There was no denying the sickness on her face. Keisha was disgusted. Finally.
But then she quickly shook it away.
“They want it,” she said simply and went back to chopping. “Just like you did. They could stop at any time.”
“I was a child!” Lizzie cried. “A child.”
Keisha chopped harder. When a toilet flushed, Lizzie knew Snow was about to return.
“Do something,” she hissed and walked to the opposite side of the room.
~*~
Afternoon passed to evening and Lizzie didn’t dare pull out her cell phone. Though she knew Kenji had to be sick with worry, she also realized that Snow hadn’t thought to take it from her. She would bide her time, only to make an escape, somehow, though she couldn’t say how. No one talked of evacuating for the hurricane. No one left her alone. And with each hour that she remained there in that house, Lizzie crept an hour closer to her death.
Keisha’s daughters arrived that evening. There were three in all, each from a different father. The oldest, Treasure, was 16; the middle girl, Temple, 15; and the baby, Moondisha, called Mooney for short, had turned 12 just a few days ago. Eventually, all three were supposed to move in, but for the time being, Treasure lived with her father’s mother, while Temple and Mooney lived with Aunt Caroline.
That evening, the family watched a movie. Something bootleg and grainy called Firestorm. The girls sat on the floor, a pizza between them, with Mooney text messaging nonstop. Snow sat next to Lizzie on the couch, whispering things that only she could hear.
“You let another man come between us, Lizzie, after all this time. After all this that’s been between us.”
She swallowed.
“What he give you that I ain’t give you? Money? You don’t need that shit. I took care of you. Made sure nothing happened to your ass.”
She looked down at the faded scars of her body, the ones that called him “Liar.”
“He can’t protect you. I’ve seen him. What you want with him? What he do for you?”
She didn’t trust herself to speak. If Snow knew the real depth of her emotion, than he would harm Kenji instead. That way, he could keep his product and make his point at the same time.
The easiest thing to do would’ve been to deny him, to say that she’d used him in the greatest hustle of her life, but Lizzie knew her mouth wouldn’t form the words.
“I know you,” Snow said. “He don’t know you like I do. I’ve seen you in action.”
She looked at him and saw in his smile every dirty thing she’d ever done. Every hole filled as a line of men waited, and her, enthusiastic, desperate, disgusting.
She looked away.
Snow laughed.
It was the longest night of her life.
One by one they went to bed, Keisha first, inviting Snow to join her. He snorted in response. Treasure went next, with an exaggerated yawn that told Lizzie she’d be up and sneaking out soon. Temple and Mooney left at the same time, heading for the smallest room with bunk beds. But Snow remained on the couch with Lizzie. Soon, she began to feign sleepiness in the hopes of encouraging the same with him. Nothing good ever came from being alone with Snow.
He was constantly on the phone, text messaging, text messaging, always. He flipped channels, blinking sleepily, and only occasionally glanced back at Lizzie.
“You got a cell phone with you?” Snow asked suddenly.
Lizzie bristled.
“No.”
He pursed his lips in disbelief.
“Now if I make your ass strip down naked and happen to find a cell phone, I’m a kick your fuckin’ head in. Now one last time. Do you have a cell phone?”
Lizzie didn’t care what he said. Her cell phone was the only connection to Kenji.
“Search me if you want. I forgot it at home,” she said.
He opened his mouth, but his own phone interrupted him. He looked down at it and put it away.
“Kit left the family Wednesday night,” Snow said. “Told me she’d had enough. Friday morning, the police were towing away a 1995 Toyota Camry with her body in the trunk.”
He stood.
“There’s a lot of cars around here. Old cars. Junk cars that nobody pays attention to. You feel me?”
Lizzie nodded, sickly.
“Good.”
She watched him head down the hall.
How long she stared behind him after he turned the corner she didn’t know. Her heart pounded. Her mouth went dry. How long should she wait? A half hour? An hour? She could run out the door, but that would do no good. Months ago, when she’d first gone missing, Snow had placed a bounty on her head. Such was the way of pimps. Every two-bit hustler from Overtown to Liberty City would look to bash Lizzie over the head and drag her back for the respect of an OG and a couple twenties in their pocket.
