by Ricky Black
‘What about purple, some base red, and maybe some raspberry shaded pink?’ Jenny led the man over to the roses section. She wondered if he was checking her out, feeling an immediate stab of guilt. There was no reason to feel guilty though. She wasn’t doing anything wrong. She was serving a man buying flowers for his mother. And a card.
But was he really? And why did it matter if he was?
Jenny dealt with different customers, and she imagined some bought gifts for significant others. Or mistresses. It wasn’t her problem. Her only concern was growing her business.
Something about the man; the cocky smile, the arrogance that seemed to surround him, reminded Jenny of a time that seemed an age ago. Jenny had been in the shop by herself that day too. Lamont came in, pretending to be someone else. They went into her office and had a mock interview. Jenny tried putting Lamont on-the-spot with her questions, but he answered them smoothly, wearing the same arrogance this man had now.
Lamont’s had been an act though. He intrigued Jenny enough that she agreed to go out with him, but it was only when Lamont revealed the inner pain he hid from the world that Jenny truly fell for him. He had trusted her enough to let in then, but wouldn’t now.
Jenny blinked, focusing on the customer, watching as he studied the flowers. More customers came into the shop. Most were on-the-spot orders; customers who knew exactly what they wanted and were picking up flowers and gifts before work. One customer wanted a custom order delivered, which Jenny arranged, taking some details and an upfront payment.
When she finished, the man seemed to materialise in front of her.
‘I’ll take the roses we discussed, but I would also like a dozen lilies.’
Jenny nodded. ‘Do you have a vase for them, or would you like to purchase one as well? We have a wide range of custom-made vases, candleholders, candles . . .’ Jenny’s voice trailed off again when she noticed the man smiling at her.
‘I like your spirit. You’re a right little hustler aren’t you?’
‘I’m a businesswoman,’ said Jenny with more ice than she intended. The man was equal to it though. His maddening smile hadn’t dissipated in the slightest.
‘That’s good. But, don’t take me calling you a hustler as a bad thing. I like the spirit. It must be why your shop does so well.’
‘It doesn’t,’ Jenny admitted, before she could stop herself.
‘It should. I’ve seen the way you deal with people. You’re efficient, smooth, articulate,’ he paused, meeting her eyes, ‘and beautiful. Don’t forget beautiful.’
‘I’m not sure what my looks have to do with anything.’ Jenny frowned. The man shook his head.
‘Looks are important.’
‘Maybe I’m just not as shallow as you.’
‘It’s not about shallowness. If you were sixty-eight-years-old, smelling like cough sweets and old mothballs, I’m sure it would influence your business. I think you see that.’
Jenny rubbed her forehead, wanting to rid herself of this arrogant man. He was a customer though, so she tempered her annoyance.
‘You said you wanted a card as well, right?’ she asked. The man watched her again, slowly nodding.
‘I didn’t mean to offend you.’
‘You didn’t,’ Jenny lied.
‘Good. I’ve learnt it’s always best to be upfront.’
‘Is that so?’ Jenny decided she would test the smooth-talking man in front of her.
‘It’s most definitely so.’
‘Who are the flowers really for?’
The man looked puzzled, ‘I told you. They’re for my mother.’
‘Why would you randomly buy bouquets of flowers for your mum? Are you sure they aren’t for a girlfriend, or maybe a side chick?’
‘Positive,’ the man again met Jenny’s eyes. ‘Mum’s been lonely since dad died. I think some flowers, a nice card, the loving attention of her son, should all help.’
Immediately Jenny felt her face heat. ‘Oh, I’m so—’
‘You didn’t know.’
‘How did he die?’
‘Heart attack.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Jenny. The man smiled.
‘Don’t be sorry, Jenny. Really.’
‘How do you know my name?’
‘It’s on your name tag,’ the man said. ‘My name is Malcolm by the way.’
‘It’s nice to meet you, Malcolm,’ said Jenny, her voice warmer now.
‘Likewise. So, I’ll take a lavender candle, candle holder, two bouquets, and one of these nice custom-vases,’ said Malcolm. He helped Jenny carry everything to the counter.
‘Regarding the card, would you like me to compose a message?’
