Crazy Kind of Love

by T. Styles

  I waited and listened.

  Silence.

  I got back down and picked up the screwdriver and then went to work. First, I had to chisel the paint off the screws then one by one I took them out. By then, I was sweating like a runaway slave. All someone had to do was walk into the bathroom and I was cold busted.

  I took the last screw out and popped off the stubborn vent panel with a squeak. I peered inside at darkness as my eyes adjusted. Large cockroaches scurried about and there was a thick spider web hanging inside. Hot air blasted me in the face so hard it made my eyes water as I placed my head inside. I didn’t even realize I was holding my breath.

  I continued blindly groping the air when it suddenly occurred to me. The money was gone. It felt like my heart was hemorrhaging. I went into panic mode.

  The money was gone.

  My hopes and dreams went with it.

  I climbed back down off toilet seat with a feeling of hurt and despair like I’d never experience before as my mind continued to race.

  “The money’s gone,” I muttered to myself.

  I sat on the toilet seat and ignored the bugs and critters that had crawled on me. My eyes began to brim with tears. I wiped my face with a dirty hand and looked back up at the vent. That’s when something told me to stand on top of the iron pipe protruding from the wall above the toilet; that would allow me to reach at least a foot deeper inside the vent, I thought as I absent mindedly swiped at a large, black spider climbing up my chin.

  I hoisted myself up and teetered on the pipe. It wasn’t as sturdy as I thought and it threatened to break under my weight as I again reached my hand inside as deep as it would go. Then I felt something. My heart soared. On my tiptoes, I leaned in, straining my fingers as they inched forward. A bug crawled across my face in search of shelter in my nose. I was able to grab whatever it was and pull it toward me. It was heavy and huge. As soon as I got it into the light, I realized what it was.

  The money! I had the money!

  Instantly, I was overjoyed. I was also covered in dirt, debris and bugs.

  As fast as I could, I began to stuff the money into the clean duffle bags and giggled out loud.

  With the quickness, I wiped myself clean and rinsed my hands and face. I didn’t even bother to put the screws back in the vent. I just covered it, picked up the two clean duffle bags I had not walked in with, and headed out the door.

  ****

  I walked out to see Lourdes seated in a chair filling out some paperwork. Her cleavage was still on display and I saw a few of the men praying for their younger days as they ogled her sumptuous hips and thighs. I could tell she had really been putting on a show.

  When she saw me walk out she looked at me with a sober expression. She looked somewhat angry.

  So far, the cops hadn’t noticed the extra bags I was carrying because of how I was positioned in front of the counter.

  But for some reason, the slender cop was staring at me. He said, “You were in that bathroom a long damn time.”

  I played it off and let out a dry laugh as sweat bead cascaded down the middle of my chin. Lourdes stood up and walked in the direction of the counter.

  Then, to my dismay, the cop suddenly stood, prepared to walk toward me. Something had piqued his curiosity; something made him want to come harass me as he looked suspiciously between Lourdes and I. He was on to us.

  Just as the officer moved from behind the counter, Lourdes sneezed and knocked over a coffee cup, soiling his pants with hot coffee. He cursed at her like a sailor.

  I seized the moment and stealthily walked out the door with my hand on my nine. The other officer was too busy looking at Lourdes’, as she attempted to wipe the officer down, to notice. But there was no doubt in my mind that if anyone had tried to stop me, I would have murdered them cold.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  LOURDES

  I was still pissed when we arrived back at the hotel. Preacher drove but he didn’t have a choice. He’d disrespected me in the worst way possible by dressing me up as some freak doll and he needed to know that if he wanted to be with me, it could never happen again.

  Although I was angry, I was happy for him. Happy that he got the money he wanted and deserved. But he needed to know that where I was in my life. I could walk away from him and his dough and be good.

  I could smell dirt steaming off the money in the backseat. Preacher was grinning like he’d made a come up but I felt like he was backtracking. Money was only one aspect of life, but what about the other parts?

