On the Run with Love

by J. M. Benjamin

  Freddie cut her off sharply. “Check this: I ain’t in the mood for no muthafuckin’ questions ’cause I’m a grown-ass man, a’ight?”

  “I know that, Freddie, I just thought—”

  “Didn’t I just tell yo’ dumb ass I’m a grown-ass man? I don’t need anybody to think for me. You can either listen or hang the fuck up!”

  Cynthia swiftly left the bedroom, closing the door behind her. “I’m listening, Freddie, but you don’t have to talk to me like that,” she said, trying to sound firm, but Freddie already knew he had broken her. If he hadn’t, she would’ve hung up.

  “Then understand where I’m coming from and I won’t have to. Look, Cynthia, there’s some things I need to share with you, some secrets I need you to keep. But I gotta know I can trust you, that I can count on you. I ain’t sayin’ jump when I say leap, I’m sayin’ come when I call. Can you do that? Can I count on you for that?” By the time Freddie finished, Cynthia was a wrap.

  “Oh, of course, Freddie. You can count on me. What do you need me to do?”

  “I need to see you tonight,” Freddie told her.

  Cynthia thought about the $1,000-a-plate charity banquet she was supposed to attend, and then she thought about the golden dick she had been fiending for. The decision made itself. “Where?”

  “Get a room somewhere. Wilson; get a room at the Marriott. I’ll call you in an hour, a’ight?”

  “Okay, Freddie. Whatever you say,” she responded eagerly.

  “And bring some money.”

  “How much?”

  “Surprise me.” He smiled and hung up. He purposely left the amount up in the air to determine what level they were on, and how he needed to put it down to elevate it. To Freddie, Cynthia was just the beginning, his door to that country club, jet-set pussy. It was time to step his game all the way up.

  Freddie went and got dressed in his beige, white, and brown velour Coogi, a matching beanie, and a pair of brown and beige Gators. He threw on his jewels, earring to pinkie, not forgetting his Gucci frames.

  He stepped in front of the mirror to admire himself. “Damn, you a pretty muthafucka!” he told himself. “What? Them niggas thought they could break me? A hundred grand ain’t shit. As long as bitches got pussies, I’ma get paper.”

  He wanted to shine on whoever had kidnapped Simone. He wanted all of them to know who they were dealing with. Freddie decided to stop through the Midnight Lounge on his way to Wilson, so all of them would know he couldn’t be broken, that he was unbreakable. He jumped into the BMW M3 and headed for the club.

  Freddie pulled up to Midnight and hopped out of his M3. He was so drunk, it was a miracle he’d made it that far. Normally, he would be on point coming to the hot spot, checking his surroundings as he and Slug cruised through the parking area. But because of the liquor and Slug’s absence, he hadn’t noticed that he had just passed two detectives. Fortunately for Freddie they hadn’t noticed him either. They were looking for the platinum CLK. His inadvertent choice of whips had gotten him past the police surveillance.

  He entered the crowded club staggering noticeably. He looked around, knowing that whoever had played him was at the club and probably watching him, and they were. Slug and the kidnappers, J-dog and Bruno, were all together in the body-infested establishment.

  “There go that pretty muhfucka now, folk,” Bruno said, watching Freddie move through the crowd.

  “What up, folk?” J-dog asked Slug, ready to set it.

  “Ain’t shit up, folk. He still family. Ain’t no need in pressing the issue. Y’all cats take that twenty grand and be out.”

  J-dog gave Slug a pound. “We gonna miss you, baby boy. Holler at your manz and ’em sometime, dog.”

  “Fo’ sho’,” Slug told them, and then they walked off.

  Freddie spotted Slug and smiled at him. He came over to the table and sat down. “What the deal, cuz?”

  “You,” Slug replied and they shook hands. “You a’ight, cuz?”

  “If I ain’t, I’m gonna be, yo,” Freddie boasted. “Why you ask?”

  Slug shrugged his shoulders. “Look like you got a lot on your mind, folk.”

  “Simone left me, duke,” was all Freddie said. He started to tell Slug about the kidnapping, but decided against it. What’s done is done, and he was now ready to move on.

  “What you gonna do now?”

  “Relocate,” he stated simply. “And step the game up.”

