Full Figured 7

by Nikki Rashan

  He basically molded me into the woman I’d become. And maybe he was scared that I’d leave him because his mother had abandoned him when he was little. Maybe that’s why he felt he needed to break me both physically and mentally in order to keep me. I’d never know. For five years, I was a firefly in a mason jar. My refuge was also my purgatory.

  There were so many nights when I’d do nothing but lie in my bed, physically bruised and mentally drained, crying, wanting nothing more than to go home, and I couldn’t. Tarique would find me and kill me for leaving; he’d told me in more ways than one and with so much passion burning in his eyes that I believed him.

  That seemed like a lifetime ago now. A foggy picture in a fuzzy frame, from a grey, dreary, and rainy day that was so old it’d started fading. Sometimes I’d try, but I could never remember exactly which direction the rain fell from, how cold or hard it felt as it hit my face in the form of fists or Timberlands. In a few years this mess with Davin would feel like that too. I’d considered quitting the police force but decided to stay on. The main reason I’d joined was to bring some kind of peace to women who suffered as I had.

  The second reason I joined was to find my father’s murderer; it was still an unsolved cold case file. I scoffed. PATTI better not have lost that file or I’d go ballistic when I got back. My mother was somewhere in the area but I’d never bothered looking her up, just like she’d never bothered looking for me. Lorenzo was like my blood brother now—my one and only true friend.

  “Hey. Don’t you dare run from this fucking ass whooping,” a voice shouted from inside.

  I was standing on the stoop outside of a run-down Section 8 home off of Little Creek Road. Lorenzo was a few feet behind me with his hand on the holster of his weapon. He nodded. I always got anxious when we answered domestic disturbance calls.

  My thoughts turned briefly to Tarique and our one-bedroom tenement in New York. It was crammed between a twenty-four-hour Chinese spot and a building that served as a studio, pool hall, and a barbershop. Our kitchen was twelve ashen grey tiles long. I’d lain there enough times to count them. Even now, the scent of Chinese food drifted over from the China King on the corner. The pungent odor of stir fried garlic and General Tao chicken was making my stomach churn. Funny how his tough love still affected me. The only way he knew how to show love was with his damn fists. It seemed like such a long time ago, almost ten years to be exact. Long before I’d joined the police force and many years before I’d learned my value as a woman.

  A woman’s high-pitched cry from inside the apartment drew me back to the situation at hand. I knocked solidly and loudly on the wooden door, red paint flaking off with the thud of my fist.

  “Police. Open up,” I called out, deepening my voice to sound more authoritative.

  The crisp November wind shuffled brightly colored leaves and Doritos bags across the yard, cooling my face and neck. It had an almost calming effect on my nerves and my queasy stomach. A tall, light-skinned female with shoulder-length dreads opened the front door. She was dressed as a male in a black button-down shirt and khakis, a “stud” I assumed. That’s what they’re known as throughout the gay community. A community I’d taken a strong disliking to after Davin’s little incident, but I couldn’t let my disdain for someone’s sexual preference show in my treatment of them. I could clearly smell marijuana reeking from her clothing and from within the home.

  “Someone called in about a domestic disturbance at this address. Do you mind if we come inside and check things out?” I asked, looking up at the tall, boyish, somewhat attractive woman.

  She cocked her head back, rubbing her lips together while she frowned down on my heavy, five foot four inch frame through glassy, high eyes. She was calculating. I looked small, hard to wrestle but easy to outrun if she could get past me. She glanced just beyond my shoulder at Lorenzo, my partner in crime prevention, and I could see the thoughts of fleeing or fighting me leave her mind almost immediately.

  “I don’t know what the hell they call you for. Ain’t nothing going on in here for nobody to need the police,” she replied angrily.

  “Either you’re going to let us in, or I’m gonna take you down right now and make my way in. The option’s yours. My way’s gonna involve some pain and maybe a night in a holding cell, so I’d suggest you just step aside.” Lorenzo moved forward to stand beside me, his hand still on his pistol in the holster.

  “Well fuck it then. Mi casa es su casa, shit.”

