“Nightingale’s other best friend is Darius Tucker.”
Brady gave a nod but said, “He’s still untested.”
“Then we’re going to test him.”
Brady held his gaze only a moment before he nodded.
Marcus continued to issue orders.
“You’re on me, as usual. I want Louie on the streets. The other men stay on task. But keep Vince from this.”
Brady’s mouth got hard and he nodded.
Marcus’s man Vince had his uses, they were valuable, but both Marcus and Brady had had reservations for some time about the man.
Louie seemed able to keep him in check, however, so those valuable uses could be put to work without causing hassle or headache.
With no further words, they moved out of the club.
Brady opened the back door to the black sedan limousine that was waiting only feet from the entrance of Smithie’s. Marcus folded in.
Brady closed the door, rounded the car, and sat in the front seat next to Marcus’s driver, Ronald.
Through this, Marcus pulled out his phone.
He flipped it open and made the call.
“Yes, Mr. Sloan,” his secretary Kelly answered.
“Smithie has a dancer. Her name is Daisy. Find out her address and send her a bouquet of daisies. A large one.”
“Daisies?”
“Daisies. A lot of them.”
“I’ll do that right now, Mr. Sloan.”
“Every day.”
“Pardon?”
“Send her a bouquet every day. Starting today. Not the same color. But the same size.”
“Right. Every day. Not the same color but large.”
“Very large.”
“Of course, Mr. Sloan. Anything else?” she asked.
“Not right now.”
“Okay, then. I’ll take care of it.”
“Thank you, Kelly.”
“My pleasure, Mr. Sloan.”
He flipped his phone shut and drew a breath in through his nostrils.
He was trying unsuccessfully not to allow what he saw on that tape to run through his head.
As he was unsuccessful at this, he flipped his phone open again and made another call.
“Marcus,” Shirleen Jackson answered.
“You or your nephew find him, you bring him to me.”
There was a moment of silence before she replied, “That’s not the deal we just made with Smithie.”
“I’ll handle Smithie.”
“You got chops, Marcus, but the angry black man who just stormed outta my house is not a man I’m thinkin’ even you can handle.”
“They’re close,” he shared with her.
“Know that. He didn’t say it but I think I got it. But that only makes it worse. Bottom line, she’s a Smithie’s girl and she got raped in his own goddamned parking lot. Doesn’t matter to him she came back because she forgot something so he didn’t know she was on the premises. Only matters to him that his shit-for-brains security guy left the cameras so his waitress girlfriend could give him a handjob in the handicapped bathroom stall. This means he was gettin’ off when he should have been at his post, catchin’ that shit and shuttin’ it down so it didn’t happen. Wasn’t Smithie who got a handjob but he’s takin’ that all on his shoulders. He’s feelin’ a weight and that shit is heavy. So like I said, this is not a man who can be handled and I’m not thinkin’ that’s gonna change any time in, hmm…I don’t know, say the next century.”
“How many children does Smithie have, Shirleen?” Marcus asked.
“I can’t keep tabs. Brother keeps addin’ to his army,” she muttered.
“Regardless, I’m sure they’d prefer him running his club and not serving twenty to life.”
Shirleen had no comment to this.
“You find him, you bring him to me.”
“Can we play with him first?” she requested.
“Be my guest.”
“Marcus Sloan, always generous.” She was again muttering then she ended it. “Later.”
“Good-bye, Shirleen.”
He flipped his phone shut and drew in another breath.
It was then he allowed himself to envision what was on that tape.
He was interrupted in this when Brady dropped the phone he had to his ear, turned his head, and looked into the back at Marcus.
“You have a meet with Nightingale at two,” Brady told him.
In other words, in twenty minutes.
“Excellent,” Marcus replied.
Brady turned forward.
Marcus breathed.
* * * *
Daisy
“Aren’t these pretty?”
I didn’t look.
I kept staring out the window of my apartment, seeing nothing.
“Daisy, hon,” LaTeesha, one of Smithie’s four women, got closer to me. (Yeah, he had four, and yeah, he worked that, and yeah, I got that—Smithie had that big of a heart, not one of them or not any of the gazillion kids he had felt what they got from him was lacking.)
“You’re sweet, bein’ here with me, sugar. But I’m feelin’ the need for alone time.”
“Daisy—”
I turned to look at her, my mouth open to say something, when I stopped and stared at the huge bouquet of flowers she held in her hands.
Daisies.
“Smithie?” I asked, still staring at the flowers.
“Marcus Sloan.”
My eyes shot to hers.