The Lipstick Clique

by David Weaver

  “Ooooh…” Casey crooned.

  Mox raised his index finger to his lips. “Shhh… be quiet, Casey.”

  The crash rattled Wanda’s nerves. She reached to pull her pants up and almost knocked the small mirror off the sink. The bathroom door was locked and she was puffing a joint and sniffing a line of coke.

  “Mox, what the fuck was that!?” She hollered.

  “Damn, Cleo… you just broke her favorite vase.” He looked down at the shattered pieces on the floor. “Go head man, take the ketchup and go before she comes out here.”

  “What you gon’ tell her?” He said, opening the front door.

  “It don’t matter… I’ma still get my ass whooped.”

  The bathroom door flew open and the front door closed.

  Cleo was gone.

  “What was that noise?” Wanda asked.

  She looked to her youngest, and then down at Mox picking up shattered pieces of her favorite vase.

  “I know that ain’t my vase, Mox!?”

  He was too afraid to make eye contact. “I knocked it over by accident, ma.” He lied, and that was something he never did.

  Wanda’s lip curled as it did every time she became angry. She screwed her eyes, balled her fist and shot a sharp, right hook to his ribs. “Get the fuck up and get yo’ ass in that room... and take them goddamn pants off!”

  Mox absorbed the blow and did as he was told.

  At ten years old, he was accustomed to the beatings, and eventually he learned to block out the pain and visualize more pleasant occasions. But those fantasies never lasted long.

  He closed the bedroom door, stripped to his bare skin and waited to endure another lashing. He was cool about it though, his only concern was what her weapon of choice would be today.

  The iron?

  A wire hanger?

  Or maybe that bamboo broom Aunt Sybil brought back from Japan?

  Either way, he didn’t mind taking the ass whooping for his cousin, he thought nothing of it. He felt it was his duty to take the blame because he knew Cleo was scared. His little brother Casey didn’t like seeing him get in trouble, he loved his big brother, so he sat back on the dingy futon, crying till he could make no more tears. He rocked himself to sleep.

  LATER THAT NIGHT

  Wailing screams at 2:30 am woke Mox and Casey from their sleep.

  “What was that?” Casey jumped up, wiping the crust from his eyes.

  “I don’t know. Wait here, I’ll be right back.”

  He begged “No, Mox… don’t leave me.” Jumping out the bed, he followed his big brother.

  The room was pitch black as Mox and Casey silently tip toed to the bedroom door. Mox turned the doorknob slowly and took a peek into the hallway. It was too dark to see, but he could hear someone’s voice, they were saying a prayer.

  “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just—” As they got closer to the living room, the rumbling vocal sound grew louder, “—and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness…”

  The sour scent of blood perfumed the air and irritated Mox’s nose. His stomach muscles tightened and a sudden sweat fell over his body. He fought the urge to vomit and before reaching the entrance to the living room, he stopped short and Casey was on his heels.

  “Casey, wait right here,” he whispered. “Don’t move.”

  Mox crept through the static dimness. His midnight skin tone merged perfectly with the blackness. Now only a few steps from the living room, he sensed something wrong and wanted to turn back, but his feet continued moving forward. When he entered the living room, the sight before his eyes churned his insides and the vomit he suppressed only seconds ago erupted through his lips.

  His father’s butchered, unclothed body was draped over the futon, his hands were tied behind his back in a pipe hitch knot which is used primarily by boy scouts and his throat was slit.

  Mox was unable to move. Paralyzed, he watched the tall, wide body, dark skinned assassin hover over his mother’s defenseless, naked figure. The twelve inch blade he gripped securely was called a Tanto and it was soaked in blood.

  Wanda lay stretched across the floor in the middle of the small, filthy apartment, choking on her own blood. She had suffered thirty five stab wounds to the face, chest and neck.

  Casey startled his big brother when he brushed up against his arm and attempted to glance over his shoulder.

  Mox went to shield his eyes from the horrendous scene, but Casey was determined to see.

  They stood, bare chested and barefoot in their underwear. Innocent, they focused on the woman who had pushed them from her womb, as she gagged, taking her last breaths before their sinless eyes.

  The killer slowly turned to the young boys. “Mox,” he muttered, wiping the bloody sword onto his sleeve. “Everything comes to an end.” He looked at Wanda, bent down, put his hand over her face and closed her eyes. “Sleep baby…” he whispered, then made his exit.

