by Mason Dixon
Raq shook her head as if she wanted to contest Pop’s statement, then her mouth fell open in obvious recognition. Her haunted eyes made it clear she wished she could recast her role in the tragedy playing out around them. “Gumby’s your mama?”
“Her name isn’t Gumby,” Bathsheba said with a flash of heat. “It’s Delilah.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean any offense.” Raq slowly lifted her broad shoulders in a shrug. “I figured she was somebody’s mama, but I didn’t know she was yours.”
“Would it have made a difference?”
“If I’d known she was your people, yeah.”
“And what would you have done?”
“I would have stepped in and put a stop to the things Half Pint was making her do.”
“Delilah had to have some kind of connection to you in order for you to be willing to do something to keep her from being degraded?” Pop asked. “Finding out she’s Bathsheba’s mother shouldn’t be the reason you developed a conscience. You should have seen a person in trouble and lent a hand no matter what. Now that you know who she is, what are you going to do about it, help her out or keep looking the other way?”
Raq shrank from the tongue lashing. “I do what I’m told,” she said defensively.
“I remember when you used to have a mind of your own,” Pop said. “It hasn’t been that long since you were able to think for yourself, has it?”
Raq clenched and unclenched her fists as if she wanted to hit something to release her growing frustration at being trapped between the world she once knew and the one in which she had chosen to live. “I thought we said we weren’t going to talk about this tonight.”
“My house. My rules,” Pop said sternly. Then he quickly relented, his soft spot for Raq preventing him from causing her more discomfort. “You’re right. I don’t want to ruin my appetite before dinner by dwelling on unpleasant subjects.” He jerked his head toward the kitchen. “Why don’t you go check on Zeke and make sure he puts enough mustard in the potato salad?”
Raq was so happy to leave the unpleasant scene behind she ran to the kitchen as if someone was chasing her.
“Since Zeke’s in charge of the crabs and Raq’s taking care of the potato salad, what would you like me to do?” Bathsheba asked.
Pop took a quick glance toward the kitchen, where Zeke and Raq were banging pots and pans like they were in the percussion section of a marching band. “I know you’re a cop,” Pop said in a whisper.
Bathsheba tried to remain calm despite the rush of adrenaline and fear that surged through her. “Why would I want to be a cop?” she asked in an attempt at levity. “They get lousy pay, terrible benefits, and people don’t appreciate them until they need one. Sometimes not even then.”
“I saw your picture in the paper when you busted some wannabe gangbangers in DC a few years back.”
Bathsheba remembered the article and the grainy photo that had accompanied it. Something that had once been a point of pride could turn out to be the bane of her existence if the wrong person got wind of it.
“Do you want me to call you Bathsheba or Renee? Renee’s the name you really go by, isn’t it?”
“Bathsheba’s fine,” she said after making sure Raq and Zeke were out of earshot. Pop seemed to be on her side, but she wondered if he represented the minority or the majority. “How many people have you told I’m a cop?”
“I know how things are around here. Ice Taylor has bought everyone’s silence or their cooperation. The only questions they’re willing to answer are the ones he asks. I haven’t said a word to anyone, including Zeke. I don’t want him to be compromised by having access to information he might not need.”
“So what do you want from me?”
“I want you to say the real reason you came back to the Middle East is to take Ice Taylor down. If it is, have a seat and tell me what I can do to help.”
“I can’t ask you to put yourself at risk.”
“You’re not asking. I’m volunteering. It seems to me you don’t have much choice. You’re in enemy territory, Bathsheba, and you need as many allies as you can get.”
“No,” Bathsheba said. “All I need is one.”
*
Raq munched on a carrot stick while she watched Bathsheba and Pop sit and talk like she and Pop used to do. Instead of jealous, she felt confused. And stupid. Bathsheba wasn’t a cop. She was just like her. A normal, everyday person with normal, everyday problems and enough family drama to supply the soap operas she loved to watch with plot lines for years to come.
“Did you know Gumby was Bathsheba’s mama?”
