Tick, Tick, Boom!

by Ms. Michel Moore

  Of course, there was no movement from her twin sister. No acceptance of Kenya’s erratic excuses or begging to hold her newborn. No whining about having to abruptly drop out of school and, lastly, much to Kenya’s delight, no calling out for Storm. Letting her grip of London’s hand go, Kenya glanced over her shoulder at the now whimpering infant.

  You. You fucking little bastard! Spitefully, with her hair practically standing on top of her head, she focused her attention to the small bundle of otherwise joy who was the painful source of all her problems. You, the one who made my sister stab me in the back and made Storm act a fool. A trust fund for your punk ass, a life insurance policy, for real? All that for you? After I been riding with that nigga and all his gangsta bullshit! Oh, hell naw!

  Coldly staring at the innocent baby, blaming him for the troubles of the world he was just born into, Kenya was soon distracted. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the shiny, jagged edges of the blood-covered butcher knife used to cut the umbilical cord. Still on the floor, she crawled around London’s body snatching the wooden handle up and clutching it tightly in her hand. With the blade facing the baby, Kenya continued her rant. “Why did you have to be a boy? Why? I wanted Storm’s first-born and you robbed me of that,” she mumbled standing to her feet. Slowly walking toward her tiny nephew and stepson to be, Kenya once again totally zoned out. “If it weren’t for you, life would’ve still been perfect around this bitch. But you fucked that up for me, didn’t you?”

  With each step, the once self-proclaimed Detroit boss bitch diva became more and more out of touch with reality. Finally standing over the naked, wide-eyed baby, Kenya let the pointed tip of the knife she normally used to cut chicken and beef press down on his birthmark, which was located exactly where Storm’s was. I should just slit your damn throat, you little troublemaker! You straight foul! Noticing again his brown eyes looked like her beloved Gran’s, Kenya felt chill bumps race down her arms. I just wanna be happy. She cried. I want things back the way they were for me and Storm.

  Letting revenge win over family loyalty, Kenya still had no remorse in her heart for what she allowed to just happen to London and worse than that what she was about to do to London’s newborn: Storm’s illegitimate seed.

  Chapter Two

  “So, damn, I guess you’re from Detroit, huh?” Storm tried making idle conversation as he continued to pay attention to the direction they were headed in.

  “What?” She slightly eased up on the gas pedal as the traffic flow increased.

  “Detroit. I said, you from Detroit?” Storm continued to make mental notes about every twist, turn, and lane change they were making. In his mind, it would be better to be safe than sorry just in case he had to bail out of the moving car and attempt to make it back to the city on foot. Yeah, he may have had to suffer a broken bone or two, but at least he’d be alive.

  “And? So, big deal. What if I am?”

  “Damn, ma, why you so coldblooded? I was just asking a question, making idle conversation. My girl is from there. She say that ‘what up, doe’ shit too. So damn slow pump the attitude.”

  “Well, okay, good for her Detroit-born ass.” She whipped the Challenger down on the freeway heading out of the city limits. “You want a cookie or some gay shit like that ’cause you fucking a bitch from the D? Probably some cum Dumpster bird who swing from a pole in that ratchet club you was running?”

  If it’d been any other day or any other female, all hell would have broken out. Storm would’ve chin-checked her by now for that smart-ass hood rat attitude and running off at the mouth. He felt his heart rate increase and his adrenalin pump. Forget the fact that she could have been driving him to his death, the hardcore drug dealer wanted to smack some manners into her. He was a man and demanded respect from whoever, whenever. He wanted nothing more than to clown, but since she was obviously his gateway to the connect, he chilled. “You know what, I’ma take your advice and just sit back until we get where we going ’cause you straight bugging. And if a nigga like me feed off into your smart mouth, shit gonna go to the left real quick.”

  Never taking her eyes off the road, the no-nonsense female blew another bubble. With a snarl on her face, she rolled her eyes popping the gum with her long fingernails. “Okay, see yeah, that’s what in the fuck I’m talking about. Good, ’cause see a bitch like me, I hate questions, and I hate motherfuckers who ask them even more. See to me that’s some type of police bullshit. That’s where the fuck I’m at with mines!”

