Supreme Clientele Read online

  That’s odd. Marcella usually waits on him.

  She looked around the restaurant and found Liz. She walked over to her and whispered, “Why is Vinnie sitting in my section?”

  “Marcella is sick, and you know he can’t stand me. He said you’re the next best thing,” Liz said with a smile. Zya shook her head, hoping that Vinnie didn’t get too out of control. He was known to be difficult to please, and Marcella seemed to be the only waitress who was able to handle him. Zya walked over to Vinnie’s table, where eight Italian men in double-breasted expensive suits sat around. They already appeared to be on their third round of drinks.

  It’s gon’ be a long night, Zya said to herself.

  “Zya! How’s it going, dark-skinned?” Vinnie asked as he laughed at his own joke. Even though Zya was far from being dark-skinned, Vinnie had labeled her that because she was the only black girl in the place. It used to bother Zya, but she reminded herself that she was there for the money and that was it. She didn’t give a fuck about what Vinnie called her, as long as he paid her at the end of the night.

  “How are you tonight, Vinnie?” Zya replied with a smirk.

  “Bring us another round of drinks. We are not ready to order yet,” Vinnie announced. He whistled as she walked away, and Zya ignored him. She walked up to the bar, where Meechi sat talking to the bartender.

  “I need you to fill in for Marcella tonight,” Meechi said.

  “No problem. I’ve got her section covered,” Zya responded.

  Meechi shook his head and said, “No . . . I mean after hours.” He got close to her ear, and his breath on her earlobe made her arms and back tingle. “Can I trust you?” She nodded but didn’t respond. “Good. After work, I need you to wait one table. They have a special reservation.” Zya agreed then made her way back over to Vinnie’s table with the drinks.

  “Have you gentlemen decided yet?” Zya asked, waiting for the men to place their orders. Instead of answering, Vinnie reached underneath Zya’s short skirt and grabbed her ass firmly.

  “A piece of this nice brown ass would be nice,” he yelled out loud enough for everyone in the restaurant to hear. Zya was enraged and embarrassed. She picked up one of the drinks off the table, and out of reaction, flung it in Vinnie’s face, glass and all.

  “You asshole, don’t you ever touch me,” she said as she watched the glass hit his face hard. A tiny trail of blood trickled down the bridge of his nose, and he keeled over in pain. He cupped his nose with both hands then stood up in a drunken outrage.

  “You black bitch!” he said as he grabbed Zya by the neck. Liz ran over to Vinnie to try and stop him from attacking Zya, but he pushed her tiny frame out of his way. The restaurant was in a frenzy, and everyone stood out of their seats as the chaos ensued.

  “Di’Meechi!” Liz yelled. Meechi came rushing out of the kitchen, and he forcefully pulled Vinnie off of Zya. Zya gagged and choked as she struggled to get some air into her deprived lungs. Liz rushed to her side and helped her up.

  “What the fuck happened?” Di’Meechi yelled to Vinnie, who now had begun to sober up and had a dumb look on his face. “What the hell was that?” Meechi had his finger pointed in Vinnie’s face. “Don’t you ever put your filthy hands on one of these girls! The next time you do, I will gut you like a fucking fish!” He then reached inside Vinnie’s suit jacket and removed a large wad of cash. “I believe this belongs to the lady.” He escorted Vinnie out and cleared the restaurant, apologizing for the incident that had just taken place.

  Meechi walked over to Zya, where Liz was standing by her with a worried expression plastered on her face. “You okay?” he asked as he handed her the thick wad of money.

  “Yeah, I’m good,” she replied as she nodded her head and applied ice to her now red neck.

  “Go ahead and go home for the night,” Meechi said.

  “No, I’m good,” Zya replied as she hopped down off the bar and began to clean up.

  Meechi nodded and said, “I’ll be in the back if you need me. After you’re done cleaning, Liz, you can go home.” He left the room, and Zya sat down at the nearest table.

  She put her hands over her face. This is some bullshit. I’m not cut out for this. I need to make enough money to get me right for a couple months and then I’m done. These Italian mu’fuckas ain’t about to be slapping me around. Fuck that! I’ma work a couple more months so that I can save up $50,000, then I’m done.

