Brooklyn Bombshells--Part 2 Read online

  Chanel was amazed by the campus and Mecca’s life. Mecca was accomplishing big things, but it made Chanel feel like life was passing her by. She continued to carry the guilt of what happened to Mateo, feeling that he was fucked up because of her. Mecca’s situation made Chanel want to press the fast-forward button on her life to her own wedding date. It felt like she was just existing—trying to survive day by day.

  She sat next to Mecca watching the play with a smile on her face, but she couldn’t fully enjoy the experience. Chanel knew she was constantly thinking selfish thoughts and she didn’t like herself much for it. With Pyro and Mecca’s new love, Chanel felt insignificant again. It was now all about Mecca, as it had always been about Charlie or Claire. Mecca had the man. She would have the ring. And Mecca would have the wedding. Although Mateo was on the mend and they undoubtedly would have a future together, it was her present rut that kept infiltrating her thoughts.

  After the play, the two girls decided to go get something to eat at a popular university hangout called Hang Time. They took a seat at a tetragon table and ordered two drinks.

  “I’m glad you were able to come out and spend some time with me,” said Mecca.

  “It’s my pleasure. I loved the play,” Chanel replied.

  “Aida is one of my favorites, and the school did an amazing job reenacting it.”

  “They did.”

  They took a sip from their drinks and smiled at each other.

  “So, how are you holding up, with Mateo still in the hospital?”

  “I got my good days and bad days,” replied Chanel.

  “Don’t we all?” Mecca said.

  Chanel felt slighted. She thought, What bad days are you experiencing right now? She wanted to say something sarcastic, but she replied, “We just gotta have faith that things will get better, right?”

  “Of course, and they will for you, Chanel. I know you’re strong.”

  They ordered their meals and continued with their chitchat. When their food was brought out, Mecca said to Chanel, “Sooo, I need to talk to you. It’s important.”

  “What is it?”

  Mecca took a bite of a fry. “I think Pyro is going to propose to me.”

  “Propose? What makes you think that?”

  “There have been so many hints, and lately, he’s been talking about kids and a family, and things have been moving swimmingly with us.”

  “Swimmingly?” Chanel laughed at the word.

  “Girl, it means we’re flowing.”

  “I know what it means.” Chanel quickly recognized that her voice sounded a little more assertive than she wanted to come across, so she softened her response with a smile.

  “Anyway,” Mecca continued, “I believe him when he tells me there’s no one else.”

  Chanel believed it was true. There hadn’t been any women sleeping at the apartment but Mecca.

  Mecca didn’t know if she should celebrate or become worried. What if Pyro did ask her to marry him? Was she ready for marriage?

  “Well that’s not entirely true, is it?”

  Mecca nearly choked on her drink. “What do you mean? Is he seeing someone else?”

  “How should I know?” Chanel looked bewildered by the question.

  “You just said that Pyro is seeing some bitch.”

  Chanel smirked. “Oh, I just meant that Sheree will always be in his life. She is that someone else that you’ll have to deal with should you two get married. Just something to think about.”

  Mecca exhaled. “Girl, you had me going for a second. I can handle Sheree. What I can’t handle is Pyro fucking Sheree, but I’m confident that he’s not, so that’s a non-factor.”

  Chanel nodded.

  Mecca stared at her friend for a beat, looking serious about something.

  She started with, “Listen, Chanel, we really do need to talk about something.”

  “I thought we were talking,” Chanel said, giggling a little.

  Mecca didn’t laugh. She continued with, “Once Pyro and I are married, he probably won’t be able to take care of Mateo anymore. You have to admit, Pyro has spent a lot of money on Mateo’s hospital stay and his physical therapy. I mean, it just wouldn’t be financially sustainable with him having a wife and hopefully more children coming.”

  Chanel couldn’t believe what she was hearing—especially coming from her best friend. The smile on her face was gone, replaced by some shock and resentment.

