Uptown Thief (22 page)

“I bet those were worth a lot by the time you were a teenager,” Marisol said.

“They helped my folks buy their house. But don't change the subject.”

“Which is what?” Marisol asked.

“Two subjects,” he said. “Confusing messages boys get, and how I admire you for being like Robin Hood.”

“Let's stay with subject number one,” Marisol said.

“Well, it was weird,” Raul said. “My dad had all these American white guy heroes. Even Captain America. And we weren't really Americans, but he had kept those comics in perfect shape. Which was like a miracle given the moisture in the air in Puerto Rico. He used special bags and mothballs and stuff. He fucking lost it when we tried to read them in the middle of winter in New York, like we were still in PR and the humidity was gonna ruin them.”

“I remember your folks being all about Puerto Rico,” Marisol said. “Like they were only here for a minute to make some cash and go back.”

“They had all this hostility toward America,” Raul said. “Those comics were the one American thing my dad really loved—other than sports. They still want me to move to PR to be closer to them.”

They stopped in front of the clinic. She opened the front door, and he set the groceries down on a chair in the lobby.

Marisol turned on a lamp, and sat on one of the couches. She motioned for him to join her.

“So, you think you'll move to PR?” she asked.

“My life's been here since I was two,” he said. “My job. People.”

“Anyone in particular?” she asked, moving toward him.

“Maybe,” he said, and leaned in to kiss her.

Marisol had faked thousands of kisses. She knew just how to move her head and hands and body to convey excitement. But with Raul, she just sat still. Utterly still, and felt a flush of heat and desire, invisible, unexpected, and overwhelming.

He finished the kiss, and pulled back to look at her.

“I've been wanting to do that since I first saw you,” he said. He reached for her hand and kept his eyes locked with hers.

Marisol cleared her throat. The kiss was nearly an out-of-body experience, and his gaze further unsettled her.

“So . . . uh . . . so, what's next for you, Raul? You got the NYPD begging you to come back. You thinking about it?”

He shook his head. “I plan to stay strictly freelance.”

“But they want you to consult, right?” Her words felt disconnected. Like a time delay. Her mouth spoke her uncensored, anxious thoughts, and two seconds later she'd find the words she'd wanted. She meant to say,
clearly, you're a man in demand
. But instead she said, “You've been working with them, right?”

He drew his head back from her. “What is this?”

“What is what?” she asked.

“First you're kissing me, then you're grilling me about the police?”

“I wasn't—”

“No, for real,” he said. “I been trying to make a move on you for months. And you been telling me no, no, no. Then I come in here yesterday to congratulate you and suddenly, I'm irresistible?”

Before she could even piece together a response, he had stood up and stalked to the front door.

“Save your bullshit, Marisol,” he spat. “I'm not about to be played like that.”

He slammed the door behind him.

She stared after him. How had she fucked that up so badly? The kiss had been like a sucker punch. It had her too shaken up to play it right.

Now she would have to depend on her team.

* * *

Just before dawn, the four women met up at the office.

“I bagged a corporate lawyer with a Montgomery safe,” Jody said.

“I struck out,” Tyesha said. “So many guys pretending to be rich to get laid. The guy I fucked mighta had money, but no safe.”

“Let's do these hits ASAP,” Marisol said. “We've got Tyesha's old boss, the family Kim's mom cleaned for, and this new lawyer.”

“I'm on it,” Tyesha said. “Just let me cancel my flight to LA.”

“That's right,” Kim said. “The Oscars are tomorrow.”

The three young women looked at Marisol.

“Go catch your plane, Tyesha.”

“You sure?” she asked.

“You're not doing the B-and-E,” Marisol said. “And you gave the full download on your old boss. Go. Just be reachable for questions.”

“I love you!” Tyesha said, and she kissed them all before she ran out of the office.

“Do we start these hits tonight?” Jody asked.

Marisol nodded. “Jody, you stand lookout. Kim, you hit Tyesha's old boss.”

“Why not you?” Kim asked. “I only did VanDyke because you were tied up.”

“I'll be doing one of the other jobs,” Marisol said. “It's Saturday night; at least one of them has gotta be out. I'm hoping we can do the hits at practically the same time. Muck up the waters as much as possible.”

“Who'll be lookout for you?” Jody asked.

“Eva,” Marisol said. “I learned my lesson.”

