Street Chronicles Girls in the Game

by Nikki Turner

  “They got Delilah, man. Niggas ran up into my crib, fucked her, and kidnapped her ass. I need sixty grand. I got forty grand at my grandmother's house.”

  Jay was too shocked to respond.

  “Dude, did you hear me? They got my muthafuckin’ wife!”

  “I got about twenty grand here.”

  “Get that and meet me in a half hour at Jamaine's. Call that nigga and fill him in. I'm running out of time.”

  Guy frantically scrolled through his call list and placed another call. “Rome? I need forty grand in thirty minutes.”

  Although Rome could hear the desperation in his voice, his curiosity still prompted him to ask, “For what?”

  “I know you got it!” Guy shouted, then paused in an attempt to calm himself down. “Meet me at Jamaine's in thirty minutes with the paper. Call Jay and he will fill you in.”

  How the fuck am I going to make it by my grandmother's and over to St. James Place? I ain't going to make it, Guy thought. He stomped on the gas pedal and sped through the tolls at the George Washington Bridge. He made it to his grandmother's by twelve on the nose. He got his money and left her house, then sped up, running the red light at the corner of her block.

  He picked up his cell phone, dialed, and listened to the phone ring over and over again as he thought of Delilah. He pictured the thick, dark body on top of his wife. He could hear her begging him to stop. He could hear the bed going up and down; then he heard sirens, and that pulled him out of his dreary thoughts. He looked into the rearview mirror, only to see the flashing lights of a police car.

  “Fuck!” he exclaimed as he banged the wheel. And then it happened. The first tear came tumbling down his cheek. He pulled over to the curb, nervously went through his wallet, and retrieved his information.

  “Driver's license and registration,” the officer said as he approached Guy's window.

  Guy handed them over without hesitation.

  “You are aware of why I pulled you over?” the officer asked.

  Guy's throat was extremely dry, and his voice was raspy and hoarse. He was barely audible as the tears poured down his face.

  “Using my cell without an earpiece,” he answered.

  “Yes, and you just ran through two stop signs and a traffic light. Have you been drinking?”

  “No.”

  The officer walked back to his patrol car and Guy started to pray, “Please don't let there be anything wrong with my license.”

  It seemed as if the cop took a lifetime to come back. Guy turned toward the policeman, his face drenched with a combination of sweat and tears. Guy was issued three tickets and some verbal warnings, and the officer hopped into his patrol car and drove off. Guy checked the time. It was twelve fifteen.

  A half hour later he was three blocks away from Jamaine's house when his cell phone rang and pulled him out of his trance. When he flipped his phone he could hear loud yelling and screaming on the phone. The yelling became more and more pronounced, and before the phone reached his ear, he knew who it was.

  “Jamaine?” he said hoarsely, trying to talk over Jamaine's hysterical yelling.

  “You need to come over here right now, son!” Jamaine yelled. “I don't know what to make of this shit! Get over here!”

  “Don't say anything else on this phone. I'll be there in a second,” Guy said as he ended the call. Pull it together, nigga. You have to save Delilah.

  He picked his cell phone up and called Jay again.

  “Is everyone there yet?” Guy asked Jay.

  Jay replied softly, “Rome and I just got here. Guy, have you spoken to Jamaine? Some foul shit is going down over here. Brace yourself, nigga.”

  “Yeah, I am on my way over there now. Have all of the paper together.”

  “No doubt.”

  Guy pulled up in front of Jamaine's house to find his boys standing outside on the lawn. He got out of the car, not knowing what to expect. He closed the car door behind him and slowly began walking toward the lawn. As he approached the house, Jamaine stopped him and pointed to the mailbox. Guy walked toward it and inhaled deeply.

  “Reach inside of it,” Jamaine said.

  Guy looked back at his longtime friends before he stuck his arm inside, only to feel what he thought was a small and wet furry animal. He yanked his arm out of the mailbox clutching whatever it was in his grasp, and dropped it onto the ground. His eyes opened wide as he viewed a bloody mane on the ground. He didn't know what to make out of it for a few seconds, and then it hit him: It was his beloved Delilah's hair. He could see pieces of scalp and flesh attached to some of it. As he knelt down and scooped up her hair, a DVD disc and a piece of paper fell to the ground. He could smell his Lilac, but her usual Saturday-morning sweet Dominican doobie scent was entwined with a strong-smelling sulfur, which was unfamiliar to him.