  Mecca saw the offended look on Chanel’s face and said, “Listen, and let me explain. I know Mateo has his own money that Pyro hasn’t dipped into yet, sitting in banks and safety deposit boxes and most likely collecting interest.”

  “So he tells you everything?” asked Chanel.

  “I mean, isn’t he supposed to? He’s my man, and maybe soon to become my fiancé.”

  “You won’t have to worry about Mateo anymore. He’s pulling through just fine,” said Chanel with a slight attitude.

  “I’m so glad to hear that. And one more thing, Chanel,” Mecca said with her attention fixed on her friend. “Once Pyro and I are engaged, I really want you to move out. I mean it’s cool for now, with him looking out for you. But I’m his woman and I would like to walk around the place naked for my man, and have sex with him throughout the place . . . you know, like giving him some head in the living room, or having sex butt naked on the kitchen counter. And real talk, having you around is gonna fuck up our kinky-ass sex life.”

  “So tell me how the fuck you really feel?” Chanel retorted.

  “And why would you get offended by that, Chanel? I’m just keeping things real with you.”

  Chanel pushed her plate to the side. Her appetite was suddenly gone. “It must be great to be on top of the world, right? Boss your friends around.”

  Mecca waved her hand in the air and caught the attention of their wait staff. It was time for the check. She was ready to go. She didn’t know how much longer she could listen to Chanel play victim.

  “Are you serious? You think I’m bossing you around for not wanting you living with my man?”

  Chanel pointed out, “There would be no you and Pyro if it wasn’t for me.”

  Mecca heartily disagreed. “Do you really think that?”

  “I made that happen.”

  Mecca countered with, “You can bring a horse to the water, but you can’t force it to drink. Pyro hollered at me because of what I brought to the table. It had nothing to do with you, Chanel.”

  Chanel’s nostrils were flared. She looked Mecca up and down and for the first time in their friendship she wanted to punch her in her conceited face. To Chanel, Mecca had changed. The Mecca she knew would never toss her out on the street.

  She asked, “You really believe that, don’t you?”

  “I know it.”

  “Whatever, Mecca. You’re different—sitting there thinking you’re better than me,” said Chanel.

  Mecca smirked. “What? Why would you think that?”

  “It’s true. Your man is healthy and my man is fucked up right now.”

  “Chanel, you really need to chill and think about what you’re saying. You sound like a hater right now.”

  “I’m not hating on you, Mecca.”

  “Well, the way you’re coming at me, you could have fooled me.”

  Chanel expressed with finality in her tone, “Look, let’s just agree to disagree. Okay?”

  “Fine then,” Mecca snapped back.

  The waiter came over with the check, which was promptly paid. Mecca asked that her food be placed in a doggy bag, which added additional tension between them. They couldn’t even look at each other. In fact, Chanel was ready to leave, but Mecca wanted to take home everything on her plate. She didn’t want to waste anything, and Chanel felt she was being petty. Their time together had ended in disaster.
r />   Chanel continued to stew as she dropped Mecca off on the campus. They didn’t say a word to each other. Mecca climbed out of the Range and didn’t look back at her friend. She strutted onto the campus while Chanel rolled her eyes and sighed.

  “Bye then, bitch.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Bacardi was in the kitchen smoking a cigarette and chatting on her cell phone when she heard the loud and familiar knocking on the apartment door.

  “Let me call you back,” Bacardi said to the person on the other end of the phone.

  She ended her call and stood up huffing and puffing with an attitude. Her cigarette dangled from her lips and her robe was slightly opened, revealing the bra and granny drawers she was wearing underneath. She glanced through the peephole and saw what she expected—two detectives standing outside in the hallway. Bacardi moaned with displeasure. She was in no mood to deal with them, but she knew that they weren’t going to go away.

  She reluctantly opened the door and greeted them with a puckered brow. “What y’all want now? I’m tired of fuckin’ police comin’ to my door. Ain’t this harassment or sumthin’?”

  “We’re sorry to bother you, ma’am, but we’re here looking for a Charlie Brown,” said Detective McKnight.

