Smooth Operator (23 page)

Payton thought about leveling Gretchen’s ass, but quickly decided that she had bigger fish to contend with. “Just watch where you’re going,” she barked, and swiftly walked toward her master suite.

She turned the locked knob and snapped, “Open the door!”

Quinton quickly unlocked it and she walked in, her face revealing clear disbelief of what had taken place. “He was here,”
she said in a soft whisper, more to herself than to Quinton. “And you were right. He was behind everything.”

“Where is he now?”

“You think I fuckin’ know?” She stabbed her index finger into her chest, as her voice trembled.

“That motherfucker,” Quinton said, pissed.

“I have to go, Quinton, so I need you to get out!” She pointed toward the door.

A smile ran across Quinton’s face. “Where are you going?”

“New York. Now leave. Go home to your wife. I’m sure she’ll be relieved.”

“She’s gone. She took the twins and left me, but don’t worry, I’ll be there, waiting for you to come back, and then finally we’ll be able to blow this motherfucker!”

“Yes, we will,” Payton said, as her thoughts drifted out of the room. “We certainly will.”

L
yfe watched the air traffic controller swing his arms like flags, one over the other, as he waved the orange caution lights and led the red-eye flight out of the City of Angels. Lyfe did all he could to stop the merry-go-round of thoughts, mixed emotions, and sinking feelings of betrayal from crawling up his spine, but no matter what he did, he couldn’t shake them.

“Fuck!” Lyfe screamed as he pounded into the arm of the chair.

“Is everything okay?” the stewardess asked as the plane began to taxi.

Lyfe blinked. “Yes,” he said, hesitating, “Yes, everything’s okay.”

The stewardess shot him a fake smile and patted him on the shoulder. “Well, get ready for the ride. The pilot said there may be some turbulence tonight.”

“Yeah.” Lyfe nodded as he popped open his briefcase filled with bank statements that he’d collected from the safe in Payton’s home office. “I’m sure there will be.”

Lyfe reclined his seat and thought about the conversation he had only hours ago with the overseas bank. Each account number that he’d gotten from Payton’s safe had matched up with what the FBI said, with money totaling into the hundreds of millions. There seemed to be a history of money being deposited every few months and then mysteriously leaving, depleting most of the accounts to zero, and then the cycle would start all over again.

This was crazy. Insane. He couldn’t believe that here he’d come to talk to Payton, holding on to his last bit of trust and belief that either this shit was a dream or the FBI was wrong. But as he stood there in his house, watched his wife in bed with his friend, he knew that nothing in his life for the last few years had been as it seemed.

Lyfe watched them make love for as long as he could stand it before he slowly backed away from the bedroom door. For a moment the sight and reality of what was really happening to him made him forget his way around their mansion. He couldn’t remember if he needed to go up or down the stairs to get out of there, and then he stood still for a moment and reminded himself that he was there on a mission, to clear his name and get this shit straight. He couldn’t be concerned with who Payton fucked; he had enough to worry about with her trying to set his ass up.

Lyfe reclined in his seat and as the plane rocked through some turbulence he closed his eyes and prepared for a long flight.

Six and a half hours later, Lyfe caught glimmering glances of Keenan and Galvin’s ridiculous-ass silver tie clips. They were sitting at the gate, sipping black cups of coffee and leafing through the morning’s paper. Although they didn’t look up, as Lyfe walked past he knew it was only a matter of moments before they were behind him and buzzing in his ear on whether or not he’d made a decision.

Lyfe walked into the small airport café, and sat near the picture window, where the outgoing planes were the raging view. He placed his briefcase next to him in his chair and a few moments later the waitress came over and he placed an order: “Coffee. No sugar.”

“I’ll have a cup as well.” Keenan smiled, taking a seat.

“And I’ll take another,” Galvin snorted, at the waitress, as he took his seat. “Especially since I don’t know how my morning will be.”

“We didn’t know if you needed a ride home from the airport or not, Lyfe.” Keenan smiled as the waitress set their coffee on the table and walked away. “So we took the liberty of showing up. You know,” Keenan said, “just in case.”

