Chapter 25

Under the white and blue strobe lights, it's easy to relish in the success of opening my own club. The dancefloor is packed with brown and black bodies rubbing against each other. Trap music pours from the DJ's speakers, bursting whatever is left of the eardrum I had from waiting by the train with Caesar. Tight, bodycon dresses mix and mash with classy T-shirts and designer shoes and a part of me is happy with the turn out. Then, I look over at Simon at the bar in his black jeans and black T-shirt and the success of the night doesn't feel quite the same.

As usual, he's scouting the club with a grim look on his face. For the first time in a long time, his hair is tamed into long braids. I guess it's his way of making an effort towards the classy dresscode I enforced for the club. His all-black ensemble is tied together with black and white Vans so his fashion statement ain't saying much. Still, the nod to his former self by way of the braids, makes up for his lazy attempt at elevating his everyday look.

I must stare at him for a second too long, because he sees me and raises a drink in my direction. There's a half-smile on his face that I don't return. I'm too busy focusing on the brown liquor in his glass.

Since taking the time to watch him at the trap yesterday, I've been compiling all the things that make up Simon to see if I get a clear image of Daddy. The murder of the crackhead was more than an indication of the DNA coursing through his veins but so was his cool and calm collection of himself afterwards. I've never seen Daddy exhibit the kind of rage the streets glorify when talking about him. But I can only imagine it looked a little like Simon losing control yesterday.

And as bad as yesterday seems, it wouldn't be the first time Simon showed signs of explosive behavior. All those fights I overheard between him and Mama makes sense now. I'd be pulled awake by Simon losing his temper and Mama screaming at him until her voice went hoarse, all 'cause Simon wouldn't stop stealing from stores. The fights plus the damage to the cop cars that led to his arrest feels like blaring warning signs that I chose to ignore.

After watching him kill someone in a crowded neighborhood, I can't keep looking the other way. I can't force myself to look away from the drink in his hand either. If it's true that he does have a bipolar disorder, then alcohol will only add fuel to the fire.

Simon's smile grows worry lines at the corners of his mouth the longer I stare at him. I'm about to walk over to him when Caesar occupies the space next to me, blocking my view of Simon.

"I been looking for you since you opened the doors. I'm starting to think you been ducking me," He says.

Unease settles in the pit of my stomach having him stand so close to me. For once, his presence doesn't incite the kind of stomach ache that usually comes with butterflies. Nah, this is straight stomach flu virus type of disgust. Those five words beside Keyana's name in his phone clouds my vision, making me regret ever letting him back into my life-- let alone, back into my club.

"What you want, Caesar?" I ask.

"I help you open your own club and that's how you do me?" Caesar asks.

His words are light-hearted and playful but I'm not in the mood. If he isn't careful, all that playing is gonna' earn him another bullet hole in his chest.

My eyes stay trained to the front of the club, where Phora is standing on stage, talking to the DJ. Max hasn't said one word to me while we prepared for tonight. To her credit, she hasn't said much to Trinity either. Other than tasking the girls with bottle deliveries as she stuffs coke in their bra or their hands, she hasn't said much to anybody. I remind myself to thank her for being mature tonight and getting Phora on board for the opening.

"Nah but foreal, Candyce. Wassup with you?" Caesar asks, bringing my attention back to him.

"What you mean?" I ask.

"I don't think I gotta spell it out for you," He says.

I don't say anything. I feel his eyes on me, watching my face for an answer my mouth won't give him. We're standing side by side in my six-inch heels so I don't have to turn my head to see him shake his head out of the corner of my eyes.

I think he's taken the hint when he smacks his teeth in frustration but he only changes the subject.

"How was shit at the trap? I haven't had a chance to chop it up with Calvin yet."

I exhale deeply as the memories come flooding back.

"Shit was a mess," I say.

"How?" Caesar asks.

