Decadence

By Cecil Leslie

Alicia Skinner, a streetwise Trinidadian beauty, leads her all-female gang to success. Over-confident, however, they pull one heist too many and pay the pricein prison.

Marcus, a creative chef whose cooking proudly reflects his West-Indian heritage, lands his own cooking show. He soon becomes a local celebrity, and he and his lifelong buddies are in for the ride of a lifetime!

J.Q. Charles, owner of a booming business, sponsors a parolee-release work program and takes on the tough Ms. Skinner, helping her acquire social skills and business savvy.

The three characters paths cross and each must face personal challenges. Alicia struggles to overcome a turbulent past and accept the taxing course Destiny has steered her on. Marcus achievement leads to a corrupt business world, one which challenges his ethics. J.Q. must defy employees who intend to dethrone him from the empire he has arduously erected.

Trials and tribulations flourish, danger lurks in the most innocuous places, friendships are challenged, yet love and compassion still manage to prevail.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 28, 2005
• ISBN: 9781469106960

Cecil Leslie

Cecil Leslie was born of West Indian\Canadian heritage and raised in the city of Toronto where he currently works as a Technical Support Analyst for The Toronto Film Festival.

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Copyright © 2003, 2005 by Cecil Leslie.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

[e-mail]

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Contents

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Dream

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Special thanks to:

God, whose gifts make all this possible.

To my dearly beloved Mother, Father, and my sister, Henry: thanks for your love and support.

A very special thanks to Alicia Skinner/Samuels for lending your beauty, strength and character to this novel.

A very, very, special thanks to my talented editor, Tyler-Addison Colins, for making Decadence that much more of a success for me.

To Mr. Ramon Storr and Hubert Toh: thank you for using your wonderful design talents to create the cover of our story.

Thank you Ron Sanchez for the great contribution of your splendid gift of poetry. Also, thank you for your support and advice throughout our years of friendship.

An honourable mention to my grand cousins, J.Q. Charles, Nigel Stewart, Johnny Bullen, Marlon Singh, and Roel Bautista for serving as great, positive and constructive inspiration to the characters.

To my reviewers Catherine Cameron, Roel Bautista, Michael Richards, Alicia Samuels, Neil White, Ron Sanchez, Emile Riviere, Renee Young, Sherilyn Faminial, and Karen Jarvis Adams: thank you. Your discerning eyes meant a lot.

A special mention to two exceptional people: Karla Berkeley and her beautiful daughter, Taylor Berkeley. Thank you for rounding the edges of my novel.

Thank you Jarrod Ledrew, Robert and Michael Cooney for designing my impressive website.

A great many thanks to Dean Young for your printing services and support.

Regarding my first novel WaterColours, a special thanks to: Catherine, Horace Abel, Kedar, Ron, Tussaint Xavier (for being the first to buy the book), my editors Natalia Denesiuk and Martha Ayim, and Cielo Ongeko and the Ongeko sisters for planning such a beautiful and successful book launch at the Sutton Place Hotel.

For the inspiration that your intelligent, thoughtful, and humourous lines-in addition to the great friendship and support throughout the years-have provided, I would like to make special mention of my friends and pool buddies Alan White, Kevin White, Emile Riviere, Mark Peterson and Neil White.

Thanks to Jackie and Joe of Joe’s Billiards for pouring the drinks and keeping us happy.

A special thank you to Denise Chand for the gift of your friendship and spiritual guidance.

Thank you and God bless you Sandra Maragh, Horace Abel, Nigel Stewart, The Eddie Bullen Band, and the Delta Hotel for the wonderful book launch for Decadence.

A special and honourable mention to the sponsors who made the production of this book and the book launch possible. They are as follows:

Josephine and Franklin Leslie

Vanessa Leslie

MacRobert Valmont and Norma Tinsley

Mr. Asif Khan and Ron Sanchez of FrontierAlt Investment Management Corporation-specializing in the manufacturing and distribution of alternative financial investments

Mark Peterson—specializing in custom home renovationtions

Emile Riviere

Neil White of Neil White Inc.-specializing in the design and creation of custom interior renovations

Alan White—CEO of Tropic Trading Inc.

Though based on real people, all of the characters and events/incidents of Decadence are purely fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events/incidents, and locales is purely coincidental.

