by N'Tyse
I jumped in my car and headed for my club. I wanted to make sure everything was coming along as planned. I drove through about six lights until I reached Martin Luther King, Jr. Boulevard. I made a left, and when I pulled up in the parking lot, I could see that my employees were working and not jiving around on my time and money. Some were working on outside light fixtures, and some were inside adding the finishing touches. The club was near completion, and I couldn’t have been more proud of how it had turned out. Rene was going to be in shock. I hadn’t talked about the club for weeks. She had no idea that it was nearly completed. This was all for her. My money, my time were all wrapped up in this building so that I could take things to another level.
When I left the club, it was about three o’clock in the afternoon. I drove to a common spot in Pleasant Grove where I used to get my fade done up. I let this female whom I used to watch braid hair braid me up. She looked good too, but she wasn’t down with my type. I could sense it without having to ask. She was real cool, laid back, and down to earth, a character when she wanted to be. She always had niggas laughing and shit. Loved the attention. She didn’t take no shit, and you should have heard how she chin checked those niggas in the shop, putting every single one of them in their place. She was the only female up in there holding it down with the fades, cuts, braids, whatever you wanted. She did the fellas and the ladies, but her expertise was in braiding.
I sat back in the reclined chair and lowered my head into the washbowl. She washed my hair and massaged my scalp. I had to give it everything I had to maintain my composure, because she was working one of my spots, my head.
“So how long have you been braiding your hair?” she asked me.
“It’s been a while now.”
I wondered if she remembered me from when I had the bald fade and the trimmed sideburns. When I’d come to town to see Rene, I would come through to get faded by the best barber in D-Town before heading back to school.
“So, do you have a braider, or do you just let anybody play in your head?” she asked.
I almost said something that would have probably got my ass put out of the shop. Instead of risking it, I just told her that my girl normally braided my hair. She kept doing what she did, and I sat back and watched the other barbers do their thang. When she was finished, I slid her a C-note. She handed me a handheld mirror so I could check out the artwork in the back. She was definitely something serious. She had braids going every which way.
“This tight,” I said, complimenting her.
She handed me two twenty-dollar bills and a ten.
“Uh-uh. What you doin’?”
“Here’s your change.”
“Nah, that’s for you, baby girl. Keep that.”
“All right. ’Preciate ya,” she said. She tucked the fifty dollars back in her bra and swung the cape from around my shoulders. “Do you need me to schedule you for an appointment one week from today?”
“Nah. My girl should be feeling better by then, but if you have a card, I’ll keep it handy, just in case.”
She reached into her brown apron and pulled out one of her personalized business cards. She handed it to me, and I slid it in my back pocket.
“By the way, do you go out?” I asked.
“I get out sometimes. That’s if I can get my kids’ daddy to babysit they bad asses. Why you ask?”
“Well, my new club is opening this Saturday, and I was going to give you a VIP pass to come check it out.”
“Okay. It doesn’t look like I’m gonna be that booked up, anyway, so I’ll see if I can make it through.”
“Okay. Let me grab some passes out the car.”
I went back out to my car and found two VIP passes. I went back inside, wrote my name on the back of the passes, and handed them to her. “Here you go. One for you and one for a friend that you might want to bring along.” I watched her look over the purple tickets, which exempted her and a buddy from the twenty-dollar cover charge, plus gave them free admission into the VIP.
“All right. I’m sure I’ll be able to make something happen. Thanks.”
“Cool. I’ll see you then.” I turned away but then quickly turned back. “It’s Nessa, right?”
“You got it.”
“Thanks for my hair.”
I walked back outside and passed the bootleg CD man, the stolen cell phones pusher, and the old woman selling barbecue plates with potato salad and beans for eight bucks. I hopped in my ride and turned the music back up once I drove out of the parking lot. I glanced down at my cell, and there were still no calls from Rene. I was starting to worry all over again, so I decided not to delay my visit to the hospital any longer.
