Heat in Marrakech

Chapter 12 : The Trade

Warehouse 9.

No windows.

No doors except the one I came in.

Smells like blood and rust and piss.

My feet echo.

Each step too loud.

Cross waits.

White suit. Red tie. No blood on him yet.

He’s 60. Looks 40. Botox or evil or both.

“Yvonne.” He opens his arms. Like a grandfather. “My niece. You grew up beautiful. Like Sofia.”

Gun to my head.

His guard. Big. Scar on neck. Tattoos on hands.

Cold metal.

“Where is she?” I ask.

He tsks. “No hello for your uncle? No hug? After all these years?”

Uncle.

The word hits like a bullet to the chest.

Rips through.

“What?”

“Your mother was my sister.” He smiles. Teeth white. Too white. “Sofia Lancaster. My little sister. You have her eyes. Her stubborn chin. Family, Yvonne.”

I spit at his feet.

Saliva lands on his white shoe.

Small victory.

“Family doesn’t steal kids.”

“Family protects.” He snaps his fingers.

A door opens.

Metal screeches. Rust.

Layla.

Five. Small. Thin. Too thin.

My eyes. Elias’s black hair.

Gray dress. Bare feet. Dirty.

Stuffed lion in her arms. Missing an eye. Stuffing coming out.

She looks up.

Sees me.

“Mama?” Her voice cracks me open. Splits me in two. Down the middle.

I step forward.

Gun clicks at my temple.

Safety off.

“Ah ah.” Cross wags a finger. Like I’m five. “The ledger first. Where is it? Sabastian has it?”

“I don’t have it.”

He laughs.

Head back. Real laugh. Enjoying this.

“Sabastian does.” He checks his watch. Rolex. Gold. “He’s hitting my money house right now. My men will kill him in three... two...”

“No!”

“Unless.” He leans in. Smells like cologne and death and mint. “You call him. Tell him to stop. Tell him you’re safe. Tell him to bring me the ledger. Trade. His life for hers.”

If Sabastian brings the ledger, Cross kills us all.

I know this.

If I don’t call, Layla dies.

I know this too.

Layla looks at me.

Big eyes.

Wet. Brown. Mine.

Trusting me.

She doesn’t know me.

Never met me.

But she trusts me.

Because I’m Mama.

Cross hands me a phone.

Gold. Heavy. Vertu.

“Call.”

I dial.

Numbers shake. 0-1-2.

It rings.

Once.

Twice.

Sabastian picks up.

“Yvonne? Where the hell are you?” Gunfire in the background. Shouting. Arabic and English. “I’m at the money house! You ran! Why did you run!”

I close my eyes.

See Layla.

See him.

Both.

“Saastian,” I say.

“Yeah? Talk to me! Are you safe?”

“I’m sorry.”

Click.

I hang up.

Throw the phone.

It smashes.

Screen cracks. Dies.

Cross frowns.

Disappointed.

“Wrong answer, niece.”

He nods to the guard.

The guard points his gun at Layla.

At my baby.

At her head.

“No!” I scream. Move. Too slow.

A shot.

Loud.

Ears ring.

World goes silent.

But Layla doesn’t fall.

The guard does.

Hole in his head.

Blood on the floor. Growing.

Door kicks in.

Wood splinters. Flies.

Sabastian.

Bleeding. Shoulder. Left side.

Mad. Eyes black.

Jacket gone. Shirt red.

“I told you,” he says to me. Chest heaving. “Together. Always together.”

He shoots the second guard.

Two taps.

Points his gun at Cross.

Steady. No shake.

“Let her go.”

Cross laughs.

And pulls a pin from his jacket.

Silver.

Small.

Grenade.

“Or we all go to hell together. Family reunion.”