  Lorenzo walked in ahead of me and I motioned for the female to move back inside. I followed closely behind her to make sure she didn’t try to bolt through the door. It took a minute for my eyes to adjust to the dim interior and I took everything in at a glance as we were taught in the academy. The apartment was scarcely furnished and it was a complete mess. Evidence of a fight or a struggle was apparent. There was a coffee table turned over onto its side and one of the legs was broken off. Clothing was scattered along hardwood flooring that probably needed a broom, a Swiffer Wet Jet, hell maybe even a sandblaster taken to it to help remove some of the dirt. My shoes felt like they had suction cups attached to the bottoms. They stuck to the floor with each step I took, fighting not to openly cringe at the obvious filthiness of the place.

  I turned to address the female. “Where is she?” I knew she was scared. She was probably in the bathroom trying to fix herself up to look like nothing happened. That’s exactly what I would have done; well, what I used to do.

  The stud walked over and sat on a black leather love seat that was so tattered and torn it must have been a scratching post for someone’s kitten in its former life. Dropping her head into her hands she started to pour her heart out to us.

  “She was cheating on me, dude. Flat out fucking somebody else and lying to me. I pay all the bills up in here, every single one. I don’t make her pay for shit, and she return the favor by giving my cookie away.” Tears streamed down her cheeks, through her hands. “How the fuck you gonna do me like this, Tia?” She jumped up in an angry outburst and began pacing.

  My hand flew to my holster on my hip and Lo stepped forward, ready to take her down if needed. Lorenzo looked in my direction, his eyebrows raised in confusion.

  “What’s your name?” I asked sternly.

  “Everybody call me Vee.”

  Lorenzo stepped forward, “Okay, Vee? Let me get this right, you got us called out here over some cookies? Is that code for something or, or some kind of slang term for marijuana? I smell it all up in here.” Lorenzo’s question was so far off the mark I wanted to slap him in the forehead for the poor girl.

  “Naw, dude, she was giving my pussy away. Cookie—pussy. It just don’t sound so crude man. Damn. Where you from? What do it matter though? Either way she a cheating-ass ho!”

  “Okay, Vee. I’ma need you to just calm down and take a seat while I go check on Tia okay?” I stared at her, waiting for confirmation.

  She nodded and I nodded to Lorenzo to watch her while I made my way farther into the home to look for this Tia woman. The place was small so she had to be close by. To the left of the living room was a tiny kitchen, if you could even call it that; it was more like four linoleum tiles with a refrigerator and a long counter. I glanced past the counter just to make sure no one was there. A darkened hallway was to the right that led to the bedrooms and bathroom behind the couch where Vee sat. I made my way in that direction, my eyes roving back and forth, searching for movement.

  “Hello, ma’am. I’m an armed police officer and I’m here to help you. I need you to come out or answer me if you can’t.”

  I could hear muffled crying from behind a closed door at the end of the hall. There were two other doors on either side and I opened them and did a quick sweep just to make sure there was no one else in the home. Satisfied, I walked back to the closed door that I assumed to be the bathroom. I checked the knob; it was unlocked. I took a deep breath and turned the knob slowly.

  Tears instantly sprang to my eyes, mentally shaking
myself. It was pep talk time. Turn off your “care switch,” Alicia; let the cop take over. You need to be the cop now; you are not a person. She was lying on her side on the floor, facing the bathtub, wearing nothing but a green cotton bath towel. I took in all the details that I could just from looking at her. Female, early to mid-twenties, twenty-four at the oldest. Height four foot nine inches or five feet even. Ethnicity, biracial possibly. Drug user? Possible. Injuries, not life threatening but should seek medical attention.

  “H . . . hello, Tia? I’m Officer Taylor. Are you okay, sweetie?”

  She was curled into herself, hugging her knees to her chest. She shook her head no but she wouldn’t turn to face me.

  “Taylor? You good back there or what?” Lorenzo sounded like he was getting impatient.

  “Yeah, we’re good. Give me a minute,” I called back before crouching down a few feet away from the girl. “Sweetie, I need to make sure you’re okay. I can’t leave unless you tell me everything is fine. I need you to turn around and talk to me.”

