“It’s hard. Rico monitors all my money. He spends every dime I get! I can’t save anything. You don’t understand.”
“Come on. Please don’t tell me that, Keisha! It’s always a way to leave if you really want to. I’ll help you.”
“Sandy, you know I love you, and I’d never disrespect you in no type of way, but aren’t you being a little hypocritical, telling me that?”
“Huh?” Sandy questioned, assumingly in the dark.
“You know what I mean, Sandy. The entire household does.”
“No, Keisha, I don’t. What do you mean?”
“Well, the way my father speaks to you, you should’ve been left, and you stay. I know it can’t be the money.”
Momentary silence was on both sides of the line before Sandy responded. “Keisha, my situation is much different than yours. You have options I could never dream about. Besides, I have to stay—I just have to. You don’t understand.”
“I know my mother relies on you, but—”
Sandy quickly changed the subject, not wanting to talk about her own painful life, but to try to help Keisha with hers. “Listen, I have some money I’ve been saving up. You know you’re more than welcome to it.” Nervously, she covered her cell, hoping not to be overheard by one of the other part-time staff that was incredibly loyal to Commissioner Jackson in hopes of getting full-time employment.
With no more tears left to shed, Keisha stood to her feet. Pacing the floor while also whispering, she soon found out her mother hadn’t even attended the concert the evening prior with her dad or ignored her calls. Instead, she had taken more than her regular amount of sleeping pills and drank two strong double shots of liquor, trying to block out the bone-chilling memory of what she’d seen her daughter doing with “that awful four-legged creature,” as she kept screaming repeatedly. Mrs. Jackson was knocked out and was dead to the world, which at this point was better to Keisha than having to face the backlash that was destined to come.
“Listen, Sandy, I’m glad we talked.” Keisha felt hopelessness invade her soul, focusing on the closed bedroom door. “But I have to take care of something. When my mother wakes up, tell her I love her and I’m sorry I am such an embarrassment to her and my family.”
“Wait, Keisha, don’t hang up.”
“I’ve gotta go.” Keisha abruptly ended their conversation and headed toward the back for a showdown with Rico.
* * *
Commissioner Jackson rode down in the elevator in complete silence with a white business-size envelope in his hands. As the steel doors slid open, he tucked the envelope in his suit jacket’s inner pocket.
It’s more than one way to skin a cat, he schemed, walking to his city-issued vehicle. No sooner had his driver and bodyguard, Calvin, shut the door of the burgundy sedan than the embarrassed and still very much humiliated father took the documents out. Scanning them over, he handed his trusted driver a small piece of paper with an address scribbled on it.
“Remember it, then tear it up and toss it out onto the freeway,” he ordered before placing a call to another close frat brother.
Doing as he was told, Calvin took a shortcut to the small bungalow home located on Detroit’s far Westside.
“That’s the house over there.” He nodded. “The blue and beige house two doors down from the vacant lot.”
“Very good.” Commissioner Jackson frowned, causing several worry lines to appear in his brow. “Okay, Calvin. You can take me to the house first and then to the club. I have a very important meeting down there.”
“Yes, sir.”
Enduring the twenty-minute ride accompanied by bumpy, unmaintained city roads, Commissioner Jackson instructed Calvin to keep the car running as he entered his home and quickly returned.
“Okay, let’s go. I have to get to the club.”
Knowing from past experiences to do as he was told and not ask unnecessary questions, Calvin completely ignored the fact that Sandy, his boss’s chef, was waving them down as if she wanted something urgent. When the man that signed his paychecks said, “keep driving,” that’s what he did, point blank period. If he said “kick a nigga’s ass,” then so be it. Being Commissioner Jackson’s driver as well as bodyguard, his employer’s wife and daughter both had his number on speed dial. So it went without saying he’d received the damn no-the-fuck-she-didn’t video this morning when he woke up, along with everyone else in Keisha’s contact list. However, he wasn’t fool enough to mention it.
