Life Without Hope

by Leo Sullivan

  slowed. As I neared, I could see Tomica’s face. Her eyes tried to

  warn me. That’s when I noticed what was wrong. Tomica and

  Evette’s hands were in the air. It was then that I recognized the

  undercover cop from the store. He had his gun pointed at them

  with one hand, and in the other, he held the stolen bracelet. My

  heart somersaulted in my chest as my breathing quickened.

  Without thinking, I reacted like a man does in war, or a lesson

  taught in the ghetto, the survival instinct kicked in. Raw energy

  seized my body. Nothing else mattered, nothing else existed. This

  was the concrete jungle. In it, life was a conquest of kill or be

  killed. If gunplay could have earned me a medal, I would have

  won its highest honor. In one quick motion, I reached into my

  back pulling out my gun, placing it against the cop’s skull. In the

  distance I heard screams as people scurried about.

  “Move, muthafucka, and I’ll blow your goddamn brains out!”

  In my peripheral vision, I saw a lady pick up her small toddler and

  take off r unning. Pandemonium quickly was all around me.

  “Pha-pha-pleeze don’t kill me,” the frightful cop drawled. “I

  got a wife and two kids.” Cars drove by with their occupants look-

  ing on in horror.

  “Get his gun,” I said to Tomica. Both women were frozen like

  statues. They were going to get me busted. I had to move fast. I

  heard sirens in the distance.

  “Get on your knees cracka!” I commanded as I snatched his

  gun placing it into my pocket and then I grabbed the bracelet. Just

  up ahead, I saw the blue and white police car turn into the park-

  ing lot. With all my might, I hit the officer upside the head with

  the butt of my gun. His blood got on my suit as he fell backward

  onto the concrete like a sack of rocks. I was moving fast. Tomica

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  and Evette were still in a state of shock. I jumped into the car, fully

  intent on leaving their so-called professional asses right there. All

  their sophistication, savvy and wit had failed them miserably and

  now when it came to the last resort, brute force with a twist of

  some real gangsta shit, they were just as intimidated as the victim.

  I star ted the engine and they jumped in the car. I pulled off, there

  was no traffic in front of me. I drove slow, as inconspicuously as

  possible. There was only one way in and one way out. Up ahead

  the police car was coming slowly toward me. I had my gun on my

  lap with my hand on the trigger. I smiled and moved my lips like

  I was heavy into conversation with my lady friends.

  “There’s the police,” Tomica said, panic stricken.

  “Bitch, I see them. Smile like you ain’t tryin to go back to the

  chain gang,” I said between clinched teeth, wondering how could

  she be so fucking dumb.

  As we passed the police, they stared into the car. Thank God

  they were slowed down by the oncoming traffic. It would be a

  minute before they reached the unconscious cop. As soon as I

  turned onto the main street, police cars came from every direc-

  tion, lights blaring. I punched the gas. Up a block, I turned on a

  side street taking the back way. I pushed the tape in on the tape

  deck. UGK was rapping about having a pocket full of stones. I

  thought about the diamonds in my pocket and drove faster. A

  police car raced by us. I knew where they were going, to the place

  I had just left. I just knew there would be an all-points bulletin out

  for the car.

  I glanced over to see Tomica staring at me. Whatever it was

  written on her face I couldn’t read. She had her mouth open like

  she had lockjaw or some shit. I needed to get back to the hotel and

  fast. For some reason, I don’t know, I looked over at Tomica and

  smirked. I thought about the lame game and now who tricked

  who. I guess it was my manly ego, or just that triumphant feeling

  a hustler gets when he hits a good lick. That ruthlessness a thug

  feels, like liquid fire surging through my veins. Yeah, I was keepin’

  it gangsta!

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  I pulled into the hotel with my thoughts heavy on my mind.

  Just the fact that we had been silent all the way back from the

  caper gave me an advantage, a kind of leverage that I fully intend-

  ed to exploit. Now it was time to execute plan B, “Big Pimpin.”

  Break these hoes. Shit, they were going to do it to me if I let them.

  I knew that I still had to use some finesse but with a different tech-

  nique. I spun around fast in my seat, placing my arm around

  Tomica’s headrest. It startled her. Now they were watching me

  with their full attention. I knew that I held all the advantages.

  Actually, it was the thirty thousand dollar bracelet in my pocket.

  I turned, glancing back and for th at both of them.

  “That shit ya’ll bitches pulled back there was not proper.

  Could have got a nigga kilt,” I said, pointing my finger at Tomica,

  my voice cold, impassive. “You understand me?!” I yelled. Tomica

  flinched fearfully. I turned to look at Evette. She was already nod-

  ding her head up and down, starry eyes brimming with tears.

