The Dirty Red Series

by Vickie M. Stringer

  • • •

  The sound of the running water from the shower awakened Sasha. She surprised him with her presence as she eased into the shower to share with him, but it would have to wait till later. She knew they were headed back to Detroit. He had a new connect and a new product, Black Tar, and it was selling like crazy, but they wouldn’t be leaving until she got hers, again.

  CHAPTER 20

  Baby,” Mekel called out when he entered the apartment. “You home?” There was no answer. Enjoying the peace for however long he could, he stripped down to his boxers and stretched out on the bed. He thought about Terry and everything that was revealed during their conversation. Then he began to daydream about the last time they had sex.

  Mekel stepped out of the shower and Terry stood there with her ass exposed. He rejected her advances at first, but he hadn’t gotten his nut off in several weeks, so the blood left his brain and went to his other head. He watched in the mirror as she deep-throated him. Terry was a pro with her head game. He nutted in her mouth, then pulled out slightly and continued nutting on the side of her face. He then ripped Terry’s shirt from her body, bent her over the sink and proceeded to bang her back out, looking for nut number two.

  The memory was all too real.

  Three hours later, Mekel awakened, fully rested. He looked down at his sheets and saw the mess he had made. He’d jacked off again to his memory of his and Terry’s last encounter. He’d been doing that a lot lately. Immediately, he began to snatch the sheets off. Just as he threw the sheets into the washing machine and started the suds to sloshing about, he heard the front door slam. He rushed into the living room, feeling guilty for pleasuring himself at the thought of Terry in the bed that he and Kera shared. It was Kera, but she didn’t have the baby with her.

  “Hey, baby,” he said, cheerfully. He noticed she looked disheveled. “Where’s the baby?”

  “In the hospital.”

  “The hospital?”

  “Yeah. The babysitter called and said he was unresponsive when she tried to wake him up from his nap. When she picked him up, he started shaking really bad.”

  “What?!” Mekel yelled.

  “Mekel, they say he has some type of seizure disorder,” Kera admitted through tears. “I tried to call you earlier from the Emergency Room, but you didn’t answer your phone.”

  Mekel cringed, remembering the calls that he’d ignored when he was talking to Terry earlier. He began to pace the floor. “Man!” Suddenly, he rushed to the bedroom and began to put his clothes on. Kera followed him. “What . . .” She paused, looking at the stripped bed. “What happened here, Mekel?” He continued to put his clothes on. “Did you have another woman over?” Mekel looked at her like she lost her mind.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To the hospital to see my son.”

  “What about me, Mekel?”

  “He’s a baby, Kera. He needs his parents. Come on.”

  “You didn’t think about that when I was calling you earlier. He only had his mother then,” Kera spat. “You know what? This is all your fault.”

  Transfixed with shock, Mekel stared at Kera as though seeing her for the first time. “My fault?”

  “Yeah, yours. If you would have been man enough to handle your business when I first told you I was pregnant, none of this would have happened.”

  “Kera, don’t start. This ain’t the time,” Mekel warned as he began to step into his Tims.

  “Terry would have had enough time to get used to y’all being broken up. So because of you”—Kera poked her finger in his chest—“she reacted, and now my child has this . . . this . . . thing!”

  Mekel, sick of the constant barbs, grabbed a cap and his keys and headed toward the front door.

  “Where are you going?” she yelled behind him.

  “Out!” Mekel slammed the door, causing it to leap on its hinges, and left Kera in the apartment in tears.

  • • •

  Mekel drove around for what seemed like hours. He ended up at Scott Memorial. His heart ached at the thought of his son not being perfectly healthy. This is all your fault, he remembered Kera saying to him. With a tear in his eye as he exited his truck, he thought, she’s right. If I had stopped the shit before it got outta hand, none of us would be in this situation.

  Jogging through the sliding glass doors of the hospital, he received directions to his son’s location in the pediatric neurology unit from the information desk. The elevator ride to the sixth floor was the longest ride he had ever taken. As the elevator chimed, to alert him he was on his desired floor, he heaved a deep breath and scurried out in search for his son. Following the directions for the room number, he finally arrived, and found the door partially opened. He heard voices, and hesitated for a moment before walking in.

