Head Games

by Mary B. Morrison

  The waiter brought the water quickly. Condensation was already beading up. I pressed my glass to my temple.

  “Mom, please don’t tell Dad,” I begged her, speaking low into my phone. “It’s not to generate new business. Consider it a short-term loan to keep me breathing. Four weeks and I promise I’ll pay you back in full. I only need a half a mil—”

  “That’s too much. For what? Your house and car are paid—”

  “Mom, please. I refinanced my home loan instead of paying off the mortgage like Dad had told me.” Didn’t listen when he said to buy a used car, cash; a new car would depreciate the second I drove it off the lot.

  “Blitz, this is horrible!” she exclaimed.

  “I know, Mom. Please do it.”

  “Well, you know I can’t take it from 0069. That could have all of us behind bars. Let me call my banker and I’ll get back to you, Blitz.”

  Whenever she ended a sentence with my name, Mom was disappointed in me. Jail? All of us? The first thing I had to do was redeposit the money I’d borrowed from 0069. A few more weeks and I’d make her proud. “Thanks, Mom. I love you.”

  “I love you more,” she said.

  “Who’s that?” I overheard my dad ask in the background.

  “Your son,” Mom said.

  “Hey, son! Call me on my cell,” my dad shouted. “Got some startup companies I want you to invest in.”

  “Honey, he’s busy right now. Bye, Blitz,” Mom said.

  Ending the call, I accidentally answered an incoming caller. There was the all-too-familiar no caller identification. Confident that Mom would come through, as usual, I answered, “Hello.”

  “This call is being monitored for quality-control purposes. Is this Blitz Einstein Roulet?”

  “Let us have two flights,” Kohl said to the waitress as he walked up behind me.

  I told the bill collector, “Let me call you back.”

  “Mr. Roulet, your account is seriously de—”

  Terminating the conversation, I said, “What’s up, Kohl?” I gripped his hand, bumped his shoulder with mine.

  “It’s all good.” He sat directly across the table from me, then immediately asked, “How long you been following Ramona, bruh? Y’all friends? I mean off social.”

  Ramona? Lema is the one he needed to be more concerned with. Atlantis and Debbie, I had started following on social, too. The waitress placed our flights on the table, then left. I hadn’t planned on my befriending Ramona getting him off kilter. This was a bonus.

  “With your joint, why you not on social?” I asked, downing the first of five beer samples.

  “Don’t have time for the social foolery.” Not blinking, Kohl squinted. His forehead compressed. “But doing one another’s exes is forbidden.”

  I tossed back beer flavor number two. Kohl caught up. Followed an ale with an IPA.

  I told his ass, “Too late for add-ons, Kohl. What nigga you know wouldn’t hit that? I mean, six, seven months ago, hell to the no. Ramona was big as a whale. Now, shitz. I check her page three times a day.”

  Ramona went from blab to fab posting pics in swimsuits and spandex on her page. I was confused how she snagged a baller before she got plastic. My tongue started getting hard as a motherfucker looking at her post. I flashed Ramona’s pic in Kohl’s face.

  “You can only eat so much coochie before you throw up, my brother. You might as well be lesbian and strap on.”

  I laughed. Tossed back number three. It was bitter as the words that had escaped Kohl’s pussy-shaped lips.

  “Ha-ha, my behind. Once upon a time Ramona and I were in love.”

  Exhaling between clenched teeth, I decided not to spare his emotions. “Drink and listen up, potna,” Straightening my spine, I told him, “One, according to you, Billy boy ain’t your son. Two—”

  “I don’t know that for a fact!” He finished his next beer. Suctioned in his lips.

  Fuck that wannabe, fake-ass, Christian, sex-club-owning Negro. “Take the damn test then, nigga! . . . Billy boy looks exactly like your ass. . . . I don’t blame you for disowning him if Ramona stepped out like you said. And you shouldn’t care who smashes her. I’m serious. If Harold blinks, I’m all over that new body.” Kohl could foolishly side-bet that I wouldn’t hit it and give away some more of his money.

  Sucking up number four, I tagged on, “You think she got her vagina rejuvenated? I heard that’s the in thing for females nowadays. If I find out, I’ll let you know.” I tugged on my collar, picked up my last sampler, then smiled at Kohl. “Cheers, my brother.”

