Two
Sarita slammed down the phone. She’d spent the past two days calling every charitable agency in the county hoping for a bailout, but hadn’t been able to raise a dime. As a result, she decided the time had come. Tomorrow she would call a neighborhood meeting and give everyone the bad news. It would take a miracle to keep from being evicted, but Sarita had stopped believing in fairy tales a long time ago. Putting on her coat, she picked up her purse and headed out of her closet-sized office.
Before going home, she stopped off at the kitchen. As she said good-bye to the kids cutting up carrots and apples to snack on for their late-evening tutoring session and the senior ladies playing bridge at the table, she hid her blue mood behind a fake smile. She reminded them all to be careful going home. They told her the same. Sarita left with a wave.
Sarita’s small two-bedroom flat was only a few short blocks away. Even though by the clock it was early evening, outside, it was already dark. It still surprised her to come out at night and find the streetlights on. The last city administration had grown so negligent during its final years, basic city services such as trash collection and night lighting had been nonexistent in the poorer areas. But these days, thanks to the new mayor, you could see your way home. Now, if he could just get the vermin off the streets, maybe the city could really recover.
Speaking of vermin, she spied two lounging casually against the columns of her front porch as she turned up her walk. She was uneasy at first, but when they stepped out of the porch’s shadows and into the arch of the streetlight, she recognized them and relaxed a bit. They were gang members, but both had younger siblings who played at the center. “Can I help you?” she asked.
“Yeah. Fletcher wants to see you.”
Fletcher Harris owned many of the flats in their area of the city. He considered himself Donald Trump. Sarita considered him a thug. “Why?”
“He just said come and get you.”
“And if I don’t want to come?”
“We’re supposed to bring you anyway. Understand?” He patted his coat.
Sarita studied them for a moment. The implication was that they were packing. Although she knew them, she didn’t put it past them to force her to go, and since there was only one of her and two of them, the odds were not in her favor. Sighing her frustration, she said, “Okay. Let’s go.”
They led her to the car.
Seated in the backseat of the expensive European import, Sarita tried to close her ears to the deafening beat of the rap blaring from the speakers. She enjoyed some rap artists, but could do without the groups dissing women, and that’s what the kids had on the CD. As the rapper began dogging out his mama, Sarita shook her head with disgust and turned her thoughts to Fletcher and his summons. Over the years she and Fletcher had come to an agreement of sorts—he stayed away from her center with his questionable dealings and thug hangers-on, and she stayed out of his business. Ironically, his sister, Alva had been one of Sarita’s best friends growing up. Back then, although Fletcher had been five years older and had his own set of friends, he’d always been welcome in the Grayson home, because as Sarita’s grandmother once said, “Fletcher Harris was a nice, polite boy.”
Not anymore.
He was now thirty-five and a legend in his own mind. He sent his days lording over a real-estate empire that included most of the houses around the center. In reality, his holdings were strictly small-time, but he had his fingers in other pies, too. Most of them illegal. He didn’t deal drugs as far as she knew but he didn’t mind renting flats to people who did. She and Fletcher hadn’t spoken directly since last summer when two of his tenants’ crack houses burned to the ground. He’d accused her of setting the torch. She’d denied it, but he didn’t believe her. She wondered what he wanted with her tonight?
The car stopped, and Sarita got out. This area, no more than eight blocks from her flat, seemed to be stubbornly resisting the mayor’s efforts to improve conditions. The newly installed streetlamps were dark, apparently shot out by those whose business dealings fared better under the faceless night. The newly nailed-up plywood on the busted windows of abandoned houses were sprayed with the tags of the local gang.
Sarita followed her escorts up onto the porch of the small flat, which had at one time housed her best friend. Alva had been dead for years, a victim of a car accident. Alva’s parents moved south the day after her funeral. The elder Harrises left their son Fletcher the house. Two weeks later, he too was in an accident when his car was smashed into by a city police car in hot pursuit of a seventeen-year-old carjacker. The crash put Fletcher in the hospital for more than a month. When his suit against the city was finally settled, he took the big cash payout and began buying up houses in their decaying neighborhood.
