The Union II

by Tremayne Johnson

  “Girl, what the hell you doin’ out the hospital?” Sybil brushed the crust from her eyes and stepped aside to let her best friend enter the apartment.

  Vivian’s hands shook as she rushed through the door, holding her newborn son wrapped in a blanket. “Sybil, I need the biggest favor in the world.” She put the baby down on the couch and sat on the wooden coffee table.

  “And what’s that?” Sybil reached down and picked the newborn up.

  “I need you look after my son.”

  She rocked the baby in her arms. “Look after him? Where you goin?”

  Vivian got up and paced the living room floor. “Sybil I got a dream.” She said, reaching into her purse for a cigarette. “Right now, I don’t have time for no cryin’ baby.”

  “Cryin’ baby?” Sybil was shocked. “Vivian, this is your child. You carried this child for nine months and now you just gon’ give ‘em away?”

  “No, I’ll be back, I promise.” she lied. “I jus’ need some time Sybil. A little bit of time to sort this out and do what I need to do. I can’t be a world famous model if every ten minutes, I have to worry about this baby.”

  Sybil looked down at the baby in her arms. He was sound asleep, unknowing of the world in which he had been brought into. “I can’t take care of no baby, Vivian. I got my own responsibilities.”

  Vivian put the cigarette out in the ashtray. “Please Sybil, jus’ for a few months. As soon as I get myself in order, I swear to God, I’ll be back for him.” she quickly walked to the door and opened it. “You got my word on that.”

  Sybil tried to put the baby down and catch her before she walked out. “Wait Vivian. I can’t…” The front door slammed and Sybil was left standing there holding a three day old baby boy. She shook her head, sighed and looked at the precious human life in her arms. “I don’t know the first thing about takin’ care of no baby.” she voiced aloud. “At least she could’ve told me your name.”

  Sybil held the envelope in her hand and looked over at Cleo. “And that’s how you ended up here. Nobody asked questions or anything. You were jus’ a new addition to the family, and it’s always been that way. When the people close to me asked where the baby came from, I always told them that you were adopted. ”

  “Who gave me my name?” he asked.

  “My brother Earl came up with that name for you. He helped me out a lot in the beginning, and that’s why we’re so close now.” Sybil ripped a piece of paper out of a notebook and wrote something on it. “Here, this is your mother’s real name, last address, and phone number. Maybe one day you could write to her.” She passed Cleo the paper.

  He stared at it. “What does she look like?”

  “Hold on,” she went into the other room and came right back, holding a picture.

  When Cleo saw the picture, he couldn’t believe his eyes. His mother was beautiful. She was tall, brown skinned, with big lovely brown eyes and a physique that you only saw in magazines.

  “She’s pretty ain’t she?”

  Cleo nodded yes.

  “Cleo,” Sybil sat back on the bed next to him. “We need to keep this between us. Can this be our little secret?”

  He nodded yes again, but in his heart, he didn’t agree. He knew one day that the truth would come out.

  __________

  Cleo snapped out of his daze and went over to the corner of the basement to his bag, and pulled out his wallet. He thumbed through some papers and found what he was looking for.

  “Wanna take a road trip Chris?” He asked, looking down at the small piece of paper with a name, number and address on it.

  “Where we going?”

  Cleo just smiled. “South.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Frank’s establishment, Club RED, was located somewhere between West 16th St. and 10th Avenue in lower Manhattan. Prior to it becoming a night club, the space housed a wholesale market that after a few years, eventually went out of business.

  After obtaining a bachelor’s degree in business management, Frank decided to put his education to use and legitimize a significant portion of his illegal drug money. He renovated the space and had a night club built.

  Club RED had two floors, two large half circle bars, six 40 inch flat screen televisions, and the color red everywhere.

  The spot was filled to capacity as Frank and Nate, both fitted in three thousand dollar designer suits, relaxed on the ritzy suede V.I.P. couches in a cordoned off area at the rear of the club. A champagne bucket filled with ice, two bottles of Ace of Spade Brut Rose, and a few drinking glasses sat on the table in front of them, not to mention, they were surrounded by a bevy of beautiful women.

  Frank tapped Nate on his shoulder and leaned in close to his ear to say something. “Did you tell him to be here on time?” He glanced at the rose gold Rolex on his wrist.

  Nate nodded yes, and then sipped his bubbly.

  “Well where the fuck is he?”

  A few minutes later, a six foot, 300 pound, black gorilla looking security guard made his way over to where Frank and Nate sat. “There’s a gentleman out here accompanied by two others saying that they’re here to see you, boss.”

  “Let him in.” Frank replied.

  When the bouncer came back, Tyrell, Six and Uncle Wise were following him.

  “Gentlemen, have a seat.” Frank greeted the men and offered them drinks.

