by Renta
****
~Detective Tonya Johnson~
I studied the strawberries to make sure they weren't rotten or bruised. Satisfied, I placed them in the basket and turned to push my cart but was blindsided by a clash of metal against metal.
My heart leaped up into my throat. “What the hell?” The words slipped from my lip as my eyes found those of a handsome young man with dreadlocks braided into an intricate design.
I could tell they’d been freshly oil and well-manicured. His handsome face held a look of surprise as he wrapped up his call.
He raised his hand in a just a moment gesture. “J, let me give you a call later—I just had a head-on collision with one of the most gorgeous sistas I’ve ever seen,” his words made me smile as I watched him disconnect and turn to me. “I don't know if I should be apologizing or thanking God for fate, but either or—” He pushed his basket to the side and walked over to me with an extended hand. “My name is Mark Miners and I am so sorry for being so reckless.”
I took his hand as our eyes played the game of who would look away first. His stare was seductively predatorial and it became a task keeping my composure as my panties became sticky. I lost the stare down and allowed my eyes to fall to his ring finger—empty! Not even a shadow of pale skin that the consistency of wearing a ring created. I blushed when my eyes met his smiling face, he’d caught my assessment.
“I know I didn’t cause that much damage?” he said with a quirk of his left eyebrow.
The statement confused me. “Huh? I don’t understand.”
Mark’s eyes were aglow with humor. “I mean, we’re still holding hands, but you haven’t given me a name.”
Embarrassment surged through me as I hurriedly tried to separate my hand from his, but he held fast. I was on the verge of informing him that I was a cop and it wasn't a good idea to tick me off, but he boggled my mind even more than it already was by bringing my hand to his lips and planting the softest kiss I’ve ever felt on each—and—every—knuckle.
The jester stole my breath and instinctively my mind wondered how his lips would feel on my— “Well, maybe fate wasn’t truly on my side, sweet lady. So, I’ll let you get back to your shopping.” He released my hand and prepared to leave.
My heart fluttered—I missed the man’s touch already, and we’d never been intimate. “No—” I said a little too urgently. “I—I mean, my name is Tonya Johnson.”
Mark turned to face me again and I swear—life felt whole again. Walking back over to me, he reached in my basket and took out the strawberries. He looked at me and open the package before plucking one from it.
“Tonya, huh?” he whispered and studied the strawberries before placing it in his pocket. “That’s a beautiful name, and when we meet again, I’ll give you this fruit back.”
Confused, I studied him. “And what makes you think we’ll meet again?” I inquired.
Mark took his phone off his hip and dropped it in my shopping cart. “Because I’m gonna call you tomorrow at seven-thirty to tell you where we have reservations for dinner, so be ready,” he replied before turning and leaving me and his cart standing there dumbfounded.
****
~The Prisoner~
They pushed my wheelchair through the highly polished corridor of the Florence Supermax Federal Prison. My thoughts were congested, and my pride was broken for what I’d subjected myself to, but I couldn’t spend the rest of my life trapped inside that underground cell. Not only imprisoned to myself, but also to the wheelchair that was now my legs. I was paralyzed from the waist down and I hated it! I hated myself, I hated my past and most passionately, I hated my—
“Thank you, officers, that will be all,” a short, blue-eyed, white man ended my thoughts.
I’d finally been summoned by the same mu’fuckas that buried me in that concrete basket.
“We can’t leave the prisoner, Mr. Harrison, he’s too dangerous and—” the guard began before the smaller man gave him an arctic glare.
“I am a federal agent under strict orders for the director of the Federal Bureau. This meeting is protected under the United States Seal and mandated under the guidelines of the federal agency’s protective custody program. That means you two good men must excuse yourselves,” he spat at the two prison officers. They had a brief stare-down, but finally, the leading officer conceded.
“Pick your poison, Sir.” He and his flunkey chained me to the table and left me alone with the man I’d had nightmares about ever since we met almost a year ago.
“Agent Harrison—it’s a pleasure to see you again, dick sucka!” I seethed.
