by Shelly Ellis
“And he’s told me a lot about you, too,” Derrick said, shaking her hand.
“Yeah,” she said, cupping Miles against her chest, “and I bet there were plenty of four-letter words involved.”
“Never, baby,” Ricky said slyly, shaking his head.
“Yeah, right.” She stood on the balls of her feet before kissing his cheek. “I’ll go feed Miles. It was nice meeting you, Derrick.”
“Nice meeting you, too,” Derrick called after her.
The two men watched as she walked out of the kitchen. Derrick gave a side glance at Ricky, studying him as he watched Simone. Ricky had a soft look about him, a glazing of the eyes that let Derrick know Ricky was still firmly in love with that woman. He was in love with her and his son.
“I don’t get it,” Derrick announced, making Ricky turn around to face him. “If you have all this now, why would you risk it by getting mixed up in some shit?”
Ricky narrowed his eyes at him. “You really think I wanna get mixed up in it? I had no choice, Dee! I got dragged into it, and I’ll see this shit through to the end,” he said ominously.
“How did it even start?”
Ricky loudly exhaled and scrubbed his hand over his face. “You want the quick and dirty or long version?”
“Whatever one you feel like telling.”
Ricky shrugged. “I’ll start with the shorter one, and go from there.”
So they both sat down and Ricky finally told him. He told him about how he’d heard Dolla Dolla confessing that he’d placed a hit out on Skylar and the other girls who he used to trick out. Dolla Dolla didn’t know that Ricky had been in touch with Simone, Skylar’s sister, the whole time. Ricky had tried to warn Simone and Skylar about what was coming, but had not reached them soon enough. Melvin, the hitman Dolla Dolla had sent, had already taken out Skylar and their mother, Nadine, and barely missed shooting Simone by the time Ricky arrived. Ricky killed Melvin and left the house with Simone, assuming that if she was the only living witness to the hit, Dolla Dolla would strive even harder to make sure the next hitman finished the job the next time around.
“And I can’t let that happen, Dee,” Ricky confessed at the end of his story. “I know if the detectives . . . the Metro cops figure out I’m out here . . . that I’m out of the city, they could send my ass back to jail. But I don’t even care. I’ve gotta protect them. Dolla’s on a rampage! He’s not gonna stop until they’re all dead.”
Derrick nodded. “I know. Simone and her family aren’t the only ones he put a hit out on. He tried to take out Jamal, too, for some damn reason.”
“Jamal? Jamal who?”
“What do you mean, Jamal who? Jamal Sinclair Lighty! The dude we grew up with. Our former homeboy turned punk-ass bitch.”
Ricky’s face went blank. He slowly shook his head. “I don’t get it. Why the hell would he wanna kill Jay?”
Derrick shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. But I know the kid who shot him. He was working for Dolla, and he said Dolla pressured him to pull the trigger.”
“Damn!” Ricky fell silent. After a few seconds, he started tapping the kitchen table, like he was tapping a piano key. “You know what? Now that I think about it, the night that I was at Dolla’s place, Mayor Johnson was there. Jay works for him, right? Dolla mentioned that Johnson wanted him to ‘take care’ of somebody who crossed him. You think it was Jay they were talking about?”
“Could be.” Derrick shrugged. “Jay knew Johnson was dirty. He told me himself. Maybe Johnson realized Jay had found out and wanted to keep him quiet. That would be a good way to do it.”
“Does Jay know all of this though? I know we’re not tight with him anymore, but it feels messed up to not tell him . . . to not warn him.”
Derrick sucked his teeth. “You can tell him. I ain’t got shit to say to that nigga.”
“Don’t be like that, Dee! You’re taking this holding-a-grudge shit way too far! He’s still—”
“Jay is fucking Lissa, Ricky! I can’t let that shit slide.”
Ricky went silent again. This time he seemed genuinely stunned. “Jay is fuckin’ Lissa?” He choked out a laugh. “You’re kiddin’, right?”
Derrick shook his head. “No, I’m not. I told you that he made that big confession to her about how he loved her and how she should dump me, back in December.”
