Diamond (G Street Chronicles Presents The Love, Lies & Lust Series)

by Mz. Robinson

  Chapter 14

  The next morning, I called to check in with Clint, and he informed me that Gator had, in fact, been denied bail. “They think he’s a flight risk,” Clint said matter-of-factly, “but we knew this would happen. Don’t worry, Diamond. This is just a stumbling block and only the beginning of our battle, but in the end, we’ll win.”

  I heard every word the man said, but I wanted my husband home with me, and there was nothing anyone could say to make me feel better at that moment. When I asked if I could visit Gator, Clint advised me that I’d have to wait thirty days, and that only made me more miserable.

  An hour after I ended my call with Clint, I received a collect call from Gator. It took every fiber of my being not to erupt in tears when I heard his voice.

  “How’s my baby?” he asked, as if I was the one who was in trouble.

  “I’d be doing much better if you were here with me.”

  “No worries, my love. I will come home to you soon,” he said confidently. “You’ve got my word on that.”

  “I know,” I said.

  “How’s Venetta?”

  “As well as can be expected,” I said sadly. “I’m gonna see her today. I was just waiting for your call.”

  “That’s my girl,” he said. “Give her my love.”

  “I will,” I promised. “Gator, baby, I miss you so much”

  “I miss you too,” he said gently. “Just try not to worry.”

  “Gator, are we okay? Do I need to do anything?” I questioned. I was not only worried about my husband’s freedom but also what his time in jail would mean for his business. In more ways than one, his absence was not a good thing.

  “We’re fine,” he said abruptly. “I just need you not to worry.”

  “But you—”

  “Diamond, trust me. This, too, shall pass,” he said strongly.

  I hope so, I thought. “Oh…the exterminator stopped by,” I said, remembering Jonah’s instructions.

  “Good. Tell him to keep up the good work.”

  “I will.”

  “I’ve gotta go. I’ll call you tonight around 8:00,” he said. “I love you.”

  “I love you too.”

  After ending my call with Gator, I got dressed and headed out to go visit his sister. As I pulled out of my driveway, a million thoughts ran through my mind, mostly about Gator being in jail. All the times I complained about him being late suddenly appeared irrelevant and ridiculous. Now he wasn’t coming home at all, at least not anytime soon. I told myself I had to stay positive for Venetta’s and Gator’s sake as well as my own. I could only imagine the pain and sorrow she was experiencing, having lost her son and husband in less than twelve months, a hard pill to swallow. I didn’t believe we would ever be given more than we could bear, but I wondered how much more weight my friend would be able to carry.

  The drive to Venetta’s home was only thirty minutes, but because I was dreading the visit, it seemed twice as long. I had traveled the winding, curvy road several times throughout the years, but for the first time, it seemed intimidating and dangerous. It was amazing that my mind was making every possible excuse for me to get out of visiting the broken-hearted woman.

  I finally pulled off the road and into Venetta’s driveway and up to her house, where I parked behind the white Mercedes-Benz that had once belonged to Emerson. Venetta’s Ferrari was also parked in the driveway, right beside the midnight-blue Escalade that belonged to Terrance. I killed my car engine and sat behind the steering wheel for a moment, just staring at the house. Memories of the days when Venetta, Terrance, Gator, Emerson, and I had sat on that wooden porch for hours, laughing about nothing, flooded my mind. I laughed while looking at the eggshell-colored frame and green shutters, remembering the holiday barbeques and Emerson running across the driveway with sparklers. It all seemed like yesterday, a far cry different from the madness and turmoil we were now facing.

  I shook my head, tossed my cell phone inside my handbag, removed my keys from the ignition, then climbed out of my car. I stepped onto the porch and pressed the button to ring the doorbell. After several rings and a few knocks garnered no answer, I finally decided to let myself in using the spare key Venetta had given me. “V.!” I called, poking my head inside the door. “Hellooo?”

