Most Wanted (11 page)

I
n those first days, Peaches tried to get a read on her hosts and the lay of the land. In many ways, Matteo was just like her father, and when he wasn’t busy handling business, he reminisced with her about his days back in Virginia. But he didn’t mention her mother again after Sticks walked out during one of his stories.

Sticks seemed to run hot and cold. Sometimes Peaches would catch him looking at her—like when she was sunbathing on the deck—and she knew he was undressing her with his eyes. But whenever Peaches tried to talk to him, he seemed polite but dismissive. He finally came around when she asked to ride along with him to get acquainted with the Miami streets. After all, it was her new home until her father could figure out a way to clear her name.

After a few days of being stuck in the house or rolling with Sticks while he towed cars or ran one of the other family businesses, the Dominican doctor finally arrived in Miami to alter her fingerprints. The procedure—done with a laser— went fine, but Peaches couldn’t help feeling low-spirited. She couldn’t call anyone back home, didn’t know if her father was okay. The reality of it all was hitting her like a bag of hammers. She would never be able to return home again until she was proved innocent.

Peaches worried that she may never be able to prove that she committed the homicides in self-defense. How would she be able to live life on the run, and for forever? And the answer was yes if the alternative meant life in prison. She had no choice but to try to pick up the pieces and press on, always looking over her shoulder and sleeping with one eye open and one eye ready to open at a moment’s notice.

She was forced to seek refuge in a new city. She would have to learn the people, areas, and culture, and she didn’t know anyone; everything and everyone was a mystery to her. In all actuality, the beautiful side of Miami wasn’t such a bad place to start over.

A couple of days later, as an attempt to cheer her up, Sticks took her out to lunch. It was her first time on South Beach. She had heard a lot of chatter about it but had no idea that she would love it so much on the happening Ocean Drive strip. On one side of the street, the crystal-colored sand and jade blue water looked like a slice of paradise on Earth. The Eves strutting their stuff half naked, while the Adams fantasized about biting the proverbial apple. The other side of the street was lined with restaurant after restaurant serving every dish and delicacy imaginable.

It was barely noon on a Sunday and the strip was jam-packed, everyone enjoying God’s gift that had been embellished by the hands of man. But even with all the excitement, Peaches couldn’t escape the possible thought that prison could be in her future. In the midst of all the excitement of watching the fast cars and faster women, the what-ifs clouded Peaches’s thoughts. What if she was caught and dragged back to Richmond to trial? What if the jury didn’t believe her and she was found guilty? What if she had to spend her life in jail for protecting herself? What would she do in jail but rot and die? One murder meant life in prison, but four, that was a guaranteed four life sentences, and add on a few attempted murders and that equaled forever. Peaches could not even imagine ever allowing that to happen.

Sticks could tell that her body was there with him, but her mind was on the other side of the would-haves, could-haves, and should-haves with the ifs, ands, and buts in Virginia. Though she tried to keep a poker face, he somehow could read her mind.

“You know you should take advantage,” Sticks said, his sexy dimples distracting her from her pretense of watching the people who passed by.

Peaches turned her attention to Sticks. “Advantage of what?” she asked.

He reached across the table and clasped her hands. “Look, baby girl.” He never used her real name in public, not wanting the wrong person to hear it slip out. “With so many ethnicities, Miami is truly the world’s melting pot. This is the perfect opportunity to blend in and be whoever you want to be.” Sticks leaned in close to her ear and spoke to her in a tone above a whisper. “You will be one of maybe millions of people who choose to start a new life here, in a land of new beginning, for so many.”

“I hear you.” She spoke slowly, trying to figure out if he was talking about her or something more.

“Real talk, baby girl. People risk their lives to come here on old inner tubes, rafts, and planks of wood just for the sake to live a better life and to escape the hell where they came from. You should do the same.”

The things Sticks said definitely made good sense—a lot of sense. She looked down at their joined hands and felt butterflies of excitement in her stomach. Yes, she could re-create herself in Miami, and she could see herself giving Sticks a test drive.

Once Sticks felt he had her attention he pushed even harder to take his point home. He looked in her eyes and kept going on. “It would be so simple, easier than you think, probably. Your Pops told mine amongst your many talents that you create images for people all the time. Gotta give you props, that’s a pretty neat gift to have. And right now, that’s the best thing going for you. So if you can do for other people, you can definitely do that shit for yourself.”

