Sweeter Than Honey

by Mary B. Morrison

  Answering his cell phone, he sat on the edge of the sofa guzzling alcohol like it was tea, then said, “Don’t you have a hookup or somebody who can take her off my hands?”

  You scandalous dog. No, you’re not trying to ditch my sister in her house!

  As I reached for the doorknob, a chilling gust of wind froze my hand. This time I did a three hundred-and-sixty-degree turn, gnawing the side of my palm.

  Placing the empty liquor bottle on the coffee table, he closed the front door. My heart thumped against my breast as I cautiously reached for the knob, expecting another strange sensation. Easing into the living room, I crawled to the window and peeped at the silver emblem on the hood of a black car.

  The muscular guy stood in front of the car looking to his left, then his right. Scanning the parking lot, he quickly glanced up at the window. Holding my breath, I kept the curtain still, praying he didn’t see me. He frowned. I froze.

  “God help me,” I prayed.

  He proceeded to unlock his trunk. The rear tire and side panel partially obscured my view. Why did visitors’ parking have to be on the back side? How was anyone going to help me if they couldn’t see me? Closing the trunk, he bent over, hoisted up, then dragged what resembled an unfolded garment bag toward the stairway.

  Hurrying back into the bedroom, I closed the door. I pressed my ear against the white-painted wood, hearing what I assumed was him opening the front door again. Listening intently, I heard the squeak followed by a click, which reassured me the back door had closed and he was not on the outside.

  I motioned to lock the bedroom door. Massaging the handle, I felt my heart thumping against my breast. Oh no! There was no lock or latch. Not knowing what to do, I hid in the worst possible but only available place, praying he wouldn’t come into Sunny’s room. When I heard the bedroom doorknob jiggle, my heart thumped and I silenced my cell phone. There was no inconspicuous place inside the closet where I could hide, so I quietly unscrewed the unlit bulb and pressed my body into the V of the corner, layering Sunny’s long black mink over my head and bundling her comforter around my legs and feet, which reminded me I’d forgotten to put on my shoes.

  Pressing my hands together, I prayed silently, “No weapon formed against me shall prosper. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.” I was terrified, so I kept repeating the words hoping God heard me.

  “Damn!” he yelled, opening the door.

  The slush, slush, slush sounds got louder and closer each time I heard him move.

  “Please, God, don’t let him come in the closet.”

  “Sunny’s got a nice layout here. Too bad for her. With a house so neat, why was her bed unmade?” he said, opening the closet door and tossing something inside. A piece of heavy metal landed on my pinky toe. As he mumbled, “After this strip search, I’m done with Valentino. I wonder if he knows Sunny has a twin. Maybe he should hire her. Then no one would know Sunny is—” I wanted to scream but something caressed my foot and sealed my lips together.

  Sunny was what? Finish the sentence.

  The hairs on the mink tickled my nostril. No. Not now. Please don’t let me…I held my breath as his cell phone rang. Before he’d stepped out of the closet his deep voice answered, “Hey, baby. No, I’m not out fucking around. Don’t try to turn this on me. Look, I’m on my way home. Where are you?”

  His voice faded as I heard the back door close.

  Was my sister dating a married man? Maybe he was the reason she’d sent me her bank statement?

  Waiting seemingly forever, I finally eased my way in front of a wardrobe, grasping the dangling sales tags attached to over half the clothes. Screwing in the lightbulb, I slipped, landing on top of the bag. “Ouch!” Furiously kicking, I hurt my sore toe, yelling louder, “Ouch!” Crawling around the bag this time to the bedroom window, I watched the same guy get into the Jag. Smashing his face against the windshield, he stared in my direction.

  When he drove away, I retreated from the window, set my phone on the bed, and went back into the closet. With no lights, I couldn’t see much so I flipped the switch, wishing I hadn’t. The thickness of the material bubbled into a lump underneath that indicated garments were not in that bag. I pinched the long silver piece of metal and slightly unzipped the bag. I had to see what was inside.

  Stooping closer, I tugged about an inch, then cried, “Oh my God!” as ammonia burned my nostrils, making me back away.

