She was carrying an overnight bag. She wasn’t planning on leaving before sunrise. If she was staying, Jake Ellis would have to make her a big breakfast in the morning. Women never let Jake Ellis go until he had loved them thrice, ate them twice, and made them two good meals.
I walked away, paused just long enough to watch teenagers doing McTwists on their skateboards. Reminded me of me twenty years ago. I was a skateboard king back then.
A block later I came up on my fading yellow two-level apartment building, one just as old as Jake Ellis’s structure, but not as nice on the outside. I had lived there for eighty seasons. Most of the buildings on what we called apartment row were two levels, a few had between four and twelve units, and most had been constructed between the thirties and the sixties.
My random thoughts vanished when I saw someone standing under my window.
The aggravated stranger paced the uneven sidewalk in front of my building. His body language screamed he was pit-bull angry. He saw me and stopped marching, called out my name, and as soon as I paused and gave that gaze of confirmation, he clenched his teeth.
He charged at me, became a raging bull with his hands in fists. Whoever he was, he had been waiting for me to bring my black ass back home. Same as others had done years ago.
My hand went for the .38 I carried, but I had left it sleeping in Jake Ellis’s Mustang.
My backup .38 was upstairs chilling out in my apartment, probably watching Netflix.
I didn’t know if my aggressor was armed, if he had come to break bones, or if he was here to kill. I didn’t know if he was alone, or if car doors would open and forty men would attack me. My gut told me Mr. Garrett had sent someone after me and Jake Ellis, only he had found me first. The madman yelled and charged at me like a wounded bull intent on killing a matador.
In my mind, I heard Garrett rapping lyrics by Biggie Smalls.
Not only did this motherfucker have a beef with me, he’d come to annihilate me.
CHAPTER 14
MY ENEMY WORE unbridled anger, paired with black jeans and a gray hoodie. He was six-three, about 190 pounds between toes and ’fro. Light-brown skin with reddish hair that was more wavy than kinky. The killer swung hard, clipped my ear, and that sting woke me up, told me this shit was real. I bobbed and weaved, and before he could come at me again, I became the next Brown Bomber, threw six fast blows, ate his ribs and stomach up the way termites eat wood, gave him some spots of pain to think about, and with the wind knocked out of him, it was all but over. He dropped like a rock, mouth bloodied, redness spreading across his face and tongue, collapsed holding his ribs and his nuts. That low blow to his family jewels was intentional. I ain’t got no problem clocking a man in the sacs in a street fight, because it’s a damn street fight. I checked to see if he had backup. No one else came running my way. I yanked his hoodie up, made sure he didn’t have a gun or a tool to shank me; then I kicked him twice, put two solid roundhouse kicks into his gut. Again, he dropped to his knees. Fear had replaced his rage.
My voice dressed in fury, I asked, “Who sent you after me?”
“I came to whoop . . . your bitch ass.”
“Who sent you?”
“Margaux. She told me what you did to her when she took you to lunch.”
“You’re her pit bull?”
“I’m her fiancé.”
“She wasn’t wearing an engagement ring. Boy, don’t come here lying.”
“We’re having a baby.”
“She’s having a baby. Man can’t do nothing but get a woman pregnant.”
“Let me go.”
I shoved the fool away from me. This was the boyfriend. Another goddamn pretty boy. A light-skinned number covered in tattoos, just like my child. Not until I pushed him away did I see his ears. He was into lobe gauging, had a green circular symbol of Buddhism in each ear. His mouth was bloodied because I had hit him so hard his nose ring had been set free.
I snapped, “You came to where I live to confront me? Boy, messing with me, especially today, will get your young ass dragged down ten miles of bad road on your ugly face.”
“You made her cry today.”
“Boy, I am her father. We have the same blood. Understand that, boy? We are family. What went on between us ain’t your business. And you came after me? What’s this? Nobody puts Baby in a corner, and you’re Patrick Swayze and you came to put her old man in his place?”
“Motherfucker.”
“Were you with her at the Grove?”
“You were at the Grove?”
“You didn’t know?”
“I was in the car when she came back. You made her cry twice in one day?”
“She tell you why she was there?”
“It was none of your business.”
“Who was the guy in the red car?”
“What guy?”
“Do you have any idea what the fuck is going on?”
“I love Margaux. That’s all that matters.”
“You’re the writer, or the other guy is the writer?”
“What other guy?”
“Are you the writer?”
“I’m the writer.”
“Why does she need fifty thousand?”
“Get away from me.”
“Oh, you’re not surprised about that part. Who needs the money, you or her?”
His face was contorted in anguish. He struggled to breathe. I looked at him and saw myself. Ethiopian loving had gotten the best of him too. I sighed at the dumb-as-fuck, lovesick, pathetic mutt; wanted to strangle him until his eyes popped out of his head, but I held his shoulder and said, “Lean forward and let the blood drain so you don’t choke to death.”
He snatched away from my helping hand and cried out, “You bwoke my nose.”
