Love Trumps Game

by D. Y. Phillips

  “Maybe I thought it was taking you too long.” He undid the belt to his satin smoking jacket but didn’t take his eyes off her. His hard scrutiny suggested that he didn’t believe her.

  “Where my kids at?” Neema put her bag down.

  “Your kids?”

  “Our kids. Whatever. I don’t feel like playing games. Give me the kids so I can go home. I’m supposed to be packing up my stuff, remember?”

  “Yeah. You should be packing alright.” Topps half smirked. “That’s why I got to thinking that maybe I should keep the kids here with me. You know, so they won’t be in yo’ way while you packing up. I called the moving company like I said. They should be there day after tomorrow.” He went back to the great room where a basketball game was playing on a fifty-inch plasma.

  “Stop playing around and tell me where my kids are. And I don’t appreciate you going to my mom’s house and getting ’em without my permission.”

  “Didn’t know I needed yo’ permission to get my own damn kids.”

  “You’ve never picked them up before without letting me know what’s going on. Why you doing that shit now?”

  “Maybe this is the new me.” He patted his chest like some Mighty Joe Young making a point. “You better get used to it.”

  “Forget you, Topps.” She pushed past him and marched down the marble hallway to one of two guest bedrooms. Inside she found Raynita down on the floor playing with some Barbie dolls while Brandon didn’t bother to look up from the X-Box he was mesmerized with. “Hey guys. I’m back.”

  “Mama, Mama!” Raynita squealed, jumping up for a hug.

  “You miss me?”

  “I sure did. What took you so long? Where have you been?”

  Neema kissed her cheeks and forehead. “I’m sorry. I had some business to take care of. But it won’t happen again. Did you have fun at your nanny’s house?”

  “Nita got caught stealing,” Brandon casually announced. His attention stayed on the game.

  Neema’s shoulders slumped. “Yeah. I heard. But that’s not going to happen again. Right, Nita?”

  “Brandon stole somethin’, too,” Nita said, frowning over at her brother. “…but he didn’t get caught.”

  “Alright now, what I tell y’all ’bout that telling just to be telling?”

  “Snitches can’t stop telling.” Brandon made a face at his sister.

  “Yeah, well, like I said, it’s not going to happen again. You two know how I feel about stealing.” Neema felt like a hypocrite. Her vice of stealing from Topps was one thing. It was part of survival. Still, she constantly tried to instill in her kids about right and wrong. Despite her own shortcomings, she had higher expectations for Raynita and Brandon. Her kids would grow into college-educated adults with good moral judgment, even if it killed her. “Can’t have that going on with you two, but we’ll talk about it again later.”

  “We going home now?” Raynita wanted to know. “I wanna go home.”

  “Maybe. And what about you, Brandon? No hug for your mama?”

  Brandon managed to pull himself away from his video game, jumped up and hugged her. “Take Nita home and I can stay here with Daddy.”

  “I don’t think…what’s that on the side of your ear?” In disbelief Neema pulled a thin-wrapped reefer joint out from its tuck. “Who the hell gave this to you?” She knew the culprit already.

  “Daddy.”

  Brandon had shrugged and said it so casually, like he was talking about a stick of chewing gum. Topps had been introduced to drugs at an early age, but Neema didn’t play that mess. “Fucking moron,” she hissed to herself. “Y’all get your stuff. We going home.” Neema went back to Topps to throw the weed stick at him. “Don’t be giving shit like this to my son!”

  “What? A blunt? Big damn deal, Nee. Shoulda have seen ’im earlier shooting my gun in the backyard. My boy has a good aim. Gets it naturally.”

  Neema looked at him like he was insane. “What’s wrong with you? Are you freaking crazy?”

  “Nah. Not really. He gotta learn to shoot eventually.”

  “Topps, if you want to do something good for your son, try acting like his freaking father and not his buddy! What asshole gives weed and a gun to a seven-year-old?”

  “Hell, I was smoking herb when I was six. It’s relaxing to overactive kids. Better than that shit the doctors pass out to ’em. Look at me; I turned out okay.” He aimed the remote and changed the channel.