  Forty minutes or so of riding finally came to a conclusion. With an obvious disdain for her passenger, the box-braided, sassy-mouthed driver pulled into the parking lot of an off-brand one-story motel. From the looks of the cars there, it was apparent to Storm this spot was far from the five-star establishments he was accustomed to staying in.

  Finding a spot not to close to the other vehicles, she checked her rearview mirror. After killing the engine, she then stretched her arms upward and yawned. Leaning over damn near in Storm’s lap, she opened the glove compartment. Glancing up at him she smirked while removing a key before getting out the car. Following her lead, Storm got out the car as well carefully observing what and who were in his close proximity. As the girl headed to the building’s last room with an outside door entrance, Storm stayed close behind.

  “Look, damn, girl, how much longer this silly-ass bullshit cat-and-mouse game gonna go down? I mean, we been at this for damn near an entire hour. Now is we gonna see the so-called man? Or even the man’s man for that matter?”

  “Damn, nigga, here the fuck you go with the freaking questions again! Stop having all these weak-minded gangster moments. I’m not freaking amused.” Sticking the key in the door, she slipped inside the dark room immediately hitting the light switch. “Well, are you coming in or what?” She sucked her teeth looking back at Storm who was more than hesitant to step through the threshold.

  “Dig this, I ain’t sign up for all this espionage, secret squirrel games you playing!” He looked over his shoulder and scanned the parking lot for any activity looking out of the way. “Enough is fucking enough! I’m done!”

  Storm’s tirade and wannabe boss demeanor had finally broken through the girl’s otherwise tough exterior. Liking his general overall swag, she decided to give him a low-key heads-up; he was closer than he thought to become a major force in the Dallas drug trade. “Listen, dude, come on inside and get ready okay? I need to make this shit happen so I can hurry up and get home to my man! You doing too much right about now; fuck. Damn just stop acting straight pussy. If I was gonna kill your pretty ass don’t you think you’d be dead by now?”

  Reading in between the lines, cautiously Storm entered the room. Shutting the door behind him, he bossed all the way up. “Okay, big shit talker, I’m inside, so now what? What’s really good?” Before he could say another word, his beautiful-complexioned escort shocked him by taking off her shirt. As her full C-cup breasts practically spilled out of her lace bra, Storm stood mute and confused. Seconds later, she unzipped her shorts wiggling out of them. When they hit the floor, being a man, Storm’s dick started to get hard. Seeing countless dancers at Alley Cats night after night had numbed him to the typical freak shit, but this was a strange, unexpected pleasure. “Damn, ma, it’s like that? What kinda freak shit you about to get off into? You got a brother straight confused.”

  “Nigga, please, so you checking for me huh? That’s cute as a motherfucker.” She smiled reaching behind her back and unfastening her bra. “But please don’t play yourself! You fine and all, but I’m here chasing money, that almighty dollar, not dick! Now if you was Benjamin Franklin, then you’d be on. I’d be on my knees by now sucking you off like it was no tomorrow. But unfortunately, you ain’t. You just some hood nigga from around the way waiting to get blessed by the hustle gods!” Finally naked and done going on about Storm’s ill-placed thought process, she walked over to the dresser. Grabbing a swimming suit and a pair of trunks she was almost ready. Grinning with satisfa
ction, she tossed Storm the navy blue trunks. “Okay, playboy.” She swooped her braids up in a ponytail teasing him with her body she knew he lusted after. “Your turn. Drop them jeans and put these on.”

  “What?” he said, puzzled, taking a few steps backward and wondering where all this was going.

  “Come on, guy. We got a date poolside, so chop chop! Hurry the hell up. I already done told you I’m on the clock.”

  “The sun almost damn down, so what the hell we going to the pool for? And what in the hell a guy need to put these shits on for? I’m straight on all that extra you here trying to push on me.”

  “Damn here the fuck we go with all the police, badge, and gun questions again.” She shook her head. “Just hurry up and come the hell on. You wasting time.”

