A Kingpin's Obsession: Ajoni's Story

by London Starr

  “This is Natalie Harold with Mecca County Jail calling on behalf of Jonny Mitchell. He says he’s your father.”

  All the air whooshes out of my nose. I start to fear that something has happened to my father while he is locked up. That place has pretty much become his home since I left. Hell, it was his home before I left, but I have never received a call from an officer that works there before. I try to keep in touch in with my father as much as I can, but it is almost impossible when he is never in the same place for long since he and Seeri broke up, and I cannot just call up the county jail and ask to speak to him.

  “Jonny is my father. Has something happened to him?”

  “Yes, and he asked me to call you personally. He was scheduled for release this evening but he was involved in an altercation an hour ago. All I can tell you about his condition is that it is critical since we’re on the phone and privacy policies apply. You won’t be able talk to anyone about anything else concerning his condition until you come to the hospital in Mecca and show proof of who you are. After he is released from the state’s care, he will need aftercare, which is why I’m calling. I realize you live out of state and can’t provide that, but you can find him a hospice to live in until he can take care of himself again.”

  Again? I cannot remember the last time he has taken care of himself. Maybe this will make him realize that he needs to start.

  “Okay, I’ll come.” I say quickly before I talk myself out of going. I am nowhere near ready to face my past, which I brought with me to DC. Maybe if I go back to where it all started, I can finally move forward, get King out of my dreams, accept some of the dates that I have been asked out on and politely declined, and convince my father to come back to DC to get his life together finally.

  “Ms. Mitchell, are you there?” Natalie asks worriedly.

  “Yes, and I’ll get to Mecca as soon as I can.”

  “Great! Will you be flying or driving?” Her question and obvious satisfaction that I am coming comes off as odd to me.

  “Why?” Seeri has taught me to ask questions whenever I think it is necessary. Then I drop my head and shake it.

  My mother is completely paranoid, and now, so am I.

  “We can have someone meet you if you’re flying in so you don’t have to spend unnecessary time renting a car. Your father really needs someone here with him and I get off at six. I can’t say someone else will handle his case as quickly as I will, so you can arrange for his aftercare and then get back home. If you leave now, I can see to the paperwork personally and rush it through.” Since her answer is quick and works in my advantage, I let my suspicions evaporate.

  “I’ll reserve a plane ticket online.” I then turn to my twenty-four inch computer screen with a mockup on it that I was designing for an upcoming urban lit book cover and type United Trailways in a search box.

  “Let me give you my personal number Ms. Mitchell, so you can text me with your arrival time and if there are any delays with your flight. I’m sometimes not at my desk and may miss your call. I don’t want you waiting at the airport.”

  I have to wait for whispering to stop in the background, as if Natalie is asking someone else what is her phone number. Finally, she shoots the numbers through the line.

  I quickly scribble them down on a yellow legal pad between the phone and the computer before I finish booking a round trip ticket to Atlanta, Georgia. Someone begins to whisper in the background again on Natalie’s end. I cannot understand what they are saying, but she obviously works in an office where it is common for other employees to interrupt her workflow.

  Natalie clears her throat before saying, “Sorry about that, Ms. Mitchell. Some people are just rude. Have you booked your ticket yet?”

  “Yes,” I say as I click the confirmation button on the website. “I’ll arrive at three p.m.”

  “Good. As soon as you touch down, I’ll have a car sent to pick you up and have the paperwork ready for your signature so you can concentrate on getting your father settled. I’ll even bring some pamphlets for nearby hospices.”

  “Th—Thank you, Ms. Harold,” I stutter, surprised at her helpfulness.

  “You’re welcome. See you when you get here, and I’m sorry about your father.”

  “Me too. Bye.” I set the phone down on its base, and then look down at Anjuwan. There is no way I am taking her with me to Mecca. “Baby girl, where is your grandmother?”

  She narrows her eyes like she thinks something is off. “Who was that, Mama?”

