by T. Styles
The moment we walk to meet Denim at the receptionist counter, the shorter of the two niggas who stepped off of the elevator yells, “Hey, can I holla at you for a minute.”
I’m not sure if he’s talking to me since the waiting room is filled with people. I look in his direction anyway. “Yeah, you,” he says to me. “Where is Kevin?”
Instead of giving Kevin’s current status I say, “He ain’t here.” I dip off to join Denim and Race who are now looking at the short guy.
“Hold up, bitch,” he says to me. “I wasn’t trying to be rude, but now I don’t give a fuck. The nigga Kevin was paid on a delivery that ain’t make its destination. What’s up with that?”
I’m confused. I know everyone Kevin does business with and his face has never showed up in the rotation. Kevin had Avery and Judah here on the east coast, a dude on the west and a few more throughout the country. Kevin would certainly not be dealing with some hand-to-hand cat like this nigga appeared to be.
“I think you got the wrong person,” I say, hoping he’d leave the matter alone. I turn my back to him.
“I got the right person,” he continues. He’s now standing directly behind me and his voice vibrates through my body. “I’m talking about Kevin Kennedy. Now give a nigga some respect and act like you know.”
I turn around. I’m angry I’m not packing heat because I’d probably blow his face back to the elevator. When I look at him I can tell he’s a killer. I knew enough of them in my lifetime to validate him. But, I’m never scared. “Look, I don’t know who you are, but it’s obvious you got the wrong person. My husband would never deal with a nigga like you. Now step the fuck off.”
He frowns and tilts his head. Like he’s been watching the movie Boyz N The Hood one time too many. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean,” he asks.
“For starters you in the hospital yelling about shit that should be discussed on the streets. My husband doesn’t conduct business like that. That means you non-essential, and non-essential niggas ain’t even bringing in enough paper to take care of my thousand dollar hair appointments each month. Now get the fuck out of my face before I embarrass you.”
“Bambi,” Scarlett says with a worried expression. I can tell she is scared, but I could care less. I’m a Kennedy and I demand respect. “Don’t talk to him like that.”
“Fuck this nigga,” I respond giving him my back again. “Let’s go see about our niece. I give none to the rest.”
His footsteps grow further away. But, the soldier in me can feel something was off. By the time I turn around to face him, he has a weapon aimed in my direction.
The first shot he lets off ends in the cheek of the lady in the wheelchair. Although Denim and Race drop to go for cover, Scarlett hangs in the middle of the floor in shock. I knock her to the floor with a forearm to the throat right before the next shot pierces the black receptionist’s chest. Now she’s safe too. That bullet had Scarlett’s name on it.
My adrenaline is up again. But I feel a stinging sensation in my body. When I look down, I see my blood everywhere. I’ve been shot. I’m immediately taken to another time when I was covered in this much blood.
****
Saudi Arabia
October 10, 1994
Bambi, Tatiana and Desseray were sitting around a campfire in the desert at night. Starting a fire could be deadly as the enemy could detect them, but with no water, food or shelter, they’d rather have the convenience of the fire than nothing at all. After saving Tatiana from the Iraqi soldiers they were able to get away undetected. But, they had yet to be reunited with their platoon.
Bambi couldn’t keep her eyes off of Desseray. She couldn’t believe she’d murdered a child for no reason. Many things had already haunted Bambi, but thanks to Desseray, the child’s murder would stay etched in her mind forever. In Bambi’s opinion Desseray was the devil reincarnated.
“If you want to kill me just do it,” Desseray told Bambi as the glow from the fire made Bambi’s murderous glare glow. “Nobody would ever know.” She looked at Tatiana. “And I’m sure your best friend over here wouldn’t say a word. Seeing as how you saved her life and all. You’ll both probably take the secret to your graves.”
Bambi thought about the concept of killing Desseray and was in love with the idea. But, when she looked at Tatiana she could tell she wasn’t game.
