Authors: Eric Pete

Frostbite (17 page)

BOOK: Frostbite

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Should’ve slept soundly after Taralynn left.

Especially after what we’d done.

Instead I dreamed.

Risk associated with coming back to New Orleans.

More of those dreams.

Dreams like that.

Dreams of my mom.

Of a day after we’d moved here from California.

Pre-Katrina times.

Settled in courtesy of my Uncle Jason.

“Momma?” I calmly called to the woman staring out the window at the large oak tree. Waited for Leila Marie North to reply.

Nothing.

She hadn’t spoken in days and was barely eating.

Only the gumbo from Dooky Chase. And that was when she felt like it.

“Truth!” Uncle Jason yelled. Was waiting on me. But I ran back here to check on my mom because she needed me more.

“Momma,” I called out again, a little more urgently this time. Used to be Mommy when we were in California. Didn’t feel right here. Mommy felt soft. I had to be hard now. That’s what my Uncle Jason told me. “Do you want me to get you something?” I asked, pleading as I walked up to the window sill next to her and took her hand.

She didn’t answer. Instead, tears began streaming down her face as she broke into a smile. I didn’t know what it meant, but it scared me.

“Boy, didn’t you hear me calling you?” Jason called out as he appeared in the doorway, looking at the two of us. Those eyes of his looked irritated despite the goatee-lined smile he flashed. Over these years, I was learning that his face rarely matched what was going on in his head.

“Yeah, but, my momma—”

“Is also my sister, dear boy,” he said, curtly cutting me off. “And I know how best to deal with this.”

“Yessir,” I responded. “But I think she needs help.”

“And she’ll get it, Truth,” he said as he entered the room and placed his hand on her back. “I promise you. But for now we have to get going. Flight waiting to take us to Atlanta. I have some talent evaluations with which you can help me. You ever been to Atlanta?”

“No, sir.”

“Well, you’re in for a treat. Once we’ve wrapped up, might even take you by a place called Magic City.”

Place sounded nice. Reminded me of Disney and “the Magic Kingdom.” Leila Marie was supposed to take me to Disneyland when we were in California. But we only rode past it once in a taxi cab. She said it was due to her busy work schedule and planning her wedding to Randall Fischer from
Promises for Tomorrow,
but one day we’d get there.

“Can we get her some gumbo from Dooky Chase before we leave?”

“I’ll have one of my people pick it up.”

“She likes the one with okra,” I reminded him, concerned his people wouldn’t get it right.

Checking his watch as it slid free from beneath his sport coat sleeve, he said, “Told you I got it now c’mon. We have places to go and people to see. Leave her. She’ll be fine, dear boy. She’ll be fine.”

As I backed away and let go of my mom’s hand, she turned my way. Left that damn tree outside her window alone momentarily. “I’m sorry,” she said to me. Voice was different. Like butterflies and sunshine. Like it used to be when she was happy and in love.

Had almost forgotten that sound.

I just nodded and smiled.

Left for the airport where we flew out to Atlanta with Jason North and some of his other On-Phire people.

As far as my mom, she wasn’t there when I came back as a man, having lost my virginity at Magic City even though I was too young to be on the premises.

Leila Marie North was nowhere that I would ever be capable of reaching.

Ever.

She jumped that day.

Off the Mississippi River Bridge, the older span of the Crescent City Connection.

A few days later, her body was fished from the water downriver in St. Bernard Parish.

The
Times-Picayune
would report on the failed soap star who plunged to her death. And who left no children behind. With no birth certificate and never having attended school, I didn’t exist to the world.

And Jason kept it that way.

For he would be my teacher.

And I would be his star pupil.

I woke up, sitting upright in a cold, hard sweat. Cleared my head then checked the time.

Had been asleep for hours.

I packed up my stuff, removing all traces of my DNA from the room and stormed three doors down to my actual room. Was calling Ivan before I even inserted my key in the door.

“Ain’t you up kinda early?” Ivan asked upon answering. Could hear the sounds of laughter and music in the background.

“No. I don’t sleep,” I replied, wishing it were the truth. “You ready to go over this again?”

The sooner I left New Orleans the better.

“Status?” Mr. Smith asked.

“Today,” I replied calmly as I peered through a set of tiny binoculars at a residence down the block. “And we are through.”

“Absolutely,” he said, not realizing that it wasn’t a question.

“Well let me do my job so we never speak again,” I replied as I hung up.

