by RM Johnson
28
Daphanie paced across the hardwood floors at her best friend Brownie’s town house. She and Daphanie had worked together as nurses before Daphanie crossed over into pharmaceutical sales, then lost that job during the recession.
Brownie, who was five-three and curvy and wore her brown hair short, sat on the arm of her sofa, shaking her head. “All they did was throw you out? You were lucky they didn’t arrest you. Why would you even go back there?”
“I had to do something,” Daphanie said, stopping, staring at Brownie as though the woman was clueless. “I can’t just sit while some man steals my child!”
“That happens to be the father of your child. And nobody told you to go trading in your baby like he was a used car.”
Daphanie walked up to Brownie and stood right over her. “If you say that one more time to me, I swear I’m gonna hit you.”
“Why are you tripping? You’re in as good a place as you can be. You said that woman, Monica, helped you find a good attorney and—”
“He’s some guy who’s earning a paycheck and has no emotional investment in whether I win or lose. And Monica, the woman that was married to the man that was going to marry me—why would she care about me getting my child back? I’m helpless, sitting here waiting for other people to act. With each day that passes, I have less and less of a chance of getting my baby. If you only knew how I felt.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t.”
“Maybe Nate wouldn’t be so fucking smug, so callous, if he had the slightest idea of how I was feeling.” Daphanie paced across the floor once more, then stopped. She closed her eyes and scratched her chin, then a knowing smile came to her face. “Hell yeah,” Daphanie said. “That’s what will change his mind.” She started quickly toward the door.
Brownie sprang from the sofa, was behind Daphanie, pulling her by the arm. “Hold it, what are you gonna do?”
Daphanie turned to Brownie. “I’m gonna make him feel what I feel.”
29
Caleb was walking quickly through the main hospital corridor toward the ER when a woman wearing glasses and a gray pantsuit stepped in front of him. “Mr. Harris?” the woman said. “Can I speak with you?”
“I don’t have time,” Caleb said, looking over the woman’s shoulder at the EMERGENCY ROOM sign. “I have to see my son. Someone called and—”
“I know. That’s what I need to speak to you about. My name is Detective Currie.” She brought out a billfold, flashed her badge and ID.
Caleb glanced down, then back over the woman’s shoulder. “Can’t this wait?”
“Just a couple of minutes of your time, sir. It’ll help us catch whoever is responsible for this.”
“Fine. A couple of minutes,” Caleb said, crossing his arms, looking worriedly over the detective’s shoulder.
“Is your son in a gang?”
“No. He’s not in a gang. Why are you asking me that?”
“Because I spoke to a couple of eyewitnesses, and they believe the people who beat your son were from the G-Stone gang.”
“No. I don’t believe that,” Caleb said, again taking steps toward the ER door.
Detective Currie walked ahead and stepped in front of him, blocking his path. “I’m just trying to find out if he has any affiliation.”
“I don’t know. Why don’t you ask him?”
“I did, and he’s not telling me anything.”
“Maybe because there’s nothing to tell. Now, if you don’t mind, your two minutes are up. I need to see my son.”
“One more thing,” Detective Currie said, grabbing Caleb’s arm. She held a business card in the other hand. “If you find out anything, please give me a call. There are too many of our children dying out there on those streets. Let’s just be glad, this time, your son wasn’t one of them.”
“Yeah,” Caleb said, taking the card.
Walking through the ER doors, Caleb spoke to a nurse, who directed him to Jahlil’s attending physician. The doctor told Caleb that Jahlil had been lucky. He had no serious injuries, but had suffered a concussion. Caleb was also informed that he might be shocked upon seeing his son—they hadn’t cleaned him up yet—but not to worry, all of the swelling and bruising was strictly superficial, and Jahlil would recover completely.
Caleb was escorted to triage room 3, where Jahlil was being treated. The doctor told Caleb he would be cleaned up, held for another few hours for observation, then released.