  Buggy walked over and began to sweep around Liz and Zya. He stopped in front of Zya and said, “I’ll help you cl-clean up.” He stuttered badly as he spoke, and began to sweep up the broken dishes.

  “Thank you, Buggy,” Zya said as she stood up. “You’re a good guy.” Zya gave Buggy a light hug, and his hands went straight for her breasts. She backed up quickly and said, “Buggy, you can’t do that. I’ve told you that you have to keep your hands to yourself.” She didn’t yell, but her voice was stern. She wanted to make sure that Buggy got the point. He would always sneak feels when she and the other girls walked past. They knew that he was harmless and didn’t know what he was doing, so Zya tried to be patient with him.

  “You all right?” Liz asked as she helped get the restaurant in order.

  “Yeah, I’m good. I just don’t think I’m gon’ be here too much longer,” Zya said as she grabbed a pail of clean silverware off the cart and began to wrap it in linen. “That was some bullshit. I don’t know about y’all, but I don’t take too kindly to men grabbing and touching on me. If that shit had happened a couple years ago, I would have had his ass touched. My boyfriend didn’t play that,” she said, thinking about Jules. She had forced him out of her heart, but she still thought about him from time to time. It had been six months since she had gotten the abortion, and she was finally getting her shit back together.

  “Where is your boyfriend now?” Liz asked. She sat down across from her.

  “We’re not together anymore. He turned out to be a liar. He’s rotting in some prison cell upstate.”

  “Yeah, I can relate.”

  Zya looked at the white girl with skepticism. You can’t relate to shit that I’ve been through, Zya thought.

  “What, you don’t believe me?” Liz asked, raising an eyebrow. “I’m not as innocent as I look. I’ve encountered a lying man or two myself.”

  Zya laughed and changed the subject. “Anyway, I don’t need this job that bad for me to be letting some fat-ass Italian jump on me. As soon as I save enough money, this place can kiss me good-bye.”

  Di’Meechi walked out of the kitchen and saw that the restaurant had been restored to its original condition. “Thank you, ladies. Liz, you can take off and take Buggy with you. Zya still has a couple of things to take care of here.”

  Liz looked at Zya and asked, “Are you sure? Because I can wait on you. I can drop you off at home.” Zya saw a trace of concern in Liz’s eyes and wondered why she was so afraid to leave her there alone.

  Liz’s anxiety caused Zya to become nervous, but she sucked it up and said, “No . . . no, I’m fine. You go ahead.”

  Liz pulled out a pen and wrote her number on a napkin. “Zya, call me when you make it home.”

  Zya took the napkin and placed it into her apron. “I’ll be fine,” she said as she got up and walked Liz to the main door. She closed and locked the door then walked over to the bar to Meechi.

  “Are your guests ready?” Zya asked. Meechi shook his head and replied, “No, but they should be here shortly. Come sit down and have a drink while we wait.” She sat in one of the tall stools while Meechi moved behind the bar.

  “What will it be?” he asked.

  “Cosmopolitan,” she replied.

  “Zya, I’m sorry about what happened earlier. Vinnie will be dealt with,” he said in a serious tone.

  What the hell he mean, dealt with? Zya thought as Meechi handed her a drink. She sipped at her Cosmo.

  “You are a very special woman, Zya,” Meechi said.

  “Is that so?” Zya replied
.

  “Yes. I don’t trust too many people to do what you are about to do. Marcella is the only other person besides me and my father that knows about these meetings.”

  “It’s not a big deal. I’m only filling in for Marcella. It’s just a dinner reservation, Meechi.”

  “Zya, whatever you hear or see tonight in this restaurant has to remain inside this restaurant. You are about to serve the most supreme of our clientele. Do not speak unless spoken to, and do not repeat anything that you may overhear to anyone. You understand?”

  “Yeah, I understand,” Zya replied.

  Meechi looked at her for a minute. He stared so long that it began to make her uncomfortable. “You are a very beautiful woman, Zya. I would hate for something to happen to you.”