  I stood staring at the bag before leaving the closet. “Okay, Summer, breathe in. Breathe out.” Trying to stay calm and optimistic, I laced up my shoes, then grabbed my cell phone, Sunny’s Bible, my car keys, Sunny’s house key, and ran through the living room, bypassing the empty bottle. Stopping at the threshold, I retreated to the kitchen, yanked a Ziplock bag out of the drawer, sealed the liquor bottle, then hid the fingerprinted evidence in the freezer.

  I snatched open the back door and, “Ahhh!” there he was.

  Slamming and locking the door, I sprinted into Sunny’s bedroom closet, stuffing her Bible inside my shirt.

  When I heard the front door open, he yelled out, “You can run but you can’t hide.”

  I’d seen too many movies where the assailant overpowered the hopeless victim, and I started crying until something lifted me from the corner and whispered, “Go to the window.” Faster than I imagined I could move, I opened that window, threw my purse downstairs, crawled onto the small balcony, clamped my fingers around the rail, and hung with my feet dangling in midair.

  His face appeared larger than the moon only this time without a helmet. He was the quarterback my father used to watch on television all the time. My dad had an autographed jersey and photo of this man framed in our computer room.

  “You’re not getting away,” he said, reaching for my wrist.

  “God, help me!” I screamed, letting go. The spongy thickness of my soles cushioned my landing. Watching him disappear into the bedroom, I scrambled, snatching my handbag from the sidewalk. My hands trembled so badly I dropped my keys onto my car mat. Swiftly retrieving them, I started my engine.

  Bam! His fist pounded on my hood.

  Backing out, I didn’t know how my car spun around in one swoop, but I sped out of Sunny’s parking lot, onto the street, and couldn’t remember anything else except crying the entire time all the way home.

  I was fairly certain my sister’s body was in that bag, so there was no way I was going to go back to Sunny’s condo alone. I needed to get the police and my parents involved. What if my mom couldn’t handle what I’d say and suffered a heart attack and died?

  God, why me?

  Somebody else had to help me solve this mystery without me upsetting Mom and Dad. Parked in my parents’ driveway, I checked my cell. I’d missed ten calls. Probably half were from Mom and the other half from Dad. I scrolled to Anthony James’s name, wondering if his number was the same. Anthony was the type of man who’d do anything for me. At least that was what he’d said when we parted over five years ago.

  What would I say to him after all these years? “Hi, Anthony. This is Summer, remember me?” What if he was married and his wife answered? Or I could say, “Anthony, this is Summer. I need you.” That I need you line always worked on my dad when my mother used it.

  A set of high beams flashed twice directly at my car, then vanished.

  “Oh my God. What was I thinking? Did he follow me home all the way to Henderson?”

  CHAPTER 18

  Benito

  Now that I knew where Sunny’s twin lived, I’d deal with her later, but right now I had to get to Valentino’s spot before he called me again. Cruising along Interstate 15 North, I clung to the steering wheel with aching hands. With the exception of Sunny’s sister’s home located in Henderson, Valentino’s house, IP, Sunny’s condo, Lace’s and my place were all in North Las Vegas, each within a three-mile radius and in the same police jurisdiction.

  Things were starting to make sense. No matter what went dow
n, Valentino was protected, but my black ass was not. I was heated that a black man was either a test case, had to take a test, get tested, or be tested every second of his life.

  In the Tuskegee Syphilis Study: six hundred dignified African-American men became human guinea pigs to the white scientists who played God, killing highly intelligent black military airmen who’d traveled from every region of the country—New York City, Los Angeles, Chicago, Philadelphia, Detroit—eager to serve their country.

  White men didn’t want to admit they were jealous of the fact, as I’d seen confirmed on Oprah, that black men had bigger dicks. So the white man went from cutting off the black man’s dick to creating a sexually transmitted disease so that every time a black man fucked basically his time was up. From syphilis to the more life-threatening HIV/AIDS, by any means necessary the white man was willing to sacrifice a few of his own in hopes that black men from Africa to America would one day become exactly like dinosaurs: extinct.

