She blinked. “Thank you, friend. It used to be owned by some silent film star, then by some action movie star, then by some rapper, then by some big-time director, now by us.”
“Never seen this much art in one place, except the British Museum. They stole art, statues, and sculptures from Africa. If they gave back all they stole, museum would be empty.”
“You are so political. Do you ever turn it off and have a normal conversation?”
“For me this is normal. I analyze what I see in the world. My place in the world. Even if you are not political, even if you choose to remain naïve, everything around you remains political.”
“I just live here. Art shows up in boxes and I put it up on an empty wall.”
Jake Ellis whistled. “You hired a professional decorator to hook your joint up like this?”
“Did it myself and saved us a lot of money.”
“The whole house?”
“All twelve thousand square feet. I think we have twelve thousand square feet. I forgot.”
“I’d bet you ten dollars you’ve never lifted a finger to do labor.”
“Architecture was my favorite subject at Compton High. Love it. That and interior decorating. I drew the initial layout for the pool, gym, and the basketball-slash-tennis-slash-volleyball court too. I don’t swim, but Dickie Bird does, so I designed a pool for him. Well, the shape of the pool. I have no problem knocking down walls and putting down tile. It’s relaxing. I knocked down two walls and opened up the space in here. Did it and helped the workers carry all the trash out. I’m a blue-collar Compton girl. I came out of the womb working hard. White skin and all. White didn’t mean we had it made. I went three days with no food once. And I used to look forward to school because I knew I’d get to eat lunch. We had it rough. Not all of us get to sit in an ivory tower from birth. And also, for the record, something is always broken when you have a house, especially one this size. A toilet seat needs to be replaced or the commode he uses needs to be retightened, and I always try and fix it myself before I call the First American Home Warranty people to send someone out. Most things can be fixed in twenty minutes.”
“Handywoman, if you are ever in West Africa, come and make my home look this nice.”
“It’s just a hobby. I like to make things prettier and spaces more functional.”
“With the rich folks you know, your hobby could make a lot more than twenty G a year.”
“Never thought about that. I guess I could do that for others. And get paid. And stay busy. Again, not like I have kids. We have room for at least five kids. And those rooms stay empty.”
“How many bedrooms does a palace like this have?”
“Nine. Twelve if you count the two extra offices. His and mine are on separate floors.”
“Nine and two are eleven. You said twelve. The other bedroom?”
She laughed. “It was converted into my private closet. Fucking cool, huh?”
“Are you serious?” He laughed. “So your closet is so big it could have its own bathroom.”
“It does. I have a king-size bedroom that I use as a walk-in closet. It has a beautiful Murphy bed. And a television. I can sleep or nap in there. I have a keypad and the only way it opens is if it recognizes my fingerprints. I have to protect my shoes. The money he gives me, I buy two pairs of shoes a month. It’s like retail therapy. I lock them up because relatives steal. His relatives, not mine. He bought me sixty pairs of shoes after we married. He used to buy me things all the time, most of it before we married. Now I buy my own stuff. I have close to four hundred pair.”
“You should give me a tour.”
Mr. Garrett told his wife, “You won’t show that miscreant a damn thing.”
Mrs. Garrett jerked, slowly turned her head, and scowled at her husband like she had forgotten he existed in the universe, like he had walked in on her giving Jake Ellis fellatio.
Jake Ellis stood up from the table, hands in fists.
Mr. Garrett slapped his hands down. “There will be no tour.”
Mrs. Garrett slammed her own hands down on the table. “Will you tear up that prenup?”
Her voice carried, echoed from wall to wall. Jake Ellis smiled. I did the opposite.
Mr. Garrett commanded his wife, “You will not take him upstairs.”
She snapped, “Yes or no: Will you call your attorney now and have the prenup revoked?”
“Woman.”
“Dickie Bird.”
He sucked his teeth. “Let’s let them leave; then you and I can talk business in private.”
“What you did was cold-blooded. And it wasn’t done in private. You did it in front of my goddamn mother, asshole. You didn’t give me time to think on it. Not one damn second. It was an ultimatum. And this is my goddamn ultimatum. Make that call, or I take my friend upstairs.”
He said, “I can’t do that. Not now. Not before we talk.”
“Then I guess there will be a tour.”
Jake Ellis slid Mrs. Garrett’s chair out like a gentleman. She rose, smoothed out her clothing, then stood like a lady, bowed her head a bit. She thanked Jake Ellis with the softest smile. He nodded and reciprocated the grin. It was so formal I thought they were about to bow and curtsy. I expected parlor music to come on and then they would dance up the walls like Fred and Ginger. Jake Ellis followed her out of the dining area. She pointed out art on the walls.
“So, you’re actually from Africa?”
“Ghana. But I spend a lot of time in Nigeria.”
“I have friends who go to Africa for vacation. They go once or twice a year.”
“Couples?”
“Just women. Neighbors. They’re older and never invite me.”
“Maybe because they go there to have sex with African men. Rich women love to go to Africa to have sex with African men because they want sexual satisfaction like never before.”