The man took his seat and steepled his fingers as he stared at me. “I don’t have time for your sick mind games, asshole, you sent for me, so talk,” he retorted.
I studied him. “Yea, I sent for you bitch—but that’s not how it works. I’m not saying shit til’ you give me some guarantees!” I whispered heatedly.
Agent Harrison stood and with agonizing slow steps strolled over to me, one finger tracing the surface of the table as he walked. Once he stood before me, he glared down at my insecurity.
“Nice wheels!” He laughed at the steam in my eyes, I was defenseless! “You listen here, you paralytic piece of shit—you don’t know how shit works!” He kicked the middle of my chair causing it to tilt and me to scramble for something—anything to hold on to.
Yet, the chain that secured me to the table prevented the fall. My body shook with danger—I wanted to blow the white boys brains out but we both knew it was an empty fantasy.
“As we speak, we have David ‘Ice-Berg’ Swanson chained to a hospital bed awaiting transportation to the most secured prison we have.” He smiled sinisterly.
The look of shock on my face must have contented him cause the pussy leaned back against the table, crossed his legs at the ankles, and crossed his arms over his chest with a smug look on his face.
“So, this is how it works cock sucker—you called me down here because you want to turn informant on all those small-time street punks, but how about giving us what you have on Ice-Berg. You remember him, don’t you?”
A pained look twisted my face. What he was asking me was more blasphemous then my intended purpose. “What if I give you something else worthier?” I proposed I didn’t want to sink that low. “It depends—but if you can help us nail this scumbag to the floor, you may see daylight in twenty years.”
The flash of anger that played behind my eyes told him that wasn’t enough. I may sell my soul to the devil, but it won’t be cheap. “That’s not gonna cut it,” I said and stopped to give my next words some thought, my heart cracked before betrayal slipped from my lips. “What if I could give you, Ice-Berg and the blow by blow of the slayings at the Russian’s house?”
The agent bolted up off the table. “No fucking way—there is no way you can do that!” He began pacing the floor and mumbling to himself, I guess I’d hit a nerve. He stopped in midstride. “How?”
Eye to eye with the man that held my get out of jail free card in his hand, I revealed a secret that I shoulda taken to my grave. “I was there!”
Chapter Eleven
Goodbyes
~Jazzy~
It was three days away from my big day. It seemed like forever had passed since the day that Shotta proposed. Forever since my heart numbed itself to who it long for. I guess, in some way things turned out for the best. Shotta had been on his best behavior and I rationalized that it was only his fear of me leaving him like his mom did his father that had him losing his temper. As my people say, ‘God is love!’
“Gurrl, you’re gonna kill ‘em in that Marchesa Gown and those Zanotti Pumps are fierce!” Charla complimented, I smiled a smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes, and like always—Charla caught it. “Spill it!” she demanded with a stern look on her face.
“What?”
“Uhhuh—don’t even try it, Jazmina. I’ve known you too long, and that look in your eyes is one that’s all too familiar. So,
cut the bullshit and tell me what’s on your mind.”
I turned to the mirror, as I brushed my long wavy hair. I thought back on the day I decided to grow it back out. I had gone out for drinks with Charla and some friends of hers and as we sipped margaritas one of her friends complimented me on the texture of my hair—asked me what I used to keep it that way. They insisted that I must have used chemical, but Charla and I fought tooth and nails to convince them that it was all natural. One of the girls made a comment about how beautiful it would be if I let it grow out and for some reason, it triggered buried memories. Memories so far back that it was hard remembering the exact time and place, but I did—
“Stop boy—why you keep pulling my hair, Assata!” I screamed at him.
He laughed, I could never understand why he’d do that.
“That shit ain’t real anyway—you need to give that horseback his shit!” he taunted.
“Boy—my hair is real, ask Shy, he’ll tell you.” I wanted so bad for Assata to believe me.
I had noticed how all the girls I saw him with had long hair, so maybe if he knew for sure that mine was real, he’d look at me differently.
