by Leo Sullivan
Her eyes roamed up and down his body. He knew what was coming. She was thinking of a way to attack him: biting a big chunk out of his neck, or kneeing him in his family jewels. He let her go, stepping back and glancing over at Marilyn with a look that said, “I did my best.”
Lips quavering, pure shock resonating on her face, she mouthed the word “pregnant” over and over as she wrung her hands like a woman who had just been sentenced to death. “I didn’t know you were pregnant,” she said as she continued to wring her hands together, sniffling back tears. “I…I come from a good Christian family--” She babbled something about the blood of Christ and being forgiven for her sins…
Sasha snaked her neck at Marilyn, not believing that she would go to such lengths. She adjusted the towel around her hips and with arms akimbo, she gave Freddy a look that said, “This bitch is pathetic!”
He looked over his shoulder at Marilyn. She was now reciting the Lord’s Prayer, hands clasped together, talking to some invisible deity up on the ceiling.
“Freddy, get out!” Sasha shrieked.
Once again, he glanced over his shoulder at Marilyn. Her eyes were closed and lips murmured in near silent petition. Then, she opened her eyes and intoned, “The Lord is with me.”
Freddy shook his head. “No…” in a silent warning to her to not try the sympathy trip with an irate Sasha. “Shit!” he cursed as he backed out the door. Sasha bit her bottom lip in contempt as she slammed the door in his face.
In the hall, Freddy immediately heard glass breaking along with muffled screams. He tried the door handle, but it was locked. He couldn’t believe his own stupidity in leaving the two of them together in the room. He heard the phone ring and raced into the living room to answer. “Hello?”
“May I speak to Freddy Thugstin?”
Freddy recognized the voice instantly. The thick African accent could be none other than Dr. Utumo. “Heeey, Doc! What took you so long to call me back?” Freddy asked excitedly as he peeked down the hall at the bedroom.
“I had to go home,” the doctor said and then added, “How is your health? Were you able to fill the prescription I gave you?”
“Yeah, Doc. Thanks… My health is fine, but my life is all fuc…messed up. When you’re at home, you don’t answer your patients’ calls?”
“I went home to Africa. My people are dying. They are being murdered by apartheid.”
“Apar-what?” Freddy was lost.
“The white men are murdering innocent women and children because they want the land, and it’s now at genocidal propor—“
“Just like here in America, huh, Doc?” Freddy asked.
Silence.
“Doc, I need your help…” Freddy heard a long drawn out sigh on the other end of the line.
“I’m afraid there is little I can do for you –“
“No, it’s not me, it’s for my mother.”
“Your mother?”
“Yes, she’s in a place –“
“What kind of place?” the doctor asked, concern in his voice.
“Some kind of asylum…it’s a bad place. Doc, I mean really bad. They charged her with murdering my old man…”
“Murder?” the doctor repeated. “I’m truly sorry to hear that son, but how can I be of any help?”
“My mother ain’t murdered nobody, especially my dad. I think I may have something to help prove her innocence.”
The doctor adopted a placative timbre, realizing the potential psychosomatics of a young mind traumatized by the loss of two loved ones. “Freddy, son, I realize just how difficult it must be with the death of your father and your mother’s absence. Often the mind will build a false sense of reality in order to cope with tragic ordeals--”
“No, no, no!” Freddy screeched, feeling his only ray of hope slipping away. “Please! Listen to me, Doc,” he pleaded.
“I’m afraid I’m not going to be able to help you this time--”
“My mom,” Freddy quickly interjected,” is being attended by a doctor named Hartzman… Do you know him?”
Silence… “Maybe,” the doctor finally said, “but I’ve never met him personally, if it’s the same person.”
“My mother’s in a state run facility in Milwaukee… The Institution for the criminally insane.”
“Well then, that clears that up…it can’t be the same Hartzman,” the doctor said reassuringly, “because the one I know, or I should say I’ve heard of, has his own private practice where he charges exorbitant fees and mainly does work for the very rich.”
