Hold Me in Contempt

by Wendy Williams

  “Strickland is moving fast. He doesn’t want Paul to get the charges on you. He wants Brooklyn to claim your arrest.”

  “Figures. He’s had it in for me for months. It’s okay though.” He reached for me and laced his arms around my waist. “He won’t find anything to stick to me. I shut down operations in BK. Just like I promised. I told you, I’m getting out. I meant that.”

  “No—there’s more, King. You don’t get it. Your case has been moved to New York County now . . .  ​We’re—”

  “Shhhh,” he said, trying to quiet me. “I got it. I’ve been working the law since I was a kid. I know what’s up. I ain’t worried about the DA. You don’t have to worry either.”

  “You don’t know him. He’s got a target on you, and he won’t back down. It means too much to him. He’s working with the feds. They’ve got tapes.”

  King stepped back, clearly stunned as I told him about Quinn on the tapes. He sat on the couch and rested his head in his hands.

  “Those offshore accounts—even if they can’t get you for the drugs, they’ll take you down for that if one dime came back into New York. They’ll slowly pin each charge to you. Twenty-five years.”

  “RICO,” King uttered.

  “Yes,” I said, remembering the memory stick in my purse. It wasn’t even worth mentioning. I might stall Paul for a few hours, but he could easily get another one from his contact—if the files weren’t already online. Later, after everything had gone down, I’d find the memory stick in my purse and look at it strangely. Part of me would wonder how it got there. How I’d turned into someone who’d even think to take it out of my office. I was the law. I represented that. I’d upheld that. It used to be what moved me. What made me important. When did I lose it? “See,” I said to King, falling to my knees in front of him on the couch, “you have to go.”

  He looked up from the ground and at me. “You’re coming with me?”

  “I can’t. I . . .  ​I’m—” I stopped.

  “Then I’ll stay.”

  “Don’t be a fool!” I protested. “You stay here and they’ll lock you up for the rest of your life. Paul will see to it. I know it.”

  “You said you’d come with me, Queen,” he said simply.

  “That was just a fantasy. Night talk. You know? Not real,” I said, trying to convince myself and my heart as images of King and I walking along so happy somewhere on the list of places Kent had named—Dubai, Brazil, Australia—looped in my mind. I felt so happy and free, but those were just images. This was my life. “I can’t just leave to be with you!” I cried. “Everything I have is here.”

  He grabbed my shoulders and pulled me to him. “Everything you need is here,” he said, pointing to himself. “I’m not leaving you. I refuse to.”

  There was a knock at the door. Just one rap at first, then three quick ones.

  “Who’s that?” King asked.

  “Shhh,” I warned. I knew the knock.

  “I know you’re in there. I saw Kent downstairs. Open up!” we heard from the door. And then there were three more fast knocks.

  “Who is—” King tried, jumping up, but I got up too and stopped him from charging the door.

  “Shhh!” I repeated, hoping the knocking would just stop, but it didn’t.

  “I’m not going away. I need to talk to you. Stop being like this, Kiki!”

  King looked at me.

  More knocking. I began to panic. I tried to pull King back toward the bedroom.

  “What are you doing?” he asked as Paul called from the door.

  “I need you to wait in my room,” I said quickly, knowing there were only two places to hide in my tiny one-bedroom—the bedroom or bathroom. “I have to handle this. You can’t be here,” I pleaded.

  “I’m not waiting in the room,” he said.

  Paul was still knocking and repeating, “Open up!”

  “Please! I’m begging you! I just need one minute! It’ll be bad if you’re here. Please just do it.” I kept pulling King, but he wasn’t budging. I whispered in his ear, “I haven’t asked you for anything, but I need you to do this. Please! Please! For me.”

  “Kiki!” Paul hollered. “Open the door! I’m not leaving!”

  The knocks had turned to loud bangs by the time I’d pulled a half-willing King into the bedroom and run back out to the living room to start undoing the locks.

  “Stop being so loud,” I ordered Paul as I finished. “My neighbors will call the cops.”

