by Evie Rhodes
The inside of her house was in sharp contrast to what lay beyond on the streets. She was privileged. She was also living a lie, pretending to be one of them when she wasn’t.
The bookcases were stacked with classic children’s stories, all lined up for the little dead princess Jasmine. Shonda smiled knowing Jasmine wouldn’t be reading any more of these books.
She walked over, picking up the various stuffed animals that were tucked away on shelves, looking like they belonged in an FAO Schwartz window. Who the hell did Tawney think she was fooling? She wasn’t knocking down these kinds of dollars at the bank.
There were traces of real cash here. Hey, maybe the ice queen was tricking her way up the ladder. Shonda wouldn’t put it past her. She wouldn’t be the first woman who had slept her way to the top.
Growing bored Shonda left Jasmine’s room, strolling down the hallway, which was lined with pictures of a smiling Shannon, Tawney, and Jasmine or just Shannon and Tawney. In some cases just Jazz was in the pictures, in the varying stages of growing up.
Turning up her nose, her face in a grimace, Shonda took a tube of lipstick from her purse and swiped it across the pictures with Shannon and Tawney. In each picture she obliterated Tawney’s face, leaving only Shannon’s intact.
That ought to let the heifer know where she stood. She wasn’t all that. Continuing on her way she knew the next room she was looking at belonged to Shannon and Tawney. That was apparent by all the bullet holes plastering the walls. “Nice decorating,” she murmured under her breath as she entered the room.
The next thing that caught her eye was the king-sized bed, which took up a good amount of space in the room. Plaster and white dusting from the ceiling and police were all over the bed, but still she’d revel in what she came for.
She went over to the bed, smelling the pillows, and sure enough she caught a whiff of Shannon’s masculine scent. Lying down in the bed she snuggled against his pillow. She knocked the other pillow belonging to Tawney to the floor.
She lay there for a while inhaling Shannon’s scent. Finally she got off the bed, heading to the closet. She looked through all of Tawney’s clothes. Selecting a long floor-length nightgown, she undressed and put it on.
There. Now she could be Tawney completely. Back to the bed she went where she could bask in her fantasies undisturbed. She got up again rumbling through the shoes and found the matching slippers and housecoat to the sheer, silky nightgown set.
Then she stood in front of the mirror, arranging her hair in the style Tawney usually wore. Rearranging her makeup to duplicate Tawney’s she was satisfied. Tawney always wore light makeup, barely a hint with a touch of gold at her lips.
Now she was ready. “Jazz!” Shonda called. “Jazz.”
Where was that girl? How many times had she told her to come right away when she called? Shaking her head in an exact imitation of Tawney, she wandered out of the room back down the hallway to Jasmine’s room.
“Jazz,” she said as she mimicked the tone of Tawney’s voice. “Didn’t you hear me calling you?”
Sitting in a white wicker rocking chair was a big Raggedy Ann doll. Shonda went over to the doll. She took its hand. “Jasmine, it’s story time. Didn’t you hear me call you?”
She sat on the foot of the bed pulling the doll on her lap as she reached over for one of the fairy-tale books. She situated her so she was comfortable. “Don’t you love when Mommy reads to you, Jazz? Reading is fundamental for all little girls, you know,” she said, sounding just like a taped commercial of What’s America Reading?
While Tawney spent the day at work, trying hard to focus on the tasks at hand with very little success, Shonda spent a day in her life, feeling what it was like to be her. For no reason at all a shiver ran through Tawney’s body as though someone had walked over her grave.
Before leaving, Shonda erased all traces of her ever having been in the house, even the lipstick-smudged pictures, although it pained her to do that. She had enjoyed obliterating Tawney’s image. But it would be stupid to leave them that way. And the one thing Shonda was not was stupid. She was smarter than Tawney with her manufactured, fake IQ.
