White Lines III (37 page)

“Oh my God, somebody help me!”

*   *   *

Frankie sat transfixed as he sat in the waiting room in Saint Barnabas Hospital watching Gillian wipe her tears. He heard Celia's cries mingled with Misa's muffled sobs. He also noticed the detectives milling indiscreetly nearby. Frankie took it all in.

He wasn't the only one watching everything closely. Camille had come to offer her support to her distraught sister. Misa had been so distressed by Baron's shooting that the doctors feared she might have a nervous breakdown. Seeing so much blood flowing out of his body, and watching him slip in and out of consciousness had taken Misa close to the edge of her sanity. When Camille heard her sister sobbing on the phone, she had dropped everything in order to rush to her side. But the truth, which Camille would never admit to anyone, was that she couldn't have stayed away even if Misa and Baron had not been an item. She couldn't help herself. Part of her was fascinated to watch it all fall down. The Nobles empire was coming apart at the seams.

Camille held Misa as she cried on her shoulder. She watched Frankie sitting on the opposite side of the room, practically drooling as he stared at Gillian. Camille shook her head in disgust. Frankie clearly still had it bad for his former lover. Seeing Gillian cry, Camille did her best to look for signs that she was insincere. She wondered whether Gillian had sanctioned Baron's shooting. Their encounters with one another over the years had never been pleasant ones. Gillian had been a fiery opponent, ruthless when she set her sights on something she wanted. And Gillian had wanted Frankie, and gotten him. She had wanted her father's position, and gotten it. But, Camille wondered, was she capable of killing her own brother?

If she was, she was doing a good job of playing it off. No one had seen Gillian show this much emotion since her father's funeral. To some, it seemed that the siblings had never been particularly close. Baron had been the prodigal son, always having to learn the hard way. Gillian, the doted-upon baby girl, had been the apple of her father's eye. Their sibling rivalry had been understandable. Still, sitting there in the hospital waiting room, Gillian wept bitterly. It was a believable performance to everyone present. Camille couldn't help but feel some empathy for the woman she had once despised.

Celia, too, was so distraught that the doctors had threatened to sedate her. Baron was her only child. As Doug Nobles' first wife, she had experienced the first fruits of his hard work, and Baron was supposed to be the completion of their picture. He was their handsome son, groomed from the womb to be a hustler. But, to Celia, he was just her baby, her only son. The air was thick with heartache as Baron's mother and sister wept for him.

Frankie caught himself staring at Gillian, and forced himself to avert his gaze temporarily. When he realized that he couldn't keep his eyes off of her, he walked over to where she sat crying silently by herself.

She looked up when he stood in front of her, casting a shadow over her seat.

“Frankie,” was all that Gillian could manage.

“Are you okay?” Frankie's sincere concern was etched all over her face.

Gillian shook her head. “No.” She took a deep breath. “I can't go through this again.” Baron had clung to life similarly years earlier. At the same time, their father, Doug Nobles, had also been shot, and later died as a result of his wounds. Ever since his death, Gillian's relationship with Baron had been strained at best. Knowing that he was fighting for his life again, Gillian felt incredibly helpless and full of regret.

Suddenly, a commotion could be heard as Celia tried to charge Gillian, while Camille and Misa struggled to hold her back. Hospital security had to step in to assist. Celia was irate, and determined to get loose so that she could attack Gillian.

“You privileged, spoiled, little bitch! You think because he's gone now you can get away with it?” Celia's lovely face was twisted into a mask of pure hate.

Frankie's head snapped around, and he hurried over to Baron's mother. The detectives were listening closely. Gillian got up and walked toward the exit.

“Miss Celia, calm down,” Frankie urged. Everyone present was riveted as they watched Celia come unglued. Usually so poised and classy, Baron's mother was now hollering at the top of her lungs.

She wailed loudly. “That's my
son
in there, Frankie! That bitch is gonna pay for this!” Celia battled to break free as she watched Gillian walk out the door, with Frankie now hot on her heels.

