Red Light Special

by Risqué

Monday looked in his face and laughed. “Love? All the times I cried, laid up here, and wondered where the fuck you been. And each and every time you were out with some bitch, telling her a buncha bullshit. Love.” She laughed again. “You don’t even know what love is.” She resumed packing her clothes. “Selfish motherfucker.”

  “I said you ain’t goin’ nowhere!” He pulled his hand back and slapped her, sending her flying across the room. He walked over and slapped her again. Monday’s eyes widened and she swung her arms as if she were doing the backstroke. She squirmed on the floor. “Get off of me!”

  “I’m not gon’ let you and some niggah ruin me! You need to tell whatever niggah it is to get ghost because I’m not lettin’ you go that easy. ’Cause we in this till death do us part!” He tossed her across the room, causing her to fall into the nightstand and topple everything over. As she scooted back, banging her head against the wall, she spotted her gun, which had fallen from the nightstand to the floor.

  “I don’t fuckin’ believe this shit!” Kenyatta spat. “After everything I’ve been through, this is what you do? This is what the fuck you do? You ain’t shit, bitch. That’s exactly why I was fucking around. You can’t expect no man to be faithful to no ho.”

  Monday felt as if horses stampeded through her mind as she reached for the gun.

  “And even dead,” he went on, “Eve is more of a woman than you’ll ever be!”

  As he turned to slam his elbow into her face, Monday pointed the gun toward him. “You better back the fuck up!” she shrieked, tears and sweat pouring down her face. She could feel blood dripping from the corner of her lip. Her head felt as if she’d been beaten with a bat.

  “What you gon’ do?” he sneered with a smirk on his face, looking at her with disdain. “Huh?” He hunched his shoulders. “What?” His mind flashed back to the day he was fucking Eve and she was shot dead. His eyes roamed all over Monday’s bruised and battered body, and he knew that at this moment she was capable of anything. “So is that what you did, bitch, when you shot Eve in the head?” Kenyatta walked closer to Monday.

  “You better back yo’ ass up!” she snorted. “And get the fuck out!”

  “What you gon’ do, Monday, shoot me?” He continued to walk toward her.

  She knocked the safety off and he stopped dead in his tracks. “I will kill you.” She didn’t flinch, and although tears blinded her eyes, she had a clear aim of where she would burn the bullet through his chest. “Now, you can die or you can leave peacefully, but either way you gettin’ the fuck outta here.”

  “You gon’ shoot me, Monday?”

  “If I need to. Now you talking too motherfuckin’ much. And I only have one word to say: goodbye.”

  “This the motherfuckin’ mayor’s mansion. How the hell you gon’ put me out?”

  “I mean it.”

  Not able to gauge if she would really shoot him or not, Kenyatta grabbed his clothes from the floor and backed out of the room slowly. “Ai’ight, ai’ight, I see what the fuck is going on here.”

  Monday stood still, unmoving, with tears pouring from her eyes. She didn’t know what to do, so she stood with the gun pointed at the door and didn’t relax until she heard the car pull out of the driveway. Then she completely fell apart.

  In the shadows of the New York City skyline Kenyatta was in his secret Central Park West apartment, haunted by paranoia. His mind continued to replay the night Eve was killed here as he searched each room, the wooden floor creaking beneath his feet. He scanned through the closets, and followed the dim trails of light drifting in from the windows to every crevice of the apartment. Beads of sweat ran down his face and over his eyes.

  He paced the room and then walked over to the bar and poured himself a double shot of Vodka.

  Unable to calm his nerves he picked up the phone and called Hudson, “I need you.” He said as she answered. “Right now.”

  “I’m on my way,” Hudson said without hesitation. “Where are you?”

  “I’m not at the mansion. I’m at the 4114 Central Park West apartment—” Before he could finish she’d hung up.

  Kenyatta held the phone in his hand for a moment and then he placed it on the hook. He walked back over to the bar and took steady sips of vodka to the head. His chest burned and his mind raced as he rose from the bar stool and began to pace again.