  He found several medical personnel examining lil’ Mekel.

  “Wh . . . what’s happening?” he asked.

  “Mr. Chambers, I presume?” the doctor asked. Mekel nodded. “Your son had a miniseizure earlier, but he’s stabilized. He sure is a trouper.” Mekel smiled at that assessment. “At any rate, we’ve called in the pediatric neurology specialists from Johns Hopkins. They should be here in a couple of days.”

  “Thank you,” Mekel responded as he stepped closer to the crib and looked at his namesake. “Can you explain why this happened?”

  The doctor cast Mekel a strange look.

  Mekel wondered why the doctor was looking at him in such a puzzled manner. He gave the nurse some orders and led Mekel to another room.

  “Mr. Chambers, do you know why your son was brought into the Emergency Room today?”

  “I was told he was unresponsive and started shaking really bad.”

  “Is that all?”

  “Look, what’s wrong with my son? Tell me what happened and how we can fix this.”

  “Mr. Chambers, your son has fetal alcohol syndrome,” the doctor explained.

  “Fetal who?” Mekel repeated blankly.

  “Fetal alcohol syndrome. Early in your wife’s pregnancy, she exposed the unborn child to large amounts of alcohol and narcotics.”

  “Narcotics?” Mekel yelled. He had never known Kera to do any type of drugs. The drinking was a definite possibility because oftentimes they drank before they got buck. “Kera doesn’t—”

  “Mr. Chambers,” the doctor interrupted, “you can take that up with your wife later, but the concern now is with your son. Mrs. Chambers mentioned that you are the primary caregiver of your son. Is that true?”

  “Yes.” Mekel tried to be proud of this fact but he didn’t think the doctor thought otherwise.

  “Didn’t you see anything that would make you question your son’s development?”

  Flashbacks flooded Mekel’s mind—the look in the swing, the inability to hold his head up without support, the constant cries when he was not held tightly . . . Mekel didn’t equate these things to a specific problem. He thought it was typical behavior for babies. He was a proud father, and was just glad to have his son around.

  Now Mekel was furious. Fetal alcohol syndrome was totally preventable. It was senseless abuse of an unborn child and he was surprised that Kera, who he thought was proud of her pregnancy from the beginning, would have done something so stupid.

  “So, Doctor,” Mekel said, hesitantly, “are seizures common with this fetal alcohol syndrome, or could they have been caused by something else?”

  “Something else like what?”

  “Like being dropped.”

  “Dropped? When was he dropped?” The doctor pulled out a pad and began taking notes.

  Mekel sighed. Kera obviously hadn’t told him of the incident. After Mekel explained everything, the doctor finished his note-taking, closed the pad and spoke.

  “Well, Mr. Chambers, at this stage, the fall would have only aggravated the condition, but this would have happened regardless. I’m sorry to say your son won’t be ‘normal’ in the clinical sense, but with help, training and su
pport groups, you and your wife will be able to raise him in a normal environment.” The doctor stopped; he was being paged. “I have to go, but you may go see your son. He’s a sweet child.”

  Mekel followed the doctor out and walked back to lil’ Mekel’s hospital room.

  She knew, he said to himself. Wife? Why does he keep referring to Kera as my wife? Damn, I wonder what else she’s telling them, but not telling me. He walked over to the crib. It looked like a big cage.

  “Would you like to hold your son?” the nurse asked as she changed the IV bag.

  “Yes,” Mekel answered, and sat in the oversize rocker next to the crib.

  The nurse showed him how push the button and to call for help if he needed it as she placed the baby in his arms, then left.

  Mekel looked down at his son who was now wide awake. His son looked up at him with his big doe eyes, and smiled.

  “Everything will be okay, lil’ man. Daddy’s here.”

  • • •

  “I know this nigga ain’t,” Foxy yelled and slammed the phone down, “trying to avoid me!” She hadn’t heard from him since he left that night he tried to kill Q and Red. She didn’t want to admit it but she had actually started to care for him because he fucked her so well. “This nigga better be somewhere near death,” she said as she sucked her teeth. “He don’t get none of this and just bounce.”