She listened and took in every word he was saying, and he knew he had her, so he kept going. “Think about whoever you aspire to be and be her. Or him for all I know.”

Peaches slugged him on the shoulder. “You are not funny.” She play hit him.

“I’m serious, and Pops will get the proper papers for you. Birth certificate, social security number and card. Trust me, that type of shit is right down his alley. He knows people who could ‘paper’ you up and make you legit. And whatever you need to create this person on a physical level, I’ll assist you however you need me to. So don’t worry, just figure it out and we got ya back.”

Peaches looked in his eyes and saw how genuine he truly was. Besides her father, and his friends, nobody wanted to make sure that she was really okay. She was flattered that Sticks really wanted the best for her.

Peaches joked, “But be careful who and what you ask for. What if I create someone neither one of us like?” She said sarcastically, “You may be helping me create a monster like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.”

“I’ll take my chances,” he said with a lopsided smile. “And I think you are far too pretty, outside and inside, to turn into any type of monster. One more question.”

“Shoot.”

“Have you thought of a name yet?”

She hadn’t, but right then one rolled off her tongue and it sounded perfect . . .

“Lolah Escarda.”

T
he process of creating her new persona began by removing her current weave and dying her auburn hair to jet black now. She settled upon a bob haircut with some Chinese bangs. The job on her hair alone had taken the entire rest of the day.

The next morning she was up early, ready to go shopping for her new gear to complement the look she had created. Before leaving the house, she inserted some hazel contacts into her eyes. With her pecan complexion it totally blended in perfectly, giving her an exotic appearance; she could easily pass for Dominican, Haitian, Trinidadian, or Ethiopian, or someone of Spanish decent.

Between Aventura Mall and the Bal Harbour Shops, she blew through a ridiculous amount of money all in the name of re-creating herself. She knew her new persona appreciated nice things and designer tags.

She looked at herself in the mirror wearing one of the new outfits, new hair color and style, contacts, and makeup. Lolah Escarda stared back: a beautiful, young, sexy, and sophisticated woman. At that moment she realized that not only was she totally morphing into someone else, but long gone was the sweet, innocent, urban girl who had arrived from Virginia on a barge a little over two weeks ago. Everything she purchased was more sexy, sophisticated, and high end than any of the things she owned in Virginia. Her entire style would be different from her hip-hop persona that she fled.

Sticks had changed too. It seemed like since they’d had their conversation at the restaurant on Ocean Drive, Sticks was trying to put his stamp on her. She was definitely interested, but she didn’t want him to get the idea they were exclusive.

Creating Lolah required the kind of shopping that was an all-day affair and Sticks had been a good sport about it.

It was dark when she tried on one last dress. When she came out, she looked at herself in the triple-take mirror in the luxury boutique shop.

Sticks, patiently waiting with all of her bags, looked up from his iPhone with a nod and a look of approval. “That one looks like it was made for you, baby girl.” He was about to say something else but just that quick Lolah had already caught the attention of another admirer.

“That is everything. Oooh, honey child, baby, baby, baby. And I say that in my Wendy Williams voice.” This flamboyant “shim” walked up wearing some skintight red skinny leg jeans with a neon pink sheer button-down shirt—nipples showing and all. Some red, white, and black bracelets and big red and gold earrings. Lolah looked him over and saw his high-heeled animal print Christian Louboutin pumps, and his big limited edition Louis Vuitton bag holding a couple of tops in his hand. He had his hand covering his mouth. “Ooohhh, you looking kind of scrumptious there, honey dip.”

“Why, thank you, and you looking kind of brightly couture yourself.”

“Well, thank you, my dear,” he said, batting his eyelashes. “You not slouching yourself, honey; you give me fever with that dress on. Somebody going to be real lucky,” he said, putting his hand up to his mouth as if it was a secret.

“Aww, that’s sweet,” Lolah said, as the two of them could’ve continued exchanging compliments all day.

“And who did your makeup?” he asked.

“I did.”

“Shut up,” he said. Then asked, “You a makeup artist?”

Lolah looked at Sticks as if she wanted to say yes, but let him know that she knew better when she said, “No, but I love to play in makeup.”

The saleslady came with a top, but Lolah shook her head and declined it.

“What else are you trying on?” the guy asked. Lolah showed him the other things and they chitchatted like two old friends while Sticks was sending texts as if he were not paying the two any mind. Lolah asked the saleslady to unzip her and she went back into the dressing room.

