roller rink ones—and each one felt like I’d unlocked a level in a game I didn’t know I was playing.
I excused myself to grab another round at the bar because the waitress was swamped and I wasn’t about to let the momentum die waiting for a refill. After I paid for the drinks, I turned around and that’s when I saw the nigga.
This nigga was in his late 30s or early 40s, with a stocky build and scraggly beard with gray strands.
That nigga was walking up to my booth with an expression that had absolutely nothing friendly in it.
He stopped in front of Mehar and said something I couldn’t hear.
But I could see her body change, spine straight, jaw locked, hand drifting toward her purse.
I knew that movement. That was her reaching for steel.
Then he grabbed her arm.
I left both drinks on the bar.
By the time I got to the booth his voice was loud enough for the whole lounge to hear.
“—think I wouldn’t find you? My brother is in a wheelchair because of you, you lying bitch—”
“Get your hand off me,” Mehar said. Voice steady but her eyes were on fire. “Lucian, I’m warning you—”
“You’re warning ME?” He yanked her arm hard enough that she slid toward the edge of the booth. “Ahmad can’t walk because of what you did, and you’re out here in a little dress living your best—”
I pulled that nigga around and I hit him so hard in the mouth that his ancestors felt it. His head snapped back and he stumbled into the table behind us, sending wine glasses flying. The couple at that table damn near dove out the way like it was an action movie.
Lucian caught himself and charged at me, which was bold.
I’ll give him that. Brave as hell. Also stupid as hell because he was about four inches shorter than me and running on pure emotion while I was running on trained precision.
I sidestepped him easy, grabbed the back of his jacket, and used his own momentum to redirect his face directly into the booth cushion.
He bounced off the leather and hit the floor like a sack of laundry.
“Stay down, bro.”
He did not stay down. Got up swinging, caught me with a wild hook that grazed my jaw.
Now I was annoyed. That graze was gonna leave a mark and this was a Tom Ford suit and I was on a date with a woman who was already hard enough to impress without me showing up looking like I’d been in a bar fight. Which I was. But still.
I grabbed him by his shirt collar with both hands, lifted him slightly off his feet—just enough for him to feel the helplessness—and sat his ass down in the booth like a toddler being put in a booster seat at Applebee’s.
“Sit. Down.”
He tried to get up. I pushed him back.
“I said sit.”
Tried again. Pushed him again. Harder this time.
“Bro, we can do this all night. I got time and you clearly don’t got hands, so the math ain’t in your favor.”
He finally stayed. I leaned over him with my hands on the booth behind his head, close enough that he could smell the Banks Reserve on my breath and see in my eyes that I was not the nigga to play with tonight or any other night.
“You put your hands on my woman in front of me. In public. I don’t give a fuck who Ahmad is.
I don’t give a fuck what his situation is.
What I know is that you grabbed her. And if you ever grab her again—if you look in her direction, breathe in her direction, or so much as Google her fuckin’ name—I will find you.
And this little lounge beatdown gon’ feel like a Swedish massage compared to what happens next. ”
His lip was bleeding and his eyes were wide and he’d finally stopped trying to be a hero.
“Now apologize to the nice couple whose wine you spilled.”
“What?”
“The couple behind you. You knocked their shit over when your face introduced itself to their table. Apologize. Right now.”
He looked at me like I’d lost my mind. Then he looked at the couple, an older Black couple who were standing there holding their napkins with expressions that said they were horrified but also kind of entertained.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled.
“Louder. With some bass in your voice. You a grown ass man.”
“I’m sorry for knocking over your drinks.”
“See? That wasn’t so hard.” I straightened up and adjusted my cufflinks because at this point it was tradition. I turned to the bartender, “Put their next round on my tab. And get my man here some ice for his lip. He’s had a rough night.”
He nodded, fighting a smile so hard his face was shaking.
I turned back to Lucian. “Get out. And tell Ahmad I said what’s up.”
He slid out of the booth, touched his busted lip, looked at Mehar one more time—she stared back at him with an expression cold enough to freeze the Potomac in July—and walked out of the lounge without another word.
I looked at Mehar. “You good?”
“We need to leave.” Her voice was flat and controlled. I couldn’t read what was underneath it and that bothered me more than the fight did.
I settled the tab, tipped the bartender extra for the show, and we walked out. The valet already had the Maybach pulled around because the staff at The Parlor knew my car and knew to have it ready. Good people.
“That was your ex’s brother, huh?”
“Yep. But I didn’t need you to do that.” She turned on me, eyes blazing, and there it was.
Not gratitude. Not relief. Rage. “I had it handled. I was reaching for my blade when you came over there playing hero. I am not a damsel in distress. I don’t need you to save me. I don’t need anyone to save me.”
“Girl, calm the fuck down. You would’ve needed to pull out your gun to handle him. And if you did that with all those witnesses, you’d be in prison.”
“I’m not some…”
“I don’t give a fuck what you say. I’ll never be the type to sit back and let some nigga put his hands on a woman I’m with. So, fix ya face and let it go. Thank me, shit.”
“I’m not thanking you! This is what you men do. You step in when…”
“I ain’t listenin’ to all that. I’m sorry that happened or congratulations.
I ain’t no bitch and you not gon tell me who the fuck I beat for getting rough for a woman.
I know you got all your shit. You angry or whatever.
You got your traumas. But you don’t dictate what a man like I do.
So thank me for making sure you didn’t have to break a sweat.
And fix ya damn face,” I was stern with her.
The valet pulled up. I opened her door. She looked at me for a second like she was calculating whether to get in or walk home in heels, and then she got in and slammed the door hard enough to rattle my windows. And I paid a lot of money for those windows.
I got in. Started the car. Pulled onto the street.
Silence filled the car until the air felt thick. She was staring out the passenger window with her arms crossed and I was gripping the steering wheel trying to figure out how I went from having the best date of my life to being in the doghouse for defending her honor.
But I didn’t say any of that. The silence was doing its own thing and I was trying to let it play out.
I turned onto her street and pulled up to her building and put the car in park.
She didn’t move. Didn’t reach for the door. Didn’t unbuckle her seatbelt. Just sat there with her arms crossed and her eyes on the windshield and something working behind her face that I couldn’t name.
Then she spoke.
“Thank you. Don’t go home yet.”