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Dream

If you stretch your hand out towards the stars in the night

Pretend to touch them

Within each star holds a dream

Within each dream holds your imagination

Within your imagination you are boundless, fearless and free

The power within you is limited; by the walls you build

Exercise your right to create a world enchanted by

Your grace, love and inspiration

Childhood fairy tales forgotten through the years

Once sparked your ability to believe in the impossible

As you begin to believe in yourself turn each day of your

Life like the pages in a fairytale

You are the author

Let your mind dance with hope and a smile on your face

God has provided you with a playground with all the rides

Enjoy yourself

—By Ron Sanchez—

Chapter 1

On a hot summer night, a

cool breeze blows through the open bay window to her room and gently lifts the white curtains that hang carelessly on its hinges. As the breeze rushes through the room, it lightly caresses her face and bare shoulders as she lies naked in bed with Marcus, both covered by a white silk sheet to shield them from the summer heat. She is slowly awakened by the soft welcoming touch of the wind. Carefully she lifts her head off of Marcus’ chest so as not to wake him from his deep slumber.

Alicia gets out of bed, her lover still lying asleep, oblivious of her absence after a night of passion. She slips her naked body into a thin, sheer white silk nightgown and heads to the open bay window that overlooks the estate grounds. As she sits on the windowsill, she clasps one hand over the other in prayer-like fashion and quietly rests them on her thigh. Closing her eyes, she continues to let the wind stroke her cheeks and brow and blow freely through her hair. After a few seconds, she opens her eyes and surveys the vast grounds and lush gardens of Cap Estate, and then focuses on the city lights in the far distance.

Three large weeping willow trees a few yards away, beneath the balcony window, catch the wind in their long dreadlock vines as they sway in unison, making a sound not unlike the rushing waves of a tropical sea breaking against the beach. As the trees continue to sway and the night air dances beneath the bright

star-lit sky, Alicia Skinner is content and at peace. But only for a moment. She turns to the ground below and then back to the city lights in the distance and remembers.

Go, go, go, yells a woman in a black ski mask and navy-blue overalls as she holds a sawed-off shotgun in one hand and a stopwatch in the other. The gun is fixed on a teller. Two minutes! Let’s go!

The masked woman continues to focus on the watch, the gun trained on the head of the teller who can hardly catch her breath as she kneels on the floor with her hands on her head, while three other bodies dressed in the same attire go rapidly through the bank tills and vault. They empty the contents of everything they can grab into medium-sized black duffle bags and force the manager at gunpoint to open everything he can. They are fast, methodical, efficient, and seem to know where everything is as their systematic rampage continues. Three customers lay facedown on the floor in front of the teller’s counter, terrified to move a muscle as the masked woman on the counter continues to diligently keep time.

Okay, thirty seconds! she barks. Get that guy and these three bitches in the vault now. Let’s go! Let’s go! Let’s go!

Her three accomplices obey without question or hesitation.

Time! We’re outta here! Let’s move it! The woman orchestrating the robbery backs away to the front of the building with her gun fixed on the three petrified customers on the floor. Her partners shut the door to the vault, grab bags, and bolt out the front door. As she covers the front exit, the woman with the watch addresses her hostages. Okay ladies and gentlemen, we’re gone! You move in the next thirty seconds, you die! Got it?

She darts out the door and through a small parking lot to a stolen white get-away van that stands waiting, her fellow cronies already inside. She dives past the side door as it speeds off and shoots around the corner of the quiet suburban neighborhood.

Only an elderly man walking his beagle catches the van speeding down the street. The time reads 10:37 a.m. Tuesday on the digital watch clock on the wall of the bank that is now deathly silent, as the customers on the floor are still too afraid to move.

A week later in another quiet suburban middle-class neighborhood two young men discuss the current hockey playoffs while manning the counter of a small convenience store shrouded by trees just off the main road. The tall skinny man wears a Toronto Maple Leafs jersey over slightly dirty blue jeans as he boasts about his team’s performance in the playoffs to his short pudgy friend who wears black jeans and a plain white T-shirt, and a turned-around Yankees baseball cap.

I’m telling you man… Leafs all the way this year, states the man in the Leafs jersey.

How can you say that? his friend replies. It’s only the first round.

That doesn’t matter, man.

Yes, it does.

No, it doesn’t.

