Murder in Germantown

by Rahiem Brooks

  “I’m not sure that I am ready for that. I am scared,” she said as we entered an empty elevator.

  “Scared of what?”

  “Him hating me, Ray-Ray,” she said, as we exited the elevator.

  “I’ll talk to him,” I told her. “Good night, Frank,” I told security of the Prudential Building and wondered how Ariel passed him and Marsha unnoticed. “He won’t hate you. He’s still waiting for you to turn up on TV.”

  On 12th Street, we walked out of the building toward Market Street. My coat and scarf was in my car, which was parked in the underground garage of the hotel where she stayed. It was directly across from my office. I parked there for free. A perk that I wrote corporate and asked for as a shareholder.

  Before we entered the hotel’s 12th Street entrance, I stopped and warned her, “If you have no intentions of meeting Brandon, then we can terminate this now.”

  She looked at me. Her eyes brilliant. They reminded me so much of Brandon’s. Had she replied no, my world would have come crashing down again. I didn’t collapse at that point. Later, Ariel definitely flew Heartbreak flight 8774 searing through my heart.

  CHAPTER 10

  Ariel stayed at the hotel whose anchor restaurant was host to my lunch dates. Prior to going into the gut of the enchanting Lowes, I stopped at Sole Food, the eccentric, crustacean restaurant. I had the waiter send a few of my favorite things to Ariel’s room. Oprah had her favorite things, and I had mine.

  My hostess looked horrified and seemed standoffish as we sat in the luxuriant hotel room. She had a tight petite body that I used to ravish abundantly. True, I should have still been, but things happened. I flipped the TV on and flopped on the bed. She looked at me dumbfounded. She should have been grateful that I was there and calm. I was miffed to the nth degree. My emotions were not describable, and please forgive me, I am not going to try to explain them.

  I heard a knock and opened the hotel door. Luke handed me a decorative tray. I tipped him and he exited. He had prepared me a Bloody Mary with fresh horseradish, and I drowned it. My uvula was set ablaze and I was ready to breathe fire. Until then, the chit-chat was trite, and I’d spare you the contents and get right to the meat.

  “So, Ariel. Let’s have it,” I said and joined her on the sofa. I handed her a gin martini.

  “What?” she asked coyly. She sipped. A cool smirk on her face.

  If choking her had been an option...

  “Listen,” I dug into my wallet and spoke. “Games have an appropriate time to be played. In fact,” I handed her three photos of my five-year-old. “Tonight is Brandon’s and my board game and pizza night, but he’s spending it with Constance.”

  Tears welled in her eyes as she looked at the photos. I reached over and pulled her closer to me. The fit was still snug.

  “This is too much. I shouldn’t have come here.”

  “That’s absurd,” I whispered. “I’ve missed you terribly. Brandon is a reflection of you.” I had kissed her forehead in an attempt to comfort her.

  “He looks like me.”

  “He is a masculine version of you. Very creative and too damn smart. Rumored to be a child prodigy. He is in Judo and boxing classes, too. And he is very attractive to pretty little girls and women, too. Just like you.”

  “Funny. He’s five, Ray-Ray,” she said and sank deeper into my arms.

  We were conjoined twins just like the old days.

  “He’s five and very understanding. I promise he will forgive you. Sometimes, I pull out our photo album and I’ll point to you and ask him, who’s that? He replies that it’s his mommy. He thinks he has an advantage over other kids because he has two dads and a mom that lives in Hollywood.”

  “Brandon may become gay and it’ll be all my fault. Had I stayed and we had our perfect marriage, with our candy on the side, this wouldn’t be happening. But I was scared.”

  “I still have no idea what you were scared of. And after five years, I don’t even care. I miss you. And trust me, Brandon likes pussy. He’d love to meet you, too. He has never asked why you left. He gets that. He had demanded to take acting classes to be an actor like his mommy. He’s at the ripe age to be rescued from ever hating you.”

  “But what about us?”

  “Ariel, let me be frank,” I said and sat up.

  I wouldn’t be fooled twice.

  “There is no us. We are parents, though. I am not five, nor as easily forgiving as King B. I mean Brandon. And besides...”

  “I bet you fucking forgave D. Jones, faggot!” She exclaimed sarcastically.

  She stood and walked to the window overlooking Market Street.

  I was not pissed that she called me a name. That was what everyone called me when they were mad at me. It was laughable. I really didn’t have to explain myself to her, but I wanted revenge.

  “He shared a meaningless kiss and confessed to me, and I was angry at him for it. Accidents happen and can be fixed. Tragedies, though, are unrepairable. I do not need to tell you who did what. I do not play the break up to make up bullshit. In five years, I have grown considerably.”

  She walked over to me and pulled me to my feet. She looked seductively into my eyes and ran her hand along the length of my penis.

  “Has all of you grown considerably?” she breathed.

  Then would have been an excellent time to reveal that I haven’t grown, but I was still a frightening size down there, but she didn’t deserve the pleasure. Besides, I could not give her the satisfaction of believing that I was pussy-whipped. I could’ve lain her down and punished her atrociously for revenge. Got my nut. And left. But I didn’t for one very good reason: I still loved Ariel Greenland.

