Tyrant

by Tiana Laveen

  CHAPTER FOUR

  When Life Gives You Lemon Water…

  …Several days later

  Money was thin like crackheads on a low-calorie diet. The cheap rental car, a white Ford Mustang Coupe, would cost Hunter upward of twenty-three dollars a day, not including gas, but that was one of the cheaper deals he could find. It was still dark outside when he stepped out of his brother’s apartment. The air was crisp and it was unseasonably cold for late September.

  He loaded the vehicle with his few belongings, including some snacks from Justin’s girlfriend, Miranda, and headed back down to Detroit. He chowed on a Slim Jim and washed it down with lukewarm coffee. The heat was on full blast and the radio was giving traffic updates while some jazzy tune played in the background. News alerts came on, featuring mostly details on local shootings and assaults.

  After a couple of hours of stop and go traffic in the wee hours of the morning, he finally made it back to the hospital. He glanced at his watch and noted it was a little after six when he parked. Stretching his arms and legs, he tried to right the wrong his muscles screamed of. He’d been using a free pass at a local gym to burn off some energy and stay in shape. He grimaced, glancing at the hospital building and hating how his daily schedule could change at the drop of a dime.

  He’d had no intention of being there in the first place. In fact, he was supposed to check out the shed and make a plan for content removal, but he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that he needed another chat with his friend. Things felt unfinished.

  He entered the place and it looked damn near abandoned. There was no chatter amongst the few people moseying about and the handful of staff in the lobby. The televisions were either off or on low volume. A custodian was leaning against the wall holding a broom and enjoying a to-go cup of coffee. Everything seemed calm, but with the kind of stillness that made one contemplate if they’d entered a horror movie set of sorts. Even the machines seemed to be at slumber. Hunter pushed down his discomfort and made his way to the ICU unit. When he made it to the room, he removed his black knit cap and set it on the hospital bed.

  “Wake up, man.” The morning grains of gravel caught in his throat as he spoke. Sleep still clung to him.

  Noah didn’t budge. He spoke a bit louder, repeating himself, but the man remained fast asleep, snoring lightly. They were alone and he had no idea when Kylie would be showing up.

  Kylie co-signed his sentiments about Olive seeing Noah, but the man remained steadfast in refusing to let his daughter see or talk to him. Despite her disagreement with her brother on this matter, her hands were tied. Noah had made up his mind. Maybe if she showed up, they could team up to convince him to change his mind, but her schedule was more complicated now with work. According to her last voicemail, she often came to visit Noah on her lunchbreaks and again after work, sometimes with their mother.

  At least later on today, you won’t be alone.

  “Come on, man… wake the fuck up. I need to talk to you.” Hunter shook Noah’s arm, digging his fingers into the fragile muscle of his shoulder. The man’s eyelids fluttered as he came to. Seemingly in shock and half sticking out of a dream, he looked over his shoulder at Hunter. Reality set in. Noah’s expression was a combination of confusion and irritation.

  “What… What are you doin’ here, man?” He rubbed his eyes then burst into a phlegmy cough as he sat up.

  Hunter fixed the guy a cup of water and placed the straw to his lips. When he was done, Hunter set the cup down and slid his hands in his coat pockets. He studied the piece of shit, waiting for him to completely settle and listen.

  “Noah, I spoke to you about this but I don’t think you really get it so now I’m here and we can have this conversation face to face. You have to at least call your daughter on the phone. She wants to talk to you, man. She said it herself.” The man rolled his eyes, placed the back of his hand against his forehead, and fell back onto the pillow. “I’m for real.”

  “I know you’re for real but I need for you to let me do this my way. I need to handle the situation the way I want to, Hunter.”

  “But you’re not handling it. That’s the whole problem.”

  “I know this might be a shock to you, but it’s really none of your business.”