  He picked the paper up off the ground and read it.

  1:30 SAME BAT TIME, SAME BAT CHANNEL OR

  YOUR WIFE IS DEAD.

  He walked over to his boys holding on to all that he had left of his wife and stopped in front of Jay.

  “These niggas have to pay” Jamaine said solemnly.

  “I don't give a fuck about that right now! I need my wife, Jay,” Guy said as he lifted up her hair and showed it to Jamaine, trying to make a point.

  Jay stepped up in front of Guy and gave him a strong bear hug. Guy closed his eyes and prayed silently, God, please. Don't let her be dead. Guy went into Jamaine's bedroom, put the disc into his player, and pushed play.

  Delilah was seated and bound with twine, and her mouth was covered with duct tape. There was thick white lotion from her forehead down to the ends of her hair. Ten tubes of Nair that looked as if they were squeezed empty surrounded her. Some were on her lap and others dropped to the ground as she made attempts to move her bound body around. He watched the effects of the white cream on her hair. As she violently shook her head, globs of her hair started to fall out. He could feel her muffled screams in his heart. Teary-eyed, Guy clicked off the DVD player. He walked out of the room and fell to the ground.

  8

  Delilah's body tingled painfully all over. Her head oozed a juicy, pimplelike puss and felt as if it were bubbling over like a boiling stew. She desperately wanted to touch it, but the tightly bound duct tape restricted her movements. She moaned, shifted, and stretched her neck to the side.

  She continued to moan loudly as she wallowed in self-pity. What is my Guy going to think when he sees my hair? she thought. “Ahhhhh,” she moaned. My body is killing me. Dear Lord, please get me out of this—

  “Shut the fuck up with all that moaning, bitch,” Bobby yelled. “Looks like your man doesn't care too much about you after all. He hasn't made that drop yet. I'm going to give him one more chance to come through for you. Why don't you give your hubby a call yourself? If you start yellin’ once I take this tape off of your mouth, I will make sure you never see your husband again.”

  Bobby scrolled through Delilah's call list for Guy's cell phone number and laughed when he saw she had his number saved under “My Guy.”

  “Your Guy really don't give a fuck about you or he would have had that money in the trunk already. See, if your pretty little ass would have fucked with me in the first place, I would have never had you in this predicament. I would never give niggas a chance to kidnap my piece. But you wanted to play hard to get.”

  Even thinking became painful for Delilah as she tried to pull together what was going on. Does he know me or something? Who the fuck is this? she thought.

  Suddenly she felt a rough pain travel across her face as the duct tape was pulled off without prior warning. It tore off a small piece of skin next to her mouth. Now her mouth chimed in with the agonizing pains in her vagina and the excruciating tingling in her head, making a painful drumming throughout her entire body.

  Bobby put the phone to her ear. Her eyes were tightly bound with tape, so she waited in complete darkness to hear her husband's voice. She could imagine him whi
spering sweet nothings in her ear and playing with her hair.

  “Delilah?” Guy said. His boys hovered around him and watched him talk.

  “Yes, baby,” she whispered painfully.

  “You're okay? Where are you? Who did this?”

  “I love you, honey.”

  “I love you t—”

  Bobby snatched the phone and yelled into it, “No money, no more honey. You're late. I'm giving you a half hour to get my paper together or your wife is dead.” With that he snapped the phone shut.

  “Do I know you?” Delilah asked timidly.

  “We've met a couple of times before,” Bobby said as he strapped fresh duct tape to her lips and walked out of the room to answer his own ringing cell phone.

  “Yeah,” he answered.

  “You got that paper yet?” Teesa whispered.

  “Nah. Not yet.”

  “Bobby, I am out of here. I am going out of town to get married,” she said in a frightened tone.

