The Dirty Red Series

by Vickie M. Stringer

  “Depends,” he said. “You know Raven Gomez?”

  Kera turned and attempted to walk away. She didn’t know what she was getting into, but she didn’t like the sound of it.

  Bacon ran up to her. “Chill, ma, it’s all good. You are the Kera who knows her, right?”

  “Who wants to know?”

  “Did you send this letter to me or did Red send it?” He showed her the letter that he received from Red who was adamant that she didn’t send it nor was planning on sending it.

  Kera’s eyes welled up with tears. “Yes, I sent it,” she admitted, realizing that the man who stood before her was Bacon. Kera was scared out of her mind. “Please don’t hurt me. Jesus, please send your angels to protect me, I—”

  “You need to cut all that yackin’, ma. Well”—he scratched his head—“for once in her life, she didn’t lie.” Bacon looked at Kera. “How would you like to make some money?”

  “Su-sure,” Kera answered hesitantly. “What do I need to do?”

  Bacon gave her one of Red’s IDs that she had left at their house. With that in hand, Kera was able to withdraw money from her account from another bank branch. Her own personal payday, she mused. Red would come in the bank high and mighty acting as if she was so much better than Kera. But with every deposit that Red made, Kera took half. Their friendship was like a marriage gone bad. Kera wasn’t stupid, though. She had an open account at another bank to deposit the money and would never make very large ones.

  She was thrilled that someone else was out to screw Red. Maybe the Lord will give me some type of reprieve, she thought. It wasn’t my idea in the first place. Kera kept a close eye on the Gomez Realty account. When she was through with Red, she wouldn’t have a dime. Lord, please forgive me, she said under her breath.

  • • •

  Red walked into the bank around noontime. She’d just finished with her client and before she went to her next destination, she had to check her account. She had tried to check it over the phone, but the phone systems were down. Also, she wanted to throw more barbs Kera’s way. Red stood impatiently in line, four people deep.

  “Why do they allow tellers to take lunch at noon?” she said under her breath. When it was her turn, she walked regally up to the window. “I need a printout of my available balance,” she told the teller. “Your phone systems are down.”

  “You are aware there is a fee for that, right?” the teller responded.

  “Yes. I have more than enough to cover it.” Red gave the teller her information.

  The computer didn’t beep.

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Gomez, you don’t have enough to cover the printout.”

  “What do you mean, I don’t have enough? Bitch, I got fifty g’s in there. Get outta your account, bitch, and get into mine!”

  “Ma’am, do I need to call security?”

  Red realized she was making a scene. “I’m sorry. A lot of shit has been messed up lately. You were saying?”

  “I was saying you only have one dollar in your account.”

  Red felt like she was about to throw up. “Can you check my business account? It’s Gomez Realty.”

  The teller punched in the requested information. “May I see an ID for that?” the teller asked.

  The computer beeped. “I’m sorry, the account has been closed.”

  “Closed?!” Red screeched. “I wanna see a manager,” she snapped. “Y’all doing something shady up here. I know I got money. I cannot be broke!”

  The teller called her manager, who came right over.

  Red went to the manager’s office and explained everything. The manager pulled up a history and displayed it to Red. “Ms. Gomez, on your personal account, it looks like you’ve withdrawn almost fifty thousand dollars over the last few months.”

  “That’s impossible,” Red said.

  “I had a feeling you were going to say that, so I’ve requested the identification that went along with each transaction. Is this you?” He handed her black-and-white copies of her own ID.

  Red hung her head. “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Gomez, there’s nothing we can do. You’ve withdrawn the money from both accounts? I would suggest you budget better next time.”

  Defeated, Red got up and walked out of the bank. One inside her truck, she broke down in tears.

  “No matter how hard I try, legally or illegally, I fuck up. I can’t live on the average commission I been making from the agency. I just can’t.” Red started the truck and began driving toward her next destination. “I know I have money at home, I just have to go get it.”

