White Lines II: Sunny: A Novel (33 page)

Her emphasis on the last word was so intense that Malcolm recoiled as if he’d been struck.

“None of that is who I really am,” she continued. “I’m from Brooklyn, not some small town in Maryland. I’m comfortable in places like this—more comfortable than I will ever be in your world.”

She ignored the crushed look on his face and focused on an old car puttering toward them on the dirt road. When the driver got close, he slowed down and rolled down his window.

“You need a ride?” he asked in broken English. “Taxi?”

“Yes!” Sunny exclaimed, climbing into the backseat. “I’m going to Punta Diamante. The Four Seasons.”

Malcolm climbed into the backseat beside her and stared at her.

“No problem,” the driver said, smiling warmly. “No problem.”

As they drove, Malcolm kept staring at Sunny. “I thought you said you loved me.”

She was silent. She did love him. But she didn’t love feeling inferior; hated having to question the motives of the people she had believed were on her side. Ever since Malcolm had made his comments, all she could think about was whether or not anyone had ever genuinely loved her. She realized that the only unconditional love she’d probably ever enjoyed was the love she got from her daughter.

“If you love me, we wouldn’t be all the way out here on this side of town. Why did you come here, Sunny?” In his heart he knew why, but didn’t want to believe it. As he questioned her, Malcolm noticed that the driver had turned onto a road that was taking them in the opposite direction of their hotel. “You’re going the wrong way.”

The driver seemed not to hear him.

“Where are we going?” Malcolm asked, leaning forward in his seat.

“
Qué
?” the Mexican asked.

“Where … are … you … going?” Malcolm asked again, speaking slowly.

The driver responded in Spanish, his words hurried and rushed and unintelligible to poor Malcolm.

But the Mexican didn’t realize that Sunny was fluent in Spanish. Her mother had spoken Spanish all her life and learned English when her family moved to New York from Puerto Rico in the sixties. Sunny had grown up accustomed to her mother slipping easily from Spanish into English and back again, so she understood that the driver had just told Malcolm to shut up and sit back.

Her eyes narrowed. She didn’t respond, though. Instead, she watched as Malcolm leaned even more forward, demanding the driver tell him where they were going.

“The hotel is
that
way!” Malcolm was frantically pointing in the opposite direction. They were on a dusty dirt road in the middle of Mexico and the driver’s expression had turned from blank to sinister.

“¡Voy a matar a los dos!”

That was all Sunny needed to hear. He had just threatened to kill them. Slowly and discreetly, she dug into the crevices of her bag.

The driver turned down yet another dirt road and made eye contact with her in the rearview mirror as he slowed down. “Give me your money!”

Oh, so now the driver can speak English
, Sunny thought.

Malcolm was a handsome man. Still, the look of panic that spread across his face was unattractive to Sunny as he realized that they were being robbed. The driver, however, looked like he had done this before. She looked for signs that he was nervous and found none; no trembling hands, no shaky voice as he yelled, “
Dinero
!”

Sunny watched his hands as he held the steering wheel with his left, slowing the car to a crawl. He reached with his right hand toward a bag he had on the passenger seat.

Before his hand could touch it, Sunny pulled the razor blade out of her purse and held it to the driver’s neck.

“Stop the fucking car!” Her voice was firm and controlled. She kept the razor blade so close to his neck that a small trickle of blood was already visible. Sunny had killed before, a secret that she would take to her grave. Another secret was that she wasn’t afraid to do it again.

Sunny had to keep her eye on the driver as he slowly and reluctantly pulled the car over to the side of the road. Both hands were on the wheel because he could tell that the beauty in the backseat meant business.

Sunny was focused on the driver and didn’t notice the expression on Malcolm’s face. Stunned to silence, his mouth open in clear shock, he watched her handle the situation.

The driver idled by the roadside, awaiting her next move. Sunny told him to put the car in park. He seemed hesitant to do that. She smacked him in the face so hard the sound reverberated throughout the car.

