Renee Page 7

  Bottom-feeders were lounging in the establishment, pushing smoke out of their mouths and downing beers with shots. An old, rusty jukebox lit up in orange spewed out songs from the fifties, while white men with tattooed arms and in sleeveless shirts and Holly jeans tapped their feet to the beat, and white women dressed in miniskirts, with cigarettes planted between their fingers, leaned against the bar. The only African American in the joint, Renee stood out like a sore thumb.

  This should be fun, she thought.

  Renee took a seat on a worn stool, ignoring the cotton that stuck out of it from where the leather had been sliced into.

  Behind the bar, a large freckle-faced, redheaded man in a Woodstock Festival T-shirt kicked back two shots, one in each hand, and then asked Renee, “What will it be?” He used the back of his hand to wipe his mouth.

  “Give me three shots of tequila.”

  “All right.”

  “Hey, Frankie. How about you give me one of those?” At the end of the bar, a red-faced middle-aged man who looked overdue for a hearty meal sat slouched over, his finger pointing toward the full shot glasses.

  “No can do, Pete.”

  “Why the hell not!” Pete slapped the bar. His outburst turned heads.

  Frankie sat Renee’s shots down in front of her. “No cash, no booze. So either pay up or shut the fuck up!” he told Pete.

  “Come on, Frankie. I’m this close to blowing my own brains out over here. Throw me a bone,” Pete pleaded.

  “What did I tell you!” Frankie almost made it over to Pete, but Renee’s offer stopped him.

  “Come on, Frankie. Throw the man a bone. You don’t want your pretty floors covered in blood. It’s no good for business.” Renee finished off the third shot. Frankie’s mouth opened. He was about to speak, but Renee spoke first. “I’ll buy it. I heard you. No cash, no booze!” Renee pulled money out of her pocket and waved it around.

  “Now we’re talking.” Frankie threw his hands up and marched over to the glasses.

  Pete slid off his seat. He was a short man, but he moved fast to the vacant seat beside Renee. “Thank you, pretty lady. You saved my ass. I meant it when I said I’d blow my brains out if I didn’t get a break.”

  Frankie gave Pete his drink. The glass hadn’t sat on the bar for two seconds before Pete downed its contents. Frankie shook his head, and Renee moved her finger in a circle motion, indicating another round for her and her new friend.

  “Blow your brains out? Shit, why would you want to do such a thing, Pete?” Frankie asked.

  “Because I need a break, damn it. I haven’t had one in months. I’m jobless, my wife left me, I’m down to my last fifty dollars, and my landlord’s on my back. Offing myself has got to be better than this,” Pete mumbled.

  “Suck it up, Pete.” Frankie sat four shots down in front of them.

  Pete sat up a little in his seat, his fist in the air. “You don’t know what’s it like! You have no fucking idea!”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Frankie brushed Pete off while he walked down to the other end of the bar.

  Renee pushed a shot over to Pete, and he took his drink. “He doesn’t know,” Pete repeated. “He doesn’t know.”

  “I hear you. I hear you,” Renee told Pete.

  Pete nudged Renee in the arm. “You see this.” She looked down and saw the revolver tucked in his pants. “Every day I’m a day closer to ending it all.”

  Renee smiled. “Frankie! We need more shots over here!”

  Pete covered up his gun with his shirt.

  Renee caught his eye. “Hey, Pete, you wanna play a game?”

  * * *

  An hour later Renee, Pete, and a friend of his, Jim, sat in a corner of the bar, at a round table. The lights flickered on and off. Minutes before, Renee had suggested a game of Russian roulette to Pete. It was her way of calling his bluff and demanding proof that Pete really wanted to meet his Maker.

  “You challenging me or something, little girl?” Pete had growled, drunker now than when he first met Renee, and she’d seen how angry a drunken Pete really was.

  “More like calling your bluff. A lot of people talk about killing themselves, but they don’t have the balls.” Renee had laughed in his face, the shot before here now vodka, not tequila.

  “You’re challenging me. Let me call my buddy Jim. Motherfucker’s having a rough time too. I’m sure he’d like to get in on this.”