  “Let them come. We can have a fucking reunion up in here.”

  I let Paul in, and immediately I could smell alcohol on him.

  “I’ve been looking for you,” he said, stumbling toward me. “You left work early today. What happened?”

  “Ask your wife,” I said. “Lawanna was stalking you today, and she showed up at Siggy’s when you left.”

  “Crazy bitch. I told her to stay away from us,” Paul slurred, trying to hug me, but I wouldn’t let him get his arms around me.

  “You’re drunk!” I pushed him away.

  “Probably!” He laughed demonically. “Been out celebrating.” He backed away from me and started padding around the living room with his eyes fondling every surface.

  I stepped in front of him to get his attention on me. “Celebrate what?”

  “Victory!” He pumped his fist into the air. “Or as Charlie Sheen would say, ‘Winning!’ ” He laughed.

  I forced a laugh too. “Winning what, Paul?” I struggled to free my voice of worry.

  “Well, I’ll be filing the order early next week,” he said.

  “Filing the restraint order against McDonnell? Isn’t that kind of soon?” I asked, trying to mask my immediate alarm. The restraining order would be Paul’s first step in seizing King’s belongings and stopping him from leaving the country—if he could leave at all. He’d be arrested, a high bail would be set, and if he couldn’t afford it, he’d sit in jail until pretrial.

  “Too soon? Are you serious?” Paul quickly stepped past my body barrier and took his eye snooping toward the kitchen. “He’s a fucking criminal. How much longer are we going to tolerate having him on the fine streets of New York?” His tone oozed mock reverence for the “fine streets of New York.”

  “I know we’re not dealing with a Boy Scout here. I’m just saying, there’s more research to do.”

  “We have plenty between Brooklyn and the laundering. Enough to get him the max. And with the murder connections, we may be able to go for the death penalty.” Paul stopped his spying to stare at me.

  “Death?” I felt my worry. I knew he could see it in my eyes. Ever since RICO was enacted, DAs had been toying with the notion of using it in the more serious cases, especially those with gang violence. “It’s extreme, Paul, and you know it. Don’t you think you should’ve come to me with this? I’m cocounsel.”

  He smiled at me like I was broken. “Cocounsel?”

  I was standing beside the kitchen table, and he started moving toward me with menacing steps. If it was a movie and I didn’t know him, this would be the part when I’d reach behind my back to grab the shiny knife from the butcher block.

  “Yes. We’re working on this together.”

  “No we’re not,” he said plainly.

  “We’re not?”

  He pointed at my chest. The tip of his index finger tapped at my heart as he said, “You’ve been very busy doing other things. Very. Very. Very. Busy. Right?” He produced one of his newspaper-photo smiles. “I heard about Strickland coming by the office.”

  “He’s just trying to shake things up. He thinks we tried to sabotage the McDonnell case in Brooklyn, so you can prosecute him in New York County and claim the charges yourself.”

  “Where would he get an idea like that?” Paul’s words were like matches striking my skin.

  “I don’t know,” I said, trying to look away from his scorching eyes. “He was making things up about me.”

  “Was he really?” Through the corner
of my eye, I could see Paul’s smile. “So he was just making things up?”

  “He doesn’t know anything,” I said. “He thinks he does, but he doesn’t.”

  “I told you there’d be trouble. Didn’t I? Said there would be trouble if you didn’t stop. So many times I told you.”

  I looked back at him. “Didn’t stop what?” I asked, although I realized right then that Paul had known about King for a while. Maybe all along.

  “Late night at the Clocktower. Hanging out at the club.” He looked disgusted. “Sleeping with him.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “Please don’t insult me. Do you really think anything can move in my city without me knowing?” He looked toward the bedroom. “I told you, I’m not going to let you fuck this up. It’s bad enough you slept with him. I figured you were just acting out some fantasy. I never thought you would’ve taken it this far. But when you took that memory stick, I knew—”

  “That was a test? You gave that to me as a test?”