  I gingerly stepped across the living room floor, scanning the room with my eyes. Venetta’s normally spotless home was in complete disarray. There were pictures and newspapers scattered everywhere, along with empty wine bottles and sticky, dirty wine glasses.

  “V., baby!” I called, entering the kitchen.

  There was a strange stench floating in the room, and it caused my stomach to churn slightly. “What the hell is that?” I questioned, covering my mouth and nose with my hand. The disgusting aroma grew stronger and fouler as I approached the kitchen sink. There, lying in the steel sink, was a large, defrosted, raw salmon, more brown than pink. “Shit.” I grunted, then took in a quick breath that I instantly regretted.

  I set my bag down on the kitchen counter, then walked over to the pantry and retrieved a garbage bag. I tossed the fish in the bag, pulled the plastic handles together tightly, and placed the bag on the floor. I washed my hands and made a mental note to take out the trash before I left.

  Since there was no sign of life downstairs, I headed upstairs to find Venetta. As I strolled down the hallway toward their master bedroom, I noticed that the door leading to Emerson’s bedroom was now secured with a padlock. How does she expect to heal if she keeps the memories of her boy locked away? I wondered. I concluded the behavior couldn’t have been healthy and was probably Terrance’s idea.

  “Venetta!” I called, knocking on her bedroom door. “V., are you in here, hon’?” I turned the door handle and slowly pushed the door open, not wanting to startle her since I was sure her nerves were probably already on edge.

  Unlike the living room and the funk that was festering in her kitchen, Venetta’s bedroom was clean and odor free. I strutted across the carpeted floor and stopped a few feet from the bathroom door. I could hear water running and the soothing sounds of Miles Davis on the other side of the door. Rather than knocking on the door and scaring the hell out of my bestie, I decided to go back downstairs and wait for her. As I turned on my heels, I felt the carpet shift slightly under my feet. Stepping back, I stared at the indentation caused from my shoes; the carpet was clearly wet. “What the hell?” I whispered aloud.

  I rushed toward the door, practically holding my breath as I turned the handle and pushed it open. Venetta was lying next to the bathtub, wearing only her bra and panties. Her hair and skin were soaked from the water overflowing from the tub, and there was an empty prescription pill bottle on the floor beside her, along with a spilled bottle of red wine.

  “Venetta!” I screamed, rushing toward her motionless body.

  * * * * *

  The shrill beeping and wheezing of the heart monitor connected to Venetta pushed my already frazzled nerves closer to the edge. I was thankful I’d gotten to her in time to call 911 so permanent damage and death could be prevented, but I was still slightly in shock that she’d attempted to take her own life. Staring at her with empathy and sorrow, I observed the changes in her appearance. Her once-rich chocolate complexion was now shockingly pale, with several tiny lines creasing the area below her eyes. Her usually smooth lips were now chaffed and dry.

  I continued to stare at her until she slowly began to open her eyes. “Hey,” I said softly, stroking her head with my fingertips.

  “Hi,” she said quietly. A single tear trickled from her eye, then ran down her cheek.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Hoarse…and sore.”

  “Understandable. They pumped your stomach,” I advised her.

  “I’m sorry, Diamond,” she cried. “I just…”

  “V., it’s okay,” I said tenderly. “I’m just glad you’re all right. Baby, what were you thinking?”

  “That I-I just wanted the pain
to be over,” she stuttered.

  “Venetta, suicide isn’t the way. You still have so much more left to give in this world. Emerson and Terrance wouldn’t want you to give up.”

  She nodded her head, then dabbed at the tears that coated her cheeks. “The night it all happened, I was gonna make grilled salmon for dinner,” she said. “I was in the kitchen, and this uneasy feeling came over me, telling me something wasn’t right. I could just feel it. I remember going in the living room and falling to my knees. I prayed that the feeling would go away, that I was wrong, but an hour later, the officers came and confirmed what I already knew.”

  “Did you know what they had planned?” I asked.

  “No, but Terrance told me before he left that we were finally gonna get our justice, that we’d finally have closure and peace. That man’s last words to me were a lie.” She began to sob uncontrollably. “I don’t have peace or justice. I-I have nothing.”