  “Yeah, yeah, whatever, bitch,” Bobby said. “You know you'll be back. But I'm a nigga of my word. As long as I don't get caught for this shit, we are even.”

  “Teesa, get out of the fuckin’ bathroom already! I wanted to get an early start on the road,” Trey called from downstairs.

  “Bye, Bobby.” Teesa hung up her cell and smiled. She strapped onto her wrists the Chanel bracelet and watch that she had removed from Delilah's jewelry box and smiled.

  “That bitch won't need them anymore.” She laughed as she walked down the steps and kissed Trey.

  “What's so funny?” he asked.

  Teesa produced a sweet smile as she looked at her huge, sparkling engagement ring. “I'm just happy to be with you. I love you, Trey,” she said.

  “I love you, too, Teesa,” he replied.

  “You like my new watch and bracelet? Delilah picked these out for me last week when we went to the mall.”

  Delilah listened as Bobby's footsteps grew distant and tried to piece her twisted fate together, but she couldn't. She didn't have a clue who had snatched her yesterday, or how she got to where she was now. She didn't have a clue who she had fucked over and over again the previous night, when she felt pleasure only her husband had given her in the past.

  If I could only figure out how I got here, she thought, and huffed in frustration. I barely remember anything that happened after Teesa left. We drank and talked for a couple of hours, and then I got really sleepy. She got a call and left. The next thing I know I am fuckin some nigga I don't even know. I had to be drugged.

  Oh, my dear Lord, she silently exclaimed after several minutes of thought.

  I have something that will help you sleep. I’ll call you in a few to make sure they kicked in.

  After that, Delilah started having flashes of rolling around in her bed with the mysterious man. She concentrated and thought back to the wild sex she had had, and she broke down in tears as she pictured his face. She faintly remembered him pulling off her blindfold momentarily so he could stare in her eyes as she gave him head, and once again to place a gun into the barrel of her mouth. In her dark silence she went back three years in her thoughts to the mall and placed the face.

  “Delilah, girl. Do you see that nigga over there? He is a cutie,” Teesa said.

  Delilah looked and smiled. “Don't look now, but he is walking in this direction. I think you got his attention, girl, “Delilah said, nudging Teesa. Seconds later the guy approached them and gently took Delilah by the hand. She pulled it back and flashed a fake smile. Teesa rolled her eyes and shot Delilah a look of contempt as she sucked her teeth and folded her arms.

  “Hi, what's your name, gorgeous?” the guy said to Delilah.

  “Delilah, and I'm married, ”she was quick to say.

  He looked into her eyes. “That's not a problem. I can treat you better,” he replied.

  “This is my friend Teesa. What's your name?”

  “Bobby …”

  The face from last night was the face of her best friend's man. She let her head fall back as she came to the realization, which caused her head to sting.

  Oh, my God! Teesa and Bobby set me up. It's him—I remember his face. She thought hard and long, but the previous night's activities were almost a blur. Then faintly she remembered having sex with Teesa, and the mere thought made her sick. The vomit that filled her throat got no release. She regurgitated as visions of her sucking Teesa's pussy went from blurry to being crystal-clear. Again, she needed to vomit. The Alize and Hennessy came up this time and began to seep from her nose. Delilah could not breathe. She tried to inhale through her nose, but that was clogged with vomit. She continued to gag as she hurled her insides up a third time.

  At one twenty in the afternoon Guy pulled up to the designated spot. He saw the empty white Maxima parked on the curb and peered around. The block wasn't overpopulated, but there were enough people walking by. He sat for ten minutes thinking about his wife and who could have set him up. At one thirty sharp he got out of the car with a Nike duffel bag hanging off of his shoulder. He walked over to the Maxima, lifted the trunk, dumped the bag inside, and slammed it shut. He looked around and, of course, as always, the busy people on the Brooklyn streets paid him no mind. He hopped into his car and drove away. He waited for his phone to ring, but nothing happened. He traveled back to Jamaine's house, and hours passed as they waited impatiently for some kind of communication.

  “I think we should call the police,” Jay said.

  “Are you fuckin’ nuts?” Guy said. “The only thing that will do is lead back to me and what I do. I just want my wife back safe.”