  “The more the merrier,” Renee had said, smiling.

  As the three of them sat at the table now, Renee held the revolver in her hand. “Okay, gentlemen, here’s a little reminder about how this works.” She released the cylinder on the revolver and showed its one bullet. “As you see, there’s one bullet inside. We’re all going to take turns spinning the cylinder and putting the gun to our head. We’ll pull the trigger, and whoever wins dies.” She closed the cylinder.

  “Let’s go. I’m ready!” Jim banged his fist down on the table. He was shaking, and his dilated pupils suggested to Renee that he was on something.

  “Then let’s get this show on the road.” Renee spun the cylinder.

  “Fuck that! I want to go first. Give it here!” Jim leaned over the table, his arm stretched out and his fingers wiggling for the gun. Renee laid eyes on the track marks on his arm. “Give it here!” Jim snarled, spit flying out of his mouth.

  “All right, all right. She’s all yours.” Renee handed over the gun.

  “He’s been waiting a long time for this. Just needed a push. You know what I mean?” Pete commented. He was all smiles, his yellow teeth exposed.

  “Bring it on! Ahhh,” Jim yelled. Then he placed the muzzle against his head. Eyes open, he allowed no room for hesitation and went straight for the kill, pulling the trigger.

  Renee’s breath caught in her chest. She didn’t notice she wasn’t breathing until the sound of an empty chamber caused her to let out air.

  “Fuck! Here, Pete. Go! The faster you go, the faster it’s my turn again,” Jim yelled.

  Pete took the gun. He stomped his feet while he spun the cylinder. “Goodbye, stress!” He pushed the gun against his head, and before pulling the trigger, he told Renee, “Thanks for the drinks, pretty lady.”

  “Hey, what the fuck are you all doing!” Frankie screamed. The big man ran out from behind the bar and was coming their way when Pete pulled the trigger. Frankie rammed into Pete, knocked him off his chair, and both of them crashed against the floor.

  “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” Frankie hollered. He got up off of Pete and looked him over, his adrenaline pumping so much and voices screaming so loud in his mind that he was unsure whether he had heard a gunshot or not. Both Renee and Jim were on their feet.

  Spread out on the floor, the gun inches from his hand, Pete whimpered, his eyes on the ceiling. “Damn it! I’m still alive! Please no! Tell me it’s a dream!”

  * * *

  God had to be with Renee, because not only did she live to talk about the bar Frankie had kicked them all out of, but by some miracle, she also didn’t kill herself in a motorcycle accident while driving intoxicated. The hefty amount of alcohol in her system was sure to slow down her reflexes and take away any common sense. It took her ten minutes to get home, and after she stumbled to the front door, she fumbled with the keys in the door locks.

  Ain’t this something? These motherfuckers refuse to go in the keyholes.

  After finally getting her keys into their proper locks, Renee stumbled into her home and knocked over the expensive glass statue that stood on a stand beside the front door.

  “Damn it! I spent five thousand dollars on that!” Renee screamed.

  As soon as the words left her mouth, Slice and Jared came running into the foyer with their guns drawn, ready to shoot. Renee had always taught the two to kill first and ask questions later. Thank God that for once they didn’t listen to her. They just stood there, their weapons trained on her. Renee’s eyes widened. The liquor brought out the childish, fearless side of Renee. After she real
ized that she could have been killed on the spot, a smile spread across her face, and she started to jump up and down, waving her hands in the air.

  “Yeah! Yeah! That’s what the fuck I’m talking about. Run up in here, ready to bust off!” she yelled.

  Slice and Jared exchanged looks and lowered their guns. Slice slowly walked over to Renee, careful not to step on any glass, while Jared stared at her. Although her eyes were glassy and she was staggering all over the place, her intoxication added to the beauty he’d already seen in her.

  Slice took a moment to examine her face. “Renee, you drunk?”

  Renee looked at Jared and laughed. “This motherfucker isn’t the brightest lightbulb in the lamp store, now is he?” She continued to laugh at her own comment as Slice looked over at Jared and slowly shook his head.