  “What’s wrong with you?” He asked as he parked the truck.

  I took a deep breath and prepared myself to have a tough conversation. “Preacher, I love you. I swear I do, but if you ever use me in that capacity again, it’s over,” I said as warm tears poured down my face.

  “What capacity?” He responded in a confused tone.

  “You dressed me up like a freak and when I got you off the hook by spilling the coffee, you walked out of the police department like it was nothing. I’m not the woman you first met on Belair Road. I’m different. I’m starting to love myself and I only want to associate with niggas who can get with that.”

  I thought he would be upset. Instead, he nodded and said, “Niggas need schooling every now and again too. I do know one thing though, I love you and I don’t want to lose you.”

  “I love you too but it’s important that you act like it.”

  He winked and picked up one of the duffle bags from the backseat.

  “You something else.”

  “Why I gotta be something else?”

  “It’s not in a bad way, baby. I just see a difference in you that’s all.” He opened the door and we both got out.

  I was about to tell him that he left one of the bags but when we walked into the room, his daughter Shamika was seated stiffly on the bed. I wondered why she wasn’t still sleeping, especially after the long day she had. Her brown eyes gazed at us then at the bathroom door.

  “Daddy,” she said in a miserable voice.

  The moment the front door slammed, the white police officer that pulled me over earlier and let me go stepped out of the bathroom.

  Preacher turned around to make a break for the door but it was too late.

  “Move and I’ll blow your motherfucking head off, nigger,” the cop said walking closer to Preacher. The man had the largest gun I’d ever seen in my life pointed in our direction. It resembled a hand cannon.

  Preacher dropped the duffle bag on the floor and froze in mid-stride. His back was facing the man’s direction.

  “Oh my, God,” Preacher called out. “I can’t believe this shit.”

  “You can say that again,” the cop, mocked him. “It was because of your God that we were able to catch you with the Brinks truck money. As soon as I spotted you at the house where Tommy, his brother and that bitch were so conveniently murdered, I knew all I had to do was follow you to the money.”

  I stood in silence because I didn’t know what to say. Plus all of this was so confusing to me. How many people knew about this money and better yet, how many more were going to die to get it?

  “So where do we go from here?” Preacher asked. He eased his hand toward the strap in the waistband of his jeans. I could feel my heart pulsating in my throat.

  “Turn around and get your hands up where I can see them, Jamal,” the cop yelled as he cocked his weapon. The sound of his voice vibrated through the room.

  In my heart I knew Preacher was about to buck on the cop because his hands didn’t fly up in the air. He looked at his daughter and then me. This was the end. I was certain.

  “You take care of my baby girl, you hear me,” Preacher said as he was about to pull his tool.

  “Jamal, don’t do it,” I said calling him by his government name. “Your mother wouldn’t want you to do this. I don’t want you to do this.” He didn’t seem convinced so I went harder. “Please, baby. Do it for me. Do it for your daughter. We need you.”


  “I’m not going to ask you again. Raise your fucking hands or I’m going to kill you and everybody else in this room,” the cop promised.

  Preacher looked at his daughter and then back at me before raising his hands. “So you got the money, now what?” Preacher snarled. “You an officer of the law, right? And you committing a crime.”

  “Jamal, let’s be serious. You know Baltimore’s finest play by the same rules of engagement as the criminals do. There’s never a crime unless you get caught. In this instance, you got caught instead of me. My paper work is going to say I tried to apprehend you and you resisted. There was gunplay and you, along with two innocent bystanders, were killed.”

  “What?” I yelled. “You can kill me but why the child?”

  “Because I leave no witnesses.”

  This was what I was concerned about. Preacher went after the money and now our lives were at stake. I wondered if it was all worth it.

  “I just love it when a plan comes together,” the cop boasted. “And if you looked out of the window you’d see my fraternity of cop buddies. They are waiting like vultures for their share of the money, just like they did over ten years ago. The difference is that time you managed to shoot several of my partners and the money was never recovered. But not this time.”