  I pulled away from her and said, “Ariel, now is not the time to pretend that we are all good, so let’s patch up and have succulent make-up sex to start anew. Like you, I was bogged by immaturity five years ago, but I’m sure you understand not having a real social life, not being able to party, and travel forced me to grow up real fast. Maybe had I shared my parental obligations with...”

  “Don’t take this and turn it into a major guilt trip. I feel bad enough.”

  “Well, don’t try to come here and fuck me as if this can be patched. You can’t put a Band-Aid on a bullet wound.”

  “Fuck you, Ray-Ray!”

  “I’m sure you’d love to.”

  I caught myself. I had a litany of haughty things to verbally pass along to my wife--soon to be ex. I would not dare dumb myself down, though. “Listen, Ariel. Where is this going? You said you needed something. What do you need? You didn’t fly here for dick, I’m sure.”

  “I fucking hate you! You arrogant piece of shit. That’s why I left you. Fuck you. Get out!”

  “What? I haven’t done shit to you. Then or now. I have been kissing your ass for two hours, when you should be French kissing mine. I’m not getting out. Put me the fuck out!”

  “Oh, you’re getting out.” she raved and raced to the hotel phone.

  I grabbed her, twisted her around and looked her deep into her eyes and hissed. “You’re dead wrong, Ariel. You know damn well I do not deserve this. I’ve never hurt you, and I don’t intend too. You could have stayed in LA and not brought this whole thing to fruition. Let’s get to the point. You need something and you can probably get it, if you agree to see our baby, because you and I have nothing to iron out, but you owe him!”

  I let her go. Well, I flung her like a flea. She dropped onto the bed.

  “You’re trying to blackmail me.”

  “Blackmail? Are you kidding me? I haven’t asked you to free fall from an airborne Boeing jet. I asked you to see a child that you gave birth too, you stupid bitch!”

  “I want a divorce. I only wanted half your shit, but I want the condo you live in with Dajaun and your car, too. And my son. I also want...”

  “Is that why you came?” I asked laughing. “LA has excellent attorneys. Just marvelous when it comes to divorce and celebrity murders. You should’ve saved the
airfare and hotel fees. My son. You’re crazy! No court in America would take Brandon from me.”

  I was cracking the hell up.

  “I’mma suck you dry, too, since you find me funny.”

  “What, this dick? That’s ‘bout all you’ll be sucking dry. Cause I’ll guarantee you will get nothing but dust, babe.”

  I grabbed my briefcase.

  “We will see. Get out before I scream rape.”

  “No one in this entire city would believe you. Do you know who I am? You’re an insane bitch. And I suggest you do not come near me again,” I said and let the hotel door close behind me.

  CHAPTER 11

  I reached my car and threw myself and briefcase inside. I beat on the steering wheel. I was angry, and so much that I could not muster a tear. She did not have to come and interrupt my world. I didn’t deserve that. That was why I was sure you have more faith on a higher power than your storyteller. If there was a God and he had a soupcon of love for me, perhaps he could send a messenger to tell me the reason for the unwarranted casus belli. I knew my behavior was verbally injurious, but she attacked me first. While, I should’ve remained calm, I couldn’t lie to my heart and convince it that I was not hurt. I tried and that counted for something, right? Right.

  I was not going to allow her to eat me alive, so I popped in TP3 (12-Play Part 3 by R. Kelly for all of the R&B remedial) and commenced a lonely drive to nowhere.

  CHAPTER 12

  I was calmed after another trip to Germantown. I had gone to Maplewood Mall, which was the epicenter of the area when the area was being developed. The one block had a law firm, insurance company, literacy project, clothing boutique, nutrition emporium, hair salon, and barber shop. That was why I was there to see Vergil, my barber at Clipperz. Vergil had been named after the Italian poet. He was more like the Greek God of Male Hair Precision.

  Later, I pulled up to my street in Olde City and drove my blue-black BMW 750LI into the driveway. Don't be fooled. It was not a long driveway. It extended from the curb about the length of a SUV and led to a two-car garage beneath the living room.

  The downtown Pine Street condo was darkened. I knew that Dajuan was home, thanks to his Range Rover being parked in it’s spot. I was sure that he had been rehearsing the apologetic lyrics that would ebb in one of my ears and flow directly out of the other one. Of course, I was not rude or pompous. I was very demanding and expected the best. I came into this world in the ghetto, and I crept out of there with no intentions of returning. More importantly, I detested being cross and violated. Cheating was a major violation. Sure, I practiced law and mastered the art of deception. Not in my home, though.

  Before I disembarked, I decided it was a good idea to apologize to Ariel Greenland. Make amends, you know? For Brandon's benefit, certainly, not my own. I dialed the Lowes and asked for room 917. I heard the desk clerk tap, tap. Then tap, tap, tap.

  "I'm sorry, but Ms. Greenland has checked out, sir."

  "Are you sure?" I asked disbelievingly.

  "Of course, sir."

  "Could she have changed rooms?"

  "Let's see. No, sir."

  Before I could fully thank her, she had hung up on me. Deliberately, I was sure. Served me right for treating her like a hostile witness.

