A LaLa Land Addiction (16 page)

“Where's the fucking safe?” Cinco barked. He pointed the gun at her. “I'm not playing with your ass. This shit has to look legit. Snap out of it.”

“It's under the f-f-f-loor,” she stammered. Bleu bent over and pulled up four wooden boards from the floor to reveal a large steel fireproof safe.

“Hurry up and open it,” Cinco said. He walked over to Iman's desk and turned on the computer as Bleu punched in the numbers to the safe. She had only seen Iman open it one time, but that was all it took for her to commit the numbers to memory. She had never imagined that she would come back to rob it later. Her hands shook as she pressed each button. There was no undoing this. She had crossed the ultimate line.

“What are you doing? Come help me!” she shouted.

“I'm erasing the security footage from tonight and shutting down the cameras. It'll be like we were never even here,” Cinco said.

She opened the safe and discovered bills in different denominations all banded neatly. It was more money than she had ever seen, even during her hustling days, and still she didn't even want it. It was dirty money. This entire setup was wrong. No amount of money could buy her a new soul.

I've taken this too far,
she thought.

“Fuck is you doing? Where is your head, shorty? Stuff the fucking bag and let's get out of here,” Cinco snapped.

Bleu began stuffing money into a black duffel bag.

The sound of a car door slamming caused Bleu to freeze in terror. “Who is that?” Bleu whispered in panic as she rushed to the window. As soon as she saw Iman getting out of the car tears filled her eyes. “It's Iman!”

Cinco rushed to the window. “Fuck!” he exclaimed.

“I thought you said he would be in Mexico?” Bleu said.

“He was supposed to be,” Cinco said. “I'll pop that nigga too. Fuck it.”

“No!” Bleu said as she lunged at Cinco. His gun flew across the room as he stumbled into Iman's desk. Bleu scrambled to pick it up and Cinco froze.

“Tan! I'm home!” Iman's voice carried throughout the entire home as Bleu stood there, shaking, aiming the gun at Cinco.

Cinco gritted his teeth as he climbed out of the second-story window, leaving Bleu to face the music alone. She ran over to the window and looked down to find Cinco half-running, half-limping away from the crime scene. There was no way she was going out the window. She turned around and headed toward the door only to be halted when Iman stepped into the doorframe.

Shock revealed itself in his eyes as he looked at Bleu, then at his open safe on the floor. She was so grateful for the mask in that moment, but the way he stared at her, almost heartbroken, it was like he knew exactly who she was just by looking in her eyes. Bleu was frozen in fear as she waited for his reaction. She could barely breathe, her chest was so heavy. Her entire body was tense as she stared at him desperately. His eyes lowered to the gun in her hand. She aimed it at him. She wouldn't pull the trigger, but she needed him to think she would.

“Shoot your shot,” Iman said.

Bleu wanted to tell him to move, but she couldn't speak. He would recognize her voice. Instead she nodded her head, motioning for him to walk down the hall. He did, and she pressed her gun point-blank to the back of his head.

“You might as well kill me, because if you let me live I'm going to murder you,” Iman stated.

She pushed him forward up the stairs and into the master bedroom. As soon as he saw Tan, he raced over to her body.

“Tan!” he shouted. “Tan, baby, wake up!” He picked her up in his arms as he cried over her.

He was distraught, like a man should be after finding his wife murdered in cold blood, but the hurt in his voice made Bleu weak in the knees.
He loves her,
Bleu thought. She didn't know why she was surprised. Tan was his wife. Tears soaked the ski mask Bleu wore.

I can't watch this,
she thought. She ran full speed out of the house and didn't stop running until she felt like she would collapse. She keeled over, gripping her knees as she sucked in air. Vomit spewed everywhere and Bleu pulled off the mask as she sobbed. The things she had seen tonight were too much. The things she had done tonight were the devil's work. She had completely lost herself in this world and she wanted nothing more than to just pack it up and go home.

Bleu started the long walk home as sirens filled the air. She knew where they were headed and she put pep in her step, finding the wind to run again until she found a convenience store where she could clean herself up.