When he pushed open the door of Jahlil’s room, his son was lying on a gurney. Both eyes were swollen—one partially, the left completely closed. His skin was marked by bruises of several different shades of red and purple. His bottom lip was split, and a knot the size of a golf ball protruded from the right side of his forehead. A white towel had been placed under his head to catch the blood that spilled from his nose and mouth. Much of it had dried on his face.
Jahlil was alone in the room. Caleb looked at his boy and wanted to break down and cry for not being there to protect him.
He walked over to Jahlil, not knowing if his son even knew he was in the room. Jahlil’s eyes were closed.
Caleb grabbed his son’s hand. “Jahlil.”
The boy stirred. His right eye opened a little. He turned his head to look at his father.
“What happened to you?”
“I was jumped,” Jahlil said. His voice was low, and he spoke as though he had a mouth full of gauze.
“By who?”
Jahlil looked up at the ceiling with his one good eye. “I don’t know.”
Caleb didn’t believe him. Already he felt himself getting frustrated, but he told himself to calm down. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah.”
“Were they gang members?”
“I don’t know,” Jahlil said with a tone that suggested he was tired of questions.
The boy was lying to him. Jahlil was his son, his responsibility and he had gotten hurt, could’ve even possibly been killed. Caleb felt guilty that he hadn’t been around to protect him from that, but he was getting angry that Jahlil was stopping him from doing whatever he needed to do to make sure it never happened again.
“Jahlil, I know you’re hurting, but I’m going to ask you one more time. Who did this to you?”
“I said, I—don’t—know!” Jahlil said, lifting his head off the towel a little to emphasize his point.
“Fine! You want to play it like that!” Caleb yelled, infuriated, grabbing the boy by the front of his shirt. “Then I’ll—”
“What are you doing!” Sonya screamed.
Caleb released Jahlil and turned to see Sonya standing just inside the triage room door.
“He knows who did this, but he won’t say,” Caleb said, pointing at his son. “I know he didn’t get the hell beaten out of him like this for no reason. He’s gonna tell me.”
“Get out!” Sonya said. “Get the hell out of here! Your son is hurt. He’s in pain, and you’re questioning him like a criminal. Get out! You never come near him again! Do you hear me?”
The words snapped Caleb out of his rage. Maybe Sonya was right. Maybe Jahlil didn’t deserve this. Maybe he was innocent, was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Maybe Caleb had this all wrong. He turned to the boy. “Jahlil, I’m—”
“Just get out,” Sonya said, rushing over to Jahlil’s side, as if to protect him.
Caleb lowered his head and walked out of the room.
30
A candle sat in the center of the table. The lights were low, and the gentleman that Tabatha had set Monica up with was particularly charming. His name was Kevin. He was fit and had a nice smile. He had thick, freshly cut hair and came well dressed in a collared shirt, cuff links, and a sport jacket. He was a pediatrician. He seemed smart and his conversation was interesting.
Tabatha had called Monica two hours ago.
“So it’s set up,” Tabatha said.
“What’s set up?”
“The date for tonight that I told you about a couple
of days ago. It’s at the China Doll, on Wells Street. You like Chinese, right?”
“It doesn’t make me vomit, but I’m not going on a date. I told you that.”
“Because you’re so busy doing what?” Tabatha said. “He’s a nice guy. He’s handsome, and he’s a doctor.”
“That doesn’t matter to me. I have my own money.”
“Really? Not even impressed a little bit?” Tabatha said.
“Okay, it doesn’t matter all that much,” Monica said. “But I told you, I’m not looking for a boyfriend.”
“Fine, then look at it as a free dinner. If he impresses you, screw him, I don’t know.”
“Really, Tab?” Monica laughed.
“You’ll go? You’ll meet him there? I vouched for you. Don’t have me out there like that.”
Monica looked around her house, realizing that if she didn’t go, she probably would spend the evening watching TV, eating a pint of ice cream. “Yeah, I’ll go.”