  “Sarcasm on your death bed? Nice touch. So, uh, I guess if I beat your sickly fuckin’ ass to a damn pulp right now that would be wrong, huh?” Hunter cracked his knuckles while Noah struggled to sit up higher, as if that would somehow help him in a physical altercation. “I don’t give uh shit about how you’re looking at me right now. I’ll snap your fuckin’ neck and walk outta here like shit didn’t happen.” Noah’s eyes widened and his brows bunched, as if he were surprised by such an outburst. The man knew him almost better than anyone; he certainly shouldn’t have been astonished by such a threat. “I would’ve given anything to talk to my mother one more time before she died. This isn’t right, man.”

  “Oh, now it all makes sense!” Noah shook his finger. “So now this is about you? This isn’t about you, man. This doesn’t have shit to do with you!”

  “It’s not about you either, motherfucker. It’s about Olive. You don’t get to set these rules.”

  “Like hell I don’t. I get to go out how I see fit!” Noah fell into another coughing spell. His chest rose and fell beneath the thin hospital gown wrapped around his frail body. This time, Hunter just watched him. He didn’t offer any water, pats to the back or comforting words. When the man had finally settled down, Hunter started in on him. Amped and ready.

  “You don’t get the luxury of bein’ a martyr, or sailing out of here like some amazing man without granting your daughter a chance to say goodbye. All you want to do is disappear, your final words poetically written on a wrinkled, funky ass piece of paper stuffed in an old metal box. How lousy can you be? You don’t get to be remembered in a way that you never really were in the first fuckin’ place… some hero. You got a kid, man. She needs you. You can’t turn your back on her now. Who in the hell do you think you are?!” Noah’s eyes grew in size, then narrowed in an instant, turning dark and evil. Hunter matched him demon for demon, standing over him, glaring down at him, pressing his weight onto the bed by pushing down on the mattress with both hands. “You didn’t see your daughter’s face,” he stated between gritted teeth. “I did, fucker. I had to look into her eyes and tell her that once again, her old man was takin’ the easy way out.” Noah sucked his teeth and looked away. “You need a change of plans. Call her.”

  “Tyrant, you need to leave. This ain’t the time for this.” Noah waved him off, turned on his side and sighed in pain. “I’m too tired for this shit… going back and forth arguing with you. Stop internalizing this. This is for the best, trust me. I know what my daughter needs. You’re in the wrong lane.”

  “I’m in the wrong lane, huh?” Hunter smirked as he shook his head. “I’m trying to talk to you, man to man, and all you can do is try to sell me some bullshit that you know I’m not buying. I know what’s really going on.”

  He snatched Noah by the chin, forcing the man to look at him. Noah’s thin lips twisted into a scowl; he was probably in pain from the way Hunter gripped his face, but he didn’t care. The fool’s eyes glossed over with resentment. On top of it all, they were yellower than old newspapers coated in piss. It was fitting.

  “LET. GO. OF. ME.” Noah spoke through gritted teeth.

  “You’re a fuckin’ coward, man. I can’t believe this.” Hunter turned him loose and began to pace back and forth, his anger growing bigger and wilder by the second. “You’ve let her down her entire life, and the one thing she’s asking for while you’re in this bed shitting on yourself with a pissing tube jammed in your dick, you won’t give her. She asked for one thing before you ring the final dinner bell, and you can’t even do it.”

  “I have my reasons.”

  “Yeah? Well, no one cares about your reasons. You had the fuckin’ nerve to insinuate that I was a pussy last time I was here.
Isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black! Man, I’ll drop off some Kotex when I swing back through. You’re bleedin’ like a bitch.”

  “Don’t bother! You don’t have any fuckin’ kids and wanna tell me what to do with mine!” Noah yelled out, then began coughing his head off.

  Hunter grabbed his hat, shoved it down on his head, and walked out.

  Forty minutes later, he found himself standing before an open storage shed, a pair of keys dangling in his chafed hand. Cool air emitted from his lips. The large space was crammed with odds and ends, boxes, and God only knew what else. He flipped a light on the wall and immediately noticed the car Noah wanted to gift him, partly covered with a couple sheets. On the other side was furniture draped in plastic.

