Head Games

by Mary B. Morrison

  The woman’s friend began crying, “Help!”

  Something got a hold on me and I couldn’t let her go. “I strongly suggest you don’t try this shit again. If you do, I’ll shoot you.” I stared at her friend. “I’ll shoot your ass, too. Get the fuck outta here.” Releasing the woman’s throat, I extended my boy my hand, pulled Trymm up.

  “You don’t look so good right now, brotha man,” Blitz said to Trymm, then yelled out to our waiter, “Yo! Lay four more dozen oysters on us and another round of Hen on me. It’s gon’ take this nigga a minute to recuperate.”

  “Fuck you, Blitz. I’m still ahead of you,” Trymm said, leaning on the counter.

  Blitz smiled, “Not for long, my brother. Not for long.”

  Quietly I stared at Blitz. Saw a side of him I hadn’t seen before. Kohl didn’t do shit, because I handled her. But Blitz? He was on some “the money means more”-to-him-than-Trymm bullshit.

  Blitz had better hope he never needed me to have his back.

  CHAPTER 45

  Dallas

  Day 29

  Bachelor party?

  Rehearsal?

  Bachelor party?

  Rehearsal dinner?

  Bachelor party.

  “Boo boo, what’s there to practice about walking down an aisle? My crewe will be at the church thirty minutes before the ceremony.”

  Debbie explained, “Baby, that’s not enough time. Can they come for thirty minutes tonight?”

  “Make it enough.” I wasn’t asking.

  “So the first time you will meet my mother is going to be at the wedding, Dallas?” Debbie stated, then started sniffling.

  “I really don’t have to meet her at all,” I said, then raised my voice, “I told you—”

  “Okay. Okay. But please. Make sure they’re on time.” She spoke with authority.

  I’d let her have that. “Boo boo, I gotta go. I’ll see my baby tomorrow.” I ended the call.

  I group texted Kohl, Trymm, and Blitz the address to the church and time to be there: Five-thirty.

  Bro, you really going through with this #fakewedding, Blitz texted.

  Outside the group I reminded his fake ass, If you win, I gets my two-fifty back.

  Kohl rebounded with, I wouldn’t miss this for nothing.

  Trymm replied, Lucky I owe you one, but you betta start on time. 8:00 I’m out, not 8:01.

  I responded, Cool.

  I put on black everything: slacks, shirt, shoes. No jewelry. Packed my piece. Locked it in the armrest compartment. Weapons weren’t permitted inside where I was going. Security at the sex club did their job well.

  Before I got out my car, I put all calls on DO NOT DISTURB, then locked my cell in my glove compartment.

  I stepped onto the red carpet; it was Pantyless Friday. I had a bottle of pineapple Cîroc in one hand and Hennessy in the other. Stopping in the changing room, I removed my clothes, oiled my body, jacked my dick really hard to make him point north. I pulled back the foreskin, took my alcohol upstairs to the lounge, requested they set me up. Immediately the thirsty females gathered around me.

  A few women traded off, stroking my erection. “I’m having an after party at my place if any of you want to come by,” I said, cursing myself out in my mind for not doing this sooner. They would only count if I could prove I had sex with them.

  “Oh, I’d love to,” the petite one said, then licked my nipple.

  Two others requested my number, claiming they’d be there. “Bring a friend. Not a dude. I’ve got to run.” I left the liquor for their enjoyment.

  Getting in my car, I drove home. Got my gun and cell. My voice mailbox was probably full of messages from Debbie. I’d check later.

  Made my own setup. Closed all my bedroom doors. Left access to the half bathroom. Minutes later, tap, tap, tap, at my door. My driveway was filled with cars. An overflow was curbside.

  “Damn, come on in, ladies.”

  They formed a single-file line. When I was done counting, I had seventeen women in my living room. “Help yourselves to cocktails and my cock, ladies.”

  The one playing with her pussy, I ate her out first. “Mmm, you like pineapple.” I say, sucking her clit firm.

  “Oh . . . yes,” she said, playing with her titties. “Eat out every day.”