Chapter Ten
Keisha knew the lavish, carefree lifestyle she’d always been accustomed to up until meeting Rico was now lost forever. Her mother was disappointed, her father was devastated, and Sandy, who always had her back, seemed to have turned on her as well. And all of this was due to Rico and that video. Knowing she had nothing else to lose, she reached down on the side of the entertainment center. With deliberate, steady hands, her fingers wrapped around the steel baseball bat they always kept there. Rico would use it to callously hit Kilo across his backside if he got out of hand while he was walking him. But now, it would be Rico’s turn to see how it felt.
One step, two steps—five steps to the closed bedroom door. Raising her foot, Keisha, blinded by rage and ready to battle, applied the most force she could muster. With a crashing sound of thunder, the flimsy door flew open. Stepping over the cracked pieces of drywall that littered the floor from the impact, Keisha called out to Rico.
“All right, all right, boy. We ain’t done. You think that shit was a joke? You think I’m a joke?” Without a hint of fear in her body or voice, she quickly realized her soon-to-be intended victim was not in the bed, sitting on the chair, or even hiding behind the door prepared to maybe sneak her. Still gripping up on the bat’s gray duct-taped handle, she checked the back door, which still had the chain on it. Drowning out the noise of Kilo’s worrisome barks, Keisha headed to the only other place Rico could be—the bathroom. Glancing down, she saw the light shining from under the closed door.
This fool got me fucked up! She raised her foot once more.
“Naw, Rico, it ain’t over! We ain’t done yet!” Seconds after she caused the door to slam open, she was stopped dead in her tracks. “What in the entire fuck?”
Rico, lying defensively curled around the toilet, threw her mindset completely off. Expecting him to be waving a razor or maybe even a broken piece of metal towel rack to protect himself, she was stunned stupid. The sounds of him violently coughing up blood echoed throughout the cheap tiled walls. Not believing her eyes, mixed with the dark blood-filled mucus on the small but once-fluffy light green bath mat laid almost all Rico’s long dreads. The long perfectly twisted locs he’d been growing since he was sixteen were now just some discarded hair ready for the trash. Now, being able to get a clear view of the still-very-much-leaking open gash on the rear of his head, Keisha started to feel a tiny bit of sympathy. After all, he did claim he’d gotten his ass stomped in fighting Swazy and his cousin A.J. for her so-called honor, as if she really had any left.
Confused, not knowing what to expect next, Rico struggled to turn over. Now facing her, Keisha saw a pair of shiny scissors grasped in his left hand—what he’d used to cut his hair. Looking past his bruises, staring in his eyes, she was at a total loss for words. For the first time since she’d met him, he had tears seeming to form.
“Rico?” She tilted her head to the side in total disbelief. “What’s going on?”
“Huh,” he replied, barely parting his dry lips.
Lowering the bat, Keisha stepped cautiously toward him. “Why you all down on the floor like that? I know you don’t want me to feel sorry for you after what you did. My entire family and friends saw that bullshit.” She nudged his leg with her foot. “Don’t try to lay there and act like you the person hurt in all of this.”
“Keisha, please! My head—please!”
“Your head? Rico, what in the hell is wrong with you? Did you just hear what I said? My life is ruined. Over. Done!” She ignored him
reaching up for her as she stood on top of his once beautiful locs.
“Anyway, why you cut these motherfuckers?” She kicked them to the other side of the bathroom. “What, you trying to hide your identity or some stupid shit like that? Because if that’s the case—sorry, brainchild. The police already know it was your dumb ass driving my truck, or should I say my father’s truck? Some people around the corner already identified your always drunk ass.”
Rico tried to sit up but collapsed back to the cold floor. “It wasn’t like that.” He exhaled, rubbing the rear of his head. “I’m just tired of being who I am. I know that was some bullshit what I did. I know. But I was so heated that you was in here freaking with that fool behind my back. I love your punk ass, and that’s how you did me?”
Keisha was completely caught off guard by what Rico had just proclaimed. “You say what? I’m confused.”