Guarding Fletcher’s door were two more kids no more than fifteen years of age. Sarita wondered what Fletcher was so mixed up in now that he needed all this so called security. Both doormen tried to come off as gorillas but their short statures placed them more in the chimpanzee range. However, Sarita was wise enough to know that even chimps could be dangerous if armed with semiautomatics.
While one chimp patted her down for weapons, the other leered at her with his version of a sexy come-on. When chimp number two slid his hand across her breast, calling himself searching, she slapped his paw away and stuck an angry finger in his face. “That’s enough!”
The simians laughed, of course, then opened the door so she could enter.
Inside, Fletcher Harris was dressed in a dark brown kimono and seated on a red velvet sectional. A young woman dressed in a matching brown teddy slid off his lap and disappeared into what was once Alva’s bedroom.
Fletcher turned his attention to Sarita. Fletcher, with his pocked skin, had been an ugly child, but now, he was an even uglier man.
“Glad you could make it,” he said cordially.
A tired Sarita was in no mood for chitchat. “What do you want?”
“To talk,” he responded simply as he stood and walked over to the small bar. “After all, we are old friends.”
He motioned her over to the red-velvet sectional. “Can I get you something to drink? Champagne? Cognac?”
“You can get to the point,” she said, taking a seat.
He took a moment to pour himself a glass of cognac, took a swallow, then spent a moment or two observing her. She got the impression she was being measured for something but had no idea what.
Fletcher took another swallow to drain the glass, then asked, “So, how’ve you been, little sister? Things going okay over at the mission?”
Sarita thought about all the problems she faced, and lied. “Things are fine.”
He held her eyes. “You know, you do good work over there. It would be a shame if the place closed down.”
Sarita viewed him cautiously. “As far as I know, we aren’t closing.”
“You lie so well,” he returned smoothly. “Seventeen thousand dollars is a lot of money for a girl living off pension checks, wouldn’t you say?”
She hesitated before answering, wondering how much he really knew. “Fletcher, get to the point. Why am I here?”
“Okay,” he said with a smile that showed off his gold incisors, “let’s cut to the chase. I know you need $17,000 to keep the city from closing your stuff down. How I know is my business. I can give you the money.”
Sarita was unimpressed. “Fletcher, you don’t give anybody anything.”
“True, but in this case, I will.”
“In exchange for what?”
He smiled again. “A small job.”
“No.”
“Sarita, you disappoint me. You’ve always liked adventure. Remember the time you and Alva liberated mama’s car from the police impound lot? Or last summer when those two houses of mine burned down—”
“I didn’t start those fires. I did cheer like everybody else, though.”
Anger flared briefly across his ugly face before he regained his composure. “Whatever yo
u say, but before you turn down my offer, hear me out. It doesn’t involve dope.”
“I don’t care. No.”
His voice remained even as he stated quite bluntly, “Sarita, by this time next week your center will be closed, and you and your people will have no place to go. Think about all those old people and kids. What’s going to happen to the widows and shut-ins if they don’t have Saint Sarita and her Army to help ’em out? How’re you going to live with yourself knowing you could have made it all better by just doing me a quick favor?”
“No.”
He smiled sadly, “Well, stick to your guns. Tomorrow, I start eviction proceedings for some of your folks who are behind in their rent. How much trouble do you think old Mrs. Robinson is going to have finding a new place to live with winter coming on? Isn’t she on disability for her sugar?”
Sarita was outraged. “Fletcher, that woman was a friend of your mama’s. She’s in her eighties.”
“So.”
“And you want to put her out on the street?”
“Hey, she’s four months behind. I’ve got families on my waiting list ready to take that place the moment I give the word. Let’s see. Who else is behind in their rent?”
