The Dirty Red Series

by Vickie M. Stringer

  • • •

  Red’s memories seemed to fast-forward, and another image was stuck deep in her mind. “Muthafucka!” she shouted as his face began to get clearer. Bacon, she thought. He was the one muthafucka she had yet to pay back. That bastard took my business, my money, the book proceeds, the house, my car . . . he beat me, choked me, made me kill Q, kidnapped me, and now got me tied up in this hot-ass room, sitting in my own shit and piss in a room full of rats and roaches. She looked down and in her blurry vision, she was able to detect rat bites on her ankles and legs, rat shit in her lap. The clothes that Bacon made her take off were still in the shower, wet; a strong smell of mold and mildew filled the hot air.

  “Nigga, you gotta die,” she said softly, then broke into sinister laughter. “Bitches,” Red cackled. “I’ll get all of you hos.” Her head tumbled backward. “Stupid-ass Kera, I’ll get yo’ ass. Ugly-ass Catfish, sorry-ass Blue and crazy-ass Terry. Let me get out of here. I’ll get you back one by one.”

  Red thought about what she had said. If she got out of there, that meant she would have to play Bacon to the fullest. That would mean she would have to appear totally broken in his eyes. Could she play that role and not try to kill him as soon as he freed her, if he came back? She would have to. She had sat in shit and piss for three days so far, and it wasn’t going to be for nothing. She would get him in the most supreme way. He was going to suffer like she suffered. He was going to feel pain like she felt pain. She wanted his mind, like he wanted her mind. And she was going to do it. If only that nigga would show back up. And that was the ultimate question. Was Bacon going to come back? Or had he left her to die? Did he mean to starve her to death, and then let the rats and roaches eat her body?

  Red began to dry-heave and it hurt. Nothing came up, but something made her look up at the motel ceiling. She hadn’t asked for God’s help in a long time but she figured that now was as good a time as any to start talking to the Man Upstairs again.

  “God, please, please spare my life. I know I haven’t done right and I’m sorry but I haven’t been done right. I didn’t ask for people to hurt me the way they have. Why did You let people hurt me? We’re all supposed to be Your children. Why did You abandon me? I need help . . . just a little help, please,” she said, crying a tearless cry. Again, she tried to tug at the cords and untie herself but she was too weak. She had been struggling unsuccessfully with the cords for days, and her wrists were now bloody and sore. “Help me!”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Chass gently caressed Quentin’s hand, and then gently traced her finger around the IV inserted in the top of it. Tears fell from her eyes for the third time in the last hour. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. She had never seen him helpless. He looked so vulnerable and so weak, it hurt her to see him that way. “One thing is for certain now,” she spoke softly, “I will protect you, Quentin. I won’t leave your side.”

  “Oh, my God!” a female voice shrieked. “My baby . . . My precious baby!”

  Abruptly, Chass looked up and saw Mrs. Carter standing at the foot of her son’s bed in disbelief. She immediately got up to comfort her.

  “Everything’s going to be all right, Mrs. Carter. I just know it. Quentin is a fighter.”

  Mrs. Carter looked at the person who was comforting her. Through teary eyes, she asked, “Chass, is that you?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Where is—”

  “I don’t know.” She knew his mother was inquiring about Red and Chass didn’t want to think about her.

  “What happened to him?” Mrs. Carter asked, breaking away from Chass’s embrace and going to her son’s side.

  “I’m not sure. All I know is that he was shot at his loft.”

  “How do you know about all this?”

  “Actually, Mrs. Carter, I was coming to see him before I left Detroit. The case that I was working on is over and I wanted to see him before I left.”

  “He mentioned that he saw you a few times.” Mrs. Carter wiped a tear away from her face. “I always liked you, Chass. It was too bad you two didn’t stay friends over the years and that . . . that . . . Raven came into the picture.”

  “It’s okay, Mrs. Carter. I’m here now and I’m not leaving him.”

  Mrs. Carter continued to look at her son and stroke wherever there was not a tube coming out of his body. “I’m here, baby. Mama’s here.”