  “I’m just trying to protect you. That’s all I’ve been trying to do. Trying to help you see what’s going on. Who this guy really is.”

  “I don’t need you to do anything for me.”

  “Yes you do. You don’t know who this man is. What he’s capable of.” He started stepping toward me, forcing me to back up to the wall that separated the kitchen from the bedroom.

  “He’s not a bad person—he’s just—” I stopped. I felt tears on my cheeks.

  “He’s a fucking criminal. And he’s gotten into your head, Kim. He’s probably just using you. Trying to get to me. To stall the case somehow. Make no mistakes about it—you’re disposable. These types of men, they only think about themselves.” He wiped my cheek. “But don’t worry. I won’t let him use you anymore. We’ll come clean about the relationship—say he threatened you, took some pictures of you and bribed you. Make you the victim here.”

  “But I’m not a victim,” I uttered.

  “Yes you are.” Paul stood tall over me again, this time blocking out the light in the kitchen and caging me against the wall. I felt myself getting smaller. Feeling defenseless.

  “Get out of my way,” I said, trying to get away from Paul, but he grabbed my arms and held me in place. “Let me go and get out of my house!”

  “No, Kim!” Paul shouted, shaking me. “I’m not letting you go. Not until you snap out of it and realize what this motherfucker is doing to you.”

  “Get off of me!” I screamed.

  Paul shook and shook; his hold tightened. My head hit the wall with a crack.

  “Get away from her.” I heard a steady and bold growl.

  Paul looked over his shoulder and very quickly let go of my arms before backing away from me.

  King was standing behind him with his hands at his sides.

  He didn’t look at me. For a minute, it was like I’d disappeared as he and Paul sized each other up.

  “Romeo finally shows his face,” Paul cracked, laughing. “I thought you’d stay in that room all night like a little bitch.”

  “Are you okay?” King asked me, ignoring Paul’s taunting.

  “She’s fine,” Paul said before I could answer.

  “I’m fine,” I said.

  “Okay.” King looked at Paul. “I believe she asked you to leave,” he said confidently. “And I’m going to give you a chance to leave on your own right now.”

  Paul listened intently, then started laughing. “Can you believe this motherfucker?” he said to me before looking back at King. “So what happens if I don’t leave on my own? What you gonna do?”

  “Guess you’ll have to wait to find out.”

  Paul kept laughing. “Do you even know who I am? What I could do to you?”

  “Everybody just stop!” I said, feeling the tension between them growing. Paul’s shoulders were higher than I’d ever seen them. He was trying to look bigger and stronger. While King was still cool in his stance, his lack of expression was scarier than anything. “Let’s just stop this now before it gets out of control.”

  “I’m not the one around here threatening people,” Paul said sarcastically. “Personally, I’m feeling a little concerned for my safety. It might be time for your company to leave.” Paul looked at me expectantly. “Tell him to leave,” he said.

  I didn’t know what to say. Who should leave or stay. There was no telling what Paul had waiting outside for King. And there was no way of knowing what Paul would do if I made him leave my place. Any option was a gamble. And the stakes were too high.

  “Tell him to leave!” Paul repeated with the laughter gone from his voice.

  “King,” I started, “I’m—”

  “Just tell his ass to leave!”

  “King, I—” I tried.

  “I’m not leaving you here with him,” King said.

  “Oh, please. Enough of this undying-love shit,” Paul said. “Just go.”

  “Fuck you!” King said, charging toward Paul.

  Paul jumped back and reached behind him. He pulled a silver, long-barreled gun from his pants and so quickly had it pointed right at King’s heart.

  Standing beside Paul, I felt the image of him with that gun pointed at King burn into my vision to remain forever. It would be the fastest second I’d never forget.

  “Oh my God! What are you doing?” I screamed. I wanted to reach for the gun, but I knew instinctively that could lead to more dangerous results. While I wouldn’t have thought Paul was capable of using the gun and shooting King, before this I’d never have thought he’d show up at my place with a gun in the first place, so there was no way to predict what he’d do.