* * *

Two days later, on Monday afternoon, Marisol met up with Jody and Kim in the office. Several piles of small bills made little crosses on the desk.

“Six thousand, four hundred twenty-three,” Kim said, confirming the count.

Marisol gathered the bills. “Neither are donors to the clinic, and two hits went down simultaneously on Saturday—”

She broke off when someone knocked at the door.

“Who is it?” Marisol asked, as Jody swept the bills off the edge of the desk into a drawer.

Kim opened the door and Tyesha waltzed in with the
New York Post
and a huge grin
.

“Page six, motherfuckers!” she crowed and slammed the paper down on the table.

Kim found the photo right away.

Marisol leaned over her shoulder and read: “‘Rap sensation Thug Woofer on the red carpet with his lovely date, wearing Dilani Mara.' Damn, they didn't even give your name.”

“It was amazing!” she said. “I met Shonda Rhimes, and Taraji and Laz Alonzo and Laverne Cox.”

“So, where did he take you afterward?” Kim asked. “Did you fuck him?”

“To the Beverly Wilshire,” Tyesha said. “That was the craziest part. We didn't fuck. He said good-bye at the hotel and went to catch a plane.”

“Marisol!” Serena yelled through the open door.

Marisol locked the desk drawer full of cash as her assistant ran into the office.

“The pimp with the gun is back!”

Chapter 22

I
n front of the clinic, Jerry smoldered on the sidewalk. The women inside had run to the windows, twenty sets of eyes peering out at the street. His Hummer was parked at a hydrant.

“Where's the head bitch in charge?” he had said. “The executive director bitch. Marisol Rivera.”

Eva stepped outside the door and leaned on her cane. “She's busy,” Eva said.

Jerry fired into the air. “I'll wait.”

Eva flinched, but set her jaw and stood ramrod straight.

Lower Manhattan traffic breezed by, oblivious.

Marisol stepped out and stood next to Eva.

“What do you want?” Marisol asked, arms folded across her chest. She kept a good five feet between herself and Jerry's thick arms and scowling, stubbly face. Jerry had sweat stains underneath the armpits of his designer warm-up jacket. She could see a light sheen on his forehead, even in the cold midday air.

Without his shades, his eyes looked dead and hungry at the same time.

“I wanna make some introductions,” Jerry said. He gestured toward his Hummer with the gun barrel.

“You already know Dulce.”

Marisol's heart sank as she saw the girl's profile in the backseat. Dulce averted her eyes.

Marisol fantasized swinging the SUV door into Jerry. She, Eva, and Dulce could sprint for the clinic, where they could protect the girl. This time she wouldn't let Dulce go so easily.

It wasn't so much Jerry's gun that made the plan impossible, as Dulce's defeated expression. Marisol knew that despair. She could rip off the Hummer door and beat Jerry to death, and Dulce would still wait for the next backhand.

“And that's my little brother, Jimmy.” Jerry indicated the guy riding shotgun.

Jimmy was thinner and clean-shaven. He looked Marisol up and down. “Nothing little about me, sweet thing.”

Marisol kept her jaw set, as the two brothers laughed.

“And some more introductions,” Jerry said. “Lupe, Jenny, Star, and Spice.” The girls waved, a spectrum of young brown women.

“These are my girls, okay?” Jerry said. “They don't need your help. I'm their help. Sometimes they might be a little forgetful about who takes care of them.” He turned to the Hummer. “Dulce,” he said. “Get the fuck down here, you stupid little bitch.”

Marisol couldn't stand that word. Her uncle had fired it at her so many times. It stung even when women used it jokingly. Coming out of Jerry's mouth, it felt lethal.

Dulce stepped out of the vehicle.

“Show them your ass,” he barked.

He pulled down the waistband of her hot shorts a few inches, to show a tattoo of a flower with his phone number on it. The flower had been there for a while, but the number tattoo was a fresh wound.

“See?” He snapped the waistband, and slapped her on the ass. She winced and climbed back into the vehicle, eyes still on the concrete.

“She's lucky I didn't tattoo it on her face,” Jerry spat. “Or slice it in. But if any of my girls set foot into your building, for a checkup, a visit, a tissue, I will burn that motherfucker to the ground with all you bitches in it. You got that?”

“Is that how you want it, Dulce?” Marisol asked.

Eva's eyes flashed her an
are-you-crazy?
look. But Marisol had to hear it from Dulce's own mouth.

