Baby Momma 3

by Ni'chelle Genovese

  “Chelle, Lataya,” He shook his head unable to actually say the words. “She had a lot of water in her lungs. Her head had been held under in the sink for a while. Statistics show drowning is one of the most peaceful ways to go though. She didn’t feel a thing . . .”

  His voice droned on and on as the doctor in him took over and he tried to explain how peaceful death is. Like he’d drowned and knew firsthand. She didn’t know what was happening to her or why and I wasn’t there to protect her like I should have been. The hole in my heart opened up all over again and I started crying. I tried to wipe my nose and my hand wouldn’t go any farther up than up to my chin.

  “Why am I strapped to this bed?”

  Devon gave me that pitying look that I’d seen one time too many. “You were talking about a secret agent calling you. The entire hospital heard you. It was a murder. I had to report it. They filed that on the report. Michelle.” His voice took on a tone of seriousness. “I have to keep you for observation.”

  “Keep me for what? Where’s Trey? Devon, let me go please, this isn’t funny,” I half whined, half pleaded with him. When he didn’t look like he was going to even help me anger at everything welled up inside me. “For the record he was a special agent, and he said Rasheed isn’t dead and he’s on his way to Virginia.”

  Devon sat back in the chair beside my bed and put his chin on his thumb. He looked deep in thought.

  “I looked this Rasheed White up while you were sleeping. I couldn’t find so much as a birth certificate on him. Called and even got online looking for a Towanna James, Miami PD and Virginia, nothing. I even looked in your phone and there aren’t any secret agent calls. I’m trying to figure out if you and Mrs. White are sharing a delusion. It would explain why you’d be at her house living out of suitcases and why you’d both share this Rasheed person. I can’t help you unless you help me help you, Michelle.”

  A guttural animalistic wail escaped my lips and I yanked against the taught leashes on my wrists. He had to be joking. There was no way this could be happening.

  “They erased it for some reason. I don’t know. Where the fuck did my kids come from then?”

  “I’m not even supposed to tell you that the real police are running Trey through their database of missing children. They wanted to take him. He’s okay to stay with me. Denise has offered to help me watch him. I’ll let you rest. I know it’s been a rough day.”

  Chapter 21

  Wheels of Steel

  I didn’t sleep as lightly as I used to. If I did I would have known this crazy little girl was in my room with a knife pressed to my throat. There was so much grief and so many drugs in my body I couldn’t even feel afraid, and could barely feel the blade. My body was practically numb. Instead, I cried and pressed my throat farther onto it.

  “You let her die,” this girl spoke to me in a breathless whisper and her eyes only spoke of vague drugged sadness, pain, and death. They were Lataya’s eyes and I didn’t know if she was a ghost or an angel or a real person, but staring into them made me hurt even more..

  “I didn’t let anything. How do I live every day of my life loving and protecting someone else’s child and then one day, just one day we’re fine and she has pancake flour everywhere and then they wouldn’t even let me hold her hand. She didn’t have her sock monkey . . .”

  The pain I felt at losing Lataya was like nothing I’d ever experienced and I let the dam that had been holding back all the helplessness and hurt break. I was flooded with drugged hazy thoughts of what Lataya might have felt, what she might have thought, the fact that she probably looked for me or reached out for me and I couldn’t get to her haunted me. I closed my eyes and waited for that knife to cut into my throat.

  “At least you got to hold her. Your life, for her life,” she said in the faintest whisper.

  Her voice was frightening and haunting, especially since I couldn’t figure out if she was real.

  I didn’t care. I was tired of running and fighting. Always looking over my shoulder and not being able to trust anyone. It would be more like self assisted suicide than murder because in that second death sounded like a peaceful option.

  “Take it because if you don’t Rasheed will, since the agent said he’s somewhere nearby.” Exhausted I waited for the blade to tear through my neck. Trey would finally be safe. I’d put money into a college fund and a trust fund for him. He was his daddy’s son after all, he could survive anything.