  CHAPTER 29

  Red drove around the neighborhood in a daze a few times before she parked her car in the familiar driveway of 3124 Colonnade Drive. At her open house, she had re-listed the property as an FSBO, for sale by owner. Attempting to avoid the problem she had before, Red sweetened the deal by offering personal financing and she’d received an inquiry almost instantly. She was due to meet them in twenty minutes. Creative financing to Red meant the buyer would give her a sizable down payment, and she would secure the funding. What the buyer didn’t know was that there was no mortgage on the house and every dime given to her, she would pocket. What the buyer doesn’t know won’t hurt ’em, Red reasoned.

  Red looked around at the property and winced at the thought of Bacon hitting her with the butt of his gun. She was almost killed in her . . . Fuck the house and fuck Bacon’s ass, Red said to herself as she sat outside, waiting for her client.

  After talking with Kammi, Red was anxious to get inside. She had left some things in the safe and she wanted to get them. Having to show the house was the perfect opportunity. Red saw there was something out of the ordinary about the house. It was meticulously kept, better than what she remembered.

  After finding her extra set of keys, she stealthily stepped out of her car and cautiously walked toward the front door. Pausing after her third step, Red looked around. Something doesn’t feel right. Her legs felt like lead with each step she took. Once she arrived at the front steps, goose bumps rose on her arms and the hairs on the back of her neck stood straight up. The first thing Red noticed was the abundance of mail that was stuffed in the mailbox. Bundling it up, she stuffed it under her arm.

  “There you are!” a high-pitched voice screeched.

  Red jumped and turned. A feeble older woman tottered toward her from next door.

  “Where have you been, young lady? You oughta let your neighbors know when you’re gone for an extended period of time,” she scolded Red like a schoolkid.

  Red smiled sheepishly at the woman. “I’m sorry, Ms. Taylor. I had an emergency out of town,” Red lied.

  “I hope everything is okay,” the woman spoke. “I tried to catch your gentleman friend but—”

  “Gentleman friend?” Red quizzed.

  “Yes, the extremely tall, slender and might I add, handsome”—the woman patted Red on her forearm to note her approval—“young man I saw coming in and out of here for a few months. He seemed to forget about the mail, so I started collecting it for you. I been a little under the weather lately, so I couldn’t get the stuff that’s in there now.”

  A car drove down the street and Red held her breath until it passed. Why am I so paranoid? she said to herself. This is still my house. Red had to get the old woman away from her. She was wasting her time. “I appreciate it, Ms. Taylor. What can I help you with? I really gotta go . . .” Red shifted from foot to foot, doing an “I gotta pee” dance.

  “Oh, nothing. I just wanted to give you this.” She handed Red a box. “I collected your mail while you were gone. Didn’t want it to seem like nobody was there, you know. There was some type of shooting some time back in the neighborhood. Cops never found out what happened, but you know we have to keep this block safe.”

  “You’re right, Ms. Taylor. Thank you and I appreciate it.”

  A pleased look of neighborly satisfaction on her face, Mrs. Taylor hobbled away.

  As soon
as she was out of sight, Red put her key into the lock and prayed it still turned.

  Click!

  Red stepped inside.

  • • •

  Moments earlier, Bacon eased the curtains back slightly as he peered out of the window. His eyes narrowed when he saw Red park her car in his driveway. Anger radiated from his pores when he saw her emerge from the vehicle. How could he be so lucky? He wanted to jump through the window and strangle her, but he had to play it smart. He would just wait until she came into his web. It’s playtime, bitch . . . and this time, you lose.

  • • •

  Q left the bank in haste while he angrily punched Red’s cell phone digits on his keypad. Before pressing Talk, he snapped the phone closed. “Fuck that bitch and all she stands for!” he yelled out loud. Pedestrians gazed at Q in shock. “Fuck you lookin’ at?” he yelled at an old woman who held her purse tightly in her grip when he passed her. He leaped into his truck and skidded off.

  Arriving at the loft, Q parked and took the elevator upstairs. His mind was overcome with confusion because he didn’t know why Red never told him that the check was no good.