“Girl, whateva—I ain't gotta ask, Shy nothin’. I know real hair when I see it,” he replied.
Days passed and I still wanted him to believe me. My moms and pops were together back then, and moms was one of the most beautiful women I’d ever seen. I came in heartbroken one day after school because I had worn makeup and the tightest dress I had to get his attention, but instead— he scolded me like he was my big brother and I wasn’t only one year younger than him. Shy laughed at me— he knew I was in love with Assata and thought that it was so comical for me to be getting dissed by him.
So that day, I sulked my way passed my mom vacuuming the floor and headed to my room. I closed the door and buried my face in my old quilt that my grandma Ellen had made for me years ago and cried like a big ole baby.
I heard the door open and assumed it was my brother coming to meddle me some more, so I turned and spazzed on him. “Leave me the hell alone, Shy, it’s not—”
“Whoa!” Assata held his hand up in surrender. “Just me, don’t shoot.” He got a smile out of me.
We were only twelve and thirteen, but Assata had been in the streets his whole life. Moose made him grow up fast, so he was mature for his age. Closing the door, he sat down on the edge of the bed. “What are you crying for, Jazzy?”
I used the balls of my palms to wipe my face. I was so embarrassed—he would surely think I was a big baby now. “Leave me alone Assata—won’t your girlfriend be mad at you for being in my room? What’s her name?” I acted as if I was thinking hard before I snapped my fingers. “Yea—that’s it, Drea!” I rolled my eyes at the mere mention of the winches name.
An adolescent heart is one of the purest in terms of love. At those younger ages, we love deep and untamed. We believe we’ll love forever, but that’s because we honestly had the slightest clue what love was. Assata ignored me, got up and walked over to my dresser, I saw him pick up something but I couldn’t tell what it was.
“Come here, Jazmina,” he requested as he watched me from the reflection in my mirror.
My eyes were red and puffy as I stared back, but I complied. “What, Assata,” I huffed my way over to him.
He again ignored me and pulled me in front of him and the mirror. As he stood behind me, we stared at each other from our reflections. Slowly, Assata began to unbraid one of the two long braids I’d had my hair in.
“I’m not good for you, Jazzy. I know you think so, but I’m not. We’re family, mayne, and family don’t hurt family—” The first braid was undone and he began on the other one. “And that’s exactly what I’ll do if you was my girlfriend.”
Tears welled up in my eyes. “Why Assata—why do you like Drea but not me? My hair is longer than hers,” I argued.
Freeing the other braid, Assata laughed hard at my comment, but I didn’t share in his humor—I was dead serious. Composing himself, I finally saw what he’d picked up off the dresser—it was my comb. He began to run it through my kinky hair, at first the shit hurt as it kept getting stuck in my thick mane, but I toughed it out and after a while, it raked through easily.
“You’re prettier than, Drea too,” he whispered so softly that I thought I had dreamed it.
“Wha—what did you just say?” I stuttered.
Assata smiled. “I love your hair, Jazzy, this that—”
“Boy, what are you doing in here—get ya mannish ass out this room, right now, Assata Lamar!” my mama interrupted us.
Assata left the comb stuck in my hair as he rushed for the door. “I—I wasn’t doing nothin’, Mama Leah, I—I’m—”
Smack!
My mama popped him upside his head as he exited the room. “You, betta keep ya tail out of here, yuh hear?” her Trinidadian accent was strong when she was mad.
“Jazzy—Jazmina!” I heard my name being called repeatedly. I had to shake my head to clear it of the past and focus my eyes on Charla.
“Wha—what’s wrong?” I looked at her as if she’d lost her mind.
She stared back at me like I had two heads. “Where the hell was you—girl, you just spaced out on me as you combed your hair.” She looked royally pissed off. She huffed, grabbed my arm and turned me to face her. “You still love him, don’t you?”
Her question caught me off guard. Here was my fiancé’s sister and my best friend asking me did I love another man, three days before my wedding day. Our eyes studied each others.