  Good

  , I thought to myself. Give them a large dose of fear. In my

  mind I wondered where they had all that money stashed and just

  how was I going to take it. I thought about the pussy game they

  played on me and started to feel sexually aroused. I thought about

  what I was going to do to them with those same handcuffs.

  Tomica primed her lips to speak like she was considering every

  word carefully.

  “I didn’t know that you was packin’ heat, that’s all, but you

  don’t have to talk to us like that,” she said tentatively. She sent her

  words like a scout to test my temperament. It took a second for

  me to read into her ploy.

  “Bitch! Did I tell you to talk?” I snapped.

  She cringed in her seat, damn near jumped out the window. I

  heard every whimper in the back seat. Her mind still held the fresh

  memor y of what I had done to the cop. Violence does that to peo-

  ple. With that I realized that I had more than enough persuasion

  to make them submit to my every whim.

  I adjusted my tie, made like I was tr ying to get comfortable.

  All eyes were on me. I dropped my voice a few decibels, tried to

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  act civil and loving ever y damn minute of the control I was now

  feeling over these women. What were they going to do, call the

  police on me?

  “I really don’t want the bracelet,” I said matter of factly. I lied.

  Tomica’s eyes got big as silver dollars. I could hear Evette in the

  backseat sniffing back tears.

  “Just give me the money ya’ll owe me and we can work some-

  thing out.” I smiled sincerely with my own motives.

  “Let me have the bracelet,” Tomica said meekly. Her words

  hung in the air resonating without an answer. I knew they would

  take the bait.

  “Ya’ll go back to the room, get comfortable, and I’ma get a lil

&
nbsp; sumpin’ sumpin’ to smoke on and we can get our drank on. I have

  a proposition for ya’ll, and we can get our freak on.”

  “Proposition? Freak on?” Tomica retorted disdainfully, eyes

  narrowing at me. I peered at Evette in the back seat and she looked

  at me the way a follower does. She just wanted to be led to safety.

  I thought I detected a hint of something in her demeanor. Just

  then a blue Lexus pulled into the parking lot. I leaned for ward in

  my seat craning my neck not believing what I was seeing. It was

  Trina, the bitch that stole my stash. I slouched down in my seat

  and watched as she parked the car. Tomica made a face at me, she

  was about to say something. I grabbed the gun. Just as Trina was

  exiting the car, I took the keys out of the ignition of Tomica’s car

  and placed them in my pocket.

  “Hey!” Tomica complained.

  “Go to the room!” I said getting out of the car, my pace brisk

  like a stalker. Trina had not seen me yet. She wore a simple white

  dress with flowers, pink sandals with a Gucci ankle bracelet on her

  leg. She had shut the car door retrieving three large shopping bags.

  She looked up just as I approached. For a fleeting second, I

  thought I saw a smile cross her lips. I slapped her so hard her neck

  snapped back and she stumbled holding onto the car to keep her

  balance, dropping her bags to the ground.

  She wiped her bloody lip with the back of her hand, looked at

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  her blood almost examining it. She spit blood at my feet as she

  continued to hold her head dignified.

  “You didn’t have to hit me out here in the streets. I have your

  money, plus more.” Her composure completely caught me off

  guard. Not what I was expecting. I grabbed her by the hair. “Bitch,

  I’ma kill you!” I said with my face just inches from hers and then

  shoved her face away. She picked up the shopping bags. I marched

  her right past the car with Tomica and Evette in it. Their breath

  fogged up the windows as they watched me abduct a woman in

  broad daylight.

  The lame?

  As soon as I turned the corner, that’s when I saw him, the

  white man, watching me. His face looked familiar. As I passed the

  car I took a closer look at him, he turned away. I thought nothing

  more of it, and continued to focus my attention on Trina. That

  white man would come back to haunt me.

  *****

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  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Eight

  “The Ultimate Betrayal”

  – Hope –

  Three years later, life couldn’t have been better. My child was in

  preschool, I was attending law school and my husband, Marcus,

  had a great job making excellent money. He was far from being

  perfect, but he was a good husband and father. We had a big house

  out in the suburbs, in a multi-cultural community. For the first

  time in my life, a sista was truly happy. I worked as a counselor for

  troubled kids for the Department of Corrections. The pay wasn’t

  bad, thirty eight thousand dollars a year. I went to school at night

  to earn my law degree. In a lot of ways I knew that I was neglect-

  ing my child as well as my husband, but I was less than a year

  short of earning my degree and all my hard work would come to

  fr uition. Upon my graduation I already secretly made plans to

  take my family to Walt Disney World and just act like one big-ass

  kid with Marcus. At least that was my dream.

