She powered off her cell phone, placed it on the tray. Didn’t want Davis to accidentally discover her messages from Lincoln.
She filled both flutes halfway. Maybe she’d give him a bubbly blow job. “Here I come,” she called out. “You’d better still be in—”
The tray slipped from her hands. Bubbles poured from the green bottle creating what resembled bubbling red candy apple mix. “What in God’s name have you done? Jesus, Steven . . . Noooo!”
Calmly he said, “You’re going to wake up his neighbors. I know you don’t want that.”
He flipped his forearm upward, glanced at his wrist. The watch she’d bought him for their first anniversary was covered in blood. He wiped the face, looked at her. “It’s past midnight.”
Mona heaved until her insides were out. Davis’s lifeless body was faceup on the living room area rug. Vomit spilled into her hands, seeped between her fingers, then splattered onto the floor.
“Why did you have to kill him?” she asked, staring at her cell phone drowning in blood and vomit.
“I don’t think he’s dead . . . yet. And you didn’t see me shoot him, nor do you see me with a weapon. But as I recall, there was a gun in your purse with your fingerprints on it.” He picked up his gun, pointed it at her.
“You low-down son of a bitch. Shoot me. I don’t care.” She stared at the barrel, wishing it were her lying on the floor. Mona’s head drooped; she looked at Davis’s chest. There didn’t appear to be any up or down movements. Did Mona care enough to check for a pulse? What if Steven was going to shoot her too? “Steven, please. Please don’t. You bastard! This is why I hate you so much!”
“Can you keep it down?” he said, placing the gun on the coffee table.
He shoved it toward her. Her gun wasn’t the murder weapon, his was. She thought about trying to beat him to his weapon, but it was closer to him. He knew she didn’t have the courage to shoot him.
Steven grunted with anger. “I warned you! Make up your mind, Mona. A few hours ago you were shouting to all of Bakersfield, ‘Davis, please fuck me harder,’ now you’re telling me, ‘Steven, please. Please don’t.’ What, Mona? What’s wrong with you? I’ll tell you what your problem is. You’re too eager to open your damn mouth and legs at the same time without engaging your fucking brain. You screw every man in this town except your husband? What kind of wife are you?”
That wasn’t true. Mona was a wholesome kind of woman with morals and values before she married him. Sure she was a wild child, but her adventures were fun. Her problem was she loved new experiences and she made decisions too fast. Her heart, not her head, opened her legs for Davis just as it had for Steven.
Davis was the only man she’d sexed since leaving Steven. Mona prayed she could catch the first flight to Seattle. Hopefully she could convince Lincoln to be her alibi and that her one-way ticket was okay with him, because there was no way she was going back to Steven or staying in Bakersfield.
“You selfish bitch. You just gon’ stand there and let your so-called man die without . . . Aw, hell, no! Is that an engagement ring where my wedding ring should be?”
Mona didn’t respond. She headed to the bedroom for her clothes.
Steven rushed toward her, forced her from the hallway to the living room, then flung her to the carpet. “Sit your ass down and don’t move. And take that damn ring off. You are my wife!”
“You don’t love me, Steven. Admit it. You’re scared that I’m going to turn you in. If I were, I would’ve done so months ago. What woman in her right mind would’ve done for you the things that I’ve done? What sane woman would want you?”
A thousand capillaries zigzagged, turning his jaundice-colored eyes beet red. “Bitch, take that damn ring off!”
This was not the time to argue. She had to get out of the house. Sitting in a puddle of blood, Mona remained calm. She removed the ring, sat it on the rug. The ring was one more piece of evidence that could link her to Davis’s murder.
“You know what, Mona . . . go. Just leave. Go and get yourself together. We’ll work things out later. I’ll clean up this mess I’ve created.”
Killing had become second nature to Steven. That was the reason she’d left him. He could take life as though there were no God. Mona didn’t want to see death anymore. Not this way.