The grass in which I was laying was still damp. Had been concealed here for hours. Since before the sprinklers came on at dawn. Fearing a random dog giving me away despite my camouflage. All this fucked-up and impromptu planning coming to this moment.

Outside the Roy residence, watching and waiting.

And waiting some more.

Could’ve planted a camera and monitored remotely. Or paid someone to be out here at English Turn instead. But this had become personal. Beyond just protecting Collette in Texas or my own hide. I needed to see this through to its inevitable conclusion.

Ensure nothing went wrong.

Two standard NOPD cruisers came on shift in front of the home, replacing the other two that were here when I slinked into position. Fresh off my night with the DA’s wife.

Everything depended on Rodney Roy being true to his nature—the driven professional. Then shaping that to my ends.

So I continued to wait for him to leave his house. Hoping that he would and soon. Before the neighborhood woke up and I might be exposed.

From beneath my cover, consisting of a tarp and some netting, I was checking my other phones when a noise got my attention. Was the sound of a car door slamming shut, which carried through the stillness of the morn. I peered out, raising my binoculars and taking a look. One of the NOPD officers outside Roy’s house had exited his car. Could see him on his radio with someone. Then, as if on cue, the garage door rose up. A silver Cadillac CTS began slowly backing out. I zoomed in for a closer look, catching the passenger window as it dropped for the DA to talk to the officer. He was alone.

Good.

Rather than trying to read his lips, I checked my watch before me and turned on the mini police scanner on my belt, popping an earpiece in place. Timing was critical. Tiny windows of opportunity in which I had to operate. I picked up one of my phones and sent a simple text. To anyone but the person for whom it was intended, it would seem like an innocent message rather than what it really was—a “go” code.

To get the DA heading down the right rabbit hole, I had to control traffic. The first text was the prompt, setting up a bad wreck on General DeGaulle Drive to slow him down. Before the DA and his escort were beyond the gates of English Turn, my scanner alerted me that phase one was a success. I yanked the battery and SIM card from the phone I’d just used. Grasped another phone as it was time for another text.

This one was a little more risky. An overturned tanker truck on the Crescent City Connection to bring traffic crossing to the East Bank to a screeching halt. Determined to get to work, that would leave the DA with one surefire route.

The Algiers Ferry where Ivan would be waiting.

But before I pushed the button to send the second “go” code, something stilled my hand. Thoughts of that damned bridge. Visions of my mom for the final time still lingering from my dreams. And her saying she was sorry to me. Always thought she was saying she was sorry for what she was about to do, leave me. But maybe she was saying she was sorry for what she knew I’d become.

My watch was telling me to shake it off. Not much time left before I had to send the text. Otherwise the DA would get stuck in traffic past the toll plaza and unable to detour to the ferry.

But if I didn’t do this, Collette would pay for it with her life.

Time was ticking.

I moved my thumb to send the second text when my personal phone buzzed. From beneath my cover, I paused as an early morning jogger stopped to check her pulse rate. Once she resumed her run, unaware I was less than ten feet away, I turned to the incoming call.

It was Taralynn.

Tick tock
as Mr. Smith had said.

Shouldn’t have answered it, but ...

“Hello?” I said trying to appear normal.

“Hey. It’s me. You still asleep?” Taralynn asked softly.

“No. Just out for some coffee,” I replied, voice still low from my spot. “You getting ready for your big trip to Boston?”

“Yeah. Doing some packing for me and Sasha. Couldn’t sleep very well once I came home last night,” she uttered, acknowledging what had happened between us. “Figured I’d get up since my husband was going in to the office.”

“On a Sunday? He’s not spending the day with you guys before you leave?” I asked, feigning surprise and disgust.

“Work calls. Duty to the public and all,” she mumbled, not sounding too convincing. Could hear her fumbling around what probably was their kitchen. Imagined her in a house coat, fixing a cup of coffee or preparing breakfast for her daughter before they attended church or something. Family stuff.

Just then I looked down and sent the text for the second accident. It was time to get out of here and let the rest of this play out.

“Well,” was my only comment.

“Truth, I ... I know it’s inappropriate. Even after last night. But I was kinda wondering if I could see you before our flight.”

“That might be hard to do,” I replied, checking my watch again and calculating in my head where things should be about now. Time to leave New Orleans and not look back. That included Taralynn. “It was good seeing you again after all this time. It’s been fun, but I don’t feel right about how things went down. Going to repay you for the money you spent on the hotel room as soon as I can, by the way.”

