by Deja King
When I arrived home from the LAX airport and didn't see any cars parked along the circular driveway, the tight knot in my stomach loosened up. Supreme rarely kept his car in the garage, and if he was using a driver the Bentley would be resting out front. I took my time going inside replaying the day's events. It was like damn! One minute I was sitting in front of Nico at a New York city hotel suite reminiscing about the past, and now I was back in Cali having to deal with my reality-my daughter was kidnapped and I didn't know when she would be back home. It was so hush when I got in the house you would've thought the place had been abandoned. I immediately began flicking on all the lights so it would feel as if life was in the room. I walked toward the kitchen to get something to drink. My eyes instantaneously became fixated on a beautiful bouquet of flowers adorning the glazed lava stone countertop upon entering the kitchen. I was drawn to the array of Vandella roses, white hydrangeas, blue muscari and pink Peony's... it was as if they were calling my name. Finally, something to put a smile on my face, after all the bullshit and heartache, a wonderful gesture from my husband to take away all the pain if only for one moment, I thought as I smelled the breathtaking arrangement. I noticed the small white envelope with "Precious" written across and I opened it to read the card inside. Before digesting the first word written, horror seized me. A jetblack curl began descending as it made its way out when I opened the card. I fell to the floor, banging my knees in an attempt to catch the locks. I preferred the hair to find a resting-place in the palm of my hand rather than on the cold marble beneath me. "My baby! My poor baby!" was all I kept saying. I could distinguishAaliyah's jet black curls from any head of hair. I ran my fingers through each strand on countless occasions. She was my baby, my pride and joy. To let it hit the ground was the same as me letting her die. THE MESSAGE
"Supreme, come home right now!" I screamed in the phone. I could hear loud music in the background so I knew he was at the studio grinding, but fuck whatever he was working on. This was too much. I needed my husband home now. "Baby, what's wrong?" "That motherfucka's dead! He don't know it yet, but he's dead!" "Precious, what the fuck is going on... talk to me?" "When I got home there was a bouquet of flowers waiting for me. I thought they were from you." "I ain't send you no flowers." "I realized that once I opened the card." "Who the fuck was they from...?" Supreme asked then immediately jumped to answer. "I know that nigga, Mike's punk ass didn't send you no fuckin' flowers and shit. Oh hell no, tell me I'm buggin'." "It's worse than that." "What, the nigga delivered that shit himself," he countered, thinking that was as bad as it could get. "I don't know who the fuck delivered them `cause I wasn't here, but even if he had, it's still worse." "Tell me what the fuck it is!" Supreme barked, ready for World War 3. "Inside the envelope was a lock ofAaliyah's hair." On that note the line went dead. I kept trying to call Supreme back, but after the sixth time with no answer I knew this wasn't a dropped call situation. He hung the fuck up. I couldn't blame him. He was probably so pissed off that his only alternative was to shut the conversation down. Still holding on to what represented to me a small piece of my daughter, I opened up the card again to read what the sick fuck had written, but it was blank. I guess Mike figured the message he wanted to send was made loud and clear, and he was right. It didn't matter that Vernika was dead or that Supreme had Donnell prisoner somewhere, Mike was very much in control. He was running the show, and we were just hapless ticket holders sitting front row waiting to see how the movie would end. I heard the front door opening and I knew it was too soon for Supreme to get home, but before my mind started getting the best of me, I heard a familiar voice call out, "Is anyone home?" Maya echoed. I rushed out the kitchen, needing to see a comforting face. "Maya, I'm so glad it's you. Where have you been?" "Girl, tryna work it out with my sorry-ass boyfriend, but that's another Bronx Tale. What's going on with you? You look even more stressed than normal, is everything okay... oh shit! Mike calling harassing you again?" I rolled my eyes up in the air, shaking my head before giving Maya the update. "This fool's reaching out through flower deliveries now." "Excuse me?" "Yeah, when I got home what I thought was a sweet gesture from my husband turned out to be poison from your brother." "Mike sent you some flowers? How you know they were from him?" "Because the card was blank except for a lock of Aaliyah's hair. Mike is the only loco nigga that would do some fucked up shit like that." "Yo, that nigga had some flowers delivered with Aaliyah's hair in the card-he's lost his mind. I can't believe we share the same fuckin' DNA," Maya said, looking baffled. "Have you been with Clip since you left here yesterday?" "Yeah. What, you thinking he had a hand in this madness? Nah, he been on lock with me the whole time, and I swear I ain't see that nigga do nothing suspect-not no discreet phone conversations or nothing. I've been all up in his grill until I left his ass a minute ago." "I need to find out who the fuck delivered this shit. The name of the florist is on the card, but of course they closed right now. They may have some valuable information." "That's true. Did you call Supreme?" "Yeah, I'm hoping he'll be home any minute." Just then the front door opened. It was my husband and he had Detective Moore with him. This shit must have had Supreme real shaken if he let the police in on what happened. "Where are the flowers and the hair?" Supreme asked, keeping it straight and to the point. "In the kitchen..." Before I could say another