Yes, it does.

No, it doesn’t.

Yes… it… does, his friend replies emphatically. Let ‘em get past Buffalo first, then we can talk. And just talk! If they get past the Devils after that, they may have a chance. And I emphasize ‘may’. Come on! In the end, after all is said and done, who’s gonna beat Philly? Who? Tell me, who?

With a slight smile, the man in the Leafs Jersey pauses as he peers down at his friend in the Yankees cap, who smugly smiles back.

That doesn’t matter, man, I can feel it, he declares, swinging arms for emphasis.

Yes, it does!

The two men continue to banter as they trade hockey stats and gut feelings in a never-ending pursuit of the elusive Stanley Cup. It’s 1:30 in the morning. No one is around. They don’t even see it coming.

Crash.

The sound of glass and metal colliding is everywhere as a steel-blue, four-door Chevy Cavalier crashes through the front entrance of the store. The hockey debate immediately ceases as the two men now stand in shock as a cascade of glass, metal and food items fly everywhere in the wake of the metal monster’s destructive path.

Five people emerge from the car, two of them with shotguns. They all wear black ski masks, beige overalls, and black gloves, and two of the thugs approach the counter where the two men stand with their mouths wide open.

Okay, you two clowns get out from behind the counter… now! Hands up! Up I said, the one thief demands in an authoritative feminine voice. Don’t make me have to tell you again or I’ll blow your fuckin’ head off!

As the two men comply, her accomplice rushes behind the counter and empties all the cash in the till. She notices a safe under the counter and demands that the man in the hockey shirt open it. He complies without hesitation.

How did you know that we… he attempts to ask.

Shut the fuck up! Just open it, asshole, demands the woman in front of the counter, who still has her gun trained on the other man.

Alright, alright, replies the man shakily as he opens the safe exposing cash and other papers.

Her accomplice pushes him aside and begins to rummage though the safe, taking the money and discarding the papers. Meanwhile the other three thieves quickly rifle through the store, grabbing everything from food and drink to household cleaning products. They selectively but quickly stuff everything into their black gym bags, careful not to miss an aisle of grocery products.

Two minutes, shouts the lady in the mask. No else speaks as they carry out the task with near mechanical precision.

For the two men, an eternity seems to pass as the ordeal unfolds before their stunned eyes. Suddenly, the man in the Yankees cap notices that the woman keeping time has taken her attention off him-she has only glanced away for a second to monitor her comrades. He jumps her, going for the gun first.

Her gun-wielding partner attempts to come to her aid when the man in the hockey shirt bravely tackles her over a comic book display rack. No one else has a gun and a fierce struggle ensues. The others drop what they are doing to help their leader and her associate in the crime that has gone awry.

The two men are holding their own pretty well against the two, but when the trio jumps in, they are quickly overwhelmed. The two men are punched, kicked, and thrown against the walls and then against the counter. One of the crooks that appears bigger and stronger than everyone else propels a two-hundred pound body against the man in the hockey shirt. His ribs crack loudly as he crumbles to the ground in immense pain.

His friend, now bleeding profusely from the nose and mouth, gives up struggling and drops to his knees with his hands held up in mercy. The woman and partner grab their guns from where they were thrown.

I’m sorry! I am so sorry, begs the man in the Yankees cap. I didn’t mean-

Are you fuckin’ crazy? yells the woman who previously barked orders and kept time. All of a sudden her cohort, who attempted to come to her rescue, charges over to the man on his knees, locking and loading the rifle hard. Gloved, angry hands now belong to a potential assassin.

Mother-fucker, screams yet another angry female voice, her eyes ablaze with rage as she focuses the gun on the head of the man now ghostly white with fear.

No, shouts the leader as she intervenes and quickly lifts the gun from the man’s head.

Bang.

The leader’s warning came just in time. The bullet finds its way into the TV that monitors the store over the cashier’s till. Sparks fly everywhere like the fireworks at a Canada Day celebration and the monitor is destroyed.

No killing, says the leader quietly and emphatically as she looks sternly into the eyes of her accomplice.

Her partner calms down and she stares back coldly.

Okay. Let’s get outta here. Grab your shit and let’s go!

Everyone falls back and grabs bags as if nothing had happened. Only the woman who was about to shoot the man is hesitant about complying with the order, but she soon falls into place.

