Page 3 of Faded Rhythm
King
In my line of work, tailing people is something I can do in my sleep.
But I swear, watching Mrs. Sable Lovelace-Graves move through the world is different.
It’s like following a swan as it glides across the murky waters of a lake.
Beautiful, graceful, majestic, but oblivious to what’s lurking beneath the surface of her life.
She’s wearing actual clothes today; a light blue dress and sandals with a heel on them. Her hair is pinned up haphazardly, but somehow, she makes it look good. It’s kinda sexy the way it exposes the long line of her neck. From where I sit, her brown skin looks flawless. I bet it’s soft, too.
I’m used to seeing her in tight-fitting yoga clothes, so you’d think I’d be used to her body by now. But that dress, as businesslike as it is, somehow makes her look even sexier.
I don’t know if women understand how enticing it can be when they’re covered up, but then again, if I was a woman, I wouldn’t listen to shit men have to say about most things.
I wait five minutes, then follow her into the bank. I stick to the periphery, leaning against a pillar, pretending to scroll on my phone. She’s with the banker now. Young girl, eager to help. She’s flustered until Sable pulls out a fat wad of cash.
My brows knit together as I watch this scene play out.
Bribery?
Interesting.
The suburban housewife has layers. Maybe claws, too.
I watch the way she handles the banker. Sable has a quiet confidence with people that only comes from experience.
That’s how you behave when you grow up in rooms where power sits.
I’d bet my last dollar her daddy taught her street smarts.
The man was around some of the toughest rappers in the industry.
Then again, he didn’t teach her enough for her to know not to let a man like Brett Graves get next to her.
She leaves fifteen minutes after she first went into the vault. Doesn’t look back. Doesn’t rush. Her face is tight, though. Is she scared? Sad?
Whatever it is, I feel a nagging pull to improve her condition.
That’s not like me. Usually.
Last woman I had any involvement with was a bartender named Naomi. We’d meet up after her shift. Her rules were very simple: No spending the night, and no questions. That suited me just fine. I don’t do mess or complications. They don’t mesh with my lifestyle or my profession.
It ended just as unceremoniously as it began. She asked me about my past. If I’d been married. If I’d been in love. The answer to all of her questions was no, because I’ve seen how much love costs men.
I can’t afford it.
But her questions served their purpose. I knew instantly that she was close to asking for more, so I disappeared like a thief in the night.
My phone buzzes. I answer without looking.
“Yeah,” I say.
“You still alive over there?”
I smirk. “Just barely.”
It’s AJ. He’s ex-military like me. Ranger battalion. It only took two tours in the sandbox together before we became the kind of friends that feel like brothers.
AJ’s tough. Took a round to the knee and walked that shit off like a twisted ankle. He’s the only person on God’s green earth who knows what I used to be. And what I’ve become. He calls a few times a month to make sure I haven’t gone off the deep end.
“Target still alive?” he asks.
“For now.”
“That’s a long ass delay for a trigger man. You gettin’ old, brother.”
“Nah. It’s complicated.”
AJ snorts. “Aren’t they all?”
“Not like this.” I pull off three cars behind Sable. “I wanna know more, that’s all.”
He’s quiet for a beat, and then, “Should I be worried?”
I hate that he asked that, mostly because I don’t know how to answer.
“I wanna know what I’m walking into,” I say. “The client has money stashed, burner phones, off shore accounts. I found all that shit on my own. But now she’s sniffing around.”
“You think she knows?”
“Nah. Not yet.”
“Then why’s she digging?”
I think about that. “Women’s intuition, I guess.”
AJ exhales slowly, and I brace for it.
“You sound like you’re already compromised.”
I also hate the way he said that. Already compromised. As if me fucking up is a foregone conclusion.
“It’s all good,” I say. “This shit ends tonight.”
It’s quiet for a moment.
“You sure?”
“Gotta be.”
Because the longer I wait, the harder it will be. Every time I watch her tuck her daughters into their car seats, or leave her yoga class, or carry groceries into her house, the job gets heavier. The lines blur.
That’s dangerous. For me, and for her.
“Alright,” AJ sighs. “Don’t second guess yourself when the barrel’s hot. She might look good, but she’s still a target.”
I never said a damn thing about her looks, but brothers don’t have to say shit. They just know you. Annoyingly well.
“10-4,” I joke. “Talk soon.”
“Yes, sir.”
Tonight’s the night.
It has to be.
“Bout motherfuckin’ time.”
Brett Graves has one of those voices that automatically loses respect. No matter what he says, that nigga sounds like he’s whining.
“So we’re clear on the details,” I say, a statement more than a question.
“We been clear. You the one that’s been stalling.”
“Whatever, man. By the time you wake up tomorrow, it’ll be done.”
He’s quiet for a moment on the other end, and I wonder if he’s thought about the fact that his little girls are gonna find their mother’s body.
His logic was that if I did it while they were at school, they’d be left there.
Too chaotic, he said. It wasn’t my job to tell him his way was much worse, so I didn’t.
I’ll say this, though: I ain’t much better as the trigger man, but Brett Graves is a piece of shit.
“Aight, hit me on the other burner when it’s done,” he says. “’Preciate it, bruh.”
I hang up.
Check my glove box. Look at my Glock. My gloves are in there, too.
Tonight’s the night.
It’s just another job. Just another body. Clean in, clean out, then back on the road.
But deep down, I know it’s not true.
This Sable woman…the seemingly sweet housewife with a little edge to her…she got under my skin.
If I don’t end this tonight?
I might end up proving AJ right.