word, both Supreme and the detective breezed past me. I decided to stay on their trail, and Maya followed behind me. They were already dissecting the goods by the time we caught up. "I already have officers getting in touch with the owner of the shop to see if we can get any leads. Because it's so late, they may not be able to find out anything until first thing in the morning, but they're on it," I heard Detective Moore explaining to Supreme. "One of their delivery guys definitely dropped them off because he got clearance at the front gate and left them with one of my security guards. He had the proper identification, so the guard had no reason to be suspicious." "Do you have any other hair samples of your daughter so we can compare it to what was sent in the envelope?" "Detective, I know that's my daughter's hair. I don't need no comparisons," I spoke up, tired of listening from the sidelines. Detective Moore turned his attention to me as if all of the sudden my presence was felt. He rubbed his stubby fingers through his own short, spiked, flaming red hair as if at a lost for words. "I'm sure you know your daughter's hair, but for legal reasons it's always better if we can prove it without leaving the slightest doubt. Mr. Owens will be brought to justice, and proving he sent your daughter's hair using a bouquet of flowers as a disguise will not sit well with jurors in any court of law." Detective Moore's words were fine, and I even pretended to agree to what he was saying, but he was clueless. That so-called court of law he was preaching about was meaningless. Yeah, Mike would be brought to justice, but it wouldn't be by some pompous prosecutor and some drained ready-to-go-home jurors. Street justice, which equaled a torturous death was the only appropriate sentencing for Mike, and it would be carried out by me and me alone. "That's not a problem. I'm sure I have some hair strands in one of her baby brushes." "I appreciate the cooperation, Mrs. Mills. I know this has to be extremely difficult for you. I'm happy that you and your husband are turning to me for help. I know you might feel we're not doing enough and you can handle it on your own, but when you're dealing with lowlifes like Mr. Owens, you need the law enforcement on your side. That's what we're here for, to help and bring your daughter home." I knew the detective was sincere with his hero speech, but it sounded like recycled bullshit to me. I briefly thought about all the parents who heard this same dialogue when their child went missing and how they latched onto every word, praying their little one would be brought home to them alive. It wasn't until they got the knock on the front door from a couple of detectives like Moore, wearing cheap suits and smelling of stale cigarettes, that reality punched them in the face. Their child wouldn't be coming home. But instead of beating the detectives' asses for not delivering on the promises made for a safe return of their child, they had to stand and listen to the
bullshit condolences. I refused to let that be the fate of my family. I was born a fighter and would die one if it came to that. "Maya, will you go upstairs and get Aaliyah's brush from her bedroom? It should be on top of the dresser right next to her crib." "No problem, I'll be right back." "Are you Maya Owens, Mike's sister?" Detective Moore asked, bringing Maya to a halt. "Yes, I am." "I've needed to speak with you, but I had some difficulty tracking you down." "Here I am. What did you need to speak to me about?" "Your brother. Do you have any idea where he might be hiding out? Does he have any friends or family in the area he would turn to for help?" "I haven't had any contact with Mike since he got locked up. To me, I no longer have a brother. The brother I knew is dead." "I understand. Well, if you can think of anything, please give me a call," he said, handing Maya his business card. Maya put the card in the back pocket of her jeans and exited the kitchen. My eyes then darted over to Supreme, who had been on mute for a while. He was standing over the flowers with his arms folded, and seemed to be in deep thought. As if he could sense me sizing him up, his eyes met up with mine. "Detective, I believe we've handled everything here. I'll be waiting for your call in the morning about what your officers were able to find out from the florist," he said to the detective, but somehow still able to keep his eyes on me. The shit was bizarre. I couldn't fathom what the fuck was going on his head. "I will. I can show myself out. If it's not a problem, I'll wait in the foyer for Ms. Owens to bring down your daughter's hair sample." "Please do so." It wasn't until the detective extended his hand out to Supreme that he finally stopped eyeballing me like he was crazy. After shaking Supreme's hand, he picked up the vase of flowers after putting on a pair of surgical gloves, and was ready to break out. "Umm, Detective Moore, where are you going with those flowers?" I stepped forward feeling territorial. "Mrs. Mills, I have to take these flowers with me. This is evidence for our case." "Oh, that's a shame. I was looking forward to shredding that poisonous greenery and tossing it out with the rest of the trash, but what you need it for is much more important, so please, take it." Detective Moore gave me an awkward grin as if perturbed by what I said. He gave Supreme and I a halfhearted goodbye and finally got the fuck out of our faces. Once the detective was ghost, I turned my attention to Supreme. "Why were you giving me the eye like I had caught the vapors or some shit?" Supreme sucked his teeth and rested his elbows on the counter. "Something seems off to me." "What you mean off? I told you how everything went down with them damn flowers." "It ain't the flowers, it's something else." "Something else like what? You talking in riddles and shit." "I can't put my finger on it, but shit is all