“And?”
“Shiiiid–I’m happy that’s all she charged us.”
“I don’t understand.”
“The Chemist.”
Indie’s eyes grew bigger as he explained. I searched my memory but didn’t have to dig far.
“Chemistry Childers?Most wanted man in all of Huffington?”
“Fucking right.”
“Royce Childers. She and Mercer share a brother.”
“That’s why she’s not afraid of being in the public eye,” I whispered.
The wheels were turning. The facts were linking. The vague was becoming very fucking clear. Royce was no longer a beautiful blur.
“She doesn’t give a fuck about what motherfuckers think of her. She wants a mess to be made so she can clean it up. That’s what they do.”
I continued pacing. Nearly every explanation I’d conjured was dismantled. Royce wasn’t just impressive by the beauty standards. She was smart and resourceful. Wealthy and reserved. Tantalizing. Deemed untamable. Her type wasn't conquered or controlled.
They had the mental strength and capacity of an elephant. Their memory never failed them. Neither did their resources or capabilities. Their reach was beyond the comprehension of a law abiding, tax paying citizen. Just like me, they were above the law. In fact, the law didn’t exist in our worlds. It was a nuisance.
I’ve been called far worse… I’ve been called a man.
My brother’s chuckles startled me. I turned in his direction. A fist covered his mouth.
“What the hell you laughing at?”
“Nothing man.” He shook his head, handing me the phone.
It rang immediately. I pressed the button on the side to silence it. I wasn’t interested in taking any calls. Not at this moment. I’d return it as soon as Indigo told me what the fuck was so funny.
“Nah, nigga, what’s funny?”
“You!”
“What about me?”
He shook his finger in my direction.
“I know that look, Ish. I know that fucking look,” he sniggered.
“What look?”
Baffled, I lifted my shoulders and leaned in closer, dropping my head to the right as I waited for an explanation.
“I have that same look when I see something I can’t go too much longer without having a piece of. I have that same goddamn look when I’m thinking about how I’m gon’ take that shit down and nail it to the nearest mattress. And, if ain’t naan around, then the nearest fucking couch, counter–whatever, wherevernigga.”
“I’m more concerned with my luck,” I lied, “What are the odds of the woman in the images being the woman who is supposed to help me wiggle my way out of this situation and secure the votes of Berkeley.”
“You’re going to be the mayor, Ish. Ain’t no denying that. If you ask me, that’s good luck. You have somebody on your side that will make sure you’re in that seat November twelfth.”
“At a hefty price.”
“You act like you ain’t got it to give.”