The cross-dressed guy was impressed. “Where are you going? Where are you thinking about wearing that dress to?” he asked from the other side of the door.

Sticks spoke up. “Nowhere special, this is just her life.”

“Oh, okay, WOW. What a life Ms. Thing has.” He peeked out the door. When Lolah opened the door to exit her fitting room, he looked her over and said, “We need to be friends. It’s simply a must.”

Lolah smiled in agreement, then said, “Yes, we do. It’s a must.”

“I’m Lyle,” he introduced himself.

“And I’m Lolah.”

While the two exchanged phone numbers, Sticks paid for the last two dresses and grabbed the bags from the saleswoman. Lolah liked how Sticks handled everything throughout the entire day. He was always a perfect gentleman and treated her like a queen. From the way he looked at her, she knew he wanted more than friendship. Peaches was still feeling him out, but knew something had to give soon ’cause there were so many things, and women, he could be doing instead of spending his time with her. But so far, there were no strings attached.

“G
irl, you know the new Louis just came in, and you know we needs to be up in there,” Lyle said to Lolah.

“Without a doubt.” Lolah was excited. That’s the one thing that she was able to keep from her past, her admiration for Louis Vuitton. “I’m gonna let you know what time I can meet you there.”

“Actually, baby cakes, I need you to come scoop me up and we ride together.” Lyle often spoke of himself in the third person. “The Bombshell is having a little car trouble. And over my dead body will I let something as small as an automobile keep The Bombshell away from anything limited edition.”

“Yes, I know The Bombshell is entirely too exclusive for that,” Lolah acknowledged. “Well, let me try to pull a rabbit out of my hat. I’m going to call you back in a few.”

Lolah hung up the phone wondering how she was getting out of the house without one of her two permanent chaperones in her space.

It had been two months since she had settled into her new Miami life, and without a doubt, it was time she broke loose on her own and made a life for herself. The only problem that she faced was that she had to convince Matteo to let his guard down a little. She wanted her own car, to be able to come and go as she pleased, and most of all to move around without Sticks on her heels.

But she had to admit that she secretly liked Sticks doting over her. He was tall, dark, and hella handsome. Though he was a tough guy in so many ways, in the most important ways, when it came to her, he was a perfect gentleman. He was naturally a fun guy to be around, and a man around town. He knew everybody in the city and was good company, but she knew she couldn’t build her new beginning around him. Besides, he had his own life to live. Just because hers had been disrupted didn’t give her the right to intrude on his.

She wanted and needed to break away. She felt like she was being too sheltered, and even though Sticks didn’t show it, she was sure that he was tired of babysitting her. So before things went and she wore out his welcome cramming his style, she wanted to begin to build her own life.

Lolah approached Matteo, who was sitting in the kitchen reading
The New York Times
while watching the news at the same time. Go figure.

He said, “Good morning, beautiful,” when she leaned in, kissing him on the cheek.

“Good morning,” she said. “Would you like a cappuccino?”

“Don’t mind if I do,” he said with a smile as she put the high-end coffeemaker on. She got the cups out, popped two fresh bagels in the toaster, and sat down across from him.

“So, I want to thank you for everything that you’ve done for me. I mean, the way that without any questions you two bachelors let me move into your house, never complaining about all of my stuff. You two have made my needs and my survival a priority just on the strength of my daddy and I appreciate that.”

“That’s because you are special and you are our priority,” Matteo confessed to her.

Her heart almost melted. “Aww, thank you,” she replied, while wondering who was buttering up whom now. She got up and grabbed the bagel and put the cream cheese spread all over it for him. Then she came out with it. “Matteo, I think it’s time that I did a few things alone.”

“Really? Things like what?” he asked, with one eyebrow raised.

“Like . . . girl stuff.”

“Such as?” He questioned her as if she were his very own daughter, which was something he never had. But having Lolah around made him like the idea of it. But at his age, he’d passed on trying to bring that thought into reality. Embracing and treating Lolah like she was his own was going to have to do.

“Like . . .” she said, seeking direct eye-to-eye contact. Her dad used to tell her that if she wanted a man’s respect, she should always look him in the eyes when speaking to him. “Go to the mall and have lunch with a friend.”

“You do that now,” Matteo said, referring to the times when he or Sticks escorted her.