  I felt a finger at the tip of my asshole. Reaching back, I grabbed a wrist. “My ass is off limits.” Never have and never will let hand, dick, dildo, butt plug, none of that shit, go past either of my sphincters.

  Burying my face in the bush of the chick, next to the chick that I was eating, I was interrupted. “I’m next, big daddy.

  I told her, “Hold on and spread it open for me.”

  Didn’t mind pubic hair. Hated when I swallowed a hair. Felt a hand massage my balls, another stroked my dick. Made me question if I should walk down the aisle in less than twelve hours.

  The break of dawn peeped into my living room. I did a count and all seventeen of them were still there. Some had passed out. Couldn’t remember whom I’d eaten out or fucked but my mouth and dick were exhausted.

  When I looked down, one eye was staring up at me. My meds hadn’t failed me. “Come here,” I told the pretty petite one, turning her around. “Bend over.”

  I wasn’t asking as I shoved her breasts toward the back of the sofa. Slipping on a condom, soon as I tried to shove the head in, instantly I went soft. This was not happening.

  “Fuck it!” I yelled, waking a few of the sleepyheads.

  “It’s okay,” one of them said. “Relax. I’ll get you right back up.”

  She lightly scraped those long nails all over my back. Then she trailed kisses down my spine. The closer she got to my asshole, the harder my shaft became. Soon my dick was hard enough to put on a new condom.

  “What the hell? I’m coming!” I screamed as a finger slid into my ass.

  Yanking it out, I felt my hole tighten. I came again. Harder this time. More extreme than ever before.

  Quickly regaining my composure, I told the ladies, “Okay. That’s enough. Thanks for coming. Gather your clothes. Party over.”

  Everyone politely left. Some with their clothes in their hand.

  Restoring my house to its original state, I scrubbed every inch of my sofa with disinfectant wipes, cleaned the coffee table, vacuumed the living room, washed the glasses, tossed out the empty liquor bottles.

  Normally, I’d be awakening at this time. Better take Debbie off of DO NOT DISTURB. On second thought I’d better get a few hours of sleep.

  I left Debbie Schexnider, soon-to-be Carter, on DND and went to bed.

  CHAPTER 46

  Dallas

  Day 30

  My cell rang. I checked the caller ID. It was Trymm.

  “Nigga, you gon’ be a no-show?” he asked.

  I looked at the time. “Fuck! I’m on my way.”

  Getting ready in military time, I showered in two minutes. Brushed my teeth, downed my PTSD meds, skipped the enhancements, stepped into the tuxedo I had for three years, slipped my cell in my pocket. Started to leave my piece. Changed my mind on that. Was out the door and at the church before my boys finished their half-hour rehearsal.

  Blitz took one look at me and laughed. “Your eyes red as hell. You must’ve had a hell of a night.”

  “Other than that, nigga, how I look?”

  “Man, you really going through with this?” Kohl asked. “I know I said do it, but this ain’t right, D. Let’s just leave now.”

  “And walk away from the quarter of a mil you promised me if you win?” That wasn’t happening. “Same goes for you, Blitz.”

  My crewe was sharp, but those niggas were dressed in black. “Y’all suited like somebody died.”

  “If you follow through with your plan, you might be signing up for your funeral,” Kohl said.

  The good Reverend Bartholomew’s church burning down, there wasn’t shit Kohl could do. That was what insurance was for. The church was old. White flaking paint, wood trim
on the windows were rotting. Might be a blessing that they get to rebuild. Southern Christians were superstitious. Eric and Eleanor Lewis might haunt the congregation forever.

  A lady came outside, announced, “Places, everyone.”

  I stood at the altar, facing the door. My crewe strolled in and escorted women, whom they didn’t know, to preassigned places; then they claimed their positions in front of the first pew. White ribbons were tied to the end of each bench. A large arrangement of magnolias was in a gigantic vase on a table behind the minister.

  The organist played the traditional “Here Comes the Bride” tune. I clamped my hands behind my back.

  Doors opened to the most beautiful woman I’d seen. Debbie’s white dress didn’t have one of those long trains dragging behind her. It stopped at her knees. Long sleeves, loose-fitting. A simple veil covered her face.