“Well, Doc answer me this… How can a poor black woman, who’s been sentenced to a state run institution have a private doctor taking care of her?” At this point, there was no doubt in Freddy’s mind that it was the same Hartzman.
Dr. Utomo was thinking the same thing. “If the boy was right, something just wasn’t adding up,” he thought to himself. “Okay, okay,” the doctor said, giving in to the boy once more. He didn’t think it could hurt anything.
Freddy gave the doctor all the information on his mom and the hospital where she was incarcerated. “When can we meet?” Freddy asked, feeling the urge to get off the phone and go check on Sasha.
“Meet?” the doctor said. “I’m afraid that wouldn’t be a very good idea, especially you coming here to the hospital.”
“I have something I need to show you.” Freddy told him about the documents, but left out how they had come into his possession.
The doctor decided that either the boy was the world’s biggest liar or just maybe he really had stumbled onto something important. “Where are you? I’ll meet you there,” the doctor said, letting his curiosity and his paternal affection for the boy get the better of him.
“I’m in Ford City,” Freddy said.
“Ford City! Oh, a black ass whippin’ wasn’t good enough for you, huh? You have to go into the most racist white neighborhood you could find…perhaps you would prefer a good ole fashion John Wayne ass whippin’, where they leave you dangling from a tree limb when it’s over?” The doctor’s words were liberally laced with sarcasm. “Freddy, son, I need you to see a psy—“
“Naw, Doc I’m cool here… I’m on the low-low—“
“The what?”
After Freddy explained the slang, they agreed to meet at the Water Towers, a fabulous restaurant in an affluent section of Chicago’s downtown Rush Street district.
When Freddy hung up the phone, he expected some feeling of relief, but instead something continued to gnaw at his insides. He turned his ear in the direction of the bedroom and listened. The quiet was eerie.
Barefooted and wearing only boxers, he approached the door listening intently. He placed his ear against the door, turning the knob. To his surprise, the door opened. He blinked his eyes in disbelief. The bed and the floor were cluttered with clothes and Sasha was trying on a dress that still had a price tag attached.
The actress appeared, “Freddy,” Marilyn said, “You never told me Sasha was pregnant and that you and her were about to be married.”
Freddy gave her a face that said, “Don’t even try it.” Lost for words, he stared at Sasha, trying to discern her thoughts.
“Freddy, somebody put Marilyn up to setting you up. That’s how you got shot that time in her hotel.”
Freddy looked at Marilyn as if to ask if that was true. She just looked down at the floor, nodding her head somberly. “I tried to tell you that first night we met when you were sleeping on that crate… they sent me--”
They who?” Freddy asked, his anger erupting.
“Billy Dawson and--”she stuttered. “I didn’t want to do it…they forced me to, I swear!”
“You punk-as bitch!” Freddy yelled as he stepped toward her.
Marilyn cowered and Sasha wore an expression that said, “I told you she was no good.”
“There’s more,” Sasha said. “Tell him!”
Marilyn rolled her eyes at Sasha, for the first time showing her disdain. “They told me to bring
you here.”
It took a moment for what she had just said to register. “Who in the fuck told you to bring me here?” Freddy asked, grabbing her by the arm.
Sasha stepped between them, breaking his hold.
“Who?!” he shouted again.
Marilyn cringed. Sasha calmly placed her hand on his chest, speaking to him with her eyes.
“Bob Williams…the Senator--” The words rolled off Marilyn’s tongue like thunder in his ears. “I tried to tell you to turn yourself in,” Marilyn pleaded.
“Motherfuckingoddamsonuvabitch, you set me up!”
“I…I…I had no choice… Billy Dawson forced me to--”
“Bullshit!” Freddy shrieked. Seeing Marilyn now for what she really was, he could see why Sasha was all of a sudden friendly with her. In order to saver her ass, Marilyn Fox was telling all. He looked over at Sasha and saw in her face what he was thinking: “We’re in deep shit.”
“I told Sasha she could stay as long as she liked, at least “til y’all have the baby…”
Freddy looked at her like she was crazy.
“I’m going to do some modeling and acting once I have the baby,” Sasha remarked proudly. She looked to Marilyn for approval.
