Psalms nodded and Suzy Q nodded back.
They headed back into Washington, D.C., and Psalms had EL’vis tell him what Gabrielle wanted. It hurt. It angered his soul. On top of that, EL’vis said he was hesitant because each time he had spoken about the assignment with Gabrielle, he could tell she was under the influence of strong drink. EL’vis peeked at the rearview mirror, and saw Psalms’ face changing color to match his wine-stain birthmark. He was turning purple black.
CHAPTER 33
Read Between the Lines
On their way back into Washington, D.C., Psalms got a call from Gabrielle. She told him her wounds were not enough to force her to stay in the hospital. Psalms had flown Faelynn in on a separate flight. Her sister was nursing her at the hospital, then Gabrielle decided to leave. She arranged a private flight back to the other coast.
Psalm instructed her to fly into Boeing Airfield in Seattle where he would have her picked up by his security management team. Before he got off the phone, though, he told her they needed to talk. His tone gave off the same fear as that of an airline pilot coming on the intercom to say the landing gear was stuck and that the passengers needed to get ready for a rough landing.
Psalms understood his thinking might be clouded, so he let Suzy Q take the lead and realized it was about the team: as EL’vis would say, la familia. Suzy Q hatched her plan. Psalms and EL’vis listened and agreed. A quick response would send a message that Gabrielle and the people behind her had just as much power and knowledge as the assassins, and more.
First they needed to find The Duck. The attack on the former president would be a suicide mission in the effort to get even. The former president most likely had sent the order down, but The Duck had to be the driver and planner. Back in Seattle, Mintfurd and Velvet worked the Internet and intel lines, compiling a profile of information.
Why did they go after Gabrielle? It was always to shut someone up: it’s always to get rid of opposing ideas. No one even asked the question aloud.
The team would fly back to Seattle in the morning. Psalms, EL’vis, and Suzy Q left their hotel rooms that evening for fresh air and a change of scenery. They headed to 14th and U Streets to eat at Busboys and Poets. The team had time on their hands while they waited for Gabrielle to land and get to Psalms’ condo safely.
People were walking the streets talking about the shooting, and the state of affairs of the world. Comments like “no one is safe” filled the streets like out-of-town tourists.
All three drank either coffee or tea as they sat in the corner. They had some privacy, and Psalms had his tablet out, communicating with Mintfurd back in Seattle.
On stage, the renowned poet Alexandria Cornet had the audience captivated with socially conscious spoken word:
Limited Access
If you talk to me or listen to me with a constricted mind
You’ll get your mind blown.
Caution, I don’t play well in small intellectual places.
Been known to break out of tight spaces
And I don’t subscribe to your actions of “holier than thou”
I remember dates, years, hours and minutes
Yeah I’m that bookworm dude.
Who…what…and where is etched in my mind and depending on others actions, it may be etched in my heart
Been places and done some things that I should write,
“1000 Shades of My Black Ass” that would drop your jaw and make you choke yourself
Don’t expose your lack of IQ by challenging facts put in front of you, with no fact to support your disbelief
Saying, “Well, that’s just how I feel” as a counter belief in the face of well-known facts that are unknown to you, is simply ignorant.
Radio Raheem in Do The Right Thing said, “D, Mutha Fuuuker”…meaning did you hear me correctly?
I say IQ…did you hear me correctly?
Smart is asking, “Where did you get those facts from?” Then you come back and say, “I found these facts.” Now we can educate one another, and expand our collective knowledge
I’ve been around I have slept around on the shores of places you have only seen while thumbing through magazines you only pick up when in the checkout line next to the magazine with the 400-pound baby found on Mars
I’ve read: Claude Brown, Maya Angelou, Alex Haley, Alice Walker, Toni Morrison, Langston Hughes, Richard Wright, J.A Rogers, W.E B Du Bois, Octavia Butler and James Baldwin. I’ve read: Ralph Ellison, and Zora, and Gwendolyn Brooks, Nikki Giovanni, and for my faith, I read the Bible, and Brother Sterling A. Brown, a poet, a literary critic, a professor, a poet laureate of the District of Columbia.