The leader keeps her eyes on the man this time as they rush out of the store. As the last person leaves the store, the leader of the gang of thieves admonishes the man in the baseball cap. That was real fuckin’ stupid, she says, staring down at the man angrily. The next time you won’t be so lucky.

Thank you, he whimpers.

She bolts past the car and out the store and runs up the block to another car where once again her colleagues in crime await. They speed off into the night as if never there.

Four of the five members of the gang now arrive at a basement apartment located in the neighborhood of Glendower, situated in the heart of Scarborough. The apartment is sparse but clean, with just the bare necessities of life to sustain an individual. A basic fridge, stove, kitchen table with four chairs, an old sofa, and a ragged lounge chair, and an old Phillips colour television are all there is to the apartment. It seems removed and tucked away from the rest of the world.

The four bodies rushing into the room add a burst of life to an otherwise desolate space. They still have their masks on, as if afraid to take them off. After a few minutes of making sure that no one has followed, they finally pull them off.

Man, that was wild, exclaims the large, heavyset woman who crushed the man in the hockey shirt back at the store.

Well, I don’t know about you, but I was scared shitless, says a short but cute girl as she empties the contents of her bag on the table.

Yeah, me too, but you gotta admit… it was fun, she replies as both women break into laughter. You ain’t sayin’ much, Donnette. What’s up with you?

The woman being spoken to has taken off her mask and says nothing in response. She is stern and almost cold as she moves slowly to her bag and empties the cash onto the kitchen table. A sleek, dark-skinned black woman with high cheekbones and a rounded chin, her eyes are large and round, and remain half-closed beneath the dyed auburn carefree hair that hangs into her face. She maintains a serious and thoughtful look.

The large black woman just shrugs a shoulder at her partner’s lack of response and continues rummaging through the bag, emptying everything from cooking oil to Rolaids.

Kim looks across the room at her leader, who still wears the ski mask as she takes one last check through the basement window to make sure that no has followed. A five-foot two-inch little dynamo of energy, she quickly unloads her bag. Her large brown doe eyes compliment her coffee-brown complexion and full lips, which rest seductively beneath a cute button nose. Enthusiasm radiates from her face as she eagerly unpacks her bag with the energy of a child looking for the treat in box of Cracker Jack. Her short, cropped, jet-black hair remains slicked back, hardly messed by the thick ski mask. One can tell by the wide-eyed appearance that-despite the ominousness of her past deeds-she is still optimistic and hopeful about her world.

Yo, Al? Kim calls out to their leader, who barely turns away from the window to acknowledge her friend. You can take off the mask now, we’re cool. No one followed us.

Yeah, we’re cool! Relax! You covered all the bases as usual, offers the large black woman in support, her voice deep and robust. Her name is Safari Wallace and she is the muscle in the group. She is a five-foot eleven-inch two-hundred pound tower of power.

Her hair is braided in thick black cornrows that fall loosely on her shoulders. She carries a half-inch scar over her right eye that is noticeably but subtlety embedded in her light chocolate-coloured skin, a result of one of many fights with men and women alike. Her eyes are slanted, almost Asian in shape, and her nose lies flat and broad over a strong and serious jaw that says, Don’t mess with me. Despite her daunting size and intimidating presence, which she uses to full advantage, she is affable, friendly, extremely loyal, and even jovial with her peers. She takes orders without question and knows her limitations. Though not stupid, she does rely on the others in the formation of complex plans and other life decisions that are both positive and negative.

Come on, Donnette, loosen up. I know things got a little bit out of hand, but we got out clean. What’s up with you?

Donnette does not reply. She continues to methodically unpack her bag and arrange the money on the table so that it can be counted.

Safari looks at her puzzled and then looks at Kim, who just shrugs her shoulders in response. She then turns her attention to her leader, who still wears the mask as she continues to peer out the window.

Are you going to give us the silent treatment, too? she asks. Take off that mask and get off that stool and tell us how we did or if we just plain fucked up!

Yeah, come on, Alicia, you can’t see shit out that window anyways. Tell us what you think, Kim begs.

The five-foot five-inch leader complies with her friend’s pleas and steps off the stool, and pulls off her mask, taking a deep breath like a diver slipping onto a boat after a deep ocean descent. She is beautiful but hardened in appearance. Shoulder-length, mocha-brown hair is carefully tucked under a light beige stocking that fits snuggly over her head. She is a slim 110 pounds, but is athletic in stature, like a woman built for a mid-distance run.

