“What?”
Her hands are jittery. I’m not sure she should be driving. But I can’t help. I’m two years away from getting a license myself.
Mya says, “He came in my room at night. He was always lathered in Old Spice. To this day I can’t stand the smell of the stuff.”
Oh no.
Mya continues, “He’s so big, you know?”
I nod. Don’t say anything.
Mya’s hands tap the steering wheel like it’s a drum. “I was so ashamed.”
I say, “Not your fault.”
Mya shakes her head but says, “I know. But I always felt like I could have done something to stop it.”
I ask, “How long?”
“Three years.”
I close my eyes at that bit of news. If he could molest Mya for three years, what was he capable of doing to Kenya in one night? I shudder to think about it.
I ask, “Fiasco knows?”
Mya nods.
“Why keep him around, then?”
Mya says, “Fiasco’s a star.”
“I know.”
She says, “A celebrity.”
“Yes.”
“Tabloids pay a wad of cash for skeletons in a celebrity’s closet.”
I get it. I say, “To protect you.”
Her shoulders bounce with her tears.
Fiasco comes bounding out of the mansion on Crawford’s Corner Road. He moves over to the driver’s side of Mya’s Range Rover. They embrace briefly. Then Mya slides over next to me. Fiasco takes the wheel. He looks over at me, and then reaches out with his hand. At first I think it’s for a handshake, then I realize he’s handing me something. I take it. Heft it. It’s the tire iron from the music video. The X-Treme didn’t think I needed it. Overkill, he said. Well, I do need it.
I ask, “Where you think he took her?”
Fiasco looks at me with sadness.
He doesn’t even have to answer.
I know the answer.
The warehouse.
Kenya
I said, “I don’t want to go in there.”
Alonzo didn’t seem to care what I wanted. He shoved me into the room marked PRIVATE. It was different than the rest of the place. Like a star’s dressing room with all the amenities of comfort. A plush purple couch with a royal vibe to it took up one corner. A flat-screen plasma television set held down another corner. Large speakers hung from the ceiling. Candlelight was the only reprieve from pure darkness. Alonzo’s face really took on the look of the devil in the glow of lights. I did my best not to look at him. Closed my eyes and pretended I was somewhere else.
“You like the place, baby girl?”
I didn’t answer at first, and then I felt his hand on my wrist. I opened my eyes and smiled at him. My best opportunity to get out the situation unscathed, I figured, was to play along as much as possible, hope someone came in and spoiled the fun, hope he had a change of heart, hope for something.
I smiled at Alonzo. “It is beautiful. I didn’t get to see much out there. Why don’t you show me around?”
He said, “Later. After we’ve had our fun in here, I’ll show you the entire place. Now, why don’t you get comfortable? Take off that hot dress.”
I had on a baby-doll dress the color of the North Carolina Tar Heels. It was a soft and sheer material. Not hot at all.
I asked Alonzo, “I could use a drink. That would make me comfortable.”
He didn’t answer, but I noticed a punch bowl in the corner. I went over to it.
It was filled with condoms.
Behind me I heard Alonzo’s booming horror-movie laugh.
I closed my eyes again.
Eric
I look at the warehouse. A black Land Rover is parked at a hurried angle just in front.
Fiasco says, “He’s here.”
Mya says, “Three versus one.”
I say, “Four. Kenya’s a fighter.”
We exit Mya’s Range Rover.
Fiasco is in the lead, I’m right behind him, and Mya brings up the rear.
I say, “Bet I know where he has her.”
Mya says, “That room marked PRIVATE you mentioned?”
I nod. Fiasco opens the front door with a key. We step into darkness. Fiasco doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t look for lights, just moves forward with a purpose. I’m sure his heart doesn’t pump fear. Mine doesn’t anymore, either. Kenya needs me. There is no time, or place, for fear. I hit the tire iron against my palm. I have a feel for its weight. It’s definitely a weapon now.
We reach the PRIVATE room. A light leaks out at the bottom of the door. Fiasco turns the knob; the door eases open. Fiasco steps in, then I do, and then Mya. Alonzo has Kenya pinned in a corner, his back to us. Fiasco calls his name. I move forward, stand next to my favorite rapper. Mya stands next to me. Alonzo turns slowly. His face registers surprise for a moment. Then his mouth turns up in a smile. Just behind him Kenya smiles, too. She’s okay, I realize. She’s grateful we’re here. We must have gotten here in time.
Alonzo says, “The whole family is here. Well, good.”
I whisper to Fiasco, “You take his body. I’ve got his legs.”
Fiasco nods.
We move forward.
DIRTY JERSEY
ISBN: 978-1-4268-1887-5
© 2008 Phillip Thomas Duck
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