I studied the art of war, the physical fight and the mental battles though the minds of Sun Tzu, Bruce Lee, Julius Caesar, Hannibal, and the Native American Chief, Shooting Star, and the Apaches who perfected guerilla warfare, and Ali, Joe Louis and Jack Johnson.
I listened and heard Jimi Hendrix, Beethoven, Mozart, Miles and Coltrane, and Sly Stone, Billie Holiday, Muddy Waters, Mahalia Jackson, and Aretha, Sam Cooke, and Prince.
I can stand in any room with anyone and bring knowledge or a well-thought-out opinion
And yes, be careful, I do eat my spinach and broccoli, and I move my ass off the couch, and away from reality TV, so I can whoop your ass physically and mentally.
I watch movies with artistic realistic dialogue from many countries and cultures, and don’t give a damn what the stars name is, and what they wear to awards shows, and who they have a baby with or by, and make no assumption about their lives from images and tabloid gossip.
Don’t expose your lack of IQ by challenging facts put in front of you, with no fact to support your disbelief.
No need to look around to see if I see your pants are down, and your head is twisted out of joint.
That’s you
Mr. and Ms. Fake Stories
I see you
Wide open
Trying to judge me
Knowing what’s best for me…really.
How is that when your ass is stuck in a narrow mind?
Oh, but here you go again with your actions of, “holier than thou”
I just called you out.
You looking for me to let you slide.
Yeah, you’re greasy.
Yep, you straight with no sharp corners?
But, if you don’t know nothing, from nothing, leaves nothing…your shit is limited.
You can’t see anything but, your narrow thinking ass…as being right, and you play like…I’m wrong because your trick bag is busted?
So, now you come looking to see what’s what.
Well, just like Tupac said, I ain’t hard to find.
But…
If you talk to me, or listen to me, with a constricted mind
You’ll get your mind blown
Caution, I don’t play well in small, intellectual places.
Signed, Four-eyes, aka Bookworm, aka Fearless Fly, with a Black Belt in words-upside- your-head-if-you-can’t-hear-I’ll-drop-kick-you in to a new reality
And ah, P.S.…read between the lines, you find some facts, and the fact is I don’t care about how you feel if you don’t know the facts!
People stood and waved their arms, as if they were trying to cool him off. He left the stage and other talented poets graced the stage.
Finally, Psalms was able to connect with Gabrielle on his electronically cloaked tablet that blocked anyone from reading or listening. Mintfurd created software that made the computer change its IP address every five seconds. Psalms typed questions to Gabrielle about what possible problems may have brought on the attempted assassination. He told her the attack came from close to home, from someone in her former administration. He heard her agitated response through his Bluetooth. She told of the recent explosion in Texas, and how GB had asked her to come out and speak up for federal funds for the company that had supported him. She told Psalms she had refused, and that GB was furious, as if she was still under his thu
mb. She heard rumblings that her speeches as of late were leaning more liberal. Conservative party leaders had asked her to stay the path of what had been. The Duck had asked her personally. Gabrielle let him and others know, she was now a private citizen and could take positions on policy that were different from theirs, and she did not have to stay on a scripted narrative anymore.
He told her to stay awake if she could because he would be calling back soon.
The three traded thoughts and ideas, but Suzy Q had a plan ready to go; she just needed the target and location. Finally, her plan to flush out the target came together, and Psalms called Gabrielle back.
He typed:
Tell The Duck you have had a change of heart and now want to support the federal dollars going to that company. Tell him to call a press conference next week. He’s gonna assume the assassination attempt scared you in to changing your mind, which will give him satisfaction. He’ll relax. That’s what we need.
