“Listen, London,” he whispered in her ear. “We good, right? You ain’t gonna tell nobody about that little punk-ass-faggot crying bullshit, are you? A guy slipped up on that female tip.”
“What?” London was pissed, to say the least and disappointed that all O.T. was ultimately worried about was people knowing that he was normal and had normal reactions to abnormal circumstances. Her sudden compassion and fascination with him had come to a quick halt. “Is that all you concerned with—what people think?”
“Naw, but . . .”
Kenya came back into the room on the tail end of the conversation between them. “What’s going on in here?”
“Nothing, Kenya,” O.T. answered for both.
“Yeah, nothing!” London happily agreed.
You owe me and a phone number was written on the note that was stuffed inside the box.
“What does that mean?” Kenya rubbed both sweaty hands together. “You owe me? Owe who? Owe what?”
“We gotta call this number and hopefully we can find out.” O.T. pulled out his cell phone, dialing the mystery person. After a few rings, what had to be an older-sounding man answered his call. Listening attentively, it was a voice that wasn’t familiar to O.T. at all.
“Yeah!” the guy repeated twice before he got a response from Storm’s brother. “I hope you’re ready to listen? And pay attention!”
“This O.T., who this?” he finally blurted out, wanting some answers.
“Listen, let me make this perfectly clear, I’m asking the questions here, young man, not you. Is that understood?”
“Who the fuck is this?” O.T. was losing his patience with the man at the other end of the line.
“Tsk, tsk. Now, is that any way to address your elders?” The man also was growing seemingly frustrated of all the cat-and-mouse talk. “Didn’t your project-living, three-part-time-job-working, two-different-baby-daddy having, now-crackhead mother teach you or your brother any manners?”
“Huh, what did you just say?” O.T. was thrown off his square as the girls looked on.
“You heard perfectly well what I just said and believe me, I’m not in the mood or accustomed to repetitious conversation!”
“Yo nigga, how you know shit about my ol’ girl?”
“Trust me. I know everything about your entire family. From your sorry excuse for a father, your brother murdered, to your third cousin twice removed on your mother’s side—and by the way, I don’t like to use the term nigga! I find it derogatory and barbaric.”
O.T. was completely outraged by the stranger’s overly blatant disrespect for him and his family. “Listen, dude! Where the fuck is my brother at? I swear to God, if you—”
The man cut him off, laughing. “You swear to God what? I’m not amused. Please refrain from making idle threats you can’t possibly back up. I have come in the past not to appreciate them nor tolerate them. So now, if you don’t mind, can we get to the business at hand, youngster, your brother’s life or what’s left of it.”
O.T. was, for the first time since the call was placed, silent. He looked at Kenya and London, both sitting on the edge of the bed, anxiously waiting to hear any news.
The man started with the answer to O.T.’s original question. “This is Javier and your brother, Storm, is here with me. For the time being he is safe from harm’s way. And trust, if all goes as planned, he will stay that way. You have my word on that much, but the outcome depends on you.”
“How can he be safe, you lunatic?” O.T. grew more enraged staring at the ring box. “Ain’t this a chunk of his damn ear and shit? You a sick-ass bastard for doing this!”
“What did I just mention about your mouth, young man? Any further outburst and name-calling will cause me to bring this call to an abrupt end—terminated. Are we clear?”
“Yeah, we clear.” A once-again silent O.T. sat still after being scolded like a child.
“Now, as I was saying. Storm is here with me and alive, for the time being. If you have possession of this number, it is very safe to assume that you already have come in contact with your brother’s business partner and associate, Deacon. Is this much true?”
“Yeah, if that’s what you wanna call it.” O.T. was being sarcastic and bitter. “Man, that shit was foul as hell! How could y’all do some old crazy stuff like that?”
“That’s life in the game we all chose to play—you, me, your brother, and the recently departed Deacon. Now deal with it!” Javier chuckled before revealing some truths. “Your brother and his twisted personal life, has caused me and my various operations throughout the region major financial strains that must be satisfied.”
