Life

by Sullivan, Leo

  “Get on your knees cracka!” I commanded as I snatched his gun placing it into my pocket and then I grabbed the bracelet. Just up ahead, I saw the blue and white police car turn into the parking lot. With all my might, I hit the officer upside the head with the butt of my gun. His blood got on my suit as he fell backward onto the concrete like a sack of rocks. I was moving fast. Tomica and Evette were still in a state of shock. I jumped into the car, fully intent on leaving their so-called professional asses right there. All their sophistication, savvy and wit had failed them miserably and now when it came to the last resort, brute force with a twist of some real gangsta shit, they were just as intimidated as the victim. I started the engine and they jumped in the car. I pulled off, there was no traffic in front of me. I drove slow, as inconspicuously as possible. There was only one way in and one way out. Up ahead the police car was coming slowly toward me. I had my gun on my lap with my hand on the trigger. I smiled and moved my lips like I was heavy into conversation with my lady friends.

  “There’s the police,” Tomica said, panic stricken.

  “Bitch, I see them. Smile like you ain’t tryin to go back to the chain gang,” I said between clinched teeth, wondering how could she be so fucking dumb.

  As we passed the police, they stared into the car. Thank God they were slowed down by the oncoming traffic. It would be a minute before they reached the unconscious cop. As soon as I turned onto the main street, police cars came from every direction, lights blaring. I punched the gas. Up a block, I turned on a side street taking the back way. I pushed the tape in on the tape deck. UGK was rapping about having a pocket full of stones. I thought about the diamonds in my pocket and drove faster. A police car raced by us. I knew where they were going, to the place I had just left. I just knew there would be an all-points bulletin out for the car.

  I glanced over to see Tomica staring at me. Whatever it was written on her face I couldn’t read. She had her mouth open like she had lockjaw or some shit. I needed to get back to the hotel and fast. For some reason, I don’t know, I looked over at Tomica and smirked. I thought about the lame game and now who tricked who. I guess it was my manly ego, or just that triumphant feeling a hustler gets when he hits a good lick. That ruthlessness a thug feels, like liquid fire surging through my veins. Yeah, I was keepin’ it gangsta!

  I pulled into the hotel with my thoughts heavy on my mind. Just the fact that we had been silent all the way back from the caper gave me an advantage, a kind of leverage that I fully intended to exploit. Now it was time to execute plan B, “Big Pimpin.” Break these hoes. Shit, they were going to do it to me if I let them. I knew that I still had to use some finesse but with a different technique. I spun around fast in my seat, placing my arm around Tomica’s headrest. It startled her. Now they were watching me with their full attention. I knew that I held all the advantages. Actually, it was the thirty thousand dollar bracelet in my pocket.

  I turned, glancing back and forth at both of them.

  “That shit ya’ll bitches pulled back there was not proper. Could have got a nigga kilt,” I said, pointing my finger at Tomica, my voice cold, impassive. “You understand me?!” I yelled. Tomica flinched fearfully. I turned to look at Evette. She was already nodding her head up and down, starry eyes brimming with tears. Good, I thought to myself. Give them a large dose of fear. In my mind I wondered where they had all that money stashed and just how was I going to take it. I thought about the pussy game they played on me and started to feel sexually aroused. I thought about what I was going to do to them with those same handcuffs.

  Tomica primed her lips to speak like she was considering every word carefully.

  “I didn’t know that you was packin’ heat, that’s all, but you don’t have to talk to us like that,” she said tentatively. She sent her words like a scout to test my temperament. It took a second for me to read into her ploy.

  “Bitch! Did I tell you to talk?” I snapped.

  She cringed in her seat, damn near jumped out the window. I heard every whimper in the back seat. Her mind still held the fresh memory of what I had done to the cop. Violence does that to people. With that I realized that I had more than enough persuasion to make them submit to my every whim.

  I adjusted my tie, made like I was trying to get comfortable. All eyes were on me. I dropped my voice a few decibels, tried to act civil and loving every damn minute of the control I was now feeling over these women. What were they going to do, call the police on me?

  “I really don’t want the bracelet,” I said matter of factly. I lied. Tomica’s eyes got big as silver dollars. I could hear Evette in the backseat sniffing back tears.