I pull my attention from the front of the club to lock eyes with Caesar. The hardness in his face makes up for the softness in his eyes. His face is all business, and I can tell by how tuned in he is that whatever I tell him now will impact Calvin, Neco, Maj and Curry's future in this business. Lucky for them, I'm not here to give a status report. My only concern is Simon.

"Simon was doing good at first. I mean, he did better than I expected. I think even Calvin was impressed," I start.

Caesar looks like he's about to interrupt to say something smart but I keep talking so he won't have a chance.

"So yeah, it was going good until this one fiend started being impatient. He started mumbling shit under his breath, just being extra for no reason. So by the time he got to Simon, he was really on one. He started rummaging through Simon's pockets looking for more dope."

The song that was doing a good job hiding our conversation comes to an end. Phora grabs the mic to get the crowd hype. I wait until after she cues the DJ to start the next song before talking again.

"Well Simon got mad and he grabbed the man and threw him off the porch."

I search his face for a reaction. I find one but it's not the one I'm looking for. Caesar wears a puzzled look like he doesn't see the problem.

"He died," I clarify.

He rolls his eyes as far back as they can go before running his hands down his face. He groans loudly. His eyes are hard when he removes his hands from his face.

"Did they handle it?" He asks.

"Yeah. They got other crackheads to move the body but Caesar, everybody saw. There were so many people outside," I stress.

"Look, don't even worry about it. I'll send Calvin and 'nem out there to make sure everybody keep they mouth closed," Caesar says.

I shake my head. That's not what I wanted to hear. That's the same type of reassurance Calvin tried to give me. It's just as ineffective coming from Caesar's mouth.

"That's not the point, Caesar. Simon killed somebody over nothing. He didn't even blink afterwards. He just went right back to selling like nothing happened," I say.

"I wouldn't say it was over nothing," Caesar says.

I stare at him, stupidly hoping that's not all he has to say about it.

"What, you expect him to cry over a crackhead who was tryna rob him? If the shit taken care of then what's the problem?" Caesar says.

"The problem is Simon caught his first body and didn't bat an eye! That's not strange to you?" I ask.

Caesar shakes his head. As long as he's been in the streets, he's probably numb to first bodies and the danger of catching one. That's the only thing I can tie his reaction to because I can't be the only one understanding the gravity of Simon's situation.

"Simon didn't even mention what happened on the way home. Keeping something like this inside can't be good for him in the long run. It took him months to get what happened with Jonah off his chest."

Caesar sighs, "So what you getting at, Red?"

"Santana didn't do a good job of showing his emotions either and look how that turned out for him," I say.

Caesar gives me a look that makes me instantly regret bringing it up to him.

"This the same Simon I just spent 12gs bailing out of jail for smashing cop cars? If anything that nigga show a lil too much emotion. Besides, yo daddy turned the gun on himself. As long as Simon got the gun facing the other way then you shouldn't have nun to worry about," Caesar says.

He's still not getting it. He never had to deal with wondering why Santana went out the way he did. I was confused for years but it's finally starting to dawn on me. There were probably so many warning signs we missed 'cause we were too young. Plus Daddy put on a good front so nobody noticed until it was too late.

I can't expect Caesar to understand that all the questions we had about Daddy may be answered by paying attention to Simon. How could he? He didn't spend years wondering what Santana might have felt. He didn't spend all yesterday watching Simon start down the same path.

It's just not the same. So I give up trying to explain it to him.

"You wasn't there. Something was off about him but I don't expect you to understand. Like you said, Simon ain't your brother so he ain't your problem right?"

It's only after the words are off my lips that I realize this is my second time throwing the fact that Caesar has no family back into his face. His face hardens. His lips are moving before I can apologize.

"Yeah, I guess you right about that. Congrats on the opening though. I think I'ma head out," He says.

As mad as I am, I don't want him to go. However, his back is to me and he's headed in the opposite direction before I can stop him. The call for him to stay dies on my lips as I watch him walk away.