  Observing the speed limit, with multiple thoughts swarming in my mind, I was just trying to make my way across town without being stopped by the police.

  The U.S. government not only denied 103 black Tuskegee officers entitled access to the Freeman Field Officers’ Club, but also arrested the black officers, charged them with insubordination, and ordered each one to face court-martial. Oh, say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave, for the land of the free, which didn’t include me, and the home of the, for whites, brave, for blacks, slaves?

  Each day I was more convinced I shouldn’t have any more children because the white man’s development and implementation of the statewide high school exit examinations that more teachers than students failed were designed to deny the black man higher education while paying incompetent white men a salary to oversee the process.

  An innocent black man who’d dropped out of high school could be convicted and sentenced to prison for decades simply because the white man knew the black man was worth more to him behind bars. A pardon and an apology were all the white man would offer in exchange for making $1.5 million off a black man incarcerated for forty years.

  “Let’s see. Hell, I’d be damn near seventy-five if I had to do that kind of time.”

  By design, the black man was robbed of forty years of freedom, forty years of voting, and forty acres while being the white man’s mule. Forty years of free labor and the black man was supposed to be happy whenever the white man grinned and said, “Sorry, the jury mistakenly found you guilty. You’re free to go, boy.” Go where? To hell? Homeless on the streets? Or back to his mama’s or some other black woman’s house to eat and sleep until they stripped the shirt off his back or kicked his ass out.

  No-fuckin’-body should question why a black man living in America was angry. The reason I could throw a football a hundred yards and hit a moving target wasn’t that I was strong; I was pissed my ancestors weren’t allowed to play professional sports and that schools like the University of San Francisco no longer had a football team because years ago white men refused to let a white coach with black standout players compete for the championship so the white coach did exactly what the white men wanted him to do. He gave up fighting for the black athletes’ rights. To this day, USF still does not have a football team.

  Maybe I was foolish for wanting justice in an unjust society when all I knew how to do was complain mainly to myself. One day I’d get mine and get the hell up out of America, but the only way for me to do so was to stop acting black and start thinking white. Irrespective of socioeconomic or political status, every white man felt superior to the black man. But the white man’s offspring bought more hip-hop and learned how to bebop better than blacks.

  Upon my arrival at IP, I parked in the first space closest to the entrance as Valentino had informed me that was Lace’s spot. I entered as instructed and went directly to the second floor. Eleven girls were lined up naked, with their hands cuffed behind their backs, blindfolded, waiting for me. This was my first opportunity to prove my new manhood.

  Thrusting my chest forward, I demanded, “Security, step outside until I’m done with these bitches,” just the way Valentino had ordered me to.

  Adrenaline rushed through my veins. Hearing myself say the word bitch made me feel empowered. Indirectly I had one murder that Valentino would attach to me and one premeditated murder brewing in my mind about Sunny’s twin. That’s how white men killed their victims, with forethought, planning, an alibi, and a witness who’d testify based on the time and place of the murder they couldn’t have been at the scene of the crime. Figuring out how to make Lace my witness would be harder than killing anybody.

  Fuck, what was wrong with me? Was this bullshit really happening? I must’ve been dreaming. Had I just dumped a dead body and followed a complete stranger home?

  Focusing on the grand prize, I imagined what a black man with a soon-to-be warrant could do with two hundred and fifty g’s before going to jail. It had been a while since I had that kind of cash. Maybe secretly Valentino was prepping me to be his right-hand man and handling these women was part two of my test before he’d hire me. Hopefully there wasn’t a part three, but I’d bet giving me a quarter of a mil was Valentino’s way of gauging my loyalty.

  “Stand up straight. Now I want you tricks to tell me, who spoke with Sunny last tonight?” When I asked the question my stomach knotted up like a boxer hitting me below the belt.

  Swallowing hard, grinding my back teeth, I was sure my guilty conscience had made me sick when Mama James’s voice echoed in my ear, “Benito, baby, what are you doing?”