“Is that what they’re doing?”
“They want a generous lover with substantial offerings.”
She laughed. “Substantial offerings. Can’t say I’ve ever had that before.”
“So, tell me about all of this art. Some is African. Some is definitely stolen.”
They took to the wide and circular staircase, chatted like buddies moving through a museum. Last view I had of them, Jake Ellis was shoulder to shoulder with Mrs. Garrett. I think they were holding hands. Then I couldn’t hear her talking anymore.
Mr. Garrett sat in rage. His wife had defied him. An African had insulted him.
I handed him a napkin. “Salmon. A chunk is slithering down the side of your face.”
He yanked the napkin from my hand, wiped the intense anger from his reddening eyes.
I said, “Eat your dinner. I might get another piece of that salmon.”
“You don’t fucking tell me what to do. Not in my own house.”
Jimi Lee was on my mind again, then Rachel Redman, then Margaux. Out of habit, I checked my pocket for my personal phone, then remembered I didn’t have it with me. On the charger at home. Felt anxious. Still couldn’t remember what else I was supposed to do today. I just knew Margaux had brought me the name of a dead man and threatened to tell what she knew. If it had been anyone else, they’d’ve ended up at the closest alligator farm.
Margaux was my daughter. She had me in check, maybe even in checkmate.
I spoke out loud. “I need to get up on fifty thousand dollars.”
Mr. Garrett thought I was talking to him. “Is this some sort of a shakedown?”
“Nah. Someone is having issues and came to me, is shaking me down. But right now my pockets are like rabbit ears. They are shaking me down thinking I’m living large like you.”
“And you expect me to pay an extra fifty to alleviate your plight?”
“Nah, man. Just thinking out loud.” I glanced a
t the expensive art, wondered how much it was worth on the black market. “The devil is dancing in my empty pockets and I’m talking out loud.”
Garrett had the monkey grin again. “He better not put a finger on her.”
“I’d worry about another preposition.”
“You think everything is a joke.”
“No man can control what a woman does. You might as well try and catch a river with your bare hands. I was married. Was. My wife touched as many men as she wanted.”
“You should have killed your wife.”
“Thought about that more times than I can count. Loved her too much.”
“She was a whore.”
“Don’t call my ex-wife a whore.”
“She was a whore. All women are whores. You know that, and I know that.”
“I never called her out of name. You won’t either.”
“But you don’t get pissed when I said you should have killed her.”
“Chris Rock said that if you haven’t contemplated murder, you ain’t been in love.”
“If not a whore, what did you call her?”
“I called her my wife. Then I called her my ex-wife. Eventually I stopped calling her.”
Mr. Garrett evaluated me. “You have a better-than-average education, for a black man.”
“Backhanded compliments make my day.”
“Come work for me.”
“And do what? Build a house? Or pass out prenups?”
“I need some muscle. New muscle. Last crew I had, I sent them packing. You caught me in between guards, you could say.”
“San Bernardino knows. That’s why we came today.”
“That explains a lot. A former guard probably snitched. That’s the only way you would know where all of my guns were. Same for the code to the gate and to my house.”
“Most men have a price.”
“San Bernardino is a thorn in my side. I usually have men at my side. But I’ve gotten relaxed.”
“How relaxed can a man be if he lives with a loaded gun in almost every room?”
“All are legal. All are registered.”
“Most guys who stockpile have a legal stash.”
“I’ve had situations before. Not unlike this. And will again. A man with money is always a target. San Bernardino isn’t my only problem. That’s why I need strong men, smart men like you.”
“Would be a conflict of interest at this point. First thing you’d want me to do would be go upstairs and handle my coworker. Then you’d give me a gun and send me after San Bernardino.”
“I’d give you a modified AR-15.”
“Of course. What was I thinking?”
“I’ll start you at one hundred and fifty thousand. Think of it as a signing bonus.”
“One fifty to sign, and then what?”
“A salary. Mid six figures. You’d get a paycheck every two weeks. You’d get medical and dental. It would be legit, so far as the money goes. Would come with a title and a permit to carry.”
“You are making a tempting offer.”
“Cash to sign. We can negotiate the rest. Just shake my hand. Gentleman’s agreement.”
“You’re serious.”
“As a motherfuckin’ heart attack.”
I sat back and looked at his extended hand. I was one handshake away from big money.
Margaux could get her fifty. I could get a house. That was a life-changing amount of money. I thought about it, considered that capitalistic offer for as long as a commercial break on the Love Connection, then shook my head, but felt like a fool for turning down that offer.
Mr. Garrett said, “You’re levelheaded. Not simple. Saying nigger didn’t rattle you.”
“Don’t call me a nigger.”
“I’m just saying you hear the word nigger and don’t lose it.”
“Now would be a good time for you to stop talking.”