  “Mrs. Carter,” Chass said, “I’m going to leave you alone with Quentin. I think you need some time with him. I’ll be out in the waiting room. If the doctors come in, if you wouldn’t mind coming to get me, I’d appreciate it.”

  Just as Chass opened the door, a tall, good-looking African American man wearing a white coat entered the room. He looked at the two women and introduced himself.

  “Hello, I’m Dr. Johnson.”

  Mrs. Carter stood up from Quentin’s bedside and spoke. “I’m Quentin’s mother, Patricia Carter, and this is Chass Reed . . . Quentin’s girlfriend.”

  Chass made a mental note of that and beamed inside.

  “What happened to my son and will he be okay?”

  Before answering, Dr. Johnson pulled out his stethoscope and listened to Quentin’s heart for a moment. He took out his penlight, flashed the light in both of Quentin’s eyes, then looked at the monitors, making note of what he saw. When he was finished, he turned to Mrs. Carter.

  “Here’s the deal. Your son is now in what we call a double danger zone.”

  She covered the lower half of her face with her hands and gasped. Instinctively, Chass grasped her for support, each bracing for what could be even worse news.

  “Quentin is in a coma right now. He suffered blunt trauma to his rear cranial area, which resulted in major swelling in his occipital lobe. That, along with severe blood loss, sent him into this suspended state. He may be in a coma for a few days, and the danger is that if he does not come out of it during these early days the likelihood of him coming out of it at all is very slim. The second issue is the gunshot wound. The bullet penetrated his abdomen, destroyed his colon and lodged close to his spine. We had to perform a total colectomy, but in his current state we have to wait to try to remove the bullet.”

  “Why is that, Doctor?” Mrs. Carter asked.

  “Well . . . there’s no easy way to tell you this,” he replied. “We’re worried about paralysis. The bullet is dangerously close to his spinal cord. Tests have indicated that he may already be paralyzed. The neurologist who examined him wants to consult with a specialist about whether it’s safer to leave the bullet where it is.”

  “Oh, my God!” Mrs. Carter cried out. “My baby will never walk again?” Tears ran hurriedly down her face while Chass stood, listening, in shock. The man she loved was comatose, possibly paralyzed and had to wear a shit bag for the rest of his life.

  “I know that this is difficult for you ladies,” Dr. Johnson continued, “but I need to give you all the facts so that we can make some informed choices.”

  Mrs. Carter nodded for the doctor to continue.

  “If he is paralyzed, because of where the bullet is lodged, we suspect that it would be from the waist down,” the doctor explained. “However, there is a chance that he could be a quadriplegic, especially if we go back in. That’s why we’re consulting a specialist.”

  “What are the risks, Doctor?” Chass asked.

  “If we leave it in, it could fragment or dislodge; then it could travel to his heart. If we get it, the paralysis that he might experience could be only temporary. The specialist should be here in a day or two.”

  “A day or two?” both women asked simultaneously.

  “Doctor, I’m his mother. Any decisions will have to have my approval. What are his chances if you go back in to get that bullet out without the specialist’s consult?” Mrs. Carter said.

  “Not as good as I would like them to be, but I would say fifty-fifty. Your son is a young man and a fighter,” Dr. Johnson told her.

  “And if the surge
ry goes right, there’s still a chance that my baby won’t walk again?”

  “There’s a very good chance.” Dr. Johnson nodded. “There’s a chance that he can’t walk now. I have seen instances where young gunshot victims in his same predicament walk again after things heal.”

  Mrs. Carter nodded solemnly. “Do it, Doctor. Go ahead and do the surgery. I don’t want to risk the chance of the bullet traveling. Whether he can walk again or not, I want my baby alive. I’ll take him any way that I can get him.”

  “I understand.” Dr. Johnson nodded. “I’ll inform Surgery and get him on the schedule right away.” He began to walk away, then turned to face the women again. “Oh, one more thing . . . does your son have a living will?”

  “A living will?” Mrs. Carter lifted an eyebrow.

  “Yes. It states who can make decisions for him if he’s ever incapacitated and can’t make the decisions himself,” the doctor explained. “What we need to know is, if things go badly, should any life-sustaining measures be taken?”