  He took another shot of vodka and heard a knock at the door. He opened it and Hudson was standing there. He pulled her inside by her arm, and once she was in the apartment, he stuck his head out the door, looked both ways behind her, and slapped the three deadbolts on.

  “What’s going on?” she said in a panic.

  “I swear to God…I swear…” Kenyatta paced, the sound of his voice rattling with a drunken tremor, “This shit is crazy.”

  “What? What’s crazy?”

  Kenyatta let out a deep breath and paced a few seconds more. He knew he had to resolve this…he had too much to lose not to. The problem was he couldn’t wrap his mind around what he needed to do. He needed things to get back to the way they were, but no one ever told him how to rewind time.

  “Damn,” he said, exasperated. If only they could just get through this, he would never cheat again; obviously anything that tore up his life and career like this wasn’t worth it. Which is why he’d called Hudson. She was, among other things, his personal advisor, his chief of staff, and certainly she understood more than anyone else how he desperately had to make this shit work. Otherwise his political career was finished. “Hudson,” he cupped her chin, “you’re the only one I can talk to.”

  She gave him a look of assurance, “Yes…I am.”

  “Which is why I’m going to tell you this.” He started pacing again. His mouth was hesitant to spit out what his mind insisted had to be true.

  “Kenyatta,” Hudson grabbed his hand, “I’m here, what more do I need to do to prove that to you? I don’t wanna be in the closet anymore. I want the world to know that I love you.”

  Kenyatta stopped dead in his tracks and spat out as if he’d never heard a word Hudson said, “I think…I think…my wife killed Eve.”

  “What?” Hudson blinked, frozen in her spot. “You think Monday did what?”

  “Everything just happened so fast. She must’ve snapped. She must’ve thought that these bitches out here meant something to me. She didn’t have to do this. Didn’t she see we were a team, that I needed her to run this city?”

  Tears surged from Hudson’s eyes. “What does that have to do with killing Eve?”

  “Maybe—” He clinched his fist, “Fuck! Why did she do this? She didn’t have to, she could’ve talked to me.”

  “She doesn’t love you. She doesn’t appreciate you. It’s me. I love you. I appreciate you.”

  Kenyatta continued, oblivious to anything Hudson was saying. “And you know what?” He wiped his brow, “I fucked up. I really, really fucked up. I should’ve just told her the truth.”

  “Do you even know the truth—”

  “Eve was stalking me.”

  “Stalking you?” Hudson took a step back, “You haven’t heard a word I said, have you?”

  “Eve wanted all of my attention and I knew Monday was jealous. She must’ve found out about this place somehow, broken in here,” he turned around toward the hall closet and pointed to the missing door, “and lost it.”

  “Since you think Monday killed Eve, why don’t you call the police?”

  “The police? On my wife? Are you fuckin’ insane? Let me tell you something, that’s my fuckin’ wife. Not my jump-off, not my baby’s mama, not some ho’n-ass bitch in the street, but my wife. Be clear. Yeah, we fight, and I say shit to her, somethings I mean and some shit I don’t mean. But so fuckin’ what? Do you know how many bitches in the street I say I love you to? But at the end of the day, fuck them. I know Monday may have done some shit—”

  “You said she was a murderess!”

  “She did it because she loved me.”

  “She d
oesn’t love you! I love you!”

  “How the fuck did this turn in to being about you?”

  “We are a family—we have a baby—”

  “What the fuck?” Kenyatta spat, as if it just registered where Hudson’s head was at. “We’re not a damn family. You knew my situation, you knew I had a wife who I was never leaving. You knew exactly what this was. A good fuck and nut suck. And be clear, we had a baby, because you didn’t use anything, no other reason. Don’t get it twisted.”

  “I don’t believe this.”

  “Believe it. Your job is to help me maintain my power and position politically and all that other shit is extra.”

  Hudson stood stunned, doing her all to hide the fact that she was visibly shaken. She didn’t want to cuss and scream, because that wouldn’t solve anything and sometimes the best words were left unspoken. She swallowed and stroked Kenyatta’s hand. “You’re right, Kenyatta, I was out of line. Forgive me.”

