Reggie Dell lounged in her garden tub as if she had nothing but time on her hands.  But when her intercom buzzed, and she opened her eyes and looked at the time on the cellphone that sat on her tub’s edge, she panicked.

“Shit!” she yelled, and jumped out of the tub.  She grabbed a towel and ran to the intercom near the front door of her small apartment, and pressed the button.  “Come on up,” she said, because she knew who it was, and then hurried to her bedroom.

The see-through silk robe was already laid out across her bed as she dried off quickly.  After she threw it on, she tied it below her waist, which allowed for her chest, and half of her breasts, to be exposed.

Knocks were heard on her door as she fluffed her short hair in the mirror, smiled, and then took off.

Once she finally made it back to her front door, she exhaled, smiled again, and then opened the door.

And frowned.  “Ozzie?”  She looked beyond the tall black man at her door.  “Where’s Hammer?”

Ozzie Jones smiled too.  He was accustomed to Reggie’s serious lack of tact.  “He couldn’t make it,” he said.

“But I told him I needed to see him!”

“That’s why he sent me.  May I come in?”

It was obvious to Ozzie that Reggie was disappointed, but she moved aside and allowed him to walk in.

She closed the door. Ozzie stood there, with his hands in his pockets, and looked at her.  She was a pretty woman, but with too many issues to interest him.  And one of those issues, he felt, was her unhealthy obsession with his boss.

Ozzie began looking around.  “Nice place,” he said.

“Thanks,” she responded.

He horned in on a group of framed photos that lined her foyer table.  Almost all of them were of the same two people: a black woman with a white man.  He knew the woman.  “Your mother was very photogenic,” he said.

Reggie sighed that I’m not feeling this sigh.  “Thanks,” she said.

“Who’s she with?”

Reggie exhaled.  She didn’t want to hold any small talk with Ozzie!  She was still fuming that Hammer, once again, didn’t bother to come when she called.  But it wasn’t exactly Ozzie’s fault, she also knew, and she didn’t want to be rude just for the sake of being rude.  “That’s my father,” she said.

A white father, Ozzie thought, and a black mother.  Reggie was biracial.  He would not have known that by looking at her.  But it wasn’t like they’d had any personal conversations in the past for him to know anything about her.  Whenever she came around Hammer, he assumed it was a private matter, so he skedaddled.

“Anyway, Reg, what’s up?” he asked.  He did have shit to do.  “You said you needed to see Hammer.  He wanted me to drop by and find out why.”

“Why couldn’t he make it?”

“He’s busy.”

“Too busy to come see me?  I don’t think so!”

“Just tell me what you want him to know.  What is it?”

Reggie closed her robe and folded her arms.  “He could have come.  He can’t be that busy.”

“Okay, fine.  I’ll tell him what you said.”  He was about to leave.  Then he turned back around.  “May I take a piss before I go?”

Reggie was still reeling that Hammer sent a stand-in to talk to her.  She felt she deserved better.

“Reg, may I use your toilet before I leave?”

“Yeah, whatever,” she said irritatingly.

Ozzie wasn’t trying to irritate the bitch.  But that was how Reggie was.  Self-centered as hell.  “Where is it?” he asked.  “If you don’t mind my asking.”

But she just pointed toward the back of her apartment.

Ozzie smiled, shook his head, and made his way down the hall.  He opened the first closed door he came upon, figuring it to be the bathroom, and walked on in.  Only it wasn’t a bathroom, and he was about to walk back out.  But then he saw what was in the room.  And he couldn’t believe his eyes.

The room was a small bedroom.  Possibly her guest bedroom.  But it was more like a shrine, complete with wall-sized posters, to Ozzie’s boss and best friend, Hammer Reese.  Photographs, newspaper clippings, and pictures filled every crook and cranny of the small room.  Everybody knew Reggie had a thing for Hammer.  Everybody knew that.  But Ozzie didn’t realize just how much.

He pulled out his cellphone, took a few pictures, and decided to hold his pee for another spot.

He left Reggie’s place with all deliberate speed.

She left with an escort.  An SUV in front of her own car, and one in back.  It was one of those just in case protocols whenever trouble brewed at her distribution center.  And two casualties, both of whom once worked for the center, were big-time trouble.

Besides, it was one in the morning on a side of town not known for puppies and rainbows, and her security team wasn’t taking any chances.  It seemed pretty unnecessary to her, since she was relatively certain there were no outsiders in on Ringo and Culvy’s money grab, but protocol stated she was escorted if shit went down.  Whether she wanted that escort or not.  It was another one of those Bulldog rules already in place when she eventually took over the company.  Another rule she planned to review.

She turned onto Whimbley and kept driving west.   And as she drove, she did feel some kind of ache.  Not for those two assholes she had to ice, but for that sense of regret about how her life was turning out.  Her brothers would kill her if they knew she was still up to this shit, for one thing, and she didn’t even want to think about what Hammer would do if he knew.  But her deceased husband, a man who made her his wife when she was too young to know a damn thing, had taught her to wheel and deal in drugs and crime her whole adult life.  This was the only life she knew.  And she’d be damned if she was going to give it up and rely on some man ever again.  Her husband’s death was her freedom, and his business she inherited was her means to stay free.  She wasn’t giving freedom up.

But she still felt as if she was letting down the real men in her life, the only people who ever gave a damn about her.  Although, she also had to remind herself, Hammer Reese probably didn’t give a damn about her specifically.  He only cared about their son.  She was the mother of his only child, so naturally he would be concerned about her.  But that wasn’t the same as caring for her.  That wasn’t the same as love, Amelia thought, then tried not to think about that little depressing part of her life at all.

When her Bentley turned off of Whimbley onto Potomac, the two SUVs continued to provide security as she made her way home.  The point wasn’t for them to follow her all the way to her house.  The point was for them to make certain nobody else was following her home.

But as they drove on, a big, yellow school bus suddenly entered the intersection they were crossing, and crossed right in front of her convoy.  The SUV fronting her security couldn’t swerve in time, and crashed into its big, side frame.

It was a violent crash, as the SUV toppled over and the school bus began rolling and rolling as if it was tumbleweed rolling down some ghost town.  It was surreal to see.  But Amelia didn’t wait around to see what happened next.  Mainly because, when the crash occurred, she wasn’t looking at the crash itself, but what surrounded it.  And that was when she saw that another truck was heading their way, undoubtedly loaded with gunmen.  She knew an ambush when she saw one!

She turned right, away from the approaching truck, and relied on her well-paid men to handle the situation.  But as her men got out of the SUV behind her and began shooting at the approaching truck, a group of gunmen got out of the school bus and started shooting back at them.   It was a modern-day gunfight.  But Amelia was gone.

She sped through side street after side street as she got away from the scene.  She had a child to get home to, and she’d be damned if anybody was going to stand in her way.  She could only hope her men were able to contain those shooters and get out of it alive themselves.

The further away she got from the ambush, the better she felt.  She was angry that it happened, and was praying that her men were up for the job, but she was pleased to get away.  Until she turned another corner and crashed, head on, into another truck.  Her airbag deployed and threw her into it.  But she was otherwise okay.

She unbuckled her seat belt, grabbed her loaded gun from a compartment beneath her seat, and jumped out of her Bentley.  Damn if they were going to get her this night!

But as soon as she jumped out, three more trucks arrived and surrounded her.  And what looked like a dozen men jumped out of those trucks, with guns drawn, ordering her to drop her weapon.  Amelia was not a quitter.  Not ever in her life.  But she was no fool, either.

She dropped her weapon.