Lizzie stretched out on the couch. An hour. Snow had seemed sleepy. An hour would be long enough to ensure her safety. Then she would text Kenji and take her chances. That was the only way. Police were nothing in places like this. A cop would show up, take a statement, and leave her right where she stood, never even bothering to offer her a ride.
A sound in the hall made her strain to hear. A door opened. Or maybe closed. She’d been so embroiled in her thoughts that she couldn’t tell which. Lizzie squeezed her eyes shut and pretended to sleep. She squinted just in time to watch Treasure tiptoe out the door.
More time passed. How much, she didn’t know. Her heart beat too fast. The house was so silent she likened it to a tomb.
It was time to make her move.
Lizzie sat up, ears perked, and tiptoed to the hall. If she was stopped there, she would tell them she had to use the bathroom. Anywhere else in the house and her motives were suspect.
Still, she careened her head around the corner, darkness engulfing her completely.
Keisha surprised her, stock-still in the hall, motionless, arm extended, her face shadowed from view.
Something was wrong.
Curiosity bade Lizzie forward.
Her cousin eased into view like a slow-moving panorama. Keisha. Keisha’s arm. A gun. Pointed into the open room. And then . . . the reason why.
Snow, in the bottom bunk, moving, groaning, grinding atop the smallest figure.
Mooney.
Above them, Temple still slept.
She wasn’t crying as Lizzie had been, when Snow had her the same way at about the same age. In fact, she was the opposite, arms around his neck; soft mewls muffled by the grunts of a middle-aged man. Lizzie looked away, sickened.
Mooney screamed.
“What the—” Snow yelped and scurried away. Keisha’s arm swept from where he’d been to where he ran at the foot of the bed. Cock jutting like a dagger, he eyed her steady, jeans and boxers at his feet on the floor.
“You filthy motherfucker,” Keisha spat.
Mooney gathered up the covers to shield her slight body.
“You better get that gun outta my face,” Snow said. “Baby momma or not, you know the rule. You pull a gun on me, you get put in the dirt.”
Keisha’s eyes watered. They were in a standoff, each staring at the other. Slowly, her gun began to lower. Snow smirked in response.
“Come on,” he said. “You gonna shoot your fiancé?”
She lifted the gun again.
“You fucking my twelve-year-old, Snow? You fucking my baby, and you got the nerve to be smiling?”
He went for the boxers, pulled them on first, and followed them with the jeans. He could’ve been dressing to get the mail; he seemed so relaxed.
“Yeah. I am.” Snow stood. “I fucked all three of ’em, matter of fact. And a couple of them nieces and cousins, too. But you knew all that already.”
He took a step closer and instinctively, Lizzie, behind both Keisha and the gun, took one back.
“Now get that gun out my face,” Snow said.
Keisha cocked it instead.
Snow stepped forward so that barr
el pressed his chest.
“You ain’t got it. And you ain’t never had it. You ain’t shit but a piece of dirty ass. What the fuck you gonna do to me?”
He held her gaze, steady, confident, and Keisha’s arm slackened under it.
Suddenly, he turned his back on her.
“Fucking Hammond pulling a gun on me,” he snarled. “Y’all ain’t learn your lesson, yet? Last one to try that got unloaded on. Take that to your motherfuckin’ nightmares.”
“You!” Lizzie cried. “You killed Tony?”
“Yeah, I killed that motherfucker. And I’m ’bout to—”
Keisha fired.
One bullet into his back and he catapulted like a cannon into the bed frame. She stepped forward, steadied her arm, and pointed downward to where he’d slumped, partway on the bottom bunk, knees on the floor. He was groaning. She shot again, and it silenced him. Temple, now bolt upright, began to scream. Mooney joined her. Keisha pulled the trigger again. And again. And again, until the gun clicked empty and Steven Curtis Evans was silenced forever.
