Blood, Sweat & Payback (Payback Series)

by Wahida Clark

Bennett rushed from the room to carry out his orders.

  Forty-five minutes later Dr. Muhammad walked into Janay’s room with her chart. The officer was in the room and Janay was sitting up in the bed, arguing with him. She was still strapped to the bed by her ankles.

  “I don’t care who said it. I don’t need fuckin’ police protection!” Janay barked.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Carter, that’s not up to you or me,” the officer explained calmly. “I’m just doing my job.”

  “Well, go do it somewhere else!”

  “What’s the problem?” Muhammad asked Janay.

  “Who are you?” she questioned, looking him up and down with disgust. With your Morris Chestnut looking ass.

  Muhammad suppressed a smirk. He liked her sass. “Your doctor, ah, Dr. Akbar Muhammad.”

  “What happened to the other doctor?” she asked suspiciously.

  “He’s no longer assigned to you.”

  “Well, somebody needs to tell the police that I don’t need protection. It’s contributing to my stress levels.”

  “But, Miss Carter, there have been two attempts on your life. One right in this hospital. The hospital and the police are worried about a third one,” Muhammad explained.

  Janay didn’t say anything, but he could tell she had been too sedated to fully comprehend or recall what had happened.

  “Regardless, I don’t need protection. In fact, I don’t need to be in this hospital. So if—” Muhammad cut her off politely but firmly. “Miss Carter, a lot has happened, but I will do what I can to clear this up. Officer, your services are no longer needed.”

  “But I’m—”

  “No! I’m her doctor, and if your presence is stressing my patient, then I have the final say,” Muhammad said authoritatively, but winked at the officer, adding, “I will talk to the hospital.”

  The officer, catching on, nodded. “Just as long as my ass is covered.”

  “It is,” Muhammad assured him, and the officer walked out. Muhammad turned to Janay. “And as for you, whether or not you belong in the hospital is up to me. Cooperate and I can make an informed assessment. If you don’t, I can’t until you do.”

  He nodded curtly and walked out. Dr. Muhammad went out into the hall and he approached the officer. “Listen, do not let her see you. No matter what, stay out here. I know you have a job to do, but so do I. Let’s work together and both of our jobs will be easier, okay?” Muhammad proposed.

  “No problem.”

  Muhammad started to walk away.

  “Excuse me. I heard you were a S.E.A.L.,” the officer remarked.

  “Yes sir. Third Tactical Unit, First lieutenant.”

  “Me too. I was First lieutenant as well. Pleasure to work with you, Sir.” The officer saluted.

  Muhammad smiled and returned the salute.

  • • •

  When Janay woke up, Muhammad was sitting in the chair near her bed reading a book. “What are you doing here?” she asked, feeling vulnerable because a stranger was watching her sleep.

  “Well, you didn’t want police protection, so I have to watch you.”

  “Don’t you have other patients?”

  “I did, but they died.” Muhammad shrugged. “Hopefully I’ll have better luck with you.”

  Janay chuckled in spite of herself. “That wasn’t funny.”

  “I can’t tell.” Muhammad smirked. “So . . . are you ready to talk?”

  “No, I’m not,” she replied with a challenging tone, letting him know it would take more than a laugh to get her to open up.

  “Okay,” he said, returning to his book.

  She expected more of a resistance. His nonchalantness threw her off. Still, his presence was comforting and she drifted back to sleep.

  “You saved my life,” Janay told him when she awoke an hour later.

  After sleeping off the last of the heavy sedatives her head began to clear and she began to remember. She remembered the soothing voice just on the other side of her cries and she recognized it as Muhammad’s. Then she remembered seeing the two men struggling by her bed, and one of the other men slumping to the ground. The man that looked into her eyes was Muhammad.

  He put down his book and nodded, maintaining eye contact.

  “Thank you,” she added.

  “You’re welcome. Do you . . . can you remember the other man’s face? Have you ever seen him before?”

  Janay shook her head. “No.”

  “No, you don’t know him, or no, you won’t tell me?”

  Janay mustered a slight smile. “No. I don’t know him.”

  “Do you know who tried to kill you?”

  “No,” she replied.