  “She’s not here,” Bacardi responded. “She don’t live here anymore.”

  “Can we come in and look around?” asked his partner, Detective Greene.

  “I told you, she’s not here.”

  “Well, we have a few questions to ask her,” said McKnight.

  Bacardi felt like her back was against the wall. The detectives were stern faced and persistent.

  Someone had called the tip line for the $2,000 Crime Stoppers reward, and the DNA results from Chanel’s rape kit had finally come in. They found that the Godfrey Williams was the perpetrator. The tipster alleged that Charlie Brown had set the whole thing up. Charlie was also listed on God’s bail and she was Chanel Brown’s sister. The detectives felt that they had something. Charlie’s name kept coming up in several investigations, from robbery to homicide, and they needed to have a serious word with her.

  The murder suspect, Kymberly Stephens, adamantly swore that she saw Godfrey’s ex-girlfriend, Charlie, leaving his place only moments before she arrived—and that she found God already dead when she got there. Her defense team was testing for DNA and any trace evidence.

  Bacardi allowed them into her home, but she wasn’t making them coffee. Their guard was up; they looked around to confirm that her daughter wasn’t home.

  “I told you that I don’t fuck wit’ my daughter. I kicked her ass out.”

  “We just needed to make sure,” said Greene. “Someone called in a tip saying that she lived here.”

  Bacardi fumed. “These fuckin’ snitches out here need to mind their fuckin’ business.”

  Butch joined his wife in the living room, and he was angry to see the detectives inside his home. Enough was enough. Even with Charlie gone, she was still bringing trouble to their home.

  Seeing that there were no signs of Charlie’s presence, the detectives made their exit. But it didn’t come without a tongue lashing from Bacardi.

  “Like I told y’all muthafuckas, my daughter don’t live here anymore. So I would appreciate if you would stop comin’ around here and makin’ trouble. I don’t need the stress, got-damn-it! And if you got a case against Charlie, then so be it, but leave me and my fuckin’ husband out of it. Go bother someone else and go arrest some real fuckin’ criminals!”

  She slammed the door behind them.

  Butch looked at his wife with appreciation. “That’s telling them, baby. I love you.”

  Bacardi didn’t smile or reply to his words. She stood there by the door pissed off and wondering who had called in the tip. She knew it wasn’t about the reward, but it was about getting Charlie arrested.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The chiming of her cell phone made Charlie frown and curse. She had been sleeping all day after partying all night and popping bottles in VIP with Ahbou. She wanted the world to see her—and they were taking notice. Last night she was the fiercest chick in the club in her Alexander Wang cocktail dress and knee-high boots, her reddish hair in long curls. She and Ahbou did it up on the dance floor, acting a fool, grinding and kissing and feeling on each other like they didn’t have a care in the world. They had money to burn and were living it up. After the club, the two were drunk and animated, and they continued to paint the town red by hitting up after-hours spots in the city. An hour before the sun rose, they were fucking in a bathroom stall.

  Charlie came stumbling through her apartment door two hours after the sun came up. The only thing she wanted to do was sleep all day. But that dream ended abruptly with her ringing cell phone. She ignored it once, and twice, but the third time sent her over the edge. She leaped from her bed and snatched the cell phone into her hand and shouted, “Who the fuck is this?”

  “I need you to come get me,” said Claire.

  “What? Why?”

  “Because that hooptie you gave me to drive to work broke down.”

  “And this is my problem?”

  “How I’m gonna get home?”

  “You in New York City—buses, trains, and automobiles,” Charlie wisecracked.

  “Charlie, stop playing with me. You know I got classes tonight and I can’t be late,” Claire griped.

  “Damn it, Claire—”

  “I need to get home, Charlie. Don’t do this to me. It’s cold out here,” she exclaimed.

  “Okay! I’ll fuckin’ be there, just chill—and you better not keep me waiting.”

  Charlie huffed as she removed herself from the bed to sluggishly get dressed to do her sister a favor. The alcohol from last night had her feeling heavy and sloppy. It felt like her legs were concrete and rooted to the floor.