  Voices stopped outside my door and I opened my eyes. I looked around as best as I could but my damn restraints only let me lean so far. She had to be in this bitch somewhere, unless I was dreaming. That wasn’t a dream, that was a straight up hellafied nightmare. They were giving me so much shit to keep me “sane” it was making me crazy. Devon walked in staring intently at his clipboard.

  “How are we feeling today sweetheart?” He asked.

  “Did you see . . . anything on the news about kidnappings sweetie?” I asked smiling sarcastically. I’d started to ask about the girl with Taya’s eyes and quickly changed my mind. No buddy, he already thought I was deranged. Even though she seemed kind of real and I think that knife felt real as hell. It was hard to say but my throat seemed to hurt from where the tip was pressed against it. There was no explaining how she’d gotten in and out without him seeing her.

  “I did not. But, I did ask how you were feeling?”

  I was beyond miserable. They gave me miserable flavorless food and I wouldn’t eat it so they shoved IVs into me and fed me that way. I honestly just hoped Rah would just show up and prove to them all that I wasn’t crazy. Even if he killed me, at least I’d die with everyone knowing I was a sane woman who did not kidnap her children. Devon would sit beside the bed and talk and talk. Whatever drugs they gave me kept me so mellow I could only look at him at times; blinking alone seemed to drain ounces of my energy. I didn’t even know what day it was or how much time had passed.

  On this particular day he was extremely chipper. The sound of his voice made me want to do nothing more than stab myself in the ears with anything I could get my hands on ear-hole size. They wondered why people lost their minds and lashed out? It was because of overzealous doctors who sat in your face and their very presence was a slap in the face. They made you remember passionate kisses and warm smiles, made you angry because they should have fought for you. Even if they were the only ones who believed you.

  “Michelle, are you listening?” Devon sat there looking at me expectantly.

  I shrugged in response since I had no idea what he’d said.

  “Good, I’ll have you escorted in as soon as everything’s set up.”

  As soon as what was set up? I sat there staring at the closed door, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. Moments later Denise came in and sat me down in a wheelchair.

  She spoke so quick and hushed I had to strain to understand her. “Your boy’s doing fine, Michelle. I don’t know what all’s going on but I promise I’m looking out for him. He’s at a homeschool my nieces run out of their place right now. They good people don’t worry. If it was me and this shit happened I’d want somebody looking out. Shit, with the way they scoot folk in, out, and around on the fifth wing fuck that. I don’t make enough money up in here to catch a charge over some uppity actress they check in for killin’ folk who checks herself out before she even sees the doctor. Especially when regular folk like you catchin’ the third degree. Anyway, he’s been asking for you, and I told him you were at mommy daycare, resting up. So once you finish resting, he’s waiting for you.”

  I had to look down at my hands in my lap so no one would see the teary smile on my face. Every now and again we still get angels to look out for us and I was so thankful for Denise’s words. Devon refused to talk to me about anything relevant until I rewarded him by acknowledging any of my story as made up.

  Denise wheeled me into a dim room. “Sorry boo-boo, I imagined strappin’ you up but not like this,” she said in a soft whisper, giving m
e a weak smile.

  She strapped my forearms down onto the arms of the wheelchair and secured my ankles as well before turning to leave the room. The lights came up and I saw Momma sitting across from me in another room, strapped to a wheelchair as well. She stared at me through the thin pane of glass and seeing her for the first time since Lataya’s death made me realize why I was strapped to the chair. Snarling, clawing, and growling, my hair flew wildly around my face, spittle hung off my lip as I looked at her through that glass. She’d taken Lataya, and now I was up in this hell because of her ass.

  “Calm down, Michelle.” Devon’s voice sounded overhead on the intercom.

  Chest heaving, I stared at the clinical pea-green tiled floor in front of me. Everything was pea green from the floor to the walls, even the toilet was that macabre shade of squished caterpillar, sea-sick green. As much as I hated looking at the tile, I refused to make eye contact with the woman across from me and I damn sure refused to cooperate with anything Devon planned.

  “Chelle? I been wondering why I ain’t seen you in a while.” Reena’s voice rang into the silence.