“I didn’t bweak your nose. The concrete bwoke your nose when you fwell on your face.”
“You bwoke my fwiggin’ nose. I’m going to sue you.”
I feigned like I was going to clock him again. He took off running. He galloped to the next building and dove into a dirty Nissan, same bucket Margaux had been driving earlier, and left screeching. Too many cars and too many eyes were out for me to hog-tie him and drag him around back to the garages. He ran the red light a block up, almost crashed. My daughter had sent her street-dumb Romeo clown to beat me up.
I said, “I should’ve snatched those ugly-ass earrings out your damn ears.”
He was with her at the Grove, but she had left him in her car when she went to meet with her ex-boyfriend. And her ex had left his woman in his whip. That told me nothing, not right away.
As life moved on for the denizens and traffic sped by, my concentration, my attempt to make all of this bullshit make sense, was interrupted when someone applauded.
Across the street, in the two-level that was dull green and white, some of the stucco chipping away, one of my neighbors stood in her window. She waved at me. She always looked conservative, wore frameless glasses that made her look innocent, a contradiction to her smile.
It was Bernice Nesbitt. My African-British neighbor. Long brown hair parted on the side. Skin the hue of café au lait and she was just as hot. Tall, with curves. She was gorgeous, had North Africa, maybe Algeria, in her British blood, wavy hair. Bernice had lived there at least ten years, since she was about twenty-one. She was more fit, sexier now than she was when she was twenty-one. California living and the weather had done her good. She’d come to this side of the pond to attend university and rarely went back to the land of beans and toast.
This was a déjà vu moment from another ugly familial moment a decade ago. Today wasn’t my first time being jumped right at my front door. Last time I had been attacked, it was a rainy day, and that was the day I had met Bernice. She had seen it all. As she had seen this bullshit.
She asked, “Should I call the bobbi
es? Or y’all sticking to the stupid code of the streets?”
“Just some business between two fools.”
“Same thing you said a few years ago when those East Africans came after you.”
“Rule’s the same. Don’t involve the slave catchers. Don’t want to get shot in the back.”
She nodded. “That thirty-second row about a woman, money, or a parking space?”
“Every fight a man has, on some level, is about a woman.”
“Because men like to park inside of other men’s women.”
“Some spaces don’t like staying unoccupied too long, especially overnight.”
“Yeah, right, whatever. You’re good at not answering simple yes-or-no questions.”
“Haven’t seen you standing in your window watching the neighborhood in a minute.”
“Still not answering; cool. Anyway. I thought you knew. Went back home for a month.”
“Did you go back to break into the royal family’s crib and steal the Koh-i-Noor diamond they stole, snatch it from the Queen’s crown, and take it back to its rightful owner in India?”
She laughed. “No, silly.”
“You disappoint me. They say whoever holds that diamond rules the world.”
“Next time I’ll meet the Queen for tea and let her get ganked for her riches.”
“Get that diamond and take it back to your people in Africa.”
“You know I hate politics and that Afrocentric babbling.”
“So you vacated the US for a while.”
“Went back home for Carnival.”
“Never been to a Carnival.”
“Then you’re not living. I almost got to whine this soft booty up on John Boyega.”
“Bet you had him ready to pull out his light saber.”
“For real, though.” She laughed. “You should go across the pond.”
“What does London have that we don’t already have here?”
“Roundabouts.”
“We have one in Long Beach. It’s called a traffic circle.”
“London has over ten thousand.”
“You mean it’s so boring over there you had to count them?”
“The one you have here is a dull monstrosity. Ours are the most beautiful in the world. Ours go around windmills, Chinese pagodas, and all sorts of amazing structures. Some even have homes in the middle. I’ve seen yours, so it’s only fair you see what mine have to offer.”
“Added to bucket list. Way down at the bottom, but above getting married again.”
“Follow me on Instagram if you want to see more of the things I did whilst in London with my family and friends. I posted hundreds of pictures. My costume was provocative and sexy.”
“Might check it out.” I nodded. “How are things at LMU?”
“Almost done.”
“You’re doing the most. Traveling, getting educated, working that black-girl magic.”
“Living my best life. Hey, there was another coyote attack last night.”
“We’re seeing more coyotes around here every night. Raccoons too.”
“Oh. Did you hear about the dead guy they found in the house on MLK?”
“What went down? We have another hashtag?”
“Bro had been dead in his bed for over a month and they just found him.”
“What happened?”
“No idea. The guy was about forty. Pretty much our age. Died in his sleep. Had dry rot before anybody noticed. Bloody sad to check out and nobody misses you for over thirty days.”
“You have your guy to make sure that doesn’t happen. I see him there most nights.”
“I’m a free agent.” Her voice smiled. “Just dumped the randy bloke I was seeing.”
“What happened with you and the fireman? Thought I sensed wedding bells.”
“Ain’t no bitch hotter than me, but the wanker kept putting out fires all over the city.”
“No shit? Sounds like you had some drama.”
“Bitch found me on social media. Sent me all the e-mails they had exchanged. Sent me all the text messages. Long story. Probably why my head hurts. Need to work it out after I study.”
