The Dirty Red Series

by Vickie M. Stringer

  • • •

  Red pulled her dinged-up BMW into the garage. After sideswiping the station wagon, her BMW was in bad shape. Shit, she didn’t care, though. She was just so relieved to be home that she grabbed the steering wheel, rested her head on it and heaved a deep sigh. At the thought of leaving her once-plush home, her eyes watered again. Soon it would all be over. She noticed that the basement light was on and started to shiver with panic.

  After taking a deep breath she remembered that she had left it on while packing and became unruffled. She turned off the ignition, grabbed her purse and headed inside the house.

  Red dropped her keys on the kitchen counter, turned on the lights and grabbed a glass from the cupboard to pour herself some orange juice. She had a splitting headache. Nervously, she began to flip through the kitchen’s junk drawer in search of an aspirin. As Red looked around the house, a wave of nostalgia swept over her.

  Perhaps it was these feelings that made her think there was a presence in the house. Feeling spooked, Red walked over to the nook in the great room and flipped on the lights there also. Still, the home felt dark and uneasy. One more night and in the morning it’s over, she thought.

  Although the radio was playing on low, the house had an eerie feel. Red looked around for the unexpected. It felt as though someone was there, but how could that be? She walked into the study and reached for the light.

  • • •

  Q didn’t want to run behind Red like the bitch she’d treated him, yet he knew he should have at least told her of Bacon’s release. When his emotions got the best of him, he didn’t care what happened to Red. Her fate would be her own, he reasoned. Looking again at the check in his hand, Q’s heart softened. On the other hand, when he was being the bigger person, he knew to play fair.

  In the past, he’d always wanted a sign that Red cared and perhaps this was it. For her to let go of her almighty dollar was confirmation enough for his spirit. Q understood that when a man loves a woman, he will love anything that comes out of her body, whether it is his seed or the next man’s. Q had had his doubts the first time Red said she was pregnant; that was the reason for the pregnancy test. Once he found out she really was pregnant, he still knew she wasn’t one to be trusted. Eventually, though, after the baby was born, he would have demanded a paternity test. If Red would have turned things kosher, none of that would have come into play.

  Q always knew he was playing with fire when it came to her. When he looked back on it, from day one, she was taboo. Yet, he wanted her and no one else. Red “did it” for him. Q took a long shot dating her. He was stubborn and thought that if Red realized that he was what she needed, then her sensibility would rule over her greed. Q didn’t mind that she wanted the money. He had no problem providing her with the finer things in life. He wanted her to have it all, just not at his expense.

  Something in his gut told Q that Red was finally telling him the truth when she said she was leaving. He wanted to let her go in the know, and not in the dark about what was going on. Q grabbed his keys, jumped in his truck and headed to West Bloomfield to warn Red that Bacon was home.

  • • •

  Just as Red reached over to flick the light on, she felt a grip on her upper arm, stronger than anything she’d ever felt. The force of the grip damn near broke her arm. At first, she thought it was someone breaking into her house. Startled, she let out a gasp. But when Red turned to meet the intruder, she felt as if she had seen a ghost.

  “Oh, God!”

  Bacon pushed all his strength into the grip on her forearm.

  “B-B-B-Bacon . . .” Red managed to stutter.

  “Who the fuck else?” Bacon yelled as Red dropped to her knees.

  “Please . . . please don’t hurt me,” she begged.

  “Bitch, you thought you would get away with your bullshit.” Bacon continued to squeeze and Red tried to squirm from his grasp.

  Red was on both knees and Bacon loved the sight of it.

  “Here we are again,” he mused. “Just like old times. Did you miss me, bitch?”

  “Bacon, yes, I missed you.” Red winced in pain and tried to talk between gasps.

  This seemed to infuriate Bacon even more. He took his free hand and withdrew one of the guns in his waistband. In one swift motion, he smacked Red across her face with the butt, busting her nose wide open and sending her to the floor. He stood there, reveling in his power over her.

  Red lay on the Berber carpet, unconscious. A dark pool of blood began to spread over the once champagne-colored carpet.