Kevin was getting comfortable. He had already grabbed Monica’s hand from across the table and was rubbing it as though they had been dating for months.
“You’re even more beautiful than Tabatha described.”
Monica raised her glass of wine, taking a sip. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”
“I’m hoping so.” Kevin smiled, drinking from his glass. “Would you mind if I’m totally transparent tonight?”
“Honesty is a good thing.”
“I just made forty-two years old. I’m not much into the dating scene anymore, and to tell you the truth, Tabatha had to convince me to come out here tonight. I was actually pretty nervous.”
“Oh, did she?” Monica smiled, making a mental note to strangle Tabatha the next time she saw her.
“I’m so glad she did, because I’m having a wonderful time, and if you will forgive me for flattering you too much, in the short time I’ve known you, I’ve come to believe that you’re a really wonderful person.”
“Well … I mean, you’re definitely entitled to your opinion.” Monica laughed.
“I want to see you again,” Kevin said, now taking her hand with both of his. “Is that possible?”
There it was, Monica thought. If she said yes, they would date, become closer, screw, say they loved one another, then sometime in the future, if her luck was as it always was, their relationship would crash in flames, like the two she had had before. She didn’t know if she was ready for that. But if Monica said no, she would remain lonely, cruising bars at all hours of the night, doing who knows what, with who knows who. Even worse, she might start believing that life was better with her ex-husband and accept him back if he came slumming around for an invitation, as he so often did. She had to admit, that nonsense Daphanie had told her about Nate still loving her had shaken Monica to some degree. But returning to Nate was the last thing in life she wanted, or needed. She had to stay away from him. Maybe Kevin would be just the diversion she needed, till she was fully able to recover from her ex-husband.
“Yes,” Monica said, giving it no further thought. “You can see me again.”
“Good. Good,” Kevin said, releasing Monica’s hand. He raised his glass, and Monica raised hers. “A toast,” Kevin said. “To the beginning.”
“What the hell, the beginning,” Monica said.
They took sips from their glasses.
“Not saying that you and I will end up married, but if we do, I just want you to know, I love children and want at least three of them.” Kevin smiled.
Monica choked on her wine, spitting some of it back into her glass.
“You okay?” Kevin asked.
Monica set her glass down, wiped her mouth with her napkin, while staring at the man. She figured he thought this was what most single, childless women wanted to hear from a man who was a doctor and interested in marriage. Monica was different. She had experienced that whole childbearing drama with her ex-husband—Nate wanting a child, Monica not being able to produce, and being tossed away because of it. She would not go through that again.
Monica reached for her purse, plucked out a fifty-dollar bill.
“Hey. No, no, no,” Kevin said. “Don’t you even think about it. I’m covering this.”
“No, this is only fair,” Monica said, scooting out of the booth.
“Wait, where are you going? I thought you said—”
“Yeah, but I’m saying something else now,” Monica said, holding up a finger. “Never tell a woman how many children you’re going to have till you find out if she wants any at all. Good-bye, Kevin,” Monica said, shouldering her purse and walking away.
31
Austin stepped into his home, still unable to stop thinking about Monica Rodgers. He had gotten her phone number from Reecie as Monica told him he could do. He had to stop himself a few times from ringing her cell phone on the way home. He told himself that could wait. The case he had taken was more important.
Before leaving work, Austin had Reecie reach out to both men involved in the Daphanie Coleman case: Trevor Morgan and Nate Kenny.
Mr. Kenny’s office scheduled an appointment for tomorrow morning, but before leaving, Austin had not yet heard back from Trevor Morgan.
Austin set his briefcase down by the front door and was met by Caleb walking into the living room. His brother looked distraught.
“Everything okay?”
“Jahlil was in the emergency room.”
“What?” Austin said. “Is he all right? What happened?”
“He’ll be fine. He got his ass beat down at school. Spoke to a detective, and she thinks it’s gang-related.”