  For now, the reality was that most days when I came home, I

  would be so tired, all I could do was take a quick shower and col-

  lapse in the bed. Thank God Marcus was one of them fathers that

  enjoyed cleaning and cooking, like it was second nature to him. I

  could never understand it. I was just thankful. With him, every-

  thing had to be extremely orderly and neat. I wished that he felt

  the same way about my body and our sex life. Our sex life suffered

  miserably. No matter what I did, the man just did not want no

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  nooky. I even went out and bought all kinds of expensive lingerie,

  read books on how to rekindle love after marriage and children.

  Even bought one of them lovemaking tapes you see advertised in

  the back of the

  Essence

  magazine. Marcus was numb from his

  brain down. I even tried to molest him, my own damn husband.

  I had never per formed oral sex and was anxious to tr y it on him.

  He flatly refused me, saying that it was nasty and sinful. Made me

  feel like a slut. I went out and bought myself a woman’s best

  friend, the ultimate toy. I named it Big Boy. All a sister needed was

  two D batteries and an imagination. I convinced myself that

  things would change, just give it time. Besides, I realized that not

  being at home a lot of times was placing strain on our marriage.

  In my heart I knew that once I started practicing law and we were

  able to take a long vacation, Marcus would change. In a lot of

  ways, like many other women, I learned to love without sex and

  that would have to suffice. Marcus and I lived on two separate

  islands. Our only real connection was our child and the sad truth

  about that was, it wasn’t even his child. I knew that the only rea-

  son I accepted my husband’s denial of my body was to purge

  myself from a woman’s greatest sin–infidelity that resulted in

  another man’s child. The last few years I had learned to cope with

  my transgressions.

  *****

  On September 4

  , Cathy McMillan, the Judicial Judge for the

  th

  Ninth District of Tallahassee Juvenile division retired. She was 62

  years old. On that day the entire juvenile department held an hon-

  orary celebration. A catering ser vice provided lots of good food,

  with the state footing the bill. I left work three hours early. With

  my son at preschool and my husband at work, I was going to catch

  a few Zs in my king sized bed and enjoy some peace and quiet.

  Something I learned as a new wife and mother, working and going

  to school, you slept when you could, not when you wanted to.

  Rest can be a commodity given away for the sake of motherhood.

  As I pulled my Benz into the driveway I noticed Marcus’

  Range Rover in the carport. He never parked in there.

  What is he

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  doing home so early from work?

  I wondered. Then I had this idea,

  it overpowered me.

  Sex!

  As I hopped out of the car my pace quick-

  ened. It felt like I was about to have a hormone attack. Sex was no

  longer an option, it was a demand that I was not going to com-

  promise. Right then and there I decided that Marcus was going to

  give me some or I was going to turn this mutha out. A woman can

  only take so much. We hadn’t had sex in over six months.

  As I stepped inside our spacious living room, the first thing I

  noticed was Marcus’ clothes thrown everywhere, like he was in a

  hurr y to take them off. I thought that was particul
arly strange of

  him, since he was a neat freak. Hesitantly, I placed my briefcase

  and purse on the floor. My woman’s curiosity piqued, my senses

  acute to any sight, sound or smell. I kicked off my high-heeled

  pumps along with my suit coat. In my stocking feet I followed the

  trail of abandoned clothes … up the stairs … to my bedroom

  door. My heartbeat was in my throat as I listened astutely. On the

  other side of the door I could hear panting, groans and sighs. The

  sound of lovemaking. My husband was in my bed, making love to

  another woman, on the satin sheets that he would not make love

  to me on, in my fucking house. I was enraged! Past the brink of

  no return. Insanity. My first thought was to find a gun and blow

  both their goddamn brains out! Then I had a better idea. Much

  better. I retraced my steps, tiptoeing backward.

  I went out to the garage, retrieved the small gas can Marcus

  used for the lawn mower. It was full. On my way back in I stepped

  in an oil spot in the garage, tracked it back in on my eight thou-

  sand dollar Persian rug that I was still making payments on. In the

  living room I stopped and got the lighter out of the drawer. I

  walked back up the stairs, gasoline in hand, footsteps smearing my

  carpet with oil. At the door my hands trembled as I turned the

  doorknob. The hump in the sheets confirmed the nightmare. The

  two people did not even notice my entrance. I walked closer and

  closer with murderous intent. Gas in one hand, lighter in the

  other. I began to pour gas all over them and the bed, to set their

  bodies into human flames. In their fevered frolic they did not even

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  notice me. Then, to my utter disbelief, it was Stan’s hateful eyes

  that stared back at me. He threw back the covers and I saw my

  husband Marcus underneath him lying on his stomach. They both

  looked back at me, then to the gasoline can in hand and it took

  only a second for it to dawn on them what I was about to do. The

  fumes were a dead giveaway. Can you say, extra crispy courtesy of

  gasoline and fear? I flicked the cigarette lighter.

  “Noooo!” Stan shrieked and stood up in bed throwing the wet

  gasoline covers off of him like that was going to save his ass from