Decadent Desire. Zuri Day
Nicki’s place, a three-story brownstone that had been converted into two apartments. Hers was the larger one and occupied the two upper floors. It was spacious and airy, with tall ceilings and big windows to let in lots of natural light. Her respite from the grind of the theater district, where she practically lived six days a week.
“Bye, Joe.” She blew a kiss to the driver, then opened the gate and hurried up the steps to the second-floor entrance. Within seconds she’d kicked off her shoes and walked to the kitchen in search of something sparkling with a kick. She wasn’t much of a drinker, but a wine spritzer after two shows helped her wind down.
“Nothing,” she mumbled, looking in the fridge. “Great.”
Bypassing the heels she’d just kicked off, Nicki grabbed a pair of sandals from the hallway shoe rack and headed to the corner store that, luckily for her, stayed open until eleven. After picking out her favorite chardonnay and a liter of sparkling water, she headed back home. The street was sparsely populated and quiet, typical for this time on a Wednesday night. As she neared her walk-up, two men got out of a car parked in front. Ever the New Yorker, she was on instant alert but didn’t pick up any negative vibes. They talked casually, even laughed as the driver tapped the key fob to lock the car. Nicki relaxed, stepped to the right to walk by them. The driver, to his left. She looked up, expecting a come-on. The man was not laughing. At all.
She took a step in the other direction. The passenger had come from the other side of the car and stood in front of her.
A frustrated sigh gave her the chance to quickly scan the areas behind and beside her. Suddenly the streets were empty. Not another person in sight. Why didn’t I buy groceries on Monday, instead of spending the day on Long Island catching up with friends? Instead of fifteen dollars and some change, her desire for a sparkling libation could cost a lot more. Her brownstone was only two doors down. If she could just get around them...
Summoning her Brooklyn-born-and-bred attitude, she raised to her full height of five foot eight and looked the man standing in front of her directly in the eye. At the same time, she positioned her house key between her index and middle fingers, ready to puncture a cheek or gouge out an eye.
“Let me by.”
“Nicki Long, right?”
Caught entirely off guard, she couldn’t hide her surprise. “Who are you?”
“Friends of Vince. Come to get the money you owe him.”
Seriously? Vince’s ego was bigger than she realized. But if he thought this Brooklyn babe could be intimated, he had another thought coming.
“You have the wrong Nicki. I don’t owe Vince a thing.” She took a step to go around the guy talking, the one on the right. He stepped, too, in front of her.
“Move,” she commanded, now truly more annoyed than angry. “Vince has obviously lied to you, just like he did to me. I hope the promise of money wasn’t one of them.”
The tall, lanky driver studied his nails, wearing dark shades at almost midnight. “Vince did promise us money, as a matter of fact. From the money you owe him. So now instead of one problem—” he looked at his partner “—you have three.”
“Look, I don’t owe Vince. And I don’t even know you, let alone owe you. You’ve got the wrong woman.” Nicki pushed past him. A steely hand clamped onto her arm. Stopped her in her tracks. She whirled around.
“Let go of me.” The driver increased the pressure. It hurt like heck. Her heart thudded erratically. But Nicki forced her features to remain relaxed. She pointedly looked at his hand on her arm and then into his eyes. “I said let. Me. Go.”
“Hey, neighbor!”
Nicki’s body almost sagged in relief. Miss Frances was an elaborative gossip and a constant snoop, but at this very moment Nicki could have kissed her on the mouth.
“Good evening!” She pushed past the men and walked toward the gate where Miss Frances stood wearing a flowered robe and a sleeping cap over pink foam rollers, her squinted eyes trained on the men now walking toward the car.
“We’ll be at the show,” the driver said, fake friendly. “Rapunzel,” he added, making sure she knew he knew which one.
“We’ll be sure to look for you.” Nicki turned and watched the passenger taunt her as he opened his car door. “Break a leg.”
A shiver ran down Nicki’s spine. She turned away. Miss Frances continued to stare at the car as it started up and eased away from the curb.
“QZZ, zero, zero, zero, four.”
“Ma’am?”
“The license plate number. Hurry up and write it down.”
Nicki repeated the number, impressed that her neighbor had thought to get it. “I’ll remember it. Thank you so much, Miss Frances. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t come out when you did.”
“I saw you trying to get past them. When the second one came over and blocked the walk, I figured it was trouble.” Miss Frances turned keen eyes on Nicki. “You don’t know those men?”
Nicki shook her head. “No.”
“They obviously know you, came right to your doorstep. What did they want?”
“They had me confused with somebody else.”
“How could that be when they’re coming to your show?” Miss Frances’s gaze was unflinching. Clearly she was unconvinced.
Nicki was equally convinced that what the two men wanted from her was not only something she wouldn’t give, but also something her nosy, overly talkative neighbor didn’t need to know.
“Thanks again for coming out to check on me. You more than likely prevented a crime.”
“Watching out for each other is what neighbors do.”
Nicki gave Miss Frances a quick hug and headed toward her gate.
“Watch yourself,” Miss Frances yelled behind her. “Remember, those men said they’d see you tomorrow.”
Nicki gave a final wave as she hurried up the steps and into her apartment. There was no need for Miss Frances’s reminder. What the men had said—and even more so how they’d said it—was something that Nicki knew she’d never forget.
Once inside she opened the wine, poured a liberal amount into a goblet and took a long drink. She added some sparkling water and climbed the stairs to her bedroom. With each step her heart slowed and her hands shook less. The past several minutes replayed like a video in her mind. Even as it happened, it had felt like a movie. As if it were someone else. After recording the license number on a pad by her bed, she dialed Vince’s number. It went to voice mail.
“If what happened tonight happens again, I’m going to the police. I will not be harassed, and I certainly will not be threatened by the likes of you or those fools you sent over tonight. Their actions were recorded. So is this phone call. Leave me alone, Vince Edwards. Goodbye.”
She hung up, exhausted. Massaged her tense neck and shoulders. Despite the bravado in her message to Vince, the sinister-looking bullies had left Nicki shaken. She wondered if by chance the store’s surveillance camera had picked up those guys accosting her tonight. She made a mental note to check with the owner tomorrow. For now, she wanted to go to sleep and escape a nightmare named Vince.
She’d planned to tell no one what happened last night. Especially Paige, because Nicki knew she would worry. But a few days later, while Nicki waited with Paige for the pop star’s car to arrive, the words tumbled out.
“If my neighbor hadn’t come out when she did,” she finished, “I don’t know what might have happened. A part