“Aww, don’t get me wrong, Sticks is the best and he really holds me down and looks out for me. But at the end of the day, I’m such a girly girl and he’s such a man’s man. And in his defense, he doesn’t want to be hanging around at the mall all day with me. He got things to do and people to see.”

“Now, don’t get it wrong. He likes the mall too. That boy of mine is serious about his clothes,” Matteo said. “Serious.”

He wasn’t exaggerating either; Sticks did do the damn thing with the gear whenever he changed out of his towing uniform.

“He is,” she had to admit. “But not the same way as a girl.”

Matteo was quiet for a minute, but he understood where she was coming from. He just hated that it came this soon. He knew good and well that he couldn’t continue to smother the girl, and if she truly was going to be Lolah Escarda, he would eventually have to let her fly. “I can loosen the reins a little, but there will still be rules and a curfew,” he finally said.

“I will still stay close to home and under Sticks still, but I just want a little freedom.”

“I understand. But while you are roaming the city alone, just don’t forget why you are really living here. I think you have to make a life for yourself, but you must be very careful. You never know who is watching you or what little thing can open a can of worms,” he lectured.

“Understood,” she said with great sincerity and respect.

Matteo gave her the keys to a black BMW Z4 roadster and ushered her into the garage where the car was parked.

“Very nice!” He showed her how to work some of the added amenities. She was surprised that he would give her a car this nice.

“Yeah, not too flashy, a nice vehicle for this Lolah girl. I know you have to look the part. You can’t have eight hundred dollar shoes on and be driving a thirty thousand dollar car. Just doesn’t make sense,” he reasoned. “I’m not too old to know that image is everything.”

Lolah smiled because truly it was.

“And perception is key,” she added.

Matteo was a wise man with great understanding. Though he was a bit old-fashioned sometimes, she loved him like an uncle, godfather, or even a surrogate father for how he had taken her in. Though he could never in a million years take the place of her real father, he was a damn good fill-in.

It was still uncertain to her the true dynamics of the bond that tied Matteo and her father together. But one thing she was sure of, it was a strong bond. And as bad as she wanted to know, she couldn’t take time to figure it out. Instead, she hurried, got dressed, and rushed out the house before he changed his mind.

 

Though he could never be too careful when it came to Peaches, when things calmed down a bit, Mickey got a burner phone to call Peaches. Even though he’d been pulling in favors around town, trying to dig up dirt on the men Peaches killed, he didn’t have enough ammo for her defense. Toepani and his cops were determined to find Peaches, and posters were up all over town offering a reward for her capture. Months had passed, and it looked like Peaches was going to have to stay in hiding for a lot longer than expected.

Once they were done with the call, Mickey would destroy the SIM card and the phone so the call would not be tracked. For each call, Mickey got a new phone from a different spot. Mickey usually called Peaches every Thursday to check on her and give her an update on the investigation.

After Peaches spoke with her father, she went to pick Lyle up from his house, and they had a great day hanging out together. He was as extra as they come, and exciting at the same time. Being out with him made her realize just how much she’d missed her girlfriends and the ladies from her salon back home.

Lolah and Lyle cruised down Washington Street with the top back and Chanel scarfs wrapped around their heads, tied under their necks, Thelma and Louise style. Lyle turned the volume down on the classic Lil’ Kim, Queen B CD they were rocking. “Can you pull in here and let me run into the store?” Lyle asked. “Chile’, you don’t even have to park. You can sit in the car; I just need to pick up one thing. I’ll be in and out in a flash, trust,” he assured her.

“Cool,” Lolah said as she pulled in front of the high-end couture boutique.

Parking was damn near impossible to find, so she pulled right in front of the store in the no parking zone, flipped on the emergency flashers, and prayed that no one came to give her a ticket.

Lyle hopped out and made his way in while Lolah continued listening to the music but didn’t crank the volume back up. While she waited for Lyle to come back, naturally, she pulled the mirror down on the sun visor and applied a layer of Lucid lip gloss to her kissers and Mac press powder on her face to take the shine off her forehead. As she put the finishing touches on her face, something told her to look in the rearview mirror. Lyle was hightailing it out of the store, working his six-inch stilettos in the wind like track shoes. He was moving pretty fast, but not fast enough. It seemed like he wanted to run, but his six-inch stilettos were holding him up.

