Page 23 of The Birthday Girl
“Exactly,” she said, her grin wicked. “But she doesn’t know that.”
Tremaine leaned forward, catching on first. “You must want us to rob that bitch?”
Mercedes’ smile widened wickedly. “Damn right. She got that paper, and we need that lick, especially your broke ass.”
Tremaine flipped Mercedes off. “Fuck you.”
“Not until you get some money,” she shot back, and Tremaine grinned, knowing she was lying.
If he wanted to bend her over the couch right then, she’d be more than willing and ready. He knew it, and she did too.
“Listen, Jimmy. Tahlia wants to meet at a spot in Brentwood Park later tonight.”
“Think she’s coming alone?” Jimmy asked, his skepticism evident in his tone.
“Hell no. She ain’t stupid. Nobody meets up in Brentwood Park at ten p.m. without backup. Are you crazy?”
“Nah. You are. I ain’t tryna get caught up in no bullshit,” Tremaine said, shaking his head.
Tremaine wasn’t new to this. He’d spent most of his twenties hitting licks, running up in houses, and stripping cars clean before the cops even knew they were gone. That hustle had bought him fast money, fast women, and ten years in prison when it all caught up to him.
Now, pushing thirty-five, he told himself he wanted different. He wasn’t clocking in anywhere yet, but he was breathing. He could wake up without bars over his head, and without checking his shoes for roaches or his food for glass. A lot of his boys from back then couldn’t say the same. The streets had swallowed them whole. Tremaine had outlived them, though some days he wasn’t sure if that made him lucky or cursed.
“Quit being a pussy,” Mercedes snapped at Tremaine, pacing the room. “It ain’t rocket science. We get there early. You and Jimmy lay low where nobody can clock you. I’ll meet her like everything’s sweet, take the money, make her feel safe. Then, when I give the signal, y’all move in. Hit her and her security before they even know what’s happening, and by the time they figure it out, we’ll already be gone with a hundred racks, maybe more.”
Jimmy whistled low, a sound equal parts awe and fear. “That’s a lot of money, Merce.”
“It is, so don’t fuck up,” she replied, leveling him with a glare through the phone. “Everybody needs to be on point, so don’t come high, or I’ll pistol-whip your ass,” she told her brother, not in the least worried about Tremaine.
He wasn’t new to this; he was true to this, and he stayed ready to keep from having to get ready.
Jimmy didn’t argue. Instead, she heard the click of a gun being cocked and the rustle of fabric as he moved. “I’ll be ready, but if we see a cop or anything even close to a setup, I’m ghost.”
Tremaine cracked his neck, rolling the tension out with a low grunt. “Fuck that shit. Let’s get this money.”
Mercedes let a slow, menacing grin eat up her face. “That’s what I like to hear. Your broke ass might be able to get some pussy, after all.”
“Man, bye, you freaky ass muthafuckas!” Jimmy clicked the line in her face, not wanting to hear that shit.
***
Brentwood Park wasn’t the kind of place you went after dark unless you had business there, and even then, it better have been quick. The neighborhood sat just outside the city limits, tucked behind a sagging chain-link fence and a stretch of cracked asphalt where the streetlights had long since burned out. The houses were old, brick fronts caving in, weeds growing through busted porches, and every other window was covered with plywood or cardboard.
Mercedes’ beat-up Altima slowly rolled down the street, its headlights sweeping over graffiti-covered mailboxes and cars on cinder blocks. Kids used to ride their bikes out there when school let out, but now the only sound was the low hum of cicadas and the occasional bark of a chained-up pit bull somewhere in the dark.
At the end of the block, the house sat waiting.
It was bigger than the rest, two stories of weather-beaten wood and peeling gray paint, looming over the cul-de-sac. Every October, the city repurposed the house into a haunted attraction. Teenagers dressed as ghouls and goblins, fog machines pumped artificial smoke, and parents ushered children inside for cheap thrills. Tonight, though, there were no decorations, no sound effects, and no laughter.
The house stood like a corpse at the end of the street, soundless and abandoned. Plywood sheets sealed the windows, and the porch sagged in the middle as if bearing an invisible weight. The broken chain that once guarded the gate now hung uselessly, its severed ends rusted from years of neglect.
“Why the hell would she pick this creepy-ass spot?” Jimmy muttered from the back seat, craning his neck to take it all in.
Mercedes smirked, tapping her acrylics against the steering wheel. “Choosing this place was actually brilliant. Tahlia knows not many people travel this way. There are no cameras or witnesses. It goes to show how bad she wants to keep this shit a secret. I might be able to squeeze her for more.”
Jimmy shook his head. “Nah, it’s too late for that. We get that hundred K and we leave that shit alone.”
Tremaine sat stiff in the passenger seat, his eyes sweeping the dead-end street, taking in the boarded houses and the shadows that seemed to press in from every angle. There were no cars parked along the curb, and no people drifting between porches. No movement at all.
