Most Wanted (12 page)

“I mean . . .” He looked for words. “I didn’t think it was going to be no big deal.” Lyle shrugged his shoulders and in a carefree way said, “Darling, you are making your makeup crack. A frown is not good for your look, honey,” he said and then got back to the topic at hand. “Seriously, Ms. Thing, my plan was to be in and out. Wanted to get this fire-ass blazer that I had to have. And I had even picked you up a little designer dress and was going to surprise you with it.”

Lolah was stunned into silence, quiet as a church mouse, letting her mind run on how serious this shit really could be. Something as petty as some bullshit ass blazer could get her tore off and thrown into jail for the rest of her life.

Lyle was oblivious. “Honey, you just don’t understand, that shit, that would have given the haters diarrhea. It was just that spicy.”

Meanwhile, Lolah wasn’t hearing anything he had to say at this point.

“Honey pie, get out the middle of this damn street and stop playing.”

She looked him dead in the eyes and firmly said, “Get the fuccccckkkkk out of my shit.”

Lyle had seen the look in her eyes that conveyed to him it was best to act like he was living out a Michael Jackson song and “Beat It” while he still could.

A
fter putting Lyle’s hot ass out of her car, Lolah drove a few more blocks away, parked the B’mer, and checked her lip gloss in the mirror. Once she was sure no one was looking, she gathered her personal things and got out too. She popped the trunk, grabbed her booty bag out of it, and stuffed it with the rest of the contents and let Pat and Turner go to work, patting the pavement and turning the corner.

She couldn’t do it quick enough. There was a good chance that someone had seen what happened and gotten a good look at the car. Who knows? The salesman who was hot on his trail or someone else who was watching the whole thing unfold could have jotted the license plate number down. The very last thing she needed was to be stopped by the Jakes. Sticks told her that the ID Matteo had gotten for her was official and it looked legit, but Lolah wasn’t in a hurry to put the documents to any kind of unnecessary tests. Especially not for some stupid-ass guy who wanted a blazer.

Once she had bent and turned a few corners, the first thing she did was call Sticks. “I’m in trouble,” she said when she got him on the phone, no
Hello, how are you?
Just those three words and he was all ears.

Since the call had come in from her cell, Sticks knew she wasn’t in jail. He quickly asked where she was, but before she could answer the first question, he fired off another. “Are you hurt?”

Lolah could hear the concern in his voice and it was genuine. She wondered if he was this way with everyone.

“It’s nothing like that.” Too embarrassed to even give him the rundown over the phone. Her trying to form the words in her mind, before speaking, the shit even sounded stupid to her. The first time she got out of the house on her own, she put herself in major danger of getting knocked. She told Sticks where she was and simply said, “I’ll fill you in when you get here.”

Sticks said he would be there in twenty minutes. His tow truck bent the corner in fifteen minutes flat.

Lolah walked out of the sandwich shop where she had been waiting, two cop cars had already drove by the B’mer, but neither of them had stopped.

“I’m sorry for the inconvenience,” she said when she got into the truck with Sticks. “You probably think I’m a real pain in the ass, huh?”

“You funny, baby girl. We all need a little help every now and again. But let me guess,” he said. “This has something to do with that loud-ass butterfly you met at the mall?”

“How did you know?”

“Besides the fact that fool had trouble painted across the back of his Tinker Bell-looking ass in neon colors? That was a pretty easy read,” Sticks said. “You two went out together: You are here, and he’s not.”

“Pretty good, Sherlock,” she had to admit.

“Whatever.”

Then Lolah filled him in on what had gone down. “I didn’t want to take any chances by driving the car.”

“No doubt. You did the right thing,” he assured her.

“I will make a phone call and dump the car and that’ll be the end of it,” he said in a close and shut kind of way.

Sticks acted like it was no big deal.

“Won’t your father be pissed about the ride?” She knew Sticks and Matteo weren’t hurting for any money, but there was no way that Sticks could get fair market value for a new BMW at the drop of a dime. “He’s going to take a loss, and I will pay for it if I have to.”