*   *   *

Zion and Lamin sat together in the kitchen of Lamin's Brooklyn bachelor pad. Despite being lifelong friends, in recent years these types of visits were infrequent. The troubles between Zion and Olivia had put Lamin in an awkward position. Caught between his loyalty to his sister and the brotherly love he felt toward his best friend, Lamin had struggled to stay neutral. But now that Zion and Olivia had officially ended their relationship, Lamin felt free to resume the bond he and Zion had once shared. After Sunny's death, Olivia had found a younger, newer model to be the face of her clothing line, Vintage. These days, she was putting all of her energy into advancing her career. And it was working. Vintage was quickly becoming a fashion staple. She was determined to solidify her position with her upcoming show during New York Fashion Week.

Zion took a swig of his Hennessy, while Lamin refilled his glass. “So how's everything with you and Ava?” Lamin asked.

Zion laughed. “Me and who?”

Lamin looked surprised. “You mean after all of that, it's over already?”

Zion shrugged. During his incarceration, he had come to the conclusion that his relationship with Ava was never going to be more than just a physical one. “I don't think she's cut out for the life I live.” He swigged his drink again. “To be honest, at first she was just a distraction for me while Olivia was drifting away. I liked Ava, don't get me wrong. I definitely cared about her a lot.” In Ava, Zion had found the complete opposite of Olivia. Where Olivia was fiery and confrontational, Ava was calm and demure. It was refreshing. “But I wasn't in love with her,” he continued. “Not yet. I was starting to worry that she was falling hard, though. It seemed like she wanted to get more serious. Then this shit happened.” Zion gestured toward his ankle monitor. “I think that was the final nail in the coffin.”

“What you mean?” Lamin asked.

“She wrote me a letter while I was locked up. She told me that this was all more than she had bargained for. She didn't want to be in a relationship with somebody who was facing life in prison. She said she wasn't cut out for curfews, or jail visits. Basically, she was like, ‘This was fun, but I'm out.'” Zion laughed. “It's all good. I wrote her back, told her no hard feelings.”

Lamin shook his head. “Damn,” he said. “Any regrets?” Lamin wondered if Zion wished that he hadn't ended his relationship with Olivia now that Ava was history.

Zion shook his head. “Nah, not at all. It was never about me wanting to leave Olivia to be with somebody else. I know she'll probably never believe that, but it's the truth. I was ready to move on. My relationship with your sister was beautiful while it lasted, but I realized that shit was getting so bad that I was falling out of love with her. All those years of arguing and fighting. It's a relief to be free from that.” Zion smirked at his friend. “She won't admit it now, but someday she'll tell you how much happier she is now that everything is over between us.”

Lamin smiled, too. Olivia did seem much happier these days. It made him wonder if the two of them should have ended things a long time ago.

“I heard Baron ain't doing too good.”

Zion shook his head, sadly. “They gave him another blood transfusion yesterday. Gillian said it's not looking good for him to survive this time. Two shootings within the span of a few years? That's a lot for anybody to pull through.”

Lamin eyed Zion to gauge his reaction to this next question. “You think Gillian had anything to do with it?”

Zion stopped mid sip and stared at Lamin. Truthfully, Zion did suspect Gillian, but his loyalty to her wouldn't let him admit it out loud. “Hopefully, Baron survives,” Zion said. “Then he can tell us himself.”

*   *   *

Celia sat at Baron's bedside, feeling a sickening sense of déjà vu. She had held vigil at his bedside the last time he was shot, and had experienced pure elation when he fought his way back to recovery. This time, she wasn't sure that it would happen that way.

Baron was in and out of consciousness, talking gibberish one minute, and then completely out of it the next. He had lost an incredible amount of blood before the paramedics arrived. The doctors were calling it a miracle that he was still fighting for his life. There was no way to know whether he would live, and if he did, what his quality of life would be. It was heartbreaking for Celia to think that she might lose her son for real this time.

Today, Baron was having one of his bad days. He woke now from what seemed like a bad dream, uttering words that made absolutely no sense to Celia. She came closer and pressed her ear to his lips so that she could hear him better. Then, she frowned, certain that she must be hearing wrong.

“Baron … what are you saying?”

His eyes looked like they would pop out of his head. He was struggling so hard to get the words out that Celia thought she should probably summon the doctor. But then he said it again. His words stopped her dead in her tracks.