‘I think I can do that. I would like you to write it though. I imagine you have beautiful handwriting.’
‘I’ll try not to disappoint.’ Jenny picked up a fountain pen and a fresh custom card. It was brown, with a heart on the front so dark it was almost scarlet. She held it up to Malcolm to make sure he was satisfied.
‘What would you like it to say?’
Malcolm thought for a moment.
‘I would like it to say . . . Mum, thank you for being you. I will protect you. You are the source of my strength, and I hope I can remain as influential to you as dad was. Love your son and Knight.’
Jenny was speechless. It wasn’t just the words that resonated. It was the sincerity. She had seen the cocksure act come down for a moment and witnessed Malcolm’s pain. She found herself wondering things; how Malcolm had coped after his father’s death? Had he handled the arrangements? Did he speak at the funeral?
Jenny thought again about Lamont. When he had told her about his torturous upbringing, his eyes held the same pain. She remembered the funeral. Marcus had been gunned down in the middle of the Carnival event last August. Lamont had held him in his arms, just as Jenny held Lamont after his own shooting.
At the funeral, Lamont had given a moving eulogy, speaking of how Marcus was the best, most unconventional friend he’d had. He nearly broke down giving the speech, and people cried, Jenny included. Malcolm’s words about his mother had moved Jenny in the same way.
‘Jenny?’
Jenny blinked, focusing on Malcolm again. He looked concerned.
‘Sorry about that,’ said Jenny. She wrote the card neatly, then passed the pen to him so he could sign it. She noticed he put seven kisses.
‘It’s her lucky number,’ he told Jenny. Jenny nodded. Her thoughts were all over the place, and she was aware of her heart hammering against her ribs. She didn’t know why. Or maybe she did.
When Jenny had bagged everything, Malcolm took the packages, declined her offer to help, and moved fluidly towards the door. He faced her at the last second.
‘Would you like to go for a drink?’
‘I have a boyfriend.’
Malcolm shrugged. ‘Beautiful women always do. Still, a drink doesn’t mean we will end up naked and sweaty.’
‘Do you have to be so descriptive?’ Jenny felt herself redden again. Malcolm smirked.
‘I’m a Poet. Being descriptive helps. One drink won’t kill you. Bring your boyfriend.’
Jenny shook her head, ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’
‘You’re probably right. I don’t know what it is, but I seem to threaten boyfriends,’ Malcolm’s wide smile showed off sparkling white teeth. ‘You take care of yourself, Jenny. I’m sure I’ll see you again soon.’
Malcolm left then. Jenny went to the window, watching him climb into a grey Range Rover. She waited to see if he would look in her direction as he pulled away, but he didn’t. His face focused straight ahead on the road as he zoomed out of sight.
Jenny sighed, closing her eyes for a moment, wondering why she felt such tremendous guilt. She had served a customer. That was all. He had flirted and called her beautiful, but she hadn’t reciprocated. She had been nothing but professional. So, what was it?
Going back to the office, Jenny called Lamont, wanting to he
ar his voice, but it went straight to voicemail.
‘Jen?’
Jenny gave a small gasp as a woman appeared in the doorway.
‘Are you okay? You look flushed.’ It was Nadia.
‘I’m fine . . . Are you okay? Did you get Toby off to school okay?’
‘Yeah, I had a quick word with his teacher and came straight here. I’ll just wash my hands then I’ll check everything’s okay out there. Do you want a drink?’
Jenny shook her head, watching Nadia leave. She slumped down, picking up the pen and continuing with her paperwork.
Shorty pulled up on Leopold Street. He was travelling without music playing more these days. The ride he drove was one that Lamont procured for him. It was a blue Toyota Corolla that ran well. Lamont offered him a range of different cars, but Shorty picked a low-key ride. The last thing he needed was to have the police on his back.
Popping a polo into his mouth, Shorty slid from the ride. The terraced house in front of him had peeling paint on the fence, and the brown gate was worn and dilapidated. The garden, normally well-tended, was overrun with weeds. Making his way towards the front door, Shorty firmly knocked. A woman he hadn’t seen in over a year peeked out at him.