Sticks laughed at her naivety.

“What’s so funny?” Lolah asked.

“You still have a lot to learn,” he said, shaking his head.

Lolah didn’t appreciate the fact that he was talking to her as if she were a child. “Fuck you.” She flicked him the finger.

Sticks looked surprised that she had cursed at him, but the smile that had been glued on his face was gone.

“I wasn’t laughing at you, baby girl. Don’t be so hot tempered.”

“Then what were you laughing at?”

“The car, I thought you knew it was a bootleg.”

Lolah was too done. She frowned her face up with a mixture of confusion and surprise written all over it. “Chinese are bootlegging B’mers too. Them ma’fuckers got their hands in everything.”

The beginning of a smiled formed, but Sticks quickly got rid of it. He was a quick learner.

“My bad, baby girl, for not being clear. When I say bootleg—that means that the whip is hot, the VIN number has been changed, matching a fake new title and registration, that’s official, Motor Vehicles doesn’t even have a way to detect it. Ya feel me?”

“Okay, I got it,” she said, but was still processing the scenario of the hustle through her head.

Sticks added, “But make no mistake, the Chinese are some bad mofos too.”

It took less than thirty minutes for Sticks to complete the transaction to off the BMW, and in a strange way Lolah was impressed.

They were on their way back to the house when she asked, “Is bootleg vehicles another entity of your and Matteo’s business?”

“Not really. Don’t have the time and energy it takes to do it right. So that everything can smooth over, between the supplier of the cars, clientele to dump them in a timely manner, babysit the folks who doctor the titles and registrations. Too time consuming, detail orientated for me. Got better shit to do with my time.”

Just as Sticks completed his sentence, Lolah got an idea. Getting into the car game would be perfect for her. She knew a little about cars and had the patience to see each car through. She also needed the money because her stash was running low and a new hustle could keep her busy as well as paid.

“I just had a thought; hear me out.”

“I’m afraid to ask.”

“Why don’t you give me the game? Let me do it.” He was quiet and was about to shut her down, but she started talking a mile a minute. “I can’t live off you and your father for the rest of my life. He always tells me I’m a part of the family and he wants me to feel like it. Then I should be able to contribute to the family business. Make my own money, which I’ve always done. And since playing poker, doing hair or makeup is totally out, why not bootleg cars?”

When Sticks didn’t answer right away, she gave him a small sample of her résumé. “I’m smart, savvy, and business minded.” Then she went on to tell him about her salon and a few other ventures, legal and illegal, she had been a part of.

Sticks reluctantly shared the pros and cons of the endeavor at hand. “Trust me, it’s not as easy as it sounds. Besides, if you are as good as you think you are, the competition won’t like you and that could pose as a problem.”

Lolah asked, “Are you afraid of the competition?” She knew the question would punch at his ego.

Sticks quickly pointed out, “It’s not about being afraid or not afraid. It’s about avoiding unnecessary trouble whenever possible. Ya feel me?”

“I feel ya, Sticks.”

“Good.”

“But also know that some waters just have to be addressed once you get to the bridge.”

Sticks couldn’t deny the girl could sell water to a whale, he thought, and then asked her, “Are you always this persistent when you want something?”

“Always,” she said confidently.

Sticks thought for a moment before relenting. “I know this guy,” he said, “that may be able to help you out with inventory, and has a few clients who would be ready to deal as quick as you get your hands on the cars.”

“When can I meet him?” she asked, of the guy who could supply her with product.

“Slow down, baby girl.” He made a left into their neighborhood. “He hangs out at this real fly ass club on Sunday nights. We can go and I will introduce you. You are going to have to dress to impress.”

“That’s who Lolah Escarda is, a glamorous chick who is definitely about that life,” she reminded him.

“But no promises.”

Lolah smiled. She knew that all she needed was the ropes and the introduction and she could take it from there. “I couldn’t ask for anything more.”