“Even when you look like Bey, they go Eric Benét.”
“Come closer so I don’t have to yell. I’ll make sure no one is sneaking up on you.”
A car passed; then I sprinted across the street, ran across the island of evergreen trees in the middle of Stocker. Bernice and I had had a couple of moments. Late nights, sometimes loneliness and a man’s needs got the best of him. Same for a woman. Women were as curious and as deceptive as men. They were just better at the game. Few years ago, I had gone over there to put together a dresser she’d bought at Ikea. Drank while I assembled her goods, then drank and played bones after, drank some more, ended up touching hands, then kissing, feeling each other up, and when the heat was too hot, we ended up half-naked and boning like boning was going out of style. Between the sheets, she was wicked. We never talked about it. We talked like it never happened. I’d been living in this zip code for twenty years, the last ten single. This area was apartment row, hundreds of single women and single moms, so it was a hot spot for a man, be he single or married. Lots of women, new ones moving in every month, the supply always replenished.
Neighbors walked by. I stood next to a palm tree on the dried grass underneath her window.
My British neighbor lowered her voice. “Jesus, now I feel like I have stage fright.”
“Why so?”
“I’m feeling anxious all of a sudden.”
“What’s going on?”
“So I’m single again.”
“Pretty women never stay single long, unless it’s by choice.”
“That was a hint.”
“Was it? I’m too direct to pick up on a lot of hints.”
“I’m flirting.”
“Oh. Thanks for the heads-up.”
“Still kicking it with that chocolate Eskimo?”
“When she’s in town.”
“When she’s at your place, I can hear her doing vocal warms-ups all the way over here.”
“Why you ask?”
Bernice winked. “Been a long time since you came over to visit. Like three years or so.”
“More like four. Knowing what I know, can’t see why a man would cheat on you.”
“Knowing what I know, I see why your ex-wife used to sneak back every Wednesday.”
“She didn’t come every Wednesday.”
“I bet she did come every Wednesday.”
“That was years ago.”
“Do you remember the things I liked to do?”
“Oh yeah. Especially with your breasts. Not many sisters can do that.”
She whispered, “Oh, what you have is very nice too. You surprised me. And it was indeed a pleasant surprise. Was like meeting a man from the Caramoja tribe in northern Uganda.”
“You know I’m seeing the Eskimo.”
“Last time you knew I had a man.”
“Yeah, I knew. I had met him once, so I broke the code.”
“You owe me one. You made me a cheater. Fair is fair.”
“You’re serious.”
She laughed. “You look surprised.”
“It’s been years. I’ve been available most of that time. You could’ve stood in your window and used a light and flashed an SOS signal. Or you could’ve showed up at my door at midnight wearing a trench coat and holding a bottle of wine from 7-Eleven. We could’ve checked this out.”
“I don’t want to date you. Would be odd to date a man who lived across the street.”
“But having a sleepover every now and then?”
“Wouldn’t be out of the question. As long as we had an understanding.”
“Last time
you stopped talking to me after.”
“Back then I was scared the guy I was seeing would look at you and be able to tell something happened. I really liked that guy. Actually, thought I was in love and he was the one. But you gave me that strong bone and I liked it. To feel this way about one man, and to feel another way about another. Scared me. Didn’t want drama. But you were chill about that night we had, didn’t get all into your feelings and make it complicated. You went on about your biz and you didn’t trip and try to come between me and my man. Most guys keep coming at me once they have been in between. Maybe that feeling of rejection was new for me. I think it turned me on.”
“It wasn’t rejection.”
“Maybe you should cross the pond for a sleepover every once in a while.”
“Why are you coming at me like this today?”
“Ken Swift, you look good in that jacket and jeans. Saw you leave this morning. Damn. Yeah, you are looking pretty hot. So now you know. I’ve put that in your ear. So what’s going on?”
“The Eskimo.”
“You don’t scream, I won’t holler.”
“From what I remember, you do both.”
“What happens on this side of the pond stays on this side of the pond.”
“Really?”
“Really. I see you with her. She looks all happy and shit. Makes me kinda jealous, and makes me want you again at the same time. Makes me want to pray naked with your penis inside me. Jesus. That penis. Hard to explain, you know? And the way you fight. Very arousing.”
“Well, last time I was in a fight out here in the streets, you saw me get my ass kicked.”
“But not before you had beat up about five of them.”
She had seen Jimi Lee’s family bring me a big African-size can of whoop ass. She saw them attack me. That was the only time someone bested me and I didn’t go after my revenge.
My smiling neighbor looked down like a queen in a castle and said, “I’ve been turned on since back then. You have this balance of being street and being a smart brother. You fit into two worlds. I think I’ve been hot for you about ten years now.”
“Never knew that.”
“I know, it sounds very opportunistic. But you don’t like hints. So I’m being as direct as I can while I still have the nerve. That strong bone. We could be the perfect fuck buddies.”
Bad Men and Wicked Women Page 14