London was getting no response from a zombielike Kenya and could only think of one thing to do. So, with one of her wet hands, London raised back with all her strength and knocked the cow-walking shit out of her. Smack! The sound was so loud it instantly woke Kenya up out her trance. London rubbed her stinging hand and repeated her first question. “Now, is this Storm? Is this your boyfriend?”
“Naw, sis. Naw, that’s not him. Oh, my God—I’m not sure who that is!” a red-faced Kenya screamed, somehow making it to her feet and running out the bathroom, back into the bedroom. Instinctively she rushed over to the closet, getting one of the many guns that were stashed all around the condo. Wanting to protect herself as well as London, she put one up top. “I don’t know what the hell is going on. I need to find Storm! He’ll know what to do! This is crazy! This whole thing is crazy!”
London was hot on her sister’s heels and kept the questions coming one after another. “Kenya—we should get out of here! We should call the damn police! And are you sure that isn’t Storm?” London stared at Kenya, waiting for the answer.
“Dang, what in the hell is wrong with you? Are you crazy? I just said that ain’t Storm in there!” Kenya was getting pissed about this nightmare she was caught up in and all the unanswered questions that were coming along with it. “Don’t you think I know my own man, London, head or no head?”
“Well?” London replied. “What are you waiting for? We need to call the police!
“Forget calling the damn cops! You must be out ya rabbit-ass mind! And just how would we explain this bullshit, a mysterious body floating in the tub with the freaking head missing?”
Pulling her by the arm, London forced her angry, now gun-carrying twin out the bedroom, down the hallway. “Come with me, Kenya. I need to show you something that might help you figure out exactly who that could be floating in your tub.”
As the pair cautiously walked into the den, Kenya, urged by her twin, gradually eased over to the noisy fish tank and got a good look.
“What the—! Oh hell naw!” The once–strong-minded female was standing face-to-face with a head submerged in the corner of the aquarium. Its eyes were half eaten and mutilated by the few larger-than-normal fish that were still alive, swimming in and out of its mouth. Weak in the knees, Kenya was seconds away from passing out. A familiar letter-A, custom-designed yellow diamond earring was barely glistening through the dirty water. She recognized it immediately as one of three that she, Deacon, and Storm wore religiously to represent their club, Alley Cats. Kenya clutched her chest, falling back over toward the doorway and falling into her sister’s arms. Confused, she shivered with fear and total, chaotic uncertainty. “Why? Why? I don’t understand!”
“Do you know him, Kenya—do you? Is that Storm?” London once again coldly drilled, talking over the piercing sound that still filled the air. “Is it?”
“Damn bitch! What the fuck is wrong with you?” Kenya snatched away, ready to attack her own blood. “Naw, that ain’t no motherfucking Storm! Now stop asking me that dumb shit and acting so stupid!”
London knew that Kenya was in shock, so she let all of her disrespectful comments go without firing back her own round of insults. “Well, who is it, then? Do you know? Can you recognize him?”
“Yeah, I know.” Kenya’s face was full of sorrow and regret. She remorsefully dropped her head down, holding the huge gun tightly in her small hand. “It’s Storm’s best friend—his boy Deacon. They were supposed to be together when they left town.” Kenya started to let her tears pour. “But if they left town, why is Deacon here? And where is Storm?”
“Wow!” London shook her head in disbelief. “Listen, sis, enough of this bizarre madness we going through. We need to first get out of here and secondly call the police!”
“I’m scared, London! I’m really, really scared!”
London hugged her twin, trying her best to console her. “We need to call the police, Kenya.” She placed both hands on her sister’s shoulder, looking her dead in the eyes. “We need some help. I mean, seriously, what kind of folk do you know in this awful town who would do something so heinous like this? And are you sure they’re not coming back or worst than that, still in here somewhere! What kinda people you deal with?”
“Yeah right!” Kenya judgmentally looked at London with a dumb expression and replied. “Probably the same assholes who were trying to get at you for that P.A.I.D. bullshit you so insistent with organizing! That’s the only people I can think of. Now, how about that?” Kenya still found it hard to believe this was happening to her; to them. “But who would do something as treacherous as cut off a human’s head? What have you done? Who you done pissed off with those speeches of yours?”