“Jerry didn't mean nothing before,” she said in a quiet voice. “It was a misunderstanding.” Tears ran down her face.

“Okay,” Marisol said. “Jerry, we're a service center. We provide service to women who need it. If they ask, we provide. It's your job to keep your hoes in line. Not mine.”

Marisol took Eva's arm, and they walked back into the clinic. She prayed he wouldn't shoot. For assholes like him, her strategy was to show no fear.

Just like her previous confrontation with Jerry, Marisol didn't start to shake until the door closed behind her.

* * *

An hour later, Raul showed up.

“What the fuck?” Marisol asked. “Did one of your cop friends tell you about the shooting?”

“What shooting?” he asked, taking off his leather jacket. Underneath, he had on a zip-up work shirt. He looked like he belonged in a factory. Or better yet, a men's cologne ad set in a factory.

“Some idiot shot up into the air,” Marisol said. “Nobody hurt, and we didn't call the cops. Raul, what are you doing here?”

“Two more burglaries went down Saturday night,” Raul said, sitting down in her client chair.

“Really?” Marisol asked, sarcastically. “I wonder if the victims had thrown parties with some link to one of my donors.”

“I was wondering the same thing,” Raul said. “So I checked.”

“And?” Marisol asked.

“MO matched perfectly, but no link to this place,” Raul said. “No link to the IT guy, no Asian girlfriend. Well done.”

“Is this our little game now?” she asked. “You come and make innuendos? What's my move?”

“Your previous move was to try to get me thinking with my dick instead of my brain,” he said. “But I won't be making that mistake twice.”

“Don't act like some innocent victim here,” she said. “Your cop connections could get me arrested on your word alone. Telling a woman you've got info that could put her in jail isn't an attempt at seduction, it's an attempt at extortion.”

“Extortion for what? I don't want your money.”

“Money?” Marisol asked. “If you think you're the first guy who ever tried to use leverage to get laid . . .”

“Are you fucking kidding me? I would never do that,” he said. “I told you. I wanted to become a stickup kid.”

“But you didn't,” Marisol said bitterly. “You became a cop. And your partner was notorious for using his leverage. He used to extort blow jobs from girls working in Times Square—did you know that? Some of them were even underage.”

“I heard the rumors,” Raul said. “I told him from day one how I felt about that shit. He never did anything like that when we worked together.”

“Extra points for you, Boy Scout.” Marisol sneered. “You ever encourage him to turn himself in? Isn't that what you do? Investigate crimes? What's the statute of limitations on statutory rape? Or do you forget it's a crime if the minor is a sex worker?”

“Look, I'm sorry,” he said quietly. “When you put it that way, I can see how my last visit to your office would look fucked up—like I was trying to manipulate you, but I swear I wasn't. It doesn't matter at this point, because I couldn't go to the cops with my original theory, even if I wanted to—which I don't. I couldn't rat you out without implicating myself, because the MO changed after I opened my big mouth and told a suspect what I knew.”

As he spoke, her outrage ebbed away.

He stood up. “So no need to revive the fake I-like-you act. Whatever threat you thought I posed has been neutralized.”

She didn't know what to say.

“I know I'm an ex-cop and everything, but I'm a
barrio
boy at heart.” He walked to the door. “If it comes to a choice between my former colleagues and my people, there's no contest.” He stepped out of her office and closed the door.

* * *

That night, Tyesha stood in front of the clinic waiting for Thug Woofer. She felt a little humdrum for a date with a rap star. Nothing in her own wardrobe could compete with the rented Dilani Mara, so she just wore designer jeans, boots, and a snug-fitting black sweater.

“You look beautiful,” he said, opening the passenger door of his SUV.

“Thank you,” she said, checking out his jeans that didn't sag to his knees and a similarly casual sweater. “No limo?”

“Did you want one?” he asked. “I can call right now—”

She put a hand on his. “This is nicer,” she said. “A real date.”

“Our first date was all business,” he said, steering the vehicle away from the curb. “Our second date was all publicity. Tonight is just you and me.”

He turned at the end of the block, headed uptown. “So, what kind of food you like?”

“A lot of food,” she said. “Someplace where a walnut and a stick of celery is not considered a meal.”

“I know just the spot,” he said.

“How long you lived here?” Tyesha asked.

“Lived here?” Woof asked. “I'm mostly on the road. To be real, this is my first date in the city.”

“Your first date?”