Gabrielle responded: Okay. Psalms, did EL’vis tell you what I wanted done? I—
He typed:
Stop! I will talk to you…when I decide to talk to you about this. I will say this: no one will change my life or your life in the way you planned by taking someone else’s, And, oh, Gabrielle, get your ass into rehab. Not a place just to dry out from drinking, but a place to change the culture of why.
He disconnected.
Psalms told EL’vis he should leave in the morning with him and Suzy Q. It was time to head to Seattle for now. EL’vis had never been to Seattle. Suzy Q was at the bar talking to a smooth-featured black woman with a spiked red mohawk and shaved sides. Her leather tank top had red rhinestone art all throughout and matched her leather hot pants.
Psalms walked over to the two and whispered in Suzy Q’s ear about the plan to leave in the morning. He also said her plan was a go—in about a week.
She told him she would be at the plane in the morning, but tonight she needed to blow off some steam. She was going to a place called Phase 1, over on Eighth Street. She invited Psalms to come and enjoy a drag king show, and to listen to some queer indie/ punk music. She said it was Jell-O wrestling night, and thought she might enter and win, or just shoot pool.
Psalms understood Suzy Q was not taunting him by inviting him. He had hung out in many different settings around the world. His mind was far from being closed to how big and different the world was. It did not raise a hair on his body to be in places where others felt uncomfortable or acted like childish voyeurs. He needed to shake off some tension, and maybe a total change of scenery might be beneficial to get all that had been going on off his mind, at least for a while.
Psalms went back to the table to let EL’vis know he was heading out with Suzy Q, and that he was welcome to come along. EL’vis joined in, since he had done a lot of securing and avenging, and a little party time might help ease his mind.
CHAPTER 34
Hypothetically Literally and Figuratively
“Hello?”
“May I speak to Darcelle?”
“Speaking.”
“Hello, Darcelle. My name is Mintfurd.”
Darcelle knew it was Mintfurd from the words “May I.” It was a voice of the man who recited sweet passionate poetry on a band stage on the ferry that night. “May I?” she heard, and her inner vision took over; she could see the immense man standing and commanding her attention. He was on the stage in clothes tailored to his body. His clothes fit perfectly, as if he was a male runway model. His sheer size was what made his presence. His black wool slacks had perfectly tailored pleats, creases, and cuffs. Although he was an enormous man, he had no belly fat extending his body out and hanging over his belt. He was no Santa baby or a sloppy-looking man. He was straight up and down muscle. His physique looked strong enough to pick up twenty of her.
Darcelle had been waiting to hear Mintfurd call her name, and when she heard, “May I speak to Darcelle?” her heart raced.
“Darcelle, I’m ah . . . well, our friend Velvet thought it would be beneficial for me to give you a call. She gave me your phone number, and I hope that is okay?”
“Yes, it is. It’s good to hear from you. Actually, I encouraged her to have you call me, so I guess I should be asking is that okay?” They both chuckled.
Darcelle envisioned Mintfurd’s pretty, but manly, face smiling. His brown skin was the brown a banana turns when it is still firm, but best to peel and devour right away before it goes soft. She pictured the phone in his hand, remembering that day when he put his hands on the microphone and recited to her soul. She saw his fingers long and wide, but not chubby. She wanted his hands around her waist. Darcelle wanted his fingers to brush against her breasts. She wanted to feel controlled by his powerful hands. She wanted those hands cupping her ass, massaging her feet, and picking her body up and doing whatever he wanted.
“Hey,” he said. “Is this a good time or is there a better time?” Why did his voice feel like it was under her bare feet on her hardwood floors? Why did it feel hot in the room when it didn’t just moments ago, and the windows were open? Why did her inner thighs twitch? Why was she squirming when a moment ago she was simply relaxing?
“No, I’m sitting here unwinding and reading a book. I can have a pretty hectic life at times. I’m ah . . .a lawyer, and, ah…I’m a single parent, and I finally found some down time to relax.”