Tatiana cleared her throat and said, “Nobody is going to kill anybody tonight.” She was so thankful that she was alive that all she wanted to do was celebrate. And if a little Iraqi child was taken off of the earth for her freedom, so be it. “I’m grateful to you,” she looked at Bambi. Thank you for saving my life. I owe you.”
Bambi didn’t say anything. Every time she wanted to talk to her friend, she would smell the blood and gunfire steaming off of the dead child’s body. Oh how she hated Desseray.
Tatiana grabbed a dry branch with some small shrubs, and threw it into the fire. It brightened the fire and she stood up. “I gotta go to the bathroom,” Tatiana told them. “I’ll be right back.”
She was about to go left but Desseray said, “I saw some snakes over there when I pissed earlier. Bang a right.”
“No,” Bambi told Tatiana not trusting Desseray’s direction, “go to the left instead. I don’t trust this bitch.”
Tatiana shrugged and listened to her friend. The moment Tatiana took six steps out behind Bambi, something ticked. Bambi felt her heart stop. She knew exactly what was going on. The explosion ignited. Desseray’s face brightened as she maintained eye contact with Bambi the entire time. The next thing Bambi felt was a powerful force that pushed her forward from behind. When Bambi rolled over, face up; she was sprayed with warm liquid. Looking at her hands she was covered in blood. Tatiana’s blood. Desseray had set Tatiana up by leading her into a landmine.
Desseray knew Bambi would tell her friend to go the opposite way if she gave her direction, and in the end she got what she wanted. Tatiana’s dead body and revenge on Bambi.
Bambi passed out cold.
****
We are back from the hospital. I just got off of the house phone in the kitchen from talking to Cloud. I walk toward the living room. I’m standing in front of my sisters while they’re sitting on the sofa. My hand is bandaged from the gunshot wound the shooter landed in me earlier that night. I’m in a lot of pain, but it doesn’t bother me as much right now. I’m use to pain.
I look at all them. “I just got off of the phone with Cloud. The dude that was arrested for shooting me is named Dixon.”
“How Cloud know him?” Denim asks holding Jasmine who is sleep in her arms. Her leg is in a cast, and Denim refuses to put her down. “He’s not even in the drug game.”
“Cloud runs one of the most popular auto body shops in DC and Maryland,” I remind her. “His prices are through the roof, but his service is impeccable. Who do you think his major clientele is? Drug dealers.”
Silence.
“I’m scared,” Race says. “We can’t defend ourselves if every time we walk outside, someone is trying to shoot at us. I mean how do we know it won’t happen again?”
“I don’t. But, you’re going to learn to handle a weapon, and you’re going to learn before Saturday.”
“Bambi, I’m never letting you teach me how to shoot again,” Denim replies. “The last time I let you, you got mad at me because I didn’t hit the target in the head. You even slapped me in the face…remember?”
“Yeah but your shooting is not to be fucked with now,” I tell her. “I just want you to be the best,” I hold my wrist so my hand doesn’t throb so much.
“But I hit seven the entire time on the target. Which is the upper body,” Denim continues.
“Not good enough,” I tell her. “Hit the head and save your life.”
“So what does all this mean for us?” Scarlett asks. “Are we on the run? Do we have to hide out? What’s going on?”
Denim rolls her eyes the moment Scarlett opens her mouth. Every time Sc
arlett opens her mouth now she rolls her eyes. I hope they can get it together before Saturday. We can’t afford this type of drama right now.
“It means that we are going to have to leave this house after the meeting with The Russians. Because, something tells me if our husbands didn’t deliver to Dixon, there will be a lot of other people expecting packages, and coming here for the payout.” I pause. “Some of which are legitimate, and others that are fake and trying to extort us. It’s not safe. Maybe we’ll have to break this one hundred million dollars down, buy a package and settle our husbands’ debt,” I say. “Basically, I might have to forge a business relationship with Mitch, but in the meantime I need to be sure that everyone is safe.”
Denim’s eyebrows rise. “Bambi, after we meet the Russians that’s it right? You not trying to stay in the drug game are you?”
Silence.
“Bambi…we out of the business after that right?” Denim repeats.