Seeing he was calming her down, Rico went on. “Yeah, girl, I love you. Just because you and me get off into that other shit don’t mean I don’t love you. How we supposed to get married one day and have kids if you gonna just go behind my back and just do whatever with whoever?”
“Married? Kids?” Keisha was dumbfounded at what she was hearing, but wide open. “Us? Me? You?”
“Why not? Because I’m not smart enough, or is it because I ain’t got that major popping-off bread like your people?” Open head wound or not, scalp lumped up from A.J. manhandling and swinging him by his locs the night before, Rico was still good at running pimp game. He stayed winning. “Cutting my dreads is the first step in trying to change and flip the script onto some new shit and a new way of operating.”
“Stop it!”
“Baby, I’m serious.”
“Bullshit, nigga!”
“Keisha, you gotta believe me!”
“Why should I?”
“Because.”
“Because what? All you do is lie and fuck over me.”
“I know I’ve been bugging, but shit is gonna be different. No more threesomes, me making you do shit you ain’t really into. No more. A nigga done. I swear I’m done.”
“You must think I’m stupid. Just because I wasn’t raised in the hood don’t make me blind to the game. Besides, if I didn’t recognize game when I first met you, I sure in the hell do now.”
“Look, girl, it ain’t no game. I love you. Flat out, I’m trying to just be with you and start a family and shit. Trust me, after last night, I know I ain’t got nobody in my corner but you.”
“Rico, stop saying that. Besides, your ass already got a family—your son and baby mama I take care of with my damn money. Or did you forget about them that quick?”
“Fuck both of them. I’m talking about us.”
“Just like that, huh?”
“Yeah, Keisha, just fucking like that. I said I love you. Now, do you love me or what?” Rico reached up for the sink.
As his hand trembled, Keisha watched him like a hawk, not knowing what he was going to do when and if he stood to his feet.
“I ain’t gonna keep begging you to stay with me. I love you girl. I want you to be my new baby moms. Now, you with me or not?”
Completely thrown off as well as feeling cut off from her own family, Keisha naïvely started to fall for the slick-mouthed bullshit Rico was selling as he slid back onto the floor. Always wanting nothing more than a man and a family of her own that would love and accept her unconditionally, she dropped the bat to the floor. No longer feeling threatened, she leaned toward the wall, praying what Rico was saying was the truth and not just the results of the head trauma he’d obviously suffered at the hands of Swazy and A.J. or the truck crash.
Whatever the case was, Keisha had nothing else or no one else to turn to except the original source of her pain. Having tried repeatedly to contact her parents, with no such luck, Rico’s attempts to persuade her already brainwashed and mentally beat-down demeanor was like taking candy from a baby. Convincing Keisha he’d taken that outrageous, repulsive video of her and Kilo and sent it to everyone because he was extremely jealous and hurt became easier the more she thought about the way her father had treated her. She wanted acceptance, and Rico was now saying all the things she wanted and needed to hear.
Over the years, she’d had small glimpses of people, places, and events that never seemed to make any real sense. Within the past few months, more and more those glimpses had turned into dreams that soon turned into nightmares and many sleepless, confused nights. Instead of trying to figure them out, Rico demanded she just forgot about those “fucked-up, back-in-the-day mystery puzzle pieces” that were occasionally tormenting her and concentrate on making them more money.
Trying to process what Rico was saying coupled with a now splitting headache, Keisha started to have an anxiety attack. She didn’t know what to do or what to think.
Naw, he doesn’t mean what he’s saying. I know him. He’s lying to me. He doesn’t care about me. He’s just running game. He’s just using me. I’m nothing to him.
Oh my God. My father said I was dead to him. He said I was dead. Oh my God, how did this happen? My father used to be so proud of me. He used to say I could be anything in the world. That I was going to be someone important. But this is what I’ve become.
Mother, I’m so sorry I disappointed you. I know you need me to be your strength, and here I am showing the world that I’m no more than common trash. Filth....
Kim, you’re my best friend. Why didn’t I listen to you? Why? Why? You tried to tell me the first day I met Rico that he meant me no good, but I didn’t listen, and now look at me.
