Graveyard Love

by T. C. Littles

  “Please let me know how I can help. I’m so sorry for your loss,” Lezlee’s voice was dull and monotone. She stared at me blankly, listening to the woman thank her for being such a humble and honest assistant to her husband and then ended the call. “What have I done, Rocko? What have we done? She should be mourning her husband, but she just praised me for being so loyal. I ain’t shit.” She hung her head feeling a rush of guilt. “They’re gonna find out! I’m so scared!”

  “Hey, be cool.” I collared her up.

  “Please don’t hurt me,” she gasped, then whispered with her eyes closed tightly.

  “Ay, ma, cut it with the theatrics, yo.” I felt myself losing patience with Lezlee because weakness wasn’t something I handled very well. “How you talking about being with a nigga you can’t even trust?”

  I calmed down just enough to run game on her. After seeing her performance a few moments ago on the phone, I knew she wasn’t the type of ride-or-die chick I could even keep around.

  “I’m sorry, babe, but I was caught off guard.” She tried cleaning up her emotions while wiping the tears from her face.

  Too bad she can’t wipe away my memories. I picked up my phone to hit Spade’s cell while I allowed Lezlee to hug all over me, promising me to do better. I ran my fingers through her hair to soothe whatever feelings she needed me to nurse, but I had no intentions on playing the good guy much longer.

  “Well, I’m gonna need you to get that shit together, Lezz—we’re a team.” I continued to gas her up. The trickery flowed easily out of my mouth ’cause I knew she was easily manipulated. “You already knew there was gonna be some questions, calls, concerns, and cover-ups you were gonna have to do behind ole boy’s murder. Instead of you focusing on trying to get wifed—put all your eggs in the basket of trying to remain free.”

  “I understand, and I promise to do better next time. They won’t break me.” She rested her head on my chest.

  Damn, nigga, what’s really good? Pick up! Spade’s phone continued to ring until it went to voicemail. I didn’t know what he was off into, but I needed to holla at my manz quick, fast, and in a hurry.

  “A’ight, ma, let me sit down and roll up so I can get my mind right. This shit ain’t going right at all.”

  Jakia

  “Hey, baby, I’m home,” Spade called from downstairs.

  I didn’t bother to move or answer because I feared he might take my words and twist them the wrong way. After reading Juan’s letter until the words were etched into my brain, I promised myself to stay strong enough and survive until his release. That was the only saving grace I could truly hold on to.

  “You ain’t hear me calling you?” He burst through the bedroom door. “A nigga trying to come in here and do right, and you trying to set me off.” He dropped a gang of shopping bags onto the floor. “I got you all of this, plus a bunch of roses and shit downstairs.”

  I couldn’t even front. As much as I wanted to give him the silent treatment and stay to myself because of the abuse I’d just gone through, seeing the Gucci bags I knew were for me brought sparkles to my dim eyes.

  “Oh my God, baby, did you get the shoes?” I sprang from the bed and snatched the box from the bag. “You didddd,” I sang, and then jumped in his arms. For a second, I forgot about the gifts and fell into his neck—lost in his Gucci Guilty cologne. He smelled so good and felt even better.

  “Yeah, girl, ya manz did that. Plus, I got you the matching purse so you can stunt the next time we go out. Gon’ and give me my props.”

  “I’ll give you that, and much more.” I hugged him again this time making sure to plant kisses all over his face. “I love my presents, Spade, even though I know you think I don’t deserve them.” I didn’t want to bring up yesterday, but it just sorta slipped out.

  “Naw, we ain’t gonna ruin a good moment, Jakia. Even a knuckleheaded nigga like myself knows that.” He pulled away from me, then leaned back against the dresser.

  “I just wanted you to know—” my words were cut short.

  “Let me talk, Jakia. I got some shit I gotta say, real talk, and I don’t need you cutting me off.”

  I heard the seriousness in his voice, then instantly backed down. My only response was a nod as I took a seat on the bed while he gathered his thoughts and then continued.