  Slice grabbed Renee’s wrist and helped her step over the mess that she’d made. Normally, Renee would not let anyone touch her, but under the circumstances, Slice knew that she wouldn’t put up a fight. In his mind, the real Renee had temporarily stepped out of the building and was not all there.

  His grip tightened a little on her wrist as they walked across the foyer. This was the dumbest thing Renee could have done. Riding around New York while under the influence could have landed her in serious trouble. A woman in her position could not screw up, not once. Any heat that came their way was bad heat. What if she had done something stupid and the cops had got her? What then? Their whole operation would’ve been blown, leaving everyone broke and imprisoned. Just thinking of the countless things that could have gone wrong made Slice’s blood pressure rise. His first and only love was money, so just the thought of it slipping through his hands gave him a rash.

  Slice led Renee to the staircase and then watched her walk up the stairs. He didn’t like the way things were going. Julian had disappeared, and Renee was now leading with her heart instead of her head, angry that her partner had abandoned her and had left her to fend for herself.

  In all honesty, Slice couldn’t care less about their soap-opera drama. He wanted this money, and he believed that Julian’s and Renee’s immature behavior was putting that in danger. Slice’s fist started to ball up. Renee was a close friend, had been his best friend since high school, but this was business, and she was fucking with his money.

  “Dumb bitch! Getting all brand new because that motherfucker bounced,” Slice mumbled to himself, sure that no one could hear him.

  “What did you just say?” Renee slowly walked back down the stairs, toward Slice.

  Jared started to feel funny. He knew something was about to happen.

  When she reached the last step, she pretended to trip and fell on the floor. She grabbed her ankle, as if in pain. When Slice bent down to help her up, within the blink of an eye, she grabbed his revolver from its holster and pressed it against his forehead.

  His eyes blew up, and he stared Renee straight in the eyes. He didn’t know what to think.

  This liquor making her straight bug the fuck out, he thought.

  This wasn’t Slice’s first time having a gun pointed at his head, but it was his first time having Renee’s gun pointed at his head. Never in a million years had he thought Renee, his boss, his best friend, would pull a gun on him. Fear was something that he was unfamiliar with. He feared no one, but for the first time in his life, he understood how the people whose lives he’d ended had felt when he had his nine pointed at their head, showing no remorse. Fear crept up his spine. This foreign emotion settled in.

  Little did Slice know that Renee had no best friend, and if she did, he went by the name of Julian. Slice cut his eyes over to Jared, who just stood there, with his eyes locked on the scene, his arms crossed.

  “He’s not going to help you,” Renee said. “Unlike you, he knows when to keep his mouth shut.”

  “Sorry,” Slice told her.

  “Sorry? You getting soft on me now? I’ve never heard that word leave your mouth before.”

  “Renee, I—”

  “Shut up! Your punk ass said enough. You ain’t so bad when a gun’s at your dome, now are you? You think I’m getting all brand new? I’ll show you brand new, motherfucker!”

  Renee was heated. Her complexion was turning red, and her eyes were bloodshot. Murder was on her mind, and she craved the taste of blood. This night wasn’t supposed to go like this. For one night, she was supposed to go out, act irresponsibly, and try to forget about the hardships she was enduring. She was supposed to let loose. She wasn’t supposed to come home and be reminded that Julian had abandoned her, forgotten about her, and pushed her to the side. Wasn’t supposed to be reminded of the fact that it was her fault he’d left. No, it was supposed to be a memory, a fact no one spoke about.

  “Get on your knees,” Renee growled. Slice needed to be taught a lesson.

  “What?”

  “You heard what the fuck I said.”

  Never in his life had Slice felt so embarrassed and disrespected. Renee was stripping him of his manhood and demolishing his pride. If you wanted to get back at a man, you had to strip him of everything that he was and make him feel less of a man. Slice swallowed. He was not in a position to rebel, so he did the only thing he could when his life was on the line: he got down on his knees. Renee kept the revolver pressed against his forehead.

  Renee looked Slice in the eyes, and he knew what time it was. He saw her finger preparing to pull the trigger.

