The Retirement Plan

Chapter 8

DeShawn stood in his bare feet on the mosaic Italian tiles, spooning Cheerios into his mouth. Through the wall-to-ceiling windows, he could see the Mediterranean's dark blue waters melding with the azure sky on the horizon. Easy to feel like a million bucks when you're living in a house that cost two-and-a-half mill.

An abstract painting by some famous Spanish artist adorned his bedroom wall. DeShawn couldn't recall the name of the piece but liked the colors, all fiery reds, and brilliant yellows. Like a nuclear explosion on the surface of the sun. Hanging above his king-sized bed, a bed so comfortable you needed to will yourself to roll out of it every morning.

Back when he was a shorty, hanging at the corners spitting rhymes with his crew, they used to groove about living large in places like this. MTV Cribs got them all dreaming about becoming rap superstars, blowing up, spending their days surrounded by finery. Lotto dreams, they called it because everyone knew only one in a million ever make it.

He wondered where his crew were now. Settled down, working stiffs with shortys of their own. Some dead. Some still slinging cane. Others waiting for that prison door to slide open. And here he was, almost by osmosis.

All happened that one night. The night he first clapped eyes on Vic Diamond. Sixteen-year-old DeShawn, a runner for a local Long Beach drug crew. Vic, the loose-cannon entrepreneur, in town for a symposium cruising dangerous neighborhoods for Bolivian marching powder. Fate decreed, he stop at DeShawn's corner.

DeShawn snatched the five-hundred bucks from his trembling hand, dashing around the corner to collect the product from Sammy-G. Red and blue lights flashed the moment he'd made the drop.

He and Vic delivered to the same stinking LA county holding-cell. The scared shitless white man making a deal with the young black boy, take the rap and he'd have a job for life. DeShawn assessed the hard asses in the cell, hanging tough, no future in their eyes. Had a premonition of his future. Accepted Vic's offer. The presiding Judge happy to believe a young black kid who was holding, attempted to car-jack a respectable white dude. The cops were satisfied with one conviction on the books. No-one too fussed the story had more holes in it than a block of Swiss cheese.

DeShawn served his time, started working as Vic's personal bodyguard the day after he got released. Been taking care of his crazy ass since then.

DeShawn, the one who found Mr Greene. The bent lawyer who got Vic and Elana their new Spanish passports, and arranged for Vic to buy this beautiful house. In DeShawn's name. DeShawn took care of Vic's other problems, driving him to his A.A. meetings. Help him keep his shit together when the man had the occasional breakdown whenever he think about that last night in Honduras.

Was it worth it? Check out that big-assed plasma, like one of those IMAX screens, covering the back wall. Hooked up to that monstrosity of a dish on the roof, picked up all the TV from back home. Got to watch the Lakers games live, Netflix, the works. Had a sleek Mercedes coupe with original leather seats sat in the garage. And over a hundred-and-fifty large sat in an offshore account. You make a deal with the devil; you make damn sure yo ass is remunerated.

DeShawn descended the marble stair, cereal bowl in hand. Strolled into the open-plan kitchen with all mod-cons, stainless steel fixtures glinting in the sunlight. No more going native. Part of the new deal they'd made when they'd quit Río Plátano, Elana equally insistent as DeShawn. The girl, accustomed to the finer things in life.

"Dee, mi amor." That would be her, now, cooing in that sweet voice she used when she wanted something from you.

DeShawn dropped the bowl in the sink, moseyed out to the garden. Found Elana nude lolling on the inflatable lounger in the pool. As easy as a summer breeze, despite being in full view of the gates where passers-by could catch an eyeful. What did she care? As she once reminded him, if anybody wanted to see her naked; all they had to do is Google her name. Besides, she'd been blessed with this fine body and saw no shame in people admiring it from afar.