I pulled up into the Baylor University Medical Center parking garage. I walked into the building and searched for a help desk or a patient information booth. I spotted a help desk and hurried over.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” I said to the woman behind the desk. “Could you tell me where I can find a patient by the name of Rene Brown?”
“Yes, sir. Do you know if she was brought in through the emergency?”
“Yes, ma’am. She came in last night.”
The brown-skinned woman was tapping away on a keyboard and looking over the spectacles that rested on her narrow nose. She reminded me of Ruby Mae in a way, except this woman was older. She wore her hair in a French roll with swooping bangs. She was real pretty, just like my mother. She had the wide hips, the high cheekbones, and the thickness that came along with her black heritage. Although she resembled my mother greatly, she didn’t dress like her. Her coordinated outfit was not at all appealing. She had on a mint-green pleated skirt with a yellow blouse and some peanut butter–colored walking shoes. She was neat, but talk about tacky. Her grandkids needed they ass whupped for letting her walk out the damn house like that. My moms had shopped out of the JCPenney catalog, and if it hadn’t looked right on the models, she sure as hell hadn’t bought it. Lord rest her soul.
“Sir, did you say Rene Brown?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t have a Rene Brown in my computer. Are you sure of the last name? Because I have a Rene Montgomery, but not a Brown.”
“No, I’m sure it’s Brown. That’s my girlfr . . .” I stopped in mid-sentence. I had to catch myself, because I respected my elders, and had she known I was a woman, I would never have told her that Rene was my girlfriend. But since she thought I was a man, I finished what I had to say. “That’s my girlfriend. She was brought in late last night.”
“I’m sorry, sir. I’m not showing a Rene Brown checked in. Maybe she went to a different hospital.”
I was sure she’d come here. After all, this hospital was the closest. “That’s okay. I’ll call later.” Maybe they hadn’t put her in the computers yet, I figured.
I walked out of the building. When I got back to the crib, I got out the phone book and dialed every hospital in Dallas that I could think of. No one had a patient by the name of Rene Brown. I searched the caller ID for Shun’s number. When I needed to see her number on the damn thing, it wasn’t there. There were two numbers, though, that were displayed under pay phone. I checked the messages, but there still weren’t any. I hoped those pay phone calls had not come from Rene, but if they had, she would have known to hit me on the cellular, or she would at least have left a message letting me know she was fine.
I knew she would call again, so I waited, rolled me a sticky icky, and puffed, puffed passed the fuck out.
Sand
My cell was vibrating on my hip. I flipped it open, and the word across the screen read unavailable.
“Hello,” I answered.
No reply from the other end.
“Rene?” I blurted. “Is this you?”
Still nothing but silence.
I walked to the front door of the apartment, trying to get a better signal. I got the same silent treatment. Suddenly, I heard “Twisted,” by Keith Sweat, playing from somewhere inside the apartment. I fol
lowed the sound back to the bedroom. The tune became clearer as I approached the bedroom door. I walked in, trying to determine exactly where the sound was coming from. I spotted Rene’s brown purse on the bedside nightstand.
I looked through the purse, searching for the ringing cell phone. I found nothing. It had to be nearby. I looked behind the headboard, under the bed, and even shuffled through the sheets. Still no cell. The phone had stopped ringing, and now I could hear the missed call alert indicating there was an unanswered call. I pulled back the sliding door of the closet, where usually all our clothes were neatly hung separately and our shoes were neatly stacked. The clothes that should have been hanging from hangers were not. They were piled up on the floor, in one tall stack.
What the fuck was this all about?
All the clothes I had spent my hard-hustled money on were on the floor. This shit hadn’t been this way when I left the apartment earlier in the day. Someone had been up in here, but no one else had the key or access to this apartment except for Rene. I couldn’t understand it. Why would she do this? This wasn’t at all like her.
