Pink Lips (19 page)

“I have my ways. I know you didn't think I was going to think a man like you actually lived in a retirement home. Once you gave me your name, it opened the door for a lot of research.”

“This penthouse isn't in my name.”

“But, it's in something that's close to your name. In this business, I have learned that most people that use aliases to get houses, apartments, or penthouses,” Kail looked around, “use a name that's similar to their own. So, I just search for the one thing a normal person wouldn't, and boom, you came right on up.”

“Smart.” Vinny puffed on his cigar using the stairs to get out of the Jacuzzi. He grabbed a towel from the edge of the hot tub and then wrapped it around his body. “So what other information do you need?”

“Is he really my father?”

“Yes,” Vinny said in a low voice as if ears were listening.

“Okay, that's cool.” Kail stood and checked her cell phone that was clipped to her brown leather belt.

“Can you still do it, knowing that he's your poppa?” Vinny asked in an irritated tone.

“You're kidding me, right?” Kail locked her eyes on Vinny's. “That nigga ain't did shit for me. It would be a suicide mission for anyone else. But, I'm not just anyone.”

“You will be one of the only people he put his guard down for. You are the only person who can pull this shit off.” Vinny snapped his fingers. Moments later, a Haitian woman draped in nothing but a pair of stilettos came walking toward them with a briefcase in her hand.

“What is that?” Kail sat back down, interested in the money she was about to be offered.

“Five hundred thousand,” Vinny said as the woman handed him the briefcase. “It's insurance for his death. You can say a bonus so I'll know you get this done. So, can you do it?”

“Of course,” she said, grabbing the briefcase. She walked into the night, passing the entrance of the penthouse and entered the elevator, never looking back.

W
illow had that recurring dream again. A slumbering moon, haloed by a scattering of stars that twinkled more than a thousand diamonds, lit up the sky as dark as thick black velvet, worn and faded toward the edges. Thunder and lightning flashed throughout the ominous sky as light trickles of rain fell from the heavens. In the distance, she could see a small house, the windows of light mimicking the stars, and a church bell tolling the witching hour's melancholic start. It seemed the house was her objective; nothing else mattered.

She shuffled down a street, her eyes flickering back and forth. Every opening door and every shrill bird call caused her to jump. Her hand unconsciously tightened around something in her hand that felt like a gun. The sound of a car coming from behind forced her to turn around. Her heart froze and her stomach turned icy as she saw the vermilion red truck lumbering down the street; an unknown assailant operating it from behind tinted windows.

Turning back around, she ran down the soul-searing street, and as she turned her head, she could see the murderer speeding up. Facing forward, she began to sprint, fear clouding her mind and adrenaline pumping through her veins. However, her efforts were in vain. The pickup truck accelerated, catching up to her in an instant.

Running faster, the dirt from the streets started to accumulate around her; with every step arousing the tailing red truck. Her breathing quickened, trying to appease her need for oxygen, but it was disturbed by the dirt. Her nasal passages and eyes got a large amount of dirt in them. She felt trapped; like she was suffocating in the midst of her escape. She had to try to get away, though. Regardless of how much her body rejected, that was all she could do to survive.

Her legs became wary as her feet desperately attempted to create a form of traction—something that was lacking. She was stuck for a moment with her knees touching as she coughed from inhaling the heavy grayish-brown substance.

The sounds from the truck's horn called out from behind her as the tires' screech grew closer and closer. She looked around as goose bumps lined her pale skin as failed attempts to think of a plan escaped her brain, almost patronizing her. She looked ahead and dashed toward the alley with nowhere else to go.

Before she could make it past the alley, there he stood: Duke. She opened her mouth to say something to him. He was wearing the same clothing as the night of the shooting, and before she could open her mouth, a bullet pierced through his head and into hers. And before she could die on the street inside the alley, she woke up.