Oh my God! Oh my God, please help me! Help me!
Kilo, stop barking! Shut up!
Oh, my head! My head is killing me! Please stop this pain. I wish I could be back at home, back at home in my own bed. Help me, God, please—help me!
The bathroom walls were spinning one way while the floor started to spin another. The oxygen level in the room seemed to decrease as Keisha fought to breathe.
He doesn’t really love me! Why did he send that bullshit to all of those people? I can never show my face again. I might as well be dead. My life means nothing. I know why my family hates me so much. I’m worthless.
Confused and devastated, she felt anguished. Nothing was making sense to her any longer. Not thinking clearly, she wanted to leave the earth and all her troubles behind. She felt she had no other alternative. Rico had taken every single thing she’d ever cared about by vindictively filming that garbage. She had nowhere to go, no one to turn to, and seemingly no one that cared.
Keisha grabbed at her face screaming out. “Noooo!”
She stumbled backward losing her balance. The last thing she saw before striking her head on the corner of the open linen closet was Rico once again struggling to get on his feet.
* * *
It was scarcely mid-morning when Calvin, the driver, reached the destination ordered by his boss. Without being told, he adjusted the gun holstered on his hip and exited the vehicle. Watching everyone in his sight, including the ever-present bums and derelicts, Calvin opened the rear passenger door, allowing Commissioner Jackson to step out. Met by a few stares from people huddled at the bus stop located a few yards away from the canopied entrance, the still-very-much angry father made his way through the door, shaking as few hands of acquaintances as possible.
“I’ll be ready to leave as soon as I take care of this business. Stay close by. I might need you.” Shutting the office door of the club’s owner, Keisha’s father left his driver/ bodyguard posted on high alert.
“Hello, Lorenzo,” Hakim greeted his buddy.
“Hey now, brother. How you doing?” He agitatedly sent another one of Sandy’s persistent calls to voicemail.
“It seems a lot better than you.”
“Yeah, well, you know how that goes. Shit rolls downhill when you got kids, especially daughters.” He placed his cell back on his hip.
“Right, right,” Hakim quickly agreed, pulli
ng out his employee file list then picking up the desk phone. “Well, it looks like shit about to roll in another direction.”
After him placing a call over the intercom, minutes later, Hakim and Commissioner Jackson heard a light knock on the office door. At the same time as the knocks, Calvin was calling his boss to see if he and Hakim were expecting visitors. Even though the club had its own security team on the clock, Calvin had his own priorities and interest to protect.
“Damn, Lorenzo, your guy doesn’t miss a beat, does he?”
“Shit no.” Lorenzo proudly cracked his knuckles and probably the only smile of the day. “That dude is as loyal and stand-up as a guy can be—tried, true, and tested.”
Informing his driver to open the office door, Commissioner Jackson would soon come face to face with one of Hakim’s employees, Lawrence Grant, the reason for his abrupt visit.
“Yes, sir, Mr. Reeves.” Lawrence was eager to please his boss. “What can I do for you?”
“First off, you can remove your hat in my office,” Hakim strongly suggested. “Then you can take a seat over there. My friend has some questions for you.”
Glancing over to the other side of the room, Lawrence noticed Commissioner Lorenzo Jackson, whom he had seen momentarily the night before at the concert. At that very instant, his heart started to beat overtime, and his palms started to sweat profusely. He knew whatever the high ranking and powerful politician wanted with him, it wasn’t gonna be anything nice.
“Umm . . . yes, sir. Not a problem.” Doing as he was instructed, taking a deep breath, he marched across the room, sitting down on the dark-colored, butter-soft leather couch.
“Do you know who I am?”
“Umm—yes.”
“Who?”
“Commissioner Jackson I think, right?”
“That’s correct. Well, do you know why I wanted to meet with you?”
“Umm . . . no, sir. Not really.”
“Come on, son. You have no idea whatsoever—not even a notion?”
Street smart enough to play dumb as the day he was born, Lawrence locked his fingers, trying to downplay his nervousness. “I can’t say. I’m not sure.”
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