I heard the message alert sound again. I had almost forgotten the reason I was standing in the closet to begin with. I pushed all the clothes to the side, because the ringing noise was coming from underneath the pile. And there it was, the pink fur case that held the electronic device that Rene and I often communicated through. I picked it up and flipped it open. I was going to trace back the last call. I hoped it was Rene. The shit was odd, but I didn’t think that much about it. I was still partially buzzed, and thinking was not what I was trying to do right now. I was trying to find my girl; that was all.
I hit the OUTGOING AND INCOMING HISTORY button. There were numerous calls made to one number in particular. Six and seven calls back-to-back. Incoming and outgoing. I raised my brow, making a mental note of the 2:00 a.m. call. Who in the hell was she calling at that hour? I hit the MISSED HISTORY button. The call that had just been made was from an anonymous caller. The time read 5:32 p.m. There was no way to find out who it was. Now I was getting pissed, because lately that was all I was seeing—private calls, anonymous calls, unavailable calls, pay phone numbers, unknown area codes. The only thing different was that this call had been made to Rene’s cell phone, and not to mine or the home phone.
I was about to put the phone back in Rene’s purse when it started to ring again. I flipped it back open, and I couldn’t have grabbed my keys and headed out that door fast enough. A clear picture of Jasmine emerged on Rene’s phone screen. She looked the same way she had that night I went over to her crib. As a matter of fact, that was exactly how she had looked when I went over there. She had on that same red gown, and her hair was styled in the same short cut.
This bitch had set me up. She was playing me like a muthafucka. Ain’t no telling how long I’d been a part of this fucked-up game she had going. I had to find Rene. What if she had seen that shit on her phone? Maybe that was why she’d ripped the clothes off the racks. Maybe she had spoken with Jasmine. Maybe Jasmine had told her all the shit I did that night at James’s house or, better yet, that night at her place.
Jasmine was about to get hurt. I had tried to play calm, but now she had overstepped her fuckin’ boundaries. How the fuck had her picture got on Rene’s cell phone in the first place? I had to find out what and who I was dealing with.
I was already in my car and down the street. I didn’t know what I was capable of at this point, but I did know that it was something serious. I headed back to the place where it had all begun. The odd look. The sly smile. And then the phone number written in red, which had eventually led to more than what I’d anticipated. Sophisticated Images. I pulled up in front of Jasmine’s place of employment. I didn’t see her car. She had a burgundy 2003 Chevy Malibu, and there was no Malibu in sight. I drove around the building twice.
I spotted the short Asian man who had taken my and Rene’s pictures. He had a brown briefcase in his hand and was walking toward a charcoal-gray SUV. I pulled up alongside him, and he started walking faster when he saw me roll up with dark-tinted windows. I rolled down my driver’s side window so he could see me better, maybe even recognize me. After all, I had spent a total of $161.00 on some damn pictures that were still sitting around the house.
“Excuse me, sir, but I’m looking for an employee of yours.”
He wouldn’t stop, just walked even faster, hoping to make it to his vehicle safe and unharmed. I knew he was scared as fuck. A young nigga like me creeping on the lot of his business, looking like he ’bout to pull a kick doe, was intimidating. He probably had much cash on him too. That was why his ass started picking up speed a little bit more, until he was damn near skipping. He hopped in his van and sped away.
I waited in the lot a little bit longer. The wait was gonna be well worth it. I was goin’ to kick Jasmine’s ass from here all the way to her house. I was gonna fuck her ass up.
The sun had gone down, and it was already dark. I knew Jasmine had to be in there. She had told me once that she usually didn’t leave work until about eight o’clock. It was ten minutes to. I started to go in but stopped myself. I didn’t want anyone to call the law for the domestic dispute they were bound to report on me. I waited a while longer. I saw everyone leaving and jumping into their cars, everyone except for Jasmine. I circled the building once again. It was now 8:15 p.m., and Jasmine still had not come out. Maybe her little ass was hiding inside, watching me, getting a thrill at my expense. Fuck it. I’d show her who to play games with.