  “Just give me the money ya’ll owe me and we can work something out.” I smiled sincerely with my own motives.

  “Let me have the bracelet,” Tomica said meekly. Her words hung in the air resonating without an answer. I knew they would take the bait.

  “Ya’ll go back to the room, get comfortable, and I’ma get a lil sumpin’ sumpin’ to smoke on and we can get our drank on. I have a proposition for ya’ll, and we can get our freak on.”

  “Proposition? Freak on?” Tomica retorted disdainfully, eyes narrowing at me. I peered at Evette in the back seat and she looked at me the way a follower does. She just wanted to be led to safety. I thought I detected a hint of something in her demeanor. Just then a blue Lexus pulled into the parking lot. I leaned forward in my seat craning my neck not believing what I was seeing. It was Trina, the bitch that stole my stash. I slouched down in my seat and watched as she parked the car. Tomica made a face at me, she was about to say something. I grabbed the gun. Just as Trina was exiting the car, I took the keys out of the ignition of Tomica’s car and placed them in my pocket.

  “Hey!” Tomica complained.

  “Go to the room!” I said getting out of the car, my pace brisk like a stalker. Trina had not seen me yet. She wore a simple white dress with flowers, pink sandals with a Gucci ankle bracelet on her leg. She had shut the car door retrieving three large shopping bags. She looked up just as I approached. For a fleeting second, I thought I saw a smile cross her lips. I slapped her so hard her neck snapped back and she stumbled holding onto the car to keep her balance, dropping her bags to the ground.

  She wiped her bloody lip with the back of her hand, looked at her blood almost examining it. She spit blood at my feet as she continued to hold her head dignified.

  “You didn’t have to hit me out here in the streets. I have your money, plus more.” Her composure completely caught me off guard. Not what I was expecting. I grabbed her by the hair. “Bitch, I’ma kill you!” I said with my face just inches from hers and then shoved her face away. She picked up the shopping bags. I marched her right past the car with Tomica and Evette in it. Their breath fogged up the windows as they watched me abduct a woman in broad daylight. The lame?

  As soon as I turned the corner, that’s when I saw him, the white man, watching me. His face looked familiar. As I passed the car I took a closer look at him, he turned away. I thought nothing more of it, and continued to focus my attention on Trina. That white man would come back to haunt me.

  *****

  Chapter Eight

  “The Ultimate Betrayal”

  – Hope –

  Three years later, life couldn’t have been better. My child was in preschool, I was attending law school and my husband, Marcus, had a great job making excellent money. He was far from being perfect, but he was a good husband and father. We had a big house out in the suburbs, in a multi-cultural community. For the first time in my life, a sista was truly happy. I worked as a counselor for troubled kids for the Department of Corrections. The pay wasn’t bad, thirty eight thousand dollars a year. I went to school at night to earn my law degree. In a lot of ways I knew that I was neglecting my child as well as my husband, but I was less than a year short of earning my degree and all my hard work would come to fruition. Upon my graduation I already secretly made plans to take my family to Walt Disney World
and just act like one big-ass kid with Marcus. At least that was my dream.

  For now, the reality was that most days when I came home, I would be so tired, all I could do was take a quick shower and collapse in the bed. Thank God Marcus was one of them fathers that enjoyed cleaning and cooking, like it was second nature to him. I could never understand it. I was just thankful. With him, everything had to be extremely orderly and neat. I wished that he felt the same way about my body and our sex life. Our sex life suffered miserably. No matter what I did, the man just did not want no nooky. I even went out and bought all kinds of expensive lingerie, read books on how to rekindle love after marriage and children. Even bought one of them lovemaking tapes you see advertised in the back of the Essence magazine. Marcus was numb from his brain down. I even tried to molest him, my own damn husband. I had never performed oral sex and was anxious to try it on him. He flatly refused me, saying that it was nasty and sinful. Made me feel like a slut. I went out and bought myself a woman’s best friend, the ultimate toy. I named it Big Boy. All a sister needed was two D batteries and an imagination. I convinced myself that things would change, just give it time. Besides, I realized that not being at home a lot of times was placing strain on our marriage. In my heart I knew that once I started practicing law and we were able to take a long vacation, Marcus would change. In a lot of ways, like many other women, I learned to love without sex and that would have to suffice. Marcus and I lived on two separate islands. Our only real connection was our child and the sad truth about that was, it wasn’t even his child. I knew that the only reason I accepted my husband’s denial of my body was to purge myself from a woman’s greatest sin–infidelity that resulted in another man’s child. The last few years I had learned to cope with my transgressions.