“Yeah, but you said that Melissa said he was drunk! That he was talkin’ out of his ass!”
“Well, he wasn’t. He meant every damn word.”
“That still doesn’t mean they’re fuckin’, Dee!”
“I saw them out together a few days ago. They seemed real cozy. I confronted them about it and I couldn’t get a straight answer out of her or him on what’s going on between them.”
“You confronted them? How?”
Derrick sucked his teeth. “I beat the shit out of him.”
Ricky closed his eyes and chuckled. “Oh, damn. You ain’t right. You know Jay don’t fight like that.”
“Fuck him, man!” Derrick said with a dismissive wave, refusing to feel any more guilt for the beating he’d given Jamal. “Anyway . . . when I stopped by his hospital room after he got shot, to warn him about the very shit we’re talking about now, she was in the room with him. He damn near had his tongue down her throat, Ricky, and she wasn’t pushing him away. They’re together now. That nigga went behind my back and started fuckin’ my ex . . . the woman who I thought I was gonna marry.”
Ricky sat back in his chair, crossed his arms over his chest, and sighed. “But you didn’t want her, Dee. You have to admit that. You cheated on her. You already moved on.”
“So that gave him the right to do the dirty shit that he’s doing now?” Derrick challenged, feeling his heart rate pick up. “That gave him the right to stab me in the back like this?”
“No, it doesn’t. But—”
“But nothing, Ricky! If there was anybody he could’ve gone after, why did he have to shoot his shot with her? Why Melissa? He knows what she meant to me.”
Ricky didn’t answer him. What could he say? He believed in loyalty just as much as Derrick did. Loyalty among their crew—whether they were beefing or not—was paramount. Melissa was a woman who should’ve remained out of Jamal’s reach, just like Derrick would never think of pursuing the dozens of women Jamal and Ricky had had serious relationships with in the past. Jamal broke a code when he started dating Melissa, and for that, Derrick would never forgive him.
“And let’s keep it real. Jay’s always been a jealous motherfucka,” Derrick said. “That nigga always wanted to be us. He’s never had any swag. Now this is his chance to get what I had. He’s just doing this shit to be petty. That’s the only reason! To rub it in my face.”
Ricky shook his head again. “I don’t know, man. That doesn’t sound like Jay.”
“Maybe not to you. But it damn sure sounds like him to me. I saw it with my own eyes. Anyway . . . it is what it is,” Derrick muttered. “I still don’t have shit to say to him. If you want to hit up Jay and talk to him, be my guest. But he and I are done.”
Ricky held up his hands. “Whatever way you wanna handle it. I feel you.”
Thirty minutes later, the two men strolled back onto Mary’s front porch, watching as the sun began to set.
“Thanks again for doing this, Dee,” Ricky said.
“Hey, despite all the crazy shit you’ve made me do over the years, you know I got you.”
Ricky and Dee dapped then embraced. Ricky pulled away and slapped his shoulder.
“So this is where you’re stayin’?” Derrick asked. “I should come here if I need to find you?”
Ricky shook his head. “Nah, we’ll hole up somewhere else, but it’s not far from here. Mary is renting it to us. She said she’s willing to help us, but we just can’t stay here. This is where she works. Clients come in and out. We understand.”
“So when are you coming back to D.C.? You can’t stay here forever, man. The cops are gonna fi
gure out you’re not in town anymore.”
“I don’t know.” Ricky shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I haven’t decided yet. I’ll stay as long as I need to. Until I can figure this shit out.”
“Stay in touch though.”
Ricky nodded. “I will. You be careful headin’ back to D.C. You know how these rednecks drive out here.”
“And you just be careful period, Ricky. I mean that shit! I know you wanna protect your family, but you can’t do that if you’re dead.”
“I know,” Ricky said, nodding solemnly.
Derrick turned and walked down the stairs back to his car. He took one last glance over his shoulder at his friend. He waved goodbye, opened the car door, and climbed inside, hoping to God it wouldn’t be the last time he would ever see Ricky again.