  Should have stayed in his lane and minded his business, Renee thought.

  Damn it! I’m about to be laid out by this bitch, the only person I trusted, the only person I vowed to protect and be loyal to. Feelings will get you killed! Slice thought.

  Slice closed his eyes. In his mind, he said a quick prayer that God would open up the gates of heaven for him.

  Click!

  When Slice heard the loud click and still felt the muzzle of his own revolver pressing against his head, he knew he was still alive. He opened his eyes and saw Renee smiling at him.

  “Don’t you love a game of Russian roulette?” Renee said.

  Beads of sweat dropped from Slice’s face, and he looked over at Jared, who was in the same position he was in earlier, just standing there watching, with his arms folded against his chest.

  I can’t believe he would stand there while she killed me, Slice thought.

  Renee laughed, put the gun away, and made her way upstairs. It was scary. The first time she’d walked up those stairs on this night, she had stumbled and had barely kept her balance. Now she walked with confidence and perfect posture, as if she were someone else, as if she possessed multiple personalities.

  “I think I speak for all of us when I say, ‘Learn to shut the fuck up,’” she said as she took the last step. When she reached the top of the steps, she turned back around. “By the way, you’re fired.”

  That was the last thing Renee said to Slice before she retired to her quarters.

  When she was out of sight, Slice jumped to his feet and speed walked to the dining room, where he got his hat, and then he was out the door.

  * * *

  Renee watched Jared over the surveillance cameras. He was doing his normal rounds, which consisted of a check of every room except for her bedroom and making sure the outside of the house was safe and secure, with his twin guns, one on each side. Renee was in her bedroom, with her lips wrapped firmly around a Newport, gazing at the cameras. She wasn’t big on smoking. In fact, she hadn’t smoked in years. But after seeing her mother today and then being disrespected by one of her loyal workers, she needed the cancer stick to ease her nerves. To be completely honest, it wasn’t working, not one bit.

  Renee blew smoke into the air. She watched as the huge cloud of smoke vanished and became nothing but a figment of her imagination. Glancing at the clock, she saw it was almost time for Jared’s shift to be over. Whenever he was about to leave, he’d knock on her bedroom door and make his exit known.

  Renee pressed a button, and the monitors went bac
k into their appropriate place and were replaced by her flat-screen. She opened the glass doors to her terrace, walked out onto it, and got rid of the cigarette. It was unusually chilly for a June night, and Renee loved it. Cold weather always reminded her of herself—cold to the point of numbness. Seconds later, there was a knock at her bedroom door.

  “Jordan, I’m leav—”

  Before Jared could finish his sentence, Renee opened the door, in nothing but a floor-length black silk robe, red bottoms, and shoes. The robe was completely open, exposing every nook and cranny. Jared’s eyes roamed over her entire body. Her caramel skin glistened due the moisturizer she had applied not even twenty minutes ago, and her skin twinkled, too, due to the hint of glitter the moisturizer contained. All of Jared’s blood rushed from his head to his groin. Her B cup breasts were round and perky. He even admired her French-manicured toes. He wanted to devour her whole.

  In all the years he had worked for Renee, this was the first time he’d seen the inside of her bedroom. He gazed past her and gave the room a once-over. It was definitely fit for royalty. The huge terrace, the king-size bed, the paintings, and the imported furniture screamed money. Renee didn’t speak. Instead, she beckoned him to follow with her hand, and then she strutted toward the terrace, the back of her robe blowing in the wind that came in through the open glass doors. She looked like she was walking in slow motion. Jared took in every move she made, and stored it in his memory bank.

  Renee made her way out onto the terrace and over to the railing, then turned and faced Jared, who had just closed the terrace doors behind him. She dropped her robe and red bottoms and kept her shoes on. Renee only had eyes for Julian, so she hadn’t noticed until now how truly attractive Jared was. His coffee-brown skin and powerful physique confirmed that he was indeed the perfect person for Renee to lose herself in and possibly forget about the events of the day. She needed an outlet, and Jared was indeed the best fit.