  She sat up slowly and turned to face me. My heart instantly went out to her. She was beautiful. Not your average kind of everyday beauty, I mean beautiful like supermodel or TV-star beautiful. There was a small cut on the corner of her mouth but I could visibly see no other marks on her heart-shaped face. She looked up at me through slanted, cat-shaped brown eyes with golden flecks, and I paused. I quietly took in a few deep breaths but couldn’t figure out why she seemed somewhat familiar.

  “I’m good, Officer. We just had an argument. We argue all the time and this one was the worst but really, ma’am, I’m fine.” Her words gave me time to recover.

  “You sure about that? This looks like more than an argument to me, sweetheart. Shouldn’t nobody ever put their hands on you. Can you tell me exactly what happened?”

  She hugged the thin cotton towel closer to her body and looked away as tears rolled down her cheeks. “I left my laptop signed on and she checked my Facebook page. Niggas flirt with me all the time and I flirt back but I don’t do anything. . . .” Her voice caught in her throat.

  “Do you wanna press charges? We can take Vee in until she cools down but you’ll have to press charges against her. I also suggest you get to a hospital and get yourself checked out.”

  She tried to talk between crying hiccups. “No. She doesn’t mean it. I’m good. She’ll be fine once she calms down.”

  I moved closer and knelt down beside her, compassion written all over my face. My heart always went out to women who allowed themselves to stay in these types of situations, gay or not.

  “Sweetie, love isn’t supposed to be like this. Love isn’t supposed to beat you up no matter how hurt or mad love gets. Here, take my card.” I handed her one of the business cards I’d had made with the precinct’s phone number and my cell phone number. Her fingers were ice cold as they brushed slightly against mine.

  “I said don’t fucking move.” Lorenzo’s voice bellowed through the walls.

  Commotion from the living room and Lorenzo’s tone made my blood run cold. I rushed to my feet and ran back toward the front of the house. Vee was lying on the floor, blood trickling from her nose.

  “What happened?” Wide-eyed I stared at Lo, waiting for an answer.

  Tia dashed past me and dropped to her knees beside Vee. “Really? What did you do to her? What the hell did you do?”

  Lorenzo’s eyes widened angrily for a split second at the towel-covered girl, before sneering down at them and cutting his eyes angrily in my direction. “That’s it. We’re taking her in. She made a move like she was going for something, I told her ass stay still and she didn’t. I ain’t takin’ any chances out here.”

  I quickly regained my composure. This wasn’t the time or the place to second-guess him; I needed to back my partner up. We would go over the details later, but in front of civilians we needed to be on the same page.

  Letting out a loud sigh I looked down at Vee and said, “Stand up and turn your back to me please.”

  She was moving slowly, still hazy from the blow to the face and still heavily under the influence from whatever she’d smoked or drunk before we arrived. Tia was staring up at us, anger, maybe hatred, and something else mirrored in those ghostly familiar eyes of hers.

  “Do you have anything on you, in your pockets that I need to know about? Any drugs or syringes? I need to pat you down and I’m not one for any surprises right now,” I asked her in a dry tone.

  She shook her head no and I gave her a quick pat down, taking her ID and handing it to Lo before pulling my cuffs out and handcuffing her hands behind her back. We led her out of the house; neighbors were standing on their porches, loitering around nearby in the street. I looked back at Tia standing in the doorway still wearing nothing but her bath towel, tears streaming down her cheeks, her wavy hair falling wildly around her face. I couldn’t help feeling sorry for her, but I damn sure couldn’t show it. Compassion, caring, and all that other BS are the main reasons women on the force are given such a hard time. I climbed into the driver’s side of the patrol car and focused my thoughts toward all the damn paperwork we were about to fill out, and how the hell we were going to explain Vee’s busted nose.

  “Eh, momma, look like you got yourself a few warrants in Norfolk and Hampton. I guess you’re going to be staying up in our house for a little while huh?” Chuckling, Lo continued looking over the rest of Vee’s file on the car’s computer.

  I wasn’t laughing though. All this meant was that poor girl back at the house was going to catch even more hell behind this domestic disturbance when this girl finally got out.