“How so? I know for a fact he has never been short on a single payment to anyone on any package.”
“Well, because of him, his ex-stripper girlfriend, and her do-good sister, I just have been made aware of my cash flow has been slowing down and that is not acceptable—not acceptable at all.”
O.T. looked at the girls and felt a deep veil of hatred come over him. He now knew that it was because of them that his big brother was in serious trouble as he spoke. “What’s the deal, old man? What you want?” O.T. wanted to skip straight to the point of their conversation. He wanted to know exactly what it would take to get Storm back safe and sound.
“Well, it seems London Roberts, his soon-to-be sister-in-law and her little group P.A.I.D., have been causing a few bumps in the road here and there,” Javier spoke calmly in an even tone. “There was some confusion as to the identity of her and her twin Kenya, the dancer whore, at first, but that mystery has since been solved. A recently ex-employee of mine, a one Mr. Swift, ill-fatedly found out the hard way, but as the game goes it’s always casualty in war.”
“What?” O.T. asked, confused.
“So goes life,” Javier coldly remarked.
“What the hell is P.A.I.D.? And who is Swift?” O.T. inquired, as he attentively kept his ear pressed to the telephone receiver. “I don’t follow you! What the fuck does any of that bullshit mean?”
“Listen, O.T., you have to ask your peoples any questions you need answers to. They can fill you in on their part in all this. My main concern right now is my revenue and nothing more. By my calculations, your brother Storm owes me approximately two hundred and fifty thousand dollars in lost sales. Although it’s true he never has been late on his own payments, he is being held responsible for his peoples’ actions, as it may.”
“Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars! Are you nuts? That shit just ain’t right, dude. What fucking people? What you mean?”
“Well, I guess that Storm’s safe return doesn’t mean that much to you.” Javier still remained calm. “I’m sorry to have troubled you. I guess that this is good-bye and have a good life!”
“No, no! Wait!” O.T. stuttered, wasting no time reconsidering. “I’ll get the money, I’ll get it! But it’s gonna take me some time. That’s a helluva lot of bread to come up with just like that!”
“I’m aware of that and no one can say I’m not a fair man, so I will give you at least—shall we say—thirty days to gather it. Are we clear on the time frame or what?”
“Yeah, we clear. I’ll call you as soon as I get the cash together. I swear to God I’ma get it, but how do I know Storm is even still alive?”
“You don’t—not for sure. It’s a gamble you have to take. And by the way, there’s no need in calling this number again. I’ll get back in touch with you when necessary,” he vehemently demanded. “Thirty days youngster, no more.”
And with that exchange Javier hung the phone up, leaving O.T. to explain to Kenya and London what was needed, not to mention get some of his own questions answered.
“What did they say? Where is Storm? Is he hurt bad? Is he coming home?” Kenya fired question after question. “Please tell me what whoever was on the phone said—please!”
“Well, bottom line is, thanks to you and this bitch right here, we supposedly owe Javier two hundred and fifty thousand Gs to get Storm
back home. If we pay the dough, the old man claim he’ll let him go fucking free.” O.T. was pissed and made no excuses as he mean-mugged London for being the direct cause for the financial uphill battle he was now facing.
“What do you mean, two hundred and fifty thousand dollars?” Kenya was left puzzled by O.T.’s comments. “And why the fuck you calling my sister a bitch? What she got to do with Storm or Deacon?”
“What the hell is P.A.I.D.?” he fumed, slamming his fist down on the nightstand, causing it to tilt over. “Can one of y’all identical bookends tell me that?”
London and Kenya quickly made eye contact with one another. It was now painfully apparent that Storm’s sudden disappearance and Deacon’s murder were all linked back to London’s one true passion, People Against Illegal Drugs. The connection was all coming together.