  “You have me,” I said sincerely, “and you still have your brother. V., things will get better. I promise.”

  “When? When will anything be better ever again, Diamond?”

  I wanted to respond with a brilliant answer, something that would wash away all her worries and woes, but I’d been asking myself the same damn question, and I didn’t have a clue. All I could do was give her the only response I felt was suitable for the moment. “Soon,” I said. “Soon.”

  Chapter 15

  Gator decided, and I agreed, that it was best if Venetta stayed with me at our home for a while, at least until she was emotionally stable. I had no objections or complaints. We had plenty of room, and I was extremely lonely in that big house without Gator anyway.

  When it came time to bury her husband, Venetta and I stood, hand in hand, paying our final respects in the same memorial garden where we’d put her son to rest months before. The graveside service was short and bittersweet, and the minister was the only other person in attendance. Despite her attempted suicide, Venetta still professed her faith and proclaimed that we would survive through prayer. I had to commend her on her optimism and applaud her faith; even I was beginning to believe her. However, as we soon discovered, the truth was that our family was falling apart at the seams.

  Venetta and I were sitting in the family room, trying to relax, when Clint called to inform me that Gator was being investigated on charges of extortion and racketeering.

  “How is that possible?” I asked, stunned.

  “The prosecution claims to have viable evidence and witnesses to support the charges against Leon,” Clint explained.

  In layman’s terms, there were snitches who were able to sell my husband out. I was concerned but not worried. Being able was one thing, but being ready and willing was something else. Who, in their right mind, would go against Gator? I was convinced that my husband’s reputation was more than enough to keep anyone from betraying him.

  Clint went on to explain that the prosecutor planned to offer Gator a plea bargain. “I’ve advised Leon of this,” Clint stated, “but it would help if you could talk to him before he gives them his decision.”

  “And what did Leon say when you advised him to take the deal?”

  “He laughed,” Clint said flatly.

  I could easily envision Gator doing just that. No matter how bad things seemed, there was no way my love would compromise or admit any guilt. “I think we both know his mind is made up. Thanks for calling Clint,” I said. “Keep me posted.”

  Venetta was sitting on my sofa, watching me intently, hanging on my every word.

  I placed my phone down on the coffee table, then sighed.

  “Is everything all right?” she asked.

  “Yes, everything’s fine.”

  “I’m not gonna have an emotional meltdown, as long as you tell me the truth,” she stated. “What’s going on?”

  I broke down and told her, detail for detail, what Clint and I had discussed.

  “Ungrateful-ass snakes,” she said angrily, cursing for the first time in a long time. “I guarantee that whoever is running their damn mouths also reaped the benefits of Leon’s hustling.”

  “I’m sure,” I said.

  “I will not allow my brother to be torn down,” she whispered, standing, “I refuse.” There was a venom in her voice I’d never heard before, a look in her eyes that seemed strangely familiar; it was the same look I’d seen in Terrance’s face the day we’d buried Emerson.

  “Just keep praying—”

  “Pssh, I’ve tried that,” she said, turning to look at me. “I’m through praying. Now it’s time for something else!” She cut her eyes at me, then stomped out of the room.

  “Okay,” I whispered.

  I contemplated on whether or not I should follow Venetta and attempt to calm her down, but I thought it best to let her have her moment. I decided I needed to tell Gator to hurry up and get his ass home before his sister jumped off the bridge into the river of “crazy”.

  * * * * *

  Since Gator’s arrest, I’d only left my home to go to the cemetery with Venetta and for the occasional trip to the store. I was keeping a very low profile, including keeping a tight leash on my speeding habits, I’d even let Vanessa go. Being frugal was Venetta’s idea, but I thought it was a good one, in the event that the Feds were watching. After the news Clint had provided me, I knew I’d made the right choice.

  After a while, I decided for my good behavior, I deserved a little reward and something to relax my mind. I got dressed, ready to go out and treat myself to a drink or two. I’d received a couple postcards in the mail, advertising the Presidential Bar and Grille, a new establishment off Sparkman Drive and figured it was the perfect time to try it out.

