We sit on either side of Harry's bed, staring glumly at him. Minutes pass into an hour. Hilda's expression is full of pain as though she were the one suffering.
She stirs and glances at me. “So tell me, Denmark. Was it worth it?”
I lower my eyes. “Hilda, I wish there was something I could say to help you understand. I was so angry. It was so unfair. I just wanted the person responsible to feel what I … ”
Hilda wipes her cheek. I imagine myself running desperately after a train, yelling to Hilda standing on the caboose as it pulls away faster and faster.
“Hilda, I didn't mean to hurt anyone, especially you.”
“That's what I tell Felicity every time I see her. But you know what? She's still going to die.”
A merciful quiet descends upon the room, and we gaze on my precious friend Harry. More minutes pass. A nurse briefly checks on Harry, shooting me sharp, accusatory glances every few seconds, then she leaves.
“Denmark, please leave the room,” says Hilda.
“Huh? But … why?”
“I'm going to pray for Harry. Your lack of faith will interfere.”
I'd protest, but I'm just too tired. I step heavily to the door and look back. “Hilda, before you condemn me, please try and understand my point of view. I had my reasons.”
“I'll be sure and explain that to Harry. Now please leave.”
FIFTY
The disasters I've caused are spiraling out of control, and the disappointment in Hilda's voice will haunt me for days.
I pull into my garage, cut off the Corvette, and sit, savoring the peace in this moment of solitude. It's barely begun to close when a jet-black, chrome-wheeled Hummer SUV pulls in beside me. I try to see who it is, but the heavily tinted windows are too dark. The driver's-side door opens, and Blinker steps out. He's followed by his pit bulls, Killa and Attila. One walks to his left, the other to his right.
“What now?” I grumble.
I get out of the Corvette and go to meet him. He takes a final drag of his cigarette and flicks the butt onto the floor. The front and rear passenger doors on the far right side of the Hummer open and shut together. I try to see who's getting out, but the bulky vehicle blocks my view.
“Blinker, what's this all about?” I ask. “I don't have time to … ”
Blinker points at the garage door overhead. “You'd best close this.”
“First tell me what's going on.”
“Close the door!” he snaps.
I glance at Killa and Attila, hurry over to the wall control, and press the button. The Hummer's back hatch lifts up as the garage door comes down.
“You remember my cousins Stinker and Thinker, don'tcha?” Blinker casually asks.
My stomach somersaults. Individually, Stinker and Thinker are one hundred times more dangerous than Blinker's ever been. Together they qualify as a threat to national security.
Blinker chuckles grimly. “I can tell by your face that you're rememberin’ ’em pretty good.”
Something falls from the rear of the Hummer onto the floor like a sack of rice, followed by a loud “Oomph!”
“Get up!” someone harshly commands.
Something else hits the floor, followed by a solid punch and a muffled cry of pain. Blinker lights up another cigarette and grins. Average-height, scarred-cheek, dreadlock-wearing, thick-necked Stinker and lanky, bow-legged, cleft-chinned Thinker step out from behind the Hummer. Staggering before them are two pathetic bums. Along with having their mouths covered by duct tape, they're handcuffed, whimpering, and suffering from welts, bruises, scratches, and cuts.
One prisoner smells like fermenting garbage. He's wide-eyed, twitching, trying to scratch, and covered in layers of filth and grime. The other prisoner's clothes are shredded, and he has one eye swollen shut. He's sweating profusely and groaning.
Stinker and Thinker shove the dregs to the floor and deliver swift kicks into their sides. The prisoners groan and whimper. Blinker's eyes narrow. Killa and Attila growl. I'm shaking with fury as I look down on the depleted forms of Yarborough Montague and Mason Booker.
FIFTY-ONE
I rush Mason Booker but am snatched back by Blinker and Thinker. “Let me go! He's been sleeping with my wife.”
“Him!” says Blinker, surprised. “He's the one?”
“I saw them on a DVD.”
“That's cold-blooded,” Stinker observes. He swats the back of Mason's head. “ Cousin Blink, order one of them dogs to chew off his balls.”
