Murderville 2: The Epidemic (8 page)

Liberty didn’t reply. She didn’t know how to feel toward him. Her anger was so prevalent, but so was her gratitude. Not even A’shai had been successful when it came to killing Samad. Po had done that, and he had done so on her behalf. That had to count for something.

Po leaned over, noticing the still fresh scar that lay across her chest. He looked at her as he reached to touch it.

“Can I?” he asked.

Liberty looked down at her scar in confusion, then back up at Po. She unbuttoned her shirt some and lifted her neck to allow him access.

The warmth of his fingertips kissed her skin like rays
from the sun as she closed her eyes and took a deep, timid breath. Po’s fingers trembled as he traced the slightly bubbled scar.

“I had a bad heart,” she explained. “I had a transplant.”

Emotion built in Po’s eyes, and as he looked at Liberty he saw Scarlett’s face. He pulled his hands back as if he had touched a hot stove, then stood uncomfortably to his feet.

“We split the money last night three ways. You have more than enough to take care of yourself,” Po said before he walked out of the room. He went into the bathroom and leaned over the sink as he gripped the sides. Scarlett’s face was a constant in his brain as he thought of Liberty’s scar.

Could she have Scar’s heart?
he thought. He shook the notion from his head, knowing that it was too big of a coincidence to be true. Liberty’s demeanor was so similar to Scarlett’s, however, that he couldn’t help but compare the two. The death of his fiancée had done a number on him, and he knew that he couldn’t jump headfirst into the game while in such a vulnerable state.
Get it together,
he thought. He exhaled loudly and exited the bathroom to find Liberty standing outside the door, duffel bag hanging from her arm.

“I’m out of here,” she said. “Thank you again.” She kissed his cheek, then weakly limped toward the door. Liberty was barely able to stand, and it looked as if the weight of the duffel bag would cause her to fall over. She needed medical attention and time to heal, but what she wanted most was
to run as far away from L.A. as she possibly could. When she felt safe then she would stop and tend to her wounds.

“Where are you headed?” Po asked.

Liberty paused in uncertainty as she thought of an answer. The money in her hands was a passport to opportunity. It was possible for her to go anywhere and do anything she pleased. It was enough to purchase her security, but still she felt lost. Without A’shai, she felt lonely. Without love, she felt hopeless.

“I don’t know,” she replied. “I’ve never made a decision like this before. Someone else always decided for me. My destiny has never been in my own hands.”

Saying it aloud made her realize just how much of a captive she had been. Liberty was a caged bird. She had never flown on her own, and the thought of doing so now terrified her.

“Well, now’s your chance, shorty. If you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to call,” Po said. “After the goldmine you led me to, you have a friend on the West Coast for life.”

Liberty smiled and nodded her head, somewhat sad that they were about to part ways.

“I don’t even know what to do first,” Liberty admitted. “What do I do? Where do I go? I don’t even know where home is. I’m just . . .”

“Lost,” he finished for her.

Liberty nodded and peered at him with a bashful smile.

“Then take some time to think about it. You can stay here for awhile. The suite is paid up for the next couple of weeks. You’re welcome to collect your thoughts here, ma,”
Po said. “You will barely see me. All I need the room for is to sleep and eat. The rest of my time will be spent getting acquainted with the streets of L.A.”

“Really?” she asked.

Po took the duffel bag off her shoulders. “Really, Liberty. I would enjoy the company, and besides, I need somebody to help me count all the money I’m about to make.”

“Now that I can do!” she said with a laugh.

Po grabbed her hand and pulled her over to the hotel safe. He stuffed her money inside and turned his head.

“Enter a combination. You’re the only one who will have access to your money. I want you to feel completely comfortable,” Po said as he looked her in the eyes. “From the way you talk, it seems like you’ve fallen victim to a lot of people. I’m not one of them. You’re good here.”

His words tugged at Liberty, and she wondered where this man had come from. He seemed noble and protective, the way that A’shai had been. Liberty entered a combination, then turned to Po.

“Thank you,” she said.

Po nodded his head, and then retreated to the second bedroom, his head spinning. Liberty had no idea what her presence did to Po. He couldn’t allow her to walk out of his life right now. He didn’t know her well; shit, hardly at all, but the way that she made him feel was too familiar to say good-bye to—at least not yet. He lived in a world where he had seen his street dreams become nightmares, and he had lost the one person that he had ever loved. Then Liberty
happened into his existence, and in her face he saw optimism, in her smile he recognized hope. Something told him that she had been through enough tribulations to last two lifetimes, but she was still standing. He needed her to teach him how to piece his life back together. How to superglue his shattered soul.

FIVE

PO SAT STARING AT THE BRICKS OF
cocaine that were neatly stacked in the storage unit.

“What’s the plan?” Rocko asked.

“I’ve got some shit lined up with some real heavy buyers. I’ve got a meeting tomorrow night with a nigga out of Arizona, so I need you to be on point for this one. You’re my eyes and ears, fam. We were getting money back home, but the shit we about to dive into is on a whole ’nother level,” Po said.

“No doubt,” Rocko replied. “You sure you don’t want to take the work back to Detroit? We know how the game goes back home.”

Po shook his head in discord. “I already told you, Detroit is my rearview, my nigga. L.A. is where it’s at for me right now. You can put a few plays down back home if you want. Get your money, Rock, but I’d rather not touch it.”

Rocko nodded. “Understood.”

“Meet me tonight at the hotel at 9 o’clock,” Po said. “Don’t be late.”

*    *    *

Liberty leaned against the door frame as she watched Po rack his .45 and stash it in the holster that sat on his hip. His face was stern, focused, and on the task at hand as he mentally prepared himself for the meeting in store. Black jacket, dark denims, and Polo boots gave him a hood swagger. His fitted hat sat low on his head, almost completely concealing his eyes.

