Tomorrow's Another Day Chap 1

Chapter One

The night air still held the chill of winter, though the days were turning warmer. Cheyenne Hudson locked the door of the bookstore, shivering from the cold. Wrapping her arms around her for warmth, she began to walk the nine blocks to her apartment. Walking was cheaper then driving, and Cheyenne couldn�t even afford a car. The bookstore didn�t pay much, but it kept the bills paid, most of them at least, and kept her fed, even if most of the time, the food she ate could be considered questionable. Cheyenne darted a glance right and left, taking in the scene around her. She didn�t exactly reside in the best part of town. She lived in what could be referred to as the ghetto. A local gang, El Rojo Muertes, were perched on the corner, red bandanas tucked in pockets to inform all that passed who�s territory they were in. They didn�t hassle Cheyenne. The oldest nodded to her, out of respect. Two years ago, it hadn�t been that way. On a night similar to this a rival gang had shot down one of their members and despite the reputation of the gang, she had stopped to help, had managed to stop the bleeding until an ambulance could arrive. The members of El Rojo Muertes did not have hearts of gold, but they believed in repaying debts and as such, they left Cheyenne alone. On this part of town, most of the street lights were out. However, Christmas lights lit up one door, although it was April, to let the locals know that a new stash was in. She traveled past as a young woman exited the door, disheveled and disoriented. A street artist had expressed himself through graffiti all over the sidewalk. Motherfucker this and that. However, despite the vile words, the actual drawing was almost like abstract art, several colors melding together. Dirt littered the streets, blowing like tumbleweeds across the asphalt. A homeless man lay on a nearby bench, a sign reading �Veteran out of work,� although Cheyenne knew for a fact that he wouldn�t know a soldier if he saw one crawling out of his ass. Men and youth stood together in shadows, the embers of a cigarette burning to light the darkness. Spotting her building, she turned quickly and with key ready, let herself in. It was best not to waste time getting inside. Cheyenne breathed out a curse as she noticed the elevator was out of service�.. again. She shuffled up the stairs, dreading the nine stories left to climb. She placed one hand between her legs. Damn. She had to pee. Drudging ahead, the steps creaked from her weight as she ascended them. The apartment building was known as �The End.� Simply that. It was a dead end for most people figuratively, but was also the last building on a dead end street. Dilapidated, like many of the rest, it towered over the neighborhood, ten stories in all with small rectangular windows in rows climbing the structure. Each window was covered with black bars, making it resemble a prison more so than a residence. The red brick was crumbling in places, and the inner d�cor was nothing to brag about. The carpet was a shit green shag, the walls covered in yellow and orange flowers to match. Most of the flowers were peeled back from the wall, creating the appearance of a sad, wilting garden. Doors hung crooked, and the elevator almost never worked, but the rent was cheap, and no one messed with her, much. Not the way they used to. Most of the neighbors liked her because she stayed mostly to herself. This wasn�t the type of place to make friends in. Cheyenne turned the key in her door, jiggling it a little. She had her legs clenched together because she really had to pee. Opening the door, she made a dash for the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. Cheyenne literally sighed in relief as she answered nature�s call. However, that sigh quickly became a groan. With the flush, water began to fill and then overflow from the toilet. Yes, this building also had it�s share of plumbing issues. Muttering an expletive under her breath, as she pulled her pants up, she rushed across the hall and knocked on Tony�s door. Tony was the local pusher of all things narcotic, but he had always

