Over. (This. Is. Not. Over. #2) (10 page)

BOOK: Over. (This. Is. Not. Over. #2)
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“What the fuck is he talking about?” I ask as I walk over to join him.

             
“Lola attacked him when he went to their condo this morning and he almost had to call the police on her.” Jacob gives me an annoyed look.  “He called Winnie instead, who went down to their place and separated the two.”

             
“He’s such a fucking pussy. Where’s everyone now?”

             
“Lola’s at my place with Winnie and Cadence is at his, with the bolt on his door.”

             
Thank god we all have condos in the same building. If not Cadence’s dumbass would have called the cops. Your wife’s sister is missing, burned out of her home and then you call the cops on your wife for domestic abuse. What kind of sense does that make? Then again, I probably should let him. It would keep the heat off of Red for the time being.

             
“Is he on his way?” I say as I take a seat.

             
“Yeah and he says he has no idea where Laura is.”

             
“I don’t believe him.”

             
“Me either.”

             
“Because if she’s not with Dena, she’s not with her parents and she’s not with Cadence, where the hell is she?”

             
“Stop acting silly!” Rossi screams from the living room. “Cynthia is out of the picture. I told you I haven’t spoken to her in over a year!”

             
Ahh … Cynthia.

             

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Laura

10:30 a.m.

 

“You fucking bastard!”

“Laura?” Malcolm says. “What number are you calling me from?”

“It was you! You were the one who burned my house down! I’m thinking it was Lola this entire time and it was you.”

“Where are you, baby?”

“Oh don’t give me that shit! Don’t give me that
baby
shit, Malcolm! I’ve got you figured out; you were trying to kill both me and Cadence. We’re the two biggest thorns in your side, isn’t that right?”

“Laura, I’m at my parent’s house right now with your parents. All we’re concerned about is your safety, that’s it. Your parents are worried silly over you. Why don’t you come here so that we can talk? I’ll call Dena and have her meet you here and we can all try to figure this out.”

“Fuck all of you! You froze my accounts so that I’d have to come crawling back to you. What, are you trying to finish me off? I get to your parent’s house and
Bang
!
Bang!
, I’m gone. Cadence is probably already dead, huh? I’m not stepping anywhere near that house.”

“Wait a minute, what’s wrong with your accounts?”

“Oh please, you’re such a bad actor Malcolm.”

“Laura, what’s wrong with your accounts?”

“I can’t even get a goddamn hotel room Malcolm! I can’t even refill my Lithium prescription. Did you think about that before you froze my accounts?”

“Laura, go to Nat and Dena’s. Okay? Can you do that?”

“Hell no! Dena called me right before the fire. She was making sure that I was home, wasn’t she? She’s was in on it too, wasn’t she?”

“Laura, Dena’s your friend–”

“I am going to fucking destroy you, every single one of you.” I slam the pay phone down and try to think. Think Laura, think! It’s Saturday, I have no wallet, I have thirty-four dollars left and Malcolm’s trying to kill me. I need money. Where can I get money?

Where can I go?

Where can I go?

Where can I go?

Cynthia’s.

Malcolm

10:35 a.m.

 

              “Jacob, are you at Cynthia’s?”

             
“Parked outside.”

             
“Laura’s on her way.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Danielle

4 p.m.

Virginia

 

             
“Potential side effects include impaired mental functioning, headache, dizziness, numbness, panic reactions, hallucinations, flashbacks–”

             
“What?” Rena asks as she looks in the rearview mirror at me. I’m in the back of the car keeping Georgie company.             

             
“Nothing.” I say with smile as I close the WebMD page on her cell phone.

I have a confession. I’m thinking that I may have had a contact high when I planned this trip with Rena and Georgie. I’m thinking that I felt both guilty and high, which in turn made me feel extremely paranoid. I’ve been looking up the side effects of cannabis on the brain and let’s just say, it’s not looking good for me. In the light of day and after my nap, I believe that I may have
gone overboard last night. But now, I’ve got Rena all hot and bothered, we’re already in Virginia and, well, I’m afraid to tell her to turn around.

“Umm
, how many miles have we traveled?” I ask.

             
“Five hundred and forty-eight.” Rena says as she whips her head from side to side to scan the perimeter. Yeah, I can’t have her turn around now. I’m in this too deep. I’ll try to lighten the mood instead.

“Georgie really is a cute kid
Rena and I just love his new hairstyle.” I give Georgie a kiss.

“Why do we think Malcolm will try to stop us in Virginia?” She asks as s
he looks in the rearview mirror at me.

             
“I think
you
mentioned Virginia.”

             
“No,
you
mentioned Virginia. You said they’ll try to kill us in Virginia.”

             
“I didn’t say that.”

“Yes you did!”