While Sarita listened, he ran off the names of six other families who owed him money. All had family members with some sort of permanent ailment, or were young single mothers with small children in the home. She said angrily, “You’re a bastard, you know that?”
He ignored her description and raised his glass to her in mock salute. “Man, I wish I had your principles. You’re so high-and-mighty, you’re willing to let your people be evicted rather than help a brother out. Bet you’ll sleep real good tonight.”
She knew he was baiting her. She also knew he’d evict the families first thing in the morning. He wasn’t the type to threaten, then back down. This was blackmail, pure and simple, and they both knew it. Sarita looked into his mocking eyes and knew she had no choice. In order to keep her people in their homes and out of the reach of this predator, she had to deal. “What do you want me to do?”
“There’s a package I want you to pick up.”
“Where?”
He spoke the name of one of the big downtown hotels. “A place you are very familiar with, right?”
She was indeed. Sarita sometimes cleaned rooms there when the head housekeeper, a woman she knew from the church needed extra help and Sarita needed extra cash. “What’s in the package?”
“Diamonds.”
She stared, and choked out, “Diamonds?”
“Yes, little sister, a girl’s best friend, and I need you to bring them home to daddy.”
“Why me?”
“Because you know your way around the place. This is going down tonight, and I don’t have time to find someone who can go there, do the deal quickly, and get out without getting lost.”
Sarita understood his thinking. The hotel in question could double as a maze for a mythical Minotaur. It was being renovated because tourists and city dwellers alike constantly found themselves lost in the vast confusing jumble of shops, restaurants, and office towers.
Fletcher added, “I also can’t risk having any of my people stopped and searched by the hotel’s security. Police types have a thing about young Black males being in places like that late at night.”
“So, what am I supposed to do?”
“Go into a room, get the diamonds, and leave.”
“Is this room occupied?”
“Yes.”
She looked at him as if he’d lost his mind.
He sought to reassure her. “By the time you get there the man in the room should be asleep.”
“What do you mean ‘should be’? Isn’t he expecting me?”
“In a way, yes. In a way, no.”
She didn’t particularly like that answer. “Why do I get the feeling that there’s more going on than you’re telling me?”
He waved away her concern. “Don’t worry. I hooked him up with a couple of ladies earlier this evening, and they promised me he’ll be in dreamland by midnight. Nothing like a spiked drink to help you get a good night’s sleep.” He chuckled at his cleverness.
Sarita didn’t. “Why can’t these party girls get the rocks?”
“Because I don’t want them knowing all my business. They have their role, and you have yours.”
“Were will the diamonds be?”
“In the room safe.”
“And how am I supposed to open it?”
“With this.” He showed her a slip of paper. “This is the combination to the safe.”
Sarita didn’t even want to know how he’d acquired that. “So, this man will hopefully stay asleep while I take his diamonds?”
“I’m going to give you $17,000, Mother Sarita. A little intrigue will make the money that much sweeter.”
“And if I’m caught?”
“You’re on your own.”
Her eyes widened.
“No, I’m kidding.” His grin flashed gold. “The job’ll be easy, and there shouldn’t be any problems as long as you do what you’re supposed to do, then get out of Dodge. So, do we have a deal?”
Sarita knew her soul would burn in hell for making deals with the devil, but there were no other options. The money she’d be paid paled when compared to the misery the families would experience if he went though with the threatened evictions. Her back against the wall, Sarita begged silent forgiveness from the spirits of her late grandmother and great-uncles, then said, “Okay, Fletcher, we have a deal.”
He rewarded her with golden smile. “Good. Now, this is what I want you to do.”
