Who Can I Trust: A Naptown Hood Drama (Trust Issues Book 1)

by Tamicka Higgins

  The man nudged Rolanda’s head with the gun again. This time, however, he did it so hard that her head moved several inches over. No matter how long – how many minutes – Rolanda felt that cold still pressed against her head, it was just something that she could never get used to. It was as if it never stopped being cold; whenever he moved the gun, she could not help to think that he would next be moving his finger. Her entire life flashed before her eyes.

  “I think this bitch lyin,” the man said to his partner.

  His partner nodded. “Yeah, nigga,” he said, agreeing. “Somethin’ about her just don’t seem like she the real truthful type.”

  “I know what, though.”

  “What?”

  The man chuckled, looking down at Rolanda’s cowering body. “We not gon’ leave dis house till we know where the fuck that nigga is,” he said. “We followed her ass when she left and saw that she went right on down to the hospital, so we know that he in there.”

  “Man, I told you that we shoulda ran up in his shit instead of doin’ the drive-by thing,” the guy standing over the kids staid.

  “Nigga, shut up!”

  Rolanda could hear this voice boom.

  “We gotta figure out what we gon’ do with these motherfuckas until we get some answers.”

  “Please don’t kill my kids,” Rolanda pleaded. “Please, I’m beggin’ you. Please don’t kill my kids. They ain’t done nothin’. They don’t know shit about none of this shit. I swear they don’t. Please, just don’t kill my kids.”

  The man standing over Rolanda snickered. “Bitch, shut the fuck up,” he said. “What the fuck you think we are, animals? We ain’t gon kill no fuckin’ kids. You just work on getting’ in touch with you daughter so we can figure out what fuckin’ hospital room that nigga is in. The sooner you find that out for us, the better off you and your kids gon’ be. The kids’ cell phones? Where are they? You think she would answer one of them instead of you?”

  Rolanda shook her head. “I don’t know,” she answered. “I don’t know where their phones are and I don’t know if she would answer them or not. I don’t even know if she lookin’ at her phone. I swear to fuckin’ God, I don’t know.”

  Latrell and Linell struggled which man scared them more. The one standing over them definitely was not as aggressive as the guy standing over their mother. However, he was much closer. Linell’s eyes swelled up with tears, not only scared for herself but also scared for her mother. She and Latrell had been sitting in the living room when there was a knock at the door. Their mama had seen a silhouette of a man, through the curtains, standing on the front porch. At first, she had assumed that it was her friend, Kevin, stopping by. Linell remembered watching her mother practically walk toward the door with a smile on her face. Just when she got to it and opened it to a face she did not know, the back door was being pushed in. Guns were pointed at them. Suddenly, the television became light background noise.

  Latrell, on the other hand, was not quite as emotional as his sister. With how he was sitting, pushed back into the corner with part of his body out of sight because of the couch and the shadow that it cast over him, he started to pull his phone out of his pocket. The man standing over them seemed so close, but Latrell knew that he had to try something. He figured he would try to call Daddy. Being careful to not move his head too much, he glanced down ever so slightly as he scrolled through the contacts on his phone. At first, he had passed Daddy then had to go back. He hoped to God that the dude standing over him and his sister with a gun would not notice. Latrell tried to keep his phone as pushed into the dark corner as he could, almost behind the car – between the back of the couch and the wall.

  “Ay nigga,” the man standing over Rolanda said. “Get one of them little niggas’ phones and have’em call they sister. We gon’ find out where this nigga is and shit. Oh yeah, we gon’ find him.”

  Just then, Latrell could feel a shadow coming over his body. His heart jumped as he looked up and found that he had been caught trying to use his phone.

  “What the fuck you doin’ lil’ nigga?” the man said, leaning over and snatching Latrell’s phone up off of the floor quickly. “Look, nigga,” he was now saying to his buddy standing over the mother. “This nigga was over here on his phone already.”

  “He ain’t call the police did he?”