“Yeah all right, maybe I do have some enemies, but I don’t understand. What in the world would your boyfriend’s friend have to do with me and my personal business?” London fired back, folding her arms.
“Who knows?” Kenya wiped her tears away, trying to regain her composure. “But one thing is for sure. It’s no way in hell we can call the cops to find out that answer. We definitely can’t do that!”
“Okay then, Kenya. What’s the game plan? We gotta do something—I mean, it’s a dead body in your bathtub and a head over there! I vote for calling the damn police!”
“Look, I’m gonna call O.T. He’ll know what we should do and hopefully he’s heard from Storm.”
“Who is O.T.?”
“That’s my man’s little brother. He’s running Alley Cats for Deacon and Storm while they’re out of town.”
“And what in the world is Alley Cats?” London quizzed as things grew weirder by the moment.
“That’s the strip club that Deacon and Storm own. They’re partners.”
“Well, sis,” she pointed at the aquarium that was still loud before pulling the plug out the wall socket. “I guess you mean the club that Storm owns now. Don’t you?”
“Damn, London, that’s some real fucked-up shit to say right about now!” Kenya glanced at the bedroom door, getting chills thinking about Deacon’s headless floating body, as they passed on the way downstairs. “But, yeah, I guess you’re right. It is Storm’s now.”
London shrugged her shoulders, following her sister out onto the front porch. They moved their luggage to the side of the door and sat on the bottom stair. Kenya, praying for the best, pulled out her cell.
“I’ve gotta make this call to O.T., so we can get some damn help!” Kenya nervously fumbled with her phone.
“Okay, I know he’s Storm’s brother, but what is he, a detective or something? I mean . . .” London questioned her twin, wondering what was coming next. “Can he help with a headless corpse in a tub? Just what kind of people are you out here affiliating with?”
“Damn, London, damn! Stop asking me all of them questions and let me make this fucking call! Damn!”
“Okay, okay, sorry to annoy you! Go ahead and call him.”
With her heart beating overtime, Kenya nervously dialed O.T.’s number. After about four or five rings, Storm’s grumpy-voiced brother answered.
4
What Da Hell
“Yeah, speak on it!” O.T. was angry and pissed off by being disturbed from his sleep. “And you better make the shit quick, fast, and in a hurry with your words!”
“Hey O.T., this is Kenya.”
“I know who it is,” he barely mumbled. “What you want so damn early in the morning? A nigga like me just got in the bed good and shit.”
“I was wondering, have you talked to Storm yet?” Kenya held her breath, waiting for his response. She prayed to God that he would say yes.
“That’s why you called me?” O.T. shouted through the phone, loud enough for London to hear. “You blowing up my phone because you can’t catch up with dude? You set tripping like that? Come on now, Kenya, that’s straight-up foul!” He was fed up with her and her constant calls.
“O.T., listen, I swear I’m sorry to wake you up, but this is a real emergency.
Now, have you spoken to him or not?”
Sensing the seriousness in her attitude, he finally answered. “Naw, girl I ain’t. What’s wrong? What’s the deal? I ain’t talked to him or Deacon since they left.”
“Oh, my God!” Kenya closed her eyes, crying softly as she lowered her head.
“Oh, my God what?” O.T. sat up in the bed and started to panic. “What the fuck is wrong, Kenya—what?”
Kenya’s voice was cracking as she spoke. “I need you to come over here as soon as possible! I mean right damn now! For real, O.T., now!”
“What the fuck is wrong, Kenya?” he repeated, putting bass in his tone. “Stop playing around with me and let me know!”
A sound-asleep Paris, under the thin blanket lying next to O.T., immediately jumped up, startled by his loud, boisterous demands. “Who is that?” she mouthed the words. “What’s going on? What’s wrong? It better not be no bitch!”
