No Home Training

by Ms. Michel Moore

  “Yeah, what it do?”

  “Hey, O.T., it’s me.”

  “Wow, you must’ve missed me or something.”

  “Well, I was worried a little bit,” London admitted as she sighed with relief her child’s uncle wasn’t hurt or dead. “But, the real reason I called was to tell you that Storm had to rush my sister to the hospital.”

  “Dang, don’t tell me she pulled a Paris?” He laughed, jumping out the car walking to the front door.

  “Don’t act stupid!”

  “I was just playing.” He surprised London by coming in the room she was sitting at. “What happened?”

  Both of them hung up their phones and smiled.

  “Why you play so much?”

  “Sorry.” He hugged her. “Now tell me what exactly happened.”

  London explained all the details as O.T. stuffed his face with leftovers. She also told him what she and Storm had spoken about the afternoon before. O.T. tried to act as if he didn’t care about their heart-to-heart conversation, but of course he was hurt. The hardcore criminal for the first time in his life wanted something that he couldn’t steal, or strong-arm or manipulate the system to achieve. And that was London’s love. If O.T. took the time to really step back and see the whole picture for what it truly was he’d see he already had that.

  “I just wish Kenya would forgive me. I want my sister back in my life. How can she accept Storm and not me?”

  Marco

  “I done stayed posted up in this motherfucker all yesterday and trust a nigga like me getting beyond bored as hell.” Marco stretched his arms rubbing the crusty sleep out the corner of his eyes. “I need to get some real bread in my hands, settle my beef, and kill them two wannabe gangsta brothers and get out of dodge!”

  “I feel ya, Marco, but you know them streets is hot with the cops. Plus when I was at the store last night grabbing them forties, I seen O.T. lurking around,” Coonee cautiously warned his boy as he peeped out the front window. “Shit, he damn near fucked around and bumped into me.”

  “What! Why ain’t you say that shit before?” Marco leaped to his feet enraged. “That ho-ass motherfucker down here in our neck of the woods and you didn’t let that bitch have it?”

  “Huh?” Coonee was puzzled. “What you mean?”

  “Are you retarded or something?” Marco pounded his fist. “You heard me!”

  Coonee, who was at least four years Marco’s junior, was thrown off at his boy’s irate reaction, who knew full well ever since the night Royce and their two boys had gotten killed, Coonee had shied away from the street life and all the elements that went along with it and was looking for a nine-to-five job. Yet when Marco unexpectedly showed up drunk and disorderly at his front door needing somewhere to chill, Coonee, who could easily get charged with harboring a fugitive, didn’t think twice about letting him hide out.

  “What did you want me to do? Kill that man in the store where everybody could see?”

  “Hell yeah, I did!” Marco yelled back getting all up in Coonee’s face. “You was talking all that shit the other day about killing Storm’s pregnant bitch in the mall, now you standing here acting a straight pussy!”

  Wiping small amounts of spit off his face, Coonee was heated. “Hold up, nigga! This ya thang ya got going on with them dudes! I know that shit was fucked up the night Royce got killed, but you did start it by ambushing them innocent workers from Alley Cats.”

  “So fucking what! It’s all part of the game, you must of all of a sudden, be too weak to play!”

  “Listen, Marco, you’s my boy and all, but you know I’m trying to do something different.” Coonee thought back to the night he was staring down the barrel of O.T.’s gun who gave him a second chance on life. “I ain’t trying to get locked up or killed.”

  Marco was starting to get the picture and realized it was time for him and Coonee to sever their dealings.

  “I’ll tell you what. Why don’t I just stay here a couple of more nights then I’ll be out your hair.” Marco calmed down as he started to scheme on a final game plan for revenge. “’Cause I can see you and me cut from different cloths.”

  “Don’t worry about it, guy!” Coonee let his guard down trusting in the friendship the two once shared. “Do what you need to do. Ya know you can stay as long as you need to! I’m gonna jump in the shower ’cause I got a job interview and I don’t wanna be late.”

  “A job interview?” Marco laughed falling back on the worn, torn couch. “You is out ya shit!”