‘Did I love, Assata?’ The answer swelled inside my heart until the absurdity of it threatened to erupt inside me. Hot tears blinded me—though I didn’t admit it to Charla, the answer echoed within my internal like a loud sound inside a tunnel. ‘Yes—I was madly in love with, Assata, and I’d die that way.’
****
~Assata~
I pulled the SS up to the curb of Freedom’s spot. It was a chilly afternoon, and I’d finally decided it was time to check in with the Queen, she proly thought I was dead and stankin’ by now. As I observed the mover’s truck and the men carrying furniture out of the house, my heart sank, seemed like the good things always had an expiration date, while the fucked-up shit seemed to last forever! I watched Free step outside, the woman was as beautiful as the first day I met her. She spoke to one of the guys as I studied her— she wore a cotton forest green jumpsuit with a simple dark brown leather coat, but the brown snow boots she wore was what brought life to her ensemble.
Her hair was wild but pulled back in a scarf, and I wondered for the millionth time why I couldn’t love her? I watched her smile at something that the cat said, and for reasons unknown, a spike of envy was born. I think all the men are selfish in that aspect. We’re afraid of committing but don’t want the next man to obtain what we didn’t deserve. Finally noticing my whip, Freedom’s eyes became the size of dinner plates as she walked away from the man in mid-sentence but paused about three feet away from the Chevy.
Taking that as my cue, I climbed out of the driver’s seat. The chill hit me instantly and made me pull the hood of my black hoodie over my head. After adjusting the twin .40s on my waist. I gazed at Free from over the top of my car, for a moment she just stood there with her arms crossed over her chest and stared at the God. I wasn’t a mind reader, so I walked around to her and faced off with her like a man.
“Peace, Earth, what the bidness is?” I broke the silence.
Freedom’s eyes revealed a storm as she studied me as if I was Lazarus from the biblical days, but still—she stood in her comfort zone, a safe distance from what seemed to be a dream. My patience was getting thin, but just when it began to snap, something changed in Queen’s posture and before I knew it, she’d ran up to me, and was wrapped in my gangsterisms.
I wrapped my arms tight around her shoulders in an attempt to absorb her pain, her face was in my chest as she cried, “I—I thought you were—” her words trailed off, but it did
n’t take rocket science to complete the sentence. Queen pulled away and looked up at me. “I thought I’d never see you again.”
I placed the soft kiss on lil’ one’s juicy lips and allowed my hands to flow down her back, and past her waist until they rested on the plushness of her ass cheeks. She smiled up at me with a blush rushing to her cheeks, her love for a real nigga radiated from her aura. At that moment, I knew life had a different story for lady—shawty wanted more out of life. She deserved a good man that held a steady job, a man that could love her to no limit, Queen deserved security!
As I held Free, my eyes traveled to the mover’s truck—her eyes followed mine and reality set in as she disentangled herself from my embrace. Even before she opened her mouth, I understood her decision. A lot of cats smother their female’s growth—knowing they weren’t the right nigga for ‘em but refusing to let ‘em spread their wings and reach their full potential. Men are so fucked up that they worry more about the next man running dick in the girl than her deserving the shit he can’t or won’t give.
That shit always ends up poisonous, so I flashed a diamond smile at Ms. Lady and got the bullshit out the way. “So—you was just gonna up and vanish?” I never dropped my smile to ensure her it was Gucci wit’ me.
Freedom reached over and took my hand in hers. “Let’s step in the house out of the cold and talk.” She had a look in her eyes as if I’d reject her. I stepped into her space, stepped behind her and led her toward the house.
****
~Armani~
Days Later
I could feel his eyes on me—following the sway of my hips. Lust was like a burning flame in his stare as my ass cheeks jiggled like warm jello with each step I took. He’d been observing me ever since he’d entered the club and took up a booth in the back corner. Playboy was a different type of customer than the ones that usually frequented the establishment, but he looked and smell like money, so the ladies were in raw form for his attention. Surprisingly, he turned down every advance from even the choice bitches so he had my direct attention.