  I stared blindly at the floor, trying to turn off my ears the same way I seemed to have turned off my eyes.

  She isn’t even sorry for what she did. Hell, she probably doesn’t even know.

  “Don’t look like we going anywhere anytime soon, child.” She paused like she was thinking or remembering something. “I ever tell you about the time I decided to become a madam?”

  Chapter 22

  Minding Madam Business

  After everything blew over with Frankie I’d sold his car. Well, what I mean by that is I gave it to the Mexicans who ran the chop shop down the block. That was decent money to live off of for a while. At least until Mona came across Fink her ex. She called him an innovative misunderstood dreamer. He was a penitentiary pioneer. I called him that because every idea he had landed his ass in prison. Fink was definitely innovative. If that’s what you call a fool that hides in a custodial closet at the bingo hall until everyone’s gone so he can creep up on Mabel and Ms. Sarah countin’ out the money. Only to be standing there holding the gun when his bowels creep up on him, fool was going through withdrawal so bad he had the shits. Police caught him in the bathroom of course they had to wait a good twenty-minutes or so until he was all clear. But you get my point.. He’d just gotten out again and he had Mona on some hard stuff. Couldn’t tell you what because she had a cocktail of whatever you could think of depending on which day of the week it was.

  I’d stomped into her filthy bedroom and stared down at the mattress on the floor. I picked a naked leg and started kicking. “Mona, wake your trifling ass up. Wake up, girl.” I was screaming at the top of my lungs and wasn’t nobody moving.

  The rent was already a month late and I’d come up with the back end of it donating plasma and selling some of Rasheed’s old clothes. It would have put us in the clear for a minute. Mona had found my cash by pulling out my bottom dresser drawer and looking underneath. What the hell she was doing down there I’ll never know but she ran right through every dime. If we got put out we ain’t have anywhere else to go. We ain’t have any options left, no favors, no nothing. I’d used every last one, at least twice a month for something with Mona staying up in the house.

  I decided that one time, I’d do the only thing I knew I would bring me quick money. I sat Rasheed on the floor in her room. “Watch Rasheed, Mona. You hear me?”

  “Watching,” was the muffled response I got back.

  I started on the side of the track closest to downtown. That time of day the shipyard workers would be taking lunch breaks. It’d be easy to make a quick $500, $600.

  My first customer was Tim Washington. He pulled up in an old blue pickup. It squeaked and rocked to a stop in front of me.

  “What can I do you for, baby?”

  “What can’t you do for a hundred dollars?” he croaked out the window.

  If you heard Tim Washington’s voice and a croak coming backward out of a bullfrog’s ass, I swear you wouldn’t know the difference. I’d climbed up in that old toe-jam, corn-chip- oil refinery and sweat smelling truck and when he dropped trow I had a mind to charge him another hundred for having a third leg. There is such a thing as too big and if a woman ever said otherwise I’d let Tim say hello. That voice was the sound of his donkey dong pulling on his tonsils. Just think of the “camel through the eye of a needle” scripture. He gave me an extra fifty dollars for being a good needle.

  I was climbing down out of his truck when he started looking all sheepish.

  “Reena? I know that ain’t little Ms. Top Seller herself. You stole my man from me and now you out here stealing my customers,” Royce snapped at me.

  “Your man? A pimp ain’t no man for any woman, sweetie. He married to and respect money. You were just a way to get it.”

  She swung all that hair like she was about to do somethin’ to somethin’. “That’s why I’m married now anyway. Got me a good man.”

  I laughed in her face. “Royce? He so good, why the hell are you out here? And where is your married nah rock.” I mocked her, throwing her words back at her when I didn’t see a ring.

  That’s when I noticed Royce didn’t have all that dazzle to her, not like she did a few years back. Her black and tan was looking a little more like ashy and burnt.

  “He’s rich, and he took my ring. He don’t give me shit because he worried I’ll shoot it up.”

  That had my full attention. “How rich, Royce?”

  Her eyes got as wide around as footballs. “Filthy rich, Reena.”