  “So, wassup?” he looked at Tyrell.

  “Man, I done looked all over for that nigga Cleo, and one thing I do know is, he ain’t in New York.”

  Frank didn’t believe that. “What the fuck you mean he ain’t in New York? Where can he go?”

  “I don’t know, but he ain’t out here. I had my people check every borough, every nook and every muthafuckin’ cranny. He ain’t out here Frank, I’m tellin’ you.”

  The disappointment was obvious. “You told me you was gon’ handle this.” Frank stood and faced Tyrell.

  “I am.”

  “When?”

  Tyrell caught the eye of a seductive, redbone goddess with short blonde hair walking by, and winked at her. Then he said, “Don’t worry Frank, I got this. In the meantime, let’s toast.”

  “To what?”

  Tyrell raised his glass. “To the power of the muthafuckin’ dollar!” he shouted and they all did the same. He stepped in a little closer to Frank. “I’m pretty sure you know Uncle Wise, but this is my partner, Six.”

  “Hey Frank,” Uncle Wise downed another cup of bubbles. “I went by to see Mox the other day. Y’all been by there?”

  Lately, Frank had been feeling guilty about not going to visit Mox on a regular basis, but he attributed it to working long hours, running the club, and maintaining his drug business. He knew it was a worthless excuse, but that was the only way he could bring himself to justify his actions. Mox was like a brother to him, and now he felt like he should’ve made a better effort to be there for him.

  “I can’t do it, Unc. I ain’t even gon’ lie. I know I been fuckin’ up by not being by his side, but I can’t see my boy like that; that shit hurts too much.”

  “How is he?” Nate jumped in.

  Uncle Wise poured another drink. “He’s doin’ much better. I spoke to him on the phone today and he said they were gonna move him to a rehabilitation center in Greenwich Connecticut.”

  Frank and Nate replied at the same time. “Connecticut?”

  “That’s what I said. I guess that’s what it is though. I think they moving him on Monday.”

  “Hey Frank, I think we should take a ride up to CT and check on him.” Nate suggested, but was ignored.

  Frank refilled everybody’s glass with champagne, and then summoned the waitress over and ordered her to bring two more bottles.

  Tyrell sat down next to Frank on the couch. “I need a favor Frank, actually, two.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “What you know about this dude?” He slid Frank a piece of a napkin with a name written on it.

  Frank
leaned over and showed Nate the name. “What he got to do with anything?” he asked.

  “He had my cousin Dana killed.” Tyrell answered.

  “Dana? Get the fuck outta here! When did this happen?”

  “’Bout a week ago. They’re havin’ her funeral tomorrow.”

  Frank thought about the situation, and realized the Italians weren’t going to let up, but Dana? That was something he would have never expected. “Damn, I’m sorry to hear that, but you think you ready for that?”

  “Ready? Shit,” Tyrell glanced at Six. “I came into this world ready.”

  “You know it’s sharks in that water, kid. Don’t jump in if you can’t swim, you might drown.”

  Tyrell let the words sink in, and thought about what Frank was trying to tell him. He was just a child, a teenager, trapped in a world of sin that was ruled by grown men, where every choice he made had to be decisive, quick witted, and vigorous. He knew he was short the manpower to wage a war against the Telescos, but his emotions were blinding his perception of reality. “They killed my cousin, Frank,” he took a sip of his champagne and then wiped his lip with the back of his hand. “I’ma murder every one of them muthafuckas.”

  Blonde hair walked by again, but this time she stopped, bent down, and whispered something in Tyrell’s ear.

  He smiled. “Yeah, jus gimme a minute.” When she stepped off, he turned to Frank. “Who the fuck is that bitch?”

  Frank shrugged his shoulders. “I seen her around a few times, don’t know her though. What’s this other favor you talkin’ about?”

  “I been gettin’ my feet wet in the game a lil’ somethin’, and uhh, I got my team.” He looked back at Earl and Six. “Uncle Earl’s tryna guide me in the right direction, but I need some more help. I figured that’s where you could come in.”

  Frank was confused. “I don’t get it.”

  “Listen,” Tyrell lowered his voice just enough so that Frank could hear him. “Word is, you the king of coke.”

  Frank smiled and shook his head. “Do you realize what you jus’ sat here and told me? You want me to supply you, and you being guided in the right direction by a fuckin’ dope fiend?”

  Uncle Earl heard every word. “Aye, Frank you better watch your mouth.”

  “No disrespect Unc, don’t take it the wrong way.”

  Earl was fuming. He hadn’t felt this way in years. It was like he was living his second childhood and he was ready to take it back to the old school one more time just to show these so called gangsters how shit is done. He was itching for Frank to say something else slick, Mox’s homeboy or not, he was about get it. He was about to bring the old Wise Earl out of retirement.