‘Hello, Auntie,’ said Shorty.
‘Franklin.’ Shorty couldn’t read his Aunt’s expression. She was open-mouthed, protruding bags under her eyes. Shorty remembered his Aunt as a vibrant woman, and it hurt to see her so defeated. Shorty was sure she would reject him as Grace had, but she sighed and let him in.
Ten minutes later, Shorty clutched a cup of tea. His Aunt sat on her sofa, looking anywhere but at him. The tension was stifling. Shorty wished he had some weed to smoke. His nerves were always shot lately. He detested the feeling.
‘How’s it been going then?’ Shorty felt foolish for asking. His Aunt looked at the ground.
‘Some days are good, some bad.’
‘I’m . . .’
‘I know you’re sorry. That doesn’t help me though. My son is still dead.’
Shorty didn’t speak at first. He couldn’t heal his Aunt’s pain. At eighteen, Timmy had his whole life ahead of him, but he was determined to walk a mile in his cousin’s shoes. Timmy wanted to be known. He wanted a reputation like Shorty. He’d died failing to achieve it.
‘I know, Auntie. I wish he wasn’t.’
His Aunt stirred her drink. Shorty drank his own, glad for the distraction.
‘All he wanted was to be like you.’
Shorty let her talk.
‘He wanted to do everything you did. He wanted to have the same trainers, same tracksuits. You were his idol.’
Shorty’s mouth was dry, and the lump in his throat felt like a golf-ball.
‘I’m not trying to hurt you,’ Auntie’s voice quivered. ‘I know you loved him. Lord knows the both of you needed your daddies.’
Shorty’s body was racked with a feeling he’d rarely felt before; guilt. His Aunt had no idea of the situation, and exactly who murdered Timmy. Even Shorty struggled with it. To learn that Maka had ended Timmy’s life was harrowing. Shorty understood the circumstances, but Timmy was his blood. He’d played the game and lost.
‘I’ve got a bit of change to help you out, Auntie,’ Shorty said. He’d never heard his voice sound so flat.
‘You don’t have to.’ His Aunt shook her head.
‘I want to. I don’t need it, trust me. Let me help you.’
His Aunt sighed. Shorty put the cup and saucer on the coffee table, reaching into his pocket. He handed her the stack of money he’d brought. She looked at the amount and then at him; her eyes a question. Neither spoke as she placed the money onto the chair next to her.
‘Your friend, the one who was shot a few years ago . . .’
‘L?’
His Aunt nodded. ‘He sends me money every month.’
That was news to Shorty. Even when they discussed Timmy, Lamont hadn’t mentioned giving his mother any money. Shorty knew Lamont took care of the people around him, but Timmy had betrayed them. He colluded with Marrion and Chink and helped to set up both Shorty and Lamont.
‘L’s good like that.’ Shorty wondered if Lamont felt guilty over Timmy’s death.
Shorty stayed a few hours. He let his Aunt make him some food, then hugged her for a long time before leaving. As Shorty sat in his car, he tried making sense of the situation. The money he’d given to his Aunt would hopefully help, but wouldn’t appease his feelings. All his life, Shorty had lived and breathed the call of the streets. It had brought him money, respect, fear, and now grief. After another moment, Shorty drove away.
After leaving his Aunt’s place, Shorty headed to see the crew. Maka was posted up with a few younger guys. He glanced up when Shorty entered, nodding and looking back at his phone. One of the youths paused the video game when he saw Shorty.
‘Yo, un-pause it.’ His comrade reached for the pad. The kid held it out of reach.
‘Long time no see, Shorty. You probably don’t remember me.’
Shorty shook the kid’s hand. ‘You’re Darren. I used to roll with your brother back in the day. How’s Lucas doing?’
Darren grinned, touched that Shorty remembered.
‘Still locked up. He goes in and out.’
Shorty nodded. Lucas Lyles, was a goon of the highest order. He robbed everything that wasn’t nailed down and liked to hurt people when he did it. Lucas could be cool, but most of the time he was a complete headache to be around.
‘Tell him to send me a V. O when you see him,’ Shorty greeted the other kid. ‘Shadow, what’s happening?’
