“Ooh, baby, it’s so big. Tastes good, too.”
“Damn, girl, you a freak for sho.” Topps squeezed her breasts and kept a lookout for anybody walking up on them. For a minute it was hard to concentrate on Gina’s lips gliding up and down his shaft when he had so much on his mind: money, shutting down his operations; finding Neema, picking up his kids, and of course, getting revenge. He couldn’t let Hattie get away with trying to punk him. “Let me pull around to the back of this building.”
The coast looked clear enough for the two of them to climb into the roomy backseat where Topps discovered Gina didn’t have on panties beneath her short skirt. In no time he had her skirt hiked up over her hips and one of her breasts hanging out from her black lace bra. With Gina on top, his tongue flicked around her hardened nipple as his hands kept pulling her soft, fleshy rear into his pelvis. Topps had his sweats pulled down enough to get the job done, sliding in and out of her warm wetness with hard, but smooth gliding.
Gina threw her head back. “Oh yeah, baby, do it. Do me harder. Make this pussy work, baby. Squeeze my ass. I’m coming…”
Dirty words to his ears made him pump faster, harder until he couldn’t hold back any longer. Spent, the two disengaged breathing hard. They fixed their clothes before some nosey person walked up and caught them with their pants down, literally.
“Can we go shopping now?” Gina didn’t give up.
“Hell yeah, girl. We’ll get a room first, get cleaned up, then we can go shopping.”
TWENTY-THREE
Myra was a nervous wreck when she arrived at the 7-Eleven to pick them up. Hattie couldn’t blame her. The whole situation with Topps, the kids and not knowing if Neema was kidnapped, hurt, or dead or alive was starting to take its toll with nervous energy and more than her usual share of headaches. She’d even noticed two strands of gray hair growing at her edges and she couldn’t have that. The pit of her stomach was starting to get that burning feeling with each passing day—all from worrying.
After the police had taken a report and talked to all cooperating witnesses, there was nothing more to talk about. Myra had felt like crying watching Sutton Towing load up her old vehicle to be carted away to some wrecking yard. She never drove the thing; still, the car held some sentimental value. It was a reminder of where she had come from.
“One of the kids had to tell him where you were, Mama. How else would he know that you’re up here in Victorville?” They were loaded in Myra’s SUV and on their way back to her house.
“I asked the kids, Myra. They didn’t call and tell ’im.”
“What if they’re lying? It wouldn’t be the first time.” Myra gripped her steering wheel and looked back at Brandon through her rearview mirror. The boy was crazy about his father, and in his eyes, Topps, could do no wrong. Yeah, he was probably the culprit. It was a shame that his twisted parental love was about to get all three of them killed. “You called your father, didn’t you, Brandon? Admit it?”
“What’s it to you?” Brandon sneered back.
“Boy, so help me, I will pull this car over and beat the snot…”
“Myra, please. He’s no perfect angel, but I believe that he understands we have a serious problem going on here. I don’t think the kids would call and tell their father where they are.” Hattie blew out a weary breath. “Besides, I’ve been holding on to his cell phone.”
“Mama, think about it, if that lunatic followed you to Target, chances are he knows where I live, too. This is too much. If Glen finds out, he’ll have a fit.”
“Well, we don’t want that.” Her words hit hard. Myra didn’t have to say it. Hattie could feel it. Staying at her house put her family in jeopardy. Still, it was too late for what she coulda or shoulda done. “Sweetie, I know this is a real inconvenience for you. Maybe me and the kids should go back to the house. We could stay in the garage ’til the house is ready.”
“Mama, don’t be ridiculous.”
“Maybe a hotel or motel.” Hattie turned her gaze out the passenger’s side, hoping Myra would disagree. The thought of sleeping in a bed once occupied by a host of strangers made her skin crawl. And if she was fighting a war against a monster, she needed all the family support she could get. Obviously, Topps Jackson was a madman that didn’t care who got hurt as long as he got his way.
“When will our mama come get us?” Raynita wanted to know. “I miss her.”