She slips off the top of her overalls. Her hazelnut eyes are thoughtful and deep, as if always contemplating life and its circumstances. She looks at Donnette, who still pays no attention to anyone in the dim room. Her muscles flex effortlessly under her sweaty, golden-brown skin as she takes off her black gloves and then carelessly throws them on the duffle bag. She stands there in a black tank top with the bib of her overalls tied to her waist, appearing triumphant but reflective as Kim and Safari eagerly await her response. We did good, she finally answers simply.

Now that’s what I want to hear. Safari gives a high five to the equally celebratory Kim.

Awright, Kim exclaims. One can tell by the energy between Safari and Kim that they share a special bond, as opposed to their other two colleagues.

You ain’t pissed off at what happened back there? I mean, we could’ve been bagged, Safari states.

Hey, shit happens, Alicia replies.

Tell me about it, Kim says, laughing-half with relief, half with apprehension.

Donnette remains mysteriously and ominously quiet. Finished unpacking her bag, she starts organizing the spoils of their rampage on the coffee table. Her eyes remain cold and lifeless as the others regard her in bewilderment.

Alicia approaches her in hopes of finding out what is on her mind. She knows that her friend’s remoteness has something to do with Alicia taking control of the fight at the convenience store.

Yo, Alicia says in a friendly tone. About what happened back there, I wasn’t tryin’ to-

Donnette doesn’t let Alicia finish her sentence. She pulls out a nine-millimeter handgun from the duffle bag and forces her back against the kitchen sink. Her once lifeless eyes are ablaze with fury as she pushes the barrel of the gun against the throat of her frightened comrade.

Safari and Kim are shocked and they take a few steps towards the enraged Donnette, but dare not get too close.

What the fuck are you doin’, girl? Safari asks loudly.

Are you crazy, Kim yells, her eyes bulging.

Shut the fuck up, Donnette yells back, spit spraying from her angry lips. With her hand firmly on the gun, she turns back to Alicia and cocks it.

Now, you listen to me, you little bitch, she says icily. I am in charge of this fuckin’ crew. Not you! Got it? You don’t ever stand in my fuckin’ way when I’m about to waste someone or I will waste you.

Alicia starts to explain, her back feeling as if it were breaking against the counter, as the gun is jammed against her throat.

Shut up, Donnette interjects loudly. Did I tell you that you could say somethin’, bitch? Now you listen to me, girlfriend, I know that you think that because you’re the brains behind our little hit and runs that makes you Queen Shit. But that don’t mean shit to me! I am the head nigger in charge and you will do as I say or I’ll blow the fuck out of you like you were a dog in the street. And I hate dogs.

Yo, Donnette, take it easy, Safari interrupts softly. She wasn’t tryin’ to take over or nothin’. She’s just lookin’ out for us.

Yeah, Kim agrees anxiously. Like, she always shares her shit with us and you have to admit we’re pretty good because of her.

I thought I told you to shut up, Donnette responds, not relaxing for a second as she stares down at her helpless captive. For the record, everything that we know we got from my man and the Cowboys. Oh yeah, she’s good at staking out the joints for days, learning ins and outs of the employees, breaking down time and response times, and even reading maps. But she wouldn’t be shit without the Cowboys. And that don’t mean she knows shit about running a gang. Especially mine. Now, you got something to say, girl?

Yeah, twenty-five to life, Alicia replies defiantly.

What are you talkin’ about? Donnette asks, puzzled.

Murder. Think about it.

You callin’ me stupid?

No. I’m just askin’ you to think about it. Armed robbery is one thing. Armed robbery and murder is a whole new level of shit. We don’t need that kind of heat. That’s all I’m sayin’.

Yeah, Donnette, the cops are already after us and the Cowboys. But everyone knows that the cops don’t give a shit too much when it’s just a quick hit. But you kill someone while hittin’ a place, those pigs will be on us like white on rice!

Uh-huh, adds Kim. And I don’t think your man in the Cowboys would appreciate the heat. They’re in enough trouble as it is with their drug running and all.

Got that right, states Safari.

Well, well, well. What’ve we got goin’ on here?