“… shot me. Tell everybody … it was…”

Celia clasped her hands over her mouth in shock.

*   *   *

Gillian clung to the phone like it was her lifeline. “Are you absolutely sure about this?”

Maury toyed with the pencil in his hand. “I wish I could say that I wasn't sure. I would love to be wrong about this. But there's no question about it. It's him.”

Gillian's hands trembled with a mixture of fury and devastation. “My God!” She had called Maury after Celia had summoned her to the hospital. Gillian had been hesitant to go at first. After all, Celia had all but kicked her ass the last time they'd seen each other. To make it worse, Celia hadn't divulged what the big emergency was. She'd only said that Baron was asking for her and that she needed to get there right away. With her own ears, Gillian had heard her brother tell her who had shot him. Even then, she wanted to believe that it was the medication that was making Baron delirious.

Soon after he told Gillian who his assailant was, Baron had gone into cardiac arrest. The doctors and nurses had rushed the women out of the room while they did their best to revive Baron. But their efforts were futile. Baron died, and both Gillian and Celia were inconsolable.

Gillian had called Maury with tears cascading down her face. She had given him the name that Baron had uttered in his final moments, and sent Maury on a wild-goose chase to see if he could garner some information on whether Baron had been right about who the snitch was.

“Now,” Maury continued. “The good news is that none of this appears to be a problem for you personally.”

Gillian frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, your name isn't mentioned anywhere in any of the recordings, or in any of the statements. For whatever reason, you've been left out of this. There's no indication that you have anything to worry about.”

Gillian scoffed at that. She had plenty to worry about. “Everything my father spent his whole life building…” She felt a tear fall from her eye. “My brother. He's dead, Maury. I think I have plenty to worry about.”

“I know, Gillian. I'm not trying to minimize any of that. But let's look at the bigger picture. You could be facing a lifetime in prison. You could be facing an astronomical amount of legal bills, asset seizures. The silver lining, if there is one, is the fact that your name appears nowhere in any of the evidence that exists. The same can't be said for many of your friends.”

Gillian closed her eyes, her head suddenly pounding. Her worst fears had been confirmed. There was a snitch in the family, and it was someone with extensive knowledge about the operation. The whole crew was fucked, and Gillian didn't care how Maury tried to reassure her. She knew that life—her life—would never be the same.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “Thanks for letting me know, Maury.” She hung up the phone and cried.

*   *   *

Gillian watched from across the room as Frankie stepped into
Conga
. He walked at a leisurely pace, greeting the maître d' along the way before continuing on in Gillian's direction. She had always loved Frankie's walk. He had the ability to make her weak just by strolling across a room.

He drew near and she watched as a slow smile crept across his handsome face. She smiled back, and greeted him with a hug.

“Happy Thanksgiving,” she said.

Frankie kissed her on her cheek. “Happy Thanksgiving, Gigi.” He was so happy to be in her presence. Things had been tense between them ever since their split. The criminal case against the crew had only increased the distance between them, since Gillian was doing her best to keep a low profile. The last thing she wanted was to be on the feds' radar. Frankie understood her dilemma, and had kept his distance. But he had missed her, and was glad to be with her now.

Gillian led Frankie to a corner table. He pulled out her chair and she sat down. Frankie sat across from her, and glanced around at the handful of patrons dining out for the holiday. Only a skeleton staff worked the room, and the atmosphere was cozy and warm. A waiter came over and greeted both of them by name, before pouring their glasses full of Perrier. Once he was gone, Frankie stared across the table at Gillian.

“I was surprised to hear from you today,” he admitted, then sipped his water.

Frankie had spent most of the day at Camille's mother's house, playing with baby Bria. It had been awkward for him at first, seeing Camille with the next man; spending the holiday with Misa, the woman who had killed his brother. Eli had been polite, and Camille had done her best to make Frankie feel at home. Still, you could cut the tension with a knife. Misa was mourning the loss of Baron, too, and in her misery, she had secluded herself in her bedroom for the majority of the day. The mood in Miss Lily's home had been solemn at first. Frankie had left a similarly somber scene at his mother's house earlier in the day. Without Steven, Frankie was all that his mother Mary had left, and the few hours he'd spent with her had taken a toll on him.