Brooklyn Bombshells: Part 2

“Pyro, promise me that you won’t do anything to her,” Chanel said, locking eyes with Pyro.

“You still want her breathing after what she did to you?”

“She’s still my sister, and I don’t want any blood spilled in my name.”

Pyro didn’t want to make her that promise, but Chanel continued to hold his gaze and he could only relent. “I promise you that I won’t touch that evil bitch.”

Chapter Eight

The hotel in Midtown Manhattan had quickly turned into Charlie’s place of business. Working with two cell phones, she had merchandise to move and connections to reach out to. She called a few frenemies to see if one of them could pick her up in the city and run her around to do her errands. She paced around the hotel room with her cell phone glued to her ear and talking a mile a minute—trying to run game on someone to help do her bidding.

Unfortunately, one by one, each person she reached out to gave her a chilly reception and blew her off.

“Nah, I’m good, Charlie. Word around town is that you bad news right now,” one of them said.

“What the fuck you mean, I’m bad news?” she yapped back.

“I’m just sayin’, you hot right now.” He hung up.

Charlie stood there dumbfounded by his remarks. She didn’t know what was up, but she figured it had to do with how she and God had fallen off lately. She was no longer up to putting her used hooptie in the shop or waiting on anything because she had money now. She had room to breathe and stretch out her legs with eighty large. She thought about renting a car, but she liked the perks of being driven around, especially through rush hour traffic. But it wasn’t looking promising. Every person she called had something negative to say.

Fuck it! Charlie said to herself. She decided to Uber around town. Time was money and money was time.

Charlie carefully secured every bit of cash into the rolling luggage. She left the room, leaving Claire in bed under the covers without saying goodbye.

When the Uber driver arrived downstairs, she got into the backseat with her things and right away asked him, “How much would it cost me to rent you for the day? Flat fee.”

The driver, a young and clean-shaven white male turned around. Charlie knew he was sizing her up. He replied with, “Fifteen hundred, plus tolls.”

Charlie laughed at his ridiculous price. “You gotta be a fuckin’ comedian,” she mocked, followed by tossing him ten dollars for his time.

“Get lost!” she added, climbing out the backseat.

Everyone was a crook.

Charlie sighed. First things first, she needed to secure the cash. She walked to the nearest Chase bank to open a safety deposit box. The bank wasn’t too busy in the early morning. She met with a bank representative and filled out the necessary paperwork, and he escorted her to a private vault. She kept out four thousand for expenses and stashed the rest of her newfound fortune in several safety deposit boxes without any questions or raised eyebrows. To everyone inside the bank, she was a causal businesswoman looking to protect her assets.

Next, she went to the bank teller and paid her Chase credit card bill, which would include the hotel fee, and subsequently dropped $500 on her debit card. There wasn’t much pocket money left, but it was more than she’d had in a long time. She wondered how Claire was going to feel about not having access to the money. It was a thought that was short-lived. Charlie didn’t give a fuck how Claire felt. It was her money and she kept things moving.

She marched back to the hotel and went into the room to find Claire just as she had left her—lying in bed, moping, and doing nothing. Charlie glanced at her sister but didn’t ask if she was hungry or anything. Charlie didn’t have the time, nor did she want to console her sister. She was in business mode, and she wasn’t about to let Claire hold her back.

Charlie pulled out her cell phone and decided to call her favorite client, Mona. A few rings later, Mona answered her phone.

“You busy? I got some really nice shit for you to check out.”

“If it’s worth my time, come through.”

“It’s definitely worth your time,” Charlie guaranteed.

“Cool. Meet me at place. You got the address, right?”

“No doubt.”

Charlie smiled. Money. Money. Money. That’s what it was about—making money and lots of it. She was a one-woman show—the headliner who attracted the crowd. Charlie had a ton of stuff to profit from, and she was ready to eat like a hungry, hungry hippo.

She called for another car. She was eager to get to Mona’s place and show her everything she had for sale. Mona was good peoples, someone Charlie could rely on to help unload her merchandise. With two suitcases of shoes, jewelry, designer shades, and fashionable clothes with the tags still attached, Charlie estimated cost was at least over thirty thousand dollars. She was willing to sell everything to Mona at a huge discount.

The ride to Westchester County was pleasant. The cab came to a stop in front of a friendly looking two-story house on the peaceful, suburban street. The white vinyl house had a fire engine red door with a brass lion’s head doorknob. Parked in the driveway was a burgundy BMW with tinted windows. The area was a direct contrast to Brooklyn. Charlie liked the manicured lawns and ornamented porches and front steps.