  “I feel you, cuz,” Slug said, pulling on his Newport. “I was thinkin’ the same thang. ’Cept I’m leaving the game where it stands, yo.”

  “The game’s all I got, son,” Freddie replied.

  Slug nodded and looked away. He felt sorry for Freddie. He was trapped, but he had trapped himself. Family was family, but at the end of the day, a man’s gotta stand on his own.

  “Be easy, cuz, I’ll be right back,” Slug told him and got up, headed for the bathroom.

  About that time, Dante and Cream walked up in the club looking around.

  “Yo, duke, spread out. If you see that lame, don’t do shit. The guns are in the car, but these his people, so we know somebody’s strapped. We spot him, we lie until he bounce, and work him then, a’ight?” Dante laid it down and Cream nodded in understanding. They split up and began looking for Freddie.

  Cream bumped into Tina, who was heading the other way carrying a bottle of Grand Cru. She saw Freddie lying low in the corner and went over to him instinctively. She slid into the booth next to him, kissing him on the neck, and caressing his thigh. “What’s poppin’, stranger? What’s the matter, you ain’t got time for Tina no more?” She pouted with her sexy bottom lip poked out.

  “Naw, I just ain’t got time for no games, yo,” Freddie answered.

  Look who’s talking, she thought, but instead she said, “What’s that supposed to mean, Freddie? You think I’m playing games with you?”

  “It means shit’s fucked up right now and my paper ain’t straight. So until it is, I’m keeping everything official and everyone around me official, yo,” Freddie shot back at her, grabbing the Grand Cru and turning it up.

  “And I ain’t?”

  “Are you?”

  Tina smiled. “Freddie, I’m about the same thing that you about. But you got the game fucked up lettin’ that square bitch carry you when a real boss bitch, like me, was born to take care of you.” She ran it down, checking game with science.

  Freddie just stared straight ahead, his thoughts a blur. Tina stuck her hand in his pants, grabbed his dick, pulled it out, and began pumping along the whole shaft.

  “Let Tina take care of you, baby,” she purred, and lowered her head, taking him into her mouth. Freddie put his head back and did something he hadn’t done in years. He cried from the heart. He cried for his mother, knowing all she had put up with from his father; he cried for his father because he couldn’t be a real father or a real man. He cried for everything he had put Simone through, and he cried for his unborn child that he now feared he’d never know. He also cried for how he had treated Gina and played Slug. But most of all, he cried for himself.

  Cream saw Tina’s head bobbing, sucking someone off over at one of the booths. “Damn, these country broads are some freaks!” he mumbled in disbelief, but his attitude changed when he saw who she was going down on. “Oh shit!” he exclaimed, pushing through the crowd looking for Dante.

  Chapter Forty-nine

  Dante was in the bathroom taking a piss at the urinal and, right next to him, Slug was taking a piss too. The two men acknowledged each other’s presence then went on with their business.

  Slug finished first, washed his hands, and headed out. As he was leaving, a guy walking in said, “What up, Slug?”

  “What up,” Slug replied.

  Dante almost pissed on his shoes trying to get his pants up. He didn’t even wash his hands as he rushed out, trying to follow Slug. Cream ran up to him.

  “I found Freddie!”

  “Where?” Dante asked, fo
rgetting all about Slug.

  “In the back wit’ some bitch blowin’ him!” Cream snarled, imagining that Freddie had had his wife doing the same thing.

  “Come on. When he come out, we’ll be waiting for him.”

  Timmons checked his watch and looked at Wilson. “You ready to call it a night?” Before Wilson could answer, he saw Cream and Dante hurry out of the club and walk over to two women in an SUV.

  “I know that ain’t . . .” Wilson began, then he looked over at Timmons. “I don’t know how he got past us, but Holmes is inside!”

  He and Timmons got out of the car and headed for the door.

  Chapter Fifty

  “What’s the matter, boo?” Tina was looking up with a wet mouth. Freddie had gone limp, but he hadn’t cum. That’s when she saw his tears. “Freddie, what’s wrong?”

  Freddie brought his head down and shook it. He started to push Tina away, to push it all away, but his eyes froze.