Freddy shook his head at both of them. It was as if they didn’t understand or didn’t want to understand. One thing was obvious to him now; it was hidden just beneath the beautiful mask she wore: treachery.
At a mentally safe distance, he volleyed for more information. “So, Marilyn, what do you get outta all this?” he asked curtly.
She snapped her neck back in his direction. Her mouth moved, but nothing came out. Finally, “I…I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that,” she lied, cutting her eyes in Sasha’s direction. Sasha was busy picking out expensive clothes. “Some very important looking men came to visit me while I was in California shooting the movie. You have something that belongs to them, but the first thing they want is the photos…” Freddy cold see a glint of something in her eyes as she spoke. “Do you have the photos?” She looked over at Sasha and then held out her hand, as if expecting him to just pull them from his pocket.
“I ain’t got shit, and you need to take your fake ass back to them white folks and tell them before you get us all kilt.”
She reached slowly into her purse and withdrew a small box, dumping its contents into the palm of her hand. A small gold coin gleamed.
“Shit!” Freddy cursed under his breath.
“The maid found this under my couch at the hotel the day after you were shot. It doesn’t belong to me. The men who came to see me in California showed me a picture of some jewelry, and one of the items looked just like this.” Marilyn turned the coin over in her hand. She looked up into his eyes. “I’ll give you ten-thousand dollars for just the pictures….”
Sasha stopped what she was doing.
For the first time, Freddy finally saw the game’s transparency. He let forth a hearty laugh, one that came from somewhere deep in his gut, a laugh that took the place of strangling the shit out of her.
“Take the money, boy,” Sasha advised.
Freddy turned a furrowed brow that said, “Damn, you down with her too?” Casually, he walked over to the latticed window and peered out furtively. The whole time, his fingers traced the ugly scar that ran the length of his torso. “They sent her,” he said to himself.
“Boy, if you got something that belongs to someone else, you need to give them back their stuff,” Sasha said, and then turned to Marilyn. “How long will it take you to get the money?”
“Toda--”
“Sasha, stop it!” Freddy interrupted. “This is about murder and greed.” He stopped and looked out the window once more. With his voice lowered, he turned and spoke directly to Marilyn, hatred dripping from every word. “You’d probably fuck a snake and suck the Devil’s dick at the same time for a movie contract…” Marilyn’s mouth flew open in shock. “…but since you want to play games. Yeah, I got they shit and I’m gonna make all the rules in this here game. Rule Number One: I want a quarter of a million dollars and two one-way tickets to Africa.”
“That…that’s crazy!” Marilyn stuttered.
“Naw, what’s crazy is for you to bring your fake ass in here and sell your soul for the Man. Knowing damn well they don’t give a flyin’ fuck about us. You expect me to give you the pictures when you know damn well as soon as they get their hand’s on them, they’ll come right in here and kill all of us! What you haven’t realized is that all this puts your life in danger too… If it wasn’t for the pictures, we’d probably all be dead.”
Sasha sat down abruptly on the bed, stunned. She wasn’t raised to be nobody’s fool. If her man wanted a quarter-mill for whatever he had stolen, he must have a good reason to think he could get it. Besides, it sure sounded a lot better than a measly ten-thousand dollars. She decided to keep her mouth shut.
“Check this out, Marl,” Freddy said. “I don’t have nothin’ in this apartment, but I do have a friend holding a package. If something were to happen to me or Sasha,” he looked in her direction, “that package will be sent off in the mail and your politician friend would find himself in the pen politicking with some booty bandits. So, just tell them, or him, whoever the fuck it is, to respect the game.”
“What game?” Marilyn asked, vexed. She sucked her teeth in contempt.
Freddy raised a brow and smiled for the first time as he answered, “Honor amongst thieves.”