Mason's eyes bulge, and he worms and squirms to get away. Stinker kicks him like a rolled-up carpet back to where he was. My energy drains. After the last few days of nonstop high-intensity emotional drama, I'm exhausted.
“So along with his capers, this sucker's been banging your woman,” says Blinker.
“What capers?” I ask, catching my breath and wiping sweat from my brow. “All I know is that he's been with my wife!”
Stinker grabs a handful of Yarborough's wildly growing hair and jerks him up onto his knees. “Him and this clown's part of the crew that's been hitting Speed Shift stores.”
“What?” I shout.
“They took down the wrong one today,” Blinker adds. “That store was in my territory. Soon as they hit it, my street soldiers was on their case.”
Re-energized, I break loose from Blinker and Thinker and snatch Yarborough by his collar. “It was you?” I demand to know. “You've been robbing the stores?”
“Him and two others,” says Stinker.
“We got his partners stashed,” Thinker shares. “This fool's the key.”
“He's the key to what?” I ask loudly. I rip the duct tape from Yarborough's mouth. He screams in pain. “Talk tome!” I blast.
“Pa, please,” Yarborough drivels, “just get me a hit. I, I'll tell you everything …”
Blinker shoves me aside and whacks Yarborough across the mouth. “Talk, punk!” he commands.
Blinker snaps his fingers, and Killa and Attila charge forward, snarling and snapping. Yarborough shrieks and curls into a fetal position.
“Now that's what I call scaring the piss outa somebody,” Stinker chuckles.
He gestures to a yellow puddle spreading out beneath Yarborough. “Back off!” Blinker commands. The dogs quiet down and back away.
“It was him!” Yarborough gibbers, gesturing with his head at Mason. “He, he was my contact! He gave me the alarm codes. I wasn't trying to hurt anybody. I, I needed the money!”
“To feed that habit,” Stinker observes. “When cousin Blink found out, he called us.”
“As a future city councilman, I've got to keep things legal,” Blinker smirks. He glances at Mason. “The most important part was learning that he was involved.”
Thinker nudges Mason with the tip of his steel-toed boot. “From what we could gather from, ah, questioning this douche-bag”—he grins and winks—”he used his position as a Speed Shift security contractor to get his hands on store alarm and safe codes.” He glances at Yarborough. “Then he passed them on to this cum bubble.”
“How come we didn't think of pulling a scam like this?” Stinker asks, looking at Thinker.
They share a laugh, get instantly serious, and glare at Mason. “We've been waiting a long time for this,” Thinker rumbles.
Stinker kneels down, grabs blubbering Mason's lower jaw, and squeezes so hard that his cheeks collapse inward. “You set up our brother Tinker.”
“And now you're going down!” finishes Blinker.
I walk slowly up to Mason. His eyes grow bigger with each step I take. Stinker backs away, clearing my path. Mason's trembling like a naked man in an arctic blizzard. Blinker, Thinker, and Stinker form a semicircle of power behind me. Yarborough mutters in his piss puddle.
I grab Mason's collar and yank him up to me. He screams a cry that, even muffled by duct tape, pulses with terror. He hangs limp from my grip, babbling and pleading. I rip the tape away from his mouth, and he moans.
I snatch him
close. “WHY?” I growl. Mason sobs and mumbles. I shake him furiously. “Tell—me—why?”
“It was for … her,” Mason sniffles. “Ah did it for Sierra. Ah love her.”
I let Mason go. He crumples to the floor. Stinker and Thinker chuckle and say, “Love? Is that all?”
“Shut up!” Blinker orders. “Ain't you two fools ever cared about somebody besides yourselves?”
Stinker and Thinker glance at each other and shake their heads no. Blinker rolls his eyes.
“Ah loved her the moment ah saw her,” Mason sniffles, sitting up slowly.
“When was that?” I demand to know. “You'd never seen Sierra before the company picnic I invited you …”
The words suspend. That's right! It was the company picnic I'd invited Mason to attend. The same event at which he stated that marriage would never be in his future. The event at which he said: “Seventy percent of mah cases are wives'n husbands who suspect that their honey-buns are doing the fat-nasty with somebody else!”