  Holding the beer in my hand, staring at Kohl, I bet Ramona tasted sweeter than cane sugar.

  “On second thought . . . cheers.” Kohl lifted one of his glasses. “If you hit that in your count, get proof, post it to your social, and tag her. If I win, I’ll give you back your quarter of a mil.”

  I swallowed my last in one gulp. “Bet. Text that to me, my brother.”

  Kohl caught up on his final beer. The waitress cleared the table. None of us drank the water served at restaurants. Not that it wasn’t safe, we used the glasses to hold seats.

  Dallas walked up, claimed the spot next to Kohl. I was across the table facing them.

  “I don’t know about y’all, but this dick-and-dump shit is hard as hell,” Dallas confessed. “Plus, it doesn’t seem right.”

  It wasn’t, but some black women, like Viola, needed to be knocked down a peg or two. When did any of us treat women right? Trymm had been in the longest relationship and he treated Francine like shit. Dallas was too serious. Our playing rapid fire with chicks was just a game.

  “I’m having fun,” Kohl said.

  I texted Lema, Time to execute plan B for Kohl.

  She replied, Fuck Kohl! & U2!

  Wasn’t sure what that was about. I replied, I’ll call you later.

  Don’t bother! U never said anything about him putting me on social media. Whatever happens to Kohl is outta my hands, she texted.

  Why the fuck was she tripping? I’d paid her ass. In advance. I replied, Deal direct. I have nothing to do with that, along with Kohl’s number.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” Dallas said. “Bitches are easy. Talking a chick into giving it up is a cinch. Throwing them outta my bed, I hate doing that shit. Plus, one of ’em . . .” Dallas paused, bit his bottom lip, but then continued, “I can’t do her like that.”

  Blackjack! I could tell Debbie was reeling Dallas in already. I smiled on the inside.

  Texted Debbie, You must have that voodoo. Got my boy all soft ova here talking about you.

  She responded, I like him, too. Might have to refund you your $100.

  Keep the cash. Keep up the good job. 3 more weeks and he’s all yours. I’ll call you later.

  We ordered a round of beer samplers with Dallas.

  “Don’t tell me your ass met somebody you like,” Kohl said. Then that nigga started laughing. “Put her on hold for the next three weeks, or you might as well sit this challenge out.”

  “Nah, the deal is, the brother is having difficulty keeping it up.” I said that to piss Dallas off. For added effect, I balled my fist, bent my elbow, then flexed my biceps.

  Dallas’s face pickled. He grabbed his nuts. “That’s the least of my concerns. Round-the-clock breaking him out, I’m willing to admit, my dick hurts and that nigga is tired.”

  “You not getting your money back,” I insisted. “Dick. Date. Dump. Proof. No exceptions,” I reminded them. “Winner takes all.”

  Tapping the table, I added, “I’ll give you a side challenge. Whoever that bitch is, the one you like, do something publicly outrageous to embarrass her ass and . . . if I win, I’ll give you back your two hundred and fifty.”

  “I wouldn’t give his ass shit back,” Kohl said, downing a shot.

  Seeing that my laughter agitated Kohl earlier, I did it again. “Bruh, you act like you behind on your bills.” Figured if I threw that out, no one would suspect I was deep in debt.


  Kohl told Dallas, “I’ll make you the same proposition that Blitz just made.”

  “Whoa! Hashtag Clydesdale2930 on social,” Dallas said. His eyes were fixated on his screen.

  I found the post. That bitch was insane. She had to be somewhere in ICU fighting to keep her tonsils and her thyroid.

  Trymm strolled toward us, dipping his left shoulder with each step.

  “Nigga, you cold-blooded, my brother,” I told him.

  “His ass always been the most scandalous,” Dallas said. “I got something for y’all tomorrow.”

  I doubted Dallas had anything worthwhile.

  Trymm rubbed his iPad like it was a woman’s ass. “If I told you my official smashdown that’s right here, you’d think I was lying.”

  Dallas said, “Man, this challenge opened my eyes to how small this city is. Even during the festival all I met was local randoms. My face is starting to become too familiar.”