  As he navigated the tight quarters, he lifted the corners of the plastic sheets and found a beautiful leather couch and armchair set, marble tables, and jade lamps. There was no doubt Noah had been living the good life while dating the Devil’s daughter – the streets were definitely female, alluring and treacherous, and they’d made sure Noah was paid in full. The man had spread himself around, attracting varying sources of income like marching ants. He’d had his fingers in so many pies. Selling firearms, stolen car parts, stripper party promotions, gambling parties, dog fighting, light-weight narcotic sales and more…

  After checking out a few electronics packed in a box and grabbing a coin collection to cash out to get some fast money, Hunter discovered a treasure trove of weapons in a series of dark plastic bins. The guns were wrapped in black trash bags and ripped magazine pages, making it a bit of a chore to take them out for review. His lips curled with pleasure as he ran a hand over a Kalashnikov AK-47 rifle. He made mental notes of everything there: a Walther PPS handgun, a Finnish M44 submachine-gun, a Sterling L34A1 submachine-gun, a Norinco MAK-90 rifle, an FN PS90 rifle and suppressor, a CZ Scorpion EVO 3 S1 pistol, an Intratec Tec-22 handgun, two Glock 18 handguns and suppressors, a Smith & Wesson 637-2 revolver, and an FN PS90 rifle and suppressor.

  Damn, this is a kick-ass collection.

  He grabbed one of the revolvers and a pack of coordinating bullets and jammed them into his jacket pocket before closing the bins back up. He then found a couple clear plastic boxes filled with clothing and gently used sneakers – mostly Jordans and the like. He and Noah wore about the same shoe size. Grabbing a pair of shoes and a Nike track suit, he tossed them into his rental car trunk then locked the storage unit. When he got into his car, he took a few deep breaths. His adrenaline was soaring. Not out of fear, but excitement. Once he gathered his wits, he started the engine.

  He had no idea where he was going to stay, but he’d figure it out. The car was always an option, but what about the next day? And the day after that? He needed some more time in Detroit to go through the storage unit and get everything squared away. There were far more items inside it than he had anticipated but he felt somewhat relieved in knowing he had a reasonable idea of the inventory and how he needed to proceed. Putting the car in reverse, he left and made his way towards a Waffle House to get a bite to eat. His stomach grumbled as he drew near. When he pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant, his cellphone rang.

  He didn’t recognize the number, but it was rather unusual for him to receive a call so early in the morning, even from telemarketers and the like. It dawned on him he’d applied for a couple of jobs online – one with a construction company and the other through a janitorial temp agency. Perhaps it was one of them?

  “Yeah, this is Hunter,” he answered while maneuvering to park.

  “Hunter, this is Nita. Nita Percy. I’m the woman you saw the other day. Olive stays with me.”

  “Yeah, I remember who you are. Janet Jackson.”

  “Janet Jackson?”

  “Never mind.” He grinned. “How’d you get my number?”

  “Kylie gave it to me. Um, I’m calling you because Olive wants to talk to you. She feels kind of… not sure of the right word… I guess disappointed, sad, and lost right now. I figured since you spent so much time with her father, maybe you can come by sometime this week for dinner and talk to her about it.”

  He caressed his jaw, feeling his beard growth. He was definitely due for a trim.

  “Why didn’t she just ask Kylie about her brother? I mean, hell, all the recent stuff I know is about our time in prison, shit a kid probably shouldn’t hear. He’s my friend ’nd all, but I figure she might wanna know what he was like as a little kid, things like that.”

  The woman hesitated. “Kylie felt like you’d know more about him as a person…”

  “All right.” He sighed. “Yeah, I can swing by tonight. I’m in town right now actually, just got back from Saginaw.”

  “Oh, really? I figured you were still in Saginaw. Okay, well, I guess the timing adds up well for all of us then – no special trips needed. So, yeah, we can do it tonight then. That’s fine.”

  “Cool. ’Round what time you want me to swing through?”

  “Is six okay?”

  “Yeah, that’s fine.”