“Jahlil’s in a gang?”
“No,” Caleb said. “Well … I don’t know. He’s not telling me anything.”
“Caleb,” Austin said, walking over to his brother. “You got to find that stuff out. Look, let me—”
“Austin,” Caleb said, “I’m still trying to get my head around this, okay? When I do, I’ll open it up for discussion. Besides, there are more important things we need to talk about,” Caleb said, nodding his head toward the doorway behind them.
“What are you talking about?”
“Hello, Austin,” a voice said from behind him.
Austin turned to see Marcus standing in the dining room entranceway, a suitcase at his feet.
“Marcus, what’s up?”
“Remember earlier, when I said there was nothing else Reecie could do?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, she kicked me out.”
32
It was light outside, early morning, but the sun had not risen yet.
Jahlil wore a bathrobe over his jeans and tank top. He stood beside his apartment building, a patch of gauze taped over one eye, and stitches sewn into the brow over the other. His swelling had gone down only a little and his bruises looked just as fresh and angry as they had moments after his beating, almost eighteen hours ago.
Toomey and Bug stood in front of Jahlil, their hands shoved deep into their pockets, guilty looks on their faces.
Bug had called Jahlil earlier that morning and said they wanted to come by and see how he was doing before school.
“It was the G-Stones who did this to you,” Bug said.
“I know,” Jahlil said, touching his swollen jaw.
“They cornered me in the bathroom, asking about you,” Toomey said, ashamed. “I told them your name. Me and Bug tried looking for you.”
“I know. I had to take Shaun to her doctor’s appointment yesterday.”
“Everything okay with her and the baby?” Toomey asked.
“Everything is cool.”
“We’re sorry about you getting beat up,” Bug said, patting Jahlil’s shoulder. “But they said long as we don’t show up on they street no more, we square. They ain’t gonna mess with us. We ain’t gonna show up on their street no more, are we?”
Jahlil looked at Bug with his one good eye. “Did we all of a sudden stop needing money? I know I didn’t. I still got th
ings I need to do.”
“Jahlil,” Toomey said, stepping in front of him, “after what just happened to you, it doesn’t make sense to go back on that street, and—”
“I’m not talking about going back out there. We’ll just do it how we was doing it before. I don’t know, we can get out later tonight. Lay for some folks at the ATM, roll up while they making withdrawals, you know what I’m saying?”
“Tonight?” Bug said, sounding surprised.
“Isn’t that a little soon, Jahlil?” Toomey said. “Don’t you need a little more time to get better?”
“How you know what I need? I’m the one that got beat down, not neither one of you. I need some more money, and I’m gonna get it. Ya’ll wit’ me, or you gonna make me do this one by myself, just like I did the ass whuppin’?”
Bug looked at Toomey as though they had no choice. “Yeah, you know we’re with you, Jahlil.”
“Good. Tonight, then,” Jahlil said.
33
He was a good one, and you let him get away!” Tabatha said, pacing the office at AERO.
“He wanted a baby factory, just like Nate. I played that game before,” Monica said, sitting at her desk. “I’m glad he said that nonsense anyway. He was looking at me like some future wife, and I’m not going there anymore.”
“Monica, you’re going to let what happened with you and Nate ruin whatever chance at happiness you have left. You said you were going to let that stuff go.”
“Nate plotted and paid money to a man to seduce and sleep with me so he could get a divorce and not have to give me my half of what the business was worth. Nate cheated while still married to me. He ruined my marriage, almost got me killed, then, to top it off, just as I wake from a fucking coma, he tells me he’s leaving me once again, because he got some trick pregnant.”
“I know, babe,” Tabatha said. “You had it rough, but—”
“Rough?” Monica laughed sadly. “There are horrible things that should happen to him for what he’s done to me, but I’m trying to stay under control and not think about Nate, or any other man for that matter, because right now, all of them are the same. Me not getting emotionally involved with any of them now is the best thing for me.”