  “Take it the wrong way my ass, you said it muthafucka. You better curb that tongue before I remove it.”

  “Fellas, easy… easy…” Nate squeezed between the two men. “Let’s not even go there wit’ it tonight. It’s a bunch of beautiful women in here. We got champagne, good music. Let’s jus’ relax and enjoy ourselves, please.”

  The men separated and continued to enjoy their night out.

  Tyrell bumped Frank on the shoulder. “So, I guess that means no?”

  Greenwich Woods Rehabilitation Center

  1 Week later

  After continuous progress while in the hospital, Mox was moved to a rehab center in Greenwich, Connecticut to further his development. The 217 bed facility is set on elegantly landscaped private and secured grounds, and has a wide variety of staff to cover all aspects of the rehabilitation process.

  Mox was staying in room 403, which was located on the far west end of the building. His window overlooked a giant lake and hundreds of miles of nature’s greenery.

  He sat quietly in his wheelchair facing the window, rubbing his beard, staring out at the sunshine of the midday, and trying to figure out a way to get back home. He took a deep breath and inhaled the aroma of the fresh fall season.

  A tap on the door caused him to turn around and see who was entering his room.

  It was one of his doctors. “Mr. Daniels, how are you doing today?” he inquired, closing the door after entering.

  “Not too good, doc.” Mox was talking regular again, but he was still physically weakened. He barely had enough strength to cross his legs. “How come I can’t remember certain things, doc?”

  “Things like what?”

  “You know, small shit like my favorite color or favorite food. Shit, sometimes I can’t even remember what happened.”

  The doctor pulled a pen from the front pocket on his shirt and jotted down a few words on his clipboard. “I see. What about your name, birthday, things like that?”

  “I remember those.”

  “Umm hmm,” The doctor flipped the pages on the clipboard and sat in the chair alongside the wall. “Well, Mr. Daniels, I believe you may be suffering from a slight case of either amnesia or dementia.”

  “Amnesia?”

  “Yes, nothing severe, but it will take some re-learning of some of your basic motor skills. Do you have any family members who can bring in old pictures or something?”

  Mox looked out at the marvelous landscape. “Nah, no family. It’s jus’ me.”

  “Okay, that’s not a problem, sir. Tomorrow morning we can get started on your therapy. It’s all up to you, Mr. Daniels, if you make the effort, the work will eventually pay off.” The doctor closed the clipboard and left the room.

  Mox rolled himself over to the front of the dresser and gazed at his reflection in the mirror. He placed his left hand over the patch on his eye, took a deep breath, and a tear came rolling down the right side of his cheek.

  The battles had taken a toll on his physical abilities, and he felt beneath himself. He felt useless and forgotten, worn out and battered. He couldn’t understand how he had been able to take another breath and more than often, he thought about why God chose to keep him here and remove everyone else from his life.

  The telephone rang. It startled Mox for a second. He wondered who could be calling if no one knew where he was at, but then, he thought about Uncle Wise and went to pick it up. “Hello?”

  The voice on the other end was deep and groggy. “You know this ain’t over until every one of you monkeys is in a grave.” He hung up.

  Mox knew exactly who it was.

  He squeezed the cordless phone tightly in his hands, then tossed it into the mirror, causing shattered glass to cover the top of the dresser.

  If the Italians knew where he was, then it was only a matter of time before they showed up for a visit; that is, if they weren’t already in the building.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Priscilla stepped out of the county jail gates, looked up to the cloudless azure sky and thanked God for giving her yet another opportunity to do the right thing. The positive attitude she adapted from being in the program and staying at the shelter had been lost the second that police officer put those cuffs on her wrist.

  The passive, cordial and respective Priscilla wasn’t getting the job done. It was time to make a change.

  “You better smile girl, you outta there now.” Jennifer greeted her friend with a big hug and handed her a brown paper bag.

  Priscilla ripped the bag open and started counting the bills.

  “It’s all there, don’t even trip. But that sweat suit…” Jennifer frowned.

  “I know, I know, don’t even start.”

  “Girl, hurry up and get in this car so we can go shoppin’.”

  Priscilla opened the passenger side door to the 2009 gun metal Nissan 350z. “This is a nice car, Jennifer. Let me find out you gettin’ some paper out here.”

  “I damn sure ain’t gon’ be out here starvin’,” she replied.

  The two women got into the vehicle and took off for the highway.

  “Did you get the info I asked for?” Priscilla questioned, snapping her seatbelt in.

  “Yup,” Jennifer dipped through the traffic, hit the blinker and turned onto the Sprain Brook parkway. “Now list
en, I went through hell gettin’ this info, but it was for a good cause, so I’m not complainin’. Okay, first… Mox is doing much better, they say he’s talkin’ and movin’ around.”