Authors: Dwayne S. Joseph
Eye for an Eye (19 page)
38
Ryan's house.
Eight-thirty.
He'd asked me to get there by eight. He said he had the evening planned out and wanted to stick to a schedule he'd come up with to ensure that we did everything he wanted us to do. He wanted to give me a night I'd never forget.
At one-thirty in the morning, his night was going to be unforgettable too.
I would have been there by eight, but I hit traffic. A two-car fender bender. Had to drive in one lane doing stop and go for several miles. The delay put me behind by half an hour.
I cut the engine, but let my iPod continue to play. I never liked cutting my song off before it ended. As Chyna Forbes sang about things I didn't believe in, I looked at Ryan's house.
It was a stylish home made of red brick, with an arched entry and arched windows, whose vertical blinds were closed, giving no view of the inside. The landscaping was meticulous with perfectly cut grass, and flowers running along the length of the house beneath the windows. It was a beautiful, albeit, boring-looking, house that almost seemed unused.
But that wouldn't be the case tonight.
I closed my eyes for a moment and listened to my song. My favorite partâthe breakdownâwas coming up. Pink Martini. One day I'd have to see them perform live. Something I hadn't done yet.
The break down began.
Piano rifts accompanied by the chime on my BlackBerry.
I looked at it. Marlene, calling me back.
I answered. “Did you get Lisa?”
“Y . . . I . . . got . . . ette . . . ound . . . ease.”
I couldn't understand a word she'd said, but there seemed to have been panic in her voice. “Marlene, you're breaking up.”
She tried again. “ . . . urn . . . ease . . . ette . . . it's . . . up . . . on't.”
I pulled my cell away from my ear and looked at it. I had barely one bar. I said, “I'm in a bad area. Hold on.”
I powered down my iPod, opened my door, and stepped out. I put my cell to my ear again. “OK. Try again. What did you say?”
“Urn . . . ound . . . ow!”
As Marlene spoke, the front door of the house opened. Ryan, dressed surprisingly casually in blue jeans and a black tank top, stepped out. He walked toward me, his steps determined, almost hurried.
I put up my index finger as he got close. He paused and remained a few feet away.
Into the BlackBerry, I said, “Marlene, I still can't get what you're saying. Try texting me.”
I ended the call and clenched my jaw. I thought about her recounting to me her afternoon with Benji at the ER, and wondered if the hives and swelling had come back.
In front of me, closer now, Ryan said, “Everything OK?”
I looked at him. His eyes were on me intensely. I thought about Marlene and the panic and said, “I don't know.” I looked down at my phone. I had two bars now. I thought about calling Marlene back, but then decided against it. I was sure the minute I dialed, I'd lose the bar and have a shitty connection again. “This is a bad area for cell phones,” I said.
Ryan nodded. He was sweating as if he'd been working out. “You'll be lucky to get a call out here.”
I clenched my jaw again, took a glance at my phone, and wondered if she'd heard me tell her to text me.
“Let's go inside,” Ryan said.
I looked up at him. “You go ahead. I'm going to try to make a call.”
Ryan flexed his jaw and looked past me to the main road. “I'm telling you, it won't work,” he said, looking back at me. “You can use the phone inside. Come on.”
I stared at him.
The muscles in his neck were tight as his line of sight went from me back to the road. He'd offered to let me use his phone, but the tone in his voice had a nervous edge to it, and his last statement to “come on”' sounded like an order.
“Expecting someone?” I asked, taking a glance behind me.
“What?” Ryan asked. He sounded irritated now.
“You keep looking to the road. Are you expecting someone?”
Ryan shook his head. It looked like there was more sweat on it than before. “No,” he said. “Come on. Let's go inside.”
“After my call.”
“I said you can use my phone.”
I closed my eyes a bit. His stance had shifted. Had become almost predatory.
Something wasn't right.
I adjusted my stance too. “I'll try my phone,” I said defiantly.
Ryan looked at me, his eyes dark, his nostrils flaring. Then he looked to the road again.
I watched as he put his eyes back on me.
The night air was warm and thick with tension.
Something was definitely wrong and dangerously familiar.
I thought about the past and being out at night during a rainstorm.
I balled my right hand into a tight fist.
Ryan seemed to lean forward on his toes. It was something people did when they were about to pounce and attack.
My heart beat heavily. Slow, thudding beats deep beneath my chest.
Someone out there said I knew what happened to Kyra.
Ryan's eyes closed. Became dark, angry slits. He looked past me again.
Behind me, I thought I heard the faint sound of music. Salsa.
My cell chimed its special tone indicating I'd received a text message.
I turned my phone upward as I looked down. On the screen in all caps were words that made my Adam's apple rise into the middle of my throat:
LISETTE, IT'S A SETUP! SHANTE HUNT IS THE PERSON LISA GAVE THE INFORMATION TO. TURN AROUND! CALL ME PLEâ¦
I never got to read the rest of the message as searing volts of electricity ripped through my body and went straight through my nerves.
A taser.
I'd felt something cold pressed against my neck a half a second before the pain.
I'd never even seen Ryan move.
My BlackBerry fell from my hand as the muscles became jelly.