****
After my best friend Tatiana was murdered in Saudi, there was one man who looked out for me later on. Much later on. His name is Jim Blazer, but I call him Sarge. He’s an E-9, a sergeant major of the army, which is the highest level in his category. I went downhill mentally after that scandalous bitch murdered Tatiana. And a lot of things happened before Jim got into my life, but once I met him I was better for it.
I change out of my tight jeans and slide on my army fatigue pants. Then I sit on my bed and grab my phone. The gunshot wound is throbbing, but I take my mind off of it, and it doesn’t hurt as much for now. I call Sarge and he lights up the moment he hears my voice, “Is this, Private Bambi?” He sings.
I laugh. “No, I’m more like Dishonorably Discharged Bambi.”
“Not in my book,” he laughs. “You’ll always be honorable to me.”
I love him. So much.
“Where have you been?” He asks me. “I’ve been calling you like I’m crazy. I was about to take a trip over there if I didn’t hear from you tonight.”
“I’m fine,” I sigh. “How was your trip?”
“That’s what I want to talk to you about,” he tells me.
“Not right now,” I tell him. “I need something else from you, and it’s very important.”
“What’s up, honey?” He asks me, “And, before I go any further, congratulations on having…” He gets quiet. “You’ve been drinking haven’t you?”
The thing about Sarge and me is this; he knows what I’m about to say before I even open my mouth. He also taught me some hand, and eye signals that we both understood and used in the military to communicate in private. He’s like a second father to me, except I can tell him anything without feeling like I’m letting him down. He loves me unconditionally.
Instead of responding the way he wants I say, “I need you to come visit, and teach my sisters how to use a gun.”
“Are you in any trouble?” He asks me. “Because I can bring some of my platoon brothers over and we can—”
“No,” I tell him. “You’ve done enough for me. I just need a little training for them, that’s all.”
He sighs. “Consider it done,” he tells me. “And if you need anything else in the future, count me in for that too.”
Thursday, November 8th, 2012
3:30 pm
BAMBI
I’m sitting in my doctor’s office as my doctor goes over my chart. The bed under me is hard and uncomfortable, but so is my doctor’s attitude towards me today. He isn’t pleasant like he usually is, and I know why. I need something from him he doesn’t want to provide. I can tell by the way he tightens his shoulders as he recalls my past through my health chart that he’s hesitant to help me.
He’s biased. By all the times I crashed my bare fists into windows when I woke up in cold sweats in the middle of the night. By all the times Kevin battled with whether to commit me when I wouldn’t leave my closet for days, because I thought the Iraqi’s were in my house out to get me. He’s also biased by how the sounds of helicopters flying above send me in a frenzy that only heavy sedatives and unconsciousness can take me out of. He thinks I’m crazy…maybe I am.
Although, I can’t say I don’t understand why he doesn’t want to write me a prescription I’m in pain, and need something now to make me feel better. Ignoring the sting of the bullet wound doesn’t work anymore. I was up all last night. I need the best meds money can buy.
“Mrs. Kennedy, I checked out your hand, and I realize you’re in great pain,” he sits my chart down on the table. “But, I don’t feel comfortable prescribing you anything stronger than Tylenol 4. You have a serious condition that can be worsened by anything more potent.”
I frown. Why doesn’t he believe me when I say I’m not going to abuse the medicine?
“Not only are you a recovering alcoholic,” the doctor continues, “but, you also suffer from PTSD (Post Traumatic Syndrome Disorder). Now I took an oath to prescribe medicines to my patients in good faith, and I can’t do that for you now. I’m sorry.”
“Dr. Bred, I know I suffer from Post Traumatic Syndrome Disorder. But, I haven’t been taking my medicines so it shouldn’t be a problem.”
The army said I had PTSD after I was gang raped and beaten, which I don’t want to get into now. In my opinion I think the term they use is an easy answer for unorganized chaos. The worst part about all of this is outside of the doctor, nobody but Kevin knew I had PTSD. I didn’t tell my parents and I definitely didn’t tell my sisters. Only Kevin and Dr. Bred knew that under certain circumstances, I could be pushed to the brink and snap.
