Crazy Kind of Love

by T. Styles

  As he sat on the edge of her bed they spoke in soft voices. He was obviously bonding with his daughter, so I walked back to the truck to allow them that moment. Twenty minutes later Preacher walked outside and slid into the passenger seat.

  “Is she okay?” I asked softly.

  “Yeah,” he sighed.

  “Are you?”

  His silky hand wiped down my cheek and I tried to suppress my horniness. Besides, we had other things to talk about.

  “I’m fine.” He exhaled. He gazed at the room Shamika was in. “She’s sleep. I just hope she stays that way.” He fixed his stare on me. “You made a big impression on her.”

  “Is that good or bad?” I asked.

  “That’s good.”

  I grinned. “So what’s the plan?”

  “First, I want to know why you left. I thought you were gone for good.”

  I sighed and looked up into the roof of the truck. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I’m very serious.”

  “I had my reasons, Preacher. As long as I came back, it shouldn’t matter. Right?”

  He remained silent as he stared at me. He shook his head as if he were erasing a bad memory. “I don’t know if I told you but my mother was a whore. And an addict. Despite it all, in my eyes, she was always a black queen, especially when she changed her lifestyle and joined the church. She was the one who got me all religious.”

  “That may be true but I’m starting to believe that your religion is baptizing niggas in blood.” I giggled like a schoolgirl but his expression told me that he did not find humor in my statement. “Sorry,” I said clearing my throat. “But, Preacher, where is this money you keep talking about? Because I’m starting to get nervous.”

  “Don’t. It’s in the projects at my mom’s crib. I put it there before she was murdered. Since she was clean, I knew it would be safe.”

  “What happened?”

  “Years later, after I had been in the pen for some time, my mother got saved and I told her where the money was. What I didn’t know was that the entire time, my so-called best friend Steve and my baby mama had been sniffing around searching for the cash. I guess they couldn’t wait because one day Steve and his goons showed up at my mother’s house and tortured and murdered her. Although she knew where the dough was, she was a trooper and didn’t say a word. She died with dignity.”

  “Baby, where is the money now?”

  “Hopefully it’s still stashed in the apartment she lived in, in the vents.”

  I stared at him. “Are you serious?” I scowled.

  “Yes.”

  “But someone is bound to be living there by now, Preacher. What are we supposed to do? Knock on the door and ask them to let us in?”

  “There is a chance the money might still be there,” he responded.

  I was beyond frustrated. In my opinion, he didn’t understand the severity of what he was saying. Nobody in their right mind would let us enter their apartment. But, crazier shit has happened so I made a decision to ride with him, and that was what I was ready to do.

  “Preacher, is there anything else you have to tell me that I don’t know?”

  He hesitated and that made my stomach rumble nervously. “No.”

  I didn’t believe him but I didn’t inspect him any longer. I just accepted the directions he gave me, as I drove down the road wondering if our lives were about to be over.

  The ride was smooth and I was certain we would be fine, until I saw what looked like a police car pull up behind me. I glanced over at Preacher with a stiff neck. He was sleeping. “Baby, you gotta get in the back seat,” I told him calmly.

  He rubbed his eyes and peered over at me. “Why, what’s going on?”

  “I think the cops are behind us. So do you want to get in the back or do you want me to press the gas? I just need the word.”

  “Press it,” he said calmly.

  I was about to floor it when a yellow light from the dashboard twinkled in my face. If we ran, we wouldn’t make it far. We had to be smart. “Let me try and talk to him.”

  “Fuck no, push it,” he roared. “Push the pedal.”

  “I’m serious, Preacher. I don’t have enough fuel. For all we know he might not want anything. Let me take the chance.”

  “But what if he does want something? Huh?” He paused. “What if he knows who you are?”

  “Then we go out blazing.”

  He gazed into my eyes and I knew he was trying to make a decision. When he crawled in the backseat and buried himself under some jackets and other junk the previous owner had back there, I pulled over to the side of the road and waited impatiently. My chest tightened and I was afraid I was having a heart attack. I took a few deep breaths and calmed myself down.

  I knew the car was stolen but I also knew he had us right where he wanted us. If I ran I could risk him getting other officers involved. But if I stayed maybe I could talk to him. “License and registration please?” The officer commanded.

  “Sir, you’re not going to believe this but I was just beaten and robbed for everything I owned. They took my wallet and my purse and I don’t have any identification on me.”

  “Come on, ma’am,” he chuckled. “Do you know how many times I’ve heard that?”

  “Did any of those people look like me?” I paused. “I mean look at me, sir.” Blood covered my legs and I’d been hit so many times in the face that I was sure I looked, if nothing else, like a battered woman. “I’ve been through hell.”

  He gave me a serious once over and I thought I saw a smirk on his face. He had an expression that made me feel uneasy but I couldn’t put my finger on why. Maybe he didn’t believe my story.

  “I’m going to let you go but you better get another license soon, or the next cop may not be so kind.”

  Relieved I said, “Thank you so much, sir.”

  “No problem, and get some gas,” he responded before stepping back. His gaze remained on me.

  When he was gone I drove a mile down the street to the gas station. My hands trembled so badly I could hardly grip the steering wheel. My blood pressure had to be through the roof.

