The Plug's Wife (7 page)

Mr. Chumpsky looked at her with sympathy. 

“I honestly can’t say right now.  But since Mr. Banks was a valued customer, I will be sure to make it a priority,” Chumpsky said in earnest.

“Thank you for the information and for the favor,” she rasped.  Summer swallowed hard and allowed the young VP to escort her out of the bank. 

Something still didn’t sit right with Summer.  The only people she had heard of freezing accounts was either the account holder themselves or the feds, either way, the situation would’ve been fucked up.  Suddenly, a wave a panic came over Summer.  She wondered if the bank manager and staff had been stalling her to buy themselves time to call someone.  Maybe have her followed?  There was definitely something fishy going on and she planned to get to the bottom of it all.
I hope those rumors about Jesse talking to the feds are not true! 
Summer thought as she settled into the backseat of her ride with her head pounding. 

Chapter 6
Becoming Boss

Summer rushed into her upscale brownstone, leaving behind her two hired security guards.  Bruno, the one who was like her shadow, had tried to follow her up the front steps like usual, but Summer had pushed him in the chest and screamed at him to go away.  Desperate times called for desperate measures and she was sick to death of the security details.  Besides, she didn’t even know how she could afford security now when she barely had enough to scrape together for lunch earlier.

Summer raced around the living room, flipping the slats of the cherry wood plantation shutters on all of the oversized windows.  She was almost sure after that little performance at the bank someone was watching her.  Heart hammering, she snatched up the neglected pile of mail that had amassed on the kitchen counter since Jesse’s death.  Breathing through her mouth, Summer shuffled through the envelopes. 
Late payment notice.  Final notice.  Overdraft notice
.  Summer read off one by one.  She screamed and sent the letters sailing all over the kitchen table and floor. 
How
could he leave me fucked up like this?  What am I supposed to do now?
  Summer wished Jesse was standing right in front of her, so she could vent her frustrations on the person who had caused all this turmoil in her life. 

After Rex’s untimely death, Jesse forbid Summer from working.  He insisted that he would take care of her and shortly after gave her access to a few of his accounts.  Summer both spent money and stashed money aside for her family.  Jesse never seemed to notice or care. 

Summer’s chest heaved as she pictured herself being evicted from the first home she ever called her own.  And what about her family?  They were her first priority. 
“Lourdes, you’ve been naughty and you haven’t kept your end of the bargain.  I guess your sister Carrerra will have to take your place.  Someone will have to pay the price.” 
She could hear the gruff, phlegm-filled voice taunting her in her mind.

Summer screamed, swiping her arms across the granite countertops in frustration.  She sent the beautiful glass canisters on the counter crashing to the marble tiled floors.  The hand painted glasses shattered into fine, misshapen shards.  Summer stared down at the jagged pieces and thought that her life looked similar.  She exhaled and realized that in life, sometimes a very small decision can permanently alter a person’s entire state of being. 

***************************

The Bridge was a nightclub located in DUMBO, Brooklyn. The club was housed in a non-descript, pale brick building that resembled an old factory.  Only elite club goers knew about the Bridge and even fewer were allowed inside. 

Marco technically owned the Bridge although, on paper, it was one of the legitimate businesses Jesse held majority ownership in.  Summer went with Jesse to celebrate a friend’s birthday once, but she didn’t remember much about that night, especially after drinking her sixth flute of
Ace of Spades
. 

Summer’s journey today hadn’t been easy.  She had tossed and turned the previous night, pacing her entire house worrying about her finances.  Suddenly, Summer remembered something Jesse had said. 
Three, three, nineteen eighty three.  Hah! That sounds like a good safe combination baby girl.
   

After several starts and stops, she cracked Jesse’s wall safe.  Inside the safe Summer found thirty thousand dollars in cash, another twenty thousand in treasury bills, two Glock handguns, and deeds for several properties.  Hardly enough to pay off her debts, let alone provide an income for her to live comfortably. 

Summer sat behind the wheel of Jesse’s burgundy Porsche Cayenne, her eyes covered in dark shades and her head tied up with a Chanel scarf Jackie-O style.  She watched at least twelve dudes, of all types; some in business suits and others in jeans and hoodies file into the Bridge. Some came in groups and others solo, but they all seemed well acquainted with one another.  Summer waited for Mitch, Billy, Scrap, Doon and Marco to go inside before she followed them in. 