I drove to her house. I knocked on the door just to make sure that she and I would be the only ones in the place. No one answered. I gripped the door handle, looked around to be sure no one was in sight, and then used my hips to force my way in.
“What the fuck!”
Candles were burning, and wax drippings had collected beneath them. Had I not come in, something would have caught fire and turned her little town house to ashes. I blew each of them out. Someone had to be in here. I peeked into each one of the rooms cautiously. I didn’t need any surprises. I found my way to her bedroom, where I had once laid my head. I wished I could delete the horrible memory from my mind, but I couldn’t. It would be there forever. I felt like I had been branded, and the scratches that were still on my backside proved it.
I made my way through the house. I stopped near the bathroom when I heard the shower running. The door was partially closed. I could smell citrus-scented vapors overlapping the scent of honeydew candles that flowed all through the house. I opened the bathroom door, eased my way inside, ready to choke the shit out of Jasmine’s ass. Heat and steam from the hot water fogged the mirrors. I made my way closer, stepping over towels and plastic trash bags that were laid out across the floor. I could see the shadow of Jasmine in the shower, but it looked like she was sitting down in the tub.
I was careful and made sure not to make any noises. I walked even closer. I snatched back the shower curtain, causing the holders to fall to the floor. My eyes grew big, and my chest tightened. I tried covering my face with my forearm. The image was far more disturbing than any movie or newscast I had ever seen. The shit was real, and although Jasmine had caused me major problems, I still found myself feeling somewhat sorry for her, maybe even a little hurt.
Her eyes told it all.
Jasmine was dead. I couldn’t believe it. Somebody had killed her.
Out of all the shit I had seen in my life, this was the worst. I’d seen a fiend get kicked around and shot at, but not killed. I had even seen a homeless man run into the middle of the street, in front of a moving city bus, attempting to commit suicide. His attempt had failed. Everyone had watched as he’d lain there, paralyzed, blood pouring from his skull as he spoke in a language that sounded foreign. Three weeks later I’d passed him on the street. Only this time he was in a wheelchair and had an amputated leg and bandages around his forehead. Sometimes the homeless did crazy shit like that. Some of them wanted off the streets so bad that if it mean
t killing themselves or robbing a convenience store to be put in a jail cell, where they were guaranteed something to eat and somewhere to lie, then that was the choice they would make. Out of all the things I’d ever witnessed with my own two eyes, nothing had ever prepared me for some shit like that.
I wasn’t even trying to see Jasmine like that. Her lifeless body lay in a tub of running hot water. She was naked. Her eyes were partially open. I moved in closer to see if she had been shot or stabbed. There were no stab wounds and no bullet holes. There wasn’t even any blood. Her mouth was crooked, and it looked like she had something inside of it. I was face-to-face with her corpse.
As I moved closer to her, trying to see what it was that had caused her mouth to inflate, I realized it was something black. I separated her lips more. I pulled at the material that had been stuffed in her mouth and practically forced down her throat. Her body tilted over, and her head fell into my chest. I laid her back, still shocked and terrified at the sight of her. I finally got a grip on the black cloth that had been crammed in her windpipe. I eased it out while scrunching my nose up, trying not to inhale the strong vapors that came from the material. It was Jasmine’s underwear.
The fumes from the panties burned my nostrils. Just to be sure, I brought the underwear closer to my nose, and the smell was what I had suspected it was . . . gasoline.
I was shook up. I tried to regain my composure, but I couldn’t. I left Jasmine’s body the same way I had discovered it. Someone had killed her and had left her body to burn. They had lit candles, knowing the place would catch fire. And to make sure she burned up along with it, they had saturated her underwear with gasoline and stuffed it down her throat. As much as I hated Jasmine for the shit she had done and had tried to do, I still couldn’t help feeling bad for her. She didn’t deserve to go out like that. I wondered if there was someone out there whom she had beef with. Or it could have been one of those sex offenders who had been on the news, the ones women were being warned about.