“No.” Sweat poured down Zeke’s face as he leaned over a giant pot of blue crabs. “But now that you mention it, I can definitely see the family resemblance.”
Raq mentally compared Gumby’s and Bathsheba’s faces. One was haggard and deeply lined. The other was as smooth and beautiful as a piece of polished mahogany. But they had the same almond-shaped eyes, the same pert nose, and the same full, sensuous lips. Of course they did. Because the faces belonged to mother and daughter.
“How could I not have noticed it before?”
Zeke stuck a fork in a bobbing ear of corn to see if the kernels were tender enough to eat. “Maybe you did and you didn’t want to accept what you were seeing.”
“Either way, I owe Bathsheba an apology.”
“For what? For not trying to save her mother from her demons?”
“No, for thinking she was a cop.” Raq waved her hand in front of her face after Zeke poured the pot of blue crabs, corn on the cob, and the accompanying hot water in an oversized colander in the sink and thick clouds of steam filled the small kitchen.
“Damn, girl. Why would you think that?” Zeke wiped his dripping face with a dish towel. “I mean take a look around. Ain’t no cops hanging around the Middle East. They don’t even come when called, let alone volunteer to stay here full-time.”
“They would if they were undercover.”
“How long do you think undercover cops would last on these streets? Someone would roll over on them the day they showed up. Both them and their half-assed cover stories would get shot to hell. Boom. End of investigation.”
“That’s what worries me.”
She followed Zeke to the patio, where he spread butcher paper on a rectangular table and dumped the corn and blue crabs on top.
“What do you mean?” Zeke asked as he set the table.
Raq placed a bowl of potato salad on one end of the table and a container of cole slaw on the other. “I’m not the only one who had doubts about her. If someone acts on theirs instead of clearing them up like I did, boom. End of Bathsheba.”
“Then do what you do best: protect the ones you love.”
For Raq, that was easier said than done. Whose side was she supposed to take when the ones she loved needed protection from each other? As she watched Pop slowly walk toward the patio while leaning on Bathsheba’s arm for support, the choice became clearer.
“When this is over, can we go back to my place?” Raq pulled out Bathsheba’s chair and sat across the table from her. “There’s something I want to show you.”
“Something like what?” Bathsheba asked, spreading a napkin in her lap.
“Me.”
Chapter Fourteen
Raq unlocked her apartment door, flipped on the lights, and tossed her keys on top of the collected spare change in the plastic pretzel jar next to the miniscule TV. The three-gallon jar was bigger than the TV set. Hell. It was practically bigger than the entire apartment. She could probably score roomier digs if she filled out the right paperwork with the pencil pushers in DC, but who had time for that? The place was small—room enough for a bed, bathroom, and “kitchen,” an area she had carved out for a hot pot and a small refrigerator—but it had all the space she needed. Until now. Having Bathsheba here made her realize how little she had. And how much she wanted.
“This is me. It’s not much, but it’s mine.”
“Cool.”
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Bathsheba looked around, which took all of two seconds since the place was less than four hundred square feet. Raq was glad she had made her bed this morning, something she didn’t normally do unless she was expecting company. Inviting Bathsheba home with her after dinner with Pop and Zeke hadn’t been part of the original plan at the beginning of the night. Now she couldn’t think of a better way to end it.
“Can I get you something to drink?” Raq bent to check the contents of her mini-fridge. “I’ve got soda, juice, water. Check that. Looks like the juice expired last week. You don’t want that.” She pulled the expired carton of OJ out of the fridge so she could toss it in the trash. “I thought I had some beer, but I guess I polished it off already. You don’t strike me as an Olde English kind of girl anyway. Next time you come over, I’ll be sure to have a bottle of wine on hand. The good stuff, not Night Train. You could light fires with that shit. So what would you like?”
“For you to stop trying so hard.” Bathsheba held Raq by her shoulders, grounding her when she felt like she might fly away. “Stop trying to impress me and just be real with me. That’s all I’ve ever wanted from you. Nothing more. Nothing less. If you invited me here to help you clean out your refrigerator, grab a trash bag and let’s get to it. But if you had something more serious on the agenda, I’d rather get to that instead.”