  Out of the car, I grabbed my briefcase and walked up the five stairs to one of the living room entrances. The other one was accessible from the side of the condo. I opened the door and was greeted by Ms. Pearl circling my feet. Her stocky, round head, and white, silky coat was adorable and she wanted her routine hug, but I was in no mood to grope her. I kicked off my sneakers and slipped on comfortable moccasins. No outside shoes were allowed on the white carpet. I glanced at the large clock that had been created by a drummer cymbal. It was 11:30 p.m. I perused the wall covered with photos of Dajuan in the company of R&B crooners and diva's. I stared at the baby grand situated as the living room centerpiece. I desired to take a saw to it. One wall was taken up by a gold leather sofa. I plopped on it and shimmied out of my blazer and shirt. I planted my feet on the earth toned marble coffee table, choc full of music tomes. The entire living room screamed, Dajuan Jones. I had to escape to the bedroom.

  The futuristic, electronic master bedroom was where I found Dajuan feigning to be asleep. I knew that he couldn't wait to find the best moment to broach the topic of my disrespect from earlier when I hung up on him. I slipped out of my gear and took a quick shower. I stepped out of the shower five minutes later and all of a sudden the brass quarter notes as shower curtains said "Dajaun" and they too had to get the saw.

  I was actually tired, but did not want to get into the bed considering I would have to share it. In the living room at the marble-topped sideboard, I fixed a double vodka gimlet. I sat at the kitchen table and enjoyed a slice of rum cake topped with maraschino cherries. It was palatable.

  With the remainder of the cocktail in hand, I retreated to my den, aptly dubbed my home office. At the desk, ensconced in a comfortable executive chair behind a mammoth desk, I checked my personal E-mail. I then logged into my PEPCO account and paid the electric bill, and then on to the daunting task of deleting spam mail. I had Beyonce's Irreplaceable booming as Dajuan walked in. I pretended not to see him and continued to sing the break up track.

  Dajuan's smooth and creamy peanut butter complexion glowed. His curly, close-cropped hair was disheveled and his bushy eyebrows rivaled Einstein's. He sat with his exposed six-pack on the love seat and hid his deep brown eyes in the palm of his hands.

  "Ray-Ray, come here," he said.

  It was more of a mumble, but I ignored him, nonetheless. Yes, I was being obstinate, but I felt obligated to be. Some people needed to be taught a lesson. He asked me to join him again, but added a "please" at the beginning and end of his request. Talk about redundant.

  "I'm getting the bills paid before my son is utility-less. What's crackin' though?" I asked, having brought the Ebonics from Germantown with me downtown. I spoke as if I didn't have a worry in the world.

  "Blackface, that can wait."

  He called me a pet moniker during a time of war. I guess I should have said that everything was okay.

  "Really?" I asked dragging the word out sardonically.

  "Look. Can you please come and talk to me?"

  He must have just played a Jodeci CD, or something.

  "I am talking to you, DJ."

  "I need to holla at you. Straight up!" He growled with a touch of aggression in his voice.

  I desired to be a kid and lay out all of his cheating, filthy antics, but I decided to remain calm.

  "You should've been hollering about us when you made your bed. Now lay in it," I said right on cue with Beyonce.

  I wanted to laugh, but I held my composure. I was talking to him and replaying what I should have said to Ariel Greenland.

  He stood and slithered to the desk and looked at the computer monitor. After careful review, he hissed, "This bullshit can wait."

  He then pushed the power button on my PC. He reached to turn off the monitor and I grabbed his hand. I violently tossed it aside.

  I huffed and angrily stood to leave the office when he put his hand on my shoulder. I yanked away, and turned around. I stepped deep into his space, and said, "Do not fucking touch me, dude, or..." I turned to leave and then added, "Try me!" I had had enough of being tested in one day.

  In the bedroom, I found Brandon asleep in our bed. He was obviously hidden under the covers accounting for how I missed him earlier. He was supposed to be at my grandmother's for the weekend. Had I known he was home I would have been home for our Friday pizza and board game night, and not in a hotel arguing with his mother. Rather than argue with Buck Rogers, I took Brandon to his room and lay him in his red Ferrari bed. I returned to my own water bed and found my enemy on the other side of it with his head rested on his lap.

  "You're not going to sleep," he told me, as I put on my Waiting to Exhale CD.

  The CD severely irritated him. He knew tha
t I loved to send subliminal messages via music.

  "Look, fall back," I told him.

  I had left my tax-paying citizen persona in the garage. I relaxed, pulled my luxe sheets over me and opened James Patterson's latest thriller, Cross.

  Albeit, I was not comprehending the words fully, I was on the second paragraph when my novel took flight across the room. Before it landed, I was on top of Dajuan and prepared to drop a barbaric blow to his eye socket when my eyes looked deeply into his. I could see, feel, taste, touch, and smell his sorrow. He was hurt. Badly! Hurt that he'd hurt me. Hurt that he tore a hole into our already controversial home.

  "Hit me." He seethed. "Go ahead. I'm not going to fight you back. Go ahead. Fuck me up!"