  Mrs. Carter nodded fervently. She could not believe her ears. Should they bring her baby back to life? Could things really go that badly? She couldn’t believe that there was a real possibility that she was spending her last hours with her son.

  “Of course, Doctor,” she told him. “You do everything in your power to bring my baby out of that operating room alive.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  In the quiet of the night, Kera turned the corner in her banged-up gray station wagon. She prayed the entire trip that her twelve-year-old, sputtering wagon wouldn’t cut off on her. She rattled and shook her way down the street, looking for the right address. She had heard where Terry and Mekel were living and she had to see it for herself.

  “Out of all the people you could be with, Mekel,” she said to herself, still driving, “you chose the heifer who almost killed our baby.”

  Kera couldn’t imagine Terry lying in Mekel’s arms again, all hugged up like a real couple, with her son and Terry’s kids, looking like a family. Not after all that she and Mekel had been through, not after all that they had shared. She wanted Mekel, and she desperately wanted to build a family with him.

  “You’re wrong, Mekel,” Kera said out loud to herself. Mekel blamed her for their son’s condition. “Its not my fault. It’s that bitch, Terry. She always wanted to have a baby by you but she couldn’t give you one. She was jealous that I gave you one.”

  Kera did what she felt she had to because Mekel denied her and their baby while she was pregnant. She was hurt, lonely, horny and needed companionship. Sure, she had taken a few drinks, smoked some dro and engaged in risky sexual behavior but she wouldn’t have done any of that if Mekel had ’fessed up and claimed her and their child. Kera refused to believe that what she had done had anything to do with her child’s diagnosis—fetal alcohol syndrome and the fact that he was mentally disabled way before Terry tried to kidnap him.

  Kera drove a little farther and found the address that she was searching for. She turned around and parked on the other side of the street. The rusting gray wagon sputtered to a stop, as if it were protesting being shut off. It shook and combusted a full twenty seconds after the key had been removed from the ignition. Kera sat in the driver’s seat, staring evilly at the house.

  The house disgusted her because it should have been hers with Mekel. The first thing she wanted to do was bust in there, kick Terry’s ass and reclaim her man and her child. Then the thought of picking up a brick and breaking all of the windows ran through her head. Each second that passed, she became angrier. At first she felt that if she just saw Mekel and Terry together, maybe it would help her to let go, but it was just the opposite. “I had to beg you to buy furniture for that fuckin’ apartment,” she said. “You couldn’t even let Terry’s memory go. I had to live behind her and shit on the same toilet she had her ass on, but you go out and do this for her?”

  Kera hadn’t been the same since Mekel broke up with her and ran to Terry’s side. She felt like she was losing it; unbeknownst to her, it was the same way Terry had felt when Mekel left her for the chick he cheated with and got pregnant. Kera was also desperate to get a peek at Mekel Jr. Regardless of how the courts portrayed her, she really loved him and wanted to make sure he was okay. The court had awarded custody to Mekel, and severely limited her interaction with the baby because she was the cause of his preventable health problems. It was only because of Mekel she wasn’t in prison for child abuse or child endangerment.

  Kera tried to focus on the house. From what she could see, it was a modest two-story brick home. Just then the gas lamp in the yard illuminated and Kera became even angrier. “Oh no the hell he didn’t!” Kera shouted. In the driveway sat a sleek black GL-Class Mercedes with chrome rims. “That fuckin’ bastard even bought that bitch a car!” Kera said in an unstable tone. She started shaking when she saw the yellow “Baby on Board” sign on the back passenger side window.

  Angrily, she got out of her car and slammed the door. This bitch is living the life that I should have had with my man! Kera’s heart started racing and her breathing became heavy. Not caring who saw her, she marched across the street and started up the walkway, which was trimmed on both sides with small green shrubbery. Closer to the house were taller evergreen shrubs and flowers surrounded by a decorative retaining wall. Something made her stop and look at the home again, and a sick feeling ran through her stomach. For some reason, the home looked like it was filled with love.