“Damn frick and frack! Is one of y’all hoes gonna answer my damn question? Don’t speak at one time! What is P.A.I.D.?” O.T. was now on his feet, towering over the girls. “And who is this dead nigga, Swift? Y’all need to start talking quick!”
Kenya jumped up in his face. “Hold the hell on, motherfucker. Me or my sister ain’t gonna be anymore bitches or hoes, that’s first of all. We can get that straight off rip!”
“What you just say?” O.T. spit out wildly, also caught in his emotions. “What you say?”
“You heard me, black man. I’m gonna explain everything and shit, but you not just about to come up here in our room and dog us the hell out. That ain’t flying!”
“Oh, yeah! Is that right?” His nostrils flared and the veins in his neck were ready to burst.
“Yeah, it’s right, O.T.” Kenya suddenly pounced up and swung on him. “I know shit is real messed up right about now and we all upset and worried about Storm, but you got me all fucked up! You better act like you know, nigga!” With all her big talk, her punch missed its mark.
O.T. admired Kenya’s off-the-wall crazy spunk and backed down to hear her explain. “All right then.” He casually sat back in one of the chairs, folding his arms. “I’m listening and please don’t leave shit out.”
“I ain’t!”
“Good! Then speak!”
London was preparing herself for all the fireworks that were sure to jump. She knew that she was gonna be number one on O.T.’s shit list, but so be it.
“Well, first off, P.A.I.D. is an organization that my sister, London, and her roommate Fatima started back east in college.”
“And?” O.T. was growing impatient. “Go on!”
“Damn! Calm down and let me finish.”
“Go ahead, Kenya. I said I’m listening!”
“Like I was saying . . .” She rolled her eyes, clearing her throat. “My sister and her roommate were up at school and got together with a few other students to form a kids-against-drugs sort of a club.”
London jumped in the conversation, clarifying what exactly it was. “It’s called People Against Illegal Drugs, and FYI, it is more than just a small handful of my classmates, it’s almost the entire campus of my university, as well as several other schools.” She had her chest stuck out as she bragged about the strength of the group, not yet realizing the group was the reason behind the kidnapping and murder.
“Can you please shut the fuck up, London? Is you trying to make shit worse or what?” Kenya had to put her twin in her place. Even though London was busy trying to act all high and mighty, real talk, it was her bullshit that had Storm being held hostage and Kenya knew it.
“Yeah, London! Shut the fuck up!” O.T. co-signed with Kenya as he waved her off with his hand in a dismissive fashion.
London did as she was told and let her sister finish speaking, but gave O.T. the finger.
“Anyhow, the organization kinda spread out here to the South, I guess. I’m sure that’s the group that Storm and Deacon were complaining about the other day. You know what I’m talking about, don’t you?”
O.T. was disgusted as he stared at London. “You mean to tell me that all along your damn sister has been fucking shit up for our pockets?”
Kenya hated to admit to him that he was right, so she turned her back on him as she continued to explain. “I didn’t put two and two together until a few minutes ago my damn self.” She glanced over at London while running her fingers through her tangled hair.
“Okay, then. What about this buster named Swift? What’s his role in all of this? Is that your ho-ass man?” O.T. directed his assault of questions to London.
“No, he’s the man who tried to kill us!” she shouted out loudly for the whole world to hear. “In our own home, Mr. Know So Much. He tried to kill us! And right about now, I would rather be back in Detroit and take my chances with another lunatic murderer than be in this godforsaken town with you!” She sneered with contempt. “He was probably one of your dope-dealing cohorts anyway!”
London’s boisterous outburst left O.T. and Kenya dumbfounded. It was the most words that O.T. heard come out her mouth all evening.
“Bitch, is you crazy? Who the fuck is you call yourself talking to?”