  Preacher jumped out and pumped the gas while mumbling to himself. Something appeared to have been troubling him. When he got back in the truck, I pulled off toward the destination given to me. I had a bad feeling we were being followed but every time I glanced in the rearview mirror I didn’t see anything out of order.

  “You were smart as hell with that cop,” Preacher said. “I couldn’t get a really good look at him but I heard his voice. Did you see his name tag?”

  I shook my head no.

  “Did he have hound dog eyes and a big ass nose?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Was his hair spiked and did he have a buzz hair cut?”

  I played the tapes back in my mind. “Kind of.”

  “Did he have a muscular build? And look to be in his forties?”

  “Yea, that’s what he looked like. Why?” I heard my voice crack.

  “I can’t be sure but the voice sounded like this dirty cop I know named Rick Mohorn. We gotta be careful,” he said looking in the review mirror as if he were driving instead of me.

  Preacher pulled out his cell and called his lawyer. They engaged each other in a heated argument when the attorney suggested that he turn himself in for questioning. I couldn’t hear the lawyer but based on Preacher’s response, he told him that he could get him off on self-defense.

  I didn’t say anything but I knew what the lawyer didn’t. There was no way Preacher was turning himself in without that money.

  Preacher requested some voicemail from the attorney, who promised to send it to his phone. When the call was ended he grinned as if he were the victor in a high profile boxing match.

  “What’s up with the voicemail you kept talking about with the lawyer?”

  “Let me handle that, Lourdes.”

  I was annoyed. “Do you even respect me in this relationship? As a real partne
r?”

  “You sound crazy. Not only do I respect you but I believe that you’re strong. Maybe the strongest woman I know. Look at everything you had to endure and you’re still here. With one ounce of your strength my daughter could grow up to be Mrs. Obama.”

  I thought about what he said as I pulled in front of a brown brick building parked and killed the engine. The property was a block long and spanned as far as the eye could see. When I focused on a steel black gate surrounding it, I blinked a few times. We must be in the wrong place.

  I stared at Preacher and for the first time ever he seemed uncomfortable.

  “Preacher, is this the place?” I tried to remain poised but it was beyond difficult.

  “Yes it is.”

  I stared at it again as if it would transform into something different. “The entire state is looking for you and yet you navigate us into the lion’s den?” He remained silent. “Preacher, we at a police station.”

  “Yeah...they told me it changed a little.”

  He was underestimating the circumstances and he was starting to make me despise him again.

  “Fuck!”

  I turned the truck back on, fully prepared to turn around. “We can’t leave, baby.” He placed is hand over mine to stop me from pulling off.

  “Preacher, we can’t go in there.”

  “We can and we will.”

  He paused as we both watched a cop car pass us. The man inside resembled one of the officers we saw earlier.

  “I’m not leaving here without that money, Lourdes.”

  “But, baby, you don’t even know where it is.”

  “They didn’t tear the entire projects down. They just renovated the building. It’s shaped the same and everything. Right there, in that area was our old apartment. The money is in the vent in what used to be the bathroom and I’m going in.”

  He rubbed his hands together anxiously. I had seen that look on him many times before. It was too late to turn around so I geared up for the ride, again. “What’s the plan and what’s my part?”

  He cupped his chin and said, “I’m going to use you as a decoy.” A crooked smile dressed his face.

  That was the dumbest idea I’d ever heard him say. “Preacher, this is a fucking police station!” My fists tightened and I contemplated stealing him in the jaw. I couldn’t believe I was letting this nigga take me through this shit. I should’ve never gone back to get him.

  “Trust me, Lourdes,” he said softly. “Trust me.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  PREACHER

  TWO HOURS LATER

  The car’s windows were rolled up and the smell of wet socks and cigarettes hung in the stolen truck as I tried to persuade Lourdes to see my logic. There was 1.2 million dollars possibly stashed in the make-shift police station, my 1.2 million dollars that I had dreamed of and planned for in a prison cell for over a decade and I was determined to get it with her or without her. Although, I wanted her with me.

  Nearly an hour ago, after we got away from Tommy’s house, we went to the mall and purchased a nice getup for her to wear. I bought her six-inch stiletto heels and a mini-skirt so short you could see her butt cheeks when she strutted. I also got her a hot pink blouse that showed so much cleavage, you could almost see her nipples. With seething disdain, she hated when I bought it and from the way she continued to cut her eyes at me, I could see she hated me too.

  “Babe, in order for the plan to work, I need you to wear the clothes I bought at the mall.”

  With her lips tight across her face Lourdes turned to me. “So this is what you think of me? You want me to dress like a whore for your benefit? All for some money?”

  “Lourdes, don’t think like that.” I groaned and reached to caress her thigh but she cut me off.

  “Stop,” she yelled popping me one good time in the chest. I watched her nostrils flair with indignation. She looked at me with tears brimming in her eyes. By then, the inside of the car was hot and fusty.

  “I don’t like this feeling, Preacher. I’m done with this life.”

  I reached for her again, and she batted my hands down and resisted. We struggled until, finally, I had her in my arms as she huffed and puffed fuming mad. I held her tight against my chest.