  CHAPTER 28

  Consequences

  Q found it odd that all of the lights in the house seemed to be off. If Red had headed home as he assumed, then some signs of life would be visible. Could it be that he had missed her and it was too late to warn her or even say good-bye? A chill ran through him. Q thought, Did she even come back here? Something wasn’t right.

  Q reached over to the glove compartment. Opening it, his fingers searched behind some bills, feeling for his nine. It was there where he always kept it. He closed the compartment back, feeling assured that if he needed backup, he had some.

  • • •

  Bacon glared at Red’s motionless body on the study floor. He felt no remorse. On the contrary, he felt quite vindicated. He just wished that it hadn’t ended so quickly. He had envisioned more begging and groveling. But the ho went out like a light. All that bravado, but she was still a weak-ass female. As far as he was concerned, he hadn’t even hit her that hard.

  “Who’s the tough-ass now?” Bacon whispered. As a parting gift, he undid his zipper, pulled out his dick and straddled Red. He gazed at her for a minute, and then aimed. Bacon’s piss hit Red’s chin so hard that speckles of the yellow urine splattered him.

  “Shit!” he cursed, not wanting to get piss on himself. He emptied his bladder on the unconscious Red. Then, he carefully placed two fingers to the side of her wrist to feel for a pulse. She was still alive, yet not moving. Bacon stared at the bloodstain on the carpet and his mind began to cover his tracks. How could he get rid of the body? Bacon slipped the gun back into his waistband and then grabbed Red by the ankles, tugging to straighten her torso out. Next, he looked around the study for something to help him get rid of the body.

  Bacon stepped out of the study into the great room. He walked over to the couch and nervously snatched the white sheet-like covering off the sectional. The fabric felt heavier than it looked. It would have to suffice. He moved quickly back to the study where he’d left her on the floor knocked out cold. Bacon knew he had to complete his task, but he didn’t want to do it in his home. After all, he still planned to live there.

  Bacon was free and wanted to stay that way. There was no way he was going to allow this bitch lying before him to spoil his freedom. This meant one thing and one thing only. She had to die and she had to be disposed of properly.

  • • •

  Q pulled into the driveway, looking for signs of life inside the home. There were none. Perhaps Red had fallen asleep.

  Skipping over the porch’s two steps, Q leaped up to the front door and peered inside before ringing the bell. As he peeked inside, he saw movement. As Q stared harder into the window, he saw a figure that looked like the shape of a man.

  Suddenly Bacon felt eyes on his back, and when he turned around to where he felt the staring, he saw a man, hands squared around his eyes, looking inside. He knew he could not panic. It was simply a visitor for Red. He had to play it cool.

  Q stepped back and rang the doorbell. If Red had a nigga at the crib, then so be the confrontation. Feeling more determined than ever, Q was not turning back.

  Bacon waited before deciding if he would answer the door or ignore it. When Q rang the bell again, Bacon knew he couldn’t ignore it. Sucking his teeth, Bacon looked down at Red’s partially covered body. “Damn, who the fuck—”

  In a flurry of motion, he fluffed out the sheet to completely conceal Red and the bloodstained carpet,
and then wiped his sweaty hands on the sides of his jeans. Gaining his composure, he strolled toward the door.

  Standing in the foyer, he yelled in a gruff voice, “Who is it?”

  “Q. Is Red there?” Q’s voice was firm, resolute.

  Bacon paused for moment. He wanted to yell through the door, NO!, but he knew that wouldn’t look right.

  Bacon cracked the door open and both men stared at each other, eye to eye.

  Who said that only women could smell another woman on her man? In a flash Bacon and Q had a perverse understanding; intuitively, they both knew that, at one time, they had both loved the same woman.

  Bacon wanted to know who in the fuck was this pretty nigga calling on Red. At the same time, Q wanted to know who in the fuck was this average-looking nigga at Red’s crib.

  Unrelenting, Q stood confidently, waiting for a response. His confidence vexed Bacon, so he opened the door in defiance.

  “She ain’t here.”

  “You know when she coming back?” Q questioned.

  “Nah, try back tomorrow,” Bacon replied.

