“What money problem?” Jonathan finally said, his tone instantly all-business.
“The three hundred large it cost you to lay out for security on my tour.” She waited, expecting him to flip— but he laughed.
“Baby, now why would I stop paying for your basic expenses, just because we had a little altercation? I pay that kind of money every time you go out on tour— it’s the cost of doing business. It’s in your contract, love. Ten men while out of the U.S. at thirty large a day to cover you and your entourage; three men for local coverage at five hundred a day.”
“You do?” she said quietly.
“Of course. Ron handles all that mess and makes sure my paper is straight— runs it through legal. What’s the matter with you, girl? You high or something? Now that shit I’m not dealing with, because then you’ll mess with my moneymaker— your voice.” Jonathan Evans let out an impatient huff. “Okay, so you want some attention. Fine. If you’re done having tantrums, we’ll go to dinner tonight if you want, but right now I’ve got business to handle. Tour was good?”
“Tour was excellent.”
“That’s my baby. Knock ‘em dead. See you tonight, your place. We’ll get back to the way it should be, then go eat late.”
“Yeah.”
Anita put down the telephone gently and then went in the adjacent room to stop the small recorder. It was time to call family.
“SOMETHING FUCKED UP is happening, man,” Derrick said. “I can feel it in my bones.”
“If Anita wants to talk, then we need to listen,” Pop Brown said, looking at his boys.
Antwan sucked his teeth and folded his arms, looking out the window. The eldest Brown went back to the phone, eyeing his sons as he spoke.
“We each got a thousand dollars a week— wire transfer,” he said, glancing at Derrick and Antwan. “I got all the papers, bank statements. So whatchure problem now?”
ZACHARY CHECKED HIS BlackBerry, walked up to the Brooklyn brownstone, and leaned on the bell. He waited patiently for Lowell’s partner to buzz him in. He knew they’d both be there, anxiously waiting on the signed off contracts with Anita Brown’s signature— the one thing necessary for them to invoice Jonathan Evans.
The moment the door buzzer sounded, he pushed open the heavy door and followed the hall to the offices on the first floor. Mike Epps opened the door with a wide smile.
“Hey, Zach, what’s up, man? Who knew you’d be in town and could go stand in for Lowell? How was the bitch tour?”
“Yo, Zach,” Vernon called out.
It wasn’t planned, but it was reflex. Zach threw the roundhouse punch without needing time to think about it. Mike Epps hit the floor and Vernon Knox backed up.
“The tour was fabulous,” Zach said, looking down at a stunned Mike Epps. “And although I can’t prove it, I know you and your cousin, Ron Epps, poisoned my boy Lowell . . . just to throw him off the job. Wasn’t supposed to kill him, just back him off so you could switch around the guard slate, get a bunch of jacklegs in there at a couple hundred bucks a day— same way you’ve been skimming off Anita’s brothers and father— charging Evans the full rate, paying them half. Dude has so much money he can’t watch it all, so a lot falls through the cracks, huh? But I wasn’t supposed to be in town, so I messed up the party. You probably sent the stalker notes, too, you rat bastard!”
Mike Epps spit out a tooth while Vernon gaped at him.
“Is that true, man?” Vernon said, coming around the desk.
“I’ll fucking sue you for assault,” Mike sputtered, spitting blood and picking up his tooth. “You need to take your Rambo ass out of here before you get hurt. You think you can roll in the big leagues, run with the big dogs, and not have to pay some dues? Lowell is so damned stupid, thinks if you do an honorable job and run a tight ship, you’ll get noticed.” Mike pushed up and dusted off his suit.
“Tell me you did not poison our partner, man,” Vernon said, grabbing Mike’s arm. “And tell me you didn’t send terror threats to that woman!”
Mike shrugged away from Vernon’s hold. “So his cheese-steak was a little tainted— was only a little bit of the meds that Evans makes Ron put on his precious dogs . . . damned dogs eat better than most people I know. Wasn’t enough to kill Lowell, just to make him sick enough to stand down and get out of the way for a minute. I didn’t have jack to do with the letters. For that, go see her brother Antwan— he dropped them, and had every reason to cover his ass with a little job security, just like Ron and I had every reason to keep the Brown brothers on the job. Lowell was about to fuck everything up.”
“You are out of your goddamned mind!” Vernon shouted, pointing at Mike. “I want it on the record that I didn’t have anything to do with this foul madness.”
“This partnership is dissolved anyway, because that Queen B bitch is acting crazy and erratic . . . by this time tomorrow, Evans will have another one, and me and Ron will
be back in business.”
“You know what, man?” Vernon said, shaking his head. “This is beyond fucked up. I’m out.”
“It’s about who you know at the end of the day, and I was the one who knew somebody. My cousin is on the inside; that means I am, too. Don’t get it twisted,” Mike shouted, pointing at Vernon.
“Yeah, it is about who you know,” Zach said, holding up his open Blackberry and then pressing the buzzer to open the front door. “I know a couple of people in the Department of Homeland Security . . . Anita knows a few cops who wouldn’t mind a Police Athletic League donation— not sure whose jurisdiction it falls under, but some of this could have had international implications.” Zachary leaned on the wall as the door opened and three burly suits came in wearing wires in their ears.