Lyfe felt like putting holes in the walls with his fists, but fought like hell to hide it and seem as if he was in control. “Appreciate the gesture,” Lyfe said as he pressed his coffee cup to his lips.

“So what’s the jury going to find?” Keenan asked.

Lyfe looked at Keenan and then at Galvin. “That I’m innocent.”

“My boy.” Galvin smiled.

“I’m your boy now?” Lyfe’s vein started thumping.

“You know I didn’t mean it like that.” He turned to Keenan, “You talk to him, ’cause I just got pissed off.”

“Oh wow,” Lyfe said condescendingly, “I didn’t mean to do that. Certainly isn’t my style.”

“I tell you what better be your style,”—Keenan leaned into the table—“twenty million dollars in cash. No slick shit. Don’t try and put no trace on the money or no other crazy shit, because believe me, we will turn your ass in, and you’ll be exchanging your name for a row of goddamn numbers. You know I don’t give a fuck. Instructions,” he tapped the envelope, “on how the money needs to be delivered. Don’t fuck up or it will be a problem.”

Keenan and Galvin rose from their seats and Lyfe watched them walk out of the café. A few moments later he left, and hailed a cab to the office.

When Lyfe walked into his office at Anderson Global he could feel anger creeping up his back. “Motherfuck!” he said, flopping down in his chair, his heart racing out of control. “What the fuck am I supposed to do now?”

He held his head down and a few moments later he shook his feelings of uncertainty off, and made up his mind that he knew exactly what to do, especially since he had everything to lose.

“A
untie,” Zion tugged on Arri’s arm as they walked across the street from his school, “there goes Iron Man.” He pointed to Lyfe sitting on the small brick stoop in front of their building.

As if remote-controlled by his presence, Arri’s pussy creamed and her nipples hardened. She watched Lyfe slowly puff on his Cuban cigar, and the memory of his tongue holding the same exact grip on her clit caused her brow to sweat. She fanned her face, and Khris, who was walking with her, said tight-lipped, “Is this creative overtime?”

“Would you be quiet?” Arri whispered. “You know he can hear you.”

“Yeah, he does hear every damn thing, doesn’t he?” Khris shot a phony smile at Lyfe. “Mr. Carrington,” she said, “funny seeing you here.”

“Wassup, Khris,” Lyfe said. “And by the way, Lyfe is fine.”

“Hell yes, he is,” she snarled. “Zion, Tyree, come on upstairs with me.”

Once the door closed behind Khris and the boys, Arri walked up the three short stairs to where Lyfe sat. “I thought you were going to be in California for a few days,” she snapped with a little more edge than she intended.

Lyfe looked taken aback. “What’s that about?”

“What?”

“The attitude.”

“I don’t have an attitude. I’m very clear on how I feel.”

“And how is that?”

“I’m done.” Arri turned away from him, and walked into the building.

He followed her into the elevator. “What the hell is this?”

Silence.

“I asked you a question,” he said as they stepped off the elevator. “What the fuck is your problem?” He slammed the door as they walked into the apartment.

“Don’t slam my goddamn door!” she screamed.

“Then answer my damn question!”

“You wanna know what the fuck my problem is?” Arri waved her arms frantically in the air. The ache in her head caused pain-filled tears to well in her eyes. And though they danced in her throat, the fact that they threatened to spill out fucked with her even more. She wasn’t ready to be this vulnerable, but there was only so much she could take. Her words warred with her tears as she spoke. “You really think you can go out to California, fuck your wife, and I’m supposed to what, sit here and be okay with that? Hell no. I’m done with that bullshit.”

“I haven’t fucked anybody but you. And before you go accusing me, why don’t you ask me?”

“You don’t have to explain shit to me—”

“Arri—”

“Yes, Arri changed her fuckin’ mind. I’m not about to be some weak-ass mistress on the side. I feel cheap as shit. How did you really think I felt with you being gone? Happy? No. I’m done.”

“And when did you decide this?”

“The day that Ian was killed right there in my fuckin’ doorway is when I decided that I couldn’t and I wouldn’t do bullshit anymore!”