For years, Mona had lived under Steven’s roof determined to keep him happy. Leaving her mother and father in Selma, she regretted she’d become estranged with her family. Sitting next to a dead body, she realized she hadn’t chosen Steven. He’d chosen her. If she’d known Steven was going to kill Calvin McKenny that night, she never would’ve asked to accompany him.
Keeping her eyes on Steven, Mona stood. Davis’s blood streamed down her ass and legs and dripped from her fingers. How was she going to get to her house? The airport was closer. If Davis weren’t dead, Steven would definitely finish the job.
Mona went into Davis’s bedroom, saw the sliding glass door open. She closed it. At this point evidence didn’t matter. There were many of her prints throughout his house.
Mona filled the tub with hot water, added lots of milk and honey bubble bath. “Who am I fooling?” she thought, scrubbing her body in the oversized tub. Mona cried uncontrollably. If I don’t go back to Steven, I’m going to end up in prison.
“Mona, I’m leaving,” Steven said, standing in the doorway. “But I’ll be back to get you and you can help me clean up that mess. Everything will be all right,” he said, closing the door.
He spoke as if the carpet were stained with merlot. “Son of a bitch, bastard, motherfucker, I wish you were the one dead,” she whispered.
She was not helping him clean up. This time instead of covering up for Steven, Mona would have to worry about protecting her own ass.
The bathroom door opened again. He stuck his head in, then said, “Don’t think about leaving me. I’ll kill the next one too if I have to.”
CHAPTER 36
Steven
November 2010
The bloody mess wasn’t what he anticipated having to clean up. His adult life wasn’t what he’d envisioned at all. Perhaps the problem was he had no vision for his future. He was simply existing as opposed to living. So deep into the mayhem, he couldn’t quit killing unless they fired him. The job he’d just done was out of jealousy, rage, and of his own free will. No check was on the way.
Steven sat in the living room waiting for Mona to finish bathing. Davis’s body was lifeless. Should he leave the body where it was and burn down the house? No. Arson created more evidence than it destroyed, especially if what he intended to go up in flames survived the fire. Should he wrap the body in the rug, then dump it deep in the grass field across the street? He had a better idea.
Mona would definitely be questioned about the murder. She might have to serve time, but that was okay. He’d divorce her, put money on her books. She should take the wrap for him. That was the least she could do for cheating on him. Better for him to get another wife than for him to become somebody’s bitch behind bars.
Steven relaxed, believing he wouldn’t be linked unless Mona exposed him. Obviously Davis thought Mona was a single woman. He hoped Mona hadn’t told Davis, his friends, or his family that she had a husband. One less connection to him. But he couldn’t believe that his wife accepted another man’s engagement ring.
What was she thinking?
Mona entered the living room. Her wet and stringy hair clung to her neck, soaking her T-shirt. “My decision is the same. I’m not going to your house, Steven,” she boldly said, holding a half-full garbage bag in one hand, her purse in the other.
“What’s that? All the shit you had over here?”
Picking up her blood-drenched cell phone and the engagement ring, she placed them in a large Ziploc plastic bag, then put the bag in her purse. “What difference does that make? All you need to know I just told you. But in case your comprehension is still all fucked up, I’ll say it again. I’m not going to your house, Steven. Goo
d-bye.”
He picked up his gun, stood, snatched her biceps, then pushed her onto the front porch. He locked the front door from the inside, then closed it. Steven opened the passenger door of his SUV.
“Get in,” he said, shoving Mona onto the seat. He threw her bag and purse on the floor, slammed her door, got in the car. He put his gun in a black plastic bag, placed the bag in the compartment on the driver’s side, then drove off.
Cruising along Airport, he stared at Mona. “What’s your damn problem?”
Silence surrounded them. He focused on the road until he got to his house. “Get out,” he demanded, picking up his black bag.
“There is no pleasing you, Steven!” she yelled. “That’s why I left you. Now take me to my house before I call the police and tell them everything!”
Slap! His backhand landed across Mona’s cheek. She’d screamed loud enough for the neighbors to hear, and he smacked her hard enough to shut her ass up. Her face slammed into the leather headrest. That was the first time she’d made him hit her.
“Now say something else.” He stared at her. “Get the fuck out!”
