Teri Woods - True To The Game III

“Sorry, pal, I can’t help you right now. I’m uuhh…

I’m off!”

Quadir watched as the man got into a locksmith van and pulled away from the block.

“Thanks a lot,” said Quadir.

It turned out that the locksmith was the same one who Gena had called to open the safe. The duffel bag the locksmith was holding had his money in it, and the reason the locksmith couldn’t help him was that he was in a rush to get home and share his good fortune with his wife and kids.

Quadir walked around the side of the apartment building and looked up at his old bedroom window. That’s what I’ll do. I’ll call the management office and have them come down here and let me in. Oh, damn, I can’t do that with this Davy Crockett getup. They won’t recognize me. Shit, maybe I should call a locksmith. Quadir had to see his apartment, and he desperately needed to know that all its contents were safe and sound, especially his money.

He got back into the BMW, started the engine, and no sooner had he put the car in park than he saw her. It was Gena. She was right there in front of him, fewer than two hundred feet away, carrying a large gold-framed photo of them that had hung on the wall of his apartment. She placed it in the car. Wow! She found my hideout spot, he thought to himself. He watched her as she placed two pillowcases inside the car. Is that my money in those pillowcases? What should I do? His first thought was to jump out of the car and run over to her. That he didn’t would be the biggest mistake he’d ever make. That one opportunity, that one chance was right there, but instead, he stalled, and those few moments cost him dearly. Before he knew it, the lights of the baby-blue Mercedes reflected off the car in front of it and the driver maneuvered her way out of the parking space. Quadir stepped on the gas, following the car down the street.

Where the hell is she going? he wondered as Gena made her way out of the city and onto the New Jersey Turnpike heading north. He speeded up, not wanting to lose her in the sea of red brake lights. Catching him off-guard, she quickly exited the turnpike. He cut off the car in front of him, almost causing a rear-end collision, and made the exit ramp just in the nick of time. He paid the toll and followed Gena’s baby-blue Mercedes into an Exxon station off the highway. His gut instinct was to jump out of the car and run over to her, tell her that he was alive and that everything would be okay. Yeah, that’s what I’ll do; I’ll tell her. I’ll tell her right now. And just as he was about to get out of his car, he saw the glass door to the mobile station open, and Jerrell Jackson, his archenemy, stood in the doorway, staring straight at the BMW. Quickly, he turned on the car’s engine and watched as Jerrell walked across the gas station lot, heading toward him. He quickly turned the car around and sped from the gas station. What the fuck is she doing talking to him? Quadir’s mind wandered in all directions searching for possible explanations, but nothing made sense. Isn’t he supposed to be in jail? Forty testified and they still found that nigga not guilty? He couldn’t believe it, nothing was making sense, and worst of all was his money. It was no longer in its safe hiding place. What is she thinking? What the hell is she thinking?She was in on this with him? She got my money for him?

Quadir didn’t know what to do. He had lost her trail and couldn’t follow her anymore. He didn’t want to return to Amelia’s house, at least not yet. What he really wanted to do was visit his old neighborhood. Ride down the streets that he had built an empire hustling on. The streets he once owned. The streets that made him “that nigga.” The streets he hadn’t seen since the attempt on his life. That’s what he wanted to do and that’s what he was going to do. No one can recognize me anyway. He couldn’t help it. He saw her with the pillowcases and the picture and knew she had found his money. He drove through the streets of Philly hoping that no one would notice him. He knew he was asking for trouble coming to this side of town. I hope the police don’t pull me over. Boy oh boy, he definitely couldn’t let that happen. No way, Jose, he thought.

He drove down North Philly across Twenty-ninth Street over to Lehigh Avenue. Then he went down Lehigh to Seventeenth Street and took Seventeenth Street all the way up to Erie Avenue, then Erie over to Broad and back down. The streets were so familiar it all seemed like yesterday. But it wasn’t yesterday and things had somehow changed over the last six months. He thought of Gena and wondered where she was. Still on Broad, he took it down to Girard and crossed over to Thirteenth and took it down to Wallace, entering Richard Allen. He had hoped to see Gena’s baby-blue Mercedes parked in front of her grandmother’s house, but it wasn’t. He rode around the block a few times but he didn’t see the car. He looked down at the time clock display in the BMW. It’s getting late. Quadir decided it was time to go back to Amelia’s house. I’ll be back, first thing in the morning. We’ll see what you’re up to then.

The next morning, Quadir was again waiting outside Gena’s grandmother’s house. He followed her to a mall, maneuvered the BMW into a parking space just across the street from a Porsche dealership, and sat quietly and watched. Gena had started her day rather early. Had he gotten to Richard Allen a minute later, he would have missed her. As soon as the mall opened, she was the first one through the doorway. Quadir watched her as she loaded up the Mercedes with shopping bag after shopping bag. Then she went down Jewelers’ Row. No telling how much damage she did at the jewelry store. She looks happy though. She don’t look like she misses me at all. Watching Gena, he couldn’t help but wonder what in the world she was thinking. She was like a madwoman with money and she was spending it and spending it big. He looked across the street at an unmarked police car and watched the detectives inside. It seemed Gena’s start wasn’t that early; she had company. Quadir watched as the detectives snacked on bagels and their morning coffee. He wished he could get out of the car and go to her. He wanted so bad to rush to her, to embrace her, and to tell her that he was alive and kicking. But to do that would have been too dangerous. Those extra eyes watching her would then be watching him, and he definitely didn’t want that. Instead, Quadir lay low and stayed out of sight. He had no time for the Philly PD or whoever those guys were. Maybe they’re following her, hoping that she’ll lead them to me. That was his first thought, but then he thought again. Maybe they know about the money and they’re hoping that she’ll lead them to it. It could be anything, but one thing was for sure: She was definitely under surveillance. He knew he would have to keep his distance if his plan was to have any chance of success. He couldn’t even get close enough to Gena to warn her.

The fact that Gena had found his money certainly complicated things. Now she was being watched. How the hell am I gonna follow her, if ola is on her ass? How the hell will I ever get my money back? His plan was simple: Follow Gena until she led him to his pot of gold. But now they had company and Gena was moving around a lot. She was all over the place. He couldn’t afford to let the Philly PD catch him following Gena. Not those jokers-that would be a nightmare. I bet it’s a hefty sentence for faking your death. Not to mention that Quadir certainly had not come this far to end up behind bars. The plan was the Bahamas, not the pen. He would have to shadow Gena carefully and he would have to do his best to keep her safe from a distance. But how?

Gena exited the Porsche dealership and stood patiently by the front door. Soon, it became evident what she was waiting for. A saleswoman pulled up in a guardsman black 911 Gemballa convertible.