  “Well, okay then…” Silence stretched between them. “I guess, uh, we’re finished. Oh, before you go, what do you like to eat? I’m going to swing by the grocery store.”

  “Shit, I’m not picky. Whatever you wanna make is fine with me.”

  “All right. See you soon.”

  “Bet.” He ended the call and smiled.

  Let me save Janet Jackson’s number… just in case. After he did that, he headed inside the Waffle House for a large breakfast of coffee, orange juice, fluffy pancakes, crispy bacon and scrambled eggs with plentiful black pepper, just how he liked them. As he stood there waiting for a hostess, his thoughts wandered. He figured he could spend a few hours there, make some calls to a couple of his boys, his grandmother, and a few other temp agencies. He was tempted to call one of the chop shops that used to do runs for him and see if he could score a restore and repair job, but decided against it.

  Speaking of money, I gotta remember to swing by the pawn shop and hand over the coins. Hopefully I can get at least $300 out of the deal. I’m going to check some of ’em out online though, get a better idea of what they might be worth. The cash would tide him over during his visit in Detroit, maybe even allow him a down payment on a piece of shit car while he got Noah’s fixed. He imagined he’d do a lot of the detailing and refurbishing himself, too. That cost money as well. Everything had a damn price, even peace of mind.

  “How many in your party, sir?” A woman finally showed up, the place practically a ghost town. Soft music played in the background.

  “Just me. It’s always just me…”

  She spotted the massive man through the small dining room window. Hunter sat in his car on the phone, parked in her driveway. His lips were moving and he appeared animated, perturbed even. The driver’s seat window was rolled down and he had his arm hanging out with a cigarette glowing between his long fingers. Meanwhile, Olive and Tisha finished setting the table.

  “You want this over there, Mama?” Tisha asked, cradling a bowl of salad.

  “Yes, just set it right here in the middle of the table. I’ll grab the ranch and Italian dressing.” She turned and walked away from her spying, going to the kitchen to grab the condiments. When she returned, Olive’s cheeks were plumped in a big, pretty smile.

  “Thank you, Ms. Nita, for calling him.” The girl poured water in each of the glasses from the pitcher.

  “Olive, you knew I would. I can’t imagine what you’re feeling. You’ve been through a lot, but I’m here for you. Okay, girls, get the napkins and rolls.”

  “We already did.” Tisha stated as all three craned their necks like ostriches in the direction of the window after hearing the man’s car door slam shut. They stood there frozen as he approached, looking down at his phone. You could’ve heard a pin drop. The doorbell rang, taking them all out of their trance. Nita blinked, ran her hands along her tangerine and cream striped shirt, and made her way to the front door. She o
pened it and looked up. There so tall was a bird, a plane… no, a giant bearded Superman. Superman? Nah. Prison-man, maybe? Able to leap out of an iron jail cell in a single bound? She shook the silly thoughts out of her head and noted his black bomber jacket and black skull cap pulled down to his dark eyebrows.

  “Hey,” he said, pairing the word with a slightly unnerving grin.

  “Hi. Come on in.” She opened the door further and let him inside. Moments later, she had his coat and hat hanging in the hall closet. He raked his big hand through his dark brown hair. His sideburns were nicely trimmed and the top of his hair had a slight wave, while the rest was tapered, cut short.

  “Smells good in here.”

  “Thank you. Come on in and have a seat.” She led him to the dining room and pointed to a chair at the opposite end of the table. “I made some lasagna, garlic bread and salad. Do you like lasagna?” The girls offered nervous waves and smiles, greetings and twinkles in their eyes as they sat next to one another.

  “It’s all right.”

  This fucker right here… He’s been eating prison food that probably tastes like a bag of fried assholes, and has the audacity to say some shit like that. She fixed her lips to say something smart. After all, she’d been slaving in that kitchen for two hours making the homemade Italian dish. Someone needed to put him in his place, remind the son of a bitch that she’d even asked him what he wanted on the damn phone, but then she pulled herself together.