  • • •

  Nightfall came and Bacon sat outside of Foxy’s apartment. She had been calling him for some time now, but he couldn’t bring himself to go back over there until now. He was angry that she could have possibly been fucking Q too, but tonight he needed to get up in some pussy. The stuck-up hos that Maurice had running through the crib reminded him too much of Red. Gold diggers. He needed some appreciative pussy.

  Bacon walked up to Foxy’s door and tapped.

  No answer.

  He tapped again.

  “Who is it?” a groggy female voice answered. He didn’t speak, just tapped again.

  This time, Foxy flung the door open, but the first thing Bacon saw was the baseball bat. He smiled.

  “What do you want?” Foxy snapped.

  “You gonna keep a brotha waiting out here?” Bacon said.

  “I ain’t got time for no games,” Foxy confirmed. “Now I don’t know who the fuck you are, so you best step off.”

  Bacon couldn’t believe Foxy didn’t recognize him. “I got something you know very well,” he said, toying with her.

  Disgusted, Foxy attempted to close the door, but Bacon stopped her. “Foxy, it’s me, Bacon.” He had to play his hand because he wanted to fuck and if Foxy closed the door on him, that would be it.

  She looked at him closely. “What . . . I can’t . . .” She saw the truth, then snapped, “You know what, fuck you, muthafucka! I ain’t heard from you since when?”

  Bacon attempted to calm her down, then followed her in the house. It wasn’t long before Foxy realized it was truly indeed Bacon. He didn’t waste any time getting up in her. Foxy played hard to get as long as she could, but she needed him.

  Afterward, Foxy lay on Bacon’s chest and stroked her sweat-drenched weave. “Anyone been up in my shit since I been gone?” he asked.

  “Yo’ shit? Hah! Last I remembered, this belonged to Ms. Foxy. You just a guest up in it.”

  Bacon laughed. He knew he couldn’t claim anything, especially when he wasn’t considering Foxy for wifey.

  “What you know good?” he inquired.

  “Did you think about what I said last time?” Foxy asked, ignoring his question.

  “What?”

  “Pursuing the second book deal.”

  Bacon began stroking his cum-drained dick. “Yeah, actually, I got a second book deal, but I need a favor from you.”

  Bacon’s erection prevented him from telling Foxy what he needed her to do because he wanted to fuck again.

  Hours later, Bacon sat on the side of the bed, trying to get up.

  “You heard from Red?” Foxy asked.

  “Nah, I ain’t fuckin’ with that bitch.”

  “I heard that ho started her own real estate business and she’s gonna have an open house soon. Word has it, she doesn’t have a lot of money, so she may list your house again.”

  “What about that nigga Q?” Bacon inquired.

  “He’s keepin’ time with someone else, but I know he still with Red. I think this woman and him have some type of history.”

  “What about you and Q?”

  “Me and Q?” Foxy sucked her teeth. “Nothin’. We go way back. We just friends. Don’t worry, baby, this is all yours.”

  Before Bacon left for the night, Foxy agreed to do what he asked.

  CHAPTER 21

  Q, Q baby!”

  A frantic voice echoed through the Emergency Room halls. Red had checked her voice mail after leaving the post office, then headed straight to the hospital. She gave a sigh of relief when she spotted Q. “What’s wrong?” She grabbed his hands and started inspecting him as if he had been in an accident.

  “It’s not me, it’s—”

  “Quentin,” Chass interrupted, walking up to him. She nodded toward the doctor. Red looked at the woman who stood before her leading her man away. Who the fuck is this ho? I know this nigga ain’t playing me to the left for that homely looking bitch. Red wanted to snatch what she thought was a weave off the woman’s head, but she listened to what the doctor had to say. I’ll deal with this bitch in a minute.

  “Mr. Carter,” an ER doctor called out. Q’s heart began to pound at record speed with each step he took toward the man.

  “How’s my friend?”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Carter. We did all we could.”

  Q dropped his head in despair. “You’re trying to tell me that Zeke is . . . dead?!” he yelled loudly.

  Red attempted to hide her satisfied smirk.

  “Again, I’m sorry. We have to notify his family for—”

  “I am his family!” Q spat angrily.

