6 Days Till Deadline
The next morning, rivulets of sweat rolled from my neck and in between my cleavage. The sun was beaming on my forehead and in my eyes, so I opened them and looked at the clock. It was just before nine. I was going to be late for work. Arielle must have opened my blinds before she left for her job working as a lifeguard at the community pool. Shit, I didn’t even have time to go for my morning run. But I went anyway. Only running for twenty minutes instead of the usual hour before I returned home.
I showered quickly, brushed my teeth, ran mascara over my lashes then removed my do-rag and fluffed my hair. Not good enough. I needed a few curls. I plugged in the flat iron then went to my walk-in closet and selected a pair of jean cutoff shorts and a Kansas City Chiefs T-shirt with Patrick Mahomes’s jersey number. I ironed the outfit, got dressed, then did my hair. I walked out of my house thirty minutes later.
I was sitting at the traffic light when I first noticed the shiny black Corvette behind me. One of Drake’s old songs was booming from the car. Its windows were tinted, and I couldn’t see who was behind the wheel. So, when I pulled into the driveway of the local coffee shop and the Corvette pulled behind me, I didn’t think anything of it. I ordered my usual black coffee with and egg sandwich and headed for the office. But then I noticed the Corvette lagging two cars behind me. So, I changed my route.
I turned left at the next light and adjusted my rear view mirror. That’s when the Corvette appeared. Coincidence? Maybe. I remembered my boss saying some people have the same patterns.
Let’s see. I made another left at the next light. So did the Corvette. That’s two. At the stop sign, I hung another left. Shit! That’s three.
I bit the inside of my cheek. Damn. It wasn’t even noon yet. Had Bam changed his mind and wanted payment in full? Had Bam sent one of his minions—knee-capers— to frighten me? Well, I didn’t have all the money yet. What would Bam do if I told him I didn’t have his money yet?
I ran the next red light by turning left. Tires screeched. Horns blared. But the Corvette magnetized just inches from my RAV4’s tail. Damn!
Where were the cops when I needed one?
Suddenly my back clicked into a rod. I looked down at the gears. My SUV was currently in Econ mode. I pressed the button for Sport mode and punched the gas pedal. I shot down the street at seventy miles per hour in a thirty-five-mile zone. But the Corvette tailgated me.
“What the fuck?” I slowed down. So did the Corvette. I stomped on my brakes. “Fuck it.” I pulled over, cut the engine, opened my glove compartment, and removed my Glock 19. I shoved it inside my waistband and stepped out of my vehicle.
At first the Corvette sat idle. Other cars swerved around it and passed me. I swallowed so hard that my throat ached, but I wasn’t going to show any fear to Bam. I wasn’t even late for our rendezvous. What gives?
As I closed in on the Corvette, it accelerated suddenly, speeding toward me with reckless abandon. I dove to my left, and I crashed into rubber garbage cans at the curb before slamming into the sidewalk. It sent a jolt to my body while I was lying face up on my back with the burning sun and salty tears stinging my eyes.
For a moment, I was dazed, but the sound of the engine revving snapped me back to reality. I scrambled to my feet and hopped up on an old Oldsmobile that appeared definitely older than me.
By a hair’s breadth, the Corvette jumped the curb, barely missed me and nearly crashed into the Oldsmobile. Then the Corvette’s tires squealed and burned rubber down the street.
I clutched my chest and gasped for air.
“Lady, are you all right?”
I tried sitting up and answering the FedEx driver, but I coughed a few times and continued gasping then laid my head back down on the hood of the Oldsmobile.
The FedEx driver drew his eyebrows together and stared at me intensely. He tilted his head. “You all right, lady?”
I covered my mouth with a hand and nodded.
He helped me down from the car and said, “That’s the darnedest thing. I tried to get that guy’s license plate, but he had no plates!”
My legs felt like Jell-O, but I started toward my SUV anyway.
“Here, let me help you.” The FedEx driver slipped my arm over his shoulder and half-carried me to my RAV4.
“Thank you, sir.”
“Should I call someone, lady? You look like you’re scared shitless. Excuse my French.”
I opened the door and turned to him. “I’ll be fine. I’ll just sit in my car for a little while.”
The FedEx driver nodded. “You do that.” He slammed the door behind me, slapped it a couple of times, and he was gone.
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