been nice to her. Anyway, she figured that with all of the stuff he flushed down his toilet when the cops showed up, he should definitely have a plunger. �Hola, Chica,� Tony crooned, standing in the doorway, hand propping the door back. �What you doing, lovely lady?� He always flirted with her, though he knew he didn�t have a chance in hell at scoring. She was way out of his league. More beautiful then she realized, she stood in his doorway like a dark goddess. Cheyenne had been blessed with long flowing ebony hair that descended down her back like dark silk. Eyes like a cat, studied the world, slanted, the color of almonds, flecked with gold. Caramel skin stretched over high cheekbones and a straight nose. Tony�s eyes rested on her lips, full and heart shaped. Tonight, the lipstick was red and glossy, and he moaned inwardly as her tongue darted out nervously, licking. As for her figure, the gods had blessed her there as well. She didn�t like to think about her body much, but others did. Breasts filled the t shirt she was wearing, round globes that swayed when she moved. Her body was very much like an hourglass, coming in at a slender waist and then descending to voluptuous hips with a nicely curved derriere. Tony openly eyed her appreciatively. �What can I help you with?� he asked, straightening, losing the Casanova voice. �My toilet�s overflowing. Thought I�d see if you�ve got a plunger.� She threw a thumb over her shoulder, indicating the apartment and the mess that was developing within. �Sure. Go check the bathroom, under the sink.� He opened the door a little wider, and with a wink, signaled for her to enter. Cheyenne loved his apartment. For this crappy neighborhood, it was like having a penthouse at Trump Towers. He had completely renovated the place. Instead of the shag carpet that covered her domain, he had laminate wood floors throughout. His d�cor was modern, but bright. A blood red sofa and chair rested in his living space with a wide screen television adorning a wall. Abstract art hung on the walls. Fresh paint glistened and brand new counters and walnut cabinetry made her mouth water. She wondered if she would ever have somewhere nice to live. However, she couldn�t do what he did to earn it. She hurried down the hall, noticing as Tony discreetly tucked a black briefcase into a closet. He might like her enough, but he knew that he couldn�t trust anyone. Cheyenne turned to the right into a small bathroom. Although small, it too had been tastefully done with a marble vanity and claw foot tub. However, due to the size of the bathroom, she had to close the door in order to open the cabinet. Tony may have a nice place, but he was still a man. Clutter filled the space under the sink, so she began to dig through deodorant and aftershave to find the plunger. A knock sounded at Tony�s front door. At first, Cheyenne didn�t pay much attention. But then the voices became raised, and she recognized the voice of Andre Garcia. Just the sound of his voice was enough to make her begin to sweat. Without thinking she reached up and turned off the light. Best if they didn�t know anyone else was here. Listening, she leaned her head toward the door. Now she listened to survive, to make sure they didn�t come down that hall toward her. �Where�s my money?� Andre asked roughly, followed by the sound of a lamp falling over, hitting those beautiful floors and crashing. �I don�t have it, man. I swear,� Tony whimpered. He sounded like he might even be crying. �Get on your fucking knees you traitor,� Andre barked. Cheyenne flinched, her heart constricting, breath becoming rapid and shallow. Her stomach felt like lead, and she was filled with a feeling of dread. Something else broke, though she couldn�t be sure what it was, and Tony yelped like an injured animal. Pleading followed. �Man, I wouldn�t steal from you. I ain�t fucking stupid. You gotta believe me.� His voice was high-pitched, like a woman�s.