Mason explains further. He struck up a conversation with Sierra at the picnic. The mutual attraction was instant. From their conversation and what I'd told him, he had a good idea of how wonderful she was. He spent weeks following her, watching and studying her, learning everything about her down to the most finite details. He “accidentally” ran into her at public places. They went out to lunch once, twice, three times and more.
She talked about me, her life, and our marriage. She shared the details of her frustrations and anxieties, and he was a willing, compassionate sounding board. He absorbed every drop of information, storing and considering everything for future use. With every contact, look, and thought of her, his love grew deeper. He was at first satisfied just to have her physically. But the day came when that wasn't good enough.
“Ah wanted her for myself,” he sniffles, staring at the floor. “Ah had to have her always.”
To get her, he'd destroy my marriage. He made the DVD, wrote a note that led me to suspect Harry and Gordon, and salted the wound by sending it from “I Got Your Back, Inc.”
“How'd you know about the Sapphire Spire?” I ask. “I'd told only Harry and Gordon about my plans to take Sierra there.”
“Sierra told me that your anniversary was coming up. She said you'd probably do something special to impress her. She said you were always doing something to hide your shame about growing up poor in the Brownfield District.”
I whack Mason across his jaw. He howls. Blood splatters onto the Hummer. “Don't be bleedin’ on my ride,” Blinker rumbles.
“Forget the Brownfield District!” I shout, shaking Mason furiously. “How'd you find out about the Sapphire Spire?”
Mason talks through his sobs. “Ah started calling around to the best clubs and restaurants, pretended to be you double-checking a reservation, and kept at it until ah hit gold. Then ah called Harry and Gordon, said ah was one of Sierra's old friends who'd be meeting ya'll in Vegas, and expressed how great it was that you were also taking her to the Sapphire Spire—and they confirmed it in their responses.”
I think back to the day I asked Harry and Gordon if they'd told anybody. They'd both said no, which was technically true. If Mason called them, pretending to be someone who already knew, then they would've concluded correctly that the leak had originated with me, not them.
“Keep talking!” I order, shaking Mason.
“Sierra said that Harry and Gordon were the only two people you really trusted,” he snivels. “I wrote the note so that you'd think it came from one or both of them.”
Blinker, Stinker, and Thinker listen quietly, hanging onto every word. Yarborough begs for a hit of any drug and is shouted into silence. The dogs yawn and lie down.
“Explain the blurred video,” I say. “Explain the pictures of Harry and Gordon with Sierra. Explain why you got mixed up with this wretch!” I demand, gesturing to Yarborough.
Mason looks up at me, his eyes wet, red, and swollen. “Ah needed to get you out of Sierra's life. Ah knew that seeing her with another man would set you off, make you reject her, and ah'd have her all to mah'self. If that didn't work, ah knew that you discovering that she'd been with your best friends would do the same, and ah'd still have her all to mah'self.”
“How'd you get the photos?”
“They were from meetings Sierra had with Harry and Gordon last year when they were planning your surprise birthday party.”
“But … the holding hands, the kissing, and …”
“Computer manipulation,” Mason answers, just a bit too proudly.
I snatch him up again by his collar. “Don't gloat, sucker!”
He sobs. “Ah used the computer to make it look that way.”
I shove him back to the floor. “What about him?” I demand to know, hooking my thumb at Yarborough. “Why help him?”
Mason scowls at muttering Yarborough. “The crack-head was bound to get caught. He'd implicate me, but ah'd turn the spotlight onto you and your thug street security.”
Blinker glowers.
“The combination of you two being family, you being in Speed Shift senior management with access to store alarm codes, and a street thug doing your security would add up to your arrest and conviction,” Mason details. “You'd all go away for a long time, and ah'd have Sierra to myself.”
Blinker rushes Mason but is caught by Stinker and Thinker. “You were trying to set me up like you did Tinker!” he hollers. “I'm gone bleed you!”
“Save it, cousin,” Thinker advises. “You're running for office. Stink and I will handle this clown.”