off. Why did you get home so late?" "I told you them church seminars be lasting damn near all night. Then I had to take Ms. Duncan back to her hotel, and she wanted me to stay and talk to her for a while. I mean, I didn't want to be rude, she did come here all the way from Brooklyn." "What hotel is she staying at?" Supreme decided he wanted to get all Sherlock Holmes on me. "Oh, mofo, I know you ain't tryna grill me like you po-po. I bring my ass home to some fucked up flowers with my daughter's hair lingering inside, and you want me to tell you where Ms. Duncan is laying her head at? If you really want to know, I stashed her in the Four Seasons in Beverly Hills. Here, since you obviously don't believe me, call the hotel," I said. grabbing the phone and shoving it in his face. praying that motherfucker didn't call my bluff. "What the fuck you waiting for? You want me to dial the number?" Supreme put his hands up pushing the phone out his face. "I don't need to call and check your story." "I think you do, because this trust shit is becoming more of an issue every fucking day, and I don't need the fucking stress. You tryna fault me for spending my day getting some spiritual guidance with Ms. Duncan, that's fucked up." "Ain't nobody tryna fault you. I was picking up some vibes that was saying some shit wasn't adding up. I was wrong and I'm sorry." I was about to keep the shit going to make him feel worse, but I knew better and backed off. I felt if I told him to call the Four Seasons one more time, he might just take me up on my offer and my lies would be exposed. "No need to be sorry, baby. We both going through heavy shit right now, and we don't need petty bullshit coming between us." I rubbed Supreme's shoulders, mitigating his hostility. He closed his eyes seeming to relax. "Hey, is everything cool in here?" Maya asked, sneaking up on us. "We're good. Did Detective Moore leave?" I wanted to know. "Yeah, he bounced. I hope he finally gets a break in this case, `cause Mike is wilding out. That nigga needs to be stopped... like yesterday." "Who you telling? That nigga's like a bad venereal disease that keeps coming back. Can we please find a medication to zap this shit once and for all?" "If it was only that simple," Supreme added. I could feel the tension creeping back in his shoulders. "If only, is right. Well, I'm heading to bed. A bitch is tired." "Did Clip wear that ass out?" I pried. "No, I wouldn't let him stick his dick nowhere up in me-yet." "I like how you added that yet at the end. That means he is this close" I raised up my thumb and index finger, putting a small space in between them, "To getting back inside the domain. I hope you know what you're doing." "Honestly, Precious, I don't. What I do know is I don't want Destiny sniffing after my man, draped on his arm walking down the red carpet. If ain't gon' be me in that photo op posing with the designer getup and dripping with ice, it sho' ain't gon' be her trick ass. It won't be happening in this lifetime, and not the next if I have anything to do with it." All I could do was shake my head at her. That was the immature young girl in her yapping. Hell, I had been there a few times in my life, and the only way you learn is going through the bullshit yourself. I mean, I didn't have no problem with Maya earning her battle scars going to war with Clip, as long as he didn't have nothing to do with helping Mike. More and more I was beginning to think that maybe I jumped the gun accusing him. He hadn't made any foul moves, and Supreme hadn't gathered any dirt on him. Maybe he was no more than a man-whore, getting his dick wet off of instant fame and nothing else. If that was the case, this was a problem Maya could handle on her own, because I had bigger issues that superseded pussy dilemmas. "Well, handle your business, mama. But you know if you need me, I got your back." "Thanks, Precious. I can always count on you. Goodnight you guys." "Goodnight," Supreme and I said in unison. "I'm tired myself. I had a long day. I'ma head to bed. Are you coming?" I asked Supreme. "I'll be up shortly. I have to go to my office and make some phone calls. But I'm coming." "Okay, baby." I gave him a kiss on the lips and went upstairs. I was exhausted, physically and mentally. There seemed to be no end insight to this madness. When I got to the bedroom, I fell on the bed needing to rest my drained body before taking a shower. I wanted to turn on the television and see if Aaliyah's kidnapping was still headlining news, or ifwas she fading into the background, being overshadowed by more current events. I scanned the room for the remote control, but it wasn't on the dresser or the nightstand, so I got down on my hands and knees in search of the gadget. Oh shit! I forgot all about slimy-ass Vernika's purse. Last night I was so busy trying to hide shit from Supreme that it slipped my mind that I stashed the shit under the bed. I never did have a chance to finish going through her mess, although I doubt anything of importance is in there. I tossed Vernika's purse down and noticed the remote at the foot of the bed. I clicked on the television and turned to Nancy Grace while rummaging through the purse once again. The second time around proved fruitless. I then noticed a small black wallet in what appeared to be an almost secret compartment on the side of the bag. I opened the wallet up and there was a few hundred dollars inside, a tiny bag of what looked to be cocaine, and a folded up piece of paper that had been ripped off a notepad. I opened up the paper and it had an address scribbled down. It didn't have the city or state, just the zip code, which was all the navigation system needed. I had a feeling it was located right here in the LA area. A smile crept across my face, because I believed I might've gotten a tad bit closer to discovering the vaccine to that hard to get rid of venereal disease. ONCE AGAIN ITS ON