Be strong.  Be careful.  Mean what you say.  Say what you mean.
  She needed to give herself a mental pep talk.  She wasn't sure what she would encounter inside, but she did know she wasn’t going to be weak.  Summer checked her makeup one last time in the car’s visor mirror.  It was almost flawless, and she needed all the confidence she could get.

Summer stepped out of the car, her legs shaky like a bowl of jell-o.  She smoothed the material of her black crepe Michael Kors jumpsuit and folded her red Chanel bag under her arm.  As she walked confidently, her heels sounded off on the uneven cobblestones.  The way she was dressed sent the message she wanted to convey—she was about her business.  The clear, plexi-glass door handles opened effortlessly. 

Inside, a slender man came rushing towards her. 

“The club is closed ma’am.  This is a private event,” he rambled, ready to shoo her back out the door.  Summer swiped the scarf back from her head and pulled her glasses down so the man could see her face fully.  Her nerves were on a hairpin trigger but she managed to suppress her anxiety well. 

His eyes went wide, like he’d seen a ghost.  

“Oh, my God! Mrs. Banks, I’m so sorry.  I- I- I didn’t think…” he stammered, an awkward, nervous smile pasted on his lips.  Summer recognized him as one of the flunky workers for the crew. 

“Where is the meeting?” Summer asked coolly. 

The man’s head snapped up, seemingly surprised. 

“Right this way…” the man said, his words rushed and quivery.  He ushered Summer up a flight of stairs and down a long hallway.  There were two, heavy, wooden doors at the end of the hallway. 
I never knew this was up here. 

“Right in there,” the man urged, pointing her in the direction of the forbidden underworld realm.  Summer glided down the hallway like the Queen Cleopatra.  She took a deep breath and turned both knobs simultaneously opening the French doors. The scene before her seemed to pause like a DVD movie. All the men stood stock-still, jaws hanging wide.  Summer felt suspended in time herself, her feet seemingly rooted in place.

Mitch was the first to react.  He jumped up from the end of a shiny, black lacquer table and rushed towards Summer. 

“Hey, Summer. Uh, what are you doing here?” he stuttered, slowly coming closer, as if she would bite.  She had never seen his small beady eyes look so wide and round. She couldn’t tell if it was fear or anxiety that she heard in his voice. 

“Either I’m looking especially good today, or you dudes haven’t seen a woman in a long time…which one is it?” Summer asked, a chuckle leaving her lips involuntarily. 

“What are you doing here?” Mitch whispered harshly, finally able to form a sensible sentence.  He was so close now that Summer felt the pendent from his Jesus piece hitting up against her arm. 

“You didn’t think I was going to let my husband’s business partners meet without someone being here to represent him, did you?” Summer asked snidely, her head tilted and eyes squinted into slits.  She hated feeling the same desperation she’d felt so often as a child.  She wondered if these men could sense how fearful she was of being hungry, homeless, and indebted to another.  Summer willed herself to be strong. 
Think like a man.
Demand to take his place at the table. 

“It’s not like that,” Mitch mumbled, grabbing her arm.  “Let me talk to you outside.”

“No! I’m going to sit at this table or wherever Jesse sat.  I’m going to listen and learn what I need to know about my husband’s business dealings.  If somebody in this room thinks he can fill his shoes, he better think again,” Summer gritted, her words forceful enough to send him scurrying away.

What am I doing here!  They can all shoot me down right here in this room!
Though the thought flitted through her mind, she knew that she couldn’t back down.  Summer was on the edge of insanity, forcing her way into that meeting with men who were clearly not discussing any club business. 

A wave of groans traveled the length of the table.  Summer had seen some of the men before at events she went to with Jesse, but many were new faces.

“Well, what’s this meeting about?  Let’s get started,” Summer said boldly, sitting her bag down on the end of the table.  Each man turned to each other incredulously.  Summer knew they were expressing their shock at her bravado.  She was all in now.  There was no turning back.  No showing signs of weakness either.  Without Jesse, she had to look out for herself. 

“Don’t tell me a bunch of important men like you all are afraid of a little, grieving widow?”