  My boo boo was classy. Mama would’ve cried. Not for Debbie. To see her only child getting married would’ve made her happy . . . and sad, I imagined.

  As Debbie faced me, I noticed the veil had tiny pearls on it. I peeled it back. A simple, sweet chocolate lip color, and light makeup. Her blond hair was freshly trimmed.

  The pastor, I’d never met, asked her, “Do you take this man . . .”

  “I do” softly escaped Debbie’s lips.

  Insisted on her going first for a reason. I slid her ring on her finger. Tears streamed down her cheeks. I should do the proper thing.

  Kohl was right. This was wrong. But most marriages didn’t last, anyway. I did have undeniable feelings for Debbie. She was a nice girl. But was nice enough for me? Definitely didn’t need a crazy wife. Debbie had made me come. But so did that woman last night.

  The pastor said, “Do you take this woman . . .”

  Less than thirty days . . . I barely knew Debbie. Did I want her to be the mother of my children? She’d be a great mom, I guess. How the fuck would I know?

  I looked at my boys, nodded my head toward the door. One by one, they walked in a single-file line.

  As I followed, people gasped. Mumbled.

  “Where’s he going?”

  “Is he coming back?”

  “He can’t be serious.”

  “This had better be some sort of joke.”

  The one thing nobody did was laugh.

  Heard the pastor ask, “Son, where are you going?”

  His saying, ‘son,’ tugged at my heart. Was that how Leroy Carter would’ve spoken to me. Felt as though if I looked back at Debbie, I’d turn to a pillar of salt.

  “That’s fucked-up, D,” Kohl reminded me. “Hope it was worth it.”

  “Nigga, if you win, I want my money,” I said, feeling like shit for embarrassing Debbie.

  “Dallas,” Debbie said. “What are you doing?”

  I could change my mind, go back inside with her and make it right.

  Without answering her, I got in my car, drove home, opened a fresh Hen, drank straight from the bottle.

  “Fuck this bet. I want my woman.” I needed Debbie more than she needed me. Getting back in my Lexus, I returned to Debbie’s church. Saw an ambulance out front. Debbie was strapped to a gurney.

  “Fuck! I fucked up.” She couldn’t hear me say, “I love you boo boo.” I kept driving.

  A text registered from Noelle, Heard on the news a few minutes ago. Leroy Carter was killed in a car accident. Had you contacted him?

  I was waiting for the right time to contact him. Didn’t want him thinking I was after his money. What the fuck was I to say over the phone after almost thirty years of not knowing my dad?

  I didn’t respond to Noelle. Seen enough death. Didn’t affect me the same. Driving to my house, I called Debbie.

  A woman answered, “This is Debbie’s mother.”

  “Ma’am, this is Dallas. I-I-I’m so sorry. Can I please speak with Debbie?” I begged.

  “Young man,” Debbie’s Mom spoke softly. “I’m going to pray for you. But as long as you live, stay away from my baby,” she told me, then ended the call.

  ‘As long as you live,’ echoed in my head. I couldn’t blame her. I didn’t know Debbie’s mom’s name.

  Bypassing my home, I cried out loud. I drove across the train crossing. Doubled-back. Parked my car on the tracks. Staring up at the sky, the sunshine blinded me. A train would come eventually. If I tired of waiting for the unknown, I had options. I held my gun in my hand.

  Had demons to fight. I could blame my abandoning Debbie at the altar on the game I was playing. I could blame it on PTSD. What I couldn’t do was fault Debbie.

  Debbie was the closest I’d come to loving a woman.

  I pointed the barrel at my temple. “God I can’t keep living this way every day.”

  CHAPTER 47

  Blitz

  Day 1

  “What can I do to make sure I have complete control of this account, my brother?”

  I arrived at my bank before the crewe to discuss the details and options that would grant me sole access to the funds anytime I wanted. Shitz, I could work miracles with a million dollars.

  Giving my banker the challenge overview, I explained, “This shit is no different from what I normally do. I just have to do more of it in a shorter period of time. But realistically”—I had to keep it one hundred with myself—“there’s no way I’m going to date, dick, and dump more chicks than Trymm in thirty days, but it was his idea, ya feel me. And you know my financial situation.”