The four women are all startled and Donnette turns quickly and points the gun toward the masculine voice that addressed them. Two black men in their mid to late twenties stand at the base of the stairs, wearing track pants and running shoes, and showing no fear in the face of the woman holding the gun.

The man who spoke wears a light-blue satin track top. Unzipped, it reveals a fishnet, cut-off burgundy tank top that shows every ripple of his sculptured torso. He is completely bald and at the top of his six-foot frame, he sports a royal-blue bandana with a white design. He leans against the stair railing with an arrogant air of nonchalant confidence as he carelessly twirls a toothpick between a slight but cool smile.

His partner is more the picture of thoughtful cool as he stands on the stairs just above his friend with a stone-faced glare fixed upon the stunned women. White Nikes complement baby-blue tear-away track pants. A simple black T-shirt and black Kangol cap complete the ensemble. A neatly kept beard looks like it was drawn by a patient artist, and despite his cool stare, one can sense by his gaze and aura that he is a thinker.

Trey! Donnette’s whole demeanor changes and she immediately puts the gun on the table. She glances back at Alicia and starts toward him as he steps off the last step.

His friend also comes down the stairs, sits in one of the chairs and begins to quietly look over the loot.

Trey throws his toothpick on the floor and engages Donnette in a passionate, tongue-filled kiss as the others look on.

What are you bitches up to? he asks as he breaks his lip lock on Donnette, but continues to hold her around the waist.

Hey. Donnette slaps his shoulder gently. Who you callin’ ‘bitches’?

You, he declares. Looks like I came just in time. I smell a fire in this here little hen house! What’s goin’ on?

Oh, nothing, Donnette replies with a nervous laugh. We just settlin’ somethin’, that’s all.

Looks like a little more than just ‘somethin’.

With a big smile, Donnette walks quickly over to Alicia. No, we’re cool. Right, Alicia?

Yeah… we’re cool, Alicia responds seriously, still bewildered by her friend’s impulsive and violent actions.

Yeah, right, whatever, Trey responds sarcastically. He turns to his friend who is still observing the goods on the table.

Yo, Reg, what the fuck you lookin’ at?

"A shit load of stuff. This is quite the score. You guys must have some major heat on you by now. Maybe even a bit too much heat!"

I think I agree with my boy. After all, he is the brains in the Cowboys and we did teach you bitches everything. But there’s a problem. We taught you as a side to keep the heat off us. But the cops are looking for us now more than ever now! And I don’t like that.

Well, don’t blame us, sniffs Safari. We’re just getting what’s ours.

Yeah. We work and plan hard for our stuff! Kim offers in support.

Well, I do blame you, Trey replies angrily.

The women don’t argue at the show of his anger. They know without words being spoken that he is deadly serious and that he means business.

Suddenly, another girl rushes down the stairs, sweating profusely and struggling to catch her breath. She is still wearing the overalls from the heist. Her name is Salli and she was the driver of the last getaway car. Her mocha-brown skin is covered with beads of sweat as she scurries past everyone and heads straight for the fridge. She opens it and grabs a cold bottle of Heineken. She gulps the beer as the others look on in wonderment. Donnette finally speaks up as Salli finishes the last of the beer and reaches into the fridge for another.

What’s with you, girl? You look like the devil was chasin’ you!

Did you ditch the car? Alicia asks urgently.

Salli takes another gulp of beer and catches her breath. Yeah, I ditched it and I torched it just as you told me too.

Where did you do it?

Back of the warehouse on Nashdene.

You torched it? an astonished Trey asks.

They wanted to leave no traces for the cops. No matter how small, Reg explains as he stands up and approaches Alicia. Just as we taught ‘em.

Girl, you look like you just ran a marathon. What made you run so fast? Safari asks.

Man, I heard a dog bark and I was gone. I don’t know if it was alone or with some security guard, but I was not hanging around long enough to find out. Man, I am getting too old for this shit. My nerves are always gone to hell and I got a kid to think about. I ain’t doin’ time for nothin’ or no one. I’d rather die than have my baby see me in there and plus I could not survive that hell.

Tell me about it, Kim murmurs.

They’re gonna have to catch me runnin’ and then kill me before they put my sorry ass in the slammer, Salli emphasizes with a thumb to her chest.