Accepting Bathsheba’s challenge, Raq grabbed two bottles of water out of the refrigerator, took Bathsheba by the hand, and led her to a nearby chair. “First of all, I want to tell you I’m sorry. I didn’t know Gum—I mean Delilah—was your mother. Now that I know who she is, I promise I’ll do my best to keep her safe. She’s one of Half Pint’s best customers so he won’t want to hear it when I tell him he has to drop her, but I don’t think it will take much persuading on my part to get him to see things my way.”
“I appreciate that. Thank you.”
Raq didn’t know how Ice would react to her messing with his bottom line—he kept track of every penny that went in and out of his organization—but she’d deal with that situation when the time came.
She placed her unopened bottle of water on the floor, sat back in her chair, and rubbed her hands over the creases in her jeans. She felt as nervous as a whore in church. She had bared her flesh before but never her soul. Tonight, that was going to change.
“Knowing where you come from answers a lot of questions I had about you,” she said.
“What kind of questions?”
Bathsheba sounded tense so Raq put a hand on her knee to get her to relax. “Like why you’ve kept the things in your past such a big secret. Before tonight, I thought you’d told me everything there was to know about you. Now I realize I don’t know as much as I thought I did. If Pop hadn’t said something tonight, would you have told me about your sister and your Mom?”
“Eventually.” Bathsheba took a sip of her water as she tried to buy time. Then she set the bottle down and stared at her feet. “If I thought we were going to get serious, yes, I would have told you everything.”
“If? You don’t think I’m serious about you?” Raq put her fingers under Bathsheba’s chin and tilted her head up until Bathsheba met her eyes. “That’s why I brought you here tonight. Because I wanted to let you know how much you mean to me. Because I wanted to introduce you to the real me.”
Bathsheba leaned forward in her seat, giving Raq her full, undivided attention. “Good. Because I’m ready to meet her.”
Raq cleared her throat, reluctant to tell her tale but eager for Bathsheba to hear it. She had glossed over it the night they went to Club Peaches, but now it was time for her to spill the whole T.
“When I was fifteen, my Mom’s boyfriend, Ray, started looking at me like he hadn’t eaten in a week and I was a bucket of KFC. He didn’t do anything at first. Then he started hinting around and asking me questions to see if I was interested. I came out of the womb liking girls so he knew the answer was no. He tried to beat the gay out of me, but that didn’t work, either. Then he decided to take what I wouldn’t give him. I’d started going to Pop’s Gym the first time Ray looked at me sideways. I wanted to be able to defend myself without reaching for a knife or a gun. I didn’t want to exchange one prison for another.”
“Did you tell your mother what was happening or did she turn a blind eye to what was going on?”
“She convinced herself my bruises came from fights at school. I tried to tell her the truth, but she accused me of trying to seduce Ray when it was the other way around. She was passed out drunk the night he finally made his move. I woke up with him on top of me, pinning me down, and trying to pull my underwear aside so he could shove his way inside.”
Bathsheba sat on the edge of her seat like she was watching an action movie. “What did you do?”
“I slammed my knee into his balls as hard as I could. A cheap shot, maybe, but it slowed him down long enough for me to free my hands. Once we were on even terms, he didn’t have a chance. I knocked him out with a right cross. The purest punch I’ve ever thrown. While he slept off the effects of the punch and the forty of malt liquor he and my mother had split, I packed my shit and got out.”
“And you went to Pop’s?”
Raq nodded. “I stayed with him and Zeke for almost three years. Pop probably would have let me stay indefinitely if I asked, but he was on a fixed income and I knew how much of a strain it put on him to have another mouth to feed. I needed to find a job so I could pull my weight. I tried the minimum wage thing for a while, but the take-home pay was so bad it was like I was working for free. I got tired of giving most of my money to the government each week. Then Ice came along. He offered me two things: more money and the chance to do what I do best, box. I would have jumped ship for either one, but he offered me both.”
