A Wanted Woman Part 6

My dad told the man, "You're nine hundred thousand in the red with the Barbarians."

He raised his broken fingers, wiped his bloodied mouth, and looked at my old man though his swollen eyes. "Reaper, I took out a five-hundred-thousand-dollar loan to make things right."

"The money didn't get to the Barbarians, not within the last ten minutes."

"Because the moment the money was transferred to my account, the G.o.dd.a.m.n s.h.i.+tty-a.s.s f.u.c.king IRS seized my funds. They froze my account and they took it all to pay my d.a.m.n back taxes. To top it off I have a tax lien in the state of New Jersey, and that one has fifty-one thousand in interest due."

"That's a shame."

"Tell me about it, Reaper. Tell me about it. I have helped them launder so much money through churches, and now they are coming down on me. What's that expression?"

"Well, the Barbarians told me to tell you that that nine-hundred-thousand-dollar debt, with penalties and interest of course, is now at two point two million dollars."

"Jesus. Are you f.u.c.king serious?"

"I'm not a comedian. You know what I do. I collect for the Barbarians."

"Look, after I get to court and get my child support payment reduced-I mean, I am paying d.a.m.n near a million dollars a year for my four boys-and after I settle up this thing with the government and the courts, when I can sign off on this next deal, I'll have access to around five million."

"Five million. That's much money."

"That will be my cut. It will be in cash, I kid you not."

"The man behind the double red doors wants his money, that's all."

"Tell the Barbarians that I will get them every last dime. Tell the man behind the double red doors that I'm good for it, that I just need the time. That's all I need. Look, man. Me and my second wife . . . she's pregnant . . . just found out . . . so this will be my fifth child . . . aren't you going to congratulate me?"

"Benny, you have ten million in an offsh.o.r.e account."

"s.h.i.+t."

"They already know that. You had a mansion built. Six bedrooms, twenty-thousand-square-foot lot. They know about the next wife you have tucked away with the house in her name. They know about the new ident.i.ty and the new pa.s.sport. The man behind the double red doors told me to tell you that."

"Reaper, don't trust that sonofab.i.t.c.h hiding behind those red doors. Never trust that mother-"

Rorschach.

My father's hand was inside of his dark jacket. So was his gun. He fired one shot and blew a hole in his jacket pocket. It hit the lying man in the center of his forehead. A Rorschach made of blood and brains painted the white wall. The conversation was over. My father's job was done.

He picked up the phone, dialed a number.

He gave them his designation and said, "Tell him that it's done."

He looked at me. I nodded. I was okay.

He said, "My daughter has done well each time. I can vouch for her. She's here now."

A minute pa.s.sed, a minute with him listening and nodding, then he hung up the phone.

He said, "Once the man behind the red doors makes his decision, if he wants you to come in as a collection agent, one of the reps will want to talk to you at some point."

"Whenever they are ready to call, I'm ready to answer."

"Be sure you want into this business. It's not one made for women, not one for girls."

"I want in. Get me an introduction and I will take it from there. Won't need you anymore."

"I need you to understand what you'll be doing. You'll get your fingerprints removed, they'll need to know your whereabouts around the clock. When they call, you answer and go where they say to go."

"Why did you get in?"

"Same reason many of my ancestors went to work the Panama Ca.n.a.l. Not much options where I came from. People on the islands have limited opportunities. We have to go to Canada, England, or come here to America to make the kind of money we want to make. Back home you either work in tourism, at a bank, drive a taxi, or sell coconut water on the side of the road."

"You're an a.s.sa.s.sin."

"This wasn't what I came here to North America to do, but it's what I ended up doing."

"What did you come here to do?"

"I was going to be a soca singer."

"Soca? Is that like reggae?"

"Not reggae. Thought I was going to change America into the United Soca of America."

"You sing?"

"Did when I was younger. Switched over when I came here, saw that I'd go broke here trying to sing. Regrouped. Used my fighting skills to be a bouncer, then ended up in collections."

"Why?"

"The money. It was fast money. It was quick money. It was easy money."

"How old were you when you came here?"

"Same age you are now."

"You're not rich."

"In America the rich man's objective never will be to make the poor man rich."

"Never heard you sing."

"Life stole my voice a long time ago. Nothing left to sing about."

He looked at me. I leaned against the door, arms folded across my chest.

He said, "This is serious. Once they call, once you're in, there is no getting out."

"You get to travel and see the world, right?"

"I've left Little England, left my island and seen more places than I ever thought I would."

"You go to the Bahamas a lot."

"Unfinished business there and a few other places."

"Women and Bible study? Spreading the word while they spread the legs?"

"Unfinished business, that's all."

"I have wanderl.u.s.t, need to see more than Thugland, California, and the muddy Mississippi River."

"l.u.s.t?"

"Wanderl.u.s.t."

"Okay."

"I might start dating soon too."

"Not yet."

"I can date if I want. You have no say in the matter."

"Not while you're under my roof."

"You treat me like I'm a boy, but I'm a girl."

"You're not dating. You're not ready."

"I won't be under your roof much longer. I'll start making my own money."

"Who is the boy?"

"Were you ashamed of me when I was born?"

"What?"

"Were you ashamed of me?"

"It was complicated. When you were born, it surprised everybody."

"Are you still ashamed of me?"

"I've never been ashamed of you."

I paused. "Just a guy. He's just a guy who thinks I'm cute."

"Black or white or what?"

"Black guy. He asked me out."

"You tell him about me, about your mother?"

"Not yet. Haven't decided if I'll go out with him."

"He wants s.e.x."

"I might want s.e.x too. I'm old enough to want s.e.x, right?"

"Have you been having s.e.x?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but not yet. Not yet. Would be my first time."

"As long as he's not Mexican. I don't want your first time to be with a Mexican. I don't want you to end up having a baby with a Mexican, not in America. America treats blacks bad, Mexicans worse."

"You don't get to choose."

"I want better for you."

"I've been treated worse than any Mexican has ever been treated. By you and my mother."

"I've never mistreated you."

"You walked out on me before they cut the umbilical cord."

"I came back."

"Twelve years later. Like you had a f.u.c.king choice."

"I've apologized to you a thousand times, Goldie."

"You don't get to choose. You lost that right when you walked out."

"I'm still your father and I want what's best for you."

"You walked out the day I was born. That's the story my mother told me every f.u.c.kin' day."

"Let's not do this again."

"The moment I was born."

"Goldie."

"What?"

"You haven't asked about your mother since we left Memphis."