  “I know you don’t think so, Kia, but a nigga got real love for you. Knowing that you’d give my pussy away like that had me spent, ya dig? I was feeling some type of way. That’s what woke me up. Had me thinking and shit.”

  Spade wasn’t as good with his words as he was with his fists, so I struggled to read through his jumble for a meaning.

  “You ain’t gotta worry about hitting the streets with me and Rocko no more. I’ma fuck around and catch a case behind trying to protect and make money behind you at the same time.”

  I couldn’t tell if he was juicing me up or not. After all the punishment I’ve taken these last few hours, this could’ve been a sick joke.

  “Please tell me you’re for real, babe.” My voice was soft, and so were my eyes. I wanted to be strong like the words in Juan’s letter told me, but Spade promising me my dream made me feel weak.

  “Naw, babe, I’m being real. It’s time to tap you out. Do it look like I’m playing?” Spade pulled a small black bag from his pocket, then looked down like he was gathering his composure. “I don’t really know how to do this shit, so, whatever—here it goes. Let’s me try to do right by you. No more hitting, sending you out on the streets, or doing you how my pops did my moms. The white dude at the store said diamonds are forever, and this ring would get you to forgive anything I did wrong.” He pulled a small red velvet box from the bag, then popped it open.

  “Spade! I’m about to pass out!” I couldn’t believe my eyes. Spencer Spade Johnson, the man whose heart was ice cold, was standing before me with a blinging-ass engagement ring.

  “So, what’s up? You with a real nigga or nah?” It didn’t matter the moment; Spade kept his attitude straight gangster.

  “Hell yeah, I’m down with you, Spade. You’ve been my whole life over this past year. With Juan gone and Phoebe cuddled up to that pipe, you’re the only family I have. You’re all I want to have.” I was being real with him. I could handle a relationship with Spade as long as it didn’t come with the pent-up aggression he liked to let rip on me.

  “Make sure of that, Jakia. I meant what I said about you and another dude. If you ever doubt me, let last night be a reminder.”

  Spade put the ring on my finger, and I damn near melted. Maybe my prayers were being worked out. I held my hand up and admired how it glistened and symbolized him and me starting over to a new life. The longer I stared at the ring, the more I started to believe he was going to be a changed man. The bitter thoughts of yesterday became less clear as his promise to wife me up had me on cloud nine.

  I put all of my reservations and our bad history to the side because I truly loved my man. I couldn’t see myself giving up now—not when he was ready to do right by me and us. “You don’t have to worry, Spade. I ain’t never been cut out for helping you and Rocko do setups. I’ve always wanted to play house full time.”

  “Well, this ain’t no play-play shit. I took you out of the streets, but that only means you have more time to cater to ya man. So nothing around here better be unkempt, and that coochie better stay just right. Matter of fact, get on over here and give me a taste of that. Let me get you barefoot and pregnant right quick.”

  I obliged and gave my man all that he wanted. Why wouldn’t I? I was getting ready to be Mrs. Jakia Johnson. I couldn’t wait to write to my brother about this.

  9

  Rocko

  My cousin was out here MIA, blowing in the wind. I’d hit his cell up like a basic bitch from a one-night stand, but he wasn’t answering. I ain’t know what was up with him, but I knew things this way were heating up. The house catty-corner from me was ready to be hit off.

  “Rocko! Rocko! Where are you?�
� I heard Lezlee screaming through my squat house.

  Man, this chick ain’t got no type of trait as a rider. She’ll blow a nigga’s whole steelo one hundred. I jumped up and flew into the house, making sure to bolt the locks immediately that I’d installed. “Hey, bury that damn voice. What up?” The more I dealt with Lezlee, the more I understood how Spade stayed snapping.

  “The shit has hit the fan. I know you said you got this—but, um, Mrs. Taylor sending pictures to my phone of ole girl y’all used to seduce him. Plus two dudes with fitted caps—one looking a lot like you.”

  “What in the fuck? Give me that damn phone,” I shouted, ready to bust a fuse. I twisted it out of her hand to read the messages for myself.

  Mrs. Taylor: My husband’s corpse is being checked for bodily fluids. I am on the next flight out and would like to meet up with you as soon as I arrive.