  2002

  A milky, drop CLK 430 crept along the jagged pothole filled pavement, slowing down at the corner of Horton Avenue and Brook Street. The lambent rays from the early morning sun made the polished white paint look like glass.

  Wise Earl and two young wolves were holding the block down on this early morning. They watched the glossy, two door convertible pull to the curb and park.

  “You young niggas don’t know shit about gettin’ this money.” Earl hissed. The temperature was almost at a hundred degrees and the air was sticky, condensed and humid.

  He wiped the sweat from his brow and took a long drag of his cigarette. “Now this nigga here,” he said, pointing to the car. “That nigga gettin’ that real paper.”

  The passenger side door opened and one of the sexiest creatures God ever created stepped out. Her olive complexion was radiant and her skin was flawless. The tight fitted, pink shorts she was wearing cupped her dainty, heart shaped ass cheeks perfectly and her well-formed c-cup breasts bounced with each step.

  Priscilla was a Goddess. She had recently cut her hair short and was rocking the natural look. It completely fit her personality.

  She pranced around the front of the vehicle with a bag in her hand. Her cupid shaped, berry colored lips looked juicy enough to bite.

  The young wolves gawked at her glowing beauty.

  Wise Earl shook his head at their actions. “See… that’s the problem wit’ you young niggas, you worried ‘bout some pussy when you need to focus on the come up.”

  The beautiful young lady approached Earl.

  “Wassup, Uncle Wise?”

  “Hey, baby girl.” He answered, embracing her. She smelled wonderful. “Tell that nigga to roll the window down.”

  Earl tossed his hands up and the driver side window slowly came down.

  “Uncle Wise, what’s good?”

  “You tell me, nephew. I know you better step out that goddamn car and come give your uncle some love.”

  Mox pushed the door open and got out.

  He was no longer the short, skinny dark skinned kid he was seven years ago. He was grown up now, seventeen years old, 6 feet 4 inches, black as the dead of night and in control of his own operation.

  He hugged his uncle and dapped the young wolves.

  “What’s the word, Unc?”

  Earl plucked the remnants of his cigarette and looked at Mox. “The only thing more threatenin’ to you besides your enemy, is the people closest to you. Never forget that.”

  Mox nodded and walked into the corner store. He came out with a bottled water and the newspaper.

  “Priscilla,” He said, getting back in the car. “Get that and let’s go.”

  She unzipped the small Gucci carrying bag and handed it to Earl.

  “Go fill that up, youngin’.”

  One of the young wolves took the bag and went around the corner. He returned in seconds, handing the bag back to Priscilla.

  “You been upstairs, Unc?” Mox asked, ready to pull off.

  “Earlier, sh
e up there wit’ Casey and Cleo. I’ll be through in a minute.”

  “Aight.”

  Mox pulled from the curb and made a right down Brook Street and then he made another right into the lot and pulled into a parking space.

  They got out the car, walked to building 80 and took the elevator to the sixth floor.

  He stood in front of 6A fumbling through his pocket for the keys. Finally finding them, he opened the door.

  As soon as it opened, Casey jumped into Mox’s arms.

  “Whoa, boy. You getting too big to be doing that. Wassup?”

  “Nothing.” Casey, jumped back down to the floor. He picked his basketball up and continued dribbling.

  “Casey!” Cleo yelled from the back room. “Stop bouncing that ball in the house!”

  “Shut up!” Mox yelled back.

  “Who dat!?”

  “Who you want it to be!?”

  “What I tell y’all ‘bout all that damn noise in my house?” Sybil added. She was in the kitchen washing dishes.

  Cleo came from the back room.

  “It’s this little nigga.” He snarled, snatching the basketball from Casey.

  “Hey!”

  “Hey, nothin’… I told you ‘bout this ball. I don’t know why you always got it anyway, you ain’t no good.”

  Mox took the ball from Cleo and gave it back to Casey. “Leave my lil’ brother alone. Tell him, Casey… you going to the NBA.”

  Casey’s eyes lit up and he got excited. “Yup! And when I get rich, I’ma buy Mox a house and Auntie a house and you ain’t getting’ nothing ‘cause you always bothering me.”

  Cleo mushed the 12 year old making him stumble into the dining table. Casey threw the ball, striking him in his stomach, then he ran through the house.