The clerk looked at her skeptically as she walked in, sweating. “You've got to buy something,” he said.

“Is there a bathroom I can use?” she asked, fidgeting and antsy. She was paranoid and terrified. She needed a moment to gather herself.

“It's for customers only,” the clerk mouthed off.

Bleu ignored him as she went to the back of the store and locked herself inside the dirty closet-sized bathroom. She completely broke down. She covered her mouth, stifling her cries as she tore up the bathroom. She beat her hands against the wall, kicking herself with regret. She tore off the black hoodie and dumped it in the garbage, along with the ski mask.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

“Lady! I said the bathroom is for customers only! Buy something or get out!”

Bleu rolled her eyes as she screamed back, “Just give me a minute! Damn!”

She looked in the mirror and for the first time she noticed how bad she looked. Her hair was disheveled, her eyes were red and dilated, and she was soaking wet with sweat. She was doing bad. She had thought she was managing herself, smoking dope low-key, and that no one would notice. She was wrong. She was down bad, and just because she was living off of Iman's dime and hidden away in his expensive condo didn't mean that she was better off. Without him she would be on the streets, because she was strung out on crack cocaine and tonight proved just how far gone she was.

Bang! Bang!

“I said give me a fucking minute!” she shouted as she snatched open the door.

She toned down instantly when she saw the uniformed police officer looming over her.

“Ma'am, is everything okay in there?” he asked. He frowned skeptically as he took in her appearance. “Can you step out of the restroom, ma'am?”

Bleu tried to squeeze by him. “I was just leaving.”

The officer grabbed her wrist and turned her around until he had her in the assumed position. “Do you have any weapons on you? Any drugs in your pockets?” the officer asked.

“No!” Bleu exclaimed as she felt him handcuff her. He clenched them a little too tightly, pinching her skin as she grimaced. “Ow!”

“What did you smoke tonight?” the officer asked. “What are you high on? Coke? PCP? Heroin?”

Bleu lowered her head in shame as she was walked out of the store. He put her in the back of his squad car and she rested her head against the glass. She had no idea what would happen to her next. Her life had taken one too many turns for the worst and she wasn't sure if she would ever get back on track. She had come to L.A. with dreams of conquering the world, but it had conquered her. Now nothing seemed more comforting than going back to her tiny town.

 

14

Iman stood stoically, brooding silently as he watched the coroner roll his Tan's body out of his home. The white sheet that covered her hid the gruesome sight, but it was an image that he would never get out of his mind. A numbness took over him. He had grown up with Tan. She had watched him grow from a boy to a man. Divorcing her had been one thing, but having someone snatch her out of his life infuriated him. She was his wife. He didn't know if her murder was directly connected to him or if it was repercussions from a beef that Sandoza had acquired, but either way, somebody owed Iman a debt. It was one that had to be paid in blood. He had moved in and out of the game for years without drawing attention to himself. Now within the blink of an eye there were cops crawling all over every inch of his home. He had already covered up his floor safe, but just the fact that he was young and black and now a murder had been committed in the posh, upscale neighborhood put the police on high alert.

As he watched the police move in and out of his house the image of the intruder haunted him. It had been a woman and her eyes had been so familiar.
She reminded me of Bleu—

“I'm tripping,” he said as he shook his head and headed to his car. There was no way he would ever feel right sleeping in the house again. Someone had violated him and until he figured out who he would have to adjust how he moved.
What if it was Bleu?
he thought. He shook the thought from his head almost as quickly as it had formed. It had been a long night and his mind was playing tricks on him. He hadn't seen or spoken to Bleu in weeks, so he was manufacturing her wherever he went. She had been constantly on his mind. Depriving himself of her had proved challenging. Even now at the most inappropriate time he thought of her. He wanted to go to her because he knew he would find comfort in her arms. She was the one person he could show his vulnerability to, but it would be cruel to mourn over one woman on the bosom of another.

As he pulled away from his home he picked up his phone. He had to deliver the news to Sandoza. He knew it wouldn't be received well.