  “A lady calling about grandpa. He’s in some trouble and I need to go help him.” I am not sure how Seeri will feel about that though. She has no love for Jonny.

  Anjuwan’s dark eyes, a perfect match to King’s, go back to normal size. “Oh. Grandma is in the kitchen cooking and making your cake.”

  “Let’s go talk to her.” I get up from my chair. Anjuwan slips her hand into mine. I can barely feel the warmth of hers. Going back to Mecca is making my blood run cold.

  We enter the living room and walk past a gray-leather straight back chair with silver nail heads adorning the outer edges that sits against a short wall filled with silver framed photos of Anjuwan’s life. They stop where the entrance into my favorite room in the house begins, a spacious kitchen decked in white and brown, mosaic tribal tiles.

  I find Seeri standing at the island that separates the kitchen from the dinner room, stirring cake mix while a soup simmers on a white, six-burner stove behind her, and singing along to Fantasia’s When I See You. She looks up as we approach, frowns, and stops everything immediately.

  “What happened, Ajoni?”

  I should have known she would know something was up before I even opened my mouth, I think to myself then stop on the other side of the island. “Jonny’s in the hospital, Mama. He was involved in an altercation before he could be released from Mecca County. They won’t tell me how bad off he is without me going to Mecca in person, and he needs to be admitted into a hospice. He asked them to call me specifically.”

  Seeri’s frown deepens, a sign that her paranoia is rising. “Don’t go, Ajoni.”

  I sigh. “I have to, Mama. He’s my father, your husband.”

  “Exactly,” she whispers and looks down into the cake mix. “That’s why it makes no sense they didn’t ask for his wife, and you don’t owe him anything. We owe you for every time you needed someone to take care of you besides yourself, and neither one of us was never there.” I can hear the self-hate in her tone for her failures, and do not have time to explain to her for the thousandth time that she and my father are human and forgiven for their past, which I never blamed them for. I am just happy that one of them is healthy again.

  “I have to go. Jonny has no one else.”

  Seeri’s eyes jet to mine. “He has himself Ajoni, and if he ever gets his life together, he would have so many more people in it. That’s not what he wants… but he hasn’t tried to pull you down, suck you dry, and spit you out before now either.” Like he did to her.

  “He won’t because I won’t let him. I just have to sign some paperwork and make sure he gets in a home for recovery, and then I’ll come right back here. I won’t even need a suitcase and I’m catching a flight that is only an hour and a half long. The longest I’ll be gone is this evening at the most. Will you watch Anjuwan for me?”

  “If I say no, will you stay here?”

  I smile at her stubbornness. “No, I’ll take her with me but I don’t want to. This is not the way a little girl should meet her grandfather for the first time.” Anjuwan has no idea that Jonny is not a good guy to be around, and I do not want to kill the illusion that she has of him as the sweet relative she cuts up with on the phone sometimes, when he thinks to call. Nor do I want him to teach her the things that he taught me; she does not live the life that I had to, and has no need for them.

  Seeri exhales and drops her hands on her hips. “You know I’ll watch her for forever if I need to but Ajoni, this doesn’t feel right. Jonny does n
ot call here when he needs something. I made sure of that when he dialed your number the first time after you messaged it to him on Facebook against my better judgment. So you know exactly who is making me feel this way.” King.

  “Mama, you’re paranoid and he is not an issue, at least not for another two years and one day.”

  Anjuwan tugs on my hand.

  I look down at her. “What, baby girl?”

  “Mama, who is making grandma feel bad?” she asks worriedly. I cut my eyes to my mother, warning her to not explain. Seeri would love for me to bust the bubble I have around my daughter and swears that if I do not, I am guiding Anjuwan to a harsh reality check about real life and people in it. I just want my daughter to have the childhood that I never had before real life intrudes on her world.

  “I’ll tell you about the man that’s making her feel bad when you get older, baby,” I promise, and I will—just not now.

  Anjuwan begins to pout. “Mama, you always say when I’m older. How much older do I have to get?”