A dark haired, Hispanic man slammed his hands on the table and stood up so fast he sent his rolling chair into the wall behind him.

“No tengo tiempo para jugar. ¿Qué va a hacer, nos dan una lección de cocina?”
I don't have time to play.  What is she going to do, give us cooking lessons?
He spoke to another man who stood at the back of the room like a sentry.

              “We don’t just allow outsiders into our business meetings!” someone else at the end of the table complained.  Two more men stood up, their faces stony.  The room was abuzz with gruff protests now.  Mitch’s face flushed and sweat danced down his sideburns.                            

“Wait,” Mitch pleaded, frazzled.  He turned back towards Summer.  “You see what drama you’re creating?”

“No.  I’m not here to give cooking lessons that’s for sure,” Summer announced loudly.  The Hispanic man looked shocked that Summer had understood his insult.  “But I will say this, I’m here to find out who wanted my husband dead.  I know that Jesse was the supplier here and that none of you have the high level connections that he had.  I hold the key to that information now, so you better learn how to play ball,” Summer announced while she held up Jesse’s phone.  Her words dropped like bombs around the room.  They all knew she was right.  Each man in that room would learn to depend on Summer like a baby depends on its mother’s milk. If she was going to take over the enterprise, she needed them to obey her first, respect her second.

Jesse’s connect information was like gold in Summer’s hands.  Without it, she would be completely useless and have no way to generate any income for herself.  With the contacts in hand, she could begin to strategize a sustainable plan forward for the business. 

Although Jesse had spoken several times about the mysterious Cardinale, none of were aware that he also worked with the legendary head of the Rios cartel, one of the most elusive and deadly Mexican cartels in history. 

A hush fell over the room like a soft blanket on a sleeping infant.  Each man slowly took his seat, a captive audience.  Something tingled inside of Summer’s gut; she felt a surge of confidence and power enter her bloodstream.  Clearing her throat, she began her takeover negotiations in earnest.

By the end of the tension-filled meeting, it was agreed that Summer would give Mitch the information for Jesse’s supplier and she would accompany Mitch, as a representative of Jesse, to the meet-up.  Summer needed to give Mitch’s leash a little bit of length, but not too much that he would think he could run free. 

When the men filed out of the conference room, Mitch lagged behind so they could chat separately. 

Mitch stood so close to Summer she could feel the heat of his breath on her eyeballs. 

“I know you may be fucking depressed and grieving right now, but I know you ain’t fucking straight crazy!  You have no fucking idea what you’re getting yourself into.  What the fuck was that all about?” Mitch gritted, baring his teeth.  Mitch refused to concede all he worked for to a spoiled woman.  She was impeding his plans.

“I’m taking control of my life.  Jesse was all I had, but now he is gone and I’m going to take care of myself!  I don’t see you offering to pay my mortgage or fill my pockets with cash.  It’s been one goddamn month since my husband was shot down and already I’m wondering how I will feed myself.” Summer wasn’t going to tell him about the mysterious freezing of Jesse’s accounts.  No need to bring more doubts about Jesse’s loyalties during his final days.  She had already speculated that it might be the feds. 

              “Stepping into this business is not something you want to do.  You don’t know these dudes and you don’t know shit about this
business
.  Once you’re in, you can never get out,” Mitch gritted, his eyes ablaze.  Summer mulled over Mitch’s points. In the end, it didn’t matter.  She had other people to think about.  The arrangement she had with her debtors would result in multiple casualties if she didn’t comply.  So she really had nothing to lose.

“What did you expect me to do?  Hand over Jesse’s phone, his connections, all of his business and money?  Have you negotiate the deals?  Be the boss? Do I look stupid to you?  Last I checked, I thought my husband was in the imports/exports business—shipping and receiving wholesale goods.  Turns out, he got into a little more than imports.  Also turns out he had a whole other life I didn’t know about.  But guess what? This dumb little refugee girl from Cuba is running things now,” Summer boasted, jutting an accusatory finger in Mitch’s face. 

Mitch closed his eyes and scrubbed his hands over his face.  There was no winning this argument.  He put his hands up in front of him in surrender.  He had to get her on his side.  It was the only way he could get what he needed.