KNOCK KNOCK!

Liberty jumped at the unexpected noise.

“It’s just Rocko,” Po said as he walked over to the door.

“You ready?” Rocko greeted.

“You got the shit?” Po asked.

“Everything’s good,” Rocko confirmed.

Po turned to Liberty who stood nearby hugging herself. “Lock the door behind me. I’ll be back late, so if anybody comes knocking before then, you blow holes through the door, a’ight?”

Liberty’s eyes widened in alarm.

Po walked over to the table and grabbed the gun that lay atop of it. He cocked the pistol and approached Liberty. He stepped close to her and held the gun up to her face.

“This switch is the safety. All you got to do is click it, point, and pull the trigger. Red means dead,” he instructed as he showed her in thirty seconds how to defend herself.

She looked like a deer caught in headlights. Why was he preparing her for this? Did he have enemies that she didn’t know about? Was staying in L.A. with him a mistake? A
million questions ran through her mind in that moment, and he sensed her fear.

“Look, I don’t know what I’m getting myself into. No one even knows where to find me, but you can never be too safe. This is chess not checkers, Liberty, and if you’re gonna be around I need you to be on point. If something doesn’t feel right, don’t hesitate. You shoot first, ask questions later,” he said sternly.

She nodded and the way her brow creased in uncertainty was so familiar to Po. For a brief second he saw Scarlett in her. Their mannerisms were so similar that it overwhelmed him sometimes. The way she pursed her lips when in deep thought, the way she swept her hair from her face . . . It was all things that Scarlett used to do. Out of instinct he kissed Liberty’s forehead, then walked out of the door, leaving Rocko looking perplexed.

Rocko looked at Liberty briefly, then tapped the door. “Lock up,” he said before catching up to Po.

“What was that?” Rocko asked.

“What was what, nigga? We’re just friends. I need shorty to know how to move though,” Po said.

Rocko heard what Po was saying, but his actions were telling a completely different story. “I thought she was supposed to leave town yesterday,” Rocko said.

“Nah, I’ma keep her around for awhile. She didn’t have nowhere to go. Now we gon’ keep talking about Liberty, or you want to focus on getting this money, nigga?” Po cracked. “You acting like you interested. You want me to hook you up or something, mu’fucka?”

“Hell, yeah,” Rocko joked. “Shorty nice . . .”

Po shook his head as they got his car from the valet and pulled off into the night. There were only two things on his mind: power and money. Everything else was irrelevant.

Po pulled up to the address where he was supposed to meet the buyer and frowned in confusion when he noticed it was a crowded restaurant.

“What the fuck is this? This can’t be the right spot,” Rocko said as he looked at the fancy patrons entering the West Hollywood establishment.

Po pulled out the throw-away cell phone he purchased for the occasion and checked the text message to confirm the address.

“This is it,” Po said. Knowing that he couldn’t carry thirty bricks into a busy restaurant Po shook his head in frustration. “We’ve got to leave it in the car.”

“What?” Rocko exclaimed. “Nigga, you can go inside to meet this nigga. I’ll stay and watch the work. That’s a lot of shit to leave in the trunk.”

“Nigga, I value my life more than I value that weight. I need you watching what’s moving around me. You got the burner, right?” Po asked.

“I don’t leave home without it,” Rocko stated arrogantly.

Po and Rocko exited the car, handing the keys to the valet. Po pulled out five $100 bills and placed them into the kid’s hand.

“You watch my car. No one comes near it. Don’t take your eyes off of it, understand?”

“Yes, sir,” the kid said excitedly as he stuffed the money into his pocket.

Po and Rocko entered the restaurant. They were immediately greeted by the ma
tre d’.

“Gentlemen, this way.”

Po and Rocko both wore the screw face as they maneuvered through the crowd. They stuck out like sore thumbs. The other patrons were donned in upscale apparel, while Po and Rocko were hooded out.

They were escorted to a private section of the restaurant where an older black gentleman sat conversing with a vixen by his side.

“Gentlemen, this is Mr. Blue,” the ma
tre d’ introduced. He pulled out chairs for Po and Rocko. “Can I take your drink orders?”

Po waved his hand in dismissal and sat down across from Mr. Blue, eyeing him and briefly admiring his beautiful companion before addressing the issue at hand.

“This isn’t quite what I was expecting,” Po stated, clearly uncomfortable in the public setting.

“What did you think? That we would meet in a dark alley at midnight?” Mr. Blue countered as he sat back in his chair. “This is a different league, Po. You’re a long way from Seven Mile.”

“What, nigga?” Rocko said, getting defensive as he reached in his waistline.

“Before you even draw on me, Whitney here will have your gut full of lead,” Mr. Blue stated.

Po placed his hand over Rocko’s to stop the gunfight
before it began. “We’re good on this side. Let’s just get down to business. How do you know my name and where I’m from?”

Mr. Blue chuckled and reached into his jacket to retrieve three cigars. He passed one to Rocko and Po, then lit his own. He inhaled deeply, taking his time to savor the taste before exhaling.

“As I said before, this is a different league, Po. I know you got my information from Samad’s records, and I also know that you are responsible for his untimely demise. A man that can kill Samad with such ease is a man worth looking up. That’s a man that I need to know,” Mr. Blue said. “What
you
didn’t know is that Samad’s home security cameras run twenty-four hours a day. I got the tapes so that I could find out who I was dealing with.” Mr. Blue slid the tapes across the table to Po. “These are the only copies, no duplicates were made. No one can tie you to Samad’s murder. I hope that this gesture will get our new business relationship off to a good start.”