Head Games

by Mary B. Morrison

  Her body slid flat against the mattress. Breathing heavily into the sheet, she said, “Dallas, that’s enough.”

  Suddenly I realized I couldn’t remember her name. Probably best, since I was posting her video on social soon as she left. She’d earned a break but she had to finish the job.

  “Okay,” I agreed. “Take fifteen, soldier.”

  CHAPTER 36

  Dallas

  Day 4

  “Baby, please don’t join the military. I’ll take out a second mortgage, refinance the house, whatever it takes. Those people at Tulane University accepted you, Dallas. Mama wants you to go get your degree.”

  “Serving your country will put that anger for your father not being in your life to good use, boy. Unlike your daddy, Uncle Sam needs you. You can save your money, get your degree, and buy your mama a bigger house with your VA loan after you get out, and . . . you can buy that house far away from that deadbeat daddy of yours, anywhere in the country.”

  The recruiter looked nice in his dress blue. His shoes were polished spotless. I had clean clothes in high school. The best mama could afford from the Goodwill, but I couldn’t dress like Trymm, Kohl, Blitz, or the dude who was convincing me I was needed.

  “I know your mind is made up. Promise me you’ll never reenlist, baby. Once they got you in, they try not to let you out for twenty years.”

  I was seventeen. I was a man. I was also my mother’s only child. “I promise, Mama.”

  “The army is the safest place for a young black man. Especially one in New Orleans,” the recruiter convinced me. “We’ll protect you. We’ll provide for you.”

  “The military ain’t no place for a young black man, Dallas. Baby, it’s worse than prison. Going to college is better than killing peoples or having somebody shoot at you, or being locked up.” Mama’s eyes had filled with tears.

  Nothing was worse than seeing my father play daddy to Noelle’s boys every day. Take them fishing in his boat on the weekend. The boat that saved his family. Heard there was room for my mama, but . . . The hate inside of me wasn’t normal for a kid.

  “Your mama can’t afford to send you to college. If she misses too many payments, both of you will get kicked out. Why take that chance? This ain’t no city to have idle time on your hands. The army will treat you with respect. You won’t get that from a prison guard. That’s for sure,” the recruiter reassured me.

  “Men come outta prison and turn their lives around. Military trains you to kill. Kill peoples you don’t know if they’z good or bad. I don’t know one person that come out in their right mind. They don’t talk about what happened, but they forever crazy in they mind. They don’t tell nobody nothing. Think nobody can tell. I seen what it done to your daddy. He has a good heart. It’s his head that was bad when he come back home to me.”

  “You can learn a skill in the military, come out, and have an amazing career,” the recruiter said enthusiastically. “Let’s get you in one of these uniforms, boy. Sign right here.”

  “Baby, whatever you do, don’t let ’em trick you into signing dem paypas. They tell you all the right things, but once they got you, you never see them again. They on to trick somebody else’s child. Dallas, please don’t leave me.”

  “Mama! Mama!” Rattling my head until my eyes opened, I was cocooned in the comforter. My pillow drenched. Sheets soaked.

  I cried. Picked up my cell. While I showered, listened to “Your Tears” on the Bluetooth speakers throughout my house.

  Tan cargo shorts, black T-shirt, tennis shoes, tied left, then right shoestring. I shoved my gun in my pocket, put on my fisherman’s hat, and sunglasses, skipped my meds, downed two enhancements for my manhood, then headed to Li’l Dizzy’s Café for breakfast to meet up with Blitz.

  Sitting in the corner at a table for two—four days in—I wondered how I was going to win the challenge if I couldn’t be sure I’d stay hard enough to fuck a girl a day. Couldn’t keep skipping my meds. Couldn’t keep poppin’ pills to keep my dick hard. Side effects and stress of it all, shit might give me a heart attack.

  My official count was one and I couldn’t recall her name. Couldn’t force myself upon Keisha when she started crying and pleading for me to just let her leave. I did. Plus, her girlfriends had my number, photo, Keisha may have done a pin drop with the location of my house. Police could’ve showed up and arrested me for sexual assault.

