Priscilla lost her temper. “What!?” she jumped in his face and yelled. “Fuck you, you inconsiderate muthafucka!” She turned to exit.
“Fucking junkie.”
He said it very low and didn’t think Priscilla heard him. As soon as he went to put the cup of coffee to his lips again, a closed right hand collided with the side of his face. The hot steamy liquid was everywhere.
Mr. Porter didn’t know whether to grab his pounding jaw or his burning chest. “Shit!” he bellowed, stumbling back into the desk.
Priscilla hesitated and then scurried to the door and down the steps.
She could see the exit, but there was so much distance in between, she almost felt like giving up.
The only security guard in the store spotted her out the corner of his eye and figured she was a customer trying to steal something and run out. He gave chase.
Priscilla dashed through the dry foods aisle and nearly slipped on the newly waxed floor. When she rounded the corner, one of her arms brushed against some boxes of oatmeal and knocked them to the floor.
“Hey! What the—” A middle aged Caucasian employee was straightening the shelves and got pushed into them when Priscilla bumped him.
He got to his feet and joined the security guard in the foot race.
Everyone’s eyes, customers and employees included, were fixed on Priscilla as she frantically raced through the store.
She continued down the long stretch to the exit, turned her head to see how far of a lead she had on her captors and practically ran over an old lady pushing a cart out of the sliding doors.
“Excuse me! Sorry!” she yelled back, making it out to the front of the supermarket.
Not knowing which way to go, she had to make a swift decision. Her focus was thrown off when she heard the guard call out. “Hey you, stop!”
She stepped off the curb and bolted into the street, unaware of the black Porsche truck going 20 miles per hour, coming right at her. In order to avoid a deadly collision, the driver had to mash the brake all the way to the floor, and even in doing that, he still hit her.
As soon as he heard the thud on the paneling of the car, he threw the vehicle in park and hopped out.
“Oh shit!” He rushed to Priscilla’s aid and tried to help her up.
“Ow!” She pulled back when he reached for her arm. “Don’t touch me.”
When she lifted her head, her eyes locked with his and she was frozen for a second; hypnotized by his beautiful, passionate, caring stare.
His skin was the color of almond, his eyes a slight Hennessy tint and the fragrance he exuded smelled like success. “I’m so sorry. I swear to God, I didn’t even see you.” He apologized, but noticed Priscilla kept looking back while she was trying to get up. “Is somethin’ wrong, you alright?”
“Hey!” The guard screamed out again.
The driver turned and saw the two people running toward them.
Priscilla finally made it to her feet. “Please, can you get me outta here?”
He opened the back driver’s side door. “Hurry up, get in.”
She dove into the back seat and stretched across the fine leather. Her rescuer peeled out of the parking lot.
He stomped on the gas and floored it down Sanford Blvd, continuously checking his rearview for anybody trailing.
“Where am I going?” he asked, eyes focused on the road.
He checked the mirror again, and could see that Priscilla was in pain.
“Jus’ drop me off in New Rochelle, please.”
The injury was getting the best of her, but she couldn’t let it be known.
“Okay, cool,” When he crossed the Pelham borderline, he slowed down in case a patrol car was somewhere in the cut lurking. “What’s your name?” he asked.
“Priscilla.”
He came to a stop at a red light at the intersection of Lincoln and Webster Avenue. “Priscilla, my name is Quiane.”
“Qui… what?”
She wanted to smile, but her arm hurt too badly.
He giggled and pulled off when the light changed. “Quiane,” he repeated. “But alotta people call me Q.”
“Okay. Owww,” The pain was searing.
“I think you need to get to a hospital. Your arm might be broke.”
Priscilla hated being told what to do. “Please, Quiane. Q, whatever… jus’ drive.”
“No problem.” He came to another stop light and asked. “Left or right?”
“Make the right, and you can let me out down the block.”
As soon as Quiane pulled to the curb, Priscilla hit the unlock button and rushed out of the truck.
“Hol’ up! Wait, where you goin’?” He clicked his seatbelt and hopped out after her. “Priscilla. Shit!” she was walking too fast for him.
Without turning around, she yelled. “Thank you, Quiane!” and continued down the block.
He knew he wouldn’t be able to catch up to her, so he went back to his truck and cruised down the block when she turned the corner. From where he sat parked, he could see her entering a building. He waited a few minutes and slowly drove by.
Women’s Shelter? He was shocked when he saw the sign on the building.
He made the right, went back around the block and parked a few car lengths away from the front entrance of the shelter.
For thirty-five minutes, Quiane sat parked in his truck, thinking, anticipating, and hoping to get a second chance at seeing Priscilla. She was beautiful and he was uneasy about what had occurred. All he wanted to do was make sure she was alright.
A blue and white patrol car cruised down the block past Quiane’s truck and slowed to a stop in front of the shelter. Not even a minute later, an unmarked detective vehicle came up the street from the opposite end and pulled next to the patrol car.
