“Walk out with me,” Akeem says.
“I’m not going nowhere,” Ano states and Akeem merely glares at him. Ano gives in. “I hope you know this yo’ last time in here,” he utters as he steps toward the door.
“Tell your men don’t try me,” Akeem says before pressing his gun into Ano’s back. “I hate shooting men from behind. If a man must die, he should at least see that shit coming.”
“It’ll be cool,” Ano assures him before opening the door. Just like when Akeem first entered, the door guard isn’t out here. He’s back in the bathroom, smoking his vape. “Pussy ass nigga,” Ano utters while shaking his head in disgust. As much as he pays Quanell, this nigga shouldn’t have made it inside his office and he damn sure shouldn’t be able to force him out of his office with a fucking gun in his back.
Ano slows his walk, trying to draw attention to himself, but Akeem presses the gun into his back. “Walk normal. To the door,” Akeem instructs.
Ano complies and speeds his steps. When they pass the main bar, Akeem spots Sunjiya and motions for her to come to them. She slides off the bar stool and heads toward them. She immediately ascertains what’s happening and gets close to them, trying to provide a shield. It’s not needed though.
Not one person is paying them any attention. The patrons are glued to the two stages with dancers. All of Ano’s security guards are preoccupied with watching the girls. The bartenders serve the few people at the bar and the servers are trying to make tips. It’s Monday and dry. Every worker is busy trying to make asmuch money as she can from the small crowd. So with his gun pressed into Ano’s back and Sunjiya providing an unnecessary shield, they make it through the club out of the door to their rental. Once Sunjiya is inside, Akeem drops his gun from Ano.
“We good now,” Akeem says.
“This muthafucka,” Ano whispers through angry, gritted teeth. While shaking his damn head, he rushes back into the club. Akeem starts the rental and pulls out of the parking lot just when Ano bursts into the club, mad as hell and screaming.
“Ano was pissed,” Sunjiya says while smirking.
“You know his name?” Akeem questions. He’s privy to Ano’s name from the intel Axton collected but didn’t share that with Sunjiya.
“One of the girls said it,” she answers quickly. “But that’s all I learned. Honey is off for the week and nobody knows where she is. Hell, they don’t even know her real name. I hope you had better luck,” she says.
“I don’t think so,” Akeem says before turning. There’s a gas station about a quarter of a mile down on the right of this street. Not only does he want to take another look at the copy of the fake looking license, the car needs gas. The gas needle hovers over the red area near empty. “Nobody knows shit but Ano had a copy of her driver’s license. It looks fake though,” Akeem adds after he pulls up to a pump.
“Did you get a copy?” she asks.
“Yeah,” he admits, then pulls the paper out of his pocket. Before handing it to her, he takes another look at it.Honey Black, 1234 Peachtree Lane, Atlanta, Georgia 30394, Date of birth May 15, 2000.
Just in case the date of birth is correct, he takes a picture of the license copy before handing the sheet to Sunjiya. As she examines it, he sends the picture to Axton. It’s definitely a longshot, but at this point, he’ll take any leads. The biggest one they had just slipped through his fingers.
“This is fake as hell. I buy the date of birth and maybe, just maybe, the name but the address looks fake,” she says. “I’m going to look it up.” Sunjiya pulls her cell out and indeed looks up the generic looking address. “It’s a charging station for electric cards. Not a house or apartment. Damn!” She sighs.
“Fuck,” he utters, frustrated. He needs to shoot or smoke something to take the fucking edge off. He chooses the latter but needs a cigar to roll. “You want something out of here?” he asks her.
“Yeah. I’m getting hungry.”
“We can get real food. Actually, after I fill up we can sit somewhere, regroup, and figure out our next fucking move.”
“Sounds good. Then can you grab me a bottle of water please?” she asks.
“I got you.
He exits the car and treks toward the store. After grabbing two bottles of water, he journeys to the counter, gets a two-pack of cheap cigars, and pays cash for his items and the gas. When he’s walking out of the store, he gets a text from Axton.
Axton: It’s fake.
Akeem: I figured. Just was hoping.
Axton: I can run the DOB and cross check the name.
Akeem: It’s worth a shot.
Axton: I may have some leads. Still working on the numbers and letters list but I have something with the postcard. The zip is Gulf County, Port St. Joe, a little town. I searched Pri and have five possible hits.
He shakes his head in appreciation as he types his response. Axton really knows that computer shit and always comes through for his brother.
Akeem: That’s something. Thanks. Send them.