Hattie swiveled around in the plush leather seat. “Soon, I hope. Real soon.” Words easy to say. She wished she knew for sure. What if Neema ran off and abandoned her kids? The horrible thought kept popping into her head, taunting her. “Baby, don’t worry, she’s probably taking a little break.”
“Yeah, and I’m the Queen of Egypt,” Myra mumbled.
“I wanna go home to my own damn house,” Brandon announced. “I wanna play with my friends and ride my new bike.”
“Soon, Brandon, soon.” Hattie sighed. She was too tired to make a fuss over his profanity. What she had noticed about the kids, in a disturbing way, was how immune and nonchalant they were to drama. Seeing the car go up in flames had Raynita upset and teary eyed for a minute, but a bag of chips and ice cream sandwich had taken care of that. And Brandon? Humph. Nothing seemed to really faze the boy. He had gazed at the flaming vehicle like it was bonfire around a camp site. “I hear they have a nice setup at one of those Extended Stay hotels.”
Myra shook her head. “Yeah, if you like giving money away. Nah, y’all need to stay put for a while. I only wish Neema would bring her behind home and put an end to this madness.”
Hattie couldn’t agree more. “I guess I should put my own car in the shop and have the engine repaired. I’m really sorry about your car. The police should be mailing out a report for your insurance company.”
“Mama, don’t worry about it. Everyone is safe; that’s what’s important. We’ll get through this.” Myra smiled over at her. Of all the times she’d tried to persuade Hattie to come up and spend some time at her house, it would have to be under trying circumstances.
“Where’s the kids?” Hattie noticed that Princess the dog came with her, but not Trayvon and the twins. Princess was dressed in a rhinestone doggy-jacket.
“At home with the nanny. The twins had homework to finish up. And you know Tray. If there’s no video game involved, he can’t be bothered.”
Hattie wasn’t listening. Her house was unavailable; her car was in need of repair. She couldn’t get to her own money. Her life was upside down and she wasn’t sure what to do about it. And Neema. She never prayed so hard in her life for Neema to call or show back up. She simply wanted to know if her daughter was alive and well; she would even forget about being mad at her. Well, maybe after she slapped her a couple of times.
Later that evening, after a good supper of pot roast, garlic bread, mashed potatoes, and salad, after the kids were bathed and in bed, Hattie sat on the bed in the guest room where she had been sleeping, trying to make sense of everything that had happened. She’d called the precinct earlier to see if Detective Moon had learned anything new of Neema’s whereabouts. Nothing. No activity on her bank account. No phoned-in tips. It didn’t seem like they were trying hard enough to find her daughter. Hattie had slammed the kitchen phone down in the detective’s ear.
“I’m sorry,” she said when Myra had looked at her like she was crazy. “This is so frustrating. It’s driving me crazy not knowing.”
“They still haven’t heard anything?” Myra asked, removing items from her top-of-the-line dishwasher. Princess was at her side, watching her every move. The dog was devoted. “At least we know that she’s not in some hospital or the morgue. They do check.”
“So they say. According to Detective Moon, there’s still no activity on her bank account. They’ve been interviewing people from her home phone contacts, but no one seems to know anything.” Her eyes welled up. “This don’t feel like one of her little stunts. Something is wrong this time, Myra. I believe that fool has done something to
her. I can feel it.”
“I know. I was thinking the same thing.” Myra had made some chamomile tea. She was ready for bed with her cream-hued satin robe, gown, and matching slippers. “Here, Mama,” she said, bringing her a cup of steaming tea. “This should help you sleep.” The two sat down at the elegant dining room table. It was mainly a room for show, as Myra rarely entertained or ate at the five-thousand-dollar, hand-carved table.
“I need some sleep. I feel so tired.”
“Oh, and if you need a car to get around in, I still have my old Honda stored in the garage. Dusty, but it runs good. I’ve been saving it for Trayvon’s first car.”
“Thanks, Myra. You have really been a big help.”
“No problem. I just wish there was more that I could do. And, well, that’s why I wanted to run something by you.”
Hattie perked up. “Something like what?”