  “Baby, I’m not trying to use you. I just want a better way of life for you and my child. If the money is there and we pull this off, I want to marry you and go far away from here.”

  “And if the money is not there, what are we going to do then? Think, Preacher!” She caught me off guard and I was at a loss for words.

  “The money’s going to be there.”

  As angry as I was, she was right. What if the money was gone?

  ****

  The plan was simple we would walk in to case the joint; to see how many cops were inside and how the place was structured. Lourdes would perform her God given talent of flirting with men. Only this time, she would also be flirting with danger. Meanwhile, I needed to find out if the money was still in the vent.

  We walked into the station into a whir of noises—someone was typing on a computer, a police radio blared, and there was a smell of new paint and fresh wood. A counter hugged the perimeter of the office. My heart sank as soon as we entered. Nothing was as I remembered it. The place had been gutted and rebuilt.

  The sound of Lourdes’ high heels clicking across the wood floor caused several cops to look up from what they were doing as she strolled to the counter to file a missing persons report, as planned. I walked beside her with two large duffle bags stashed inside my backpack and a nine-millimeter tucked in my pants. I donned a pair of shades and a fitted Baltimore Ravens cap with a black jacket.

  The obese officer, who was eating something when we walked in, took one look at Lourdes and rose from his desk so fast he stumbled. He wore a white shirt with a dirty yellow collar and his huge belly hung over his belt. A fringe of gray hair covered his temples, but the top of his head was completely bald and shiny. I could see why he worked at a sub police station instead of a real one; he was a fat slob.

  “May I help you?” he asked looking down at Lourdes‘ breasts as she intentionally leaned over the counter showing him oodles of cleavage.

  I watched his eyes bulge and then he averted his stare over to me as if giving me a quick once over.

  He looked back at her and asked again, “May I help you?”

  Lourdes went into her improvised spiel. “My sister, Bernadine Bell is missing and I’m so worried,” she said frantically. “This is so unlike her.”

  “Well what happened?”

  “I’m not sure. All I can be certain of is that she didn’t come home last night. And I’m here because I would like to file a missing persons report.” Lourdes thrust her breasts forward with a distraught expression on her face as I stole several glances around the place. Nothing looked even remotely familiar. I wasn’t sure where my money was and my heart sank.

  The burley cop smiled for all the wrong reasons, and then glanced over at his partner who was slender and looked about the same age. He loosened his tie ogling Lourdes, giving her his full attention. On his cluttered desk were a coffee cup, several portraits of children and a bronze medal in a case.

  The fat cop turned his eyes back to Lourdes. “Ma’am there is really nothing we can do unless she’s been missing for at least forty-eight hours.” The cop said matter-of–factly.

  To my surprise, Lourdes broke down crying real tears and I found myself fascinated. I wondered, if chicks could summon fake tears on a whim, and just how many times had she done that to me?

  The cop looked over at me and I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know. It’s our sister and she has never disappeared before,” I said and then looked around the officer. I spotted a door by the water cooler and tried to imagine would that be the bathroom.

  “How old is she?” the slender cop seated at the desk asked.

  “She’s forty,” Lourdes cried harder causing the thin lace holding up her blouse to fall, expos
ing more cleavage.

  The obese officer standing in front of Lourdes raised his eyebrow and pretended like he wasn’t looking at her breasts when he asked, “Does she use drugs? Has this ever happened before?”

  “She dabbled in drugs. Well, actually, she smoked crack from time to time but she promised me, and the rest of the family, that she stopped last week.” She paused. “Of course, this was after she stole our mother’s purse.”

  The two officers exchanged knowing glances. The slender officer smirked at his partner, and then faked a cough, which was really a laugh. He then got up from his desk, grabbed a napkin and walked over and passed it to Lourdes as he gazed at her breasts too, then over at me.

  “Maybe your sister just took a long smoke break. If I were you, I wouldn’t be worried ‘bout it.”

  She began to wail so hysterically that, for a moment, I thought she was overdoing it. That was until I saw how both cops were looking at her. She definitely held their attention.

  “You got a bathroom ‘round here?” I asked. “I need to take a leak bad.” I was squirming.

  “Yeah, over there.” The obese cop pointed without even looking in my direction as his partner passed Lourdes another napkin for her tears.

  “Oh, thank you such much,” Lourdes said.

  I walked off as she placed her hand on the slender officer’s arm. His partner looked on with his mouth agape, drooling at her.

  I entered the bathroom. It looked the same except it had been painted egg shell white and paper towels littered the floor. There was an awful odor of disinfectant and shit, and the mirror was dirty. Two stalls had been added, but I didn’t see a vent anywhere. My heart pounded in my chest.

  “Fuck!” I cursed out loud and heard my voice echo as I walked over and pulled back the first stall door and looked up.

  Nothing!

  I walked over to the next stall and looked up. There it was, the vent. It had been painted over. Even the screws. I reached into my backpack and retrieved the screwdriver and pliers I had brought for the occasion. As soon as I stepped up on the toilet to balance myself I nearly slipped and fell and the screwdriver fell on the floor. I was making too much noise.