  My head was throbbing and the lines on the road looked like they were running together. Maybe I’d rushed things and come back too early. I probably should have taken a little more time off. My blood pressure was up, and I hadn’t been working out or doing anything to prepare myself for this type of stress.

  “Lo, you handle the paperwork on this one when we get back. I need a break.”

  “What’s the deal, Al? First you come back all extra thickalicious and, what, now you got a hot date you trying to skip off to?”

  My grip tightened on the steering wheel. I’d had to hear all kinds of bullshit about my weight since coming back. Granted I’d gone from a size nothing back to my “normal” weight, but damn. The guys were all shell-shocked and I was shell-sick of hearing it. It wasn’t Lo’s fault, I couldn’t blame him; he didn’t know how self-conscious I was about my weight gain.

  “No, Lorenzo, my mind just needs a moment to wind down after stuff like this. It’s been awhile, you know that.” I gave him a weak yet reassuring smile and he nodded in return.

  Chapter 8

  Define The Word “Con” (Tia’s Definition)

  “No, Hemingway, I swear this really ain’t my fault.”

  “Anyone ever tell you that ‘ain’t’ is not a proper word? It offends my ears. Refrain from using it in your conversations with me. Anyway, explain to me, whose fault is it then, Tia? Rumors about my money spread faster than a ho in a houseful of diamond phalluses, sweetheart. And rumor has it, no one dropped off those hard drives from the Sherman job. So, did you really just call me asking if I could help bail your mannish woman friend out of jail?” Hemingway’s voice was sickening sweet and unnervingly soft in my ear.

  My hands and my voice were both shaking. “Hemingway, that’s why I need her. We had to—”

  “Oh, Tia, still the needy one are we? Well, I am going do you a favor, sweetheart. I am giving you a crash course in empowerment. It’s seven days long and all it costs is your life.”

  I stared at my Samsung Galaxy 3 in disgust as the line went silent. It cost too damn much to throw, and even though I didn’t buy it, it was a gift from my ex, but I was so mad I definitely considered launching the thing across the room. I swore whenever things with Vee were going good that girl would find a way to go and mess them up.

  This mess was getting old and fast. The last thing I wanted to do was le
ave her locked up but I damn sure wasn’t looking forward to the rest of the ass whooping that I knew was coming when she got out either. I could only see one way out of this situation and it wasn’t going to be promising if I didn’t get those hard drives for Hemingway. Vee said she’d had something set up but that was before I’d pissed her off so who knew where she’d stashed them or if she’d even tell me now. After this foolishness there was no way I could call my cousin or family for any favors to help out. Nobody liked Vee, and once my family found out she’d actually put her hands on me they’d all be up in arms ready to fight.

  Leaving my Facebook open was by far one of the dumbest mistakes I’d ever made. Vee wasn’t lying when she told that cop she took care of everything. She did, but she also treated me like an inmate in the process. I had to cut off all my closest friends, all my side hoes, side dick, too—especially my side dick. Hell, I was cool working my three to eleven p.m. shift up at the call center. It was Vee who cancelled that out.

  She was all like, “Bae, you ain’t gotta work, and I takes care of my woman from all perspectives. You just live here, look beautiful, and let me bless you with the best I have to offer.”

  Based on my lifestyle some people might call me a gold digger or a con artist, it’s whatever. I’d personally like to consider myself nothing more than an opportunist. My last boyfriend, Capone, was a medical tech in the Navy. Each and every one of his friends was nothing more than a straight-up ho. They were constantly getting caught up for picking up underage girls at the high schools, mostly because they were young and foolish enough to fall for their wack-ass game. Capone was known for hooking his homeboys up for what he liked to call his “J Fund.” Since he had easy access to the clinic’s pharmacy, when they would get hit with chlamydia or trich he’d sell a few treatments on the side and use the money for new Jordans and jump-offs.

  I had to correct that once I learned that a jump-off was his definition for chicks he dated just to get on, in, and then leave, aka “jump off.” I made myself useful, suggested we partner up and start selling Plan B emergency contraceptive pills during lunch and study halls over at the high schools to any of the girls who needed it, not just the random ones his homeboys smashed and didn’t want to get that support call from nine months later. I got myself a fake ID and everything just so I could blend in with the students.