  The first bullet whizzed through the air, shattering the bottle of Rémy Martin Grand Cru VS on the table and piercing the soft flesh of Freddie’s upper left side, separating two of his ribs. The burning sensation ignited his insides letting his intoxicated mind know he had been shot. But he wasn’t surprised. How could he be when he saw it coming, saw them coming, from across the crowded club.

  The second shot caught him in the neck. His blood splattered all over a screaming female beside him who was scrambling to get away.

  Yes, he saw the bullets coming. He could see them in his eyes before he saw the glint of the cold steel in the shooter’s hand. When their eyes first met, his instincts went into survival mode. He saw murder and knew he was the victim. As he reached for his pistol, something happened. Something just made him stop, and he accepted what was taking place. He was tired.

  Even the fourth bullet, the last shot he felt, seemed to move in slow motion. From the barrel of the gun, he followed its Matrix-like trajectory as it zeroed in on him. He watched it come dangerously close to a woman’s ducking head, break a glass in a man’s hand, and finally lodge itself deep inside his own flesh. Simultaneously, Freddie’s mind was sent to that place where pain can no longer reach.

  His last sight was of those eyes and the determination in them. He knew it was coming; no one can run forever. His last thought was, damn, why did it have to be me?

  Chapter Fifty-one

  Simone trekked along the busy thoroughfare of Wayne Memorial Drive, carrying her small suitcase. She was finally free. The things Freddie had said made her feel used and depressed, but she had needed to hear them, had needed to hear him say them to her to let her go.

  She had lied to Freddie; she did love him. And she knew in her heart that she always would. Deep down, she wished Freddie would pull up beside her, beg her not to leave, embrace her tightly, and declare his undying love. But it didn’t happen.

  Simone was in no condition to be walking, so when she reached the corner gas station, she called a cab from the payphone. While waiting for it, she saw Freddie drive by in the BMW he had bought for her. She could hear Jay-Z’s In My Lifetime, Vol. 1 pumping out of the open windows. He didn’t look in her direction, just kept his attention straight ahead, bopping his head to the music. He looked like he didn’t have a care in the world, like he couldn’t care less about her leaving him. She noticed that he had changed clothes. She couldn’t tell what he was wearing, but she knew it was different from what she had just seen him in.

  Simone guessed at where he might be going: Tina. That made her blood boil. She imagined Tina in her apartment, in her bed, maybe even in her clothes, taking her place. The cab pulled up and Simone got in. Her mind was set to go to the bus station, but she heard herself say, “The Midnight Lounge.” She had to see for herself, confirm what she already knew to be true and see Freddie with her.

  Simone arrived at the club, asked the cab driver to wait for her, and then disappeared inside. The club was packed, as usual, and the thump of the music hurt her ears. It made her grab her stomach in a motherly embrace. Recognition flashed across the faces that knew her and, in her condition, they wondered what she was doing there. Simone even started to wonder herself. Freddie had obviously gone on with his life, and it was time to get on with hers.

  That was her thought before she saw Freddie in the corner booth, and he wasn’t alone. Tina was with him. Seeing her hugged up under Freddie and whispering in his ear brought back all of her anger, frustration, and grief. For six years, she had made Freddie her world, and to see him hugged up not even an hour after she left made her forget everything. All she felt was hate.

  That was, until she saw Tina’s head lower and begin to bob slowly up and down in Freddie’s lap. “I can make another baby. Can you make another Freddie?” he’d said. Simone just snapped.

  Quietly and calmly, she began her approach. She only had the gun because of the kidnapping. She saw the small .380 on the dresser and grabbed it out of fear. Now, here in the club, she felt the weight of the steel in her hand.

  Simone took aim and it was like Freddie could feel her from across the room, feel her pain. He lowered his head and looked directly at her, and she fired.

  She had aimed for Tina’s bobbing head, but instead hit Freddie. Tina screamed and scrambled to get up. She fired again and watched the blood from Freddie’s neck splatter all over Tina’s back. Tina fled for safety and the club erupted into a frenzy. She fired the last two shots in rapid succession, each one tearing away a piece of flesh from the man she loved.

  The pushing and shoving of the escaping clubgoers brought Simone back to reality and she knew she had to get out. She made her way toward the door amid the other clubbers, then stepped outside and into the waiting cab.