  “Guns and weed this time; what next, Topps, coke, and a bomb-making kit? Maybe some Ectasy? What’s next?”

  “Yo’ Nee, whatever it takes to get ’em ready. You have to know a product to be good at operating a business selling it, and the boy gotta learn how to handle a gun.”

  “I don’t care if your daddy stuck a joint in your mouth the minute you came out your mama’s twat. You don’t even give a damn aspirin to my son without asking me!”

  “Bitch, you need to watch yo’ mouth.” He was up on his feet in a flash. “What? You think I’m some little punk ass you can talk to any kind of way? You better think again.”

  “Look, I don’t wanna fight. I’m taking my kids home with me. They have school tomorrow.”

  “Why the hell you so damn concerned about the kids all of a sudden?”

  “Forget you, TJ. I’m taking my kids!”

  “You can go,” Topps said firmly. “The kids are staying here tonight.”

  “Raynita! Brandon! Let’s go!”

  Topps took her by the arm and walked her back to the front door. “In case you didn’t understand what I just said, let me lay it out again. You go back to your place and do some damn packing while you still have a chance.”

  Both Raynita and Brandon showed up with their backpacks.

  “Get your hands offa me!” Neema tried to snatch away but not before Topps twirled her around for a backhand slap.

  Seeing her mother being abused, Raynita screamed and ran back into the room crying.

  “Brandon, get in the room with yo’ sister. Y’all get ready to take a bath and get ready for bed. Yo’ mama was just leaving. Say good night.” He waited for Brandon to leave the room. “As for you, Neema, take yo’ lying, conniving-ass home and pack. I’ll take the kids to school in the morning and pick ’em up.”

  “What about their clothes?” Neema asked, rubbing her face.

  “They have clean clothes with ’em.” Topps twirled her around and pinned her arm behind her, pushing her hard against the door. “And the next time you disrespect me in front of my son, I won’t be so nice.”

  “Ouch! Stop it, fool! You’re hurting me. Why you doing this?”

  “Because I’m not blind, Neema. I know what’s up.”

  “Oouch. And what the hell that’s supposed to mean?”

  “You’ll figure it out. Now go on home and do what you have to do. I’ll expect you at the warehouse tomorrow. Ten sharp. Don’t be late. Slick will have a package for you to transport. We can talk when you get back.”

  “Maybe I don’t wanna deliver shit for you no more.”

  “Like I said, Nee. Ten sharp. You know how you love money. It’s not like you to turn down twenty-five grand.”

  “Why can’t one of your other hoes do it?”

  “Because, Nee, this is big money we talkin’, and I trust you’ll do the right thing. That’s why. I can’t have some new skank handling my big packages. Know what I’m saying?” He released her, and turned her around.

  Their eyes locked in hatred for a few seconds. Neema felt like spitting in his face, but she wasn’t that crazy. Was it really possible to love and hate a man with the same degree? Hell yeah, it was. She hated him, but at the same time the tingle between her thighs was heating up.

  Topps kissed her lips, softening his tone. “Look, Nee. We just going through a rough spot right now. The kids will be fine here with me. Stop sweating it. Things will work back out to smooth soon.” He stroked the side of her face with a gentle backhand. “Plus, you don’t need ’em in
the way while you packing up your place. Now do you?”

  Deep breath. Neema exhaled slowly. His words made sense. “I…guess not.” A little hope was somewhere inside her, that he would kiss her again, put his tongue down her throat, throw her on the couch, snatch off her clothes, pull her hair and make hard-thug love to her. Do it, nigga. Do it now!

  “Once we get married and you my wifey, you can stop transporting for ’sho. Count on it.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Now, go on home. We’ll talk about it tomorrow when we both feel better.”

  FIFTEEN

  It was early Monday morning. Neema sat in the Ford Escape at the intersection of Del Amo and Avalon waiting for the traffic light to change. The specially equipped vehicle was one of several owned by Topps. It was used often because of the hidden gas tank where product could be stashed and transported.

