Black Widow (11 page)

“Well, I’m just having boy problems, and I’ll be back in a week or two.”

“Let me be a living testimony to you,” Sandy said. “Boys can be the worst problem a good woman can ever encounter. The best thing a woman can do is to avoid boys at all cost and sit back and let the men find us.”

Chapter 10

Blood Money

Isis sat poolside looking as beautiful as ever. The whiteness of her Christian Dior bathing suit enhanced her brown skin. Her big, walnut-colored eyes and long eyelashes were hidden behind a pair of white Dior sunglasses that she had purchased from the Forum Shops at Caesars Palace just the day before. They were a perfect match for the suit. She had been at the pool for only an hour, and already four people had complimented her.

After writing a postcard to her mother, Isis enjoyed the warm weather. Earlier she had browsed through some of her bills and junk mail that she had picked up from her post office box on the way to the airport. Her intention had been to sort through the mail on the plane, giving herself something to do. But after she’d boarded the aircraft, her sleep-deprived body had other plans for her, and she slept for most of the flight. Now, she figured that while she was chilling in a pool cabana was as good a time as any to read mail. While doing so, she ran across a letter from Bam. She was about to toss it, but curiosity got the best of her. She opened it and pulled the single-page letter from the envelope.

Dear Isis,

I stood in the courtroom last week waiting on those crackers to make a decision about my life: whether I spend the rest of my life in prison or be put to death. When I looked around the room, you were nowhere in sight. I found this to be more disturbing than the outcome of the proceedings, which was life in prison, by the way.

When I first noticed that you weren’t there, I thought maybe you had car trouble or something; I knew the Honda was on its last leg, and I had intentions of getting you another car. I’ve tried calling you several times, to no avail, and a couple of people have said that they’ve seen you riding around town, so I have no other choice than to assume that you have crossed me. You know I’ve never begged anyone for anything—man, woman, child…judge or jury, for that matter—but I’m begging you now: Please don’t fuck me over! Isis, please don’t fuck with me.

If for some reason you feel like you can take my money and do what you want with it, I need to explain something to you so that you can have a complete understanding as to what comes with spending my money.

What you have in your possession is blood money. A lot of blood was shed in order to obtain it. I sold my soul to the game when I started hustling, and a contract comes with that. You see, some niggas in the street, as well as squares, think that type of money is free money, but nothing is ever given to you for free. There are consequences and repercussions that come with it. For some people, the repercussions just come quicker than for others.

If you spend any of my 313,000 dollars without my blessing, you take on everything that comes with it.

“So what, motherfucker!” Isis laughed to herself, waving the pool waitress over. “Excuse me, but can I get another apple martini, please?” She gave the hostess a twenty-dollar tip, courtesy of Bam and his blood money.

Looking up from the drink, Isis noticed four guys in street clothes, walking toward the pool. They were searching for a spot at the pool to chill. She smiled as they pulled chairs from other places to make their own little area. One of the men from the group caught her attention. He wasn’t the best-looking one, but there was something about him. He looked slightly older than the other three. His head was bald, his beard was perfectly manicured along his jaw, and his body was chiseled with the precision of a jeweler cutting a rare diamond.

As Isis watched this work of art disrobe, her cell phone rang, competing for her attention. The number had an 804 area code, but she didn’t recognize it. Isis decided to answer it anyway. “Hello.” Just as she spoke into the receiver, Mr. Perfect Body made eye contact with her.

“Hold on a second,” a female’s voice on the other end of the phone said.

“All I want is my paper from you.” This time the voice on the phone belonged to Bam.

“Whose phone are you calling me on?” Isis asked.

Bam answered nonchalantly, “A friend’s.”

“You mean your baby momma’s?”

Bam was quiet for a minute.

“Hello? Is anyone there?” Isis said. No one said anything. “Hello, Bam?”

“Yeah, man,” he said slowly.

“Yeah, it’s your baby momma, or yeah, you on the phone, or the both?”

“Man, look: I gotta call however I can since you put a block on the phone.”

“Look, despite what you think, I was at the courthouse on the day of your sentencing. I got sick and had to be rushed to the hospital. And I became sick after meeting your goddamn baby momma!” Isis continued her rant. “You got some motherfucking nerve.”

“Look, let’s talk. Let’s work this out.” Bam had a much more accommodating demeanor now than in his jailhouse letter.

“You crazy, muthafucka,” Isis said. “I don’t have shit to say to you.”

“I didn’t call to hear you talk anyway,” Bam told her, realizing that honey wasn’t going to get his money back, so he might as well resort back to vinegar. “I called for my muthafuckin’ money. If you think that just ’cause I’m in jail I’m going to let you or anybody else take something from me, you must’ve busted yo’ head or something.”

Isis pushed the button and ended the call, but before she could even look up, there was another voice in her ear. “Don’t let dem niggas upset you, Princess.” Mr. Perfect-Body took a seat next to her. The conversation with Bam had distracted her. She had almost forgotten that just moments ago she was in an eye-wrestling match with the man.

“Thank you for your concern,” she said. “And I won’t.”

“You promise? Because you too cute to let anyone put a frown on your face.”

Her frown turned upside down. “Thank you.”

“What’s your name, Princess?”

“Isis. My friends call me Ice,” she said. “And yours?”