  Mrs. Taylor: Please call me ASAP.

  Mrs. Taylor: The Detroit Police Department has just released the attached photo. Do you know this woman?

  The photograph was a woman in a black catsuit, large Chanel shades, and a long, blond, curly weave. To an unknowing eye on the street, this could’ve been a picture of any Detroit girl working the casinos. But I knew better and knew Lezlee was right . . . Shit was about to hit the fan.

  This chick was without a doubt—Jakia. After forwarding the picture to my burnout, I sent it to Spade behind my last 911 message. If this didn’t make him call back, I didn’t know what would

  Ring! Ring!

  Lezlee’s phone received another text message.

  Mrs. Taylor: Was my husband involved with her or these men?

  Even I lost a little bit of my composure as I stared at a picture of Spade and me coming out of ole boy’s room with Jakia leading the way. Damn, it’s about to get hella real. This dude better hit me back so we can do some serious damage control. I forwarded the picture to myself, then him as before, then headed toward my makeshift bedroom.

  “Here you go.” I tossed the phone onto the air mattress.

  “Is this you and your boy?” She scrolled through her phone seeing the lady’s last message.

  “Don’t ask me no dumb questions. Just hurry up and reply that you don’t know the girl, and do they have a better picture of the men.”

  Ring! Ring!

  “She’s calling. Should I answer? What? What? This chick is relentless.” Lezlee went into another panic mode.

  Instead of telling her how to follow, I wanted to see how she would lead.

  “I’m not about to answer or text her back.” She sent the call to voicemail. “I’m about to take my money and dip. I’m not going back to Chicago, and I fa’damn sure ain’t staying here.” She made a move for her purse.

  “You ain’t doing nothing that I don’t tell ya ass to do. Sit down and get comfortable until I figure this thing out.”

  “Naw, I’m straight. You can keep that phone and them blunts. I’m bouncing.”

  Whap!

  “Sit your ass down. Please don’t make me put my hands on you again tonight,” I growled. I was pissed off to the highest level. This chick was taking me all out of character. I couldn’t think straight with her yapping like a Chihuahua.

  “Ain’t nothing about ta pop off until I holla at my manz about all of this. So, like I told you earlier, fall back.”

  Spade

  My pants were at my ankles as I shot nuts into Jakia like an Uzi. She was creaming, screaming, and throwing every bit of love she had for me back onto my dick. I didn’t know how Rocko and I were gonna game niggas in the streets with li’l momma off our team, but somehow, someway, we’d make moves and make thangs pop. The way I was making moves on her right now, without a doubt she was gonna have a belly full of my seed.

  Ring! Ring!

  “Whoever that trick is, tell her your fiancée is about that life.” Jakia looked back at me while grinning. “Our last names are about to be the same. You’re all mine now.”

  “Gon’ and turn that ass around and be about taking this meat.” I smacked her on the behind until I juiced her all the way up. I could feel my dick going limp inside of her as my phone rang off the hook.

  I assumed it was Tiff trying to meet up for our sex session, so I kept ignoring each call and text alert. For once, I had to devote 100 percent of my time to Jakia, my soon-to-be wife.

  Mrs. Taylor

  “She isn’t answering the phone or replying to any of my text messages. I’m more than certain that Jezebel had something to do with his death,” I shouted as I sipped on a chilled glass of white wine.

  Over the phone, I could play my game well. But the truth was that I didn’t give two shits about Robert being dead. His cheating behind had never been faithful. I’d just never had the guts to do anything about it.

  I knew he stuck his penis into every woman walking in every city he did business in, but I was a well-kept wife with no worries. I let the money soothe my emotional pain—up until a month ago when my routine HIV test results rolled in. There are some things money couldn’t fix.

  “Well, ma’am, we’re on the case, and a photograph has been sent out of the parties we believe are responsible for your husband’s death. If his assistant was part of the ring, we will find out,” he promised.

  The officers continued to run down all of the information about where Robert’s body would be sent, but the only information I needed to obtain was a death certificate.

