Page 15 of The Birthday Girl
“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.
Only the house at the end of the road stood, swallowing the block in its unnatural stillness.
His gut twisted because it felt as though he had been dropped into the center of a horror movie.
Black people did not fuck around in places like that.
Messing with the dead, the haunted, or anything that put you close to the edge was always a no-go.
“Jimmy’s right. I don’t give a fuck how much money she got, you won’t be able to pay me to come back to this bitch twice,” Tremaine replied, chills streaming down his spine as he continued to stare at the home.
He uneasily rubbed his palm against his jeans.
He had run jobs in plenty of neighborhoods, but never one like Brentwood Park.
His mother had once told him that back in the fifties, the government sent airplanes to poison the air, killing more than a thousand people.
Now, sitting there with his eyes roaming the street, he could’ve sworn he saw their restless souls drifting through the shadows.
Each second that passed wound him tighter, his nerves pulling taut until his nerves started to get the best of him. “I don’t know about this. Something don’t feel right.”
Mercedes killed the engine and leaned back, grinning. “Don’t start that shit. We’re here early. Let’s get in position before Tahlia shows up.”
Jimmy slid a clip into his Glock, racking it with a metallic snap that cut through the still night. “Let’s get it.”
Tremaine kept his eyes on the house, his voice low. “Yeah… let’s,” Tremaine added, but deep in his gut, he knew he should’ve turned his ass around.
“Alright, this is the plan,” Mercedes said, looking between her brother and her man.
“You two go inside the house and keep low, and I’ll stay out here to meet Tahlia.
She won’t be dumb enough to hand me a bag without thinking she’s getting something in return, but I’ll convince her to let me see the money first. The second I put eyes on the cash, I’ll give you a signal.
That’s when y’all come out, hit her and her people hard, and we take everything. ”
Tremaine’s head snapped toward her. “Inside that house?” He jabbed a finger at the sagging two-story at the end of the block. “Hell no, I’m not walking in there. I did ten years, Merce, but I don’t fuck around with haunted shit.”
Jimmy laughed from the back seat. “Man, you sound like a bitch. It’s just a house. Ghosts ain’t the ones with the money, and I need that.” He leaned between the two front seats. “If I have to go in there by myself, then shit’s getting split fifty-fifty. Niggas don’t get paid for doing nothing.”
Tremaine’s jaw flexed as he stared at the house again, every part of him screaming for him to stay outside or disappear into the night. However, broke men didn’t get to listen to their gut. Broke men swallowed their fear and did what needed to be done.
He exhaled heavily through his nose. “Fine. I’ll do it, but if this shit goes left, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Mercedes smirked, satisfied. “That’s what I thought. Now quit bitching and stick to the plan.”
Jimmy laughed with excitement. “We ‘bout to be rich, big bro. No more counting quarters for gas money. Hundred racks, just like that.”
Tremaine shot him a look, his voice flat. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. That kind of money don’t come easy.” He shook his head at Jimmy’s naivety. “Let’s just get this over with.”
“Okay. Y’all head inside, stay low and wait for my damn signal before you move.”
Jimmy slid his Glock into his waistband and pushed open the car door. “Say less.”
“We got this,” Tremaine and Jimmy said simultaneously before the two headed toward the house.