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“What? What are you talking about, Pyro? No! Are you lying to me!”
“Yo, I wish I was.”
His eyes were telling her the truth. There was great sadness and pain in them—pain and sadness for her. Chanel started to lose it.
“No! Why would she do that? Why would she kill herself?” she hollered with anguish in her voice. “Ohmygod. No! Why the fuck would she do that?!”
“I don’t know.”
She wondered what had set her sister off this time. She was devastated by the news, so devastated that it looked like she was having a panic attack.
“Chanel, move over. We need to go see your peoples right now,” he said, jumping into the driver’s seat of her truck.
Chanel couldn’t stop crying. Her heart was broken. Claire’s suicide was overwhelming and she was still in disbelief about it. She had to hear it from her mother—to confirm the tragedy from her flesh and blood. While Pyro raced her to her parents’ place, Chanel dialed her mother’s phone. Once she heard her grieving mother on the other end, it was confirmed that Claire was dead.
Chapter Thirty-Two
When Chanel and Pyro walked into Bacardi’s apartment, they were both were surprised to see Charlie and Ahbou seated in the living room, looking cozy. Immediately, Pyro noticed Ahbou’s holstered gun and badge clipped to his jeans. Pyro instantly grew uncomfortable. A cop and a career criminal in a relationship? Both men tried to be cordial, but there was instant and underlying tension.
Chanel right away went to her mother and hugged her strongly. They both were in heavy tears. Her parents were torn up. Chanel was fucked up too, but she knew that she needed to be strong for her parents. Claire was gone, and it was hard for them to fathom that.
Even with her sister’s suicide, Charlie couldn’t stop herself from being an asshole.
“Isn’t this a tender moment?” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
Chanel cut her eyes at Charlie, warning the bitch not to start anything. When Bacardi’s two renters came home after a long day of work, Charlie started talking slick and greasy to them, calling them every foul name in the book. It was upsetting to see two pretty strangers now occupying her and Claire’s old rooms, and she had something to say about it, despite the grief everyone was going through.
“You got these dumb-ass lookin’ bird bitches stayin’ here now. Them the hoes you kicked us out for?” Charlie griped.
The two young girls ignored Charlie’s insult and went into their bedrooms. They didn’t want any trouble. The vibe in the apartment was thick with tension and sorrow, and Charlie was adamant on trying to make things worse. She tried to talk slick to Chanel and Pyro, and sh
e kept whispering something to Ahbou, who would stare uncomfortably at Pyro.
Ahbou rubbed Pyro the wrong way. It wasn’t just that he was a cop; it was that he was spending time with Charlie, and birds of a feather flock together. She was grimy, so he knew Ahbou had to be grimy too. He was a shifty looking muthafucka. Pyro knew to be on guard.
The question on everyone’s mind was, what had triggered the suicide? Something had to have happened between Charlie and Claire to push Claire over the edge. Whatever it was, Bacardi felt partly responsible. She would give anything to go back in time and be a mother to her.
It didn’t take long for Bacardi to start mentioning burial money.
“I need to bury my daughter, and I need help. I ain’t got nothing for her funeral or a cemetery plot,” she said, her gaze moving around the room and landing on one person at a time.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll help pay for the cost of her funeral,” Pyro offered.
“Nigga, you didn’t know my sister like that, so don’t worry about it,” Charlie chimed. “I’ll cover her funeral, Bacardi, so stop begging. She was my little sister.”
Bacardi’s ears perked up, but she was skeptical. “You can pay for Claire’s entire funeral?” she asked in disbelief.
“I told you, I got it. Whatever it costs, don’t worry about. It’s the least I could do for Claire. And I want nothing but the best for her,” Charlie said sincerely. “When I lost her, I lost half of me.”
Bacardi and Chanel stared at Charlie with mistrust, knowing that she was probably up to no good again. Bacardi hated to take money from her because people had probably died over it. But she knew that one day Charlie was going to have to answer for her crimes, and she needed the help, no matter where it came from.
“Yeah, Ma, don’t worry about the cost. We got it,” Ahbou confirmed.
Ma? Who the fuck is he calling Ma? Bacardi thought. But she kept her mouth shut. She didn’t want to stir up any trouble, and Charlie’s new man looked dangerous and sinister. His eyes were black and icy. He was lounging on her couch like he had known them for years, and his badge and gun were intimidating. NYPD inside her living room, giving his creepy condolences. Who would have guessed?
Bacardi stared at Charlie sideways. She was hesitant to accept her help, but she agreed to take the money. And in doing so, Charlie started talking really big and cocky. She grinned and said to her mother, “I’ll bring over twenty thousand in the morning.”
Twenty thousand? Shit. What the fuck is she into to have that much money lying around? Bacardi wondered.