  The man looked through Latrell’s call log then shook his head. “Naw, he ain’t call nobody,” he said. “Let’s see if we can find this sister number, though. Hold up.” He scrolled through Latrell’s contacts until he got down to Kayla. He called, holding the phone up to the side of his face. Just as what had happened with Rolanda, it went straight to voicemail. Looking at his partner, he shook his head. “She ain’t answer.”

  “Who was you callin’ lil’ nigga?” the man standing over Rolanda asked.

  Latrell, who was nervous, looked across and up into the eyes of the man standing over his mother. It was so hard for him to pull his eyes away from his pleading mother, on her knees with a gun to her head. Quickly, he shook his head. “Nobody,” he said. “I was just lookin’ for my sister number like you was saying.”

  The man nodded, pressing the gun harder into Rolanda’s head. Rolanda shook uncontrollably as she felt the metal push into the side of her head. More than anything at that very moment, she wanted to lunge across the room and crouch down over her children. However, she knew that if she made any quick move like that, there would surely be a gun going off on either side of the room.

  “Well,” the man said. “Look like we just gon’ have to wait now don’t it. She gotta come home eventually. And I ain’t leavin’ till I find out where this nigga is.”

  “Why the fuck are you doin’ this?” Rolanda asked. “Huh? Why the fuck you doin’ this to me and my kids?”

  The man snickered. “But, shut the fuck up,” he said. “There’s been, let’s say a little snag in things, and this is how we gon’ work it out. Now, shut the fuck up with all that cryin’ before we really give you somethin’ to cry about.”

  ***

  Myesha grabbed her bag and walked through her parents’ polished white room, which was the living room of the house. She double checked herself, making sure that she had grabbed everything she was supposed to grab. Ever since she had gotten off the phone with her best friend Kayla earlier, there was a sense of worry that had come over her. Often, when she found herself thinking about everything Kayla had told her, she would also find her head shaking. The situation Kayla was in could have been way different. Myesha’s eyes almost swelled with tears at the very thoughts of Kayla getting hit with one of the bullets that came flying into Marcus’ apartment. She just thanked God that Kayla was in the bathroom, meaning she had several walls between the shoots and herself. Those walls were probably what saved her.

  As soon as Myesha had gotten off the phone with Kayla, she told her mother what happened. In her usual sense, she went on and on about Myesha needing to watch out in case any of the backlash just so happened to come her way when she was hanging out with Kayla. Myesha shrugged that entire thing off, knowing in the back of her mind that Kayla could very well be involved in some really deep shit and not even know it. She could only hope that her girl would play her cards smart, and maybe even stay as far away from Marcus as possible for a while. There was no doubt in Myesha’s mind that whoever shot up Marcus’ apartment like that was trying to kill him, not just scare him. And once the word got around to whoever these dudes are that Marcus got hit but was not killed, they would surely come back and try again. Niggas around here just had too much time on their hands not to, in Myesha’s eyes.

  Myesha was now on her way to meet up with one of her classmates. She and a classmate were sharing a book for their literature class. The classmate had made copies of certain chapters and was now ready to trade the book off to Myesha so she could use it. Myesha pulled the front door open and pushed herself out into the wind.

  “God, I hate this snow,” she said to herself. T
he wind was moving strong enough now that it picked up snow in its path and blew it into Myesha’s face.

  Myesha walked down the sidewalk between the front porch and the sidewalk and started her car. Already, from when she’d gotten home earlier, she could see that she would need to brush some of the snow off of her car. While her car warmed up, she grabbed her scraper out of the backseat. One end was the actual scraper while the other end was a large brush. As she brushed the snow off of her windshield then back window, she still could not help but to think about Kayla. Over and over again, she just hoped that she watched her back. The last thing she ever wanted to do was to turn on the news and see that her best friend had been killed. That would just break her heart into a thousand little pieces.