  It was his turn to smile. “Whenever you lie, think about the truth and never divert your gaze,” he schooled her. “But I understand. You look like a woman that wants to handle her own affairs. But everybody needs somebody sometime.”

  She didn’t respond.

  “Miss Carter, I cannot release you unless you give me something. Convince me. And if you lie to me, do a better job,” he said.

  “You can’t keep me indefinitely,” she shot back. But there was a tinge of uncertainty in her tone.

  “If you’re a threat to yourself or others, yes, we can get a court to commit you to our care.”

  She rolled her eyes and looked away.

  “But I wouldn’t do that to you. I just need you to give me something,” Muhammad remarked.

  He waited a few moments. “Now . . . do you know why you’re here?”

  She slowly looked at him, and then nodded.

  “Can you tell me why?”

  “They killed . . . my son.”

  It was a start.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The Fairlane Town Center in Dearborn, Michigan, was flooded with people. Every station in town was talking about it. The American Idol tryouts had come to Detroit. Everybody and their momma who even thought they could sing had come out looking for that chance to become a star. Quandra was one of those people.

  “Ohhh, girl, I’m so happy for you!” Quita gushed. She loved her little sister to death. But she had often worried about her. All she did was go to school, watch T.V. and suck her thumb. At one time she thought Quandra may have been mildly retarded, but she wasn’t. She was just a star waiting to happen.

  “Aren’t you nervous?” Quita asked.

  “No,” was Quandra’s simple reply. She didn’t even take her thumb out of her mouth.

  “Say hi to J-Lo for me,” Quita requested.

  When Quandra’s number was called the whole host of hood rats Quita brought erupted with cheers.

  “Go get ’em, girl!”

  “Quandra, do your thang!”

  “We love you, li’l sis!”

  Quandra entered the audition area in the middle of the mall and walked straight to the small mock stage and looked into the faces of Jennifer Lopez, Keith Urban, and Harry Connick, Jr.

  “Awww, she is absolutely adorable,” J-Lo cooed. “What’s your name, sweetie?”

  “Quandra,” she answered, thumb still in her mouth.

  “Speak up, sweetie, and take your thumb out of your mouth,” Harry advised her.

  Quandra shook her head. J-Lo chuckled. “Are you nervous?”

  “No. I’m going to win,” Quandra answered, as if what she said was already a fact.

  “How are you going to do that with your thumb in your mouth?” Keith Urban asked her.

  Quandra cracked a smile. As soon as she slid her thumb out of her mouth, she blew the first note of the Jackson Five’s “Who’s Loving You.” The wail she created with just those words might as well have spelled win because that’s what she did to the hearts of the three judges and the millions of Americans watching. By the time she whined, warbled, and blew through the words, I had you, J-Lo was in tears, Harry was in awe, and Keith was on his feet.

  “Please-please!” Keith called out, resting his hand on the desk for balance. “Sweetie, if you sing any m
ore I may just . . . explode! My God! I don’t need to hear anymore! You’re going to Hollywood!”

  “What just happened?” Harry asked.

  “Oh my God! Hollywood? Baby, you’re going to heaven!” J-Lo squealed.

  Quandra put her thumb back in her mouth and walked off the stage. She already knew what the other two judges would say.

  “Now that’s confidence,” Keith remarked.

  When Quandra emerged from the audition area and approached Ryan Seacrest, Quita, and the Hood Rat cheerleaders, (Dena, Holly, and Talaya) she pulled her thumb out of her mouth long enough to say, “We goin’ to Hollywood!”

  Quita and company started screaming and jumping around like they had won the lottery. She hugged and kissed Quandra, tears streaming down her face.

  “Oh my God, I can’t believe it! I can’t believe it!”

  They were celebrating so much she didn’t even hear her phone ringing. Baby Boy had called three times before she heard it ring. “Hello!”

  “Fuck you mean hello? Fuck is you doin’?”

  “She won! Baby, she won! Quandra won!”

  Baby Boy smiled. Even though he was in war mode, Quandra was like a little sister to him, so he took a moment to share in her happiness.

  “Yeah, yo, that’s what’s up. But I told you to be on point! I’m in the parking lot! I told you shit is serious!”