“Out the house, I mean,” he said. “I can be honest, right?”

“By all means,” she said.

“So, do you enjoy your work?” he asked.

“I enjoy studying public health,” she said. “Sex work just pays the bills. I could be a waitress, but I'd make much less and have to work a lot harder. I could be a topless waitress, and I'd still make less, and deal with half the shit I do now. As it is, I work one night a week, and I've got an IRA and savings for vacation.”

“Damn.” Thug Woofer laughed. “I might need to get into your line of work.”

“Don't get it twisted,” Tyesha said. “This job is fucked up if you're working for the wrong people. I just got lucky. Marisol is the best in the business.” Tyesha smiled, thinking about how she was practically retiring.

“How'd you get started?” he asked. “A job posting online or some shit?”

Tyesha laughed. “I was waitressing. My girl Lily was quitting to make better money in this gentlemen's club. I went along.” They were stopped at a light. Tyesha looked out at the traffic whizzing past. “One day Lily had a date—you know, a date for money—who had a friend.” Tyesha shrugged. “It wasn't that dramatic. The friend was cute, so it was cool to hook up and get paid, too.”

“Win-win,” Thug Woofer said.

“A year later, I heard Marisol on a panel at Columbia talking about women and public health. She sort of mentored me.”

“And became your pimp?”

“Marisol is not a pimp,” Tyesha said, a note of outrage in her voice.

“She sets you up with dates for money. She tried to block a real date with you. Isn't that classic pimp behavior?”

“Marisol wanted me to stay out of the business,” Tyesha said. “I was an intern at the clinic, and she didn't even tell me she had an escort service. Only when I was going to another escort agency did she ask me to work for her. And she made me promise to quit when I got my degree, and take a straight job at the clinic.”

Woof nodded. “You date much outside your work?”

“Not for a while.” Tyesha shrugged. “I was dating this guy. At first, we went on some regular dates, but before we really hooked up, he said he was married.”

“Mood killer,” Woof said.

“I had been thinking we had a future,” Tyesha said. “He already had his future with some white woman. And two kids.”

“But he said he didn't really love her,” Woof said. “Blah blah blah. My old manager used to run that game.”

“Yeah, well, I wasn't trying to hear that,” Tyesha said. “I was like, only two job descriptions at Tyesha, Inc. Unmarried boyfriend or sugar daddy.”

“Is tonight a sugar daddy job interview?” Woof asked. “Am I dressed right? Should I have worn more bling?”

“No.” Tyesha laughed. “That was a long time ago. I got a good gig now. No more sugar daddies.”

“Whew,” he said. “Pressure's off.”

“And how about you?” she asked. “Do you like your work?”

Woof sighed. “Sometimes I think you and me, we in the same industry. But enough talk about work.”

He pulled up in front of a cozy-looking soul food steak house in the east seventies, and handed the valet his keys.

“I hope you like it,” he said as they walked in. “They know how to feed a sister up in here.”

The host took them to his usual table near the back of the restaurant.

Tyesha opened the menu and was delighted to see big steaks and Southern cooking.

“This is perfect,” Tyesha said.

The waiter took their order. Woof ordered a bottle of wine, and the steak with greens and mashed potatoes. Tyesha got the fried chicken with yams and corn bread.

Tyesha heard someone across the room gasp and ask, “Where?” and figured somebody else had recognized Woof.

“So,” Woof said. “What's your family like?”

“Far,” Tyesha said with a laugh. “That's how I like it. I had a full scholarship to University of Chicago, but I transferred to Columbia my junior year, with a much less attractive financial package.”

“Why?” Woof asked.

“I'm the sister everybody depends on. I was gonna end up failing out of school with all the close-up family drama. ‘My girlfriend threw me out, can I stay on your couch?' ‘Can I drop off my kids just for the night?' ‘Can I borrow a hundred bucks?' It's easier when you just listen on the phone and wire money, you know?”

Woof laughed. “Yeah.”

“I'm the first one in my family to go to college,” Tyesha said. “Now I'm in grad school, and I work nights.”

“Night,” Woof corrected.

Tyesha laughed. “Right. I work night.”

“What do you do the rest of your nights?”

“Woof, I'm kinda confused here,” Tyesha said. “You're laying on the romance game pretty thick, and I thought we were past that.”

The waitress set two steaming plates in front of them.

“Thank you.” Tyesha smiled at her. The waitress tried to catch Woof's eye.