“Come on, y’all. We need to put all this petty junk on the back burner ’til we pony up on that loot and get Storm back.” Kenya brought an immediate end to the heated exchange as she looked over at the small ring box and the tiny chunk of severed earlobe. “It don’t matter what the fuck happened, the main agenda is Storm. The hell with that dumb shit, y’all two can fight it out later if you want. We ain’t got time to waste. We need to see how much money we already have toward the two hundred and fifty Gs so we can get my man back home.”
Kenya took a pen out her purse and grabbed the hotel stationery out the desk drawer. Calculating the ticket money from the workers in the streets, including the dope that they had stashed in reserves and the dough that Kenya had retrieved from the house floor safe, they were still very much short of their needed goal.
Much to London and O.T.’s surprise, Kenya announced that she was holding close to a little over a hundred grand in cash. She also made it clear that when she went to the bank to her safe deposit box, she planned on pawning the jewelry that Storm always insisted that she kept there. Lumped together with the cash O.T. had from Alley Cats, they still came up 135,000 dollars short. They had to devise a scheme to come up on the balance.
Kenya gave her twin a dirty look. She had only, just several months earlier, given London 15,000 dollars out the kindness of her heart, that she knew good and damn well that London was still holding on to that and all her other savings, for that matter. Here now, her identical twin sister sat on the edge of the bed, quiet as a church mouse, not even speaking up and volunteering to give the cash she was blessed with back to help free Storm and bring him safely home. From that moment on, Kenya knew things would never be the same between the two.
In a last-ditch attempt for London to jump in and have her sister’s back, she spoke out softly in fear of the response, if any. “I also got some money coming in a week or so from the sale of my grandmother’s house back in Detroit that I can kick in,” Kenya said, sighing.
London still remained hush-mouthed, not offering her share of Gran’s house, breaking Kenya’s heart.
O.T. wrapped his arms around Kenya, who he could see had a game plan immediately in the works. “Don’t worry. A nigga like me got a few more irons burning in the fire. We’ll get it all by thirty days!” he reassuringly whispered in her ear. “I ain’t gonna just let my brother’s life go just like that if I can stop it!”
London watched the exchange of embraces from the two of them and felt strangely jealous for some odd reason. Kenya gets every cute guy she wants. She wanted to run across the room and rip her promiscuously rumored sister out O.T.’s arms and take her place. As the girls looked each other in the eye, London got a cold vibe from her sister. She knew Kenya like the back of her hand and knew that her twin wanted her to give up her share of the revenue from the sale of the house and give the money back she’d given her—just because. Without a second thoug
ht, there was no way in sweet fire hell that she was throwing her inheritance out the window on some lowlife drug dealer who she never had even met. How could she put me in that position to risk losing my tuition money? What nerve! I see she still hasn’t changed!
7
Da Grind
The days that soon followed were consumed with argument after argument between the twins. Each one of them was on edge for obvious different reasons. London missed being back on campus with all of her friends, trying to achieve her degree, while Kenya focused her entire mental and physical strength on getting her drug-dealer fiancé back home in one piece. London knew that her sister had an attitude with her about her reluctance to contribute revenue to the Save Storm Fund, but so damn what.
“How long are you going to stump around this room and not speak to me?” London finally inquired. “You need to grow up and handle things more maturely. I mean, none of this makes any sense.”
“Excuse the hell outta me! Some of us can’t go through bullshit and just blow it off like you. Everyone is not as frigid as you are!” Kenya cut her eyes, rolling them to the top of her head. “I’m trying to get this loot together to get my boo home, not that you give a damn! He’s the most important thing in my life! Do you understand that?”
After clearing her throat, London fired back her own round of profound words. “Look, I truly care about you, not him. You best believe, if it was you that needed my money or my help, I would be right there, jimmy on the spot. Haven’t I proved that to you time after time?” At this point she was all up in Kenya’s grill, not giving her an inch to move. “If my memory serves me correct, wasn’t I the one who just helped your funny-acting so-called friends carry a corpse to the car while you were busy putting on one of your all-too-famous drama queen roles? That was me doing all that!”
Ruthless and Rotten Page 4