Chapter 9
Jamal
“I put a big pot of beef chili in the fridge, baby,” Jamal’s mother called from his kitchen. “And I made you some lasagna. To bake it, all you have to do is pop it in the oven, set it on three-seventy-five, and it should be done in forty-five minutes. It should last you all week.”
“Okay, thanks, Mama,” Jamal said, pushing himself up from his sofa.
His mother looked around his apartment then glanced at his arm, which was still in a sling. “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay longer, honey? Because I can.”
He shook his head.
“But I don’t like leaving you alone up here by yourself, especially before your shoulder has healed all the way,” she said with a wince, adjusting her purse.
He shook his head. “I’ll be fine, Mama. Really.”
You’ve been here long enough, he thought with exasperation, but didn’t say it aloud.
His mother had been staying with him for the past three weeks, since he had been released from the hospital. Though she had tried to help him during his recovery, that “help” quickly became more of an annoyance.
His mother had hovered over him and babied him. She’d rearranged all his kitchen cabinets and the refrigerator, and he had to kick her out of his bedroom when he caught her trying to rearrange his underwear drawer. She’d done all his laundry and cleaned his apartment from top to bottom, which he would have appreciated if she hadn’t muttered the whole time that if he had a woman in his life, such cleaning would be taken care of by her.
He didn’t know what Donna Reed–version of a girlfriend his mother believed was out there who wanted to clean after him and cater to him, and he didn’t bother to ask.
“Am I gonna die before you get married . . . before I have any grandchildren, Jay?” his mother had lamented one night over dinner, finally fed up with him. “Tell me now if that’s the case, honey. I’d just like to prepare myself!”
“I just turned thirty-two three months ago, Mama. What’s the rush?”
“What’s the rush?” she’d cried. “Your cousin Tyrone was a father of four by the time he was twenty-three!”
“And Tyrone is up to his neck in child support payments and angry baby mamas. What’s your point?”
His mother had sucked her teeth in reply before finishing the last of her collard greens.
But even though she annoyed him, his mother’s presence offered a distraction from the anxiety that plagued him constantly now. When Jamal was alone in his apartment or when he walked to the local Starbucks to grab a cup of coffee, he would be struck by panic attacks. They would come out of nowhere, sweeping over him and dragging him under like a tsunami. He’d simply be walking along, minding his business, and his heart would start racing. He’d have shortness of breath. He’d get dizzy and have to sit down.
Jamal knew why he was having the panic attacks. Even though the cops had arrested the boy who’d shot him, he knew the men who were behind it were still walking the streets. He’d tried to tell the police as much, but they wouldn’t listen.
“So you’re saying the mayor . . . Mayor Johnson is behind your shooting?” the detective had asked during his interview the second day he was in the hospital.
Jamal had nodded. “When I told him I was quitting he threatened to have me killed. Within a week, the shooting happened. It doesn’t sound like just a coincidence to me.”
“But you said the argument between you and the mayor got heated, right? Maybe it was just an idle threat, Mr. Lighty,” the detective had said. “Maybe all of this really was just a coincidence. I mean . . . he’s the mayor! Why would he put out a hit on you and use a seventeen-year-old kid to do it? Wouldn’t he have a lot to lose? What makes you think he would take such a risk?”
Because he’s done it before, Jamal had thought, but kept the thought to himself.
He knew the mayor had been behind the reporter Phillip Seymour’s murder earlier that year. The old man had admitted as much to Jamal. But if Jamal admitted that he’d known the details behind the unsolved murder and hadn’t breathed a word to the cops, he might face some jail time himself. So he let the issue drop. He let the detective laugh off his worries. Meanwhile, he still kept a wary eye over his shoulder just in case Mayor Johnson made another attempt on his life. But that worry had morphed into paranoia. It was obviously starting to screw with his head.
Jamal now watched as his mother walked to his front door, where her rolling suitcase stood. “I still don’t feel comfortable doing this, Jay. I don’t like leaving you alone like this.”
“I’m a big boy, Mama. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. Besides, the sling will be gone in less than a week. That’s what the doc said. I’ll survive.”