My legs, now rubber, gave way beneath me and I fell forward.
Another blast of electricity went through me as I did.
I barely felt the pain from the second wave of electric fire as I faded away into unconsciousness.
39
Aida was in a zone.
The Lebron Brothers were blasting from her speakers. Old salsa.
Aida didn't have much in common with her mother, but one thing she did get from her was her love for salsa. Real salsa. Salsa that started in the seventies. Hector Lavoe, Willie Colon, Ruben Blades, Eddie Pacheco; these and others were the people her mother played in the house daily. Aida didn't know life without the high hats, the trombones, the rhythmic bass, entrancing bass lines, the singers with the voices that fit perfectly. Reggeaton, bachata, merengueâAida listened to these styles of music too, but none of them moved her the way the old salsa did. The newer salsa was OK, but it didn't have the same passion. When the musicians played and the singers sang, you felt every lick, every note. The words hit the way the writers meant them to.
Aida needed to relax. She was stressed and tight all over from stressing with the decision of doing what she knew she had to do. Griffin be dammed, ultimately, this was about maintaining. This was about her never having to do the nine-to-five.
Aida put the salsa on to get her blood pumping, to get her head right, and cruised down Route 27, slowing only briefly as highway crews cleaned up debris from a two-car accident. The time had come for her curtains to go up as she gave her final performance, while Griffin's went down as his act officially came to a close.
Aida exhaled and lowered the volume of her iPod as she pulled into the driveway of Griffin's house.
“Showtime,” she whispered.
She sighed as she cut her engine. She would do what she had to do, but she was definitely going to miss Griffin. She grabbed her purse and stepped out of her car. “Shit,” she said, looking up at the house. She hadn't really gotten her before, but looking at the house, she could see why Vivian Steele wouldn't want to let Griffin go. If she was a dependant bitch who had nothing going for herself and could live like this, she wouldn't want to let Griffin's ass go either.
She pulled her cell phone out of her purse to switch it from ring to vibrate and noticed that she had no service. “
Cono
!”
Cono
!”
Although she didn't anticipate needing it, she still hated being stuck unable to make a call. She switched it to vibrate anyway and then shoved it back into her purse.
She took a final look around at the home's property. “Goddamned perfect,” she said. She looked to her right. Griffin's neighbor's house was just as nice. So was the silver Lexus coupe sitting in the driveway.
She took a final glance at the coupe and then turned and headed toward Griffin's front door. She'd anticipated a hell of a night. Food, wine, sex, and a climax Vivian wouldn't forget, because Aida had decided that there was no way in hell she was going to be naked with Griffin on the bed, and not have him inside of her. It hadn't been what Vivian had requested, but, fuck it, if Aida had to deal with this being her last night with Griffin, then Vivian would just have to deal with him fucking another woman.
Aida stepped to the front door, marveled at how big it was, and then pressed the doorbell. “Showtime,” she whispered again.
A few minutes went by without an answer. Aida pressed the bell again, and tapped her foot on the ground as another minute went by. She hated being made to wait. She was about to press the bell again and knock, when the door opened.
“Hey there,” Griffin said with a smile.
Aida looked at him. He was dressed in a black tank top, a pair of blue jeans, with black boots on his feet. She hadn't expected him to wear any particular outfit, but she hadn't expected him to be dressed as casually as he was. She also hadn't expected him to be sweating the way he was, either. At least not yet.
“Hola,” she said.
Griffin smiled. “I do love that Spanish shit,” he said. He stepped to the side. “Sorry I kept you waiting. I was taking care of something.”
Aida said, “Sweating like that, I hope it was something good.” She stepped past him into the foyer with marble flooring. “Something smells good,” she said.
Griffin closed the door behind her, locked it, and then stepped in front of her. “Thanks. Your meal is just about ready.”
Aida smiled. “Can't wait to see what you made.”
“I think you'll enjoy it. Especially dessert,” Griffin said with a mischievous smile
“Dessert, huh?”
“I have something special for you.”
“Can I get a hint?”
Griffin shook his head. “No hints. You'll just have to wait.”
“You're mean,” Aida said, rising up on her tiptoes and wrapping her arms around his neck.
“You haven't seen mean yet,” Griffin said. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed his lips against hers and kissed her hard and forcefully, driving his tongue into her mouth.
Aida moaned as he pressed his crotch against her. He was hard. Damn hard. As they kissed, she thought about the decision she'd madeâto do the job and walk away. It hadn't been an easy decision, but she had every intention of sticking to it. But kisses like the one Griffin was giving put the doubt she'd let go of right back into the forefront of her mind. She reached for his zipper, grabbed it, and started to pull it down.
Before she could, Griffin pulled away.
“What's wrong?” Aida asked.
Griffin clenched his jaw. Aida didn't know why, but he seemed irritated.
He said, “Let's go eat.”
Aida grabbed a hold of the top of his belt. “I have a better idea . . . let's go to the living room where you can give me a grand tour.”
Griffin shook his head. “As tempting as it is, I don't want the food to get cold.”
Aida raised an eyebrow. “Are you serious? We can always warm it up.”