“Don’t hit him again!” Malcolm yelled. “We don’t have to hurt him.”

Despite the blade at his neck, the driver reached again for his bag.

Without hesitation, Sunny slit his throat, and as the driver’s blood splattered throughout the car, Malcolm yelled, “Oh, shit!”

Sunny’s hands were drenched in blood, and their so-called Good Samaritan driver was slumped over the steering wheel. She had killed him.

Malcolm had sense enough to reach forward and put the car in park, then he and Sunny climbed out. Malcolm stared at her with new eyes as she looked around for any witnesses. He had thought of Sunny as someone so beautiful, so mysterious. But now that mystery had turned deadly and he knew that he was in over his head.

Still, Malcolm came around to Sunny’s side of the car and opened the driver’s door. He pulled the man’s body out and dragged it into the dense brush on the side of the road. Sunny continued to act as lookout until the body was fairly concealed. The approach of a black dot in the distance made them hurry. Sunny had spotted the approaching car while it was still far enough away to be a blip on the hazy horizon. But they knew they had only moments before they could be discovered as murderers in a foreign land.

She reached for the driver’s door and Malcolm protested. “You’re not driving! Get in the car!” His voice was shaky.

She didn’t have time to protest, so she ran to the passenger side. Picking up the dead man’s bag, she placed it on her lap and closed the car door behind her as Malcolm peeled out of there, his foot heavy on the gas.

Sunny looked in the bag and found duct tape, a knife, and a .40 caliber handgun. She prayed that the car far behind them wasn’t the police, but tucked the bag underneath the seat just in case.

“We gotta leave Mexico tonight!” Malcolm said.

Sunny nodded, agreeing. She looked over and felt so sorry for him for getting caught up with a girl like her. She cleared her throat before speaking.

“I’m sorry, Malcolm. I never meant for any of this to happen.”

He didn’t look at her; didn’t answer her, either. He kept his eyes on the road and the rearview mirror and prayed that he remembered the way back to the hotel, the airport, and his sanity.

22

THE GREAT ESCAPE

Sunny was exasperated, her mind in overdrive with a million thoughts racing through it. She and Malcolm were rushing around the hotel room, desperate to pack so they could get the hell out of town. Neither of them spoke as they threw their belongings in their suitcases and replayed the day’s unbelievable events in their minds.

They had driven the bloody car back to within a mile of the resort before ditching it. The car, the blood inside it, and the bag under the seat were enough to implicate them in a terrible crime, so they had wisely abandoned it along a deserted stretch of road not too far from the beach. Then they had stripped off their bloody clothes, dipped themselves in the ocean water, discarded their outer clothes and walked back to their hotel wearing just their bathing suits and flip-flops.

Suddenly, Malcolm stopped packing and stared at Sunny. “You
killed
somebody, Sunny. I feel like I don’t even know you,” he said. He couldn’t believe that Sunny had committed murder. It had been a mere five days, and she had managed to find the seediest part of town, get her hands on a weapon, and kill a man in that tiny time frame.

Malcolm stared at her, bewildered.

She kept packing, her nerves and adrenaline causing her hands to tremble. She looked at Malcolm, aware that his view of her had changed, but she truly didn’t give a fuck at this point. Her voice was dripping with ice as she spoke.

“I’m not like you. I don’t know who you convinced yourself that you were dating, but it’s time you faced the truth. You’re wine, cheese and jazz. I’m Hennessy, chicken wings and hip-hop, Malcolm. We are
not
the same.” She was sick of making apologies. “If I didn’t slit that muthafucka’s throat, he was gonna kill us. It’s that simple. I did what had to be done.”

“What were you doing in that part of town in the first place?”

“I don’t know,” she lied. She didn’t look at him as she said it, just continued packing. “I just wanted to get away from you.”