  Serving in the military, I’d done tons of morally questionable things, but raping a woman was not one of them. Was not going to start with Keisha. I had to let her go. Didn’t want my mama turning over in her grave.

  Wow! A gorgeous lady sashayed in my direction. That left hip moved in slow motion to the side, then she lowered her ass to the luckiest seat in the restaurant. I pictured her on my lap. Damn, my arousal caused blood to flow to my shaft. Desperately wanted to squeeze my head before it became engorged, I decided to press my thighs together to avoid feeling like some sort of pervert.

  She tapped on her cell. Pretending I was scanning my phone, I focused on her every move, waiting to see if some dude was trailing. Two minutes passed. Five. I motioned for the beautiful lady’s attention.

  “Would you mind joining me?” I asked.

  She glanced over her shoulder and back, then made eye contact. “Me?” she mouthed, pointing at herself.

  Smiling, I nodded, praying she’d accept my offer. Fuck Blitz. He could find his own table and chick when he showed up.

  She picked up her purse. I would’ve gotten up to pull out her chair, but my dick was hard as shit and not close to going down. Not even a little bit. Fuckin’ enhancement drugs needed better timing. Never knew if my shit was gon’ stay hard four hours or four minutes.

  “Thanks for your company. I don’t normally do this, but you look amazing and I didn’t want to eat alone . . . again,” I threw in. “Order whatever you want, it’s on me.”

  The waiter placed a bread basket in the center of the table. She asked for shrimp and grits. I had a juicy medium-rare T-bone steak, with grits and eggs over easy. We both requested OJ.

  I extended my hand. “My name is Dallas,” I said, intentionally not giving her my last. Everyone in the NOLA assumed if you had my last name that you were related to Lil Wayne.

  If I ever had a daughter, I’d teach her how to get all of a man’s pertinent information before telling him anything about herself, especially her full government name. And I’d quiz her on how well she surveyed every room she entered and every person in it.

  The FBI agent was diagonally across from me. His gun was strapped to his ankle. The man with a wedding ring on wasn’t grinning in his woman’s face, which meant she was probably his Mrs. The gang member with the teardrop next to his eye was chillin’ by himself. The councilman had handed over his government credit card, although he’d eaten alone.

  “Hi, Dallas. I’m Debbie Schexnider. Are you from around here?” she asked. The tip of her tongue extended to the rim of the glass. My gazed lingered when juice flowed into her mouth.

  Something about Debbie was different. Her presence had an instant calming effect on me. “I am. Did four years in the army. Graduated TU two years ago. How about you?”

  The beacon in her eyes was bright as her beautiful smile. Dark lips, chocolate gums. No gold caps. Thank God. White teeth a little uneven at the bottom, but I liked that. Her breasts were small in comparison to her butt. She had a sexy hourglass waist, flat stomach. Short blond hair, barely long enough to grip with my fingertips.

  “I work for the housing authority. HANO. Been there for three years. Excuse me.” She bowed her head for several seconds, placed her palms up, said grace, then started eating a piece of cornbread.

  “How old are you?” I asked.

  “Twenty-five, and you?”

  “Twenty-nine.” I admitted the truth. “I don’t like being alone. Having a hard time finding someone to date,” I lied, then told the truth again, “Women here, once they see my spot, they ready to move in. Looking
for me to take care of them financially. When they find out I don’t have discretionary income, they move on.”

  Placing the plates of food in front of us, the waiter walked away. I was glad he hadn’t interrupted.

  Debbie nodded. Her eyes shifted to the right. I imagined she was processing what I’d just told her.

  “So what was your major at Tulane? Do you at least have a job?” she inquired, steadily raising her fork to her mouth.

  “Communications. Thought it would help me deal with people better, but the military kinda . . . Let’s just say I’m not ready for a nine-to-five. I own property and a lil piece of land, but I’m trying to purchase another rental if the numbers add up.” Basically, if I won the challenge, I was investing it in real estate. “Just moved some things around. Can’t alter anything else right now.” That was real.

  “What was the military like? Did you deploy? Did you have to kill anyone?”