Once Caesar is past the two body guards holding court by the door, I climb the stairs to the balcony. There are a few people lingering near the VIP section but it's pointless. The only way inside one of the private sections was through a key card only me and the bottle girls had. I was inspired by the curtain idea that Club Legacy had but I didn't want to bite them entirely. So, instead of using curtains to seperate VIP from the rest of the club, there are metal doors made to look like an elevator.

All of the doors are closed as I walk by. More than half of them have a red light beaming next to the key card slot, alerting us that the room is occupied. Satisfaction settles into my skin as I realize most of the girls wasted no time pulling the ballers from the club and into VIP with them. Thank God, Phora came through because I doubt most of these people would have bothered to show up if she hadn't promoted it. Turns out the bitch was more useful than I thought.

After making my way past the final VIP room, I'm met with two choices. I can either chill in the office as the next few hours tick by or I can climb down the steps and finish socializing. Not really in the mood to give side-hugs to strangers, I twist the handle to the office door.

The door handle jams under my touch. I don't remember locking it, but shit was so hectic before the opening, there's a chance I was moving too fast and forgot. I unhook the silver clasp on my black clutch and do the best I can to find the key with the lights flashing around the club. Before my hands curl around the key, the door pushes out towards me. I open it hesitantly, wondering who the fuck has access to my office when Max's red bob comes into view.

I let out a long sigh as I step inside and pull the door shut.

"Girl, I'm so glad it's just you in here. I thought somebody broke in," I laugh.

Max says nothing as she continues to count the money in her hand. The irritated look on her face doesn't match the party-themed dress on her back. She stands at least eight inches taller in translucent heels she used to dance in. A fitted black, glittery dress barely keeps all the bells and whistles from popping out. But, I can't be mad. It's apart of her job to turn heads. However she decides to do that is all up to her.

The stacks of green and blue faces covering the desk pulls my attention away from her. She lowly mumbles the count of money in her hand as her long acrylics thumb through it.

"So, how the girls doing?" I ask.

Max rolls her eyes to the ceiling. Her thumbs are paused in mid-count but she uses her free hand to gesture to the money on the table.

"They all doing good. Euphoria and Leyla bringing in the most money though," She says.

Euphoria was a no-brainer. Niggas were suckers for foreign features on black girls. I guess Leyla made sense too. She's a Latina with wide hips and a wider mid-section. She was big fine but she was tailored for taste. I knew she was a bad bitch when I met her but some dudes can't seem to look past her stomach to notice her big ass or pretty face.

Still, I would have thought Trinity would have been racking up by the way she was bragging on her clients.

"What about Trinity?" I ask.

Max lets out a long sigh as she finishes her count. I knew she would act like this but I needed to know. What's the point of her being my eyes and ears of the club if she's gonna be selective about who she paid attention to?

"Max," I say.

"What you want me to say, Candyce? She's in VIP with some Mexican dude right now. She been in there for awhile."

Mexican dude?

"One of her clients?" I ask.

Max aggressively shrugs her shoulders, "I guess."

"How long she been in there?" I ask.

"For like an hour now, why?"

I don't respond while I put two and two together. Even though I wasn't one of those strippers who fucked my clients, there were plenty of bitches who did. If Trinity was one of them, then it made sense why her clientele list was wrapped around the corner at Pink Fantasy. But this ain't Pink Fantasy. I'm not allowing that trifling ass shit in my club.

"Oh she got me fucked up," I say as I stomp to the door.

"Wait, what happened?" Max asks.

"I think this bitch is fucking him in VIP," I say.

Max all but let's out an excited squeal as she runs up behind me in her heels. I nearly throw the office door off its hinges but Max catches it behind me and closes it gently. I'm about to storm across the balcony and check every room to make sure the girls are only dealing and nothing more when Reese's presence on the stairs catches my attention.

He looks between Max and I with a confused look. I look back at Max, all of the anger slowly evaporating from my body.

