It was empty, except for an old black man sitting behind the counter. Apparently, he hadn't heard the ruckus outside. He was casually flipping through a newspaper, safe behind his bulletproof glass which sported two deep fractures. Bullet impacts.
I scanned the store. There was a back room, from which I heard voices. I headed toward it, passing a glass cooler and a Red Bull display along the way. The smell of weed grew steadily stronger as I approached the back door, which I promptly kicked in.
There were two of them, both smoking and drinking and playing cards. Rap music played in the background. The room was just big enough for the two goons to sit comfortably. On the far wall, an open door led down a short hallway. Two big handguns were sitting on the table. They reached for them. I did, too. Unfortunately for them, I was faster.
I pointed both weapons at them. "Don't move," I said.
They didn't move. I left the room and headed down the short hallway. There was a shut door at the far end. Yellow light under the door. I heard frantic shuffling inside.
I picked up my speed, and threw a shoulder into the door and spilled into the room, rolling, coming to my knees and holding both handguns out before me as the only man came up from behind his desk holding a shotgun.
He saw the weapons pointed at his face and made a very smart move. He set the weapon down on the desk and held his hands up. He was a handsome black man. Young, maybe twenty-five, maybe a little older. His teeth were perfect and he was wearing a nice suit. He looked, if anything, like a young man trying to be taken seriously. Trying to be something he wasn't.
"Sit down," I said.
He sat, watching me closely, curiously. Since there was nowhere for me to sit, I went around and sat on the corner of his desk, next to him. Our knees were almost touching. I heard some noise down the hallway, but I wasn't worried about the noise down the hall. My inner alarm was not ringing. There was no real danger here. At least, not yet. The smell of weed was not so prevalent in the back room.
"We have a problem, Johnny," I said.
"What problem?" he asked easily, smoothly, confidently.
Johnny didn't sound like a kid from the streets. He was well-spoken. Enunciated his words crisply. He also watched me carefully. No doubt his brain was having a hard time processing what he was seeing. A woman. A white woman. A lone white woman. Here in my office. I'm sure it wasn't adding up. No doubt it wasn't computing. And so he stared and waited and processed.
"You've been threatening local businesses," I said. "Extorting money from hard-working people."
His eyes narrowed. "You a cop?"
I swung my feet a little. My sneakers just missed hitting the ratty carpet. "Nope."
"You with the feds?"
I smiled. "Just little ol' me."
"Who are you?"
"Now, if I told you that I'd have to kill you."
He stared at me. I smiled sweetly. Sweat rolled down from inside his hairline and made its way into his collar. This wasn't looking good to him, and he knew it. In fact, I could almost see the moment where he went from thinking this was surreal, to thinking his own life might actually be in jeopardy.
"What do you want?"
"You're going to stop extorting from local business. Got it?"
He sat back in his chair and relaxed a little. He said, "You're kind of a badass, huh?"
"Kind of."
He was handsome and he knew it. He gave me a bright smile and did something with his eyes that made them sparkle even more somehow. As if he could flip a switch.
He chuckled. "You come in here, kick in my door, and tell me how to run my business."
"That about sums it up."
"You might be the craziest bitch I've ever met."
"Maybe."
"Now, why is that?"
"Let's just say I've got mad skills."
Now he laughed, a deep, hearty laugh, and showed a lot of teeth. Nice laugh. Nice smile.
"Mad skills," he said. "That's good. Who are you working for, baby?"
"An interested party. But I don't say 'goo goo gah gah' and I'm not wearing diapers, so I'm not a baby."
"Okay, I get it. Now, if I don't suspend operations?"
"You'll be seeing me again."
He held my gaze. I think I swallowed a little harder than I intended to.
"Maybe that ain't such a bad thing," he said.
"Just ask your boys outside."
He laughed again, shook his head. "You're one freaky lady. Okay, you win. No collections. For now."
"Smart move."
I got up, headed for the door. As I was about to exit, he said, "Can I have my guns back? I do, after all, have a business to run."
I paused at the door and thought about it, then turned and set the pistols next to the shotgun. I said, "I'm watching you."
His eyes flashed. "I hope so, pretty lady."
I turned and left.