  She’d asked too many fucking questions! There was a code of silence that soldiers honored. I had not shared details with my crewe or anyone. I was quiet for a moment. Had to regroup. Scanned the room. Redirected my attention to Debbie.

  “Whatever I want you to know about my time in Afghanistan, I’ll tell you. Don’t ever ask me no shit like that again,” I said.

  Her eyes grew wide. She perched her lips to the side, put down her fork, picked up her purse. Stood. “Sorry.”

  Black women were overly sensitive. My response was about me, but Debbie immediately took offense. But I liked her and didn’t want her to abandon me.

  I held her wrist. “That didn’t come out right. Please sit.” I carved my first sliver of beef. It was warm. Eggs not as much.

  Slowly lowering her hip to the left, she exhaled, then resumed eating. Her eyes darted to the ceiling. Back at me. “I’m sorry. It’s not you. I just broke up with my boyfriend. We’d been together since high school. Ten years. He didn’t want to work, wasn’t looking for a job, always driving my car, but couldn’t fill it up with gas. It’s hard to meet a man my age that’s about something. At least you own property, have a degree, and served. I can work with a man with potential.”

  Hmm. Potential? She’d concluded that was what I had. My dick became flaccid. I shouldn’t say thank you for her underestimation of my accomplishments. I’d been pinned with more medals than the number of years she’d lived.

  “If it’s okay, I’d like to invite you to my house tonight and cook for you. Maybe we can get to know each other better.”

  First she frowned. A slow, playful smile grew halfway, but the true shine, she couldn’t contain, was in her hazel eyes.

  “I’d like that, Dallas,” she said. “Lock in my number. I’ve got to get to work.”

  CHAPTER 37

  Dallas

  Day 8

  Showering, I put on a pair of silk leopard boxers, took my meds, cooked pancakes, bacon, scrambled eggs, in my favorite butter-flavored Crisco. Poured myself a tall, cold glass of milk, over ice, watched back-to-back episodes of The First 48, until I dozed off on the couch.

  “Shoot him! Again! Again! Unload! Reload! Let’s go!”

  Six months in, training camp equipped me physically, but nothing prepared me mentally for my first killing. Seventeen years old, with an assault rifle in my hands, I was scared shitless, but I wasn’t ready to die.

  Dhak! Dhak! Dhak! Dhak! Dhak! Dhak! Dhak!

  “Carter! Let’s go!” my superior shouted.

  We were not retreating. We were pressing forward. Long as the enemy was firing back, our mission was not accomplished.

  Dhak! Dhak! Dhak! Dhak! Dhak! Dhak! Dhak!

  Dhak!

  Dhak!

  Dhak!

  Dhak! Dhak! Dhak! Dhak! Dhak! Dhak! Dhak!

  Gunfire was deafening. I’d done as instructed. The faces of my targets, I imagined each one was Hawk Carter; then one day I stared in the eyes of a kid that must’ve been barely thirteen, fighting for his country. For a split second I froze.

  “What the fuck? Shoot him!”

  Dhak!

  Dhak!

  Dhak!

  It was the boy or me.

  “Mama! Mama!” Rattling my head until my eyes opened, I slammed the decorative pillow to the floor. Stomped on, then kicked it.

  I cried.

  Wasn’t my last time. Some were younger. Couldn’t lie. Would rather blow ’em up with a bomb than to look ’em in the eyes, then take their breath away.

  They said everyone’s days were numbered. Wondered how many more I had to go. I picked up the dishes. Carried them to the kitchen. Hadn’t realized I’d missed the sink until the china plate—salvaged from my mother’s belongings—crashed on the tiles.

  All of my baby and other pictures growing up were destroyed. Had a few photos of me with my mom in my cell that weren’t backed up anywhere. Since I couldn’t take my cell to boot camp . . . they were erased by water damage.

  I cleaned up the broken pieces, picked up my phone, silenced the television, sat on the sofa. Listened to my mother’s favorite song.

  After the third replay I called Debbie.

  “Hey, handsome. How you doin’?” Her voice was soothing.