  Half an hour later, Claire got into the car and she right away smelled the liquor on Charlie’s breath. Claire sighed. Charlie had been driving under the influence. Lately, Charlie felt that she was untouchable with her dirty cop connections. She started to believe that she was above the law.

  “You happy, sis?” Charlie asked.

  “Just take me home.”

  Charlie got on her cell phone to talk to Ahbou. They had their fun last night, but now it was time to get back to business.

  “Did you find that bitch’s address yet?” she asked him.

  “I’m still on it,” he replied. “But that acid incident was stupid, Charlie. I meant to say something last night, but we were having too much fun.”

  “It wasn’t meant for Wanda. It was meant for my sister. She thinks she pretty now and can fuck niggas on my level. I wanted to teach her pretty ass a lesson and scar her fuckin’ face.”

  “You’d do that to your sister?”

  “I said we ain’t close, right?”

  “Just be smart out here, Charlie. You become too reckless and we won’t be able to protect you,” Ahbou warned her.

  “I hear you.”

  “Charlie, listen. I got your back, boo. I love you, and I don’t want you lying to me about anything ever again. You feel me? Because I got my ways of finding out shit. You scratch my back and I scratch your back.”

  Charlie rolled her eyes. “Find that address, detective.”

  His odd statement baffled Charlie for a moment, but she didn’t think anything of it. It was just him talking tough and foolish.

  “I will. I’ll do anything for you, baby—even kill a nigga,” he said recklessly through the phone.

  Claire was glaring at her sister. “Damn, Charlie, just when I thought you couldn’t get any colder. You just can’t leave shit alone. You’re going after Chanel now?” Claire fussed.

  “Not your business,” Charlie snapped.

  “You think just because you’re fuckin’ a cop that
you’re untouchable? This shit ain’t gonna end well, Charlie. I can feel it. Stop while you’re ahead!” Claire shouted.

  “You know what, Claire? As much as I do for you, you still wanna judge me and take everyone’s side except mine. I’m the only one who has always had your back. Not Butch, Bacardi, and especially not Chanel. When she got put on by Mateo what did she do for you? That bitch ain’t give you a crumb. She walked around sporting new shit, driving an expensive whip. Did she ever toss you the keys? Or buy you a pair of kicks?”

  “This ain’t about money!”

  They argued with Ahbou still on the phone.

  “I’m sick of your shit!” Claire continued to rant. “You are the worst!”

  Charlie ignored her sister’s ranting and continued to stay on the phone with Ahbou, who heard Claire’s rants too.

  “What’s wrong with your sister?” he asked her.

  “She’s being a bitch right now,” said Charlie.

  “Oh, I’m the one being a bitch!” Claire shouted.

  Claire continued to fuss, and Charlie remained on the phone with Ahbou until she reached her block and saw KB’s Beamer parked in front of her place. She smiled. It was unexpected, but she was glad he was there. Ahbou was fun to be around, but KB was the nigga she loved and the nigga who rocked her world, made her toes curl, and put a genuine smile on her face. It had been over a week since he was in New York. She knew that he was here for both business and pleasure.

  “Ahbou, I’m gonna call you back.”

  Charlie ended their call, double parked, and got out of her Benz with Claire following her to KB’s BMW. From her position, she could see his silhouette behind the steering wheel. Claire continued to fuss at Charlie, but Charlie had her mind on KB. Claire threatened that if Charlie touched Chanel again that they were going to have a problem. Enough was enough. Claire was standing up for her little sister. Chanel had been through enough, and she was determined not to let Charlie put her through any more pain.

  Charlie eagerly approached the Beamer and knocked on the driver’s side window, but KB didn’t open the door. The car windows had a light tint, so it was difficult to see what was happening inside. She reached for the door handle and swung it open. Right away, she got the shock of her life. KB had been shot in the head and was slumped in the seat. His blood was spilled across the dashboard and the leather seats.