Griffin shook his head again. “It won't taste as good as coming fresh off the stove.”
“Butâ”
“I busted my ass over the food, Aida! I want to eat now!”
His sudden outburst caught Aida by surprise. She looked at him. “Whoa,” she said, not liking the sudden darkening look in his eyes. “What was that about?”
Griffin clenched his jaw again. “Sorry,” he said. “I haven't eaten much today. I'm hungry and getting a headache. I promise the wait will be worth it.”
Aida looked at him. His tone had softened, but the look in his eye hadn't changed. If anything, it seemed to get even darker. She said, “OK.”
Griffin guided her to the dining room off to the right of the foyer. Based on how the exterior of the house had looked, she'd expected the inside to be decked out, but she was thoroughly disappointed when they stepped into the dining room. It was surprisingly bland and simple. The walls were white and bare. The carpeting seemed low grade and had several red stains. The dining table itself was small, round, and simply set for two with plates, forks, and wine glasses. There were no candles, no flowersâthings Aida had expected.
Griffin walked to the table and pulled out a chair for her to sit down.
“Why do you have the blinds closed?” Aida asked. The room was unnervingly dark, as the only light was coming from the chandelier.
“I close the blinds at night to keep people from looking inside.”
Aida nodded and sat down. She had an uncle who was the same way. Aida herself didn't like to close blinds. It felt claustrophobic.
Griffin pushed her in. “I'll get your plate,” he said. He walked off to the kitchen.
When he left the room, Aida reached into her purse and pulled out her cell phone to see if she had a signal yet. “
Cono
,” she whispered. Still no signal.
Cono
,” she whispered. Still no signal.
“You won't be able to use your phone out here,” Griffin said, reappearing with a plate of food in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. He walked to her and set a plate filled with yellow rice, red beans, baked chicken and salad down in front of her.
Aida put her phone down beside the plate. “
Arroz con pollo
,” she said. “Now that's authentic.”
Arroz con pollo
,” she said. “Now that's authentic.”
Griffin smiled, but didn't reply, and went back into the kitchen, returning a few seconds later with his plate. He set it down and then grabbed her glass and filled it with red wine. He said, “I bought this while I was away this week,” he said. “The guy in the store described it as a sweet wine with a surprising kick. It made me think of you.”
Aida looked at the filled glass and smiled. “Sweet with a kick, huh? That's how you think of me?”
“Most definitely.”
Aida smiled.
“Take a sip. Let me know if they were right.”
“Aren't you going to join me?”
“Of course.” Griffin went to his chair, sat down, and filled his glass. “I was looking forward to tonight,” he said. He raised his glass. “Here's to a night you won't forget.”
Aida smiled. “A night that we both won't forget.”
“Here, here.”
Aida took a healthy sip. “Wow. This has some serious kick for real,” she said.
Griffin looked at her. “But is it sweet?”
Aida drank some more. “Very. It's good. A little strong, but good. You didn't drink any.”
Griffin put his glass down and grabbed his fork. “I want to get some food in my stomach first. Hope you enjoy.”
Aida took one more sip, put her glass down, and grabbed her fork. “I have no doubt that I will,” she said.
She stuck her fork in the rice, and as she did, a wave of dizziness came over her. She blinked her eyes a few times.
“Are you OK?” Griffin asked.
She blinked several more times and opened her eyes wide, the dizziness worsening. “Y . . . yeah. I didn't eat much today, so I guess the wine is just getting to me.”
She tried to lift her fork to her mouth, but couldn't, as the fork suddenly seemed to weigh two hundred pounds.
She suddenly felt warm all over, as though she were cooking from the inside. Her vision was becoming blurry as the room began to spin slowly.
“Shit,” she whispered.
What the hell was happening to her? She'd drunk on an empty stomach before, but nothing like this had ever happened.
She lifted her head and looked at Griffin. He was blurring in and out of focus, staring at her, his arms criss-crossed against his chest.
Something was wrong.
“W . . . what . . .” Aida started to say slowly.
“Yes?” Griffin said, his voice faded, distant.
The spinning of the room increased in speed. “Wh . . . what have you done to me?”
Griffin rose from the table, and as he did, two people appeared beside him. Two women.
Aida looked at them. Tried to focus on their distorted faces. One person she didn't recognize at all, but the other . . .
Something about her seemed familiar.
Aida squinted, trying to force her image to remain in one place.
Slowly, the woman started to come into focus. Not much, but just enough for Aida to say, “I . . . I know you.”
She felt nauseated, feverish, dizzy, weak. She tried to speak again, but couldn't.
She knew her. She was sure of it.
Aida felt her body slumping sideways.
She tried to right herself. Tried to keep from falling. Her life depended on it.
She knew her.
She tried again to rise as her body slumped further to the side.
Don't fall
, she told herself.
, she told herself.
Her head throbbed as the room spun out of control.
She raised her head again. Caught a glimpse of the blurry form, the person she recognized.
Vivian Steele.
Griffin's wife.
But she wasn't supposed to be there. That wasn't part of the plan.
Aida fell from the chair to the floor.
Before she passed out, she saw Vivian smile.
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