  “Okay!”

  “Bring yo’ ass on, Quita!”

  “I said okay!” she huffed, hung up and added, “Mannish ass!”

  Quita, Quandra, and the entourage came out to where Baby Boy told her he was parked. As soon as Quita saw Heather in the passenger seat of the rental she turned to Baby Boy and asked, “Baby Boy, who this white bitch, and what is she doin’ in my seat?”

  Baby Boy looked at Heather. “Get in the back,” he instructed her, which Heather did with no hesitation because she knew her position.

  Baby Boy turned back to Quita, walking her a few feet away out of earshot of everyone.

  “Yo, Quita, I know you still be fuckin’ with Dark, so don’t lie to me.” Baby Boy wanted to hear her say it.

  “Sometimes,” Quita admitted sheepishly, quickly adding, “But only when you be gone and I be lonely.”

  Baby Boy dismissed her excuse. He already knew Quita’s problem. He was more hot with Dark. How could he be still fucking Quita? It only confirmed what Heather told him. The nigga couldn’t be trusted.

  “A’iight, look, call that nigga tonight. Tell him you lonely, and—”

  “No, Baby Boy, I wanna be wit’ you tonight.” She pouted. “You can bring the white girl. I don’t care.”

  “Naw, it ain’t that. I just want you to get the nigga over there,” Baby Boy explained, giving her that look she understood so well.

  Realization blossomed in her eyes. “Oooh, okay, no problem.” She shrugged. “When?”

  “I’ll call you. Just be on point, Quita. I ain’t playin’!”

  “I will. I promise. I love you! We goin’ to Hollywood!” she sang.

  “I love you too, baby girl, and we already in Hollywood. You my star!”

  Quita was the one person who could do no wrong in his eyes. It was fucked up that she would still fuck Dark, but sometimes you can give a person everything, and still, they will never change.

  • • •

  Shan took Mo’Betta to Ruth’s Chris Steak House out in Sommerset to meet Born. When they arrived he was already seated facing the door. As they approached she could see in his approving smile that her entrance had the desired effect. She was wearing a tan Louis Vuitton suit, business but sensual.

  When she reached the table, Born rose like a gentleman to pull out her chair and greet her with a kiss on the cheek. He was wearing Creed, a scent she didn’t really care for, but it smelled delicious on him. Before they sat, she introduced the men.

  “Born, this is Mo’Betta. Mo’, this is Born.”

  They gave each other dap, sizing each other up casually, and then they all sat down.

  “Yo, I heard about Briggen. I’m sorry to hear about that,” Born remarked, offering his condolences.

  “He’ll be missed,” Shan replied.

  Born could tell Shan was far from in mourning, so it wasn’t hard to put two and two together. It’s a dirty game he thought.

  “Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Briggen’s spot on The Consortium,” Shan said.

  “What about it?”

  “I want to sponsor Mo’Betta to fill it,” Shan answered, getting right to the point.

  “I see you don’t waste time,” Born remarked, looking Shan in the eyes to make sure she got his point.

  She returned his gaze letting him know she did. “Life’s too short. My motto is carpe diem. I’m thinkin’ about getting it as a tattoo.”

  “Seize the day,” he said, translating the Latin. He turned to Mo’. “So, you’re Mo’Betta, huh? I heard a lot about you . . . not all good.” Born was straight-up.

  “Everybody’s got haters. If you don’t, you ain’t doing something right,” Mo’ shot back cockily.

  “Naw, yo, I don’t listen to haters. My circle consists of Gods and wise men, so when they speak, I listen. So I’ma ask you . . . one time . . . Where is Wise? And what’s your beef with Janay?” Born questioned calmly, but there was no mistaking his tone.

  Neither Mo’Betta nor Shan knew Born had a car full of shooters in the parking lot, waiting for the signal to light Mo’s ass up as soon as he stepped foot out the door.

  Mo’Betta frowned up. “Yo, maine, I don’t know what you talkin’ about, and I definitely don’t like the way you’re bringin’ it to me.”

