No More Mr. Nice Guy by Carl Weber Page B

going at it about me.
    By the time I got in my car, I had all but forgotten about them. All I wanted to do was find the person who had killed Rodney and deliver the same fate to him.

Niles
    18
    â€œMr. Monroe.” A tall, stocky, fiftyish black man wearing a dark suit approached me from the sidewalk as I exited the house. He looked totally out of place, but also like he could handle himself. Something told me he had been in plenty of places way more dangerous than the streets of Wyandanch.
    â€œSorry I didn’t have a chance to introduce myself the other day. My name is Winston,” he said as I met him on the walkway.
    â€œNice to meet you, Winston.” I shook his hand.
    â€œMs. St. John is waiting in the car,” Winston informed me as I followed him to the black Rolls Royce parked at the curb. A crowd of school kids and their parents waiting for the bus had gathered near the car. It wasn’t every day that they got this close to a vehicle costing twice as much as most of their houses.
    Winston opened the door for me, and I climbed into the back seat, noting the irony of my situation. The other night I was being shoved into a police car, and now I was being invited into a luxury vehicle by a private chauffeur. It almost made me laugh, except that I didn’t have much of a sense of humor lately. I didn’t have any idea where they were taking me, and the lack of control made me feel some kind of way. I was not exactly fearful, because I’d faced life and death situations before in the Army, but I felt uncertain. I was venturing into unknown territory.
    Bridget was tapping away on her iPad. She barely glanced up as I slid in next to her.
    â€œWhere are we going?” I asked as Winston pulled away from the curb. I hated feeling like a kidnap victim.
    Bridget stopped working on her iPad just long enough to say, “Mr. Monroe, I can assure you that no harm will come to you, for you are too valuable an asset to me.” Then she went right back to work.
    â€œWell, you did work extra hard to make sure I had no choice but to work for you.” I spat the words out, not giving a fuck.
    She finally closed her iPad and turned to give me her full attention. “I can assure you that this rage you are feeling will be put to better use. We have a lot of work to do to train you for your new position. But first things first.” She reached into a large bag and handed me a thick manila envelope.
    I took it, but I wasn’t in any rush to see what it contained. It wouldn’t have surprised me if they were papers she needed me to sign, giving her total control over my life.
    â€œAren’t you going to open it?” She had the nerve to smile at me like we were friends.
    â€œMs. St. John, we are not cool, and this is not some buddy movie where we are going to turn into best friends. You are blackmailing me, and unless you read me wrong, you should know that I’m not cool with that.”
    â€œI understand, but maybe you will be cool with what is in that envelope. At least it’s a start. I promise you that it won’t bite.” She smiled again.
    Fine. I realized I was going to have to pick my battles with this woman. I let out a frustrated sigh and opened up the envelope. Five large stacks of hundred-dollar bills were fit tightly inside, along with a wallet and an iPhone.
    â€œStill think I’m blackmailing you?” she teased.
    â€œWhat the hell is this for?” I pulled them out, and I’m not gonna lie; I probably looked like a bozo staring at all that money.
    â€œWhatever the hell you want it to be for.” She laughed, sitting back in her seat smugly. “You are going to need to look and act like you are completely comfortable in the world of the rich, famous, and criminal elite. Now open up the wallet.”
    I had to do a double take when I opened it and saw the Visa and American Express black cards neatly tucked in the flaps, along with a