“What did he ask you to do for him?”
“He wanted me to sell for him because I knew how to handle myself and he didn’t think any of the rival crews would try to jack me for my cash or my stash. But I said no. I don’t care how other people make their living. That’s on them. But there are two things I will never do, no matter how much someone offered to pay me: sling drugs or carry a gun.”
“Yet you look out for people that do. What’s the difference?”
“Everyone needs someone to watch his back from time to time. What I do isn’t illegal. To me, it’s just a job like any other. But not everyone sees it that way.”
“You mean Pop.”
“He’s not the only one who doesn’t like what I do. He’s just the most vocal about it. He doesn’t approve of the drug thing, but I think the unlicensed boxing upsets him even more.”
“Why? He’s the one who introduced you to the sport in the first place.”
“That’s why he’s so hurt. He wanted me to fight in the Golden Gloves or the Olympics, not warehouses and back alleys.”
“Wouldn’t you have preferred to take that route?”
Raq ran her hand over her cornrows, wondering if the disappointment she sometimes felt after a particularly lopsided win was hers or someone else’s. If she fought in a different venue, the reward might have been greater, but the cheers would have sounded the same and the stakes wouldn’t have been nearly as high. “Those were Pop’s dreams, not mine.”
“What do you dream about?”
“Leaving here.” Raq let her hands fall into her lap, thankful for the change in subject. “Going someplace far, far away. Somewhere I could have room to breathe. Someplace I wouldn’t have to look over my shoulder all the time because no one’s out to get me. Someplace quiet with no gunshots or police sirens ripping through the night.”
“Sounds like heaven.”
Raq raised her bottle of water in a toast. “Here’s hoping I don’t have to die to get there.”
“I hope you don’t either. I like having you here.” Bathsheba covered Raq’s hand with hers. “When you find the slice of heaven you’ve been dreaming about, maybe I could visit you sometime.”
Raq laced her
fingers through Bathsheba’s, forming a connection like she had never felt. “Or maybe you could come with me.”
“Do you want me with you?”
Raq slid out of her chair and knelt before Bathsheba. “With everything I am, yes, I want you.”
Bathsheba cradled Raq’s head in her arms, taking her from the Middle East to a place that had previously existed only in her imagination. She didn’t have to die to go to heaven because she was already there. She closed her eyes, feeling safe. Feeling secure. Feeling loved. Feeling some things she hadn’t felt in years and something she had never felt before. She wanted to explore those feelings. To see how deep they were. To see how much further they could go.
She lifted her head, hoping she had done enough to earn the kiss she was silently requesting. Bathsheba lowered her head until their mouths met in a kiss so tender it nearly brought tears to Raq’s eyes.
Raq slid her hands under Bathsheba’s blouse as the kiss deepened, needing to feel her skin. Needing to feel her heart. Bathsheba pulled at Raq’s hoodie and Raq lifted her arms to comply. She needed Bathsheba’s hands on her, too.
But her phone rang before she could get what she had craved for weeks.
“Hold that thought,” she said as she dug her burner out of her pocket.
“It’s me.” Ice’s controlled, measured voice cooled Raq’s raging libido. And the fact that he sounded like himself instead of a Denzel wannabe garnered her immediate attention.
“What’s up? Is something wrong?”
Something had to be screwed up somewhere. Otherwise, Dez would be calling. If Ice was reaching out, the shit must have really hit the fan.
“I’ll tell you when you get here. Meet me at the storage unit. And bring Bathsheba with you.”
“Why?” she asked, but Ice didn’t answer because he had already hung up.
The knot of apprehension in Raq’s stomach grew even tighter after she told Bathsheba they had to leave.
“Why does he want me to come?”
Raq doubted Bathsheba knew anything about the self-storage company Ice owned, what most of the units contained, or the kinds of things that went on in the large, empty unit on the far end of the lot. But she may be about to find out.