"Go check on the girls to make sure they only doing what we told them to do. If you see Trinity doing anything else you can drag her ass out yourself," I say.

"You ain't saying nothing but a word," Max says.

She takes off down the balcony, slowly making her rounds into each room.

I tear my focus away from her 'cause I feel Reese's eyes on me. I climb five steps down so that I'm standing above him on the staircase. It seemed like a better idea than standing eye-level with him but then he lifts his eyes towards me with a playful smile on his face and I can't do anything but smile.

"What you want, Reese?" I ask, the smile still playing at my lips.

Reese shrugs, "I just wanted to congratulate you. A club seems right up yo alley."

"And what you mean by that?"

He chuckles, "Calm down, ma. I ain't mean nothin' by it. You must think I'm one of them girls you was about to go swing on."

"Ain't nobody was gon' fight nobody," I laugh.

"Shit, I hope not. You gotta nice turn out. Keep that ratchet shit outside," He says.

"Thank you," I say, 'cause I don't know what else to say.

We both fall silent. I start to feel awkward just standing there. Reese has his back is to the club but he's staring out at the dancefloor over his shoulder. Two tennis chains glisten around his neck. There's a silver, diamond-studded watch wrapped around his wrist too. I guess all his overtime at the Algiers trap was finally starting to pay off.

When he looks at me I expect to see all the tension I saw in his face when he walked in on Caesar and I but there's none there. Even in a break up and seeing his potna push up on his ex, he still ain't breaking a sweat. I guess you can't cry over spilled milk. He's being so cool about all of this, I have no choice but to still feel comfortable around him.

We talk for a little longer 'cause there's this familiarity between us that I didn't expect us to have. We mostly just bounce jokes off each other and chit-chat about what it was like to open the club. Strangely enough, standing there with him reminds me of why I liked him in the first place. When I met him, he introduced himself as Ty, a fun time for a wild night. That was before we got together and I got to meet Reese, the non-stop hustler. Tonight, he feels more like Ty. Just a cool ass dude who just so happens to be my ex.

Our relationship doesn't come up. We avoid the topic of Caesar altogether so conversation flows naturally between us.

But when a high-pitched scream pierce the air, both of us go quiet. The person screams again before the sound travels to the rest of the club. The DJ stops the music and Euphoria runs to the railing of the balcony.

There are tears streaming down her face as she screams, "She's dead! He killed her!"

Reese grabs my arm, pulling me closer to him. One hand is on my arm and the other is on the gun tucked halfway into the waistband of his jeans. So when two shots fire into the air, I think it's him. But his gun is just now being brought into sight.

People below us start to scream as everybody heads to the front door. My instinct is to run too but the shots came from the VIP area, which is the last place I sent Max.

I wrestle out of Reese's arm and run up the rest of the stairs as best I can in these heels. I hear Reese behind me calling my name but I don't stop. I hear him cock his gun as he follows me but that's not neccessary. I don't need a gun to see if my friend is dead.

We're halfway around the balcony when three more shots ring out. I'm being forced to the ground by Reese as the next few shots ring beside my ear.

POP!

POP!

POP!

I tighten my hands around my ears but it doesn't help. I hear the gunshots like Reese was firing them right by my ear.

His hand is on my stomach, keeping me pinned beneath him. He's on his knees shooting back at whoever is shooting in the club.

The shots are just barely drowned out by the people screaming on the dancefloor. By the time Reese stops shooting, the front door is being ransacked by people fighting to get out. He moves his hand off of me and I shoot to my feet.

Max.

Simon.

Where the fuck is Simon?!

Last I checked, Euphoria said a girl was dead so I follow my gut feeling and finish going in the direction of the VIP rooms. Hopefully, Simon got out with everybody else.

When we reach the VIP area, there are two bodies on the floor. One of them is chocolate-mocha, dressed in only a teal bra that matches the color of her hair.

"Trinity," I say.