  While Myesha was brushing the snow off of her car and allowing it to warm up some, she also decided that she would hit her girl Kayla up later on. She could tell when she was talking on the phone with her earlier that her stress was probably through the roof. And rightfully so, Myesha thought. In fact, she was already trying to think of ways to help Kayla’s mind stay off of what was going on. She’d almost lost her man. Myesha had had a couple of boyfriends during high school and after, but she’d never been lucky enough to have anything as serious as what Kayla had with Marcus. Rather, Myesha let it go and put it into God’s hands to send her a man when he was ready for her to have one.

  Once Myesha got her front and back windows wiped off, she quickly climbed into the driver’s seat of her car and slammed the door. She shook, immediately reaching down and turning on the heat.

  “Whew, it’s cold,” she said to herself.

  Myesha flipped on the radio, turning to Hot 96.3, then slowly pulled out of the parking spot. As she slowly rolled down the street, making her way over to the main street so she could head over to Indiana Avenue – close to IUPUI – she drove passed Kayla’s house. The house was completely dark except for a faint light on the first floor. After noticing that, Myesha noticed that a car she’d never seen was parked out front. Immediately, she thought of Kayla’s mother, Rolanda. Myesha liked to think that she liked everyone, but there was just something about her best friend’s mother that just did not sit well with her. After all, Myesha had known Kayla for almost as long as she could remember – from when her mama and daddy were married to the divorce to her mother basically having a midlife crisis of sorts.

  Myesha shook her head as she focused on the road in front of her, assuming that Kayla’s mother probably had some man over again. There were nights, especially when little Latrell and Linell were spending time with their daddy for the weekend, where Kayla would text Myesha and tell her that her mother had some man over. There was even a night where Kayla was scared half to death when she came out of her bedroom and practically walked dead into a tall, somewhat buff darker skinned man who was easily old enough to be her father. Kayla had told Myesha how the man was dressed in just boxers – boxers that did little to actually conceal his manhood. Myesha could only shake her head at the thought of her careless and reckless her girl Kayla’s mother was becoming. There was no doubt in her mind that she would use this time – time when Kayla is sitting at the hospital because her boo had been shot – to have some man over and not have to worry about Kayla’s scolding looks.

  Myesha could only imagine what Kayla was going through. She just kept her eyes on the snowy road as she headed over to IUPUI. She knew that as soon as she traded this book with her classmate, she was going to hit her girl up and let her know that she was there for her.

  Chapter 5

  “Man, this shit is fucked up,” Brandon said.

  After Brandon and Juan left their boy Marcus’ hospital room, they walked downstairs to the parking garage. For the first several minutes of the journey, neither of them said a word to the other. Once they got out into the parking garage, starting to walk a little fast so they could hurry up and get out of the cold wind, the tension was getting to be too much for even two dudes to completely ignore.

  “I know, man,” Juan said. “This shit is some fucked up stuff. I mean, who you think did this?”

  Brandon shrugged. “A lot of this shit just don’t make no sense to me.”

  The two of them climbed into Brandon’s Chevy Impala. Quickly, Brandon turned the engine over and started blaring the heat so it could warm up.

  “Whoever the fuck did this shit, we need to find’em,” Juan said, getting comfortable into his seat. “You already know what gon’ happen.”

  “What you mean?” Brandon asked. “What’s gon happen?”

  Juan looked at his boy Brandon with this face that told him that he should definitely already know what was going to happen. “Nigga, is you serious?” he said. “You know how this shit gon’ play out. Whoever the fuck did shot Marcus’ place up was prolly try’na kill his ass.”

  Brandon looked away. “Nigga, they coulda just been scaring him or something,” he said, not trying to hear that.

  “Nigga,” Juan said. “You know how these niggas out her is. They will kill you over a pair of fuckin’ shoes. And think about this – whoever was firing them shots into his apartment like that, if they was just trying to scare him, you already know that they would have jus fired like a couple shots into his apartment. Not no damn full round, or so it sounded like based on what Marcus was sayin’. Dude…I don’t know what the fuck you thinkin’, but I think this shit was a hit.”

  Brandon shook his head. “Naw,” he said. “A hit? A hit over what, nigga?”