  “That’s a lot for a bet. Yet, alone, one that’s uncivilized.” Ralph’s already-good posture became perfect as he elongated his spine and his neck. “You running some type of scam like your shady daddy?”

  How dare this lil nigga question my integrity! “You best be joking. Don’t forget who got you this job.”

  There was plenty of false accusations about how my dad had ripped off Katrina victims in his district. Done under-the-table deals with government and independent contractors who’d paid him in cash. Nobody bitched when former Governor Edwin Edwards allegedly did the same. In fact, people in New Orleans loved Edwards’s dirty drawers. The only difference with my dad was he was black. Regardless to what really transpired after the hurricane, Henry Roulet, House Representative for over thirty years, taught me, peanuts were for pussies, always get the lion’s share of every deal.

  Fuck what is fair!

  “The fact that he recommended me for this position is what’s up, but I have a wife and two kids to feed!” he exclaimed.

  If that was the way Ralph saw it, so be it. And I imagined he’d want to continue putting bread on his table. Ralph was going to help me, or he’d be unemployed by whatever time he was scheduled to get off today.

  Ralph was all of twenty-five, been working at the oldest bank in Louisiana almost a year. That was why I’d waited an hour to speak with him. All the seasoned staffers knew me too well. Not one of them would let me have my way.

  “Stop wasting my time on the frivolous, youngster. I got your back. Transfer two hundred fifty thousand from my joint account ending in 0069 to a new—”

  Ralph’s shoulders slumped forward, causing his back to hunch. “You mean from your parents’—”

  My voice deepened with authority: “It’s my family, my brother. Not yours. I’m legit on there, too.”

  “Yeah, but no one is to take money out of it. That’s what your dad told me when I started—”

  I knew what my father had said to my mother and me and everyone that worked here at the bank. That was why I would have to ask for forgiveness when he found out. Once I disclosed the reason and the return, my dad would praise me.

  Henry Roulet had warned me to never make a deposit or withdrawal from 0069 until after my mother and he were deceased. Assuming I’d outlive them both, why wait?

  “You’re going to fuck up for peanuts?” Ralph asked.

  There this young buck went, smelling his own piss again. “Listen here, pretty Creole boy, with your crystal-gray eyes.” That were the same color as mine. “How m
uch of an incentive do you need to do what I ask?”

  I had a few dollars left in my other accounts, but that wasn’t enough to bring my gambling and other debts current. All the fronting I’d done over the years—buying women expensive shit—was to impress my crewe. Truth was, creditors were on my ass every day. Wish I could repossess all the gifts I’d given to those females. Even if I hadn’t come up with monetizing the bet, I desperately had to get money from somewhere to repay the near 750 g’s, plus interest, I owed the casino. I had to wear a disguise just to get past the people checking IDs at the door.

  Payday. Thirty days from now, it would be in one hand, out the other. But most important, I’d have a clean slate.

  Ralph frantically loosened his tie, unfastened the first two buttons on his shirt. He pressed a button on his phone. A dial tone followed. “Just let me get clearance from my boss.”

  I reached across his desk, snatched the receiver, slammed it on the base. “What the hell are you doing man?”

  “Calling for—”

  I was seconds from slapping my brother upside his head with his own handheld. “If you don’t do as I instructed, I’ll make sure this is your last day working here, and all your family will have to eat will be peanuts. I don’t need permission.” I reiterated, “I’m on the account.”

  As he tapped on his keyboard, sweat beaded on his forehead. He swiped it away, then rubbed his palm on his navy-blue slacks. One last peck before staring at me. “Done. Transfer complete. New account is open.”

  I handed him Trymm’s cashier’s check. “Two more deposits are coming soon as my other brothers get here. Now, back to me having exclusive control. Make that happen right quick.”

  Ralph didn’t blink, didn’t move his head.

  “I know you’re new at this. I’m not.” I also knew that my dad had been fucking Ralph’s mom for years and that was the real reason Ralph was on payroll. To make up for my father’s nonpayment of child support and for Ralph and his mother to keep their mouths shut. “I wouldn’t let anything happen to you or your job. Somebody has to have the authority to close the account. Right?”