  “Red asked me to meet her here,” Q lied. He tried to see if he could hear any signs of Red in the background.

  When Bacon didn’t get the reply he expected, he slipped a bit and began to stammer his words. “D-d-don’t know nothing about that. How you know Red?” Bacon’s curiosity got the best of him.

  Q then jumped on the defensive. He wanted to tell Bacon that Red was his woman and who the fuck was he to ask? Yet he played it cool. Looking past Bacon, and over his shoulder, Q noticed the house looked dark and in disarray.

  “Red asked me to help her move,” Q coolly replied. “What’s up, dog? So you helping her move, too?” Q knew that he had to think quickly on his feet so he could try to figure out who this nigga was. Red never kept any photos of men in her house, but Q’s gut told him that this was Bacon.

  Q continued rambling, still not believing everything was as kosher as Bacon was trying to make it seem. “Was you sleep or something? I see you got the lights off like you headed to bed or something.”

  Feeling caught, Bacon cut on the foyer lights. This allowed Q to really see that the home was, in fact, packed up.

  Q knew it was strange for the man not to open the door wider or at least invite him in. But, if Red wasn’t home, then it all made sense for him not to invite Q in. Yet and still, for some reason, Q’s stomach remained tied in knots. His gut never lied. Something was amiss.

  He decided to try another tactic. “Okay, cuz, just let Red know that Q stopped by and that umm . . . I’ll try back in an hour or so.”

  That bothered Bacon. He didn’t want anyone coming back to his home. How could he get rid of the dude?

  Closing the door, Bacon knew he had to get rid of Red’s body—fast. He dashed back to the study and commenced to rolling Red up like a rug inside of the fabric.

  As Q walked back to his Range Rover, his suspicions grew. Q knew that Red didn’t have no other nigga and she was too professional to get a roughneck to help her move. Q backed out of the driveway slowly. He wanted Bacon to think he was leaving. He parked his car two homes down, and then doubled back through trees and bushes praying that he was undetected. He slid into the service door of the garage and noticed that Red’s car was inside. He also observed the damage to the right side of the vehicle.

  Q tiptoed stealthily through the garage and sidled to the door leading to the kitchen. He pressed his ear to the door and heard nothing. Just when he was about to give up, he heard what sounded like furniture being shoved and moved around. Even so, he doubted that to be true. From what he had surmised, Red’s furniture was already packed up. The sound was getting closer, and Q knew he had to hide—and fast.

  Meanwhile, as Bacon dragged Red’s body toward the garage, he planned to stuff her inside her own car and discard her body by dropping it off the Belle Isle Bridge. He’d figure out what to do with her car later.

  Bacon opened the door, walked over to Red’s car and used the keys he’d found in her usual spot on the kitchen counter to open the BMW. Then he went back, lifted Red’s body over his shoulder, carried her to the car and dumped her inside the trunk.

  Q started to shake. As sure as he knew his own name, he knew that Red’s body was inside the sheet. This nigga killed Red!

  The thought upset him so much that his stomach began to grumble as though he was losing control of his bodily functions. Q clutched his stomach and passed a slight bit of gas. Sadness overwhelmed him and he felt like a failure for being too late to save Red. Now he felt even more responsible. He could have changed her fate. His sadness turned to anger, and his anger fueled his desire for revenge.

  Before Bacon could close the trunk he sensed a presence. Q pounced and grabbed him from behind. Startled, Bacon reached for his gun. Moving swiftly, he fired three shots—Boom! Boom! Boom!—though he couldn’t see who was on his back at this point. One shot hit the floor, one hit the wall and the third hit Red’s car door.

  The gunfire had startled Q, made him let Bacon go, but now he quickly jumped back on Bacon. Through the struggle, he held Bacon’s arm and tried to get the gun away from his grip without getting shot in the process.

  Q didn’t know if he was beating him because of what he’d done to Red or if it was a territorial issue, that he had to say that Red was now his woman. He just knew he couldn’t stop swinging even as he saw Bacon’s blood gushing from his nose and mouth. He beat Bacon like he’d stolen something.

