bare, but so was Mariah’s to Hannibal’s surprise. So she didn’t belong to Rod after all.
One of the unknown couples left, then a second. The men shook hands with Rod, thanked him for the invitation and complimented him on the good time. The women actually knelt and bowed their heads. This was an interesting parting ritual that Hannibal thought would certainly not go over well if Cindy were a guest. He had never seen it before, even in the chat rooms, so he figured it must be one of Rod’s innovations. Before long Hannibal found himself sitting on the sofa with Rod, their heads bobbing in rhythm to the dance grooves. Mariah and Sheryl moved their bodies in a mesmerizing way in the middle of the room, as if locked in some sort of competition to see who could find the most enticing gestures. Rod pulled out a small pipe, lit it, and inhaled deeply before passing it to Hannibal. Hannibal put the stem to his mouth, but then pulled it away as if he had just remembered something.
“Man I got to tell you,” Hannibal said, exaggerating a slur in his voice, “You really know how to par- TAY.”
“You ain’t seen nothing yet,” Rod roared over the pulsing music. His irises were almost as big as his eyeballs. “Wait till you see the Rod man in about a month. I am going to open the biggest, hottest club in Washington. Might even give you a job if you want to go back up there.”
Hannibal nodded and handed the pipe off to Derek who was walking past. “I can see you got big plans, man, like you got an ironclad lock on the future. But tell me something. How can you be so sure it’s all going to go your way?”
For a second, Rod looked confused. “It just is. You see, I have a destiny. The big score’s been waiting out there for me for years. It can’t avoid me. It’s…”
“Your destiny. I get it.”
Rod’s reaction to Hannibal’s skepticism was interrupted by the third couple saying their good-byes. The music continued to throb, smoke still filled the air and the lights were still dim, yet some subtle change came over the house as Rod closed the door and the only people present were those who were with Rod the day Hannibal met him. Missy continued to dance like a woman in a rap video, but each move took her a little closer to Rod. Sheryl was dancing toward Derek. Mariah pressed closer and closer to Hannibal, but his eyes stayed on Missy. She reminded him of the women cast as African priestesses in old movies. She appeared to be in an ecstatic trance, her eyes glazed over, and her mouth agape. As she came within Rod’s reach he threw an arm around her. His hand sank into her hair and he pulled smoothly rather than yanking or tugging. Missy gasped, bending backward before her knees buckled and she sank to the floor.
Mariah’s teeth scraped Hannibal’s neck and he turned to face her.
“Let’s go upstairs, lover,” she whispered. “He’ll be busy for quite a while.”
“I’ll go pick us a room,” Hannibal replied. “You get us a couple more drinks.” With a deep nod Mariah headed for the kitchen. Hannibal climbed the steps just ahead of Derek and Sheryl, not wanting to see her face and not wanting to see what Missy was probably doing to Rod in the living room. Hannibal turned into the first room, farthest from Rod’s. Once inside he slipped a tiny plastic bag from his pocket and palmed it. Almost show time, he thought.
Mariah entered the room less than a minute behind Hannibal and closed the door. Her left hand was wrapped around the neck of a half-full vodka bottle. Her right held two glasses. She placed them all on the dresser and turned quickly into Hannibal’s arms. Her kiss was hot and deep, her tongue swollen in his mouth. He gripped her shoulders and with slow, steady pressure he pushed her away. As their lips parted, Mariah stretched forward to nip Hannibal’s shoulder with her teeth. In response Hannibal squeezed her shoulders until she whimpered in pain.
“You think you got a hook in me?” Hannibal asked with unaccustomed ferocity. “You ain’t shit to me, girl. Don’t you ever even think about marking me, understand?”
“Yes, Sir,” she replied. His stern tone seemed to arouse her even more. She stood staring up into his eyes, panting softly, and he wondered if he caused the same frission of fear she felt from Rod. Looking down into her waiting face he felt, for just a moment, the rush of power that comes from having total control over another human being. It thrilled and sickened him.