  Even though Storm was pissed with his girl, he was still loyal to Kenya, but the sheer thought of hitting some strange pussy, especially some as sexy as the pussy was in front of him, was overwhelming. Knowing full well he was about to meet the connect, he still couldn’t help the fact his dick was now rock hard. Doing as instructed, Storm stripped down showing his perfectly chiseled body. Watching the sassy-talking female lick her lips, and the sight of her long braids practically touching the crack of her ass when she turned around, Storm wanted nothing more than to bang her lights out. However, that would have to wait, hopefully for another date and another time.

  Finally dressed in their swim attire, they grabbed towels and headed for the pool located in the rear of the cheap motel. When they got poolside, she immediately told Storm to see if the water was cold as she sat down in the semi-lighted patio area. Before he could open his mouth to protest, a group of men appeared on the other side of the black iron gate that surrounded the pool. Seeing they were all fully clothed with the exception of one, Storm realized what this was. Ain’t this some television The Sopranos-ass shit? His meeting was going to take place in the pool. Lowering his body into the cool water, he swam to the middle. When he came up for air, the man from the other end was there.

  “Storm?”

  “Yeah, that’s me.”

  “A mutual friend seems to think you have what it takes to come aboard our little organization, so here I am.”

  “Yeah, I’m glad because thangs been kinda tight around my way.”

  “Trust me. We already know what’s been going on with you and yours.” The man bobbed around in the water like a child’s float. “That’s why we had you meet us out here, away from the city, in this pool, to make sure you weren’t wearing a wire or no ridiculous shit like that. We don’t like to take unnecessary risks. You understand, don’t you?”

  “Look,” Storm tried reasoning with sincerity, “I ain’t with no dumb shit! Everything I do is completely above board! My credibility is official.”

  “Okay, okay, stop politicking! You ain’t running for office. If our man Rasul, back in Detroit, vouches for you being good people, then you good people. And, for the record, all them shootouts, territory beefs, the cops watching your ass, and that bullshit with Javier, we don’t give a sweet fuck about that. That ain’t our business or concern. You understand?”

  “All right, cool.” Storm was relieved his jaded past in the game wasn’t gonna dictate his future.

  “Listen up! We gonna make sure you laced with the strongest uncut product we can get across the border and through customs, but if you fuck up the ticket even once, let alone consider being late on the deadline, then you fucking out. No second chances. No ‘cry me a river’ excuses, you understand?” Sternly he looked Storm directly in the eye. “And depending how short or how late you are, you might end up dead! So if you truly not ready for the position we offering, I advise you, don’t take it. We run a zero-tolerance operation!”

  “Naw, naw.” Storm moved his arms, making small ripples in the water. “I’m good, money. I’m with it. I’m ready! I’m your man!”

  “Okay, so you say; but remember, Storm, don’t get burned by the flame of the hustle. That shit can get hot at times, real fucking hot! When you get this package, as soon as your feet hit the ground, they better be running. The streets ain’t waiting, and neither are we.”

  “No doubt, I understand.”

  “Well, since you a rookie with our team, you can expect a simple text every morning reminding you of your financial commitment to the family. Nothing more, nothing less.”

  Ultimately agreeing to the various strict terms put in place, Storm knew for certain that, with the aid of his little brother O.T., he’d soon be back on his feet making more than enough money to keep Kenya happy in Gucci and Prada, support his soon-to-be-born son, and get his stash back up to finish remodeling and reopening Alley Cats. Life was about to take a drastic change for the better.

  The forty-minute drive returning to his car was a lot different from when they’d first come. After seeing what he was working with, especially in the dick department, his female escort, who finally announced her name was Anika, couldn’t stop blabbing. Realizing Storm was now a part of the crew and would be soon definitely pulling in major figures to match that major-size manhood in his pants, in her eyes he’d just become a lot more interesting.