‘Just waiting for this phone to ring. I’ve been chatting to this girl for a minute and I’m trying to roll through today.’
Shorty laughed. Shadow reminded him of when he was younger, running around trying to get with any girl he could. It seemed like a lifetime ago. Maka cleared his throat and slid to his feet.
‘Shorty, can I have a word?’
Shorty followed Maka out to the garden. The pair stood in silence.
Life seemed to have improved for Maka. He wore a black designer tracksuit and grey Timberland boots. It was strange for Shorty; Maka was one of the few originals remaining. He’d been around for years, doing business outside the crew with his crime partner, Manson. The pair clicked in the same manner Shorty did with K-Bar, and they always made money. He knew what Maka wanted to talk about, but held his tongue.
‘I’m sorry.’
Shorty waited for Maka to finish.
‘I didn’t mean to kill Timmy. He was working with Marrion, but I don’t think he was gonna shoot L. I just started dumping when I saw L was down. I wasn’t even aiming for him, I promise.’
Shorty studied Maka. His face was hard, his eyes full of something Shorty identified. It was the same guilt resonating from Shorty’s eyes when he looked in the mirror every morning. Maka wasn’t apologising out of fear. He was doing it because it was the right thing to do.
‘I know how you feel, fam. Timmy violated and tried to get me killed. If I’d caught him in the mood I was in, I would have probably killed him too. I know you weren’t trying to, but when you’re on the scene and the President is down, you shoot.’
Maka nodded warily, surprised Shorty was taking it so well.
‘No hard feelings, Maka. Timmy made his choice. I wish things turned out differently, but they didn’t. Let’s put it behind us. Cool?’
Maka grinned, and the pair shook hands. They spoke for a few minutes about some old acquaintances, then headed back inside. Darren and Shadow were still playing on the PlayStation.
‘I heard Diego’s been getting bare donations,’ Darren was saying.
‘Yeah, them OurHood clowns have been everywhere. It’s like people are giving money just to shut them up,’ Shadow replied.
‘What do you lot know about this OurHood shit?’ Shorty interjected, the reference reminding him of Trinidad’s words.
Maka snorted.
‘It’s some bull
shit. Just some do-gooders looking for attention.’
‘I’ve seen them advertising everywhere. That kind of promo ain’t cheap. Money’s gotta come from somewhere.’
Maka shrugged. ‘Probably. What’s your plan though? Are you gonna come back and run shit?’
Shorty considered the question. He was tired of mooching around doing nothing and while he was sure the police would have an eye on him, he was smart enough to avoid getting caught. He’d spoken with Lamont though, and so far he hadn’t said a thing about Shorty returning to his role.
Shorty received a substantial weekly wage, but it wasn’t the same as hustling for his own money.
‘I need to talk with the big man and see what he’s saying.’
When Lamont arrived home, he was still contemplating Akeem’s words. Lamont needed the crew to be strong while he considered the best course of action for Akhan. Lamont didn’t appreciate being blackmailed into maintaining his position of boss. He needed everything running before he could proceed though.
For now, Lamont was content to play along and if Akhan saw him replenishing his team, he was sure the warlord would grow complacent. When he did, Lamont needed to be ready.
Lamont and Jenny picked at their dinner a while later. Jenny had cooked some fish, with rice and salad, yet neither had much of an appetite. Jenny stared at her plate, her knife and fork abandoned. Lamont stirred his own delicious food around on his plate, occasionally eating a portion.
Lamont watched the woman, as beautiful to him as the day he’d first laid eyes on her, and felt a tremendous guilt. He had irrevocably ruined this woman’s life, and now he was lying to her about his intentions.
Lamont couldn’t tell her about Akhan, or that killing Ricky Reagan with his bare hands had blown up in his face. He didn’t know how Jenny would take it, so he needed to lie and keep her from knowing the truth.
‘How was work?’ He asked, his high-pitched voice making him cringe. Jenny looked up, hastily smiling.
‘I caught up on my paperwork, and a few customers wanted custom orders, so hopefully that’ll drum up some interest. I’m struggling with the social media side of things. Networking is harder than I thought it would be.’