Mona held her face, got her bag and purse.
If he had to kill Mona, so be it. He was tired of her ass too.
She got out of his SUV. He followed so close behind her, if she stopped, he’d step on her heel. She looked over at Ms. Velma’s house. The living room light came on. Quickly he pushed Mona in their house, then locked the door.
He shoved his keys into his pocket, put the black plastic bag on the coffee table, pushed her into the recliner. The bottle of whiskey fell over. “Nah, I don’t trust you.” He snatched her from the seat, pulled her with him into the garage, got a roll of duct tape. He dragged both Mona and a dining room chair into the center of the living room, then shoved her in the seat. “Hold out your wrists.”
“You don’t have to do this. Steven, please. I’m not going to leave.”
“I’m not going to ask you to stay and I’m not going to ask you again. We’ve done things your way for the last six months. Your time is up. Now we can do this my way or we can do this my way . . . got it?”
Extending her arms, Mona Lisa cried.
“Something’s wrong with you. Shut up,” he said, wrapping the duct tape around her wrists three times. Then he did the same to her ankles and ended with one wide strip around her body.
He frowned. Taping her up was too easy. Mona didn’t say a word. She didn’t fight back. Her smart ass was plotting something brilliant, no doubt. He’d have to hurry back.
“Don’t leave me like this!” she yelled to his back. “Take me with you. You know you need my help.”
Nah, taking her with him was what she wanted. Mona brought this shit on herself. Steven slapped a strip of tape over Mona’s mouth, slammed his front door, got back in his truck.
“Hey, Steven!” Ms. Velma shouted from her porch. “I thought I heard you come in. You going back out already? Everything okay?”
The sun would rise soon. He had to finish the job. “Hi, Ms. Velma,” he said, concealing his disgust with Mona.
“You can have Thanksgiving dinner at my house tonight. Steven, you left . . .” Her words trailed off.
Steven didn’t have time to listen to Ms. Velma. He had to bury Davis’s body in a place where no one would find the remains unless he wanted them to. With countless boarded-up abandoned buildings on Mona’s side of town, a vacant house on Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Boulevard might be the perfect hiding place for Davis’s body.
Getting Mona Lisa to do as he said, that was his greatest challenge.
CHAPTER 37
Mona
November 2010
Lord, please get me out of here before this man kills me.
Soon as Mona heard Steven’s SUV pull out of the driveway, she rocked back and forth in the chair. Each time she leaned forward, she pushed harder. “Aw, shit,” she said, almost tilting over on her face. Quickly she leaned back, steadied herself, then started over.
Balancing on her two feet that were taped at the ankles, Mona hopped toward the door as though she were on a pogo stick. Three hops and she noticed Steven had left the black bag on the coffee table. If he needed what was in that bag, he’d be back real soon. That meant she had to hurry.
She jumped twelve inches at a time. If she could make it to the porch, she prayed Mama V would be standing on hers.
Mona heard footsteps coming up their front stairs. Her heart pounded, praying Steven wouldn’t catch her trying to escape. God only knew what he’d do. She glanced around, started hopping backward fast as she could trying not to fall over. Trying to get back to the indentions in the carpet where her chair was.
A familiar voice said, “I’d better close Steven’s door for him.”
Frantically, Mona rocked until she was on her feet. Hopped three times. She wanted to scream, “Wait! Help! Mama V!” but she couldn’t.
As the door was closing, Mona hurled her body and the chair onto the coffee table. Risking hurting herself was her only hope of being rescued.
The door slowly opened. Mama V peeped inside. “Chile, what is going on in here?” She hurried to Mona, tugged at the tape on Mona’s mouth. “Wait here,” she said. “This doesn’t make any sense.” After sitting Mona up, Mama V headed out the door.
Mona screamed, “Don’t leave me!” But she couldn’t separate her lips. Her words were muffled desperation drowning in her throat. Mama V was already out the door.
“Mama V, please don’t call the police.” Tears streamed down Mona’s face. If the police showed up, she and Steven were going to jail. Deservingly so. But was it really her fault she’d married a murderer?