  That shit gave me an idea so big I birthed the Northern Lights on the other side of the world. In order for it to work I’d have to keep Royce just high enough so she could function normally during the day. I’d started turning a couple extra tricks but I knew it’d be worth it in the end. Even ran into Lacy and offered her a percentage of everything overall if she cut me in on her earnings so I could keep Royce good. Royce’s husband was used to her fien’ing or so high she couldn’t see straight. Once we got her to a middle ground everything fell right where it was supposed to. She got the insurance policies changed over, the wills. She knew all the bank information. It was time.

  I’d gone and seen this lady over at the African shop once when Rah had whooping cough and I couldn’t afford a doctor. All I had to offer her was a peanut butter jar I’d started collecting change in. It won’t even halfway full but she took it and cured him.

  “Reena. Long time no see. How are you, my queen?” She greeted me soon as I walked in and I couldn’t remember her name.

  “I’m all right. um, you know it’s been a while I’m sorry,” I apologized because I should have known.

  She laughed and waived me off, “You wouldn’t pronounce it right even if you did remember it gal. Balifama tamunominini Bello, but call me Fama.”

  “You right, about that one. Girl that’s a mouth full. I need something Fama, and I can pay. I’ll pay extra if I need to.” I strolled through, looking at the shelves by the counter. There was shea butter, black soap, coconut oil, nothing that I could use.

  “What is this somet’ing?”

  I put two hundred dollar bills on the counter and she snatched them up, making them disappear somewhere underneath the long sleeves of her tunic.

  I made sure no one was standing down any of the tiny aisles before leaning across the counter and whispering, “I need to make a man die and it has to look like an accident.”

  “Hmmm. Are you sure?”

  She’d just gotten $200 of my money. Hell yeah, I was sure. I nodded. “I’m very sure.”

  She went into the back and came out with a little box of powders and oils. My $200 bought me a bottle of oil that couldn’t have held more than a thimble full of whatever she’d mixed up.

  “Two drops in their bathwater for three nights; after that massage one drop on the soles of each foot. That’s it.”

  That’s it? Royce had a hard
enough time remembering the instructions to boil a damn egg.

  I gave Royce the bottle the next day and on the fourth day she gave it back.

  “Did it work?” I asked her.

  Me and Lacy were about to gnaw each other’s hands off in anticipation.

  Royce in all her splendid, ditzy wonder said, “I don’t know. I didn’t check. Was I supposed to check him or something? I mean, I just came to out here. I didn’t think.”

  “Royce, where was your husband when you got out the bed this morning?” I asked through my teeth.

  “In his bed and I got up and took my morning poo, and showered and had coffee, and put on my not going out - going out face, and I walked Kimpy our Kane Corso and then when I . . . Oh, I think it worked.”

  Don’t forehead slap her, was the look Lacy was giving me.

  “Don’t you think it’s going to seem strange that you got up, went in and out the house and did all that, and ain’t call 911? Go home and call now please.”

  We waited to hear back from her and waited, and waited. A week passed and finally we went to catch the bus out to that old ritzy rich million dollar homes neighborhood. All the houses looked like castles and if I were Royce I’d have just kicked my damn habit. We went by the address on one of the forms she’d messed up when I was helping fill out the insurance paperwork at a restaurant. Something told me to keep one just in case, and I was glad I did. We walked up just in time to catch this heffa hopping into a shiny little Benz and speeding away.

  We were leaving and I was scheming, looking to see what other eligible paychecks lived in the area. I looked over at Lacy. “I think we found another one and this time you are gonna do the marrying and hoodwinking.”

  Lacy took a little more work to refine. Royce already had all the beauty school guidance any single head could possibly hold. It would explain why her flighty ass couldn’t retain much of anything else. I put Lacy on a diet, got her eating right so her skin would stay bright. She had high cheekbones and one of them beauty marks. That’s what she called it. I’d call it a dern mole if you ask me. But, from the way fools acted when they saw her, she’s the reason that model girl got famous, I’m telling you. The one with the big old big-ass mole on her face. I can’t even remember her name.