  Zya’s face went blank. Was that a threat? What the fuck am I getting into? What is that serious about a fucking dinner reservation?

  “Come on,” Meechi said. Zya stood up and followed him back into the kitchen. He put a code into a keypad on the front of a freezer door, and it opened, causing cold air to be released into the room. The draft made the hair on the back of Zya’s neck stand, and she began to get nervous. Meechi held the door open for Zya and said, “Get in.”

  “What?” Zya said. She looked skeptically into the freezer. There was nothing in there, not even any meat or food. “Meechi, what is this all about?” she asked.

  “Zya, you have to trust me. If you don’t, there is no need for you to even be here right now. I trust you. Can you trust me?”

  Hell no! Zya thought, but instead of saying it aloud, she sighed and replied, “Yes.” She didn’t know why she agreed. In a way, she was curious to see what the hell was so important.

  She stepped into the freezer and cringed as the cold draft stung her skin. Meechi closed the door, and the freezer went black. Zya felt fear creep into her body, and she remained still as she tried to figure out what was happening. The freezer began to move downward, and Zya stumbled as she tried to keep her balance.

  “Meechi, what is going on?” she asked.

  This is a fucking elevator. Why is it built like a freezer? And where the hell does it lead to? Thoughts raced through her mind, and the fear of the unknown was what she was worried about the most. The elevator came to a halt, and lights came on. Zya couldn’t stop the butterflies from fluttering in her stomach. She was nervous, and didn’t know what was about to happen.

  Meechi walked over to another keypad that was posted on the wall and punched in five numbers. Another door opened, and Meechi stepped out of the elevator. He motioned for Zya to follow, and she hurried out. She was just grateful to be out of the suffocating space. She followed him down a long corridor until they reached a steel door. He knocked and was admitted. Zya hesitated, but Meechi called her name and she entered slowly. She walked into a room that held a bar and a round table, where seven people sat, all staring up at her.

  “Where’s Marcella?” a caramel-colored woman with a layered, shoulder-length wrap asked. She wore a cream-colored Dolce and Gabbana dress suit, and a huge canary yellow diamond on her middle finger.

  Zya couldn’t take her eyes off of her. She was gorgeous. She knew that she was somebody important. She sat with her legs crossed and her back relaxed against the chair as she looked Zya up and down.

  “Marcella is sick. Zya will be filling in for tonight,” Di’Meechi said.

  “Check her for a wire,” the woman instructed the doorman immediately.

  Zya looked in confusion as she held out her arms and was searched thoroughly from head to toe. Her heart was beating like a drum, and she was sure that her uneasiness could be felt throughout the room. Once the security guard gave the okay, the woman spoke again.

  “I would like a glass of California Chardonnay . . . Kendal-Jackson.”

  Zya nodded her head and wrote down the orders for the rest of the men sitting around the table. Before she exited the room, Di’Meechi handed her a piece of paper with the codes and instructions to use the elevator and the keypads. She hurried out of the room and almost found herself running back to the main floor. When she arrived at the bar, her heart was pumping and she contemplated leaving the restaurant.

  Fuck this shit. I don’t know who those people are or what is going on. Zya rushed to the front entrance and tried to unlock the door. No ... no ... open. She pulled on the door, but it was locked with a key that she did not have. Fuck! She was scared. She didn’t want to be a part of shit. She didn’t want to know nothing and she didn’t want to see nothing. She had known that the restaurant was kind of shady, but this was something totally past that. They are on some real Cosa Nostra type stuff. She looked around the restaurant for another escape route, but there was none.

  Okay, breathe, Zya, breathe. If I don’t get back down there with their drinks, they are going to come looking for me. That woman is already looking at me suspiciously. Zya rushed to the bar to pour the drinks. She kept spilling liquor because she couldn’t stop her hands from shaking.

  She placed them all on a serving tray then took a deep breath before going back to the elevator. She followed the instructions and made her way back down to the room. She stopped at the door and eavesdropped before entering. The room was silent, except for the blaring television set.