  Coonee, who was filthy, took off the blue jeans he’d been wearing for three days straight tossing them in the enormous pile of dirty clothes that were starting to smell. While the thundering sounds of the steaming hot water came down on him, he heard Marco call out his name.

  “Coonee! Hey, nigga! You got my lighter?”

  “Dang, my bad!” Coonee stuck his head out the shower yelling back. “I think it’s in my pocket.”

  “All right then I’ll check.” Marco, with his unlit blunt hanging in between his lips, went over to the pile grabbing Coonee’s jeans off the top. Shaking them upside down, his blue lighter fell out onto the floor along with a folded-up sheet of paper. Being nosey he opened it. Ain’t this a bitch! This ho-ass motherfucker running around here acting like he against slinging dope and killing some busters who got it coming, when all along he plotting to turn me the fuck in to get this damn reward money! Marco crumpled the flyer, which his picture graced, throwing it against the wall. No wonder he want me to stick around a few more days. He ain’t got no job interview. That snitch probably going to meet up with the police!

  Smoking his blunt, Marco waited patiently for Coonee to get out the shower and get dressed. As the aroma filled the air, his hands began to itch. Leering at his soon-to-be victim as he looked for his social security card and birth certificate, Marco’s heart rate increased. “How you getting to this interview of yours?”

  “I’m getting a ride from this chick I met last night.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Marco put the blunt in the ashtray. “You ain’t tell me you met a new hood rat.”

  “Oh, I must’ve forgot!” Coonee grinned. “She’s a bad bitch, too! When I get my car fixed, I’m gonna take her out to the park or some romantic shit like that!”

  “You forgetting a lot of stuff all of a sudden and damn, you must be expecting a windfall, talking about getting ya ride fixed and caking with a tramp!” Marco angrily probed as he sat his gun on the coffee table.

  “What is you trying to say, dawg?

  “You know what it is, ya snitch!”

  “What the hell is you talking about?” Coonee started to sweat wondering where Marco’s irrational brain was at calling him a snitch. “I ain’t try to do nothing, but tolerated your off-the-chart-ass!”

  “You think I don’t know where you really going and what you ’bout to do?”

  Coonee, dressed in dark navy blue slacks, white shirt, and a cornball SpongeBob necktie in his hands, was truly bewildered and confused as to what direction his boy was coming from. “Damn, dude, you need to leave them trees the hell alone ’cause you tripping.” He started putting his tie on. “You need some professional help!”

  Before Coonee could get a chance to hear any kind of a response, Marco unexpectedly jumped to his feet lunging at him resulting in the two of them falling into the stereo system that was on an already wobbly shelf. With his temper in overdrive Marco yanked hard on his tie swiftly wrapping it around his arms using his overpowering strength to strangle Coonee down to his knees. As the two men violently struggled, an almost out of breath Coonee who was fighting for his life finally broke free from Marco’s grip and got up stumbling to the other side of the room.

  Marco, unfortunately for Coonee, wasn’t done with his sinister tirade and showed no outward signs of sympathy for his homeboy or his ripped shirt. “Why don’t you go out and do some grown-man shit instead of being a ho-ass snitch to get some loot?” he continued to talk tough. “Niggas like me o
ut here every single day getting that shit in, putting in work, and you running around like a little rat!”

  “What the fuck is wrong with you?” Coonee held his neck panting for air. “Why you doing this?”

  “Shut ya soft-ass up!” Marco ranted fueled with a passion. “You think I’m gonna just sit around and wait for you and them motherfuckers to hem me up?” He cracked his knuckles rushing Coonee once more, this time bulldozing him underneath his ribs lifting him off the ground.

  Ramming Coonee into the thin plastered walls, huge pieces of chipped paint fell to the ground. Only having a thin pair of dress socks on, the tiny, sharp broken edges cut Coonee’s feet. With a slight weight advantage Marco used to his benefit, he took both his fists and slammed the sides of Coonee’s temples at the same time. Seeing his now ex-friend’s injured body hit the ground, Marco capitalized on the situation, grabbing a Phillips-head screwdriver from under the television stand jabbing it in Coonee’s side puncturing one of his lungs.

