“I was wondering if I could borrow your car.”

“Ready to rock and roll, huh?”

“No, no, not like that, just get out, you know, move around a little.”

“I understand, but Quadir, you do understand that you cannot afford for anyone to see you. You’re Mr. Smith and until you have some minor plastic surgery, you really need to stay inside and out of sight.”

“I’ll stay low; trust me.”

Amelia stared straight through him as her mind wandered off.

“Well, I guess it’s okay. But, take my black BMW. It has tinted windows, so that way I don’t have to worry about you being spotted. Geez, Quadir, don’t you know the chances you’re taking?”

“Listen, I got this. Trust me. I’m not crazy. I’m not going to let anyone see me.”

“Well, what about the beard and mustache I got for you?”

“Are you serious? That’s a Santa Claus outfit. The only thing that’s missing is the red suit.”

“It is not. Santa’s hair is white; this is like dark brown.”

“He’s a young Santa, then.”

“Well, you’re wearing it.”

“No, seriously. I’m not.”

“Quadir, do you understand the trouble I can get into? You’re wearing the Santa face.”

“Okay, I’ll wear the Santa face,” Quadir agreed, not wanting to bring her any trouble. In a way, she was right. If he were to be spotted alive, she would wind up in a heap of trouble.

“You’ll look great.”

“No, I’ll look like Santa, just younger and black.”

“Well, at least no one will recognize you. Come on, let’s go. I got to get a quick shower and get dressed for my rounds,” Amelia said as she grabbed her water bottle and threw her hand towel around her neck.

“Amelia.”

“Yeah,” she said, turning to face him.

“I just wanted to say thank you. Really. Thank you for everything.”

“You don’t have to keep saying that.”

“No, I do. I really do. I just want you to know that I’m going to repay you, Amelia, for everything. I’m going to give you back all the money you’ve spent helping me.”

“Quadir, you don’t have to. I don’t want your money. I have plenty of money. Really, you don’t owe me anything.”

“I owe you my life and I will repay you, Amelia, if it’s the last thing I do on this earth. You’re not the only one with money, you know,” said Quadir, thinking about his hideout spot and all the millions he had stashed away safely in his safe.

“Money means very little to me, Quadir. There are far more important things in my world than money. Remember, my job is to save people’s lives. Money becomes rather unimportant when you’re staring at death every day.”

Well, it means everything to me. Shit, I hustled too hard and got way too much paper stashed. I need to check everything out and make sure everything’s safe and sound.

Quadir parked the black BMW near the corner of Second and Green. He could see the door to his building. Large numbers were mounted above the door: 234. Two-thirty-four Green Street, he thought. My old secret hideout. Still in his car, he reached into a plastic bag and took out the Davy Crockett hairpieces Amelia had suggested he wear. He carefully put them on, pressing the sticky backs to his skin. He checked his mustache and beard in the rearview mirror, making sure they were on straight, and reached into the backseat for a baseball cap to put on his head. Feeling safe and undetectable, he got out of the car and walked to the front entrance of the apartment building. I need my keys. He wished he had his diamond Q keychain.

Just then a locksmith carrying a small duffel bag and a locked metal box brushed past him. Quadir couldn’t help but notice the man’s smile.

“Excuse me, I’m locked out of my house and I was just wo-”

“Sorry, pal, I can’t help you right now. I’m uuhh…

I’m off!”

Quadir watched as the man got into a locksmith van and pulled away from the block.

“Thanks a lot,” said Quadir.

It turned out that the locksmith was the same one who Gena had called to open the safe. The duffel bag the locksmith was holding had his money in it, and the reason the locksmith couldn’t help him was that he was in a rush to get home and share his good fortune with his wife and kids.

Quadir walked around the side of the apartment building and looked up at his old bedroom window. That’s what I’ll do. I’ll call the management office and have them come down here and let me in. Oh, damn, I can’t do that with this Davy Crockett getup. They won’t recognize me. Shit, maybe I should call a locksmith. Quadir had to see his apartment, and he desperately needed to know that all its contents were safe and sound, especially his money.

He got back into the BMW, started the engine, and no sooner had he put the car in park than he saw her. It was Gena. She was right there in front of him, fewer than two hundred feet away, carrying a large gold-framed photo of them that had hung on the wall of his apartment. She placed it in the car. Wow! She found my hideout spot, he thought to himself. He watched her as she placed two pillowcases inside the car. Is that my money in those pillowcases? What should I do? His first thought was to jump out of the car and run over to her. That he didn’t would be the biggest mistake he’d ever make. That one opportunity, that one chance was right there, but instead, he stalled, and those few moments cost him dearly. Before he knew it, the lights of the baby-blue Mercedes reflected off the car in front of it and the driver maneuvered her way out of the parking space. Quadir stepped on the gas, following the car down the street.

Where the hell is she going? he wondered as Gena made her way out of the city and onto the New Jersey Turnpike heading north. He speeded up, not wanting to lose her in the sea of red brake lights. Catching him off-guard, she quickly exited the turnpike. He cut off the car in front of him, almost causing a rear-end collision, and made the exit ramp just in the nick of time. He paid the toll and followed Gena’s baby-blue Mercedes into an Exxon station off the highway. His gut instinct was to jump out of the car and run over to her, tell her that he was alive and that everything would be okay. Yeah, that’s what I’ll do; I’ll tell her. I’ll tell her right now. And just as he was about to get out of his car, he saw the glass door to the mobile station open, and Jerrell Jackson, his archenemy, stood in the doorway, staring straight at the BMW. Quickly, he turned on the car’s engine and watched as Jerrell walked across the gas station lot, heading toward him. He quickly turned the car around and sped from the gas station. What the fuck is she doing talking to him? Quadir’s mind wandered in all directions searching for possible explanations, but nothing made sense. Isn’t he supposed to be in jail? Forty testified and they still found that nigga not guilty? He couldn’t believe it, nothing was making sense, and worst of all was his money. It was no longer in its safe hiding place. What is she thinking? What the hell is she thinking?She was in on this with him? She got my money for him?

Quadir didn’t know what to do. He had lost her trail and couldn’t follow her anymore. He didn’t want to return to Amelia’s house, at least not yet. What he really wanted to do was visit his old neighborhood. Ride down the streets that he had built an empire hustling on. The streets he once owned. The streets that made him “that nigga.” The streets he hadn’t seen since the attempt on his life. That’s what he wanted to do and that’s what he was going to do. No one can recognize me anyway. He couldn’t help it. He saw her with the pillowcases and the picture and knew she had found his money. He drove through the streets of Philly hoping that no one would notice him. He knew he was asking for trouble coming to this side of town. I hope the police don’t pull me over. Boy oh boy, he definitely couldn’t let that happen. No way, Jose, he thought.