  Her mind was still clicking. While she was packing items the night before, she’d done a lot of thinking on how she needed a change once this was all over. The heck with what Slick had said about waiting and playing it out. She’d be a fool to stay and marry Topps after what had gone down with her friend, Kaykay. Moving drugs was one thing, but murder was another. It was time to go. Neema felt ready for it. This would be her last delivery. It had to be a special client for Topps to go out of his way and let her use one of his private vehicles. He also had promised her twenty-five thousand in cash once the job was done.

  “Piece of cake,” she mumbled. An actress is what she should have been. She could play a part to the hilt. She was always crying broke, but the truth of the matter was that years of putting money aside had accumulated over two hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars in her savings account under another name. Her checking account was nice, but to keep from drawing suspicion she never kept more than a grand in it.

  A delicious smile tugged at her lips. It was all money well earned from transporting, stealing from those that had it, and sleeping with big-money rollers that didn’t mind giving it up for that precious commodity all females have. If she needed more money for her escape, she could probably hit Slick up good before she left. Heck, the more she thought about it, Topps kept a safe at his house. A safe full of cash. She didn’t have the combination, but from time to time he opened it to either put more cash in or take cash out. She could wait for the right opportunity and then…

  “Oh my God, listen to me. I’m just as bad as him.”

  Nah. Slick was the best answer if she needed more cash for her escape. With the kind of money he was pulling, a hundred grand was nothing. For a good cause, he would give it to her, too. Getting her kids to a safe place and away from Topps was definitely a good cause. A depressing thought flowed through her. Her mother.

  What was she going to do about Hattie? What Slick had told her last night at the motel was probably true. Topps was a madman who didn’t care who he hurt to get what he wanted. She had to try one more time to convince her mother to pull up roots and move away. If not out of California, at least to a new location where Topps couldn’t find her.

  Once the light changed to green, Neema pulled the vehicle over, and undid her seatbelt to reach over to get her cell phone from her tote bag. For a minute, she was alarmed at not seeing her wallet with her driver’s license in it. Soon she recalled that she hadn’t brought any identification with her. It was Topps’ bright idea in case she was pulled over by the police. Just like it had been his brainy idea to burn her natural fingerprints off a few years back. “Yo’ Nee, they can’t find out who you are if you don’t have prints. Can they?”

  “His stupid ass.” As far as she was concerned, Topps had a rude awakening coming. Once this was over, she could pick her kids up from her mother’s house, leave all her material possessions behind and hit the highway. See ya! Where they would live, where they would go, and how they would manage, were all minor details.

  First she dialed Bianca’s number. Bianca was a close friend to Kaykay. The thought of Kaykay saddened her. If she had never invited her friend over for their little coke party, Kaykay would still be alive. Twice a month, Kaykay, Bianca and Bianca’s sister, Kimmie, dressed up as sexy as hell and did girl’s night out to see who could hook the most big-ballers with money. Any news about Kaykay, Bianca would know.

  Act normal, Neema told herself before Bianca picked her up. “Hey, girl. What’s crackin’ up yo’ way?”

  “Going through it right now.”

  “What’s wrong?” Neema asked, making her voice sound concerned. Bianca’s didn’t sound right. Her voice sounded thick and nasal—like she’d been crying.

  “Our girl is missing,” Bianca relayed over the line.

  “Who?” Neema felt bad. She knew damn well who. Still, she had to play if off.

  “Kaykay didn’t come home last night. Her man Roscoe said when he slid by her crib and waited, she didn’t show. We been blazing her cell phone like crazy, but no answer.”

  “What? Ohmygawd. Anyone know where she went last?” Neema was fishing for information. If her girl Kaykay had told anyone that she was driving over to her place, it was something that she needed to know.

  “Not really,” said Bianca, sniffing. “You know how Kay was sometimes; always doing her thang but secretive about it.”

  “Wow. I just talked to her yesterday, too. We talked about hooking up this weekend and hitting a few clubs.”

  “Did she mention anything about where she was going, anything like that?”

  “Nah,” Neema lied with ease. She was going to hell for sure, but she couldn’t tell the truth. “She said something about some nigga she had met a few days ago. She sounded a little excited about hooking up with ’im. But you know that girl; she probably somewhere getting her new freak on but didn’t want nobody to know.”