  Once the world knew Robert Taylor was deceased—I could collect the insurance money, wipe his name from our loaded accounts, and live swell for the rest of the days God allowed me to have on this earth.

  As far as I was concerned—that’s what he deserved for cheating. But this was my consequence for allowing it so long.

  “Thank you for working so diligently on this case, Officer. I do understand Detroit is overwhelmed with gruesome cases almost hourly.”

  “Yes, indeed, Mrs. Taylor,” he laughed lightly. “But no amount of crime could keep me from working around the clock on this one. Please call me once your flight arrives, and have a safe one.”

  “Thanks again, and I will.” The call ended, and my celebration had just begun. I downed the glass of wine and stared at the woman in the photo one more time. “You’re the real bitch in all of this. Cheers to you,” I sang out, then danced throughout my loft packing.

  I should’ve despised my husband’s alleged killer, but I secretly praised her. I wished I could be her. If we ever crossed paths, I’d give her way more than the measly stash she got from setting him up. I’m sure she’ll need a little comforting once her immune system starts shutting down.

  Jakia

  I was done taking Spade’s dick and his nut. I walked with wobbly legs into the bathroom for a quick ho bath while Spade lay back on the bed tending to his phone. I still couldn’t believe a karat-size rock was on my wedding finger, and I also couldn’t believe Spade was trying to knock me up. With him turning over a new leaf, I didn’t want to dwell on the past, but there was one lingering thought I couldn’t block out no matter how hard I stared at my glistening ice.

  Spade’s come wasn’t the only sperm swimming around in my insides. So was Robert’s. Even though I wanted to nurse my soon-to-be husband’s child, I couldn’t take the chance of it being the dead man’s baby. I had to get to the drugstore for the Plan-B pills. Some prevention needed to be done—and fast.

  Spade wasn’t in the bedroom, so I went downstairs to find him. A large smile spread across my face seeing my living room covered in rainbow roses. I rubbed my belly wishing the future he was suddenly trying to build didn’t have to be tainted, but I knew there was no other choice.

  Besides, with Phoebe being the only example I had, I wasn’t sure I could amount to much in the mother department. I kept calling out to my new fiancé but wasn’t getting an answer.

  His car was still in the driveway, so he hadn’t disappeared. Part of me wanted him to be dipped off with his ex-chick Tiff so I would have a sneak moment
to hit up the local pharmacy. Getting rid of this problem before it became a bigger problem was a must.

  “Jakia! I’m in the basement. Bring ya ass and hurry up,” Spade yelled up to me.

  I flew down into the basement without hesitation. The base and urgency in his voice could be heard even a flight away. “What’s wrong? What’s going on?”

  Spade was stuffing wads of cash into a suitcase, along with clothes and shoes.

  “Pack your bags. We’re going on a trip for a few weeks until shit dies down in the D. I know you thought that was some random chick or Tiff blowing me up, but that was Rocko. They’ve got pictures of all three us.” He showed me the screen on his phone.

  I felt my lungs collapse and my heart stop as I stared at pictures of me leaning over Robert in the casino’s eatery area. I saw straight through the disguise I’d thought was so foolproof, and I feared others would too. All it would take was for my picture to get plastered all over the television. I’m sure someone from my old hood would flip and reveal my identity if the reward were high enough, especially ole cracked-out Phoebe. I began shaking uncontrollably. The whole situation reminded me of the ordeal with Juan, and how helpless I was when his fate was sealed. I didn’t want to go to jail, no matter how much I suffered with Spade.

  “What’s going to happen, Spade? Is this enough for us to get caught? Can they trace me with this? Will they be able to put his murder on me? I’m scared, Spade! I knew this lick was too dangerous for us.” I was panicking and breaking down.

  Spade’s expression was cold and menacing. “So, what you saying? It’s my fault the shit got hot?”

  “No no no.” I started fidgeting with my shirt. “I just don’t want to go to jail, Spade.” I was now crying.

  “Then I suggest you get yo’ weak and worried ass up out of here and pack yo’ shit,” he snapped and slid his phone into his pocket. “You already know I’m not taking no charges.”