“Chill on all that. It’s Kenya! Something is wrong and shit!” O.T. was fuming as he shook his head at his girl and her always jealous behavior. He quickly turned his attention back to the phone conversation with Kenya. “Listen, can you cut the games out and give a brother a damn clue? Do I need to bring some fire over there or what? What’s the deal?”
“I can’t tell you over the phone,” Kenya hysterically whined. “I need for you to just come over here now. Hurry, it’s on a nine-one-one tip—real talk!”
“Okay, dig that. I’m on my way, Kenya! Just sit tight!”
Asking God for strength, she closed her cell phone, dropping her head once more. The reality of the situation was setting in for Kenya. This was a living nightmare she was trapped in. O.T. had just confirmed that Deacon and Storm had indeed left town together. Now she couldn’t get in touch with her man, his brother hadn’t heard from him, the condo was destroyed, and poor Deacon was dead as a doorknob. Whatever the explanation was could only mean trouble.
O.T. and Paris pulled up in front of the condo doing damn near a hundred miles per hour, certainly waking a neighbor or two. Paris slammed down hard on the brakes of her triple-black Chrysler 300M, causing the tires to come to a screeching, sudden halt. Leaping out the car before it came to a complete stop, O.T. ran up the walkway to see Kenya sobbing and another girl with her arm around her. By the time he got closer, the other girl raised her face, with its troubled expression, to meet his.
“What the fuck!” He had a puzzled look on his face as he turned back and forth, staring at both females sitting on the stairs. “Who the fuck?” O.T. shook his head in disbelief as Paris made her way to the group.
“Kenya? What the hell?” Paris, now totally bewildered, also questioned her best friend. “I don’t understand.”
“Yeah, who you telling? Me either!” O.T. raised his eyebrows. “This is straight wild!” The couple looked like they’d both seen a ghost.
Kenya stood up, wiping her face, leaving her twin sitting on the stair. “Hey, Paris. Hey, O.T. I know y’all confused and I’m gonna explain all of it later, I promise, but something awful done happened.”
O.T., like Paris, couldn’t take his eyes off of London. He was listening to the words come out of Kenya’s mouth, but was in a daze trying to put two and two together. This was some Twilight Zone–type of bullshit to him.
“Y’all, this is my twin sister, London. She lives back out east in Detroit,” Kenya quickly explained. “She’s gonna stay with me and Storm for a little while.”
“You got a twin? All this time and you didn’t tell me? I thought we was way better than that!” Paris felt insulted and betrayed by her best friend. “What was the big hush-hush secret?” she asked, while taking her time giving London the once-over.
“Ain’t this some shit! Do my brother know about this?” O.T. threw both his arms up in the air in a harsh rage. “Damn, Kenya! Your ass is straight-up out of order! You must be on crack or something! It’s been one thang after another with you! And what’s all this mess on you? Damn, you stank!”
London sat with a stern expression of amazement at the two strangers who were supposed to be helping the nerve-racking situation give her sister the third degree.
“Listen, O.T . . . I—” Kenya tried her best to defend her deceitful actions before he continued speaking, stopping her in mid-sentence.
“Matter of fact, I know motherfucking well this ain’t the damn emergency?” He spit on the grass and raised one of his tan-colored, untied Timberland boots onto the step next to London’s leg.
Kenya’s filthy fingers rubbed her forehead before moving strands of hair behind her ear. “Damn y’all, I know I was wrong for not mentioning it, but—”
“But what?” Paris, like O.T. had just done, cut her off. “You forgot? It slipped your mind all the times we done hung out?”
London was also completely thrown off that her own identical twin sister had somehow conveniently chose not to acknowledge her very existence to these people whom she had been living with for months. She would surely deal with that hurtful issue later, but for the time being, London had enough of them beating up her sister with all the questions and stepped in to intervene.
“I’m very sorry that you two supposed friends seem to have some sort of a gigantic problem with her having family out in this big world, but I think there’s a much larger dilemma that we all have to deal with back in there.” Covered in smelly muck on her hands and face, she rolled her eyes, pointing toward the cracked front door.
London’s first impression of Kenya’s friends and so-called great life was not very impressive, to say the least. Ready to discover the real reason for the late-night call, O.T. and Paris followed the twins into the destroyed home. Pulling their shirts over their noses to shield the overwhelming, eye-stinging stench, they both started to sweat.