  “You lil’ muthafucka!” He growled, ready to chase after him.

  “Chill, Cleo.” Mox grabbed his arm.

  “Get the fuck off me.” He yanked away, cursing. “Priscilla, why you hang around this nigga, I know you can do better than this asshole.”

  Sybil slammed a dish in the sink. “Cleo, watch your mouth in my house!”

  “It’s this nigga.” He pouted.

  “It’s always somebody else, it’s never you.” She said, drying off the last dish. “How you doing, Priscilla?”

  “Hello, Ms. Daniels. I’m good.” She took a seat at the table.

  “Why you always sticking up for him? You aint never on my side.” Cleo whined.

  “Cleo, cut the bullshit and get ready for practice.”

  He pouted his lips and turned to walk away. He knew better than to talk back.

  “Wassup, Auntie?” Mox hugged his aunt. “How’s everything?”

  “I’m surviving, baby, blessed to see another day.”

  He glanced around the kitchen. It was always a homely feeling when he stepped through the door. He appreciated his aunt stepping up and taking care of him and his brother after his parents’ murder. If it wasn’t for her, they would have been dragged into foster care and more than likely they would have been split up.

  After his parents were killed, Sybil took full custody of her sister’s two boys. Since then, Mox had moved out on his own, but Casey was still here.

  His eyes fell to a picture that was stuck on the refrigerator.

  “Do you miss her, Auntie?” He stared at one of the few visual memories of his mother.

  “Miss who, Mox?”

  “My mother…”

  Sybil turned and faced Mox. “Of course I miss her. I think about her every day.”

  “I do too… you know something,” Mox opened the refrigerator and grabbed the pitcher of Kool-Aid. “I wanted to ask you this for the longest, but I was always afraid of the answer.”

  “Ask me what?”

  Mox leaned against the wall. He needed some closure, seven years was long enough.

  “Do you remember that night?”

  She sighed. “Like it was yesterday.”

  “Do you know why it happened?”

  “I don’t have a clue, Mox. I wish I did.” She peeled the picture off the refrigerator. “I really miss my sister.” Her eyes got watery and a tear rolled down her cheek.

  Mox ripped a paper towel from the roll that was on the counter and handed it to her.

  “Lately it’s been on my mind. It just bothers me that nobody knows anything.”

  Sybil listened to Mox. She knew more than she led him to believe, but she was afraid to expose her dark secrets.

  “Sometimes the truth can cause pain, baby.”

  “No more than it’s already caused—.”

  A knock at the door disturbed their conversation.

  “Who is it?”

  “Open up, lil’ nigga.”

  Mox unlocked the door and Wise Earl strolled into the apartment.

  He looked around the peaceful room. Something was going on. It was too quiet for this to be his sister’s house.

  “What the hell is going on in here? Why y’all lookin’ so sad?”

  “Uncle Wise, I was just asking auntie if she knew anything about the night my mother and father got killed.”

  Earl was shocked. His eyes moved from Sybil to Mox, and then back to Sybil. He didn’t expect to walk in on a subject so sensitive. He could tell his older sister had been crying.

  “Mox, sometimes things happen and we can’t do anything about it. That’s life.”

  “Naw, Unc… I ain’t tryna hear that.”

  “Well, that’s what it is.”

  “That ain’t what it is, Uncle Wise. Listen to what you saying, basically you gave up. Y’all don’t even care about what happened.”

  “It’s not that I don’t care, because I do. That was my sister, I love her, but—”

  Mox cut in. “But what, Unc?”

  The room went silent.

  “I believe if y’all did know something y’all would tell me…” There was a pause. “Right?” he glanced back and forth.

  “C’mon, Priscilla.” Mox hugged his aunt. “I’m old enough to know now Auntie, and if somebody doesn’t tell me, eventually I’ll find out on my own.” he said.

  Earl grabbed his nephew’s arm and brought him in close. “I love you boy. Be safe out there, Mox.”

  “I got you, Unc. Hey, Auntie, tell Casey I’ll be through at nine o-clock tomorrow so I can take him to his game.”

  He walked out the door and Priscilla followed.

  Wise Earl shook his head and then looked at his sister. “You gon’ have to tell him one day, sis.”

  The Union

  Coming Soon on SBR Publications

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