  “You’re too selfish sometimes, Hudson. You overdo shit. I’m going through something right now and I need you to understand that.”

  “I do and you will rise above this. You always defeat adversity. Now what did you do with the body?”

  “Tracy helped. I told him not to tell me what he did with the body. I didn’t wanna know.”

  “Smart move.”

  “This has me fucked up. How am I supposed to give my speech in the morning?”

  “You will give your speech. And you will do fine.”

  “I never expected shit to be like this.”

  “I know, but you need to recognize who you are. You are Kenyatta Smith, the mayor. You are the one in charge. This is your city and no one can run you out of anywhere. So I need you to be strong, because we are going to rise above this. You have the love of the people. Everyone knows your heart. They have nothing on you and nothing to tie you to her murder. As a matter of fact, if that body is not found, no one can tie you to anything.”

  Kenyatta looked at Hudson. “You think? You really think so?”

  “Yes.” She stroked his crotch. “I do. Now let me make you feel better.” She unzipped his pants and slid his hard member into her wet and warm mouth while Kenyatta placed his hand on her shoulders and tossed his head back.

  Kenyatta was escorted by his security team to the stage where the state-of-the-city address was to take place. He looked into the sea of flashing lights, reporters, cameras, and invited guests. It didn’t matter that none of the City Council took their expected and assigned seats behind him. He was here because obviously this is where he was supposed to be, regardless of what was really going on around him.

  Kenyatta stepped up to the podium, tugged a little at his silk burgundy tie, hunched his shoulders, and began his speech. “I come humbly before you,” Kenyatta’s round gold-frame glasses rested on the bridge of his nose, “as not only the mayor of our great city but also as a man, a caring man, a kind, an honest man, who loves this wonderful place.”

  Out of habit Kenyatta turned to his right where Monday usually would stand and reach to grab his hand, but instead of her being there, he spotted Hudson standing at a distance in Monday’s spot. She smiled at him and he turned back around.

  “I come before you most humbly and most honored to be your mayor,” he continued. “We have made great strides together, and since I have been in office, we have been like a family. Despite all the things that the lynch mob media wants to blame on me. We, New York,” he spoke with the confidence of a great preacher, “have been together, supporting one another, and for that I thank you. Going forward we will continue to focus on decreasing the city’s deficit, cracking down on prostitution rings that seem to be sweeping our city, bringing down crime, drug dealers, guns, the murder rate, gangs, address the homeless situation, and together we will stand and together we will continue to build a great city.” Once the notes containing his speech were done, Kenyatta continued on. “No longer will I be plagued by the political mob run amok who disrespect me and lie on me about foolery of which I have nothing to do with. I am dedicated to this city. I stand strong, and City Council,” Kenyatta looked at Thomas, “we have more important things to take care of in our city than for you to entertain nonsense. So, as I bring my address to a close, I say thank you, New York, for supporting me and allowing me to take us to a better place. I bid you farewell.”

  Kenyatta nodded his head and was escorted backstage by his security. “Bless,” Kenyatta shook his hand and nodded his head, “it’s been a minute.”

  “Yeah, it has been,” Bless cleared his throat, “but look, can you step over here for a moment?” Bless pointed to a remote corner of the hallway.

  “Sure,” Kenyatta said with certainty.

  “After you.” Bless held his hand out and Kenyatta walked in front of him. Once they were standing in the space Bless had designated, he looked at Kenyatta and said, “Please place your hands behind your back.” Before Kenyatta could protest, Bless took his arms, placed him in position, and slapped handcuffs on him.

  Kenyatta tried to snatch away, “What are you doing?” he said, noticing an army of FBI agents standing around him. “Nice to see you again Mr. Humble,” Agent West said as he nodded his head at Kenyatta and Agent Jones waved.

  “Bless,” Kenyatta looked confused, “what the hell is going on?”