“What the hell happened in this bitch?” O.T. frowned as he reached in his waistband, snatching out his pistol.
Paris was stunned, staying close to O.T. when she saw the awful condition inside the condo that Kenya had just remodeled.
“Come on upstairs, O.T.” Kenya sighed. “That’s the real and true problem.”
“What’s up there?” he grilled before bracin’ up on the grip of his shiny, chrome-handled 9 mm. “What other crazy stuff you got going on?”
“It’s not like that!” Kenya begged her fiancé’s brother. “Please, just come with me. I couldn’t explain what’s up there for a million dollars. Plus, if I tried you wouldn’t believe me anyhow! So just come on.”
O.T. turned to go with Kenya. “Okay, girl, let’s roll!” Paris was right behind him.
“You should stay down here with me,” London suggested to her, gently grabbing her by the arm. “It’s nothing that you would want to remember.”
There was no need for Paris to have to see firsthand the dreadful, outrageous sight of Deacon’s badly tortured body, let alone the whole aquarium thing with the floating head. London knew for a fact she wished she didn’t have to live with the horrid memory or sleepless nights the flashback of it would bring.
Kenya sympathetically looked at her friend, urging her that London was 100 percent right. It would be much better for her to stay in the living room or what was left of it. Paris hesitantly agreed, standing silent next to London on the soaking wet carpet. As they watched Kenya and O.T. navigate their way up the staircase, London got a slight chill in the muggy living room in anticipation of what Kenya and him were about to encounter.
“What’s up there?” Paris broke the ice out of curiosity, staring at London, then at the caved-in ceiling. “Can you at least tell me? Clue a sista in! And damn, y’all look just the hell alike!”
“Trouble!” London replied, glancing up toward the stairs, trying to remain calm. “A lot of trouble!”
“Okay Kenya, we up here. Now what in the hell is the big surprise you got for me other than the living room is tore up?”
“You’ll see, O.T., just follow me.” Kenya led him down the hallway into her and Storm’s bedroom.
> “Urggh . . . dang! The smell is getting worse!” Still holding his gun tightly, he looked down at his new boots that were now ruined from all the water.
“It’s in there.” Kenya had broken down into tears as she nodded toward the bathroom door. “Go see for yourself. I’ll be out here. I can’t go back in there—not now. And be careful. It’s extremely slippery on that floor.” She wanted him to go in there alone and check it out. There was absolutely no desire for her to want to see Deacon in that state ever again.
“Oh shit! Oh fuck! Hell naw!” Kenya could hear O.T. stomping his feet, yelling at the top of his lungs as the water on the floor splashed. “What the fuck happened? Oh, hell naw! Kenya! Kenya!” He ran into the bedroom, where she was standing with a face full of flowing tears. “Where’s his fucking head! Who the hell did this to my peoples?” O.T. was confused and running around the room from side to side. “Where is my fucking brother? Tell me, Kenya! Tell me!” O.T. demanded, snatching her up by the collar. “Where the fuck is he at?”
Kenya was having trouble breathing as she unsuccessfully struggled to get loose from his strong grip. “You’re hurting me, O.T,” she managed to say. “Let me go—please.”
Shaking off his initial shock, he came back to earth and apologized. “Damn, Kenya, I’m sorry, but this shit is foul. I don’t know what the fuck is going on here.” He walked away from her and looked back in the bathroom once more to make sure he had truly seen what he thought he’d seen. “Where that guy’s dome at and what about my brother? Is he in here too—in the house? Please tell me he ain’t!” He dropped his head, swallowing extra hard, holding his gun down at his side as he paced. The wrong answer would cause him to bug all the way out.
“Naw, O.T., I haven’t heard from him ever since I flew back home to Detroit. I’ve been calling his cell phone day after day and it keeps going straight to voice mail. That’s why I kept calling you.”
A relieved O.T. raised his face to look at Kenya dead on. “Do you know what went down here?”
Ruthless and Rotten Page 2