  * * * * *

  Shifting in my seat, I stared at the glass sitting on the bar in front of me. Rotating the small straw in a circular motion, I watched as the light yellow liquid swirled around and around.

  “You okay, mami?” the petite bartender asked, staring at me.

  “Yes.” I smiled up at her.

  “A’ight. Let me know if you need anything.”

  I nodded my head, then took a long sip of the vodka and pineapple juice. I turned around on the barstool and scanned the crowd, until I spotted a tall, bowlegged brother with chocolate skin. He was wearing dark jeans and a white and red I AM HuntzVegas t-shirt and bright white sneakers. I blinked quickly, thinking I’d seen a ghost. He looked up, locked eyes with me, then smiled, providing me assurance that he was real. I watched as he weaved through the crowd until the two of us were standing toe to toe.

  “Baby girl,” Randall chimed, engulfing me in a hug.

  I closed my eyes, allowing myself to get lost in my brother’s embrace. “When did you touch down?”

  “A couple weeks ago,” he said, “but I just got in town last night. I woulda called you, but…”

  “Yeah, I know,” I said, feeling extremely guilty. I’d changed my number as soon as Gator and I had exchanged our “I do’s,” and I’d left behind everything associated with my past life, including my family. My mother wanted nothing to do with me or my new lifestyle, but I knew that didn’t justify me turning my back on my brother. I sat down and took another sip from my glass.

  “Diamond, I forgive you,” Randall said, sitting down beside me. “I mean, I was fucked up back then, and to tell you the truth, I woulda been fed up with my bullshit, too, if I were you.” He waved down the bartender and ordered a double-shot of Grey Goose.

  “You look good,” I said honestly. I patted the tiny twist that now grazed the top of his head.

  “Not half as good as the kid.” He laughed. “Gator’s been good to you.”

  The mere mention of my husband evoked my desire to smile and cry at the same damn time. I turned my head to keep Randall from seeing my mood swings.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked seriously. “Dude been treating you all right?”

  “Yes,” I said, giving my brother my undivided attention, “even better than I expect
ed.”

  “So…what’s up? Come on, sis. I know you. No matter how long it’s been, you’re still my baby sis, and I can tell when something ain’t right.”

  “You haven’t heard?”

  “Heard what?”

  “They got him.”

  “Who?” Randall asked, shocked. “Dem boys?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hell naw!” He frowned. “What happened?”

  I brought him up to speed, from Emerson’s murder to Gator’s arrest.

  “Damn. I hate hear that,” he said. “Shit got too real.”

  “That it did,” I said.

  “And who’s holdin’ it down while your man’s outta commission?”

  I hesitated momentarily, wondering exactly how much I should confide in Randall. Granted, he was my blood, but it had been nearly six years since the two of us had seen each other.

  “Diamond, you know I ain’t no snitch,” he said, “I served four years for holding my tongue.”

  I needed someone to talk to candidly, someone I loved, someone who loved me. I knew that no matter what, Randall would be by my side, so I opened up to him, disclosing what I knew, which wasn’t much, other than that Jonah was still working the streets, handling Gator’s business.

  “I’m sure he’s got the right man on the job,” he said, “and if your man told you it’s gonna be all right, I’m sure it will. Gator’s been in the game for a minute. If anybody can make it happen, it’s him.”

  I nodded my head in agreement. “So, uh…how’s Mama doing?”

  “Hell, your guess is good as mine.” He laughed and took a gulp from his glass. “She stopped claimin’ me as her blood soon as I caught my case. I’m talking no phone calls, no letters, no puttin’ money on a brother’s books, no love whatsoeva. That woman can hold a grudge like nobody’s business.”

  “So you did your entire bid solo?”

  “For the most part,” he said proudly. “I mean, I met a couple broads on the Internet, and they looked out for your boy toward the end.”

  “So you’ve got a girl now?”