  Ignoring the excruciating pain in my stomach and the pulsations in my head, I continued my assignment, glad the worst part was over. Sunny’s body was where it was going to stay. Once I got paid, I was permanently moving to Rio de Janeiro, where the women treated black men like royalty and for two hundred dollars, I’d heard, I could have six of the most beautiful Brazilian women take turns sucking my dick.

  Deepening my voice, I roughly demanded, “Okay, since nobody’s talking, open your mouths wide.”

  I was sure they sensed I wasn’t a true pimp and I was positive Mama James was turning in her grave watching me jab my finger down each of the girls’ throats until they threw up. When I got to girl number six she said, “Onyx and Starlet are Sunny’s friends. I’m sure one of them knows the real reason Sunny didn’t make it in the limo.”

  “Who’s Onyx and Starlet?”

  Again no one spoke a word until girl six broke the silence answering, “Girl eleven is Starlet, and Onyx, the beautiful black bitch, is the perfect little ten.”

  The dark-complexioned one was incredibly gorgeous with flawless skin, perfect breasts, chocolate nipples, and a hairless pussy that I craved to stick my tongue in. She looked so damn good my dick got hard instantly as I imagined pouring thick warm chocolate all over her protruding pussy. As soon as my finger entered her mouth, she bit the hell out of me, splitting my nail across the flesh.

  “Owwwwwww! Stupid bitch!”

  Girl six snickered. “Beat her.”

  Without thinking I backhand slapped number ten so hard her head jerked. I’d never hit a woman before, but honestly it felt good. Moments later I felt bad and pissed off at the same time. Why did she make me do that to her?

  Since none of the other girls could see me, I unzipped my pants, rubbed my stiff dick between Onyx’s butt cheeks, then did what Lace wouldn’t allow me to do in our bedroom. I finger-fucked Onyx until her pussy was nice and juicy, and then I slowly penetrated her wet pussy. My eyes scrolled to the back of my head. Passionately choking Onyx, I swear red velvet melt-in-your-mouth cake felt like sandpaper in comparison to this girl’s incredible pussy. “Fuck!” Halfway in, her muscles clamped my dick so tight I froze. Loosening my fingers from around Onyx’s throat, I came instantly.

  Onyx whispered, “Satisfied, Benito Bannister?”

  I yanked my sweats over my ass so fast, my now-jagged nail scraped my dick. “Ouch! See what the fuck you made
me do!” I slapped Onyx hard across her opposite cheek.

  The girl didn’t flinch. Was she human or robot? She stood there as though she was accustomed to having her ass beaten.

  Calmly she continued. “Right now you’re probably wondering how I know you since I can’t see you. I never forget a voice. The championship game afterparty. Your house. Hot tub. Remember now?”

  Aw, shit! Actually I could recall the night but not her face.

  “You were probably too wasted to remember me, but I’m sure you couldn’t forget that awesome underwater blow job I gave you. You know, the one where you passed out afterward from drinking too much cognac—is it that I smell?”

  Okay, now I can’t kill all these bitches, I thought, pacing while staring at Onyx. Continuing my search so I could get the hell out of there, I bent the girls over one by one and stuck my finger up their pussies, then one by one up their assholes. All except girl number ten. When I got to the black beauty who had the memory of an elephant, I finger-fucked her real hard, kissed her pussy, then said, “Tomorrow Valentino has something special for you all. Six o’clock, don’t be late.”

  I turned to walk away and heard Onyx ask, “Where’s Sunny’s body?”

  Flashing back to when Valentino had that gun upside my head, I walked out wondering what the hell I’d gotten myself into. Now I understood how Valentino pulled that trigger on Sunny. That bitch Onyx was too fucking clever and as much as I’d hate to admit it, I was scared as hell.

  Exiting the room, I looked at security and said, “Beat the hell out of girl six.”

  All my life my brother snitched on me. While I appreciated the information from girl six, I would’ve been better off not screwing Onyx and then getting fucked. I cupped my dick, and the stinging sensation made me wanna cry. I hadn’t injured my dick since getting it stuck in my zipper in high school.