  “Whatever the fuck happened with Marcus and that work when he went down south,” Juan said. “You already know we wasn’t gon’ talk about that shit a lot in the hospital room like that. But you know that is exactly what the fuck was goin’ through his mind. How was it not goin’ through yours?”

  “Yeah, but…” Brandon said, his words trailing off.

  “Nigga, I’m tellin you,” Juan said. “Whoever the fuck did this shit is gon’ try again once they find out that Marcus didn’t get killed. I would fuckin’ bet that shit on my life, nigga. Whoever shot that many damn bullets into his apartment was try’na kill his ass. And they gon’ try again once they find out that they didn’t do it this time. Why wouldn’t they?”

  Brandon reversed out of the parking lot and headed toward the parking garage exit. “So, what you sayin?” he asked.

  “Nigga, I’m sayin’ that we gotta find out who the fuck this is before they try again,” Juan said. “Think about it. Marcus ain’t gon’ be able to do shit. You already heard what they said up in his room about his arm and needing physical therapy and all that until he’ll be able to use his arm again. His shoulder is pretty fucked up. Think about it, he ain’t even gon be able to drive. So, what do you think that mean for him?”

  Brandon nodded, knowing where this was going.

  “Exactly,” Juan said, turning and looked ahead. “Our boy is gon’ be just a fuckin’ sittin’ duck for real, until whoever these niggas are find out that they didn’t get him and then find out where the fuck he is. You can bet that on everything, nigga. They gon’ definitely try again.”

  Just then, Brandon thought about it all. He looked over at his boy. “Terrell,” he said.

  “Terrell?” Juan said, trying to figure out what Brandon was talking about.

  “Yeah, Terrell,” Brandon said. “How much you wanna bet that he know some shit about all of this?”

  Juan nodded as he thought about it. “Or,” he said. “Maybe he know somebody that do. He the one who got Marcus in touch with what’s his name up here – the nigga who got him interested in making that trip.”

  “That nigga Hakim,” Brandon said.

  Just then, Brandon pulled the car up to the parking garage exit. He paid the attendant, quickly glancing over the edge of the window to have a look at her body. Her face was not all that, but he could definitely see that she had a shape. Nice chest; flat stomach – he just had to see what the ass look like. He smiled as he pulled off and headed out toward Capital Street. W
hen he came up to the stop sign, he stopped and looked at his boy.

  “You think Hakim coulda had something to do with this shit?” Brandon asked.

  Juan shrugged. “Shit, I mean…” he said. “Maybe. We don’t even know what the fuck went wrong, if anything went wrong.”

  “I bet that nigga Terrell do, though,” Brandon said.

  Juan nodded. “It’s gotta either be one of them niggas,” he said.

  “Bet,” Brandon said, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “I’mma hit this nigga up right now.”

  “What?” Juan said. “You try’na go see him or something?”

  “Nigga, like you said,” Brandon said. “We gotta handle this shit before it get even worse. We can’t just let our boy get killed out here like that if we know that we coulda did something to stop it. That ain’t what real niggas do. I’m seein' what you said, nigga.”

  “Yeah,” Juan said. “I’m tellin’ you. Whoever this is, they gon’ try again. I wonder what coulda went that wrong, though, to where Hakim, if it is Hakim, woulda put a fuckin’ hit out on Marcus’s life like that.”

  “Wait up, wait up,” Brandon said. The phone was ringing.

  After several rings, Terrell picked up. Music played in the background; his voice was very groggy to say the least. “Yea?” he answered.

  “Wassup, nigga?” Brandon said. “This Brandon.”

  “Aww, wassup B?” Terrell said.

  “Shit,” Brandon said. “Ay, man, you hear about our boy Marcus?”

  “Naw, what happened?” Terrell asked.

  Brandon glanced at Juan then focused back on the phone call. “Nigga, somebody shot up his place earlier today.”

  “Word?” Terrell asked. “Is you fuckin’ serious?”

  “Yea,” Brandon said. “I’m with Juan right now. We actually just leaving the hospital. I was try’na see if we could come through real quick and holla at you and shit. I can tell you the rest when we get over there.”