Page 3 of Tyrant

Linda and I met at our favorite lunch spot, a Jamaican restaurant that made the best oxtail and beans. She was already there when I arrived and had placed our orders. If you knew about Jamaican restaurants, you’d know they were already packed for the lunch hour.

As I came through the door, she waved from across the room. Her bright smile lit up her warm honey features, with her plum cheeks and bright red lips. Linda was five three, five seven in her four-inch heels, voluptuous both in bust and ass. She was quite the vixen, and she wasn’t ashamed to flaunt it.

Today she was wearing a blond buzz cut that suited her complexion well. She looked like she just stepped off the front page of a black magazine.

“Girl, your hair is slaying!” I complimented her. “I love it.”

“You need to come to my hairdresser.”

“You know I must use the hair products I make. I can’t cut my hair. The hair growth products won’t sell.”

“I feel you,” she agreed. “Sis, how was your meeting?”

I slipped into the seat opposite her. The place was an old diner with booths and Formica tabletops. I sat across from her and shrugged. “It was okay. I’m just worried about starting something new. I lost the first one I started, let’s hope I keep this as well.”

“I swear, Sis. Let me have someone end this for you.”

“No, getting blood on our hands won’t solve my problems.”

“It would solve everything. Just say the word and no one will ever find his body.”

I reached across and slapped her hand. “Keep your voice down.”

“This is a Jamaican restaurant, whatever you say stays right here. In fact, they’ll be happy to help us with this problem as well.”

“Stop,” I laughed just as the server made his way to our table. “The food is here. I am so hungry!”

“Me too.”

My mouth opened wide. “How did you get them to serve all this?”

Usually, they didn’t like to serve all three of their most popular meats in one meal. Today however, we got oxtail, curry goat, and jerk chicken on one plate, with rice and peas, vegetable and plantain.

“I told them we got man trouble and Miss Myrtle sympathized with me.”

Miss Myrtle was the owner, and her son was the chef. The one who served us was the grandson, and the granddaughter was behind the cash register. A cousin served at the counter as well.

“I’m glad you told her that,” I beamed. “These are my favorites … wait, you said you had a surprise. Should I be worried, is that why you ordered all three of these?”

She scratched her neck before answering which told me she was buttering me up for something. “That’s why you got my favorites in one dish. I won’t eat until you tell me what’s going on.”

‘Girl, you’re too suspicious, eat your lunch.”

With a pout, I pushed my plate to the side. “I’m not hungry.”

“Heh?” Linda stared at me wide eyed. ‘Didn’t you just say how famished you were? Are you throwing a tantrum. Girl, have your food.”

“No. I don’t want it.”

She rolled her eyes and sighed. “Okay, I’ll tell you. Now eat up like a good girl.” I pulled my plate closer and dug in. “That’s a good girl,” she crooned, and we both laughed. “You’re such a kid.”

“Now spill,” I taunted. “My food is getting cold and it’s your fault!”

“Alright,” she sighed once more. “My cousin’s husband wants to stock your brand in his store.”

I raised my head and looked at her with a frown. “Is that it?” I asked suspiciously. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch. It’s your new brand that he wants to retail.”

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