  Getting pleasure watching him suffer in agony and Coonee’s once white interview shirt become soaked with blood, Marco pulled the screwdriver out and stuck his victim again, this time in the middle of his chest twisting it around. Oh it ain’t over yet, you snitchin’-ass faggot! As he stood up feeling almost satisfied with himself, in one last act to make him feel totally victorious, Marco raised his sneaker stumping Coonee directly in his stomach rupturing more vital organs.

  “So, you was gonna turn me the fuck in to the popo, huh?” Marco spewed as slobber came out the left corner of his mouth seeing Coonee meet his Maker. “I always knew you wasn’t shit!”

  Lying back getting relaxed and comfortable on the couch, Marco kicked his feet up on the coffee table using the blue lighter reblazing his blunt while staring at his homeboy’s dead body. After a hour of getting good, faded, and high as a son of a bitch, Marco disrespectfully dragged Coonee to the far corner of his bedroom gathering the huge pile of dirty smelly clothes throwing them on top of him so you could only see the bottom of Coonee’s socks.

  Police

  “Hey, Malloy, I’m still on Storm’s trail. It looks like he just carried his girlfriend through emergency.”

  “Okay, stay with him,” Malloy radioed back to the undercover officer. “It seems like his brother O.T. spent the night trying to do our job for us.”

  “Oh, yeah? How so?”

  “Yeah, I just got the word that he was in the projects trying to track down Marco Meriwether,” Malloy further informed him. “That lets me know we definitely on the right track on who is to blame for those four homicides.”

  Chapter 16

  Harsh Reality

  Storm

  As Storm posted up in the hospital waiting room he sat back thinking how his life had drastically changed, some things bad and a few things for the better. Even though he knew all the controversy the birth of his son was going to cause that was still his flesh and blood. He heard London’s valid concerns for him and his brother’s lifestyle ring in his ears repeatedly and reached on his hip for his cell phone.

  “Good afternoon. Law offices of Jeffery Benson and Associates, how can I help you?”

  “Hey there, Yolanda, is Jeff in yet?”

  Recognizing one of their favorite and frequent clients’ voices, Yolanda had smiled as she answered. “Yes, sir, Mr. Christian, he just got in from court. Would you like to hold?”

  “Yeah, I’ll hold.” Storm leaned back as he waited.

  “Hey, Storm! My main man!”

  “What it do, Jeff?” he quizzed not really giving a fuck.

  “Just getting back from plea bargining some knucklehead probation, but that’s neither here nor there. What can I do for you?”

  “I need you to set up a trust fund or some shit like that for a baby just in case something happens to me.”

  “A baby? Don’t tell me congratulations are in order for you and Kenya! When’s the due date?”

  Storm, although ashamed of his actions had to come clean with his lawyer, who on more than several occasions he’d trusted with his life and freedom. “Well, Jeff, it’s like this . . .”

  “Are you serious?” Attorney Jeffery Benson inquired having been told a heap of crazy stories throughout the duration of his long career. “Whoa twins? And you didn’t know the difference?”

  “Can you help me? Those papers would make life easier for me to make moves without second-guessing my shit.”

  After explaining the bizarre made-for-television story, Jeff promised by noon the next day Storm could stop by, sign, have notarized, and pick up all the documents he needed to ensure the child’s financial security. Handling that business was a gigantic burden off his shoulders and would hopefully be one off of London’s also. Now, he could get back to worrying about Kenya and, of course, that parasite Marco.

  Kenya

  After hours of Storm sitting and sleeping in the waiting room Kenya was escorted out by the nurse having a look of disorientation, disappointment, and regret. The fresh hairdo Charday had given her the day before was wrecked and Kenya’s eyes were red and puffy.

  “Hey, babe.” Storm stood up reaching out for her shaking hands. “Are you okay? I asked them bitches at the desk four times if I could come back there with you, but they kept saying you was taking different tests and shit.”

  “Let’s just go home,” Kenya barely whispered holding on to his arm with one hand while grasping a group of papers that included releases, prescriptions, and a few pamphlets. “I just wanna leave.”