  “Had another crazy dream. Don’t think they’ll ever stop. You have no idea.” Made my way to the kitchen. Poured a double Hen. Downed two enhancement tabs with the liquor. Dying of a heart attack with my dick inside of a woman, that would be a nice way to go.

  “I know you don’t wanna talk about it, but if you ever change your mind, I’m here. And I promise not to ask any questions,” she reassured.

  “I just want the nightmares to stop.”

  “They will, baby. It’s not your fault. You want some company? We could eat popcorn, drink, chill, and watch For My Man.” She laughed.

  I did, too. Not many chicks enjoyed seeing people die. The more violent, the better. Some thought, Dat nigga crazy. A different kind of crazy from the females slashing tires. It was easier to go from civilian to soldier than back.

  Fuck Uncle Sam! Fuck Hawk Carter! I wanted the one thing I couldn’t have. My mama.

  “Thanks. Not tonight.” Had to up my count. Had to get out there and find another sex buddy. “What you doing Monday?” I asked.

  “Monday is cool. Dinner?” she asked. “That way I can stay the night. That is, if you don’t mind.”

  “Woman, if I had the money for a wedding and a ring, I’d marry you today,” I told her, knowing damn well I was not marriage material. I wanted to be. Actually, the good side of me, the little boy raised by an unconditionally loving, single mom, the child that grew up in the church, I was worthy of having a family of my own. Leaving my assets to my wife and kids would make me feel like a man.

  “I have a few dollars saved up. Let’s talk about it face-to-face when I see you Monday?” I told her.

  Women liked when a man showed his sensitive side. Why not marry Debbie?

  “I don’t care about how much money you have, Dallas. I don’t have much either. I like you,” she said in her angelic voice.

  Did my mother send Debbie to me? God? If there was no bet, I would’ve still invited her to eat with me at Li’l Dizzy’s Café.

  “My mother would’ve loved you.” She really would have. “Stay out of them streets. Don’t want my future Mrs. hanging in bars. Get some rest, I’ll call you in the morning,” I told her, not wanting to see her wherever I was headed.

  I showered again, snatched my piece, headed to Bertha’s, arrived at ten o’clock. “What’s up, Brenda Jackson?” This was her home away from her crib. Brenda was beautiful with her wide hips, big butt, and gorgeous smile. Had that real Southern hospitality. She’d rejected all of my advances over the years.

  “Hey, Dallas. You lookin’ extra fresh tonight,” she said.

  I sat at the bar facing the door, ordered two drinks, placed one in front the barstool beside me, covered it with a paper napkin, leaned the chair against the counter. In another hour the small joint would be packed wall-to-wall and my
future smash piece would be looking for a place to rest her feet as I invested in a place between her legs to rest my head.

  CHAPTER 38

  Dallas

  Day 9

  “I hate your fucking ass!” I shouted at my sperm donor.

  “The feeling is mutual. I’m not your daddy, boy!” Hawk claimed.

  I wasn’t the product of what I’d heard men in my infantry bitch about. How the baby wasn’t theirs. How their woman got pregnant when they were deployed. Or how their wife had a baby while they were away. My mother was not that type of woman. My mom would never lie to me about who my daddy was.

  Shaking my head, I saw my hand was steady. I pointed my gun between Hawk’s eyes.

  “You think I’m scared of that. After all the shit I done seen in the military, boy? I kill in my sleep! Do me that favor,” he said, pressing his forehead against the barrel.

  “Why the fuck you deny me all my life?” I asked.

  He didn’t move his head. I hadn’t moved my hand.

  Calmly he answered, “You don’t want to know the truth.”

  “Why didn’t you save my mother? You could’ve let her get in the boat with your family.” Tears burned my eyes.

  As he tightened his lips, his face twitched to the left, then back to the right. “So Noelle and Lalita catfighting could’ve drowned all of us? My wife came first.”

  “What really happened?” I yelled, “You playin’ me for a fool?”

  Soon as he opened his mouth . . . Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop!

  “Mama! Mama!” I rattled my head until my eyes opened; my body was wrapped like a mummy. My pillow drenched. Sheets soaked.

  I’d heard the rumors. “You know that’s not your real daddy. Your mama and Noelle used to be best friends.”