  “You won’t leave? I’ll make you leave!” Paul said to King, whose facial expression had hardly changed. He only backed away from where Paul and I were standing beside the wall and stood at the threshold between the tiled floor in the kitchen and the hardwood in the living room.

  He put his hands up and spoke calmly to Paul. “Come on, man. You’re not going to use that,” he said.

  Paul answered, “I won’t have to if you get the fuck out of here.”

  “Just put that thing away and we can talk like men.”

  “Men? Not likely. See, men like me don’t talk to men like you,” Paul said.

  “Paul, what the hell is wrong with you?” I asked, careful not to move. “He didn’t even do anything. You can’t shoot him.”

  “He didn’t? He didn’t do anything?” Paul said distantly, and I saw something wild in his eyes, something angry and so cold. “That’s not how I remember it—”

  “What are you talking about?” I asked.

  “See, how I remember it, I was stopping by to check on a colleague after she left work early sick. And when I get upstairs, I hear screaming and banging on the wall. The door is open, I rush in, and who do I see holding my colleague up against the wall, beating her viciously? One of the state’s top drug kingpins we were just moving in on.”

  “You planned this?” I said, remembering everything Paul had done and said since he’d been in my apartment.

  Paul went on with his eyes glued to King, “I try to get him off of her, and we fight, wrestle. He pulls out a gun and tries to shoot me, but I gain control, and luckily, just in time, I fire once to save my life—POP!—he’s dead.”

  “He doesn’t have a gun!” I said.

  “That’s not what detectives will say when they run it. The numbers on this sweet piece of silver will lead them right to bullets from the head of a detective found dead in the East River just hours ago—I’m sure Strickland’s comrades will be happy to solve that crime. Too bad you’ll already be dead.”

  “Strickland’s dead?” I asked.

  “Couldn’t let him rat you out, baby,” Paul said. “He was threatening to go to the chief. I took care of it. That doorman too.”

  “Oh my God, Paul! You’re crazy!”

  “Just put the gun down,” King said, but Paul just ranted on, about protecting me and making the cover
of the newspaper. I noticed King take tiny and steady steps toward him. He kept repeating, “Put the gun down.”

  “You think you can take her away from me? You think you’re a better man than me?” Paul shouted with his arm still pointed at King but wavering now under the weight of the gun. Sweat beads bubbled at his brow. He transferred the gun from his right hand to his left and spread his legs square to shoot. “Don’t take another step toward me,” he ordered with his hand on the trigger.

  King jumped back and I saw Paul’s finger tightening to pull the trigger.

  “No!” I hollered, dreading the future, and then something in me pushed me toward the gun. I don’t know if I was going to jump in front of it or try to wrestle it away from Paul or just buy some time, but I lunged at Paul with my hands ready to grab the gun.

  There was a shot—POP!—just as I got my hand around Paul’s on the gun and lifted the barrel toward the ceiling. The sound made Paul and I freeze like two people who had no business handling a weapon.

  King rammed Paul’s chest, knocking me out of the way with his arm before reaching for the gun.

  They stumbled and scuffled and cursed. I stepped back to try to keep my eyes on the gun so I could jump in and get it away from them, but it disappeared as they fought on my kitchen floor, buried in the scuffle.

  In those seconds, I thought to try to get the gun or try and go get help or jump between them, but no action could be the correct one.

  Just then, Paul rolled on top of King and I saw the gun in his hand as he drew it up to aim at King’s temple.

  I jumped on his back and grabbed the gun again, pulling Paul back toward the tile with me to let King up.

  Paul fell on top of me, but he still had the gun, and I couldn’t get to it.

  King jumped on him again, swinging at his face and chest as I eased back to the wall to escape the weight of their bodies. I tried to keep everything in view, but I missed something and then there was another pop.

  Everything went slow.

  King was still on top, but his body slumped down toward Paul’s. There was a lifeless curve in his shoulders.

  “No!” I howled. “No!”

  Forgetting or not caring about the gun, I crawled toward him to pull him off Paul.