  “Your man Tech got killed, right? He got killed at Crystal’s wake, right? I already know he was one of your goons so don’t play with my intelligence. I walked in the door neutral. Don’t make me walk out and pick a side,” Born warned.

  The two men eye-danced intensely, neither wanting to back down. Both young and wild, so their egos and testosterone levels were heavily permeating the air.

  Shan had no idea what was going on. She was extremely nervous but did a good job of concealing it. She turned to Mo’Betta and said, “This ain’t about pride. It’s about money. Answer the question.”

  He looked at her. He hated for a woman to tell him what to do, but he knew he needed her so he relented. “Like I said, I don’t know any Wise. But at the wake . . . the nigga Dark had my cousin Rob killed, so I came for him. This Janay broad, I don’t know her either,” Mo’Betta explained.

  Born nodded, understanding what had happened. Wise and Mo’ had just picked the same time to hit Janay and Dark. Just like that, Mo’s life had been spared, and he didn’t even know it.

  “Well . . . you know Dark is on The Consortium too,” Born remarked even though technically he wasn’t. “And we don’t allow beef between members. That’s the purpose of The Consortium. And like Red just said, it’s about money . . . not pride. If your cousin was in the game, then he already knew what he signed up for. This game plays for keeps,” Born jeweled Mo’Betta.

  Mo’ nodded. “Fo’ sho’.”

  “So you think you ready for the big leagues?” Born challenged.

  “The question is, is the big leagues ready for me?” Mo’ shot back arrogantly.

  Born smirked. “We’ll see,” he answered, then turned to Shan. “Red, you know we have to have Mo’Betta checked out, and then we can put it to the vote. As for me, I don’t have a problem with him comin’ in as long as he plays by the rules.”

  “Believe me, he will,” Shan replied.

  “Yo, Red, just like you, I can speak for myself,” Mo’ informed Shan, looking Born in the eye. “I can respect the rules but ain’t no nigga gonna play me.”

  Born nodded, and they all stood up. Born gave Red a parting kiss on the cheek.

  “I’m not a fan of Creed, but it smells good on you,” she flirted.

  “It’ll smell better on you,” he winked, making her giggle
at the hint.

  As she walked away Born asked, “Where were you thinkin’ about getting that tattoo?”

  She smiled over her shoulder. “It’s more fun if you guess.”

  Once they were outside, her whole demeanor changed and she spazzed out on Mo’Betta.

  “Mo’, what the fuck was he talking about? And why didn’t you tell me you had beef with Dark?”

  “That ain’t have nothin’ to do wit’ you,” Mo’Betta answered.

  Shan stopped and tried to get in his face, but he was much taller than her. “No! You got it twisted! You work for me! My beef is yours, not the other way around! Never let me walk into a situation with my eyes wide shut behind your bullshit again! Are we clear?”

  Mo’Betta had never come so close to smacking the shit out of Shan. She sensed it and stepped in even closer, taunting him. Her eyes daring him.

  “I asked . . . Are. We. Clear?”

  Mo’Betta told himself the time would come when he would put Shan in her place and enjoy every minute of it. It was that thought that helped him smile and reply, “Crystal.”

  “Then we understand each other. Call me and I’ll have that ready for you,” she said heading to her car chirping her alarm.

  She called Nyla. “So are we a go?” Shan asked.

  “Of course. The nigga ran wit’ it. He’ll never see it coming,” Nyla snickered.

  “People never see the obvious until it’s too late,” Shan remarked. The two coconspirators shared a laugh.

  • • •

  Dark sat outside Lisha’s crib like he had been doing a lot lately. It was the only way he could get a glimpse of his son. He would watch him play basketball in the driveway until it got dark. He wanted to tell him to work on his wrist strength and not try to be fancy. Get the basics down pat first. He wanted to play one-on-one with him, hear him laugh and call him daddy. Watching his son away from the craziness of the streets was beginning to change Dark’s perspective on priorities. He wasn’t ready to leave the game, but he was ready to take a step in that direction.

  Lisha pulled up in the driveway like she did at 4:15p.m. every day. Dark got out of the car carrying a duffle bag.

  “Hey, Ma! Watch this!” Damian called out as he shot a three-pointer and made it.