Baby Momma 3

by Ni'chelle Genovese

  “Yo, take her out of that shit. She don’t need to be in no shit like that,” Rasheed barked at Devon and he obliged, undoing the straps and letting her free.

  “Why they do this to you, Momma? Was it because of me? Is this because of something I did? I ain’t dead. Look, I’m right here. This ain’t because of me is it?” he asked her pitifully. He sounded like a scared and worried little boy, talking to his momma. Like my old Rasheed, not the angry shell of a man I’d gotten used to dealing with.

  “No, my love, this is all me. Sometimes my memories are as crystal clear right in front of me happening right now, and I can’t tell the difference between what’s now and what’s past. Everything look like it’s supposed to and feels real as you and right as rain baby. Other times I can’t remember how to brush my own teeth unless somebody shows me where or what a toothbrush is first.”

  He looked at Devon like he wanted an explanation and he explained, “She’ll need to be in an institution or a full-care senior living facility. We had one slip-up here where she didn’t take her meds and”—he hesitated—“she drowned Michelle’s daughter in the sink in her bedroom.”

  Actually hearing the words out loud to describe what had transpired made tears fall down my cheeks. Rasheed looked at me and seemed completely bewildered as to how something like that could happen. I didn’t have an answer.

  Rasheed pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Yo, this is me.” He answered and paused, his face getting darker and angrier by the second.

  “How did you get this number? It’s a prepaid phone,” he demanded angrily.

  “What do you mean mixed up the swabs? You was only supposed to swab one?”

  My eyebrow went up on that. The tone of his voice had gone to furious in a matter of a few words. I didn’t even want to know what the person on the other line had said but I had a feeling I was about to find out.

  He slid the phone into his pocket and stared at me like he didn’t know me, like he’d never seen me before and he still hated me.

  “Life or death, were you cheating on me before Trey was born, Michelle?”

  Shocked as hell, I quickly shook my head back and forth. “I don’t know who just told you that but they’re lying. I never did anything.”

  “You never did anything when? You was doing shit with that bitch remember? So, I’m gonna ask again and I’m gonna let you think about it. Because, my people swabbed Trey and Paris, he ain’t mine and her swab . . . Aw fuck! Ma.”

  It was as if the realization of what happened didn’t hit him until he was saying it out of his own mouth. I’d already been feeling what was just now hitting him head-on. Even though the part about Trey not being his was all new to me.

  “Momma, what did you do? What did I do, Honey aww fuck Desi . . .” He fell to his knees crying, crippled by pain and reality.

  I’d never seen him or any man cry like that. It made me want to put my arms around him and kiss his shaking shoulders. What he was feeling he didn’t deserve, none of us did; at least Honey wouldn’t have to find out. Not one time had I ever cheated on Rah with another man.

  Oh, shit. Ris, what the fuck did you do?

  I felt like I was about to throw up as I thought about Ris underneath me and what I thought was Keyshawn behind me. How mortified I was when I realized he was just watching. Thankfully that one time it was Lania with a strap but she hated Rasheed and if it meant blind-folding me and getting me knocked up. There was no way I’d ever know who the hell it was with unless he came out and told me. Trey was still my Trey, it just meant I didn’t have to worry about Reena’s mental health history affecting him and—

  All the air left my lungs in a sickening sharp thud. I wanted to vomit and breathe at the same time. Crashing to my knees, clutching my stomach, I gasped for air. He’d gotten up and out of nowhere stormed over hitting me with the butt of the pistol.

  Devon roared and charged Rasheed, knocking him off his feet and they both sprawled across the floor in a tangle of limbs and angry grunts and growls. Trey started crying. The only thing going through my mind in those seconds other than trying to breathe was trying to get to Trey and shielding him.