  “Come on, babe!” Storm was persistent as they left out the sliding double doors. “I been out here all this time and you ain’t gonna tell me what’s the deal? Damn, what did the doctor say was wrong with you?”

  “I’ll tell you later. Please, just take me home!”

  “Say you promise!” Storm kissed her on the forehead using her favorite saying.

  “Yeah, baby, I promise!” Kenya rubbed her arms getting a slight chill from the evening air as he opened her car door helping her get inside.

  Driving along the interstate, Kenya closed her eyes remembering the day she met Storm at the mall and he bought her that designer suit she’d tried on. She thought back on the first time they made love and the day he asked her to marry him. “Do you love me?” Kenya turned her head to face him.

  “Yeah, I love you!”

  “Say you promise!” She gave him a faint smile.

  As they pulled in the driveway, Kenya got a glimpse of London’s and O.T.’s silhouettes through the blinds and got sick to her stomach. She made Storm swear that he wouldn’t let his brother or her sister say anything to her until she was ready to speak.

  “I just wanna go up to my bedroom and go to sleep.”

  “Don’t worry, boo-boo, I ain’t gonna let them stress you the fuck out tonight. I got you!”

  When they walked through the front door of the condo all eyes were on them. Kenya quickly became the center of attention as Storm whisked her up the stairs.

  Sitting on the edge of their bed, Storm took out his cell phone clearing a lot of unnecessary calls off his log of numbers. Momentarily gazing at the bathroom door hoping when Kenya came out she’d tell him what the doctor had told her, he waited and continued passing the time by erasing several irrelevant text messages that he’d received.

  Dressed in her robe, she finally emerged and crawled into bed. “I’m about to go to sleep. Can’t we just talk in the morning?”

  “Naw, baby girl, we can’t.” Storm had enough of Kenya beating around the bush and wanted answers.

  “Look—”

  “Naw, you need to tell a guy something!”

  “Well, it’s like this.” Kenya started her confession as the house phone rang. Leaning over, she picked it up hearing the operator on the other end with a collect call from Tangy. Immediately hanging up, she ran her fingers through her hair and tried to fess up once again but was stopped by the annoying sound of the phone.

  “Who the fuck is that?” Storm
got pissed.

  “It’s Tangy’s ass!” Kenya rolled her eyes. “I’m too tired to deal with her and all them questions about Paris.”

  “Then just tell her to stop calling!”

  Kenya accepted Tangy’s call as she pulled the blanket up over her legs. “Hello.”

  “Hey, Kenya. Why you didn’t accept the charges the first time I just called?”

  “Because I’m busy.”

  “Oh yeah, doing what, thinking about me?” Tangy tried flirting.

  “Look, Tangy, I’m not trying to be rude, but I’m busy talking to Storm right now so—”

  “So what? You don’t have time to hear some good news from somebody who’s supposed to be your homegirl?”

  “Tangy, what in the hell is wrong with you?” Kenya got loud as Storm went into the bathroom to wash his face.

  “Damn, Kenya, just tell me how my cousin is doing.”

  “Not now, Tangy, besides I haven’t been there to visit her this week.”

  “Oh, so you so stuck back up in that cheating-ass man of yours behind, you abandon your best friend just like that!” Tangy yelled frustrated she wasn’t getting the attention that she wanted.

  “Listen, you burly bitch!” Kenya gladly returned the attitude. “I don’t know who in the fuck you think you talking to, but you got me all fucked up! I ain’t one of them little weak-ass hoes you kick it with! Now if I wanna talk to my man or whosever else’s then that’s my business. I don’t owe you jack shit! You’s Paris’s cousin and nothing fucking more to me!”

  “Yo, sweetheart, you and your man ain’t about shit. Don’t think ’cause I’m locked up I ain’t heard about Royce’s boy Marco terrorizing y’all’s asses!” Tangy laughed. “The whole town know y’all weak out in them streets! I was just calling to tell ya some good shit, but you on a whole other level. And as for Paris, that’s my blood! She don’t need you!”