  Trymm said, “New faces require new places, D. Upgrade your locations. What’s up with you, Kohl?”

  I stared at Trymm. He was right, but I didn’t want Dallas popping up at the upscale bars where I met women.

  Kohl commented, “Ain’t never a shortage of big gurls in the South. They come to me. I feed ’em, then fuck ’em, and if they let me fuck ’em first, I might not give ’em a po’boy or a daiquiri.”

  I jumped in with, “Changed my mind about fucking your ex, Ramona.”

  “Shitz, I’d do her right here. Right now,” Dallas said. “Those pictures she be postin’ puts me on swole.”

  Kohl looked at Trymm. “You follow her, too?”

  “Hell yeah. She’s got something like eight hundred thousand followers,” Trymm said.

  “That’s tripled since Harold announced their engagement on television,” I confirmed as I liked her recent pic. “Check this out.” To set my boy off, I showed Kohl a photo of Harold Thurston leaning against his Ghost with Ramona by his side. Then I flashed Kohl a picture of the old Ramona on her knees with an old man’s dick in her mouth.

  “Text that to me, bruh,” Kohl said.

  I wasn’t revealing my source, but for the right price my boy could have it and the cum shot photo that I hadn’t let him see.

  CHAPTER 56

  Elizabeth

  Day 12

  Here I stood, in the heart of Chinatown, in front of Tosca Café. Across the street, in red neon lights, there was a sign that read: PSYCHIC READINGS. LOVE HAPPINESS SUCCESS. FORTUNE TELLER PAST PRESENT FUTURE. TAROT CARD READINGS. Only a fool would walk through those doors and pay a person to predict the outcome of their lives.

  S My favorite host greeted me at the entrance, “Nefertiti Parker-Brooks is in your reserved private dining area, Ms. Dawson.”

  “Thanks.” I took my time going up the narrow hardwood staircase, which led to another stairway, then entered the room where heartless gangsters once gathered to eat, gamble, smoke cigars, and determine which double-crossing backstabbers wouldn’t live to see the sunrise on the Golden Gate Bridge.

  My sole purpose for being here was to implement a plan to castrate Einstein.

  Perhaps my misfortune was considered karma to some. No way in hell had I deserved this. “Nefertiti, thanks for meeting with me, girlfriend.” I tossed my purse on the seat next to hers, scooted in the booth.

  Nefertiti’s brilliant red lipstick illuminated her brown eyes. Long black locks were gathered into a ponytail. Bronzer coated her face, neck, and cleavage.

  I gripped her hand. “I really need your support.”

  Nefertiti squeezed my fingers. “You’ve got it.”

  “Good evening, Ms. Dawson. May I start you beautiful ladies off with something to drink?” the waitress asked.

  I ordered. “Let us have a bottle of brut rosé champagne. The Dungeness crab salad, beets, grilled polenta, the roasted chicken, grilled twenty-eight-day, dry-aged prime strip steak medium, and the bucatini. For dessert, tiramisu and your peanut butter cup.”

  “Certainly, Ms. Dawson,” she said, then exited the room.

  Giving my undivided attention to Nefertiti, I asked, “You remember the guy I fucked in New Orleans?”

  “The one you squirted—make that gushed—all over? Let me guess.” The right side of Nefertiti’s lips curved up. “He wants you to buy him a new mattress?”

  “I wish that were all, although I wouldn’t. Brace yourself.” I showed my girlfriend the video that was posted on CEO2930. As Nefertiti watched with her mouth wide open, I added, “And I was terminated by the board, from my position, a week ago.”

  A five-hundred-thousand-dollar position. Gone. Over a piece of ass?

  “I could ask why are you just telling me this, but . . . aw, hell no! This motherfucker is going down. I’m about to make sure of it.” Nefertiti reached into her bag, retrieved her laptop. “Text me everything you have on him.”

  The waitress filled our flutes, placed the champagne bottle in an ice bucket, and left. Nefertiti moved her and my purses to her left. Slid closer to me.

  I shared his contact info, which included information on his parents.

  Nefertiti’s eyes grew wide with excitement. “His dad is a politician. They always have buried bones. This ought to be a great dig.”