  Seeri stretches her hand over the island. “Anjuwan, come here and stir the cake mix for me before it is no good. I need to help your mama get ready to go.”

  “Okay, grandma. Bye, Mama.”

  “Bye, baby,” I respond, bend down for her to kiss me, then watch her climb on one of three wooden bar stools at the island and slide a glass bowl across the mosaic-tiled countertop to herself. Anjuwan will eat most of the mix if Seeri does not keep an eye on her. I have no worries that my mother will back in the kitchen before Anjuwan gets in her hundredth lick of the wooden spoon. Seeri has as long as it takes for me to pack a purse and get in my Honda SUV parked in the front driveway.

  I turn to leave the kitchen. Seeri follows me into the living room. On the right side of the fireplace is a long hallway between our bedrooms and bathrooms. As soon as we enter it, approaching my bedroom at the end of the hall and out of Anjuwan’s hearing distance, Seeri starts in on me.

  “Listen to me, Ajoni. There may not even be anything wrong with your father. Men have been faking whatever they need to to get what they want since the beginning of time. Your father is the same way. I won’t even mention how easy it is for King’s psychotic ass to fake something. I never knew he wanted you as badly as he did, until it was too late.” I would not be surprised if King did not even tell his lieutenants about his feelings for me, until he decided to act on them.

  “How he grew up is not your fault, Mama,” I say as I enter my room and approach the king size sleigh bed and an oak headboard against the opposite wall. It is similar to the one King made love to me on with my purse and car keys lying at the foot of it. Sometimes I wonder why I bought this bed; it is a constant reminder of King and what we did on his.

  “Ajoni, what is not my fault is King not having a chance to become a decent person when his mother abandoned him for the pipe and he had to learn to steal and kill to eat. I should have paid more attention to the people around us, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he had your father shanked in jail just to get you to come back to Mecca.” I cannot deny that she could be right as I veer toward the right to grab my fake Burberry trench coat and scarf hanging behind mirrored-sliding closet doors. King does whatever it takes to get what he wants, and will only be a problem for me if he has gotten out of jail, which I am positive that he has not.

  “I’ll be careful, Mama,” I say to appease her while sliding the doors apart, then reaching for my coat. I put it on then button it over my matching fake Burberry knee-skirt and stiletto boots under a black, long-sleeved bodysuit that snaps between my legs. Anyone with a eye for fashion would know my Burberry is a shade off in color, but I wouldn’t dare buy the real thing with a baby to raise.

  Seeri shuts the closet doors back, goes to the bed, and grabs my knock off Coach bag and keys from the bed cover with a white and blue toile design with yellow highlights. She carries it all to me slowly, then reaches under the collar of my coat and sweeps my bone straight hair parted down the middle to my back. I can sense she still needs reassurance that I will make it back.

  “I won’t walk the streets of Mecca, Mama, or be there any longer than it takes to take care of the paperwork. I’ll be fine.”

  She hands my purse and keys to me reluctantly. “What if King is out, baby? What if he and his goons catch you off guard and hurt you like they did last time? I need you to take this seriously,” she pleads, but she would not believe how serious I take it and carrying mace in purse, just for that reason. No one will catch me off guard again.

  “Mama, I’m taking this seriously and have went through all the ‘what ifs’ just like you have and you’ve left out a few. What if the Kings find out that we live only hours away? What if there is someone waiting for me in Mecca to retaliate on their behalf and I never see my daughter again? But we can’t live by what ifs or hide here forever hoping to never be found. It is impossible when we’re in the digital age and pointless when there are a thousand other ways to die.”

  “I don’t care, Ajoni,” she shrieks as her eyes begin to bulge out of her head. I glance toward the kitchen. Seeri closes her eyes and checks herself. “King knew you wanted someone else and had his minion bring you to him like he sent a fucking limo for a call girl, then made you give him what you wanted to give Jordan. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not thrilled that you wanted Jordan to be your first time, but what you would have done with him would have been a hell of a lot better than what you had to do with King.”