She was so angry spittle formed in the corner of her mouth. She raked her long nails through the air, imagining it was Tawney’s face. She could feel the flesh peeling away, Tawney’s skin underneath her nails. She was tall but Shonda would cut her down to size.
Tawney was living her life; with her man and her daughter and with bold audacity she was living in what should have been her house.
She wasn’t supposed to be living in what amounted to a run-down shack with some pissy old woman who couldn’t make it to the bathroom half the time. Working some underpaid job, taking orders from the likes of Tawney. She should be living here with her man taking care of her.
Yeah, Tawney was living her life. But that was okay for now because that’s all it was, for now. Shonda grabbed her head as an immense headache of huge proportions slammed against her brain.
All she heard over and over again was Tawney with her bragging rights. “Jazz did this and Jazz did that. Jazz did this and Jazz did that.” That’s all they heard at work, Tawney bragging about Jazz. Her office was filled with pictures of her. She acted like she had birthed the next first lady or something.
Yeah, yeah, yeah. That heifer had what was coming to her. And Shonda definitely wasn’t finished with her yet. She and Shannon had some baby making to do.
When Shonda returned to her grandmama’s house the hair on her arms prickled. She wasn’t feeling the vibe.
Her grandmother took one look at her face, her heart sinking. She knew this face and she didn’t like it. Shonda was what the old folks called out of herself. This was a side to her granddaughter that she feared, and that came straight from hell.
“Where’s Shannon?”
Nana Mama flinched. “He done left, child.”
“Left!” Shonda screamed. “I told you to watch him.”
Tears appeared in the old woman’s eyes. “I tried but he said he had to leave. Said he had a headache. I even offered him something to eat, but he ain’t want nothing to eat.”
Shonda’s eyes flashed pure madness. A stream of volcanic power shot from their depths, connecting with Nana Mama. The old woman shrank back.
Shonda grabbed her, shaking her like a rag doll. “I told you not to let him leave!”
The old woman’s teeth rattled. And all she could think was this child done came from the pit, the pits of hell.
She was too fragile to defend herself. Besides, she’d seen the raving maniac that emerged from Shonda once when she had tried. The girl had torn her whole house up and then made her clean it back up.
Shonda stopped shaking her. She spat words at her that were not to be disobeyed. “Go to your room! Now!”
She shook her again. “You stupid, stupid old woman!”
When Shonda released her Nana Mama limped to her room off the back of the kitchen with tears streaming down her face. She decided then and there to call Mama and go over there for some lunch; they needed to talk. Mama’s keen sight and Papa’s listening powers would set her straight.
Nana Mama heard glass breaking as Shonda took off her high-heeled pump and smashed everything that was glass in the living room.
In a fit of rage once again she destroyed Nana Mama’s house. It wasn’t the first time. However, this would mark a turning point, as Shonda was beginning day by day and more and more to live in the face that Nana Mama feared.
The volume on the audio is screaming loudly; only you can’t make any adjustments to the knob, in the physical. You now need to dig deep in your spirit because what you’ve just heard is being listened to in a different realm. And you are not the only one listening.
I repeat, this world is in and of itself Out A’ Order.
Chapter 19
Shannon walked through his house. It was giving him the creeps, though. That was the only word for it. A chill had started at the base of his neck, tr
aveling down to the middle of his back.
He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something was out of whack. As he walked through the house he felt a violation but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Unknowingly he had narrowly missed Shonda’s grand appearance and exit.
He went over to Pete’s birdcage and tossed him some bird feed. If only Pete could speak other than what he’d been taught Shannon would have gotten an earful. As it was, Pete couldn’t form sentences he hadn’t been taught, and it was just as well, because Shannon’s day was about to go from bad to worse.
Outside in front of Shannon’s house Campbell and Lombardo were breaking camp to get to his door. Lombardo in particular was feeling himself this morning because they finally had Shannon Davenport exactly where they wanted him, which was in a sling.