“The money’s no problem. Just helping out like I said. And I don’t want you to think I was paying for your services. It wasn’t that kind of thing. I really hope you don’t feel that way about me, Truth,” she offered, trying to salvage whatever she thought this was.

Poor thing.

“Uh ... Don’t know how to tell you, but I’m leaving town. Got some work lined up for me, so... .” I said, letting my voice trail off.

“So that’s it?” she asked, her voice raising an octave. Good-byes were never easy.

“Yeah. That’s it. Like I said, I don’t feel right about what went down. You’re a married woman. And I’m not the home wrecker type. So, it’s probably best that we say good-bye now, Summer.”

“Truth, Sasha’s not Rodney’s daughter,” she blurted out.

“Oh?” I voiced, wondering if she was insinuating that their home life wasn’t as perfect as made out to be.

“She’s his stepdaughter.”

“Okay. But he still loves her ... and you, right?” I pushed, trying to get through this without hurting her anymore. There was no chance for us.

“Yes, Truth. But that’s not what I’m trying to say. Will you just listen!” Taralynn shouted to assert herself, startling me.

“Okay. I’m listening,” I said as I sprang to my feet, rolling up the tarp and netting I’d used for concealment and quickly backing out of the sightline of her house.

“When I said Sasha was nine, I lied. She’s twelve, Truth.”

“What are you saying?” I asked, my body suddenly feeling like I’d been Tasered. My mind filled with things other than the plan on which I needed to be focused. Thought the girl was just tall for her age because of her mother’s height, but now ...

The math. The math.

“She’s your daughter, Truth. Sasha’s your daughter.”

“Truth? Are you there?” Taralynn called out as I stood exposed in the open on her neighbor’s lawn. In the other ear, my police scanner was squawking about the major traffic snarl on the Crescent City Connection. But my head rang like someone had just smacked me with a hammer.

“Yeah,” I replied, the ringing still there.

“Did you hear me? I said Sasha’s your daughter,” she repeated.

“You said she was nine. You ... lied,” I recited, anger welling up inside.

“I know. I already said I lied. What was I supposed to do? You just showed up! I was stunned! I ... I wanted to tell you. Last night, but ...”

“But we ... only once,” I said, fumbling for words.

“Yes. And I got pregnant.”

Mine.

All this time and I never knew.

I was a ... father.

But I was about to take away the only father Sasha knew.

As in mythology as in life, the fates were cruel.

“I have to go. Need to digest everything. I ... I’ll call you back. And then we’ll talk some more about this. I promise,” I said, having not yet determined if I was telling the truth. All I knew was that I had to stop that which I’d set in motion, no matter the consequences.

I ran down English Turn Drive heading west toward East Canal Street where I had a bogus neighborhood security van parked on the corner with East Sixth Street. One mile that felt like ten. Had been dialing Ivan’s phone relentlessly, each time getting the voice mail that hadn’t been set up.

“Bro, what are you doing calling?” Ivan asked as he finally responded.

“I’m calling it off. Abort the mission,” I replied, slowing down enough to be understood.

“
Abort the mission?
” Ivan repeated mockingly. “This ain’t no Tom Clancy, nigga.”

“Let it go, man. Change in plans. Going to revisit another day,” I said, trying a different tact with the cokehead. Make that
armed and dangerous cokehead.

“Nah. Nah. I’m gonna do my fuckin’ job. And then you’re gonna pay me my motherfuckin’ money!”

“You do this there won’t be any fuckin’ money,” I stressed as I arrived at the van, chest hurting and trying to catch my breath.

I was a father.

“And I’m sayin’ fuck you. Those Russians from prison you were joking about? The ones that kept me alive? Well, I owe them. Big. Told them they’d have their money next week. So I’m gonna cap this motherfucker and then you’re gonna pay me my motherfuckin’ money. And then I’m goin’ back to Cali and fuck Sophia. I ain’t your bitch, bitch,” he said, hanging up.

“Fuck!” I yelled at the top of my lungs, swinging wildly at the air in frustration. My phone flew out my hand, breaking against the van’s windshield before I could stop it.

Left a multi-splintered crack across my field of vision.

Allowed myself the briefest of seconds to stare at the shattered spider web in the glass before I started the van and sped away.

BOOK: Frostbite

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