“You all sweaty from dancing all night, Shorty. You better get in that bathroom and get yourself real clean if you want to be with me.”
“Yes, Sir,” Mariah said with no hint of irony or sarcasm.
When Mariah stepped out of the room Hannibal poured two drinks. By squeezing the small plastic bag between two fingers he poured its powdered contents into one of the glasses. He had practiced to be able to do this even with someone watching, in case he needed to. The crushed Rohypnol dissolved in seconds. He was swirling the vodka around in the glass when Mariah returned. He pushed the glass toward her.
“I think you need a taste before we party.”
Hannibal sipped from his own glass. Mariah swallowed the contents of hers like it was water.
“Now lose the shoes and get up on the bed,” Hannibal ordered. Mariah pulled off her heels and stretched out on the comforter, grinning like a child in line at Disneyworld.
“Not like that,” Hannibal said, still standing by the door. “Get your ass up.” Despite her confused expression, Mariah leaped to her feet in front of the bed. “I want to see you dance,” Hannibal said. “Up on the bed. I think I’d like a nice, slow, striptease.”
Mariah’s eyes lighted and she gave a docile nod before stretching to the radio on the headboard. Once she managed to find some slow, smoky music, she stepped up on the bed.
“I hope you find me pleasing, Sir. I wouldn’t want to disappoint you and get punished for it,” she said. Her eyes said just the opposite. But Hannibal noticed that her words were a little slurred and as her hips began to sway her balance was shaky. The liquor? The drugs? Maybe both. In any case, he watched her move through a sultry and seductive dance and spend nearly five minutes teasing with her blouse before finally taking it off. While trying to unhook her bra she stumbled in the comforter and dropped to her knees. Hannibal rushed forward, concerned that she might bang her head on the headboard. Mariah raised an arm to protect her face from an anticipated attack.
“I am so sorry, Sir,” Mariah said. “I don’t know what happened to me. Didn’t drink that much.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Hannibal said, putting an arm behind her for support. “We’ll skip the rest of the dance. You look like you’re ready to party now.”
Mariah shook her head in a vain attempt to clear it. “But I wanted to be clear for this one. You are so hot. This feels…” She looked deep into Hannibal’s face and her caramel colored eyes focused with absolute clarity for a second. “This feels like when he gives me…”
Her mouth was trying to form the letter “R” as Hannibal lowered her back onto the bed. She would sleep through the rest of the night while he executed his scheme. Silently wishing her sweet dreams, he threw back the rest of his drink and eased out of the room. Muffled sounds from down the hall told him that the other two couples were fully involved. He slipped down the stairs with more stealth than was necessary. In the living room he unlocked the three locks that secured the front door. Then he went to the telephone and memorized the number on its face. A soft squeal from upstairs caught his attention. He had no way to know which room it had come from, and decided it didn’t matter. He moved into the computer room and pushed the door as close to closed as possible without letting the latch click.
It was almost show time. In the darkened room Hannibal loosened his belt and pulled the CD case from inside the front of his pants. While his left hand casually tossed his decoy CD Rom on the floor, his right pulled out his cell phone and pushed a preset number. The phone’s glowing face cut into the darkness of the room. It rang only once before his call was answered.
“Hey,” Hannibal whispered. “Your turn. You sure you’re up to this?”
“I want to,” Marquita replied. “I need to do this.”
“Okay.” Hannibal gave her the number, then stepped into the computer room’s closet and slipped out of his shoes. He left them behind and returned to the living room, all the while listening to the clicks and buzzes as Marquita made the connections for a three-way call. On the way he reflected on the courage Anita showed when she damaged Rod’s car and freed herself from his emotional grasp. Now he hoped that Marquita would free herself, and her act of defiance could well require an even greater degree of courage.
Crouched beside the front door, Hannibal listened to the phones ring out of synch in the room and on his cell phone. Four. Five. Six. How many times would Rod let it ring? Would he just ignore it? That was one way Hannibal’s