His eyebrows rise. “What do you mean you haven’t been taking your medicine, Bambi?” He moves closer to me. “You have to keep your disorder at bay. And, you do that by taking your meds everyday. Not when you feel like it.”
“And, I’m doing just fine without them, Dr. Bred,” I respond. “But, I still need help. You wouldn’t begin to understand how it feels to be shot, and not take anything for the pain. If I were all about the medicine, I would’ve accepted the prescription the hospital tried to give me.” That’s a lie I actually forgot my prescription after everything happened. “But, I didn’t. That should show you right there that I’m responsible. Right?”
“How long haven’t you been taking your meds, Bambi?”
I reposition myself on the bed. I want to say since my husband was murdered, but instead I say, “Since Sunday. I think,” I clear my throat. “Although, it could be longer.”
He places a hand on my shoulder. I knock it off, and he steps back. He’s never touched me before with so much pressure and it makes me uncomfortable.
“I’m sorry, Bambi. I didn’t mean to violate you.” He walks across the room and sighs. “I don’t know why you’ve chosen to stop taking the medicine suddenly. And, it’s obvious you don’t want to tell me.” He looks into my eyes. “I mean, did something traumatic happen recently? You can tell me anything. I promise.”
“My hand, Dr. Bred,” I raise it in the air and it throbs more. I need him to refocus, and stay the fuck out of my business. “Are you gonna give me the medicine or not?”
He opens a drawer, pulls out a white pad and writes a prescription. “Take this to the pharmacy on the fourth floor,” he looks over at me. “It’s for one bottle of Vicodin. No refill.” He walks over and hands it to me. “Are we clear?”
I smile and take the prescription from his hand. I walk out of the room.
After getting the prescription filled at the pharmacy inside the hospital, I grab the white bag holding my meds and I walk away from the counter. I bump into a cute black chick. “Excuse me,” I smile. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”
It’s cool,” she says as I’m walking away. “But Bambi, I was wondering if I could talk to you for a minute? It’s funny I’m even seeing you here.”
My face twists up. I turn around, and my heart drops when I see her narrow face. “Who the fuck are you?”
“I know all about you, Bambi,” she smiles. Now that I lo
ok at her hard enough, I can see she isn’t cute at all. Her brown skin looks touched with too much blush. She looks kind of fake. “You are a celebrity. You’re Mrs. Kevin Kennedy. But, I also know that you know me. Let’s keep shit real, and move this along.”
I’m angry. I can feel the blood rush to the surface of my skin, and boil. “What do you want?”
“Can you tell me where Kevin is? I’ve been looking for him since Sunday.”
My lips pierce. I bite down on my bottom lip. I gotta stop doing this. “Why are you asking about my husband?”
She sighs. “Kevin hasn’t contacted me or his son since Monday. Now I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but I don’t feel good about it either. I told him if he missed one day without calling us, I would contact you. The thing is, I didn’t have to find you, because I’m running into you here.” She grins and looks like the joker. Thoughts of murder occupy my mind. “He may have thought it was a game, but I was dead serious. Kevin has a son and you need to be clear on this. We deserve to be financially cared for at all times.”
I feel small bumps rise all over my body. “What did you just say?”
She takes a defensive stand. “Your husband is my son’s father. If I was speaking a different language earlier, that’s English for you now. He fucked me and we had a child. I need him to honor is responsibility. Do you get it now?”
I look around, and everybody’s head is tilted in our direction. She has an audience, and I’m embarrassed. I’m sweating again. On my forehead and upper lip. I tell myself I don’t believe her, but of course I do. Lately I was discovering that there were a lot of things about Kevin I didn’t know. Still, I must stand strong in the face of sluts. Whether Kevin fucked this gutter bitch or not, I’m a Kennedy, and she’s gotta respect the name.
“I think you have it wrong, honey,” I respond with a strong voice. “Kevin doesn’t have any children outside of his twin sons who I gave birth to. And, since you referred to me as Mrs. Kevin Kennedy, I know you know me already.”