  *****

  On September 4th, Cathy McMillan, the Judicial Judge for the Ninth District of Tallahassee Juvenile division retired. She was 62 years old. On that day the entire juvenile department held an honorary celebration. A catering service provided lots of good food, with the state footing the bill. I left work three hours early. With my son at preschool and my husband at work, I was going to catch a few Zs in my king sized bed and enjoy some peace and quiet. Something I learned as a new wife and mother, working and going to school, you slept when you could, not when you wanted to. Rest can be a commodity given away for the sake of motherhood.

  As I pulled my Benz into the driveway I noticed Marcus’ Range Rover in the carport. He never parked in there. What is he doing home so early from work? I wondered. Then I had this idea, it overpowered me. Sex! As I hopped out of the car my pace quickened. It felt like I was about to have a hormone attack. Sex was no longer an option, it was a demand that I was not going to com-promise. Right then and there I decided that Marcus was going to give me some or I was going to turn this mutha out. A woman can only take so much. We hadn’t had sex in over six months.

  As I stepped inside our spacious living room, the first thing I noticed was Marcus’ clothes thrown everywhere, like he was in a hurry to take them off. I thought that was particularly strange of him, since he was a neat freak. Hesitantly, I placed my briefcase and purse on the floor. My woman’s curiosity piqued my senses acute to any sight, sound or smell. I kicked off my high-heeled pumps along with my suit coat. In my stocking feet I followed the trail of abandoned clothes … up the stairs … to my bedroom door. My heartbeat was in my throat as I listened astutely. On the other side of the door I could hear panting, groans and sighs. The sound of lovemaking. My husband was in my bed, making love to another woman, on the satin sheets that he would not make love to me on, in my fucking house. I was enraged! Past the brink of no return. Insanity. My first thought was to find a gun and blow both their goddamn brains out! Then I had a better idea. Much better. I retraced my steps, tiptoeing backward.

  I went out to the garage, retrieved the small gas can Marcus used for the lawn mower. It was full. On my way back in I stepped in an oil spot in the garage, tracked it back in on my eight thou-sand dollar Persian rug that I was still making payments on. In the living room I stopped and got the lighter out of the drawer. I walked back up the stairs, gasoline in hand, footsteps smearing my carpet with oil. At the door my hands trembled as I turned the doorknob. The hump in the sheets confirmed the nightmare. The two people did not even notice my entrance. I walked closer and closer with murderous intent. Gas in one hand, lighter in the other. I began to pour gas all over them and the bed, to set their bodies into human flames. In their fevered frolic they did not even notice me. Then, to my utter disbelief, it was Stan’s hateful eyes that stared back at me. He threw back the covers and I saw my husband Marcus underneath him lying on his stomach. They both looked back at me, then to the gasoline can in hand and it took only a second for it to dawn on them what I was about to do. The fumes were a dead giveaway. Can you say, extra crispy courtesy of gasoline and fear? I flicked the cigarette lighter.

  “Noooo!” Stan shrieked and stood up in bed throwing the wet gasoline covers off of him like that was going to save his ass from the fire that I was going to ignite. As he stood there, from the size of his huge erect penis as it dangled in front of my face, I realized that my husband was definitely more woman than I was to take that up his rectum.

  “Hope, this is not what you think!” Marcus screeched in terror.

  “Hope please don’t do this!” Stan pleaded for his life.