Today wasn't any different from any other days since Duke had died. The annoying shrill of her alarm clock called out, halting her faltered nightmare. Willow jolted up, her eyes squinted shut, trying to ward off the filtered sunlight drifting in; the inevitable dread of opening them to the sudden glare of a dimly lit room. She opened only one, quickly feeling the burn in her shocked retinas, before slamming it shut again. The burn—all she could think of was the burn.

She touched her face, assuring it was only a dream; it felt so real. She had broken out in a cold sweat, her silk pajamas soaked, and she was shaking in fear. She moaned from the tapping sunlight against her face, wondering how long she'd been sleeping, wondering why she kept having those nightmares. She blinked, shut her eyes, and blinked again. She yawned as her heart slowly left the middle of her throat and returned to its relatively normal pace in its proper spot, her chest.

Willow took her ponytail holder off, releasing her goddess-like curls as she walked over to make sure the front door was locked and to check around the condo. Kail was gone as usual and she was alone. She walked over to her floor entertainment system and put in Mary J. Blige's
My Life
CD, letting Mary's soulful voice be therapy to her ripping, tortured soul. She looked out the window and the same security men that had been there for the past week were still parked on her street per Rock's orders.

She walked toward her bathroom, undressing little by little, imagining how soothing the boiling-hot water of her walk-in shower would feel on her mourning skin. She desired a long, steamy session. She cut the water on to the temperature she was yearning for and stepped in with no reservations.

Great drops fell from her eyes, colliding and joining the timid water sprouting from the head of the shower; the heavy rainclouds in her mind let loose their turbulent nature and everything she fought to hold in came spewing out with no apologies. With the love of her life gone, she cried as if the entire world, and all of its beauty, had come to an end. She sobbed as if she were a mere newborn seconds after being birthed into the world.

She cut off the faucet as salty drops fell upon her velvet skin. She grabbed a towel off the rack hanging outside of the walk-in shower and wrapped it around her sorrowful body. She wiped her
tears away as she passed the convex mirror hanging from the wall of the long hallway that led to her bedroom.

Willow dried off her hourglass frame and walked inside her massive closet space to find something to wear. Knowing the circumstances, she really didn't care how she would look. However, out of respect for Duke and knowing that he was all about appearances, she would have to get fly for his funeral.

She flipped through racks, going through so many brands, which all had the tags still attached. She stopped when she saw a little black dress made by her favorite label, Chanel. She slid the dress on, grabbed a pair of unworn heels from the top rack, and left the closet.

With her makeup done, her heels on, and hair gently teased with soft curls, it was time to go. Cutting off all of the lights before she left, she stepped into the hallway as her heels clicked on the beautiful granite flooring that aligned the lounges of the building.

“Are you ready?” Junior asked from the bottom of the stairs as he leaned on the railing with his hand.

“As I'll ever be. Where's Kail?”

“She left with security a long time ago to check everything out. She is going to meet us there, but I need you to ride with me.”

“Okay,” Willow said as they exited the building. Two black SUVs waited on them.

They pulled up to the church. Willow put her shades on and got out of the car. The sun was shining and raindrops hit her as she stared into the sky. It seemed like it always rained on days of funerals.

She saw a lot of familiar faces when she entered the double doors. Many eyes followed her and Junior as they found seats.
Men from different sets were there; it was packed. Willow knew Duke was a real dude and niggas wanted to show their respect. She found it to be admirable.

As Kail sat next to her on the pew, Willow couldn't grasp reality while sitting there; everything felt so surreal to her. She couldn't believe that she was attending Duke's funeral. It felt like it wasn't true, and no matter how sad the mood was set in, she couldn't get into it.

Time came for the services to start and the pallbearers brought the casket in and set it down. The casket was closed. Willow guessed the family had made the decision to ease some of the pain. Chances were he looked like he had the last time she had seen him, so she couldn't blame them.

Everyone stood as Duke's family entered the church and took their seats. She had never seen his family before, nor met them. They all looked alike. His family was very neat-looking and they all shared the same skin tone.