  “You remember my lawyer?” Preacher said confidently.

  “I remember the asshole,” the officer frowned. “He forced the police department to settle out of court in one of your cases.” The cop suddenly seemed uneasy.

  “What you don’t know is that he has the tape recordings with your voice on them instructing me on what time to sell my dope. And when to murk them rival drug dealers. That makes you an accessory to several of my crimes.”

  The cop didn’t seem as cocky as he had been moments earlier. “You’re a fucking liar.” He grew angry and his face turned beet red. Spit flew from his mouth and he resembled a rabid dog.

  “I’m not lying. He’d been taping the conversations for years. And he’s prepared, in the event that something happens to me or my family, to send it to the media and to the authorities.

  His shoulders hunched over and he appeared somewhat defeated. “Prove it.”

  “Let me reach into my pocket and get my phone. I’ll play the message on the speaker. It’s in my voicemail right now.”

  “Do it slowly. If you do anything slick I’m shooting your child first,” he threatened.

  “Daddy!” Shamika cried out.

  “Don’t worry, baby. Everything will be okay.”

  “You don’t know that yet,” the officer interrupted.

  With a scowl on his face, Preacher reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He pushed play on the voicemail. Seconds later, the raspy voice of Detective Rick Mohorn filled the room.

  “My men will make sure you and your crew can get in. Don’t worry. As long as you go straight through sixty-eighth th street, there won’t be a problem. I never liked that asshole Jimmy Lee anyway.”

  On the same recording, Preacher’s voice said, “Okay, we rolling four deep in a black SUV, an Escalade. I’m warning you, it’s going to be a massacre. We toting Mossberg shotguns, AK’s and AR-15’s. We killing everything that moves. You sure you got my back?”

  “You damn right I got your back. Just like I did with Kenny Barnes and his crew when your guys ran up in their spot and murdered all them dudes. You just make sure you have my money. The deal was three thousand and you should include a bonus for my boys.”

  Preacher said, “You got that, Mohorn. I was going to give you a raise anyway because after I take over Jimmy ‘trip—“

  Preacher stopped the recording prematurely when Rick Mohorn kicked over a chair on his way toward him. The cop knocked him to the floor and placed the barrel of the gun to his head. I was about to jump on him when he pointed the gun at me.

  “I got it, baby,” Preacher said.

  I didn’t believe him and I started to make another move. “Listen to your man,” the officer said. He turned his attention to Preacher and pointed the gun at his nose. “You are going to give me that fucking money. Do you hear me?”

  Preacher was completely calm. “Take it. I can’t stop you and I won’t try.”

  “I want that goddamn recording too,” the cop yelled.

  “You’re going to have to call my lawyer for that. I’m sure you and your precinct are familiar with how he operates. He’s sued you before and won.” Preacher glanced over at me.

  “Even if he gives me a copy of that tape, he still has it,” the cop said. He flopped on the edge of the bed and looked down at the duffle bag. He looked defeated.

  “So all this time, the money was hidden in a police station.” He wiped his face with his meaty hand in frustration. He was sweating profusely.

  “So what’s it going to be? The money or the tapes staying away from the police and out of the media?”

  The cop glanced at him with rage in his eyes. He walked over to the window and looked out of it, I guess to check on the other officers. Finally he said, “How about I give you half the money and let you walk away Scott free? I’ll clear up everything with your probation and the pending investigations at that Christian center.”

  Preacher stood up, walked toward his daughter and caressed her hair. He looked over at me. I could tell he cared about me. It was all over his face. “How about I give you one hundred thousand dollars and you let me and my family walk outta here. And for keeping the tape private, you’ll also clear up the investigations at the center.”

  The cop kicked over another chair that landed against the wall. “Have you lost your fucking mind? I got you red handed with the duffle bags stuffed with millions. You know how this shit goes. You’re busted!”