“That would be Logic.” He smiled. “And yes”—he nodded—“that’s my real name.”

“That’s a very interesting name. Are you going to drop some logic on me?” She teased.

“No, but I can logically give you reasons why a pretty girl such as yourself shouldn’t be wasting a beautiful day in Vegas arguing with some fool on the phone when she can have dinner and a night of gambling and entertainment with someone that would appreciate her company.”

After thanking Isis, Logic and his three friends all hung out at her cabana until 6:00 when it closed. Once the cabanas closed, they each headed their own separate ways to get dressed so that they could meet up again in an hour. It didn’t take long for Isis and Logic to put the duck on his friends.

Neither Logic nor Isis were big gamblers, but one couldn’t tell by looking at them. When they got in the casino, the two of them gambled and gambled and gambled, all night long. Isis’s favorite game turned out to be the craps tables. Every time she rolled those ivory dice down that long felt table, she won. After about eight hours of hanging out together, they cashed out, and Logic walked her to her room.

When he got her there he asked, “Am I going to see you tomorrow?” Snapping his fingers, he said as if he’d forgotten something, “That’s a crazy question. But of course I’m going to see you tomorrow. I have to take you shopping tomorrow so that we can spend some of our winnings.”

Isis agreed and smiled. “Pick me up in time for brunch.”

Logic was all teeth. “It’s a date. I’ll pick you up at eleven.”

As soon as Logic got back to his room, he dialed Isis’s room number on the phone, and she answered on the first ring. Somehow she just knew it was going to be him.

“Hello.”

“I was thinking, Ice,” he said. “So that I won’t run off with all our winnings, perhaps it would be better if I sleep on your couch. That way, you know all the money is safe, and plus, that way I won’t miss our brunch date.”

She hesitated for only a second before agreeing. She reasoned,
What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, right?

Getting what he wanted was an effect that Logic had on 98 percent of the people he met. He had a way of getting his point across and never raising his voice to do it. Thirty-one years of age, Logic had been on his own since he was fourteen. He started out hustling on the corner, but he didn’t stay in that occupation for long. He knew the value of saving and investing his money. By the time he was eighteen, he was loaning money to other drug dealers to buy work. By the time he was twenty-one, he was loaning young entrepreneurs money for DVD companies, record labels, artist-development projects…it didn’t matter to him, as long as they paid his money back with thirty percent interest. And the majority of them always did, because there was another side to Logic that people had heard of but didn’t want to deal with personally.

No one really knew how many people Logic had actually killed, not to mention those he had someone else kill for him. But overall he was fair. He always kept his word, and he demanded the same from whoever he dealt with. Disloyalty was punishable by death in his book. That was it, period and dot. So for those reasons, he almost always got paid, and he made lots of money.

That night, he did as he promised: He slept on the couch in Isis’s room and woke up only when he heard her get up and try to tiptoe to the restroom.

Although nothing sexual jumped off between the two, being with Logic felt like a dream. Isis found herself imagining what it would be like to be his girl, but in the real world she knew that a man like Logic was way out of her league. Yeah, she had been with drug dealers before, but somehow they just didn’t seem to measure up to Logic’s stature. She was sure that he had plenty of women chasing him, not to mention a wife, mistress, and a few girlfriends on the side. But of course, he told Isis that he wasn’t married.

Why wouldn’t he be married?
she asked herself.
All of that charisma and money, and no one has locked him down?

After racking up in the Forum Shops, Isis and Logic went to see Elton John’s show. Afterward, they decided to try their luck at the casinos again. Before they started gambling, Logic ran into his boy, Jacob, who needed some money, claiming that it had not been his lucky night.

Jacob was a compulsive gambler. From the time they arrived in Vegas, he showed no interest in any women, shows, or sightseeing. The only thing that kept his attention was the roulette table. Jacob not only looked like he had been up for days but he really had been up for days—losing. On a normal day, Jacob was a pretty handsome guy, always dipped in the latest crisp gear, but this day was a different story. The bloodshot rings around his green eyes gave them the look of Christmas ornaments. And both his hair and clothes were disheveled. Vegas had put it on him, and put it on him hard.

While Logic stepped off to the side to talk to Jacob, a lady with long, stringy, dark hair and a colorful crocheted pocketbook with long straps crossing her chest walked up to Isis. “Excuse me. Would you like a psychic reading?”

Isis had never had one before, but she thought,
Why not?
“How much?” Isis asked.

“Well, I charge”—the frail lady cleared her throat—“different prices. It depends if I do a tarot or a palm reading,” she said. “Palms, fifteen dollars, and tarot cards, twenty dollars.”

Shit, twenty dollars. What the hell I got to lose? I am on vacation,
she thought.

“Princess”—she heard Logic’s voice call out—“come here.”

“Hold on one second,” she told the psychic chick as she went to see what Logic wanted.

Logic informed Isis that before they would be able to start gambling, he would have to run up to his room to retrieve more money. He had given everything in his pockets to Jacob.

“While you run upstairs, I’m going to look in those two shops we passed.”

“A’ight. Just don’t stray too far from them, because I am going to be right back.” He kissed her on the cheek, and then headed through the crowded casino to the elevators.

Isis almost bumped into the palm reader when she turned around. She had forgotten about her just that quickly, but Miss Psychic must’ve
known
that she was open to the experience.