  The gun exploded again and again. The sound was deafening and, slightly dazed, I looked around examining everyone looking for visible signs of blood or pain. My eyes swept over them all: Reena, Devon, Rasheed, Trey. It was chaos and everyone seemed to be midmotion screaming or saying something. Blood started seeping through the hole in Rasheed’s shirt in his chest and he fell to his knees. Trey ran to Reena. Devon and I examined each other, breathing sighs of relief when neither one of us were shot. I watched Rasheed take his last breath, for real. I felt for his pulse and everything.

  We were sitting out front waiting on the police to get there. Devon felt it’d be best to bring Reena out for the fresh air. I honestly couldn’t care one way or the other. All of this just needed to be over so I could figure out what else I needed to do for Taya’s service.

  “That was my baby who got shot wasn’t it?” she asked in a tiny voice.

  “Yes, that was Rasheed.” I answered her cautiously, scared of what she was about to do or how she’d react to the news.

  She turned and looked at me as if she’d just seen me for the first time all day. “Michelle? Where the hell you been? I ever tell you how I met Rasheed’s father?”

  Not in the mood for any more of her stories I held up my hand and said, “I think you have.”

  She frowned, and went back to la-la land.

  Devon had gone all quiet and pensive on me and Reena just sat there staring off into space. He seemed like he had a mindful of questions to ask but settled on staring down at the pavement instead.

  The police pulled up and we were swarmed with activity.

  “Someone called; I need to see the person who committed the homicide,” a rough voice called out.

  I glanced at Devon and he had the same confused look that I did. Homicide? How could he possibly call it that without hearing our side of the story? We looked up in unison as a tall man with the presence of an ominous thundercloud approached us. Everything about him from his suit up to the top of his head reeked of this darkness.

  Devon began to step forward and I pressed ahead of him. “I shot him. He’d taken us against our will and I was struggling with him for his gun.”

  He gave me a gruff nod. “Glad you’ve decided to cooperate.” His hand pressed at the small of my back, pushing me toward a black sedan. “It’ll make it easier to request a less severe form of punishment for that actress you shot back at that restaurant. Hopefully she won’t press charges.”

  Actress! Nobody shot an actress. What the hell?

  The car door slammed curtly in my face with the ending of that statement. Impossible, they had it all wrong. One of the witnesses must have seen or reported something inaccurately. Reaching for the handle, dread was all that met my fingertips in the sensation of smooth, molded leather. There were no handles in the back seat and a Plexiglas divider cut off access to the front seats. The man who led me to the car was speaking to Devon, who was holding Trey. They’d turned and he was making hand gestures, pointing toward the hospital. Pounding my fists against the window I screamed and yelled. It had to be some kind of reinforced glass.

  The car shifted as someone got into the driver’s seat. I was so busy trying to get Devon’s attention I didn’t see who it was. The Plexiglas distorted my view of the other side. I clawed at the plastic divider, growled, screamed, and kicked at it, but just like that damn window I didn’t even put a scratch on it. Feeling like a complete idiot I remembered my cell and jerked it out of my pocket. I had 8 percent of a charge left. That would be enough to make a call or send a short text but not both. I tapped a quick message to Devon.

  They think I shot some actress. Need a lawyer.

  I almost snapped that pretty piece of shit phone in half when it vibrated.

  Message send failure. No service.

  The car rolled for what seemed
like forever. It finally stopped moving and I tried to get my bearings. We’d stopped in front of storage rental area. The driver walked over and opened my door.

  “We’ve been ordered to shoot on site if you run.” Nodding my understanding I timidly climbed out of the back seat. He led me over to a storage unit. The metal door slid up with a loud clanking sound that shook me all the way down to my core. It was a sound that rang of last words or last rights. I peered inside waiting to see my executioner in there. The only thing visible was a single fold-out metal chair beside what looked like an old card table.

  “Sit, this won’t take long.” The driver spoke in a curt tone.

  The sound of the door sliding down in place made claustrophobia set in instantly. The space was small and dank. Mildew and mold seemed to be the scent of the evening. It made me think of spiders, brown recluses, and black widows. My skin was starting to crawl and I tried to focus on anything but what could or couldn’t be in that space.

