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“We just can’t get caught,” she said, reading his thoughts.
“We won’t.”
They continued to talk about murder over bacon and eggs. They both were serious and knew once the wheels started to turn to their plot, there would be no turning back. It was going down.
“We allowed that nigga into our home and he betrays our family like this,” Butch continued to grumble. “I’ma empty my clip in that fool.”
Bacardi told him that this wasn’t an excuse to start drinking again. Butch had been getting a monthly injection of Naltrexone, a drug used to block the pleasurable effects of alcohol. So far he hadn’t relapsed.
He downed his pineapple juice and slammed the glass on the table. “It’s why I’m staying sober. When I shoot that piece of shit, I don’t wanna miss.”
The knock at the front door interrupted their murder plot. They both fixed their eyes on the door and wondered the same thing. Was it their daughters trying to come back home?
Bacardi pushed her chair back from the table and went to see who it was. When she looked through the peephole, she frowned and glanced at her husband. “It’s that dumb, white, wanna-be-black bitch, Landy.”
“What she want?”
“Like I fuckin’ know.”
Bacardi hadn’t seen Landy around since that cop got shot in the stairwell of their building. Puzzled, she cautiously opened the door. “What the fuck do you want?”
Landy ignored the rudeness and eased into the apartment uninvited. “Hello, Mr. Butch and Mrs. Bacardi,” she greeted warmly.
Bacardi rolled her eyes and eyed Landy up and down. “Why you got ya hair in them braids? Who you ’posed to be, Alicia Keys?”
Landy decided to let her comment go. She had known Bacardi for a long time and knew how petty she could be. She kept her amicable performance going by saying, “I came by to see if y’all needed anything from the grocery store. My parents are sending me to Stop & Shop in a Lyft. I could go shopping for you too.”
Bacardi smirked again and asked, “You buying?”
“Well, no, but I would shop for y’all if you needed anything and you wouldn’t have to contribute to the Lyft or pay me for my time.”
Butch looked at his wife and mocked, “Well, ain’t that mighty white of her.”
Landy made herself comfortable by taking a seat at the kitchen table. She was a bold one. Bacardi and Butch shared a puzzled look.
“So, how’s Chanel? I haven’t seen her around lately.”
Bacardi knew what was up. It was said that the second thing a person brings up is what they really wanted. Landy wanted to be nosy and Bacardi was ready for her.
“Since when do you give a fuck about Chanel?” she retorted.
Landy’s eyes widened. “Excuse me?”
“Bitch, you heard what the fuck I said. You ain’t go visit my baby in the hospital not once! You was walking around here like ya black until those cuffs got put on you. And then you turned back into Elandy Slogenberg.”
Landy coolly replied, “I only asked because there’s a rumor going around that Charlie had set up Chanel to get raped and murdered. Is that why you kicked Charlie out?”
The heat came over Bacardi rapidly. She knew that there wasn’t a rumor, because Charlie being part of it had been under wraps until yesterday. The project walls were paper thin, and their neighbors were too damn nosy. Landy sat there looking like she was some reporter for CNN.
“You got-damn white trash bitch!” Bacardi shouted.
A fuming Bacardi went lunging after her, but Landy was quick on her feet. She sprung from the chair and flitted around like a housefly trying not to get smacked down. When Bacardi tried to grab her, Landy slithered out of Bacardi’s grip, bolted for the front door, ran down the hallway, and took flight down the stairwell—never looking back. She had escaped by the skin of her teeth, but she had what she needed. Bacardi’s anger was confirmation that it was true.
Bacardi tried to give chase, but she was no spring chicken.
“Don’t fuckin’ come back here no mo’, you white trash bitch!” Bacardi screamed into the hallway.
She slammed the door and pivoted toward Butch. “This shit is gettin’ outta hand, Butch. We gotta do something. Our family’s reputation is on the line.”