              “Rena, I have nothing but wonderful thoughts about Virginia. Remember when we went to Virginia Beach during spring break? We had a blast. Why would I worry about getting murdered there?”

             
“Danielle, you said that Malcolm was going to spray us with bullets in Virginia.”

             
“Oh, Rena … that doesn’t even sound like me.”

“That’s what you said!”

“Well if I said that I don’t think that anymore.”

             
“Fine. Because if they kill us anywhere, it’s sure to be Tennessee.”

             
“Why Tennessee?”

             
“Remember that song by Arrested Development called Tennessee?”

             
“No.”

             
“Let me rap it for you …
Although I’m black and proud, problems got me pessimistic … My grandmas past, my brothers gone, I never at once felt so alone
…”

             
“Oh god … okay Rena, I get it. We’re going to die in Tennessee.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Laura

8 p.m.

 

Dear Danielle,

             
I’m writing you this letter, because of the current circumstances that I’ve found myself in. I’ve also decided not to mail this letter since I’m sure Malcolm will intercept it before it lands in your hands. So I plan to give this to you in person. There’s a method to my madness, you’ll see …

             
First things first, no matter what you’re led to believe, Lola did not start that fire. Last night, after Cadence and I escaped the fire, we caught a cab to the Ritz, checked in, ran upstairs and showered together. It was while Cadence was lathering that he decided that Lola started the house fire:

             
“She went to New York, discovered that I came to Boston, she flew into town quickly, tried to kill us and is now calling Met Life.” He was convinced of it. And, I’ll admit, while he helped me rinse my hair, I agreed with him.

             
After our shower, I was shaking like a leaf from fright. Cadence carried me out of the bathroom, ripped his towel off of his waist, threw me on the bed and we made love. He was spent afterwards and therefore gathered me in his arms and recited me a most appropriate Shakespearean quote:
Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs
. (He’s so damn corny.) He then kissed me on my forehead and floated into a blissful sleep. I fell asleep as well but I was awaken by an awful nightmare. I was in Hilton Head again and watching Malcolm eating your pussy in his car.
Black girl with red hair, the black girl with red hair,
I kept saying. Cadence woke me up, said that I was having a nightmare and then floated back into sleep. And then out of nowhere it dawned on me: If Lola will go as far as to try to kill me once, she may very well do it again. While Cadence was lying by my side quoting Shakespeare, Lola was making his funeral arrangements.

             
I grew afraid, so I ran.

             
I went to a Starbucks, waited until my bank opened, went to the teller to retrieve cash (hoping they’d let me do it without an ID) and wouldn’t you know, Malcolm had frozen all of my accounts. He thought that I’d have no choice but to come running back to the family once he did that. But he was wrong. I have options. Trust me, I do. It was in that moment that I realized that the house fire was not set by Lola. It was set by Malcolm.

Think about it, Lola would never kill Cadence Blair. She doesn’t want to be his widow, she wants to be his wife.
A widow has no power. A wife will. She would never risk losing the prestige afforded to her by being married to a Blair. No, she wants to be on Cadence’s arm, she wants to sit on the throne next to him. Lola did not start that fire. Malcolm did. It’s a known fact that Cadence is the weakest link of their mafia chain and it’s a known fact that I am now their outcast. Everyone’s growing tired of Cadence being an idiot and Malcolm’s growing tired of me coming to his office and trying to make him listen to reason. Malcolm has tried to kill me because he was afraid of all the information I have on him. He wants to make sure I don’t become a disgruntled ex-lover. He was hoping to kill two birds with one stone with that house fire. I plan on making his ass pay for that.

$0 funds available. 

I’m broke.

             
Malcolm realizes that without money, I am helpless. He’s a cocksucker of sorts, that Malcolm. You see, he’s afforded me $250,000 a year for as long as I can remember. I’m sure you didn’t know that, how would you after all? He’s very careful in his dealings. Did you know that the house he just burned down belonged to him? And my shiny black car? And my glossy silver truck? No of course not. I have to say, Malcolm is an upstanding man, if you ignore the fact that he’s been
keeping
me the entire time that he’s been fucking you. If you can’t ignore that then he’s a cocksucker of sorts. Tomato … To
ma
to.

             
You see, my father is a selfish bastard and believes that I should have gotten a job by now, since I’m 32 years old. He cut me off the moment I met Malcolm.
Thank goodness, let his silly ass foot your bill,
were his exact words as I was preparing for Malcolm and my first date ten years ago.
I’ve been running around, trying to put a roof over your head for 22 years,
he continued. Well, that comment in itself was laughable because my father only runs for two things: money and political office. He in fact runs
over
anyone who stands in his way for either. He never runs
around
.

BOOK: Over. (This. Is. Not. Over. #2)
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