Sunny knew her words were hurtful, but she didn’t care anymore. She had tried to belong to the crowd he rolled with—attorneys, doctors and the like—but this trip had made it painfully clear she could never belong in that circle. She was toxic, and the best thing she could do was to get as far away from him as possible. Still, she didn’t want him to know that she had gone back to getting high. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he had her all figured out.

Malcolm watched her put the last of her things in her second suitcase, wondering why he couldn’t stop loving her, even with blood on her hands.

“You ready?” she asked, passport in hand. “We should go.”

He stared at her for a moment, then stood up and zipped his own bag. He nodded. “Let’s go.”

*   *   *

The airport was crowded with lovebirds as Sunny and Malcolm rushed toward the American Airlines gate. Neither of them had ever been so eager to get home in their lives. Malcolm, passport in hand, anxiously approached the ticket counter.

“Good evening,” he said. “We need to change our itinerary.” He handed his paperwork to the desk attendant and Sunny slapped hers down as well. “We’re cutting our trip short. We need to get on the next flight back to New York.”

The attendant looked up from her computer and glanced at the two of them. The expression on Sunny’s face was one of annoyance and impatience. “Had an argument, huh?” she asked Malcolm nosily. When he looked at her, confused, she nodded toward Sunny.

“Oh … yeah. No need to spend another five days being miserable.” He stuck his hands in his pockets, grateful that years of practicing law had taught him how to lie so well.

The ticket agent glanced at Sunny, who stood behind Malcolm, scowling impatiently. She felt sorry for the handsome man who had obviously gotten stuck with a complete bitch on his vacation. “It will cost you about two hundred dollars to change each ticket,” she advised him.

Malcolm shrugged. “No problem.”

The ticket agent began keying in their information and before long they had two fresh tickets to freedom. Malcolm thanked her and then he and Sunny all but ran to the gate for their flight, which would be boarding in just forty minutes. Sunny took off her belt, her jewelry, stepped out of her shoes and shoved her carry-on bag onto the conveyor belt. Malcolm did the same at the station next to her. They walked through the metal detectors without problem.

Malcolm retrieved his bag and glanced in Sunny’s direction, wondering what was causing the delay with her luggage. The TSA agent near her waved another one over. Sunny stood there, frowning, wondering what the hell was going on. It didn’t take long before they ended the suspense.

“Miss, is this your bag?” the agent asked, pointing to Sunny’s carry-on.

She froze, sensing instantly that something was very wrong. Reluctantly, she nodded. It would have been pointless to deny it since her wallet was inside, complete with pictures of her and her family.

“Can you come with us, please?” the TSA agent asked, although his tone wasn’t friendly at all. He took her by the arm, and she snatched it away.

Malcolm was at her side in an instant. “What’s the problem?”

“Are you together?” the TSA agent demanded.

“Yeah,” Malcolm said. “What’s wrong?”

The other agent, who had begun rifling through Sunny’s bag, held up the answer for all to see. He had pulled a small bag of cocaine from Sunny’s makeup bag.

Sunny’s knees buckled instantly. In all the mayhem, she had completely forgotten about the bag she’d absentmindedly tossed aside when Malcolm had entered the bar. Tears flooded her eyes.

“Oh, my God!” she gasped. “That’s not mine! It’s not! Somebody set me up! I’m telling you, that shit is not mine!” She could see that no one believed her. She looked at Malcolm, and the expression on his face was one of pure hurt, anger and disappointment. He hadn’t wanted to believe that she had gone to the bad side of town to get high. But the TSA agents left no doubt as they roughly ushered them into separate security rooms, informing them both that they were under arrest.

Sunny called out to Malcolm as they led him away, but he didn’t bother to answer or to even look in her direction. Once she was forced into her separate room, she sat there, aware that everything good in her life had just been snatched away. And she had no one to blame but herself.

ALSO BY TRACY BROWN

Dime Piece

Black

Criminal Minded

White Lines

Twisted

Snapped

Aftermath

A
NTHOLOGIES

Flirt

ABOUT THE AUTHOR