  Then an awkward silence invaded the room as Guy began to suspect his own friends.

  How the fuck did Jamaine call so fast? It was only minutes after twelve. Did he just go outside and find my wife's scalp in the fuckin mailbox, and why was that shit still in the mailbox and not on the ground when I got there? Who checks their muthafuckin mail so early in the afternoon anyway? In the middle of his thoughts he looked at Jay. Why was this nigga so calm when I told him what happened? He know where everything in the crib is. He has the combination to the safe, and he is the only person Delilah can let in while I am OT.

  As he took his attention off of Jay and looked at Rome his cell phone rang. He answered and heard that same male voice again.

  “I got my paper,” the voice said. “It's all here, and so is your wife. Go to the Holiday Inn on Route Seventeen. She is in room four twenty-seven, and you better hurry. Your bitch don't look so good. You should take her to the GYN or something.”

  The voice laughed and then hung up. Guy didn't say a word. He looked at his friends as he stood up slowly. He was lightheaded so he immediately sat back down.

  “You all right, nigga? Was that them? What did they say?” Jay questioned.

  “They said Delilah is at the Holiday Inn on Route Seventeen in room four twenty-seven, and she needs to see a doctor,” Guy answered.

  His boys were winded by the news, but stood quietly wrapped up in their own selfish thoughts that involved what they would have done if they were in the same situation. Jay stood and grabbed his boy by the hand, pulling him off of the couch. Guy was weak at the knees and could barely stand, so Jay placed Guy's arm around him and helped him out of the house into his car.

  Guy was beside himself the entire ride to New Jersey. His wife was only fifteen minutes away from their lovely home. Why the fuck didn't I think to look there? I should have searched every damn hotel in this area, he cursed himself inside.

  When they pulled up in front of the hotel, Jay hopped out and Guy remained seated. He didn't know what to expect. Every kidnapping he'd known of in the past ten years left the victim for dead, whether the ransom was made or not. Jay came around to the passenger side of the car and helped his man to his feet.

  Onlookers found it odd that a man would be that drunk this early in the day. Naturally, that was what everyone in the Holiday Inn assumed Guy was—drunk. Even the police offi
cer who had pulled him over had mistaken his swollen eyes for alcohol, when it was only a severe case of guilt mixed with grief.

  They entered the hotel lobby and took the elevator to the fourth floor. It was a silent ride as each man feared what they might find. As they exited the elevator, they found their way to room 427. The gold slam lock was wedged between the door and its frame, so Jay was able to push it open with ease and literally dragged his man inside. As soon as they walked into the room, sex and sulfur filled their nostrils. They couldn't believe their eyes. Delilah lay there naked on her side, bound and seated in a chair that lay on top of the bed. Brown bile leaked from her nose onto the starched white sheets. Her head was bare and painfully red, with only patches of several long strands of hair sprouting from it. There were pus-filled boils and bumps with dried-up blood and raw flesh in the places where her hair was gone. Her eyes and mouth were covered by duct tape.

  Jay turned his back to the bed, and Guy fell at her bedside. He tapped her arm, but she didn't move. He shook her in the chair and she still did not budge. In a panic he checked for her pulse, but it was nowhere to be found. He dropped to the ground at her bedside and cried like a newborn baby as Jay picked up the phone and dialed 911.

  As Jay yelled into the phone in panic, Guy suddenly went blank. His emotions ceased as if he had done nothing more than turn off a switch. He stood up and wiped his tears away, but before leaving his wife's side, he bent down and whispered in her ear and then kissed her on the cheek. Someone had made the mistake of thinking that the game was over. They were probably somewhere now enjoying his money and the benefits his tragedy had brought to them. But, in fact, they were sadly mistaken. The game was just beginning, as Guy had just vowed to his dead wife that he would see to it that everyone who had any part in her demise would pay … they would pay with their lives.

  Guy looked over at Jay, who had just hung up the phone. Jay returned the stare, almost not recognizing the friend who stood before him. Guy almost wasn't recognizable to himself. He had put on his game face, that of a coldhearted man out for revenge, determined not to rest until the death of his wife was avenged.