  I sigh and close my eyes. “Mama, I know this is hard to hear for the hundredth time but King didn’t hurt me. He seduced me. I’ve told you this over and over again. And what does rehashing what I had to do with him then do for us now? Tell me it makes at least you feel better every time we discuss this.”

  Seeri’s hands rise and grip my elbows, pulling me into her body. I wrap my arms around her too thin shoulders and hold her tightly to me. She murmurs in my ear, “It doesn’t, baby. I just hoped that reminding you of what happened there would keep you here, but you’re just as bullheaded as your father is. He can’t keep his ass in one place when he should either, and now look where he is. I’m scared to death that you’ll go back to Mecca and end up somewhere worse. But you’re twenty-six and I can’t talk you out of going, so I’m going to be calling you every other minute after you get off the plane. The first time you don’t pick up, I’m coming to Mecca with Anjuwan. Use that mace on anyone you think is going to hurt you, then run like hell, and don’t even think about stopping to ask questions later. Do you hear me?”

  I laugh, not sure how she knows I have the mace, and kiss the top of her head with thick, blond hair twisted haphazardly on the top of it. “Yes ma’am.”

  CHAPTER six

  Ajoni

  Reagan National Airport is a twenty-minute ride from my house, and a nightmare at security check. Babies scream about nothing, along with people complaining about the wait, and a little old black lady keeps bumping her suitcase into the back of my legs. When we finally begin to board the plane, I have changed my mind several times about going back home and getting Natalie to fax me the forms for Jonny’s release, then googling hospices in Mecca for him to be transported to sight unseen.

  However, I want to know if my father is truly alright for myself, so I take my window seat and close my eyes, trying to block out the babies and people still making too much noise, and the little old lady that is taking the aisle seat beside me; but nothing ever blocks out the memories of Calen Kingsley at the warehouse whenever I close my eyes.

  ***

  “Then come to me, Ajoni,” he demanded quietly in a deep voice that would have given me wet dreams if he had not struck terror in the heart of me before then. I had heard things about King over the years and what he would do to people that crossed him, and I had never been this close to him before. I was in no hurry to be close to him today either, so I took a baby step forward, making sure to avoid the burning candles on the floor and taking my time to get on the bed where I knew he
wanted me to be.

  King cocked his head to the side. “I said come to me, Ajoni, not the bed.”

  I froze in place. A surge of anger rippled through me. I was starting to feel like a puppet on strings which King was working the hell out of, and I did not like it. “I thought you—”

  He cut me off with, “Stop thinking and come to me.” I stood still, just to take an ounce of my control back before baby stepping to the side, going up the length of the bed.

  “I have all night, Ajoni,” he added dryly, but I did not.

  I had to get up in the morning for school, so I took a deep breath and walked as I normally would behind the head of the bed then stopped a few feet away in front of King. The fragrance of his cologne mixing with his personal scent began to drift off his body and do weird shit to my senses, the same ones that feared him.

  I waited for King to reach for me and begin my jump in, but he stepped around me, moved toward the bed, and scooped the soda and pills off of it instead. By the time I realized I had missed a chance to run for the door, he was standing in front of me again, waiting for me to take the pills and soda from his hands. I stared down at his opened palms, hoping he was not trying to get me high and hooked on something so I would have to depend on him to support my habit.

  He laughed when he finally figured out I was not going to take anything from him. “It’s just Tylenol Ajoni, and you can see for yourself that the drink hasn’t been opened. No one in my family uses dope, or it is going to be a problem that I’ll deal with my way. Do you understand that?”

  I nodded my understanding and kept to myself that my father was using right under his nose.

  “Take it then, Ajoni. If you don’t feel better in a little while, I’ll have someone brought here to look at you.”

  My fear and anger gave way to pure puzzlement. For a would-be rapist, he damn sure seemed to care a whole lot about how I was feeling. I did not think King cared about anything but making money and not being snitched on.