  Was she trying to play me at the church? he questioned. I thought she’d changed. Q wasn’t just upset that the check was no good; it was the fact that Red never came clean with him about it and if she would hold something that small from him, what else would she keep from him? Every time I trust her, I’m the one who winds up getting fucked in the ass.

  Q went into their bedroom and started taking her clothes out of her closet. Ten minutes later, a large pile was lying across their bed but he hadn’t even made a dent in what she owned. His first idea was to throw everything in the incinerator, but then he had second thoughts. He looked through some of the clothes. A lot still had tags on them. He took them to the bathtub and threw them in there. Q made his way to the kitchen and took out a bottle of Clorox bleach. He marched back to the bathroom and emptied the entire bottle of bleach on Red’s clothes.

  Angrily, he left the loft and made his way back to the bank.

  “Hey you!” the bank security guard yelled at Q when he barged past him. “Where you goin’ so fast?” The guard put his hand on Q’s shoulder.

  Q didn’t realize how crazed he appeared, or how his behavior could have been looked at as irrational. “Get yo’ hands off me.” Q spoke through gritted teeth.

  “Hello, Quentin,” a soft female voice said in a meek tone.

  Q turned and looked at Kera.

  “Is everything okay here?” the guard asked.

  “Yes, everything is fine.” She led Q to a sitting area, being careful not to trip over her ankle-length black skirt.

  “Quentin, I’m sorry about the check incident earlier,” Kera said. “I thought Red would have told you about the stop payment.” Q cut his eyes at Kera then looked away. “Listen to me, Quentin, there’s more you need to know.”

  Q sat still and listened while Kera spoke.

  “She barged in on me, Sasha and her boyfriend, Blue, at Andiamo Italia some time back and caused a scene. Last we saw of her that night, she was in the back of a patrol car.”

  “Who is Blue?”

  “Some guy she used to mess with a long time ago, but Sasha’s with him now. They announced that they were going to have a baby, and Red got upset about it.”

  “Come on, ma, I don’t believe that.”

  “It’s true, Quentin.”

  Q turned his head and looked out toward the customers who were filing in to make deposits or withdraw money.

  “Well, if you don’t believe that, then what if I told you she wasn’t pregnant the first time she said she was.”

  “What?”

  “I said, the first time Red told you she was pregnant, at the Renaissance Hotel, she wasn’t.” Kera remembered Red telling everyone she was pregnant by Carlos, who was in a wheelchair, but Kera knew what really happened.

  Q thought back to it. He had never told anyone about it, especially the location, with the exception of Zeke, so he knew she had to know something. “The test was positive, Kera. I saw it with my own eyes. It turned pink.”

  “I know it did.” Kera put her head down in shame. “It was my pee.”

  “What . . . how?” Kera started to speak, but Q held up his hand, cutting her off. “I don’t wanna know.”

  “It’s an old trick, Quentin. Anyway, back to the restaurant. I thought things were going well for you all. That’s what she led me to believe when she came into the bank before.”

  At that moment, Q began to question Red’s reason for being with him. Why would she act that way over another nigga when I’m here? I saved her ass from getting killed, but she’s pissed that another nigga got someone else pregnant?

  The harsh reality sank in that Red now spent more time away from home because she couldn’t handle the fact that Q was serious about getting out of the game. Q was on the legitimate hunt for legal employment but knew it would be a long and tedious road. He only knew how to hustle, had no employable skills that matched the paper he’d been getting. He was hoping that Red would stick by him in the same way he was there for her, but he was mistaken.

  Red claimed her absence was due to her new real estate business, but Foxy had told him that word on the street had it that some of the major players planned to go after her. Buy property, get pussy: the bigger the commission the more pussy you got, was the big buzz. Q knew that it was street gossip, but the idea that his woman was so scandalous that her name was on everyone’s lips was just too much to handle—especially after Zeke’s death. Q was tired of being humiliated.

  “Kera.” Q looked at her with pain in his eyes. “I want to apologize for Red’s actions toward you. But I will say, you messed up when you sent that letter to Bacon. It almost got her killed. Shit, it almost got me killed.”