Quiane sat up in his seat and put the key into the ignition when he saw three officers exit the two vehicles.
Ten minutes later, two of the officers came walking out of the building, followed by Priscilla, who was in handcuffs, being escorted by the third officer.
“Shit!” Quiane put the truck in drive and drove off.
CHAPTER TEN
Jasmine fluffed the pillow and placed it back under Mox’s head. “Good morning, Mr. Daniels. How are you today?” she went to the window and let the shade up, causing the lambent sunlight to fill the room. “Did you get some rest last night? I heard you were up pretty late.”
Mox opened his only good eye and stared at the same picture on the wall that he’d been looking at for the past few days. It had been a week since he snapped out of his coma, but he had yet to utter a word. The only thing he did was put on a half-smile and nod his head. That had only happened once while Jasmine was talking to him.
No one had been by to visit since Priscilla, so the only people to know of his recovery were the doctors and nurses.
Every day for eight, sometimes ten hours, Jasmine would come in to work and tend to Mox’s every need. When she first began the job, she had mixed feelings about taking care of someone in a coma. She didn’t think she could handle the responsibility of supervising another person’s life, but with time came knowledge, and after a few weeks it was second nature.
Jasmine took to Mox even more after she read about his story in the papers. Her heart held regret for all the misfortune he had to endure and the abrupt transitions he encountered. He hadn’t said a word to her, but she felt connected to him, almost a part of him, as if they had known each other for most of their lives.
She would arrive at 8:30 each morning to feed, bathe, and massage Mox. Over the past couple of days, his skin had begun to regain its color and texture; almost back to its original state.
On a daily basis, Jasmine would read books to Mox, sing for him, play games with him, or just sit there and talk to him. He never expressed the slightest indication of feeling or speaking a word. He was the perfect listener. He didn’t complain, he didn’t shout and one of the best parts was, he didn’t ask for anything
. What Jasmine did notice, was that he also never gave up on himself. He fought every second of every day. It was a struggle, but the work was paying off well.
“Look what I brought in for you today.” Jasmine pulled out an iPod Touch from her purse and placed it on the desk beside Mox’s bed. “I programmed a few songs in it already, so whenever you wanna listen to some music, all you have to do is hit this little white button right here.” she pressed the button and Amerie’s song “Why Don’t We Fall In Love?” came on. “Ohhh, I love this song!” Jasmine sang the words to Mox.
Why don’t we,
Why don’t we,
Why don’t we faaaall in loooovveeee…
She turned the volume down. “You know how you hear a particular song and it brings you back to the first time you heard it, or it makes you recall that special memory of something or someone? That song right there brings back a lot of memories for me. Some of them bad ones, some of them were good.” She grabbed the fingernail clipper off the table and began cutting Mox’s nails. “It just amazes me how the human brain works.”
Mox relaxed and let his head rest on the pillow while the music eased his nerves and rejuvenated his soul. Everything Jasmine did for him, he was appreciative of, and as soon as it was possible, he was going to thank her for all that she had done. If it wasn’t for her, Mox knew he wouldn’t have made it as far as he had. Her caring heart and loving soul was keeping him alive and there was no way he couldn’t acknowledge it.
A knock at the door broke Jasmine’s concentration. “You can come in Mr. Daniels.” She pulled her gloves off and tossed them into the trash. “Oh, I forgot to tell you that you were getting a visitor today, Mox.”
“Is he awake?” Uncle Earl stepped in slowly, removed his Kangol, and closed the door. He was wearing oatmeal colored, linen pants, chocolate colored suede penny loafers and a V-neck fitted t-shirt to match.
“Yes, he is. He still hasn’t spoken a word, but he is slightly responsive, and very coherent. He can see you out of his good eye.” She grabbed her clipboard and went to exit. “I’ll leave you two to talk.”
“Hey,” Earl tapped Jasmine’s shoulder before she walked out. “What happened to his left eye?”
“When the bullet entered, it permanently damaged his iris and optic nerve in that eye, causing it to remain inoperative. For a while, it’ll be sensitive to light, so its best that he keep it covered with a patch.”
“So you mean to tell me, he’s not gonna see out that eye ever again?” he questioned.
“Not likely.”
Earl shook his head in disgust. “Damn, does he know?”
“Yes, we’ve explained everything to him.” she replied.
“Fuck!” Earl clenched his Kangol tightly. “Excuse me.”
“It’s okay.” Jasmine opened the door to leave. “If you guys need anything, just press the blue button on the remote that’s attached to the bed.”