~*~
Kenji ripped through the streets of Miami, tires squealing in the night. He had no idea what had happened to Lizzie, or could’ve been happening at that moment. She called him, told him where to come and that Snow was dead. It was all he knew.
Kenji called Tak and told him what was happening. His brother, naturally, begged him not to go. When that didn’t work, Tak insisted on following. Kenji gave him the address only after he promised not to come. Two children and one on the way meant this was Kenji’s journey alone. Tak had too much to lose.
Kenji pulled up at a high-rise behind a handful of squad cars. Were they taking Lizzie away? Had she given Snow what he deserved? If so, he’d have her out on bail in an hour with the best damned lawyer on her side.
The police, he thought with a sneer. They would be there to take Lizzie away. Never to stop the abuse, only there to tidy what remained of the mess.
Kenji jumped from his Audi, pushed past the growing crowd of bystanders, and burst into the building.
“Lizzie!” he roared, desperation boiling as he tore up the stairs. “Lizzie! Tell me you’re all right!”
He couldn’t bear to hear any different. God, please. She has to be all right.
A crowd of officers milled around on the sixth floor. Just as he reached them, Lizzie burst through and flung herself into Kenji.
Thank you.
He didn’t know what had happened yet, or who had caused it, but still his heart pounded in relief. She was okay. There, in his arms. They would be okay.
Never had he thought himself a selfish person. For most of his life, he’d had everything. He gave to the poor and thought that enough, better than enough, in fact. But it occurred to him, in that dank hall, holding the woman he loved, that he had never been thankful for all he had. That he had never even understood thankfulness until that moment.
“Keisha killed him,” she said. “They’re reading her, her rights now. My God. She killed him.”
Keisha.
He hugged her again.
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
The National Hurricane Center issued a hurricane warning for the Florida Keys at three P.M. Tak and Deena heard it just as they ushered luggage from the living room to the back of a waiting taxi. They were scheduled to meet the rest of the family at the Opa Locka airport for a private flight from Miami to California in just over an hour. Harsh, choppy winds, already whipping and threatening, made them move a little faster, still.
Tony dragged an oversized duffle bag that included too many games and too few clothes. A second bag, packed by Deena while he slept, ensured he had the things he really needed.
The drive up I-95 North was slow and threatening. Angry midday skies swelled as the first of torrential rain began to fall. Soon the city would be engulfed. As was the case with every storm that arrived, Deena prayed for those too poor to evacuate.
They met Daichi, his wife, Hatsumi, and John and Allison on the tarmac. There was no sign of Kenji yet.
“He’ll be along,” Daichi said. “I spoke to him but a moment ago. He had a stop he needed to make.”
Tak opened his mouth but shut it with a snap. Deena shot him a questioning look.
Tak, Daichi, and John loaded the plane with luggage as Grandma Emma pulled up in a taxi. Tony rushed up to help her with luggage and Tak took her hand, easing the way on slick pavement.
At eighty-four, Grandma Emma was experiencing firsts. The first time she’d ride a plane. The first time she’d evacuate, and the first time she’d be away from her family at Christmas. Deena prayed for synergy with her and the Tanakas.
In the time they spent on the runway loading luggage, the sky went from silvery gray to gunmetal fierce. Deena squinted up at it, then back toward the tiny, private airport terminal. Kenji emerged. But he wasn’t alone.
Hair like her own, wild but darker, framed the face of the figure next to him. Hand in hand they ran, each with a bag in tow.
Deena blinked in disbelief.
“Sorry,” Kenji said breathlessly. “These last few days have been crazy and, well, we didn’t know if we were gonna evacuate at all.”
Four people stood: Daichi, Deena, Grandma Emma, and Tak, three with a look of astonishment.
“Judging by your faces, you all remember Lizzie,” Kenji said.
He took her bag and headed for the rear of the plane, where the pilot helped him load. Daichi followed.
“Son, listen to me. I can see how you may have happened upon her and thought bringing her was the right thing to do. But you must understand—”
Kenji turned on his father.