  Thankfully the door slid up just as I was about to lose all my nerve, get up, and start banging on it. He didn’t introduce himself or even say anything. Simply strolled in and slid it across the table: thick green paper with fine printed handwriting in blue ink.

  “What is this?” I stared at it, straining my eyes to read the wording, afraid to touch it.

  “Sign it. It’s an agreement.” He paused, waiting for me to read it. I didn’t move. “It says you murdered Rasheed because we asked you to. We paid you with money from our fund and even gave you the gun he was shot with. There are bank transfer slips, six overall backdated to various points in time. When I give the okay, the money will go into your account and it will look like it’s always been there. It’s the only way I can help you.”

  It sounded like the losing end of a deal to me.

  “I don’t understand who are you; what fund am I getting paid from?”

  If something went wrong or anything I’d be signing something saying I conspired to murder Rasheed. There was no way, a judge or court anywhere would let me off with that.

  “We can’t help you otherwise. It’s a sinking ship and you’re standing on the bow, Michelle. This is your lifesaver.”

  My hand shook as I scribbled a barely legible version of my name. He clicked open his briefcase, placing the papers that determined my future inside.

  “Tell no one. I’ll be in touch.”

  Chapter 25

  Secret Agent Man

  It was about time spring started showing its ass. I was getting restless with all the cold, gray doom and gloom. You could see all the signs, fresh buds, melting ice, and twitter-pated squirrels. Spring was becoming my new favorite time of year. The air was losing the brisk chill from winter and we were getting some of the warmer days everyone yearned for minus the humidity and the bugs.

  It’d been four months since Lataya’s funeral. It was the only thing about those events that I chose to mark on my calendar. She wasn’t my baby, but in my heart that little girl would always be my baby. I’d like to think that being with me even for that short time was heaven before heaven for her.

  Devon had been stressing and having a multitude of fits. It seemed like every day he’d get a call from this lawyer or that lawyer with a detail or another bit of information on the case concerning his step-mother. It was hard on his family and tearing him apart. I had no idea Devon owned the hospital and every day he was being asked to furnish a financial record for this holding or financial evidence backing that holding. I’d gone online and done some research. I tried to explain they were doing it to all the families not just him. Every dime she extorted had to be accounted for.

  The case was becoming so intricate that he was looking into another facility to move Reena to, and I didn’t blame him one bit. Things finally seemed calm enough for me to start working a little more. I took on a manager to help makes decisions on major closings but an absent owner would be a broke owner. I tried to step in on major closings when I could or at least help with properties that they were having problems moving. Too much turbulence and my ass would get airsick so I tried to stay put as much as possible.

  I’d just landed and was trying to remember where I’d parked my car in the garage. I’d closed on a $4.5 million waterfront property that we hadn’t been able to move for a year and was damn excited. The seller was threatening to find a new agent and we’d moved it just in time. My phone died on the flight and I cursed when I didn’t see my car charger in the car.

  Not having my cell was like leaving the house without a shirt on. Frustrated I slammed the hell out the car door cursing silently. Those silent curses turned into shouts when my damn car wouldn’t start. Opening the glove compartment to get my AAA card a tiny black laminated card fell to the floor on the passenger side. I picked it up and read the silver letters with my lunch slowly making its way up throat.

  You are activated. Instructions will follow.

  Everything stopped moving. The armpits of my blouse and blazer jacket were instantly soaked.

  Activated? What the hell was I going to have to do?

  A yellow cab squealed to a stop behind my car and I almost fainted from the sound. Dust flew up and engine exhaust hit my nose. The purr of the engine echoed through the garage. I swiveled to look out the back window as the cab driver leaned over and yelled out the window in a heavy accent.

  “You get in, now.”

  He nodded toward the back seat, his black leather fedora bobbing on his head.

  I reluctantly got in and he sped off. Arabian music was blaring out of the speakers as we bounced out of the airport garage. I could feel myself getting nauseous as nerves built on top of nerves.