“Damn, baby boy,” Earl took a deep breath and stared at Mox as he lay in the bed. He wanted to cry, but he had to muzzle his emotions and remain strong for his nephew. He pulled a chair up and sat right next to him. “You lookin’ much better, nephew. I see you getting’ some of your color back too. I know I ain’t been around lately, but I got my hands tied up in a few things. Aye, Mox, look at me baby.” he stood up so Mox could see how good he was looking. “I done put on about twenty-five pounds, I got money in my pocket, I’m laced up.” he grabbed the gold and diamond pendant hanging from the Figaro link around his neck and kissed it. “And best of all, I ain’t got high since the day you got shot… and that’s the truth, Mox. I ain’t gon’ sit here and lie, shit it was rough as hell kickin’ that shit, but I’m maintainin’. The worst part is over.”
Mox focused on the poster hanging on the wall.
“Nephew,” Earl scooted his chair in closer to the bed. “I got somethin’ big lined up right now,” his voice was low. “I need you wit me baby boy. I need you to get healthy so we can really get this money. It’s out here Mox.”
“I’m fucked up, Unc.”
For the first time, Mox spoke. It was a hoarse mutter, but Earl heard it, smiled and patted Mox on his hand.
“You gon’ be alright champ.”
“I don’t know…” he paused to catch his breath. “If I can fight this shit… Unc…”
Earl sucked his teeth. “Shiiit, aye, Mox, remember when you were little, like five or six years old? You use to beg me every day to teach you how to ride a bike, and I kept on tellin’ you to wait. Well, I guess you got fed up wit’ me sayin’ that and you took it upon yourself to learn how to ride. First of all, I tried to tell you that the bike you were trying to learn on was too big, but you weren’t tryna hear at me at all, so I watched you. I watched you every day for one whole week while you learned to ride that bike. You musta fell about a thousand times, but each time, you got right back up, bruised knees and all, and got back on that bike to try it again.” He giggled, paused, and then looked in Mox’s face.
“That was determination Mox. That was focus. That was you making a vow to self, sayin’ that no matter how difficult the task is, you were gonna conquer it. Man, no bullshit. I think you started on a Tuesday, and by that weekend you were speedin’ all through those projects on that bike. I was proud of you, Mox. I couldn’t do nothin’ but smile when you cam flyin’ by me, cheesin’. You remember what you said to me?”
Mox didn’t speak, he just nodded his head yes.
“You told me you could do anything in the world, Mox. You remember that?”
A tear slowly dribbled down Mox’s cheek.
“This shit ain’t no different.” Earl could no longer hold his emotions captive as the water spilled from his eyes. “You gotta fight, Mox, and goddamnit you better not give up on me champ.” He wiped the tears from his face with the back of his hand, and checked his Rolex for the time. “Listen man,” he sniffled. “I gotta go take care of a few things, but I’ma come back tomorrow to see you. You want me to bring you somethin’?”
Mox shook his head, no.
“Aight, cool. Oh,” Earl reached into his pants pocket, pulled out a picture and tossed it in Mox’s lap. “Your aunt is about to move down south and she thought you might like to keep that wit’ you. Love you nephew, see you later.”
The door shut and Mox’s head dropped to the photo sitting in his lap. It was the photo his aunt Sybil had kept on her refrigerator for the past ten years; the photo of his mother.
Mox took a deep breath, exhaled and let the tears spill from his eye.
__________
Excessive torrential rains poured from the heavens, followed by a deep growling thunder, and then a glaring strike of white lightning lit up the sky like fireworks on the fourth day of July.
The projects had been empty all day, devoid of any doings whatsoever; a desert. To make matters worse, two different unmarked detective cars had been rolling through every ten to fifteen minutes.
Tyrell and Six kept dry under their large umbrellas as they stood in front of building 70. “Yo Ty, who dat?” Six asked, watching a dark grey Town Car pull up to the gate.
Tyrell took a few steps to the middle of the walkway and tried to make out the vehicle. “I don’t know Six, it look like them boys though. You got that on you?”
“Nah, I stashed it in the bushes.”
Tyrell heard the doors come open and walked back to the front of the building. He and Six held their ground and watched the two six foot white men in dark suits stroll up the strip in their direction.
“Hey, Mikey, what’s the number of that building?” Sammy looked around at the numbers on the two buildings. One had 70 on it and the other had 60.
“Uhh,” Mikey looked at the buildings. “I think it was sixty. Yeah, pretty sure it was. We gotta go up to the sixth floor.”
Mikey Telesco and one of his gunmen, Sammy Mallano, trudged through the soaking rain waters and into building 60.
“Who the fuck was that!?” Six skipped up the slant
ed red wall, dipped into the bushes and came right back out holding a chrome handgun. “Yo Ty, that wasn’t no police.”
“Chill, keep that low.” Tyrell warned. “Hol’ up, lemme call my cousin.” He whipped his phone from his pocket and found Dana’s number in his contact list, but after three tries he stuffed it back in his pants. “She ain’t answering.”
“What door is it, Mikey?” Sammy’s Brooklyn accent was deep and rich.
“Six H” Mikey responded as they stepped off the elevator.
The Union II Page 8