  “I’m sorry, Quentin. If I could take everything back, I would,” Kera answered honestly. She looked at the long line beginning to form. “I’m sorry, but I have to go back to work.”

  Q nodded and left.

  • • •

  Red slowly stepped into the foyer and looked around, cautiously. She couldn’t believe her eyes. The living room was adorned with expensive contemporary furniture and black art. She walked into the kitchen; it was now decorated in a contemporary style, with all stainless-steel appliances and a Sub-Zero refrigerator.

  As she walked back from the kitchen to the living room, a cold chill ran through her spine as she realized she was now in the place where she encountered Bacon the last time.

  Bacon . . . Bacon, she thought. Could he be here? Nah, she convinced herself. She remembered the call she received from the private investigator. She just hadn’t had time to return their calls. Maybe I should have, she thought as she continued to walk. If he was out, I’m sure he would have crossed my path, she reasoned to herself. Maybe he took my advice, turned homo and died. Red grinned at the thought of him getting fucked from behind the same way he did her.

  A million thoughts ran through Red’s head, then she realized she was still carrying the box that Ms. Taylor had given her as well as the other mail she had retrieved just moments ago. Maurice Clarence, she read. The rest was junk mail addressed to her.

  “That’s the basketball player,” she remembered. “That’s the person Ms. Taylor must have been referring to. Shit, muthafucka been living in my crib, he gotta pay me some rent, but first things first.”

  That’s right, get yo’self together, bitch. Just get yo’ shit and vamp!

  She looked at her watch. Her client was twenty minutes late and she wasn’t going to wait around any longer. She hyped herself up as she made her way upstairs to retrieve what she felt was rightfully hers. She paused outside the door of the master bedroom. Slowly, Red walked inside and her eyes darted from wall to wall. There was a blue banking bag on the bed, but she quickly walked over to the picture that hung next to the window and removed it. She smiled when she saw the safe. Twenty-four, thirty-six, twelve . . . she
turned the combination, hoping it hadn’t been changed. She sighed when it clicked, allowing her access.

  Red’s eyebrows raised when she saw the only thing in the safe was a mirror. “What the fuck is this?” Two eyes appeared reflected behind her. The full face came into view and Red’s mouth opened wide at the same time a strong arm grabbed her around her neck. Before she could say his name, she was thrown across the room. Red tried to struggle to her feet. Before she knew it, Bacon pounced over to her and grabbed her by her hair, holding her head back. “You make one fuckin’ move and I swear, I’ll snap your muthafuckin’ neck, bitch.”

  CHAPTER 30

  Q drove away from the bank not knowing what to do. He hated the ground Red walked on and wished that Bacon would have killed her when he had the chance. He looked down at his cell phone and saw that he had a missed call. The ID displayed the Officer Thomas’s number.

  “What the fuck he want?” Q said out loud. He had been calling him for the past couple of days, but Q never returned his call. He drove to the closest liquor store to find something strong that would wash out the bad taste Red left in his mouth. Q bought a fifth of Martel and hightailed it back to the loft. He wanted to be there when Red came home for the evening so that he could kick her ass out of his house and his life, permanently.

  The ringing phone seemed ten times louder to Q. He looked down and saw the empty bottle of Martel. “Stop it,” he slurred, reaching over to answer the phone. “Yella.”

  “Mr. Carter?”

  “Who wans ta know?” Q’s tongue felt thick.

  “This is Officer Thomas. I need to see you about Ezekiel’s murder. I just got ahold of the toxicology report and there’s something I think you’d be interested to know.”

  “Yeah . . . yeah . . .”

  “I also think you need to know we found a vid—”

  Q hung up on the officer. He was tired of the officer’s badgering and accusations.

  • • •

  Bacon yanked Red’s neck back until he couldn’t go any further. He wanted to snap her neck so bad that his dick started to get hard. “Bacon, please,” Red cried quietly and a tear rolled down her cheek.