leaned forward and whispered, "Calm down, girl. Shit, you wrapped up tight."
"How do you expect me to be when you tell me you've got a hit out on me? You haven't even told me why," I ground out.
Tyrell shrugged. "You gotta point. I was tryin' to get back at your G-man and that singing pirate you hang with. I wasn't in my right mind. Thought I could get 'em both by takin' you out. But I put the hit out before I found peace and light. I got you here to warn you. I'm tryin' to redeem myself, but you ain't makin' it easy."
"Great! Just call off the hit then." Problem solved. I could feel myself starting to relax a little.
Tyrell shook his head sadly. "See here's the thing about The Spider. He don't fail. And I can't call him off. He don't stop 'til the job's done. Period."
I stared at him for a full thirty seconds. "This can't be happening. I'm a singer and a temp worker. It doesn't make sense for me to have the world's greatest hitman after me." A sob caught in my throat.
"Look, you gotta get your G-man on this. He know people who might be able to stop The Spider. I can't give up my contacts, but believe me when I say they don't know nothin'. It's a system where one hand don't know what the other's doin'. I tell a dude about my problem. He tell another dude. That dude sends a message to another dude. I put money in an off-shore account. It gets transferred somewhere. No trace."
I stared at him. "You've got to be kidding! I can't believe you did this to me!" I screeched.
He held up his hand. "You gotta be cool, girl. Get your man on this and watch your back."
I stared off numbly. "I feel like I'm falling. It's all out of control." It came out in a jumbled rush.
Tyrell slapped his hand on the glass to get my attention. "Then catch yo'self, girl! Ain't no one goin' do it for you. Shit, you let yo'self fall too far, you end up here. Or worse." He looked at me pointedly.
I took a deep breath. Catch yourself, Diana. Get a grip. "Where do I start?"
"Follow the money. Got a pen?"
I dug around in my purse and pulled out a pen and a grocery receipt.
He recited, "Cayman National Bank and Trust. Account number 231590-3675. That's all I got. That was written on a piece of toilet paper and left in my cell. I moved the money using a smartphone I borrowed."
"They have smartphones in prison?"
"Girl, they got everything up in here if you got the Benjis." He flashed his grill.
The guard called time up. Tyrell stood. "You take care now, Shorty. You're the first wrong I'm tryin' to right." He yawned. "Lord, I gotta do some meditatin'. You 'bout wore me out with all yo' negative energy. You might want to get your aura worked on." He waved his hands indicating my figure.
"Yeah, I get that a lot." I sighed. Then I remembered something. "Hey! Tyrell! What about the scrapbook letters?"
He stared at me like I'd finally lost it. Some of the old Tyrell was back in his answer. "Girl you hard a hearin' or somethin'? This ain't no joke! That dude gonna kill you. Ain't no one doin' no god-damned scrapbookin'."
I watched as they led him away, thinking about what he'd said. Time to catch myself. Ain't no one else going to do it for me.
* * *
I drove the three hours back. Mark spent most of the time on the phone.
If my life hadn't been in such mortal danger, the look on his face when I told him about the hitman would've been amusing.
"A top hitman called The Spider? Are you serious? Guess he does scrapbooking in between hits too?" he had asked sarcastically.
"Interestingly enough, I asked Tyrell about the scrapbooking, and he had no idea what I was talking about."
"So maybe the hitman has a crazy partner who likes to scrapbook."
I shook my head. "I've been thinking about this. The messages came before the attempts. Only problem was, I didn't open my mail in time. It doesn't make sense that the killer would warn me."
"None of this makes sense." Mark raked his fingers through his hair. "Oh, geez, I've got to actually repeat
"How do you expect me to be when you tell me you've got a hit out on me? You haven't even told me why," I ground out.
Tyrell shrugged. "You gotta point. I was tryin' to get back at your G-man and that singing pirate you hang with. I wasn't in my right mind. Thought I could get 'em both by takin' you out. But I put the hit out before I found peace and light. I got you here to warn you. I'm tryin' to redeem myself, but you ain't makin' it easy."
"Great! Just call off the hit then." Problem solved. I could feel myself starting to relax a little.
Tyrell shook his head sadly. "See here's the thing about The Spider. He don't fail. And I can't call him off. He don't stop 'til the job's done. Period."
I stared at him for a full thirty seconds. "This can't be happening. I'm a singer and a temp worker. It doesn't make sense for me to have the world's greatest hitman after me." A sob caught in my throat.
"Look, you gotta get your G-man on this. He know people who might be able to stop The Spider. I can't give up my contacts, but believe me when I say they don't know nothin'. It's a system where one hand don't know what the other's doin'. I tell a dude about my problem. He tell another dude. That dude sends a message to another dude. I put money in an off-shore account. It gets transferred somewhere. No trace."
I stared at him. "You've got to be kidding! I can't believe you did this to me!" I screeched.
He held up his hand. "You gotta be cool, girl. Get your man on this and watch your back."
I stared off numbly. "I feel like I'm falling. It's all out of control." It came out in a jumbled rush.
Tyrell slapped his hand on the glass to get my attention. "Then catch yo'self, girl! Ain't no one goin' do it for you. Shit, you let yo'self fall too far, you end up here. Or worse." He looked at me pointedly.
I took a deep breath. Catch yourself, Diana. Get a grip. "Where do I start?"
"Follow the money. Got a pen?"
I dug around in my purse and pulled out a pen and a grocery receipt.
He recited, "Cayman National Bank and Trust. Account number 231590-3675. That's all I got. That was written on a piece of toilet paper and left in my cell. I moved the money using a smartphone I borrowed."
"They have smartphones in prison?"
"Girl, they got everything up in here if you got the Benjis." He flashed his grill.
The guard called time up. Tyrell stood. "You take care now, Shorty. You're the first wrong I'm tryin' to right." He yawned. "Lord, I gotta do some meditatin'. You 'bout wore me out with all yo' negative energy. You might want to get your aura worked on." He waved his hands indicating my figure.
"Yeah, I get that a lot." I sighed. Then I remembered something. "Hey! Tyrell! What about the scrapbook letters?"
He stared at me like I'd finally lost it. Some of the old Tyrell was back in his answer. "Girl you hard a hearin' or somethin'? This ain't no joke! That dude gonna kill you. Ain't no one doin' no god-damned scrapbookin'."
I watched as they led him away, thinking about what he'd said. Time to catch myself. Ain't no one else going to do it for me.
* * *
I drove the three hours back. Mark spent most of the time on the phone.
If my life hadn't been in such mortal danger, the look on his face when I told him about the hitman would've been amusing.
"A top hitman called The Spider? Are you serious? Guess he does scrapbooking in between hits too?" he had asked sarcastically.
"Interestingly enough, I asked Tyrell about the scrapbooking, and he had no idea what I was talking about."
"So maybe the hitman has a crazy partner who likes to scrapbook."
I shook my head. "I've been thinking about this. The messages came before the attempts. Only problem was, I didn't open my mail in time. It doesn't make sense that the killer would warn me."
"None of this makes sense." Mark raked his fingers through his hair. "Oh, geez, I've got to actually repeat
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