  Storm hardly spoke a single word; instead, his mind was all over the place. From still wanting to get with Kenya for talking that bold shit about his soon-to-be-born son, to wondering when the next time Marco Meriwether was gonna show his black dreadlocked ass up, he stared out the tinted window of the Challenger up at the street lights. His thoughts bounced back and forth between the seven-day deadline he was just given to make his first payment and the fact that the high-quality product was waiting for him at a secret stash house he already had the key and address to. Ignoring the meaningless conversation coming out Anika’s mouth, Storm looked at his watch not needing or wanting her friendship at this point. His main objective now was to get back to his ride so he could check in with O.T. and let him know it was on like hot butter popcorn! Soon they’d be back living and eating like kings. Nothing else mattered.

  By the time the pair finally arrived back to the abandoned factory where Storm left his car parked, a socially unpolished Anika had already written her cell number down on the back of an old business card.

  “Here you go. Call me when you bored.” She winked handing it to him. “We’s family now and remember: nightfall to day, them boys don’t play. Have that ticket proper.”

  “I got this. Plus, I thought you had a man,” Storm sarcastically replied getting out the Challenger and heading toward his own vehicle.

  “And your point? Family is family!” She snickered before peeling off and out of sight.

  Stuffing the card in his wallet, Storm hit his alarm system unlocking the doors. Before bothering to start the engine, he reached over on the passenger seat for his cell. Damn, no missed calls? He frowned knowing he’d been MIA for hours and no one had checked on his whereabouts. Not from my brother or Kenya’s angry ass. Fuck it! Living in the celebration, thinking about how the new package was gonna change his already high-profile lifestyle, Storm pulled out of the dark, deserted lot. Trying both O.T.’s and Kenya’s cells and receiving their voicemails repeatedly, he eagerly decided to drive to the new stash house solo. After all, he had seven short days to either shit or get off the pot and time was ticking.

  * * *

  Seconds from jabbing the blade through the boy’s soft, tender skin, the piercing sounds of the ambulance siren driving off circulated throughout the living room. The blaring noise caused her to drop the knife from her hands. Kenya stood motionless by the couch still staring downward. The baby seemed to smile at her as his tiny mucus-covered body lay exposed. “This ain’t right; this just ain’t right.” She came to her senses picking the little one up in her arms. “I done fucked up,” she whispered, “but I can make it right. I promise you that, but we just can’t be here when Storm gets home. I know he’s not gonna understand I just let my sister die. Damn, even I don’t understand.”

  Quickly deciding what to do, fi
rst things first, Kenya ran to the linen closet grabbing a few sheets and a washcloth. Letting the water in the kitchen sink get slightly warm, she bathed her crying nephew, washing off of all the fluids that coated his tiny body. Wrapping him snugly in an oversized towel, she stepped over London, placing him back on the couch next to the thick stack of legal papers and insurance policies Storm had underhandedly prepared. Pushing them to the floor with an “out of sight, out of mind” attitude, she remained focused on the infant’s small voice.

  Damn, you must be hungry. Kenya’s mind was racing as she reasoned what exactly to do next to soothe his cries. Looking back and forth from her deceased sister to the baby, her first mind was the milk that undoubtedly was still inside of London’s breasts. Maybe I could let him suck on them? Kenya desperately wondered placing her palm on her forehead as she looked at the wall clock. Shit, I gotta make some sort of move quick before Storm gets here. I gotta think! Damn! Kenya left the baby crying on the couch and hit the remote, turning on another CD to temporarily drown out the sound. I know him or that goddamn O.T. gonna show they punk asses up at any minute to check on London, so from this point on it gotta be whatever.

  Heading upstairs she grabbed her cell phone off the landing where she’d dropped it when the random gunfire first began. Staring down at the screen, her first instinct was to just call Storm and fess up, but the “I don’t give a fuck about you no more” way he’d been acting lately and then lying about other shit, especially when it came to her twin sister, she couldn’t trust him not to bug out and blame her. Yet, Storm calling the police on her was the last thing on her twisted mind. After all, Kenya had so much dirt on him and his brother that if she went down for jack shit, his ass and O.T. would come tumbling right down behind her; then, his oh-so-beloved son would have nobody but the foster care system in his life. Storm hurt her, so now she’d hurt him back. Now he could have his turn to see how it felt to be on the outside looking in for once.