But he could tell from the look in her eyes and the expression on her face that she was very worried. She looked like she was five seconds away from taking off her sweater, dropping her purse on his coffee table, dragging her suitcase back into his study, and declaring, “That’s it! I’m staying!”
“Go on,” he said, using his free hand to unlock and open the door. “The Lyft driver is waiting for you downstairs, Mama. Don’t miss your flight.”
She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek, despite whatever reservations she might have. “I’ll call you when I get back in North Carolina, Jay. You be careful now. All right?”
He nodded.
“I love you, baby,” she said, reaching for the suitcase’s handle. She dragged it behind her as she stepped into the hall.
“Love you, too,” he said.
He watched his mother until she walked down the corridor and boarded the elevator. She waved one last time before the metal doors closed on her stricken face. He then turned and closed his front door behind him.
Jamal strolled into his living room, and looked around him. He waited for the panic to set in. One minute passed, then two. After fifteen minutes, the panic still hadn’t encroached. He was relieved.
“Maybe it’s finally disappeared,” he whispered, then reached for his cell on his coffee table. He typed a text to Melissa.
Haven’t seen you in weeks. What have you been up to? Are you free today?
Within minutes, she texted him back.
Melissa: I’m at a school event but it ends at 5. Want to meet up after that?
Jamal: Sounds like a plan. Can you come here to my place?
Melissa: Maaaaaybe. You gonna feed me?
Jamal: How does lasagna, wine, and salad sound?
Melissa: That works! I’ll be there a little after 6. Gotta clean up here first.
He grinned down at the phone screen. He was finally going to see Melissa again.
That had been the other downside of having his mother staying with him for damn near a month: no sleepovers. Melissa hadn’t been to his place and he hadn’t been back to hers since the morning he’d been shot. She’d call on occasion and ask him if he needed anything, while his mother loudly shouted her hellos in the background, but Melissa had remained scarce.
Jamal now understood the old adage “absence makes the heart grow fonder,” because he missed Melissa—a lot. It wasn’t just the sex that he longed for, though h
e definitely desired a repeat of their sensual marathon. He missed her smile, her laugh, her smell, and everything else that made up Melissa Stone.
When the hour that she was supposed to arrive drew closer, Jamal placed his mom’s dish of lasagna in the oven. He already had a bottle of merlot chilling in the fridge and had started to remove the fixings for a salad when he heard a knock at his front door. He glanced at the clock on the microwave. It was only five fifteen. Had Melissa left the school event early?
He walked out of the kitchen and into his foyer. He looked through the peephole in the front door and saw a twenty-something black dude in cornrows standing on his welcome mat.
“Yeah?” Jamal called, feeling an undertow of disquiet pull at him.
“Food delivery,” the man called back.
“I didn’t order anything. You’ve got the wrong apartment!”
He watched as the guy raised a large paper bag and glanced at the receipt stapled on it. The guy shrugged. “It says this is the right address. This is where I’m supposed to deliver it.”
“Look, man,” Jamal repeated, feeling the familiar grip of anxiety wrap itself around him, “I didn’t order any food. I’ve got no reason to lie.”
“Then maybe somebody else in there ordered it,” the guy called back.
“There’s no one else here!”
“Can’t you just open up the door? If I gotta bring this back, I gotta eat the cost. Just open up! Look at the receipt and see it for yourself.”
Jamal started to wonder if this was another trap—another hit attempt by Mayor Johnson. The dude on the other side of the door wanted to hurt him, wanted to kill him. He started to slowly back away as his heart began to race.
“Hello?” the guy shouted. “Hello?” He pounded his fist against the door, making the frame rattle.
Jamal could feel a vise tightening around his lungs and his throat. He couldn’t breathe. The world around him began to swirl and he got dizzy. Jamal reached out for the wall to steady himself but he was losing his footing. He slumped to the floor as the pounding at the door continued. He felt like he was dying all over again. He felt like he needed to escape, but there was nowhere to go. He was all alone. He closed his eyes as he trembled, praying for the episode to be over.