  “You said it best, it’s not a crime unless you get caught. And technically, I haven’t been caught because I got something you want. Unless you want to kill us in cold blood and deal with my lawyer later.” He paused. “Come on, Mohorn, we are talking about one hundred thousand. Take it and walk.”

  The cop cringed as he eyed Preacher with burning hatred.

  “Make it two hundred thousand,” he responded.

  “Get the fuck out of here with that bullshit,” Preacher said.

  The cop glanced at his watch and then suddenly, as if he was in a big hurry, said, “Give me the fucking money and you better get your black ass out of Baltimore! Because I can’t be responsible for what happens to you if you hang around with all that cash.”

  “Oh, I already know as soon as you tell your cop buddies the story about the money they going to try to rob a nigga.” Preacher dug into the duffle bag and gave the cop a few large stacks of money. “Ya’ll can forget about trying to set me up for the rest. I’m about to be ghost.”

  The cop stuffed the money in his shirt like a thief and frowned at us. “Well, you better because I look forward to seeing you again. Sooner than later if you’re still in my town.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  LOURDES

  I was sitting in the passenger seat of another car with the windows rolled down. Preacher was driving and his daughter was sound asleep in the backseat.

  Hours earlier, we went to his grandmother’s house and he introduced me to her. It was beautiful and it reminded me how much I missed family. She prepared a large meal and played oldie-but-goodies and we danced and had a great time. I knew I made an impression on her because she kept hugging me.

  After giving her a large sum of money, we were ready to leave. But before going, I watched as his grandmother hugged her great-granddaughter and grandson. It really touched me and I knew I would be back one day. But only if Rick Mohorn was long gone.

  Now, we were riding down the highway in a blue 1965 Plymouth Fury. How we got the car was so cool. On the way out of the motel, after paying off the dirty cop, I saw a nice car in the parking lot.

  “That car is beautiful, it brings back memories.” I mentioned to Preach that my mama had the same car when I was a kid. Hers was
pearl colored and had a black leather top. I loved the scent of that car because it reminded me of her whenever she took me for a ride.

  “You stay right here with Shamika,” he said handing me the bag of money. I had the cash in one hand and his daughter’s soft hand in the other.

  I had no idea what he was about to do when he approached the dude who owned it. When he came back with the car keys, I couldn’t help but laugh. Sure, we had enough money to buy a beautiful Benz or Range, but it wasn’t about that. It was about him taking the time to show me that he loved me and that meant everything.

  “What you thinking about over there?” Preacher asked me as he steered the car down the road. We were about five miles from Houston. I couldn’t believe it. I was back home. Preacher suggested we go back to Texas because he wanted me to be closer to my mother’s grave and my daughter’s memory.

  “Our life.”

  “What about it?” he asked.

  “I’ve been thinking about us while we’ve been driving all these hours. And there is one thing that keeps popping up in my mind.”

  “So are you gonna tell me, beautiful? Or do I have to guess?” Since he got his money and his daughter he seemed lighter and I loved his energy.

  “I’ll tell you,” I giggled. “I was thinking that despite everything that has happened to me, since you’ve been in my life, I realize that I’m stronger than I thought I was before.”

  “Yeah, but I was also the cause of your daughter—”

  “Don’t say it,” I said stopping him. “I know you didn’t mean to do what you did.” I looked in the backseat at his daughter. “I’m never going to forget my baby. Ever.” I looked into his eyes. “But I’m going to pour all of the love that I have for her onto your daughter. Hopefully with me in her life, she won’t want for anything or anybody. And if something ever happens to you, I will love her hard enough for the both of us.”

  He touched my leg, causing tiny chill bumps to roll up my thigh. “You don’t know how much that means to me to hear you say that.” He removed his hand. “I don’t know what life has in store for us. I’m not even sure if I’ll always be able to treat you how you deserve to be treated. You know I got a temper on me.”