“She’s my girlfriend, Dad. It’s not up for discussion.”
Kenji brushed past him and boarded the plane.
Grandma Emma laughed.
“Well, well, Big Time! Guess he told you.”
Daichi shot her a look. “Get on the plane, Emma.”
With a simper of satisfaction, she ambled up the ramp. Only once at the top did she stop to look back.
“Hey, Daichi. I reckon I’m ’bout out of granddaughters, but call me when your nephews come to town . . . now that I know what you Tanakas like.”
She threw back her head and whooped. Daichi warned her to shut it before they left her on the tarmac. He then followed her onto the plane.
Tak ushered the kids on board, followed by his mother, Hatsumi. Only once boarding himself did he look back, worry marring his features. His face told Deena what he hadn’t: that not only did he know about Lizzie, but that he knew about her coming to California, too.
Deena turned to Lizzie.
She’s sober.
“How long this time?” Deena asked.
“Four months. Almost five.”
Rain began to fall.
“You look happy,” Deena said.
“It’s Kenji,” Lizzie said. “I feel—I don’t know. Whole.”
Lizzie looked up at the sky, threatening like smoke.
“We should get on the plane,” she said. It occurred to Deena that Lizzie had only ridden a plane once, when she and Tak threw her on it for rehab. How harsh had that been, to not go with her? In the end, she supposed, they’d been cursory, robotic in their efforts to help Lizzie. Giving up in spirit before emulating the deed.
“I should’ve done more,” Deena said. “I should’ve tried harder.”
But Lizzie shook her head.
“You’re my sister, not my mother. You never could keep that straight.” Lizzie smiled lopsidedly. It reminded Deena of Kenji.
Their pilot shouted that it was time to go. Indeed, the sky looked malicious. South and east of them, a Category 4 hurricane barreled in their direction.
“I love you,” Lizzie blurted. “So much.” She shook her head. “I can say that now. Can you believe it?”
Deena laughed.
“No.”
But she swept her in her arms nonetheless.
EPILOGUE
Hur
ricane Lucille made landfall the following afternoon and exacted close to a quarter of a billion dollars in damage to the Southeast. Neither Deena, nor anyone in her family, suffered more than a few thousand dollars’ loss though.
Just after the storm, Keisha was formally charged with murder in the second degree. Faced with the possibility of life imprisonment, she took a plea and was sentenced to twenty years.
In the spring, Kenji tried out for the minor leagues and earned a position as an outfielder for the Jacksonville Suns. When he moved, Lizzie went with him. They returned days later, when Deena gave birth to a son, Noah.
Lizzie sat for her GED just days before the following Christmas and began work on her cosmetology license soon after. It took a year to complete. No sooner had she done so than did the parent team of Jacksonville Suns, the Miami Marlins, offer Kenji a spot on the team.
Kenji and Lizzie opened her shop on Miami Beach. The following year, she and Kenji got married.
Daichi’s magnum opus was released over the following summer, strengthened by a series of edits from Deena and a foreword written by her. For reasons unknown to them, it went on to become a New York Times Bestseller, giving her an in-field recognition she could’ve never anticipated otherwise.
On the day that Noah turned one, Deena received a letter in the mail from her mother. Upon opening it, a single sheet of paper slipped out and on it were three words:
We loved you.
Deena stood with the note a long time before tucking it into her purse. She kept it for the better part of a year, pulling it out and looking at it without really knowing what she felt. Never would her father come back, and never could she have a mother again. But it didn’t mean she couldn’t go on. Over the years, she’d learned that she and Tony had so much in common, more, in fact, than he and his dad. He dealt with anger over what his mother had done and what his father had been and realized in his own time that wholeness required he let go. Slowly, she’d learned the same.
So, with this thought, Deena took her mother’s letter out and wrote one of her own, nearly equal in brevity and response. It was all she could manage before sealing the envelope and sending it on its way. But somehow she knew it enough. A single sentence and a single stamp bridged a chasm between one decade and the next.
Crimson Footprints II: New Beginnings Page 27