�I don�t believe you,� Andre answered calmly, as if this was any other day, as if beating the shit out of someone was like reading the paper. �I can�t have people believing that I put up with this kind of shit.� She heard Tony whimpering, and then a bang. Bang! Another one. Her hand covered her mouth as she squeezed her eyes shut. Andre was the only person that scared her anymore. She had seen what he could do. He had managed to get a district attorney assassinated, killed a cop�s wife and daughter, and nothing had ever happened. He was untouchable. She stood, eyes darting toward the small window over the bathtub, but it too was covered with bars. Trapped. No way out. �Search the place.� Andre commanded. �Find my damn money.� Shuffling ensued. More crashes as items broke. Cheyenne knew it would not be long before they came into the bathroom. She searched in the dark for something that could be used as a weapon. Digging, a razor caught her eye, probably used to cut lines of coke. She put it in her hand, holding it, ready to cut. Cheyenne knew some karate, the basic defense moves, but she wasn�t an idiot. A bullet would travel a lot faster than a front kick any day. Quickly, she closed the cabinet door as quietly as possible and got in the bathtub. Closing the shower curtain, she waited. Her breath sounded loud in her ears, like thunder. Every noise seemed amplified out of fright. She could hear her heart pounding in her ears, her eyes wide with fear. The razor shook in her hand as she fought to control herself. Slowly her eyes adjusted to the darkness as she stood, listening to them tear through the apartment. Then, the bathroom door opened, and the light came on. Luckily, the shower curtain was a chocolate brown, and she was not visible. But that didn�t last for long. With a sharp yank, one of Andre�s thugs pulled the curtain back. There was no time to think, to plan. Instinct prevailed. Without thought, Cheyenne took the razor and sliced it across his neck, hard. He fell to his knees as his hands came up to his throat, blood gurgling from the wound. �Did you hear something?� One of the other guys asked another. Her gun was in her apartment. If she could just get that far. �Go check, �Andre commanded as he rifled through a bedroom closet. She darted out of the bathroom before they had time to see her and dove into the second bedroom. Bars on the windows here, too. Did Tony have a gun? Shouldn�t he? He sold drugs for a living. Wouldn�t he need protection? Glancing around she tried to think of possible hiding spots. She closed the door without shutting it completely, but enough so that it would block their view while they searched. She looked under pillows, under the mattress, and found what she was looking for in a night stand drawer. A .38 caliber handgun. Checking, she found it was loaded. �Andre! Hernando�s dead! His throat�s cut! We�ve got company.� One of the tall men reported to Andre. Cheyenne could hear footsteps hurrying down the hall. �Find them.� Andre ordered. �We can�t leave any witnesses.� She placed herself behind the door with the gun held against her chest, pointing upward. Her eyes were wide, adrenaline pumping. She waited for her moment, the moment when her fate would be decided. The difference between life and death. A shadow fell across the floor, and through the slit in the doorframe, she could see a husky black man, wearing dark clothes. He entered the room, and she saw her moment. �Stop right there,� she stated, giving away her fear with her quivering voice. �Don�t move, or I�ll shoot your head off.� She cocked the gun to emphasize the point. Mr. Husky Guy lifted his arms in surrender, turning to face her. �Now, walk to the door and slowly open it.� He did as he was told and then waited for further instructions. �Go ahead.� She waved the gun down the hall, indicating which way she wanted him to go. There was only one way out. Cheyenne encouraged her hostage to walk to the front of the apartment by pressing the muzzle of the gun against the back of his head. He

might be strong, but knew that she didn�t have to be to pull the trigger. She saw Andre, in the living room, gun drawn, looking for her. He turned at he sound of their footsteps and found her. The other man was in the kitchen. She had all three of them in front of her, if she could keep Husky in front of her long enough to get out. Then, she would run like hell. �Well, look what we have here fellows. A chick trying to act like Superwoman.� Andre chuckled, as if this whole situation was humorous to him. Meanwhile, Cheyenne noticed Tony�s body, sprawled backward, across the coffee table, a bullet hole straight between the eyes. She thought she might vomit. Part of his head was missing, brain matter sprayed across the back wall, and the lovely sofa. Blood was pooled in the floor around him, dripping down his face. For a crazy moment, she found herself wondering if the blood would come out of those wood floors or stain them forever. She shook the thought away and forced herself not to stare. No time for that now. Too much to do. Like survive. �If you fucking move I�ll shoot him.� Cheyenne nudged the gun into the back of Husky�s head, hoping it would make her look more serious. Andre laughed. �You think I give a fuck about him.� With that, he raised a weapon and shot Husky himself. Husky reached for his chest and slumped in front of her. She didn�t allow herself time to feel shock. Hurling herself over the body, she dashed for the door. The blast of gunfire invaded her ears, followed by an intense burning sensation in her shoulder, but nothing would stop her. The door opened easily and she bounded into the hall. She didn�t even think of going across the hall to her apartment. That was way to close. The hallway was deserted. The occupants of Dead End were in their own homes, avoiding any confrontation with what was happening. She ran as if the devil himself chased her, breath coming in deep gasps and feet pounding on the floor beneath her. Wet warmth trickled down her arm, and she realized she was wounded. She descending the stairs, feet taking them two at a time, her hand sliding down the rickety banister. The sound of heavier footsteps followed her, and she knew they were in hot pursuit. Her arm was in agonizing pain, but there wasn�t time to think about that. She looked back in time to see Andre raise his gun to fire. She ducked as a bullet whizzed past her ear. Using her good arm for support, she jumped over the railing, landing on the staircase below. One good thing she had learned in karate was balance and agility. The move gave her a little more of a lead. Cheyenne was out of breath by the time she reached the sidewalk, eyes darting in each direction looking for a means of escape. A cab pulled up to the curb, and she rushed up to it, claiming it. Hopping in, she directed the cab to the one address she knew they wouldn�t follow her to. The Atlanta Police Department. She knew someone there that would help her.