The pastor started to speak before a variety of songs were sung by the large choir. The whole box of Kleenex that Willow had was empty by the time the services were over. Her emotions really got the best of her as several members of Duke's family spoke in memory of him.

The reception started after the funeral at the church. Everyone was there eating, talking, and telling their fondest stories of Duke. Willow watched as a woman asked people who knew Duke something, and everyone pointed at her. She didn't know what it was about, but she was sure she would find out as the woman started walking toward her.

“Your name is Willow, right?” she asked, grabbing her hand as Willow stood up to greet her.

“Yes.” Willow slowly pulled her hand away. “Do I know you?”

“Excuse me for being so rude. I'm Demarcus's mother, Beverly Williams.” She looked Willow in the eyes.

She was a gorgeous woman and Willow knew it was taking everything in her to keep it together. She could tell she was well off from her jewelry, and that whatever Duke had been doing, he had shared it with his moms.

Guilt overcame Willow suddenly. All she wanted to do was apologize over and over again. She knew she didn't physically pull the trigger but that's how she felt at that very moment. The pain bursting through Duke's mother's eyes made her feel sick.

“Hi.” Willow reached in and gave her a hug. “I'm sorry we couldn't meet under better circumstances.”

“I know.” She hugged her back. “I heard you were in the car with him during the time of the shooting. Thank God you came out alive.”

“Yes, I was there.” She looked down.

“This isn't the time or place for that.” She handed her a piece of paper. “That is my number and address. Call or come by anytime you want.”

“I sure will.” Willow smiled as she walked off.

“How are you holding up?” Choice asked after walking up to Willow and hugging her.

“I'm good.” Willow gave a fake smile.

“Who was that woman?” Kail approached them; all three of their lips coated in pink.

Rumors must have hit the streets about The Pink Lip Bandits. Seeing as all eyes were on them, Willow knew that must have been true. People kept their distance, and the fact that they were the only women in the whole church with pink lipstick, answered a lot of people's questions.

“Duke's mom,” Willow said.

“Speaking of Duke,” Kail looked at Choice, “you should let Nicole see what's in his bank account. Didn't you say your moms worked at a bank now?”

“Yes,” Choice said as she pulled out her phone. “I'll see what I can do, but you gon' have to break her off sumthin'.”

“That's cool.” Kail wrapped her arm around Willow, making her jump a little from brushing her sore wounds. “When we gon' get back to this money, sis?”

“I don't know,” Willow said, removing Kail's arm from around her neck. “Can I mourn first?”

“Yes, you can,” Kail started to walk off, “but, don't take too long.”

Willow stood with her back against the wall as she watched people come and go. She could only imagine what was being said about her since eyes cut at her so many times in seconds. She held her composure and decided to bite her tongue for Duke's family, but had it been any other setting, she would have given them a reason to talk.

“She said you can come,” Choice said as she approached Willow after making a call. “She works on One Hundred Twenty-Fifth Street.”

“I got it.” Willow signaled for Junior as he followed her outside.

“What's up?” he asked as he approached her.

“I need to go to a bank on One Hundred Twenty-Fifth Street,” Willow said.

“Just take a car.” He signaled for one of the two black SUVs, and seconds later, it pulled up in front of them. “You need me to go with you?”

“No, it's cool.” Willow stepped into the car.

Willow didn't know it, but her relationship with her big brother, Junior, was blossoming. He had been there for her the whole week
and they'd talked about everything. She could relate to him more than Kail. She was beginning to trust Junior; she just hoped he didn't betray her trust like Kail had.

•  •  •

Willow looked at Choice's mama, Nicole, as she walked up to her window. She hadn't made it to see her since she had been back in Philly, and the look on Nicole's face showed her disappointment. Willow smiled at her—the same way she used to do when she was a little girl—to get her way.

“Hey, Miss DuBois,” Willow said with a smile.