  In my mind, in that moment of insanity, it would have been better if I caught my husband with a woman. This only seemed to infuriate me more. Two men packing shit, and with Stan of all people. I reasoned all those years, that was why he hated me. He was fucking my husband and was jealous. Now as I took a step, lighter in hand, like some demon-possessed woman, I was fully intent on torching his ass. Like a trapped animal he began to plead and cry, begging for his life as his eyes frantically searched the room, looking for a way out. I stood between the door of death and his fiery hell. There was no way he was going to get past me and the wrath of a woman’s vengeful anger. I flicked the Bic lighter, stalking him with my movements, deliberate, measured. Each step I took forward he took two backward. Cat and mouse. There’s something so sinister about death’s imminent demise, and it registered in his face. The sweat, the tears mingling with fear. “Please! Please!” Hands outreached, face scowered in painful desperation.

  “I don’t believe this! How could ya’ll do this to me? Faggot-ass fuck boys!” I screamed, irate.

  Stan was against the wall. Gasoline and perspiration gleamed off of him like shiny wax. I could hear noise behind me and turned just in time to see Marcus scrambling for the door. During his haste, he fell, slipped, tried to get up and fell again. He busted his ass. Once he was halfway steady, he hauled ass out of there. I looked back at Stan, just as he lunged forward, leaped, took flight and jumped out of my window, shattering glass. I stood there huffing full of rage. I walked over to the window and peered out. Stan was sprawled out in my driveway in obvious pain. In the fall, he had broken both of his ankles and his spine. A few of my neighbors were now standing outside their homes gawking at the naked Black man now lying face down, ass up, in my driveway.

  In a fit, I ran through the house searching for Marcus. I found him cowering in the bathroom with the door locked.

  “Marcus, bring your pussy ass out here. Now nigga!” Yes, I used the n-word but if you came home and caught your husband in bed with another man with a dick the size of a log shoved up his butt, you would be mad, too. Now that I think of it, maybe I should have been jealous, my husband could take more dick than me.

  “Marcus, bring your faggot ass, out here!” I screamed pounding and kicking on the door like a crazed maniac. I listened. All I could hear was water running at first.

  “Hope … Hope I was going to tell you,” Marcus whimpered from the other side of the door. I had to strain to hear him.

  “Tell me what, that you a goddamn faggot and all the grips is worn off your asshole? Muthafucka open up the damn door!” I
pounded, until a few minutes later I broke down and sobbed, crying uncontrollably like a baby. This was just too much.

  “Mar-cusss, Marcusss! We have a baby, a life … a family. How could you do this to us?” Right there I plopped down on the floor, my resolve shattering. I was only 24 years old and the brotha was giving me a nervous breakdown.

  Marcus unlocked the door and peeked out to see if I still had the gas can. Deciding it was safe, he came out into the hall.

  “Hope, I’m sorr –”

  I threw the cigarette lighter in my hand at him.

  “Muthafucka, you ruined everything!” I cried, looking for something else to throw at him. Marcus now had on a pair of jeans he must have gotten out of the dirty clothes hamper in the bath-room.

  “Hello? Hello? Anyone home? This is the police department.” Shouts rang out from the first floor.

  Marcus stood rigid, eyes bulging with fear. Beads of sweat cascaded from his forehead as he whispered in a hushed tone, “What do I tell them?”

  As I sat there on the floor with my eyes full of tears and emotions spilling over, for the first time I recognized something in him that I should have seen all along, femininity. It was right there staring me in the face. I raised my voice, making sure that the police could hear me. “If you don’t take your punk ass down there and talk to them, I’ll be more than happy to tell them what happened. That I came home and caught you with a dick up your ass the size of my arm.”

  Marcus took one look at me and must have decided that I would now be a good candidate for the crazy farm. As he scurried by me, I kicked him with all my might. He fell hard. “Bitch!” I cursed as he got back up. He hardly looked at me. I could tell his mind was somewhere else–probably on his crippled lover and what the hell lie he was going to tell the police. After a minute or so, I regained some semblance of my composure, picked up the lighter and ambled to my window looking out. The entire neighborhood was out in throngs; it looked like a festive event. I watched as they loaded Stan in the ambulance. He looked up at the window at me in obvious pain. With his stare fixated on me, I smiled as I flicked the Bic lighter as a friendly reminder of what could have happened, and waved at him sweetly as the ambulance drove away. OK, a sista was being a real vixen. In a year or so he would get over it, as soon as he got out of the body cast.