Sarita felt decidedly paranoid walking across the well-lit lobby of the hotel. There were still quite a few people milling about, even though it was just past midnight, and she was certain everyone she passed knew exactly what she was up to. Fighting to remain calm and keep her body language nonchalant, she managed to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Although Sarita didn’t know anybody who worked the hotel’s night shift, Fletcher had insisted on a disguise; so over her jeans and T-shirt she had on a nasty, oil-stained pair of coveralls, on her head an equally greasy baseball cap, and in her hand she carried a metal toolbox. On the cap and breast pocket of the coveralls were patches declaring her a worker for F&A Heating and Cooling. On her feet were well-worn work boots. Fletcher doubted anyone would challenge her right to be moving about the hotel because of all the renovations going on, and in a facility of its size something somewhere was always needing to be fixed. He’d boasted no one would look at her twice. For the moment, he appeared to be right. She passed a couple of uniformed security men leaning against their desk talking to a couple of honeys. The guards didn’t even blink when she stepped over to the bank of elevators and got on. When the door closed, Sarita sagged with relief against the car’s inner wall.
The elevator took her to the fifteenth floor, and she stepped out into the silence of the carpeted hallway. She waited a tense moment to make sure the hall was deserted. She saw no one. It was a good start, but it didn’t slow her furiously pumping heart or banish the guilt over what she was about to do. The guilt she set aside, but her pumping heart wouldn’t quit. Her familiarity with the hotel’s layout sent her immediately to the left and down the corridor that led to the designated room. Most of the rooms along the route were silent, but a few had TVs blaring or music playing. She scooted by them quickly, not wanting to be surprised by some drunk heading to the ice machine. Room 1533 was the last room on the left.
When she reached her destination, Sarita took a deep breath and looked around. She didn’t hear any noise coming from the rooms nearby. No televisions. No music. She very gently placed her ear against the door of 1533. Silence. She pulled the black gloves from the side pocket of her dirty coveralls and put them on. She looked up and down the hall once more, took the purloined pass card Fletcher had also provided, and ran it down the edges of the box-shaped lock. The small green light came on just as it
had been designed to do upon receiving the correct code. She slowly tried the handle. It swung all the way over, and when it did, she pushed the door open just enough to see in. A quick look up and down the hall reassured her the entry wouldn’t be seen, so she slid the door open a sliver wider and slipped inside.
The first sounds she heard in the dark suite were the loud, labored snores of the man asleep on the bed. She sent up a silent hallelujah. The first smells were of stale cigarette smoke and the loud, cheap perfume probably worn by Fletcher’s party girls. Sarita quickly reached into the pocket of the coveralls and took out her small flashlight. A light tour showed the framed landscape painting on the wall across from the bed. The safe. She took another deep breath to steady her screaming nerves, then tiptoed past the bed. The man’s snores were loud enough to muffle a jet taking off, but she didn’t care as long as he kept it up.
Sarita worked quickly but quietly in the small circle of light provided by her flashlight. She’d had no trouble taking down the landscape or opening the safe. She tried not to think about the safe being tied into the hotel’s security camera and what might happen if she were on a screen downstairs in the guard room. She also tried not to think about her grandmother and her great-uncles spinning in their graves over her actions here tonight. Instead, she concentrated on placing the beautiful gems in the pouch and thinking how the end justified the means. Yes, she’d crossed the line into Fletcher’s slimy little world, but only because she’d had no other options. Legal channels had gotten her nowhere. In a few more minutes she would be out of there, and it would be all over.
Upstairs in his penthouse office, Myk was putting the last-minute touches on the plan for tonight’s rendezvous with Fishbein and the diamonds, when he stopped and stared curiously at the light blinking on the computer screen. The light indicated the safe in 1533 had been opened. Surprised, he picked up the nearby headset and pulled it on. A sound device had been placed in the room that morning before Fishbein checked in so that the diamond transaction could be monitored and taped. According to the Feds, the deal wasn’t supposed to go down until two. His watch said it was just twelve-thirty. Through the earphones, he listened for sounds in the room. Snoring, lots of it filled his ears. If those snores were coming from Fishbein, who was opening the safe?