  This wasn’t the kind of person I was. What the fuck had I signed? Why the fuck did I sign that shit? I didn’t even read it; I just scribbled my name because the man in the suit said do it. My dumb-ass didn’t even ask him for identification.

  I couldn’t call Devon. I couldn’t call the police. I’d felt better with a gun pointed at my head; at least then I knew what the outcome to that would be. He flew down Military Highway and I noted landmarks, car dealerships, IHOP. We got on the interstate going toward downtown Norfolk. He stopped in front of an old office building on Granby Street.

  “You’re here,” he shouted to me over the music.

  I looked around trying to figure out where “here” was. I got out and stood staring at the crumbled front of the building, trying to figure out if I was supposed to just go in or what. The doors swung open and a young woman in a black pantsuit came toward me.

  “Michelle, follow me.” She turned and walked back inside without waiting.

  “What am I doing?” I asked her shakily.

  “You’ve been activated. Follow me for your objective briefing,” she replied matter-of-factly.

  She led me through the building, up a stairwell, and across a mezzanine. I followed shakily, not sure if I’d make it without falling out first. We walked up another stairwell and we got onto a service elevator. She stood in front of me and I debated trying to hit her on the back of the head like I’d seen in movies. Knocking her out and running. Something wasn’t right. I looked to see what button she pressed and in that moment she stepped off through the front elevator door and my ears went super sonar a split second too late as the back service door of the elevator opened behind me.

  Someone grabbed me and instinctively I slammed the heel of my pump down. The joy I felt at the yelp of pain I’d elicited was short-lived as I whirled around my hand poised mid-throat chop.

  “What the fuck, Devon? You scared the fuckin’ fuck out of me!” I screamed in his face, punching his arm.

  The elevator stopped and the doors in front of me opened onto the main floor of a breathtaking hotel suite. I gasped in awe, my hands flying up to cover my mouth. There were vases of bright yellow calla lilies, pink and white tiger lilies, and birds of paradise, all over the suite.

  Devon sucked in his bottom lip turning bright red. “The plan was scoop you
up, kiss your neck, and ask if you were ready to be debriefed. Then um, debrief you as in get the panties, but you went all Charlie’s Angels on me,” he mumbled sheepishly, as he escorted me off the elevator. “It just all worked out so perfect in my head . . .”

  “Aww, baby.” I grabbed his face in my hands and kissed him.

  Devon tried to talk against my lips. “Statistics show relationships that start off dramatically—”

  “Boy, I know your ass ain’t up in here quotin’ lines from the movie Speed.” I kissed his nose sweetly. “I’ve had enough drama in one lifetime that you don’t need to do none of this, not this. I don’t mean the room. I like this part, the room is good. But, all that other stuff . . .” I shook my head. “I can do without that.”

  He smiled, nuzzling my nose with his. I was thankful when he didn’t nuzzle any lower because all that adrenaline and running around had me wanting a shower. As if he read my mind he took my hand and smiled, walking not to the bathroom but toward the bed. I started to say something until I saw the Olympic-sized Jacuzzi bathtub not three steps away. But he didn’t go to the bath; he went past that.

  “Baby? Umm.” I pointed and pouted sadly at the inviting water.

  “You’re not dirty enough for a bath yet.” He responded in that authoritative seductive voice of his and I instantly got chills.

  It’s one thing to have a man who knows what the hell he’s doing in the bedroom but you’ve got a beast of a completely different nature when he ain’t scared to experiment. My legs were straddling his face and I’d just gotten his sleep magic number down. So I was working it. Sucking and simultaneously stroking him to the damn finish line. He had the dick game down but, I couldn’t lie, the head game still needed work. He needed to learn my sleep magic number. That’s when you know exactly how, where, and how many times to lick, suck, or flick. Some might need a nipple twist or their clit sucked hard; some women don’t like it sucked they like it rubbed. Whatever it is, you know exactly what the magic number is before that head game puts your boo to sleep. Well, he ain’t know all that.