“Oh, okay. What are you reading?”
“A collection of poems by Alexandria Cornet.”
“Yeah, he’s a great poet and he’s all over the place nowadays. A friend said he saw him just last night in D.C.”
“Oh wow. I’ve seen him here, in a coffee shop years ago.”
Both felt nervous, wanting to explode and ask a million questions. It was tempting. Two people wanting and needing one safe place, dreaming of holding hands, not tumbling. Neither soul could stand any more Russian roulette dating games.
Darcelle had grown timid of men. She had not felt the loving touch of a man in six years. She’d had a sad affair with a married judge. She knew he was married, and that it was dangerous, but sometimes a dangerous place looks like the most safe. Perilous and distressing situations are often made to feel normal; sometimes dysfunction is a haven, a refuge—even when that’s all one knows.
• • •
The sex with the judge wasn’t dangerous or exciting. The sex was dull, nothing to look forward to each time they met. It was an odd, new experience to be in a bed with a man who did not have funky stuff going on. He had no freak in him at all. Darcelle’s idea of normal sex most of her life was perplexing, bizarre. Not with him. The judge didn’t even eat pussy, and he didn’t want much more than face-to-face sex, and it was over in ten minutes or less. During her affair, Darcelle often asked herself why he was even cheating on his wife. But he didn’t talk, either.
“Mintfurd, I hear music. Who are you listening to?”
“I’m on a Leela James groove as of late. She did a remake of Bootsy’s Rubber Band’s “I’d Rather Be With You.” She puts a little funk and blues in to her sound instead of this bump-bump stuff. I need real music made from real instruments. Darcelle, I hear your music in the background, and I know who that is. It’s Raúl Midón. I can listen to his artistry daily.”
Mintfurd was standing when he first called, and now had taken a seat. He relaxed with a beer in hand. He put his arm over the back of the couch. The conversation eased his soul, and Darcelle’s love of quality music made the conversation pleasing. The musical choices of the woman on the other end of the phone showed she had taste. He was more than interested in her.
“Oh, you have heard of him? So few are into creative, new music. So many of the pop stars—or what they call stars—they all sound alike, and the backing tracks are not pleasing to my ear. So yes, I have something playing that has good lyrics, and it’s soulful and romantic; it goes well with a good glass of wine and an enjoyable book.
“Mintfurd, you sure won’t hear me listening to the music that thes
e kids think is brilliant. It’s downright disappointing when I go around adults who grew up listening to Al Green, Luther Vandross, Stephanie Mills, Teena Marie, and Prince, and now they settle for a computer correcting the notes for some flavor-of-the-week pop star.”
“Could you tell me how you really feel?” Mintfurd was already laughing before Darcelle finished. He loved her attitude. “I feel the same annoyance with mature adults who gave up listening to pleasurable music. I’m a live music junky. I don’t care for hip-hop spinning the same monotonous, repetitive beat in the club or in my car or home.”
“Well, we have that in common. I didn’t grow up in a home hearing only black music, but all types of music filtered through my ears, so I have a wide range of listening pleasures.”
“Darcelle . . .” Mintfurd called her name softly.
“Yes?” Every time Mintfurd said her name, she felt moisture loosen her womanhood. She clamped her thighs tight as if his voice vibrated through her thighs.
“Darcelle, you’re making this easy for me. Thank you.”
“Making what easy?”
“I’m not a phone guy, and I haven’t called a woman in a real long time, so thank you for helping me through this.”
“Hey, I’m harmless, and your call is welcomed. I saw you on stage on the ferry, and your poetry and the ease in how you delivered some pretty romantic and erotic flow had me wanting to know about you. I hope that doesn’t sound too forward, but that’s me. I’m a lawyer, so I say what’s on my mind.”
“Is that hypothetically, literally, and figuratively? Because all of that can be dangerous in the wrong hands and mind.”
One Safe Place Page 24