Black Buck(59)

I rubbed my eyes, exhaling. “Dawn, I don’t mean to come off as a pushy salesperson, so please forgive the persistence, but you told me two months ago that Sumwun was exactly what you needed to battle your millennial turnover. Are you not experiencing turnover anymore?”

“Darren, I did say that, and we are still experiencing turnover, but I’d rather have people leaving Chuck E. Cheese than pay to have them murdered.”

“But, Dawn—”

“Goodbye, Darren. Please don’t call again.” Click.

“Fuck!”

Charlie looked over. “Sorry, dude. It’s happening to everyone. Those marketing videos we put out yesterday with the young girls saying how we’ve saved their lives and shit were supposed to help, but I guess not.”

Frodo chimed in. “I think we need Magic Johnson.”

“What?” Marissa asked. Clifford was ramming his fat head into the back of her chair, rocking her up and down.

“Magic Johnson,” Frodo repeated, standing up. “Whenever anyone is in trouble, they get, like, uh, a celebrity spokesperson, you know? Someone famous to be the face of the brand. And Magic Johnson could be that for us.”

The Duchess walked through the frosted doors, sipping a smoothie, and dropped her bag at her desk. Even during Sumwun’s horrible economic downturn, she managed to generate meeting after meeting, coming and going as she pleased. She no longer spoke to us, even to put us down.

Frodo nodded in Eddie’s direction. “What do you think, Eddie?”

Eddie was glued to his phone, furiously swiping left and right on photos of buff guys. “Yeah, good idea, Frodo.”

“Um, thanks,” Frodo said, scratching his head. “Hey, what’s that app? Looks fun.”

“Well—”

Charlie slowly rose from his chair and pointed to the frosted doors. “What the fuck?”

I turned around and thought I was hallucinating. Dozens of men and women in navy jackets poured out of the elevators in every direction.

“FBI! Everyone stop what you’re doing and put your hands where I can see them,” a pale man in a blood-colored tie and white button-down shouted as he shoved open the frosted doors. “Now!”

They flooded the entire floor, walking single file throughout the rows and around the corners, looking out the floor-to-ceiling windows as helicopters moved across the sky.

Clyde stormed toward the pale man but froze when the agent gripped his holster. “Make another move and we’ll arrest you!”

“I hope you bastards have a warrant,” Clyde said. “If not, get the fuck out of here! We know our rights.”

The pale man reached into his jacket, procured a folded piece of paper, and handed it to Clyde.

“Court authorized,” the pale man said, smiling. “You think you guys can just get an underage girl killed and not be investigated? This falls under violent crimes against children, online predators, and maybe we’ll find more, but who really knows? Now sit down and shut up!”

Clyde didn’t sit down. He stood there and read, gripping the paper so hard, it looked like he was going to tear it in half.

“I said sit!” the pale man roared into Clyde’s face. Clyde wilted into his seat. Pussy.

“Now,” the man said, as he turned around the room. “Where’s your fearless leader?”

Rhett walked out of his office looking like he’d just seen a ghost. “What’s going on?”

“What’s going on”—the pale man grinned—“is that Sumwun is under investigation. Give us everything you got. And I mean everything.”



* * *





I exited the subway. The sun had set, but the humid heat of summer still clung to the September air. There were still trees on the sidewalk with leaves that refused to turn brown, as if change didn’t always win in the end.

I charged past Wally Cat and Jason’s empty corner, looking through the bodega’s windows to make sure Mr. Aziz and Soraya weren’t there.

“Hey, Darren,” Waleed, Soraya’s cousin, said from behind the counter.

“What’s good, Waleed.”

I walked to the back and grabbed a bottle of sparkling cider.

“This for tonight?” he asked, ringing me up.

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

He laughed. “Soraya was nervous about you actually makin’ it, but I knew you would. I’m ten bucks richer now. Good looks.”

I cut left down Myrtle Avenue, passing Crown Fried, Kutz, and the laundromat before hearing rock music blasting from a bar. I stopped at the window and saw only white people inside, playing pool, drinking cold glasses of beer, and jerking their elbows and knees wildly—what I guess they considered dancing. Shit is changing. No doubt about that.

I buzzed, then heard Soraya’s sandals slapping down the stairs.

“I didn’ think you’d come,” she said, unable to hide her smile. She wore a modest black dress and looked incredible.

“Which is why I made sure I did,” I said. “It’s been a long day.”

“I bet. Is that for me?”

“Oh, yeah.” I handed her the bottle and followed her upstairs, watching her ass shake with each step.

Like us, they owned their home. They rented the bottom floor to relatives and occupied the others. Soraya had the top floor to herself and Mr. Aziz lived on the second, where the kitchen and living room also were.