Free No More Mr. Nice Guy by Carl Weber Page B

quickly.
    â€œShe’s in a state-run hospital right now, right?”
    â€œOf course you know about my mother. You and your organization have done your homework. Find the vulnerabilities first. Got it. Bravo!” he announced without the slightest hint of celebration. Yeah, this guy was saying and doing everything that I would have had I been in his position.
    â€œThis job will provide you with the ability to make sure that your mother is in a first-class facility, with doctors who know her and state-of-the-art treatments and comfort, not this state-run, low-rent situation she’s in now.”
    I hoped learning that he would now be able to provide for his mother would lessen the defeat. Obviously, she’d come off her meds, had a psychotic break, and had been hospitalized again. From the police reports, she’d been hallucinating and pulled a knife on two law enforcement officers.
    â€œSo this is about my mother? Wow. That is low, but not any lower than you setting me up in order to get me to come work for you.”
    â€œNiles, I am a businesswoman, and I only want what is best for my business. From where I’m sitting, this arrangement will be a win-win for both of us,” I informed him. Hell, I knew he was pissed, but emotions were just a waste of time in the work that we performed, and I only hoped he’d be able to set his feelings aside and do the job. “So, do I make the call and have this all go away, or would you like to stick to your self-righteous anger?” I asked.
    He glanced from me to the door, then back at me. While I waited for his answer, I only hoped he was as smart as everyone had led me to believe.

Majestic
    14
    After two days of being forced to wear that scratchy-ass prison-issued orange jumpsuit, it felt damn good to be on fleek again in my dark blue Hugo Boss suit, starched white Armani shirt, and sterling silver Gucci loafers as I headed to my bail hearing. They’d let my man Bruce out yesterday on an R.O.R—release on your own recognizance—trying to give me the impression that he had snitched on me, but Bruce was smart enough to get the word to Andrew Goldman, my pit-bull attorney, so I wouldn’t accuse him of any bullshit.
    Once inside the courtroom, I turned toward the back of the room, but all I saw were a whole lot of strangers. Not one familiar face separated itself from the throng of onlookers crowded into those four rows of hard wooden benches. They were all waiting for other cases. No one was here for mine. Where the fuck was Bruce, my mother, and my baby mama?
    â€œWhat the fuck! Where is everybody?” I griped under my breath at Goldman, who was about to either earn his extravagant hourly fee or my wrath. It felt good to be out from behind bars, but I needed to know that freedom wasn’t some pipe dream.
    â€œI don’t know. I called Bruce last night to tell him about the hearing, but he seemed a little preoccupied. I’m sure he’ll be here,” Goldman replied.
    Hell, it was his job to make sure that shit ran smoothly. He should have made sure my people had their asses in that front row, no questions asked. In his defense, though, I hadn’t even expected to be standing in this courtroom before my trial got underway. Originally I thought I would be released within twelve hours, like Bruce had, but then twelve hours stretched into two days. That was when I found out I was going to have to attend a bail hearing. They had sprung that little gem on me late last night.
    â€œHe better be here,” I muttered.
    â€œMajestic, keep it down.” Goldman motioned to the black female judge named Ellen McDougall seated on the bench, reading through the paperwork he’d given her. I was familiar with her, and I knew she didn’t play. His warning reminded me that this wasn’t the world I controlled, but one in which I needed to appear redeemable.
    â€œYou think this is really going to work?” I