“L
olah,” Sticks called out from the bottom of the steps. “Man, bring your ass on if you trying to make this move.”

“Here I come,” she said as she applied her lipstick, then took one last glance over in the mirror.

She had been up in her quarters for the past few hours trying to pull herself together. Her father told her it was better to always be safe than sorry. To play it safe, Lolah made some changes to her appearance just in case anyone had gotten a good enough look to identify her the day before as she made her fast getaway courtesy of Lyle. She dyed her hair from jet black to a honey blond, which with her light complexion made her look more exotic and complemented the gray contacts she inserted. This transformation definitely was her best yet, totally upgrading and polishing her look to a whole other level.

The red-bottom shoes were talking, loud, saying I’m a badass bitch, and the way she was wearing the red short dress proved it. Though Sticks was the one who had shelled out the cash for it, there was no doubt that she owned that baby. The confidence came from Sticks when she locked eyes with him. He didn’t have to say it, but the look on Sticks’s face when she came downstairs co-signed that she was about to knock the city of Miami dead.

Club Liv was the trendiest club on the East Coast, housed inside the famous Fontainebleau Hotel. On Sunday nights, even the biggest of the ballers needed reservations to get in. Valet parking looked like it could’ve been a set for the ultimate Cash Money Records video. Only MEGA ballers popped up unannounced, flashes from the paparazzi’s cameras reflecting off their heads as they tried to sneak in unnoticed, which was damn near impossible.

Lolah had done as she was told, dressed to impress. The red dress was made with a low neck and no back. The material hugged her body like a convict serving life held his wife during the conjugal visits. And her shoes were killing it. The way she walked in the six-inch heels made her ass sit up like a baby in a high chair.

“Are you sure we are going to be able to get in?” Lolah asked Sticks as they were standing in the lobby with the rest of the crowd. Sticks, wearing a mocha-colored two-piece Armani with matching slip-on Ferragamo gators, complemented her ensemble like Godiva chocolate on big red strawberries.

“Don’t doubt me, baby, just stand by my side,” he said. “Trust me.” He smiled, and said in a flirtatious way, “That’s all I want from you.”

“You can always count on me,” she said, batting her long eyelashes. She reached for his hand and gripped it tight.

When Lolah recognized a rapper with dreads get turned away, she got worried. If he couldn’t make it to the other side of Liv’s doors, how would they be able to? she wondered.

Once they reached the entrance she caught a look over by the bouncer. His back was wide enough to park a small car on it. “How’s it hanging, Sticks?” Right away, the oversized bouncer embraced Sticks with a brotherly handshake.

Sticks answered, “That’s between me and your girlfriend.” He looked to be serious as a heart attack; then he let out a small smirk. “You know how I do.”

Unfazed by the shot, the bouncer said, “That’s why I don’t put rings on their fingers, ’cause of players like you.” He patted Sticks on the back, and just like that they were inside.

A hostess who Sticks addressed as Claudette asked him if she wanted her to lead them to the good spot. She flirted with him as if Lolah wasn’t standing there. She had no idea why this girl was getting under her skin. Sticks wasn’t her man
yet,
but if Sticks had been Lolah’s boyfriend, she may have checked the chick with a bitch-these-Louis-bout-to-be-up-your-ass look. But because their relationship was completely platonic, she let it fly.

“If you don’t mind, honey.” Sticks smiled like he and Claudette were close friends. “You can show me where Carlos is seated.”

Claudette gave Lolah a quick, appraising glance before addressing Sticks. “Carlos is expecting you?”

He nodded, then said, “He will be, when I see him.”

Claudette led the way with her ass swaying provocatively to the beat to a 2 Chainz cut, “All I want for my birthday is a big booty girl,” to Carlos’s table. Lolah couldn’t believe how big the girl’s butt was; she sucked it up that it must have had to be a product of butt shots. Carlos sat at a table near the rear of the club. He was sitting alone texting on his iPhone, with a bucket of champagne on his table.