*   *   *

“What's going to happen to me? I've been in here for three days,” Bleu said. The waiting had been torture.

“There is a warrant out for your arrest in Flint, Michigan. The LAPD called it in and Flint P.D. wants you. They are sending someone all the way here to escort you back to Michigan. You will be turned over to them first thing in the morning,” the court-appointed lawyer said.

“Warrant?” Bleu asked. “Warrant for what?” Bleu was terrified. She kept waiting for the officers to come in and tell her they knew she had been at Iman's house that night. She bit her nails, a nervous habit that she did when she was coming down from a good high.

“Felonious assault,” the lawyer said. “Once the chain of custody is transferred back to Michigan, I will have the charges here dropped against you. Good luck, Ms. Montclair.”

An officer came and handcuffed her as they escorted her back to a holding cell. As she sat trapped behind the metal bars of the county jail she felt disgraced.
Felonious assault?
She had no idea what she was wanted for, but she would rather be back in Michigan than out here waiting for the police to catch wind of her involvement in Tan's murder.

Morning came so slowly and she was tortured by the overwhelming urge to get high. She was irritable, her stomach was upset, and she had sunk into a deep depression as her body begged for more. She hadn't realized that she had been using so much that even a day without it was driving her insane.

“Montclair, on your feet!” an officer yelled as he unlocked the door. Bleu stood and turned so that the officer could cuff her. He snatched her roughly down the hall to where a black woman in a trench coat and cheap high heels stood next to another armed cop.

“You must be Bleu. You're a hard girl to track down,” the woman said.

“She's all yours,” the officer said.

“Bleu, I am Tori Nixon. I'm the Assistant District Attorney in Flint, Michigan. This is Officer Williams. I'm going to have him remove the cuffs. I don't think it's necessary to make you board a five-hour flight with your hands bound. If you run, he will shoot you. Is that understood?”

Bleu nodded.

“Looks like California hasn't been so good for you,” the D.A. said as she took in Bleu's appearance. “I'll have to clean you up before you take the stand.”

“Stand? What are you talking about? I thought I was under arrest?” Bleu asked.

“No, Ms. Montclair. I need you to testify in the murder and armed robbery case that you were a witness in before you left Flint,” the D.A. informed Bleu. Bruno's face flashed in her head. “The warrant was just a way for me to locate you, but I can't put you in front of a jury like this. I thought you were a college girl. What drugs have you gotten involved in?”

Bleu lowered her eyes, embarrassed.

“Crack?” the D.A. pushed.

Bleu nodded.

The D.A. looked at Bleu sympathetically and then placed a hand on her back as she guided her out of the precinct.

“I'm willing to do whatever you need me to, but I have to do one thing first,” Bleu said. “Can you take me somewhere before we leave town? That's the only way I'll testify.”

*   *   *

Iman was eerily silent as he sat in the backseat of the Rolls-Royce with Cinco and Sandoza on each side. His brooding demeanor left no room for conversation on this solemn day. As their driver followed the processional of cars in front of them, Iman's hand rested on his hip where his 9mm pistol was concealed. His gut told him that today's event could bring trouble. He still had no idea that the person who had committed Tan's murder was sitting directly next to him. Iman was blinded, thinking he was surrounded by family when there was a snake in his grass. He was paranoid on this day.
Whoever did this is still lurking. They could be anywhere!
Sandoza was heartbroken over the loss of his daughter and Iman was remorseful, wishing that he and Tan had been able to experience more good days than bad. Today felt empty. Yes, he was burying his wife, but he hadn't loved her the way that he should. Their love had been missing something and he hated that he was sending her off before he had gotten the chance to see her happy with someone who could love her the way that he loved Bleu. As Iman looked out of the window he felt exposed, as if whoever had violated him was just waiting to strike again. One gun didn't feel like enough to protect himself. Iman wouldn't be caught lacking. He already had some of his L.A. goons in the pews at the church just in case. If bullets started flying Iman had guns ready.