  As the men tussled, Red’s body began to react and squirm to the loud noises. She suddenly came to.

  “Help, help,” Red weakly cried out, startling both men.

  Q heard the cries but he couldn’t stop. Finally the tussling caused the gun to fall to the floor. Bacon reached for his second piece and Q wrestled it from him. As they fought, Red wiggled herself loose from the sheets and climbed out of the trunk.

  For a moment the three of them stood in a Mexican standoff. Red was wiping blood from her face, Q was both startled and shocked to see Red alive and Bacon was pissed that his plan had been spoiled. Before anyone could speak, Q rushed Bacon with a football tackle, dazing him for a minute.

  “Q, come with me!” Red screamed, pulling on his shoulder. She led Q to the garage door. “We got to get out of here. Bacon is trying to kill me,” Red explained.

  Breath ragged, Q grabbed Red by the hand and bolted through the yard, heading the two blocks to his Range Rover. Turning the key in the ignition, he pulled back in a fury and sped off.

  Although dazed, Bacon was still functioning. He jumped in Red’s car, determined to chase them. Bacon spotted Q’s car and the chase began. Closing in, Bacon let off two more shots.

  Red felt her damp T-shirt that was sticky against her breast. She lifted the shirt to her nose and got the whiff of an ammonia scent. “That motherfucker pissed on me! Where’s your heat? I swear to God, I’m going to kill him.”

  “Not if I get to him first,” Q said, reaching in his glove compartment for his cell and flooring the gas pedal at the same time.

  As he held the steering wheel with one hand, Q made a phone call. He jumped on the Lodge Freeway and headed south. His Range Rover was no match for the smaller BMW.

  “Where are we headed?”

  “Don’t worry. I got you,” Q assured Red.

  “I’m so sorry, I—I didn’t mean to hurt you. I love you, Q.”

  “I know, that’s why I’m here. It don’t even matter.”

  As the couple talked, Q noticed in his rearview mirror that Bacon was gaining on them. In a swift move he changed lanes and was able to lose Bacon behind a large gas tanker truck.

  The couple finally arrived at the Detroit Metro airport. Bacon followed closely, wiping his bloodied face with the sleeves of his T-shirt as he drove. Q pulled into the executive jet valet section in the rear of the airport, an area especially for private charted jets. The couple jumped out the car and ran inside.

  Weaving methodically t
hrough the small crowd of VIP passengers waiting for their departure concierge, Q and Red stopped at the charter boarding area, Gate 28.

  “Hello! Hello!” Q shouted, looking around.

  The ticket agent appeared. She was a freckled-faced, carrot-topped young woman, who appeared to be in her early twenties.

  “Mr. Carter, we’ve been waiting for you,” she said in a bubbly tone as she looked at his boarding pass. “Do you have any luggage?”

  “No, miss.” He turned and looked over his left shoulder. “Can you please hurry?” He looked back at the agent, trying not to attract unnecessary attention.

  “No rush. It’s a private charter. We can’t leave you. You’re our special guest.” Hesitating as she took a closer look at Red, she asked, “Is everything okay?”

  “We just want to get away—fast,” Q replied.

  “Follow me,” she said, smiling at the couple.

  Looking over his right shoulder, Q saw a small commotion yards away. “Oh shit, that’s that nigga,” he said to himself. Red turned around and saw the same thing Q did: Bacon, walking swiftly toward them.

  “Red! Red!” he yelled, drawing attention to himself.

  Red clutched Q’s hand and tried to look calm as they descended down the walkway to the plane, stepping quickly, not looking back. Once they were on board, the pilot introduced himself as Captain Stewart and reassured the couple they would have a pleasant flight.

  Just as the jet taxied away, preparing for takeoff, Bacon arrived at the boarding gate where he had just seen Red and Q. His rage got the best of him and he grabbed the ticket agent by the neck and put his Glock to her dome. He held her face so close, her freckles almost jumped off her skin and onto his.

  Bacon knew it wasn’t over. Red and her nigga could run, but they couldn’t hide. Not from him. Bacon was gon’ get his revenge—come hell or high water.

  “Bitch, where that plane going?”