“Go ahead!” Mason insanely challenges, sobbing. “Ah've lost the only woman ah ever loved, so nothing matters.” He folds into himself, sobbing and repeating over and over, “Ah've lost Sierra, so nothing matters.”
FIFTY-TWO
It's Sunday, visitor's day at the Cleveland city jail and the first day I've been allowed to see Inez. I'm sitting on one side of a glass-walled booth, waiting for the guards to bring her in. The door opens. Inez shuffles in. She's wearing a bright orange pajama-type outfit, looking like a flamboyant hospital orderly. Her face is ashen and plain. Her hair looks like a battered squirrel's nest. Her hands are cuffed, her feet are shackled, and the neon-blue slippers she's wearing seem no thicker than rice paper.
She sees me, and her eyes ignite. “Denmark, you bastard!” she hollers. “It was you, wasn't it? Harry knew because of you?”
She charges the glass, falls from her shackles, and lands hard on her side. Two guards, one male, one female, close in quickly, drawing their batons. She kicks the woman in the chin, bloodying her mouth and sending her reeling. She drives both her fists into the male guard's balls. He falls to his knees, eyes wide, clutching his crotch, gasping and coughing.
Inez hops to her feet, hobbles fast toward me, and throws herself shoulder first against the glass. “I trusted you!” she blasts. “Why'd you do it? Why?”
She grabs a chair and slams it against the safety glass, but it barely cracks. She hurls the chair, and the glass creaks and groans as jagged fissures split from top to bottom.
Guards pour into the room and pounce on Inez. She fights them like a rabid wolf. “I'll get you, Denmark. So help me I'll—get—you!”
She disappears beneath a cloud of whacking batons and punches.
Visiting Inez was a debacle. I drive out to my and Hilda's favorite park to clear my head. Maybe a long, uninterrupted moment of calm will help me see where I didn't have a choice. But who am I kidding? Inez wouldn't be in jail if it weren't for me. Harry wouldn't be lying comatose in a hospital if it weren't for me. Gordon's career wouldn't be sliding into the toilet if it weren't for me. And sweet Alice would never have drunk so freely from the cup of revenge if it weren't for me.
I've got to try and make things right. I get into the Corvette and hurry over to the home of my friend and lawyer, Nelson Fox. He likes to sleep in late on Sundays but answers the door anyway. He listens patiently as I explain the devastatio
n that's been occurring the last few days. Once I'm through, Nelson sits across from me at his kitchen table, his expression inscrutable as he sips every few seconds from a cup of coffee.
“So will you do it?” I ask him.
“Of course I'll represent Inez Bancroft,” he quickly answers. He gets up, pours himself another cup of coffee from the automatic brewer, then leans back against his counter. “Who's going to cover my fees?”
“I will.”
“Good. It might take some doing, but I'll get her out of there.”
I sit back and sigh with relief. “Thanks, Nelson. I truly owe you one.”
“Just cover my fees—then never cross my path again.”
I sit up stiffly, energized by the sharpness in Nelson's tone. “What's got your back up?”
He takes my cup of unfinished coffee, pours it down the drain, and fixes his hard, angry eyes onto me. “Every day I talk to young people about staying out of trouble, counsel parolees to ditch their no-good former thug friends, rack my brains to keep brothers and sisters out of jail—and now this.”
“And now this what?” I ask, demanding.
“You and all this chaos you've caused!” Nelson fires back. “I told you to leave Sierra alone. What she did was low, but you still don't have her back. And unless I'm as talented as we hope I am, one of our black sisters will do time after being manipulated by you.”
“Nelson, I feel rotten about this. Why do you think I'm here?”
“You're here to get me to do the work of clearing your conscience.”
I spring to my feet. “I'm trying to right a terrible wrong.”
“You're too late. If I got Inez sprung in the next five minutes, she'd never be the same. She has a record. She's emotionally and psychologically scarred. Her marriage is over. Her employment prospects are nil. And she's wearing the shackles that your namesake and ancestor fought to the death against.”
I look down and shake my head. “Nelson, what would you have me do?”
He huffs to his front door and whips it open. “Get out!”
Other Men's Wives Page 27