  “Yeah. I hope so. Her moms tried calling in a missing persons report, but they talking shit about waiting for so many hours before you can file. Probably “cause she’s a black woman. You know how they do.”

  “Dang.” It was time to cut it short. The more she talked about Kaykay, the worse she felt. “I’m sure she’ll show back up when she’s ready. I was calling to see if y’all wanted to hook up this weekend and party, but I can check back.”

  “Maybe another time, Miss Nee. Once our girl is home safe, we can do the town and stir it up old time.”

  “For sure.” Neema had to keep it as real as possible. “Don’t worry, she’ll show up.”

  “Yeah. Hope you’re right, Ma. But I’ll holler at you later when I hear something.”

  “For sure, Bee. Anyway, I’m out.”

  She dialed her mother’s number. Hattie picked up on the third ring. “Mama, I need a big favor, and please don’t give me a hard time. I need you to go pick the kids up from school early.” She had known there would be some protest. “I have an emergency and I need you to go get them now. Before dismissal time.” Topps would be parked outside the school waiting at dismissal.

  Hattie gave her some words of concern about her request.

  “Mama, I promise I’ll be over to pick them up tonight. Whatever you do, don’t wait until two-forty-five dismissal time. Plus, I need to talk to you again about…well, about you moving from that spot. I hate to tell you this, but you might be in danger staying there. I know, I know, Mama. We’ll talk about it when I get the kids tonight.”

  Before she hung up, Hattie had insisted on confirming her new cell phone number, Topps’ cell phone number, and his house phone number. It would have been comical if Hattie hadn’t been so adamant about it.

  “You know where their school is, and I always put your name down as an emergency contact, so it shouldn’t be a problem to sign them out early. Oh, and one more thing, Mama. Don’t give my kids to Topps. We fell out big time, but I’ll explain it all when I get there tonight. Thanks, Mama.”

  Topps ain’t as smart as he thinks. Neema smiled, putting the Ford in gear and pulling away from the curb. She turned the air conditioner on. It was getting hot in the light-brown velour warm-
up suit she had worn. In no time she was waiting at the intersection of Del Amo and Alameda for the Metro train to clear before proceeding. While she waited, she thought about all she needed to get done before she could pack up her kids and leave. Two hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars wasn’t exactly rich. But she’d heard that she could actually pay cash for a decent-looking house in Hutto, Texas or another small town for about seventy or eighty thousand. Maybe even buy her mother a house, too. She could get a job, maybe take some classes to better herself. Heck, she might even get back in college. Everything was going to work out just fine once she put some distance between herself and that fool Topps Jackson.

  “Let’s go, let’s go.” The Metro was taking forever. Neema looked around surprised that there wasn’t a lot of traffic yet. Compton was not one of her favorite cities, so the sooner she could deliver her load and get back to her own vehicle, the better. Not one car was to her right or her left. Her glance caught the rearview mirror, a sight that made her stiffen in her seat. From the rear view, she could see a large black truck speeding up to her rear. It didn’t look like it was going to stop, but instead, accelerated. The Metro train was in front of her, which left no means for her to get out of the path of the speeding truck. It was obvious that the truck would plow into the back of her vehicle.

  “What the hell is he doing?” Neema couldn’t take her eyes away from the rear view. The Metro train finally cleared, and the guard rail went up. She made an attempt to floor the accelerator hoping to move her vehicle to the side, but not fast enough. The huge, black Chevrolet Suburban plowed into her at a speed meant for freeway driving. The slam and crunch of metal against metal echoed loud through the early morning air. The compact Ford Escape lurched forward fifty feet into a utility pole, crushing the front of the vehicle. Without her seatbelt on her body was airborne out the shattered windshield. Her head hit the pavement hard on landing.

  Neema groaned in pain. “Help me…please.”

  Everything on her hurt. Blood was on her face, in her eyes. It felt like she couldn’t breathe. As she lay there, she heard voices—Spanish-speaking. Footsteps came over to her, and someone said something in Spanish, then there was the sound of feet running away from her. She didn’t have the strength to lift her head, but could hear a vehicle moving past her.