  Finally making her way up onto the porch, she wiped away her tears and slowly walked to the right. She came upon a window that was dressed in sheers, so she put her hands up and lightly pressed her head against the glass.

  Kera looked through the window and her mouth dropped. I cannot believe this shit, she thought. Inside, she saw the most beautiful Blade glass and cherrywood dining room table, with a modest floral arrangement in the middle. The table was surrounded by matching Madie leather chairs. A large, round brass mirror hung on the wall to the right, flanked by two contemporary sconces. There were several contemporary vases, in various shapes and sizes, with an assortment of arrangements strategically placed throughout the room.

  She walked to the other window and looked in. The dining room was something out of a magazine. She didn’t think that Terry would have contemporary taste, but she had to admit, it worked, which pissed her off even more.

  “Who the fuck they think they are? The Huxtables or something?” she huffed. That was when she saw Mekel and Terry enter the living room, happily, with all of the kids.

  Kera’s heart dropped when she saw that they were playing with her son. The sight of Terry touching her child nearly made her go ballistic. Kera examined Terry carefully. She was thinner, healthier, prettier even. She wasn’t wearing makeup; there was a natural beauty and a natural glow about her. She was wearing her hair natural, in short neat locks that complemented her apple shaped face. Terry looked happy. She even looked sane.

  Kera looked down at herself and saw the complete opposite. What had once physically attracted Mekel to her was gone. “She still ain’t me. She can’t make you feel like I did,” she confirmed, closing her eyes, remembering how he used to make love to her. If Kera only knew that near the end of their relationship, Mekel could only fuck her if he thought about Terry.

  She looked in again and she saw Terry place a gentle kiss on her son’s cheek, then she pursed her lips toward Mekel and he kissed her.

  “Oh, my God, oh, my God,” Kera said, almost hyperventilating. She looked around on the porch to find something to bust out the windows. She wanted to rush inside and kick Terry’s ass and snatch her child away, but then another thought came to mind. “What if I had a gun? That’s all I need to get my baby and my man back.”

  Kera tried to hold back the tears, but she couldn’t. “I couldn’t even decorate that bitch-ass apartment we had, but you set this heifer up in a house? I always had her leftovers, you son of a bitch . . . even after I gave you a child! I d
idn’t sign up to be no fucking surrogate mother,” Kera said through clenched teeth.

  She saw Terry motion for the kids to go with her, and Mekel sat down in the oversize chair. Just when Kera told herself she had seen enough, Terry returned, wearing an eggshell silk nightie with matching panties. Mekel stood up and pulled her close, kissed her passionately. The two slowly collapsed to the floor and Terry climbed on top of an outstretched Mekel and straddled him. He ran his hand beneath her nightie, feeling her breasts, and a smile spread across his face. Terry leaned forward and she and Mekel again kissed passionately.

  Kera was transfixed watching them. They exchanged words that she couldn’t hear but she was able to read Terry’s lips. She told Mekel that she loved him and it destroyed Kera’s heart when he said the words back to her. Mekel lifted the nightie over her head and pulled down her panties. Kera had definitely seen enough.

  She raced back to her car in tears. That Mekel had told Terry that he loved her hurt more than anything in this world. How could he just stop loving me? she wondered. The fact that they were about to make love in a brand-new house was about to drive her to commit homicide or suicide. Kera climbed into her raggedy wagon and screamed, “Mekel, how could you do this to me?” Saliva and tears mixed and ran down her shirt. “I’m the mother of your fuckin’ child. Your only child! I should be with you, not that whore!”

  Kera tried to gain her composure but all sorts of thoughts ran chaotically through her mind. Suddenly a scary calm washed over her. As she started her car and drove off, she looked at the house and spoke.

  “If I can’t have my baby, you can’t, either. Another bitch will never raise my son . . . especially that one.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Detective Thomas strolled into Scott Memorial Hospital and rode the elevator to the sixth floor. Still in plain clothes—blue jeans and a sweatshirt—it wouldn’t look too obvious what he was doing at the hospital. He had called ahead, so he knew exactly what room to go to.