  “Quentin, come on,” Chass told him softly.

  “Aw no, heifer. You ain’t taking him anywhere,” Red barked. “I can take care of my man—find your own!” She stalked up to Chass, pointing her finger in the other woman’s face.

  “Red, stop! This ain’t the time or place for your bullshit!” Q bellowed and walked away.

  Chass followed him, leaving Red standing in the middle of the ER floor. This was the first time she’d seen the woman who took Q away from her and deep down, Chass was satisfied with Q’s reaction.

  In a huff, Red left the hospital. She had bigger fish to fry and she’d deal with Q at home. One down, how many more to go? she thought as she got back into the Navigator.

  • • •

  A few hours later lil’ Mekel was sleeping peacefully, so Mekel went down to the main level to get some air. As soon as he walked outside, he saw someone who looked familiar, pacing back and forth.

  “Hey, man, wha’sup?” Mekel questioned.

  Q looked up. “They brought my boy in here earlier. He just died.”

  “Aw shit, I’m sorry,” Mekel told him.

  “Yeah, it’s fucked up. What you doin’ here?” Q asked.

  “My son is in here,” Mekel admitted.

  “Damn, the baby?”

  “Yeah. I can’t believe this, man. He’s just an innocent kid.”

  “Man, I’m sorry. If you need anything . . .”

  “Thanks.” They one-arm hugged again.

  Just then, two wannabe thugs loped by with a dip and a bounce in their steps. Q noticed the taller of the two clutched a copy of Bitch Nigga, Snitch Nigga under his arm, and they were in deep discussion about it.

  “Damn, this whore called out all these niggas!”

  “Yeah, man, I tell ya. Let a bitch in on yo’ bidness, they gon’ fuck ya every time! That’s why I don’t let ’em talk. Every time dey ask a question, they get a dick in dey mouth.”

  They laughed, dapped and continued to stroll down the hosp
ital’s front sidewalk.

  “I wonder what that shit’s about?” Mekel asked.

  Q looked at him like he was crazy. “Man, you ain’t know?”

  “What?”

  “Remember the murder at Reason Why?” Mekel raised his eyebrows in curiosity. “The book out goes into detail about a drug deal gone bad, how it was all a setup and who ran their mouths,” Q summarized.

  “What’s the name of the book?”

  “Bitch Nigga, Snitch Nigga,” Q told him.

  “Where can I get a copy?” Mekel asked, seriously.

  “You can check the gift shop here, but I doubt if they have it. It’s really big now, though; even some of the Barnes and Nobles have it, but I got a copy in the car if you wanna read it,” Q offered. He was glad to get his mind off of Zeke, even momentarily.

  “My uncle went down over that shit.” Mekel attempted to hide his anger, but was unsuccessful.

  “Your uncle?”

  “Yep, Larry Chambers.” Mekel wasn’t afraid to reveal the information because Larry was one of the top dope men on the streets and niggas couldn’t touch him.

  “Damn, it’s a small world,” Q admitted.

  “Damn right, but what’s really fucked up was that nigga Scooney got set up. My uncle said he’d never forget how that day went down. Scooney was his nigga—he was just at the wrong place at the wrong time. That nigga Catfish used to own the club and he was with that other nigga, Bacon. According to the book, and some other shit I know, Bacon, Catfish and his girl was up in the club and some shit kicked off. Scooney was shot on the dance floor while he was dancing with Catfish’s woman. She helped set him up. The bitch was a decoy. Problem is that nigga had hos all over the place. Who knows who could have been with him then? This book is doing a lot of name-dropping and somebody gonna get hurt before it’s over.”

  Q now remembered when he’d first read the passage in the book that alluded to Catfish.

  In the hood he was known as a stand-up nigga, but, in fact, he was a snitch bitch nigga. He had beady eyes that were unforgettable and resembled one of God’s creatures. In the Bible, it said Jesus used this creature to feed a multitude of men. But in reality, there was no way God would use this creature, for it was the foulest in the land. It was a known scavenger. It would eat anything and live in the dirtiest conditions. It was even sacrilegious for Muslims to touch or eat. This Bitch Nigga, Snitch Nigga was named appropriately on the streets.