Lombardo knocked loudly and rudely on the door. Shannon opened it. He shook his head, twisting his lips sarcastically as soon as he saw them. Why was he not surprised? “What do you want?” he said, not bothering to invite them in.
Lombardo shot back, “You.” He held out a pair of handcuffs.
“What the hell is this all about?”
“Michael Claybay,” Campbell said. Unlike Lombardo he was not happy with these circumstances. Call it gut feeling but he just wasn’t feeling a lot of things that were going on with Shannon. Something was foul in the East River, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.
Lombardo, not wasting any more time, said, “You’re under arrest for the murder of Michael Claybay.” He stepped forward with the cuffs.
Shannon’s face darkened, his eyes turned to slits, but he held out his wrists. Back in the day he would have busted a cap on this cop so quick he wouldn’t have known what hit him.
Cops were notorious for watching and following people. But Shannon, coming from the gangster mentality, knew that thugs and criminals weren’t the only people who could be followed and watched. He knew some cops were arrogant to a point that they put their own safety at risk, not realizing that their badges didn’t make them superhumans.
However, this wasn’t back in the day and he wasn’t who he used to be. He wasn’t where he wanted to be but he was a long way from where he used to be so these thoughts were futile. He would have to find another way to handle this situation.
He wasn’t trying to pile up no body counts on his conscience unless it was self-defense. If that were the case, then he’d kill a man in a heartbeat.
So instead of what he thought he said, “I didn’t kill Michael Claybay.”
“Oh, really? You recognize this?” Lombardo replied. He showed Shannon his monogrammed lighter in a plastic bag. Shannon visibly flinched.
“Your fingerprints are all over it. In fact, so are your initials.” This was like taking candy from a baby. A feeling of this being too easy overcame Lombardo, but he chose to ignore it.
Lombardo turned the bag around, making a display of looking at the lighter. “These are nice little gifts as long as you don’t leave them on dead bodies. I surmise that Michael Claybay was already dead when he was dropped through the glass dome roof of the club. Very clever of you. Were you grandstanding? Care to explain?”
“Not to you.”
“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, one will be appointed to you by the courts.”
Lombardo took pure glee in reading Shannon his Miranda rights. “Do you understand?”
“Yeah. I want to make a phone call.”
“You can do it downtown,” Campbell said.
Lombardo shook his head in disgust. “I knew it was only a matter of time before you slipped. Let’s go.”
They led him to the police car.
In his cell Shannon sat with his head between his legs trying to figure out where this was all going.
He knew Rico had killed Michael Claybay as a means of sending him a message. In the street life, snitches were the lowest of the lowest. They were dirt on the ground. Although everyone used them, from thugs to criminal enterprises to police, no one respected them.
Shannon felt bad that he had used Michael Claybay for information and therefore gotten him killed. A twinge of guilt pinched his conscience. Something that never would have happened back in the day. But it was a new day and Shannon was wrestling with who he used to be in the past, and the man he had become in the present.
He’d needed to find out why his daughter had been killed.
It should have been Rico lying in the cold ground dead instead of Jazz. Shannon’s blood boiled every time he thought about it. Now this punk was threatening him. He was ready whichever way it went down. It was the way it had to be. The unspoken doctrine of the street code: Be ready. Always be ready.
He had to roll like that if he wanted to live.
Chapter 20
In Rico’s basement the crew was shooting pool and playing the pinball machine. Rico and T-Bone stood off in a corner of the room talking.
Rico put his arm around Michael Claybay’s brother, T-Bone, playing the game for all it was worth. “Michael’s death is gonna be vindicated. We ain’t going out like that,” he said with a mixture of sincere sympathy and vengeance. “Have I ever let you down before?”
T-Bone shook his head. “Naw.”
“And I ain’t going to let you down now. You’re my brother and you know that.”
“Yeah, man, you’re always there. I know you got a brother’s back. I know that. But I ain’t letting no bars separate me from Shannon Davenport, yo.”