Marilyn felt the statement was especially meant for her too. She fought hard to keep her composure… This was definitely not what she expected. “Freddy,” she said, “In so many words, I tried to tell you…warn you…but I was scared and you wouldn’t listen. That night when they first made me, I told you to run, to run away with me--”
Hearing that, Sasha huffed audibly and shifted her weight on the bed. Marilyn approached her, Freddy watching like a hawk. “I’m really happy for you and the baby,” Marilyn said. “I apologize for all the trouble I’ve caused… You’re a very pretty girl and I would die to have your long black hair.” Marilyn reached to caress Sasha’s hair. “He loves you,” she said reassuringly, pointing a finger at Freddy.
Both women turned to look at his tall, willowy frame still clad only in boxer briefs and with his hair uncombed. Roughness was as much a part of his masculinity as his dark skin, with its sable smoothness. He gave Marilyn a frown that said, “You are not be trusted.” With his chiseled features and strong jutting chin atop a six-foot-four frame, he intimidated her like never before.
“Boy, you need to put some clothes on your narrow ass,” Sasha said, annoyed by the signals she was getting from the two of them.
Marilyn began to fumble with her finger and finally, to their surprise, she removed a huge wedding ring and placed it on Sasha’s finger.
“I can’t take this,” Sasha said with weak resistance. All while her face was lit up like a Christmas tree.
“Trust me, it will serve you a lot better than it did me. For me, it was just one big lie.” Marilyn sat with her hand in her lap, rubbing her finger.
She got up from the bed and retrieved a light blue-velvet box from her purse. It was marked “Tiffany’s” and she handed it to Freddy. He opened it revealing an expensive Rolex watch. “Happy Birthday,” she said. His birthday was next week.
He sat the watch on the dresser, giving her a cold stare-- no appreciation in his eyes. “What else is next, huh Marl?” How much is my life worth?” He snatched his pants off the chair and stormed out of the room.
Sasha picked up one of Marilyn’s dresses, admiring it. “Don’t pay no attention to that boy… He’s always overreacting.
******
Freddy peeked out the living room window and saw a dark sedan parked in the distance. His instincts told him the car was trouble. He closed his eyes, running his hands through his nappy hair as if to banish the car from his sight, from his mind. He opened his eyes, but the car was still there, waiting…
&n
bsp; Hearing the women’s voices coming down the hall, he quickly sat down on the sofa, affecting an air of macho aloofness. Inside, he was scared to death. One thing was clear in his mind, Marilyn was capable of just about anything, including murder, even his murder. And to think she had been a player in the botched attempt on his life…
Sasha and Marilyn walked right by him on their way to the kitchen. Soon, he could smell the delicious aroma of garlic, lemon, and frying seafood.
At dinner, the first thing Freddy asked was who cooked the food. When Sasha replied that she had, her smile froze when she saw the look on his face as he turned away mumbling to himself. The women chatted casually, yet awkwardness hung over the table, their conversation strained and contrived. Freddy picked at his food, occasionally looking across the table at Marilyn with a bitch-you-tried-to-kill-me scowl. That night, Marilyn slept in her own bed, Sasha in the guest bedroom, and Freddy sat up awake. They were as strangers to one another.
The next morning, bright and early, while Sasha still slept, Marilyn crept furtively from her bedroom dressed provocatively in a two-piece, tight-fitting black-and-gold skirted outfit, and with her hair hanging loose. She was alarmed to find Freddy wide-awake with blood-shot eyes that stared right through her, as if he had been waiting all night for this moment.
“Freddy, I’m sorry,” she whispered, taking a deep breath.
The window blinds were drawn and Freddy was shirtless, his pants hanging loosely around his waist. As was his habit, he gestured with his hands as he spoke, the savage scare undulating like some emaciated snake up his stomach to his chest. “I guess when you said you loved me, that was all part of settin’ me up?”
She could tell he was hurting from the dagger she had placed in his young heart, and now, away from Sasha, she read his face the way that only a woman can. “I’m sorry,” was all she could manage, cutting her eyes toward the door, wanting to leave.
“You go back and tell them crackahs or whatever the fuck they is, that I know what’s goin’ on--”
“Freddy, listen--”
“No, you listen! You played me like a piano, you and your pimp Billy Dawson, or whatever the fuck he is.”