  Her brows raised, lips curved. “Oh, really,” she said. Nefertiti’s fingers darted all over her keyboard.

  “I tried amicably resolving this. Went to New Orleans to meet with him and he acted as though exposing me was no big deal. Hung up on me. Then he had the audacity to block me.”

  “Totally outlandish,” she commented. “Do you have any idea why he’d put this up? And after you found out and contacted him, he refused to remove it?”

  “None. And that is correct.”

  I watched Nefertiti enter a user name and password for her account. My girlfriend viewed screen after screen. Opened several new windows.

  “Einstein will pay you restitution. By the time he realizes what’s happening, he won’t be able to reverse any of this.” Nefertiti typed, paused, then pivoted her screen to me. “It’s gone,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Your video link is deleted.”

  My concern was “Can he repost it?”

  Nefertiti’s mouth was tight. “Yes. For now. But don’t worry. Once I gain access to his computer, I’m erasing everything on it.”

  “How?”

  “That information I can’t share,” she said, “but I’ll keep you updated.”

  Never would I have thought Einstein, or any man I’d fucked, would’ve done this childish shit. “Thanks for deleting the video.”

  Nefertiti stared at me. “Wow. Watch this.” Typing #CEO2930, @CEO2930, and CEO2930 into her search engine, nothing came up.

  I frowned. “Are you serious?” I tried various combinations on my phone. No exact matches.

  “You have no idea what I’m capable of. I’m just getting started.”

  Nefertiti’s enthusiasm reminded me of my team leader in Beijing. The board would make another terrible decision if they didn’t respect her leadership.

  Nefertiti was right. I didn’t have a résumé on my girlfriend. Hugging her, I fought the tears trying to escape my eyes. I was a damn good leader. Hard to walk on others when you’re at the bottom. I felt powerless.

  “How can we get the board to give me back my position?” I drained every bubble in my glass down my throat.

  Nefertiti sipped her champagne. “I got you on that, too, but I can’t make any guarantees. But . . . if they rehire you, I want you to give me a six-figure contract.”

  Men did that all the time. “Deal.”

  Our food was placed in the center of the table. Half of a chicken meant head, neck, and one foot was on the bird.

  Nefertiti leaned back. “I know you’re accustomed to all this exotic culinary cuisine, but can we—”

  “Waitress, please have them remove everything above the breast and below the leg.”

  “Certainly,” she said, taking away
the roasted chicken.

  “I have enough information to start giving Einstein the blues. While we’re eating, I’m going to hack into his cell, and if his Bluetooth is synced with his computer, we’ve got access to all his information.” She eased her fork into a slice of precut steak.

  “It can’t be that easy.”

  Nefertiti smiled at me. “Simple as Siri, Alexa, and Google Home. Those devices eavesdrop. How do you think they respond to voice commands? The program is listening twenty-four–seven. We will hear and record every word of every conversation he has, even when his phone is powered off. You will know his location at all times. Any app on his phone, from social pages to e-mails to banking, if his passwords are stored in his phone, we’re shutting all that shit down. I will give you access to account numbers, balances. If his taxes are in an attachment, we can download those, too, to see how much he makes. We are going to fuck him so far up his ass, his dick will be on top of his tongue.”

  Men could never outsmart women. The stupid ones believed they could. Realistically, the weakest woman had more power than her man if she played the game well.

  “Let the side show begin,” I said, laughing. “Question.”

  “Ask,” Nefertiti said, garnishing her plate with a little of everything.

  The waitress entered and placed our chicken on the table. “Can I get you ladies anything else?”

  “A fresh bottle of champagne and glasses,” I said. “We have to toast to this.”

  “Certainly. I’ll be right back with that,” she said, leaving.

  “What’s your question?” Nefertiti asked, cutting the poultry into six pieces.

  “Is this going to get us five-to-ten in the pen?” Wasn’t doing time over revenge on an asshole.

  “You know as businesswomen we always have what?” she asked.

  I answered, “An exit strategy.”

  Nefertiti snapped her fingers. The waitress removed the old and set up the new.

  We raised our flutes.

  “A toast,” I said.

  Nefertiti added, “To burying that son of a bitch, Blitz Einstein Roulet, sixty feet under.”

  “I’ll drink to that.”