“Looka here. Don’t even sweat that, man. If I have to I’ll bond Shannon out just so you can have him. But there’s one thing I’ve got to have your word on.”
“What’s that?”
“A man’s word is his bond,” Rico said.
T-Bone nodded. “Word is bond.”
“You can rough him up but you can’t take him out. He’s mine.”
T-Bone wrestled with this thought. He wanted Shannon in the worst way and he didn’t want any strings attached as to how he would get him. Rico told him Shannon had killed his brother, and revenge was in his heart.
Rico, on the other hand, needed to make an example out of Shannon. He wanted Shannon to represent the dust of an era long past. The O.G.’s. Leaving him as the one who brought in a new day.
He didn’t have time for old-school punks trying to revitalize their names on the streets. Shannon’s daughter was dead and that was that. Rico had paid props for that. He had a daughter of his own. Shannon should’ve gotten over it, but since he hadn’t Rico would help him along.
Michael had been T-Bone’s only brother. He’d always looked out for T-Bone when he was small and growing up. Although everyone knew he was a drunk, when it came to T-Bone he had played both mom and pop, always making sure he had what he needed even if it meant passing up a bottle or two.
Michael was blood. And as his grandfather used to say, blood is thicker than water. Nothing was supposed to come between you and your blood.
Rico, sensing T-Bone’s reluctance to give his word on this, gripped him by the shoulders to drive his point home. “I’m serious, man. You’ve got to let me pay props for you. You’re my boy. That’s my heart to you, man. We family.”
T-Bone sighed. He wasn’t happy about it, but he looked up to Rico and he respected the ranks of the streets. If Rico caught a body for him, it would elevate his status in the crew, as well as with the other thugs on the street.
Rico’s crew was the only other one besides Ballistic’s that didn’t have a street moniker. Rico was of the frame of mind that his crew was known by their actions and therefore didn’t need a name. Ballistic, on the other hand, was the only name a person needed to know.
After evaluating the situation T-Bone finally said, “Yeah. Okay. You got it. But I ain’t waiting too long. If Shannon’s ass is not on the streets soon I’m going to make like a magician and penetrate them bars downtown to ge
t him. You feeling me?”
“I feel you. Don’t worry, you won’t have to wait too long.”
In the police station Lombardo was smiling. This was a day he had been waiting for. He was tired of catering to Shannon Davenport. He had an ill feeling about the cat-and-mouse game Campbell insisted on playing with him.
He’d grown up in Bloomfield, which wasn’t that far from Newark. He knew how hard it was to make it. He hadn’t been born with a silver spoon in his mouth.
But as far as he was concerned, being poor and black was no excuse for the insanity that spewed across Newark’s streets, making victims of the hardworking people who didn’t want any part of the madness. Those were the people he was there to protect as well as his own.
They definitely couldn’t have the crime from Newark spilling over onto the streets of Bloomfield. Although every city had its problems in Bloomfield you would never see dealers, thugs, and lowlifes out on the corners kicking it like they owned the world.
Bloomfield didn’t put up with that nonsense. If they tried that in his city, he knew darned well they would lock them up, give them fifty years, and throw away the key like it was nobody’s business.
He considered it to be his job to at least keep it confined, if he couldn’t control it. He didn’t want that poison and the venomous attitudes that went with it in the town where his family resided.
Lombardo came out of his reverie as Campbell walked into the room. Campbell’s face looked grim, and he was bone weary tired of all the game that was being run. “We have to release Shannon Davenport,” he said to Lombardo.
Lombardo narrowed his eyes. This was not the way he had played out the scene in his mind. “The hell we do. Why?”
“Shonda Hunt is why. She’s Davenport’s alibi. She says he was with her. Smokey Cooke, the Dome’s bartender, confirms Shannon was in the bar with Shonda. He left the bar with her. He also says he saw Shannon lend Michael his lighter the other night. The medical examiner has confirmed that the time of death is consistent with the time Shannon was in the bar. He didn’t murder Michael Claybay.”