  “Mayor Kenyatta Smith,” Bless said, “I’m Special Agent Shields and you’re under arrest for obstruction of justice, misconduct in office, perjury, money laundering, and the murder of Eve Johnson.”

  “Murder!” Kenyatta screamed, “I didn’t kill Eve!”

  “You have the right to remain silent,” Bless continued on, “anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”

  Kenyatta heard Bless, but his mind wasn’t there. His memory tripped through all the times he should’ve known better than to trust anyone other than himself, and by the time he came back to reality he was in the back of a federal agent’s car, with the sirens blaring and a television camera stuck in his face.

  The afternoon sun crept into Collyn’s room as she lay in the center of her bed, wondering where all the black had come from. She knew it was noon, because the digital clock said so, but all she could see was space. Space everywhere. No longer did she see an exquisite Manhattan penthouse with amenities fit for a queen. All she could see were empty rooms with haunting echoes that wouldn’t let go of the sound of his voice, the memories, the essence of his touch, and his fuckin’ scent.

  Collyn wanted to scream and cuss out the world, because nobody, not her mother, her father, or her cousin Taryn, had ever told her it would feel like this. Everyone had always said, “When a man hurts you, to hell with ’im.” But never had they mentioned what to do about your heart wanting him back.

  She stared at the cathedral ceiling and thought about how her life was so different now. Everything was different except the way she felt about Bless. She loved him. She knew what he’d done to her was fucked up, but no matter what, and despite all of that, she couldn’t stop the craving she had to hear him laugh, see him smile, or hear him tell some corny-ass joke.

  She missed the way he would call her and just tell her he loved her, he missed her, and he simply wanted to hear her voice. She wanted to hold his hand again and just be by his side. After all, they did share a life…But then again, fuck him.

  Collyn shook her head. If only the memories would just leave.

  She got off the bed and walked into the kitchen. She pulled the carrots out of the refrigerator and placed them on the counter, grabbed a knife, and started chopping them for her garden salad.

  Doing her all to distract her mind from thinking, she started to sing. Eventually she found herself singing at the top of her lungs, only to have tears sneak into her eyes and pour down her cheeks. She looked around the empty room, and before she knew anything she was screaming and screaming and screaming until all she could do was rest her head in the crook of her arm and cry until her tears made a river
on the countertop.

  Monday stood on the balcony of her hotel suite and looked at the busy Manhattan street. She wondered where her life would go from here. Was she actually welcoming independence, or was it loneliness? She knew she wanted to rejoice that she’d finally left Kenyatta, but the pain rocking the center of her chest needed soothing. Yet she couldn’t go back to him. Leaving him wasn’t about no longer loving him; rather, it’d become a choice of life or death. And she had to live, otherwise she would never know if anything would ever be different. She had no choice but to face her greatest fear: being alone.

  And yeah, she had regrets. But this was life, and sometimes that was just how the shit went. Despite the many nights she’d spent praying for him, somewhere in the midst of it she’d always known it would all come down to this.

  She walked back in the hotel room, and turned on the TV. She flipped the channel to ABC News where the commentator announced “Mayor Kenyatta Smith has just been arrested.”

  FIVE MONTHS LATER

  Bless sat with his head thrown back and his hands in the side pockets of his pants. It was eight o’clock in the evening and he was at the local bar, knowing that it’d been five months too long for him to still be in mourning. Mourning his heart aching at even the softest breeze that carried Collyn’s scent. At the thumping of car tires in the rain that reminded him of how she would jump when they splashed water on the curbs. He couldn’t stand to see her favorite TV show or listen to her favorite song on the radio. Every time he smelled the scent of her perfume he choked up. And he couldn’t stop thinking about how she drooled in her sleep.

  He hated that they didn’t meet under different circumstances, because maybe then, they would’ve had a million chances to get things right. But they didn’t and here he sat listening to Earth, Wind & Fire on the jukebox preach about the reasons for love.

  “Deep thought?” a tall and curvy woman walked up and slid onto the stool next to Bless.