He happened to look up and noticed them. “Sticks.” The man they had come to see stood up and acknowledged them. “Long time no see.” He gave him a brotherly hug. “Man, where you been?” It was apparent that he was happy to see Sticks.

“Here, there, all around.”

Carlos’s eyes quickly settled on Lolah. “Who is your friend?” he asked right away, looking her up and down.

Carlos was extremely handsome, Lolah thought. He had a full head of thick curly black hair, straight white teeth, and a slight Spanish accent. He was dressed to the nines, jewelry was big with lots of shiny diamonds.

“My name is Lolah,” she said, holding out her hand.

Sticks was surprised when Carlos took her hand, turned it over, and kissed the back. “Indeed, the pleasure is all mine.” Then he looked at his phone; there was a call coming in. He sent it to voice mail and asked Sticks to have a seat. “Maybe you can enlighten me on how many tickets one has to scratch to hit the lottery of this magnitude.”

Sticks blushed.

Carlos’s eyes flashed back to Lolah, lingered a second before turning to Sticks. “Clearly you are the lucky winner of the big prize.”

Sticks joked, “If I had all your bread, I’d burn all mine.”

At least Lolah thought he was joking anyway.

When they set down in the booth with Carlos, Claudette appeared with two additional glasses, then disappeared again, but without shooting Sticks another one of her come-fuck-me smiles.

Sticks told Carlos that he and Lolah were only good friends, “like family.” He said, “But by no means does that mean she’s available to you. I didn’t bring her here as a gift to you. I brought her for business reasons, playboy.”

“Business?” He seemed so confused. Then he looked at his phone and sent it to voice mail again and the same number continued to call back-to-back and he didn’t bother to answer.

Sticks continued, “That’s right,” he said, “she wants to go into business and I told her you’d be a good ally.” Lolah watched Carlos closely, the same way she did her opponent when playing cards, just like her father had taught her, looking for tales of deception. Carlos’s eyes bounced from hers to Sticks, from Sticks to hers, then back to Sticks.

“You pulling my leg, right?” Carlos seemed amused at the notion of going into business with a woman. “Why would a pretty girl like her want to get in such a dirty business?”

The bastard may have been cute, Lolah thought, but he was also a chauvinist.

Sticks explained, “I haven’t even told you which business she’s interested in.”

Carlos squinted his face as if he were in physical pain. “But all business is ugly, especially the ones I deal in.” He added, “Definitely no place for a woman.”

Lolah pulled out all of her chips and placed them in the pot. She spoke up for herself, “It’s simple.” She crossed her legs. “I want to bootleg cars. I don’t need a babysitter or your money as any kind of investments. I have my own money, and plenty of it. So, I don’t need no handouts. But . . .” she paused for a second and let her eyes meet Carlos’s. “I do want your services. If I can get them, I’ll be grateful. In return, I’ll give you my loyalty, and I assure you my loyalty is something that can’t be wavered or brought. I promise at the end of the day to make you enough money for you to appreciate and respect me.” Placing her hands on the side on his thigh, she said, “You feel me?”

Through his pants, Carlos’s body temperature rose, and Lolah was sure it wasn’t the only thing on his body that was going up.

“Maybe we can do some business,” Carlos said, “but”—he put his finger up—“on a trial basis. Give me a day or so to stew over the . . . uh . . . proposition, and I’ll get back to you. Is this to your satisfaction?”

Sticks couldn’t believe what had just transgressed. No one ever demanded anything from Carlos, especially not a woman and a woman he had never seen or knew nothing about. Lolah smiled seductively knowing that he’d see things her way.

“I couldn’t ask for anything more.”

“Let’s all have a drink—enough of this business talk,
si
?”

Carlos filled their glasses and proposed a toast. “To friends over business.”

They all touched glasses and took a sip of twelve-hundred-dollar-a-bottle expensive grapes.