“Start the car, bitch,” he managed to yell as he almost fell. He ran his out of his shoes and left them suckers right on the ground. She saw the look on his face that said, “Time to break out, bitch.” And make no mistake about it, she didn’t hesitate to do what she was told to do. Whatever was going on, she didn’t want to be caught up in the mix.

Without hesitation, she put the car in Reverse, hit the button to raise the top, and backed up a little to try to help him get to the car quicker. When he noticed that Lolah was bout it-bout it, that’s when Lyle turned around and, like a track star, made a dash to go back and grab his shoes.

Unbelievable. “Are you fucking kidding me?” she said as if he could really hear her.

Lolah had one foot on the gas and one on the brake. She was about to reach over for the door handle, but he dove into the car without even opening the door as it was rolling down the street. One of the store employees had been hot on his heels literally hitting the trunk of the car as Lolah took off like a madwoman. The BMW ate up Washington Street and hung a right on Fifth.

Lolah didn’t know what the hell was going on, but she didn’t waste time asking questions.

“What the fucccckkkk just happened?” Lolah asked as she peeled out of there and headed northbound on the highway, making a clean getaway.

“Bitch, I almost lost these motherfuckers?” Lyle had taken off his crystalized Yves Saint Laurent pumps off and held them in his hand, examining them for scratches or scuffs. “Boo-Boo, do you know what I had to do to get these bitches?” Before Lolah could respond, Lyle told her, “These babies were supposed to be on back order, but I hunted these babies down like wild game. Shiiiiit, I wish I would let these gems get away.” Lyle kept going on about the damn shoes while Lolah was in the process of trying to remember everything that Matteo had told her just this morning about the tricked-out BMW. She hit a button on the CD player to change the license plates. Another button to make the transitional tint on the windows to get darker. And another to change the inside color of the wheels from black to chrome.

“Bitch, what the fuck we rolling in?” Lyle was surprised at the car’s features. “A fucking James Bond 007? Bitch, you got some explaining to do about this pimped-out shit. I know your peoples do cars and shit, but this shit here . . . is some atomic bomb type shit.”

Lolah ignored him and said, “Shut the fuck up about the car and the got-damn shoes, and tell me why in the hell the people was chasing you like you stole something.”

“Some fucking bullshit,” Lyle said, blowing her off. He then reached into his Chanel bag for his phone and called up somebody.

Before Lolah could begin to express her frustrations, he was already jabbering a hundred miles a minute to someone on the other end of the phone. “Why the fuck? You give me a hot-ass card?” he said to whomever he was on the phone with. “Yeah, that shit was fucking flagged like a soldier. Hell, like a fool wearing a turban in the got-damn airport. Motherfuckers got The Bombshell on tape and some more shit. Hell, fucking with y’all, I might be on the evening news tonight. Who the fuck knows? All the fuck I do know is they almost had The Bombshell’s ass, but I smelt something fishy by the way the cashier was acting. Bitch gone tell me she gotta call in for an authorization.” He continued with the one-sided conversation. “After the shit took too long to go through, the bitch tells me something going on with their machine. But The Bombshell is smarter than that. I knew that look, and The Bombshell immediately said I’d come back. And as soon as I made my way to the door, bitch motioned for security to grab The Bombshell. But shit, The Bombshell was too fast for that fat motherfucker who luckily was paying for his Chinese food he’d just ordered.”

Lolah had heard more than she needed to hear and was furious. Her first thought was to smack the cowboy shit out of him so hard that his head would fly out the passenger’s side of the window. But she knew that it was best that her intellect override her emotions, and that’s when she took a deep breath and asked him to get off the phone.

“Hang up,” Lolah said to Lyle, then took an exit off the highway.

Lyle wasn’t done with making his point on the horn and had the unmitigated gall to put his index finger up, for
her
to wait a minute while he finished
his
one-sided conversation.

Lolah slammed on the B’mer’s brakes, forcing the tires to produce skid marks. Lyle bumped his head on the dashboard. Lolah said, “Now get the fuck off the phone.” She spoke firmly in a way that Lyle knew she was serious as cancer. He didn’t say the proper good-bye to whomever he had been going on and on with. He simply disconnected the call.

Lolah was trying to keep her cool, but cool went out the window a few miles back. “Now, let me get this straight. So, you went into a store, leaving me out front of the store, top back, music playing, in freaking bird’s-eye surveillance camera’s view, unbeknown to me that I’d been given the title as getaway driver?” she asked, wanting an answer from Lyle even though she already knew what the answer was.