“In Nazi Germany, the few coloreds that were there, they were easy to identify and didn’t have to wear a yellow star, and they were of no consequence. You know why? Hitler could take blacks away and no one would care. The Jews, they had to be marked. The gays had to wear pink triangles. Can’t just look at a man and tell that he’s gay. Or Jewish. Blacks, your skin marks you. Your skin is your triangle. Germany never had a Negro problem, not like here in America. They kept black Germans in their place. The black German men knew better. They would never touch or say a word to a European woman. They would’ve been sterilized. They would’ve been charged with racial defilement. They knew not to get close to white women. There was a price.”
“What’s your point?”
“Lessons have to be learned.”
“San Bernardino has the same philosophy.”
“Some people still don’t know their places.”
“Some people.”
“San Bernardino knows me. This was done to piss me off.”
“Like my buddy said, I guess your people are used to doing the invading.”
“This has nothing to do with skin. You broke into my home. If I had walked in and saw two albino midgets, I would’ve asked why the fuck two albino midgets were in my goddamn house.”
“Quit while you are ahead.”
“A lesson will be learned. And know this: I will always be ahead of men like you.”
“Men like me?”
“Men of a lesser god.”
He said that like he was in control, like he was as powerful as Ozymandias from the Watchmen. He picked up his fork, stabbed his salmon, ate slowly, nodded, waited impatiently.
He said, “And you say you and your friend have stolen my guns.”
“No one said we stole anything.”
“You have my guns.”
“You could say that.”
“A disgruntled employee sold San Bernardino inside information.”
“One can assume.”
“Smart move.”
“Question?”
“What?”
“Why would one man need twenty-seven guns?”
“In case he runs into a pack of niggers and they have twenty-six.”
CHAPTER 8
JAKE ELLIS AND Mrs. Garrett appeared at the top of the dramatic staircase.
Jake Ellis was pontificating. “Accra is amazing. On Valentine’s Day, everyone wears red.”
“So, Ghana and Nigeria are different places.”
“Nigerians think they are the best, but they have stolen from Ghana.”
“Can Africans steal from Africans?”
“We are different nations. Right now there is literally a music war going on.”
Mrs. Garrett said, “And that music you said I should listen to? Tell me the names again.”
“I love Asa. Best thing out of Nigeria. Sarkodie is the king of Afrobeats in Ghana. Navy Kenzo, Ali Kiba. Diamond Platnumz. Yemi Alade. Tiwa Savage. I could name at least fifty more artists.”
“Do most of the men look like you?”
“Not to me.”
“I mean, do the people have nice skin like yours?”
He laughed. “There is no one type of African, just like there is no one type of African American. You’ll walk and see an albino, or a light-skinned African, and run across many Africans who can pass for white or are of European descent. There are pale Africans. You’ll see people who remind you of your friends from Compton, and will see Africans who bleach their skin. Just like here, the more famous many Africans become, their skin lightens to reflect their status.”
“And how do you snap your fingers like that?”
Jake Ellis laughed, amused, as he did that African finger snap a dozen times.
She laughed. “I can’t do that. Feels like I’m going to sprain my wrist.”
“Your index finger must collide with your
middle finger when you twist your wrist.”
“What does it mean when you do that?”
“It means many things. It means to hurry up, be quicker. It means my car won’t start. It means a woman is pretty. It’s punctuation, it’s frustration, it’s how you feel at the time.”
Jake Ellis snapped while she failed miserably.
She had on a different dress. Barefoot, she walked like she was dizzy, lightheaded, and ecstatic. Jake Ellis sat down, looked across the expensive table at Mr. Garrett. Mr. Garrett snarled, frowned at his wife, jaw tight, shook his head, not a word spoken.
Done eating, I said, “Now, about your issue with San Bernardino.”
Garrett cleared his throat. “This insult wasn’t necessary. My people in Boston will wire the money as soon as I give the go-ahead. Now, get out of my house so I can wash away the Ebola.”
Jake Ellis said, “Sucks to not be in control, don’t it? Don’t you hate that somebody can just walk up and hit you just because they feel like it? Can walk away with your woman and you can’t do shit about it? Now, piss me off again and end up with a bad foot like Kunta Kinte.”
Mr. Garrett regarded his wife, pissed off. “And you? You come back downstairs, different clothes on. What happened up there? What just happened in my house while I sat here?”
“Nothing happened, Dickie Bird. I just showed our guest parts of our beautiful home.”
“He watched you change?”
“He waited in the hallway like a gentleman.”
“That uppity nigger is not a gentleman. He’s filth, if anything.”
In a cheery voice Mrs. Garrett asked Jake Ellis, “Room for dessert? I have some gelato.”
Mr. Garrett’s hands became fists again. “The gelato is mine.”
She said, “Dickie Bird had it imported from Gelateria Dondoli in Italy.”
“Don’t give them my gelato.”
“Was that prohibited in the damn prenup? Let me think. Nope. Nope, it wasn’t.”
“Woman, sit your ass down. Let them leave and go buy a watermelon from a Mexican.”
Silence covered the room.
Mrs. Garrett said, “Oh, they are definitely getting gelato. As an apology. Gentlemen, we have chocolate, vanilla, and fruit flavors, champagne, lavender, and gorgonzola cheese flavors.”
Bad Men and Wicked Women Page 7