Lyfe could tell Arri was hurting; hell, he was hurting too. He grabbed her by the hand and pulled her to his chest. He pressed his forehead against hers and said, “You know what,” he backed her into the corner of the room, “you wanna do this, let’s fuckin’ do this. ’Cause this don’t have shit to do with Payton, or any other bullshit; this has to do with you loving me and not being able to tell me. So say it.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Tell me you love me, so we can get past this argument you’re making up, because you know damn well in your heart of hearts that I’m not making love to nobody but you. Now tell me and don’t give me no politically correct, homegirl fuckin’ answer. And don’t tell me shit about my circumstances and I don’t wanna hear that you’re scared, because I can see that. What I wanna hear is that you love me. In three words.”

Arri looked into Lyfe’s face and she realized that being in his arms went beyond feeling safe and secure. It was like … like … loving Superman. It was magnetic. Fire. Passion. Finding forever, all in one man. Tears streamed down her face. “I love you,” she practically whispered, “but I can’t do this with you.”

Lyfe stood up straight and said, “So this is it? That’s what you’re saying?”

When Arri didn’t respond Lyfe turned toward the door. Arri could tell in his steps that he was waiting or hoping that she would say something. And she could also tell that if she said nothing that this would be the last time she’d ever see him.

“But I’m scared …” Arri said softly. “I’m scared as hell to love you as hard as I do. And I don’t understand it … and I don’t know what to do with it.”

Lyfe stopped in his tracks and turned back toward Arri. “It’s simple, just give it to me, please. Because, right now, at this time in my life, when everything I thought was real has turned out not to be, I need you to love me. I need you like air. I want you to have my babies.”

“I wanna have your babies,” she confided, “and I want your last name, I wanna be …”

“Say it.”

“I wanna be your wife.”

“And you will be, but I gotta ask you something first.”

“What?”

“I need you to run away with me. Not like before, where we came back in a day. I mean for good. Just you, me, and Zion.”

“Lyfe,” Arri hesitated, “why are we running away?”

“Because I can’t stay here.”

“Why not?”

“Because Anderson Global is a cover for a money-laundering scheme.”

“Say that again.”

“Payton and Quinton King have been stealing money from the company and setting me up in the process.”

Arri gasped. “Are you serious?”

“As hell, and I’m not going back to prison.”

“But you didn’t do anything.”

“Arri, listen to me. Everybody in this motherfucker is crooked. Everybody. Nobody has been honest with me—but you. And the goddamn FBI is involved in this shit.”

“FBI?”

“Yes, and even they’re crooked as fuck.”

“What do you mean they’re crooked?”

“They’re the ones that gave me all the damn information and bank account numbers. That’s the real reason I went to California—to try and get some answers.”

“And what did you come back with?”

“That my wife is fucking Quinton and planning to screw me in the process.”

“And what about the FBI?”

“In exchange for not turning me in—and only focusing their
case on Payton, regardless of the fact that they know I’m innocent, they want twenty million dollars in cash.”

Arri’s heart dropped in her chest. “Twenty million … Oh my God, what are you going to do?”

“I’ma give it to ’em.”

Arri stared into deep thought and then she said, “Well, if Payton and Quinton are stealing all of the money, where are you going to get that kind of money from?”

“I’ma steal it back.”

“Steal it back? And how is that?”

“Don’t worry about that.”

“I have to.”

“Would you let me handle this?”

“How are you going to handle it?”

Lyfe drew in a breath. “I need you to sit down and let me tell you about a few things that I used to do.”

T
he only light in the room came from the crackling end of Payton’s cigarette. She took hard and long tokes as she sat in Lyfe’s hotel suite, waiting—the last two days—for him. She’d come dressed for the occasion: coal black and fitted Vera Wang strapless dress, four-inch sling-back stilettos, and a midnight black .9 millimeter.

She patted the gun against the center of her Chanel-covered lips and wondered about the exact date when she’d been replaced. It was obvious that she’d withered to nothing. That she’d lost. But so be it. If he’d chosen some broke, pathetic bitch over her, then fine. But one thing was for certain: there was no way in hell he would take care of that whore with Payton’s money. She’d kill his ass first, and that wasn’t about bruised love, jealousy, or any other heart-pacifying bullshit—that was about business.