Man, you girls have gone too hard core for my likin’, says Trey. The agreement was that you guys would do little shit and we would take care of the big shit. That way the cops would not just concentrate on us. But no. I shoulda known that getting you guys involved would only complicate things… and I was right. Now we got heat all over us.

Why should you guys get to do the big shit only? Kim asks defiantly.

Because it’s our shit, Trey yells. Because we run drugs and stolen stuff better than you ever could. Guys take us more seriously than a bunch of fuckin’ girls who watch Thelma and Louise one too many times. Got it? You’re gonna get your asses killed one day. And that’s your business, but don’t make it mine or I might just get more than a little pissed off! Alright?

Everyone remains quiet, afraid of escalating an already hot temper. Everyone is gonna cool out for a while. Even the Cowboys, he continues, his expression becoming increasingly grave. No more of any kind of shit until things settle down. I think you girls need a serious vacation before you start runnin’ things again. I hope I’ve made myself clear. Because if I have talk to you bitches again, I’ll do the cops’ work myself.

There’s no need to talk like that baby, we’ll be cool, Donnette says to him as she walks over and softly strokes his face.

I hope so, he replies calmly. ‘Cause I’d hate to lose you, girl. But I can always get another.

Donnette’s tender smile disappears.

He gives her a cold stare and makes his way to the stairs. We’re outta here.

Nice work, Reg says to Alicia in a soft, but knowing voice. I’ve always checked for you, girl. You learned the quickest.

I had a good teacher in you, Reg, she responds.

Maybe we could get together sometime?

Alicia pauses and gazes kindly into his eyes, Maybe sometime.

Cool.

Yo, let’s go, Trey calls to his friend, displaying respect despite his position.

Reg starts to make his way to the stairs. Lay off her, he instructs Donnette as he passes by.

Donnette does not dare question him as he glares at her. She quickly looks at Alicia and then looks into the distance.

The two men depart almost as quietly as they came in.

Can you believe that shit? Safari questions as soon as the door closes. Who does he think he is? What kind of masculine bullshit was that? He can’t tell us what to do! Why do you take shit from your man like that? Just because he’s the hot-shot leader of his boys don’t mean he can run us like that!

I didn’t see you argue too much, Saf, Kim comments.

Hey, he ain’t my man. It’s not my place to say anythin’.

Shut up, Safari, Salli interjects. Trey and his boys are one crazy bunch of mother-fuckers and you know as well as I do that if we mess with him, we’re as good as dead.

Uh-huh, Kim agrees, making her way back to the duffle bag.

Crazy or not, Trey is right, Alicia states. We’re too good. And we’re bringing too much heat on both the Cowboys and ourselves. We better just chill for a bit. What do you think, Donnette? It’s your call.

Donnette pauses and scans their faces and then looks at the rich loot before her. We are good. And we’re only getting better.

Got that right, states Safari.

However, we’ll cool out for a bit. Let things simmer down. Not because any man tells me to, Safari, but because we’re smart. And when we’re ready; we’ll come out bigger and stronger than ever! And we’ll be the ones runnin’ the big shit and be taken more seriously all at the same time.

Yeah, I hear that.

You got it baby.

The other women respond with celebratory and united cheers.

As the women go about dividing and admiring the goods, Donnette stops and glares at Alicia.

Alicia catches her looking, but continues unpacking and arranging stuff in front of her.

Donnette makes her way to Alicia. I hope you haven’t forgotten our little conversation?

Alicia says nothing as the others quiet down and look on quietly, worried that things may escalate to where they were before Trey and Reg walked in.

We have an understanding right. We’re cool, right? Donnette presses for a response, her eyes heated.

Yeah… we’re cool, Alicia responds.

Good. Donnette walks back to her bag and continues as if nothing happened.

Chapter 2

It’s another hot summer night

in Toronto as a full moon hangs low in the clear, cloudless sky. A company of stars adds to the radiance of the moon as it glows on the city below. The beams of car lights are everywhere as people drive to and from different nightly destinations for any number of reasons.

School is out and city youths are out in full force, flashing their sporty suped-up Hondas, complete with an assortment of chrome rims, lowered shocks, and high fins on the trunks of their high-speed, tinted chariots. The boys are dressed in blue jeans and white T-shirts with baseball caps worn backwards while the girls are dressed more