We held hands for a few seconds, but then her smile faded.
“You’re not my Roman,” she said, pulling her hand back and gazing at me. “Your hands are way too soft.” She stared at me a while longer. “You . . . you’re one of the other babies.”
“Yes.” I didn’t really understand what she meant by “other babies,” but I didn’t want her to stop talking, so I pulled one of the chairs closer to the bed and sat down. I took her hand again, caressing it gently. “It’s all right. I’m Rio.”
She gasped, indicating that she recognized my name. “Rio. I always loved that name.”
Oh, shit. This was really happening. My stomach became tied up in knots.
“Rio,” she repeated then closed her eyes like she was done talking. Her breathing slowed, and within seconds, she was asleep again.
No, no, no, no! I screamed in my head, willing her to wake up. I needed answers, but this woman couldn’t stay awake long enough to talk to me. What the hell was I going to do now?
Roman
34
“Man, let’s go,” I said to Denny, who was dozing off in the front passenger’s seat, much like Li’l Al, who was knocked out against the driver’s side door, snoring. We’d been waiting in the warehouse district of New Rochelle up in Westchester for Lex’s mystery truck, but the only thing that had shown up were a couple of hookers and their johns.
“What? Nah, we can’t leave,” he said. “Ain’t no way we gonna walk away from this easy money. Money that you need.”
“Man, I’m sick of sitting here. It’s four in the fucking morning. We been here all night.” I exhaled in frustration, tapping Al’s shoulder to wake him up. “Yo, start the car. Let’s get outta here.”
“Huh?” Li’l Al sat up and looked around. “It’s here?”
“No, it ain’t here. We leaving,” I told him.
“Hold up, Rome.” Denny sat up and looked out the back window. “You hear that?”
I turned in the same direction, but I didn’t see or hear anything. “I don’t hear shit except my stomach telling me it’s time to go get something to eat. Let’s get the hell outta here.”
“Nah, for real. You don’t hear that?” Denny asked. “It’s getting closer.”
Al cracked his window and listened.
“Yo, Rome, he’s right.” Li’l Al pointed. “Here it comes.”
“I told you,” Denny said excitedly, grabbing his mask and putting it over his face.
I glanced in the rearview mirror and still saw nothing. Then I turned all the way around in my seat and squinted. Sure enough, I saw something flash in the distance, coming toward us.
“Are those headlights?” I asked.
“Get ready. Let’s go,” Denny said.
“Wait. We need to make sure that’s the truck we’re supposed to cop.”
“It’s gotta be. Ain’t no other damn truck out here. Not at this time of the morning.”
I grabbed my own mask and gun in preparation, then we sat in complete silence and waited for the large tractor trailer to drive past us. Sure enough, it was blue with Texas plates. It was the damn truck. As it maneuvered a few feet away from the warehouse, Denny and I slipped out of the van and crouched down in the darkness, moving swiftly toward it. Li’l Al waited in the van, same as always, until we signaled. We’d perfected our method of approach over time: Denny always covered the passenger’s side, while I focused on the driver’s side. It wasn’t the first time we’d jacked a truck, but this was our first time doing one of this nature. All of them required patience and precision.
I waited for the perfect moment to make my move. As soon as I heard the engine cut off, I stepped on the small bar at the bottom of the truck, grabbed the door handle, and yanked it open.
“Give me the keys, bitch!” I growled.
The driver, a black dude in his thirties, was taken by surprise. “What the fuck?”
I had to use one hand to steady myself on the cabin of the truck, but with the other, I pointed my gun in his face. At that same moment, the passenger-side door opened, and Denny hopped in.
“You heard what the man said. Give him the fucking keys, or we can just take them ourselves after we kill your ass.”
I knew Denny wasn’t gonna shoot him, but he sure as hell sounded convincing.
“Man, shit.” The driver reluctantly took the keys out of the ignition and handed them to me, then held his hands up, shaking his head. “I’m telling y’all, you don’t wanna do this. This ain’t no regular truck, and this ain’t no regular shipping company. These crackers will kill your asses.”
“And I’m telling you to shut the fuck up,” Denny said.
“Where’s the fucking GPS?” I asked.
“What?” The driver frowned.
“The GPS, nigga. Don’t act like you don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about. Where the fuck is it?”
He reached into an open compartment above him and pointed at a small black box. “It’s bolted in.”
“We know.” Denny reached into a bag around his chest and pulled out a ratchet set, then began going to work on the GPS.
“Hand over your wallet and your fucking cell phone,” I demanded, pushing my gun up against his skull. He didn’t waste any time reaching into his pocket and giving them to me. “Good. Now, get the fuck out the truck.”
I kept my gun aimed at him as I hopped to the ground and watched him climb out. Denny came around to the driver’s side, handing me the GPS, which I smashed on the ground with the guy’s phone, stomping them until they were a useless pile of plastic and glass. The driver had dropped down and curled into the fetal position, practically inviting me to kick his ass. But I