  “What the hell!” Wilson exclaimed, watching people run, screaming, from the lounge.

  “They shootin’, yo!” somebody shouted.

  Wilson and Timmons pulled their pistols and aggressively pushed their way inside. “Police! Out of the way! Move!” They looked around, scanning the place for the shooter and listening for more shots. All they heard was a girl crying over a body slumped in a corner booth.

  “Oh, my God! Oh, my God! Freddie, please don’t die!” Tina begged hysterically.

  Detectives Wilson and Timmons ran up on the scene. Wilson saw the man he had been looking for. “Get an ambulance!” he directed.

  Chapter Fifty-two

  Dante and Cream were sitting in the Explorer, hecklers on their laps, eyes glued to the door, when people came bursting out.

  “Fuck is goin’ on?” Dante asked, getting out of the car, scanning the faces, and making sure Freddie wasn’t one of the people running away.

  Cream got out and stood beside him, gun in hand. A girl ran by and Cream grabbed her arm. “What the fuck goin’ on?”

  “Somebody got shot!” she said, then snatched her arm away and continued running.

  “Yo, Cream, go see what’s good,” Dante said, sending his boy to gather information.

  They didn’t have long to wait. The ambulance arrived along with several squad cars, and they cordoned off the front of the club. But that didn’t stop the curious from huddling around. The EMTs, along with Timmons, Wilson, and Tina, walked out of the club, and then came Freddie on a stretcher, oxygen mask affixed to his face. Tina clung to his side. Cream looked into Freddie’s face and felt mixed emotions. He was glad that Freddie was the one who had been hit, but he hated the fact that he hadn’t been the one to hit him.

  “No, miss, you can’t—” The paramedic tried to stop Tina and she flipped.

  “No! I’m going! I’m his wife! I’m going, motherfucka!” she ranted and raved as Wilson silently nodded an okay. They all piled into the back of the ambulance and the door shut.

  Slug stood outside in shock. He had heard the shots, but didn’t know who got hit until now. He looked around the crowd and his eyes found Cream. Slug never forgot a face. He remembered Cream from the shootout in Plainfield, and he knew instantly that these had bee
n the cats asking about Freddie.

  His mind told him that these were the dudes who had gunned his cousin down. Regardless of everything that had happened, Slug wasn’t about to let this violation go unpunished.

  Cream ran back to the SUV and got in. “Son, they fuckin’ shot Freddie!” he exclaimed, disgusted.

  “Who?”

  “Fuck, I don’t know. But that was him in the ambulance.” Cream hit the dashboard in frustration.

  “He dead?”

  “They ain’t have a sheet over his face.”

  That was all Dante needed to hear. He started the truck up. “Then he ain’t dead.” He signaled for the two girls to follow. “Let’s go find this fuckin’ hospital.” Dante pulled out onto Ash Street with the Ford Focus behind him.

  “Yo, Tay, what are we gonna do when we get to the hospital?” Cream asked. He wanted Freddie too, but he wasn’t down for no wild cowboy shit.

  “Fuck you mean? We ain’t leavin’ ’til this nigga’s dead, fo’ sho’. I ain’t come all this way for nothing. Word to—”

  Dante never got a chance to finish his sentence. As he sat at the light, he didn’t see the two CBR 900s that pulled up on both sides of the Explorer. J-dog and Bruno simultaneously raised their guns and let off a barrage of shots into the SUV. Dante and Cream never even had a chance to react. They jerked and twitched violently as the bullets filled their already dead bodies.

  But Cream and Dante weren’t the only ones caught off guard. J-dog and Bruno didn’t know that the two girls in the Focus behind them were with the cats in the Explorer.

  “Mira, aqui!” the J-Lo lookalike yelled and opened fire with a Mac. Her partner in crime was synchronized perfectly with her, twin .40s blazing. Their shots hit metal and flesh, sending sparks and soft tissue flying in all directions. J-dog and Bruno lay tangled in their motorcycles.

  The blond Boricua walked up on a half-dead Bruno and stood over him. “Muerte, punto!” she sneered, and emptied the rest of her clip. Then she checked on Dante and Cream. They had both met their Maker.