  “This is Tamra Gentry reporting live from CNN. Just in, a Cuban freighter was seized at the port of Miami by the local coast guards. Over two hundred kilos of pure Cuban cocaine were confiscated, found in hidden compartments within the crates. If the drugs were not confiscated, it would have made drug dealers millions of dollars on the streets. Miami’s Chief of Police will hold a press conference later today concerning the attainment and the big accomplishment in the war against on drugs.”

  Zya heard the television volume decreasing, and then the voice of the woman in the room. “You took our money but failed to deliver our product! We have been very patient with you, but our patience is running thin. It is very simple. We want the money or the product.” The deep, loud voice boomed through the corridor, and Zya held her breath in fear. She didn’t want to knock on the door, afraid that her interruption would be unappreciated.

  “Someone must have tipped off the authorities, causing them to intercept the shipment. It was completely out of my hands,” a male voice said in a pleading way.

  “Where is the money?”

  “I don’t have it. I can get it to you before you have your next meeting. You will have it all in full before next Saturday.”

  Zya finally knocked on the door, not wanting to overhear more than she should. She was let in and again, all eyes were on her. She could feel the tension in the room as she placed the drinks in front of each person.

  She looked up at a man who was sweating and nervous. The way he stared back at her made a chill run down her spine. His eyes were grateful for her interruption, but also pleading for her to stay. She could feel his fear, and she wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible. She grimaced at the sight of him because one of his eyes didn’t have any color in it. It just seemed to be one white ball in his head.

  “Did you want a drink, sir?” she asked him.

  Mr. Castello, Di’Meechi’s father, answered for him. “No, that will be it for now, Zya.” He handed her five crisp $100 bills and smiled at her before she exited the room.

  “Take care of him,” she heard the woman say.

  “Wait . . . please I can get your money back,” Zya heard him beg. She didn’t hear anything else for a while. There was a long silence, and Zya didn’t want to walk away, afraid that her footsteps might echo down the hall.

  “What do we do now?” a man’s voice asked.

  “We do nothing,” the woman replied.

  “Nothing?” another voice asked, his anger apparent in his tone.

  “There is nothing we can do. This drought has put us in a compromising position. We are going to have to wait it out until I can find another coke connection,” the woman stated, her voice calm and sure.


  “But what about the restaurant?” Di’Meechi asked.

  “The restaurant will just have to function as a regular restaurant until we can get our hands onto something. The customers will have to find another way to get their highs for now,” Mr. Castello said.

  Zya had heard enough, and hurried up to the main floor, her mind racing. I know where to get the goods. While they are waiting for their coke to come in, I could be making a killing. The way these people get high in here, I could make enough money to be set for a while. Zya thought about the opportunity that had just presented itself. She knew that she wouldn’t be stepping on anyone’s toes because they had blatantly said that their customers would have to find another source to buy from.

  Why not from me? Zya was in mid-thought when Meechi walked in.

  “Thanks, Zya. You did good. Take a couple days off.”

  “Thanks, Meechi. Can I go now?” she asked.

  Meechi unlocked the door to let her out. “Remember what I said,” Meechi warned as she walked by.

  Zya nodded, only half-listening, and made her way home. She was plotting a money scheme in her head, one that was sure to set her up for a minute, and that was all that she could focus on.

  She didn’t get home until 4 A.M., but she was wide awake. She had already decided that she was going to fill the void the restaurant had encountered, and sell dope to the customers herself.

  I have to get in contact with Jules’s connect. Torey Snow will have the goods. I know he will deal with me too. I’ll sell the dope for cheap so that they will have no hesitation about buying from me. I’ll take an L at first, but the more dope that goes through my hand, the more money I will make.

  Zya took a shower and then folded up her work uniform. She pulled the napkin with Liz’s number out of the apron. She looked at the clock. It was four in the morning, but Liz had been insistent on Zya calling her. Zya had promised that she would, so she picked up her phone and dialed the number.

  “Hello?” Liz answered, wide awake.

  “Hi . . . It’s me, Zya. Sorry for calling you so late, but you told me to call you when I got in.”