Mona’s biggest fear was Steven returning before she got out of his hellhole. Nothing in the house had changed over the last six months, except her photo on the wall was mutilated.
Mama V rushed in carrying a bottle of cooking oil and scissors. She doused Mona’s mouth with oil. She massaged the oil under the edges, then cut the thick gray tape binding Mona’s ankles, wrists, and body. She saturated the tape stuck to Mona’s mouth with more oil. Mona worked one side of the tape, loosening the edges. Mama V gradually lifted the other side.
The adhesive lifting from her delicate skin was painful. She didn’t care. All Mona wanted to do was get out.
Finally, her mouth was free. Mama V reached for her wrists.
“I’ve gotta go. Thank you so much, Mama V. I love you.”
“Mama V has done a lot of things to help people, chile. But I ain’t never seen no foolishness like this. A man tying up his wife. Steven needs his ass whupped, but I know how to deal with his kind. Wait until—”
Mona frantically shook her head. “Don’t get involved. Can you please give me a ride to my house?” Mona picked up her purse. That was all she needed. She stopped, picked up the black bag. She smiled. She had another piece of evidence he needed more than her.
“Give me a minute,” Mona said, rushing into the garage. She grabbed a black plastic bag, shoved the stapler gun inside, placed the bag on the coffee table, then rushed out of the house.
CHAPTER 38
Katherine
November 2010
Katherine sat in her mother’s living room. She felt good watching Jeremiah suited up in his football uniform. He was so handsome. But if her son earned one scholarship to college, he was going to college. The way he ran that ball down the field constantly reminded her of Lincoln. Whenever Lincoln did get a chance to see Jeremiah play, she knew he’d be proud of his son.
Did she make the right decision to help Lincoln? She hadn’t heard from him since she’d wired him the money two days ago. No “Thank you, Katherine.” Or “I got it.” And although she hadn’t seen him yet, at least she knew he was alive.
Eventually he’d meet his son. She’d placed a framed eight-by-ten photo of Lincoln in Jeremiah’s room when her son turned two. The next day, her mother removed the picture, saying, “Our baby doesn’t need to know his fathe
r until Lincoln is ready to be a father.” She’d disagreed with her mother and put the picture back by her son’s bedside.
Another photo of Lincoln hung outside her son’s bedroom door. Each time Jeremiah pointed at a picture of Lincoln, he’d say, “That’s my dad.” Hopefully Lincoln would come home soon so Jeremiah could meet the man behind the uniform and hear all about how his daddy served his country.
Covering the national news continuously increased her compassion not just for Lincoln but for all vets, especially those who had seen the worst war had to offer, then came home and literally slept on American soil.
Desperately she wanted to hug Lincoln. Thank him for whatever he’d done while serving their country. Maybe she’d take a trip to Seattle, try to find him. Not tell her mom where she was going but ask her mom to keep Jeremiah for a few days. Makeda could help out if she wasn’t busy studying for college finals.
“Come on, Mom, I want to get to the game early,” Jeremiah said, tugging her hand.
Katherine sat on the sofa. She didn’t feel like moving. Her mind said get up but her body protested. She was tired. Tired of going, and going, and going. Tired of pretending to always be happy so her child wouldn’t see her sad. Tired of acting like they had lots of money when month to month she didn’t know how she’d pay his tuition.
“Give Mama a minute, sweetheart. Go get your grandmother.”
“She’s already in the car waiting for us. This is our big Thanksgiving Day game. If I’m late, I won’t start. Coach will bench me, and Makeda won’t see me score the touchdown I promised her.” His brown eyes pleaded more than his words.
Makeda had proven to be heaven sent. She chaperoned Jeremiah and his friends on Friday nights. The ten thousand–dollar check Steven told Mrs. Cunningham to give her was also a blessing.
Katherine wanted to tell her mom, “Lincoln sent a partial child support payment,” so her mother wouldn’t hate him so much. After all her mother had done to support Jeremiah, Katherine couldn’t tell that lie.
The Eternal Engagement Page 14