“I was thinking that…well…” Myra stirred her tea furiously. “I know this guy, and he helps people with problems.”
“What kind of problems?” Hattie’s tone was calm, curious.
“Whatever problem you have. Actually, he’s a friend through Glen. Glen was his doctor when he was diagnosed with colon cancer some years back. His cancer went into remission and he sort of took a liking to Glen, you know, like a good friend.”
Hattie raised a brow. “And?” She’d been at Myra’s house for several days and seen her son-in-law, Glen, only once. Doctors stayed busy. She knew that, but goodness, what’s the point of having a man if you never get to see him? “You bring this up to say what?”
“Uh, well…that he can help you. He’s what you could call an ‘equalizer.’ He can make it all go away. He can make Topps go away.”
Surely she wasn’t suggesting what she thought. “Go away, like in kill somebody?”
“Mama, if that’s what it takes.”
“You want me to have the kids’ father killed?” Hattie was staring at her incredulously because that was exactly her suggestion. “Myra, you can’t be serious.”
Myra blinked and looked away, then made eye contact again. “Mama, look, sometimes people are put in situations where they don’t have choices. That’s how life is.” Her eyes glistened and there was an urgency in her tone to help her mother resolve this matter. The sooner, the better before Glen put his foot down. “His name is B. Kelly, but he goes by the name of Bruno.”
“Myra, it’s a sin to kill. You need to read your Bible.”
“And it’s a shame to sit back and let yourself be killed. It’s not like I’m talking about you killing the man yourself.”
“Girl, what is wrong with you? It’s like I don’t even know who you are.” Hattie shot up from her seat. “I’m a Christian, not a killer.” She wanted the madness with Topps Jackson to be over with, too, but one thing was certain: She wasn’t about to take another person’s life.
Myra shot up, too. “Mama, you can’t sit back and do nothing!” she fumed. “You either have to solve the problem or give the man his kids. Just give the damn kids to him! Why can’t he have ’em?”
Was she out of her damn mind? Hattie glared at her with hot resentment. This wasn’t about solving the problem for the kids’ sake. It was for Myra’s sake. Myra’s perfect little world was being disturbed and she couldn’t deal with it. It was as clear as glass.
“You can talk until you’re blue in the face, but he’s not getting his hands on Nita and Brandon. If he does, it’ll be over my dead body.”
“Mama, he’s their father. Give the man what he wants, so he can leave you alone! You can always take him to court and get the kids legally. He’s their biological father, for crying out loud!”
Hattie narrowed her eyes at her. “He may be the father, but that don’t make it right. Neema left those kids with me, and I promised her that I would give them back to her. Not the father.”
“But what if she don’t show back up, then what?”
It was a horrible thought to consider. “Well, I’ll have to cross that bridge when I get to it.”
“Mama, you’re just being stubborn.”
“Myra, mothers give up on kids every single day. I know I can’t save all the kids in the world, but I plan to do all I can to save just two. Just two!”
“Mama, I know you love those kids; I’m just saying it’s not worth getting killed over.”
“If that’s the Lord’s will, so be it. At least I’ll leave this earth knowing I did the best that I could, which is more than a lot of mothers and grandmothers can say. As long as I have God’s love on my side, we’ll be okay.”
“Mama, if you think love will get you out of this…” The phone rang, startling the two women.
Being that it was close to midnight, the only person Myra knew that called the house so late was her husband, Glen, to let her know how much longer he would be. Myra sucked air through her teeth before going to answer it. “Hello.”
An unfamiliar voice asked to speak to Hattie. Actually it asked for “that bitch Hattie.”
“Who is this? How’d you get this number?”
The voice demanded to speak to Hattie.
“Mama, it’s for you.” Myra reached the receiver out to her, then stood watching.
Hattie put the phone to her ear. “Who is this?”
The voice said, “You know who the fuck it is, ol’ lady. Last chance. My kids or yo’ life. Make a choice.”
“Over my dead body!” Hattie slammed the receiver down so hard that a searing pain resonated in her hand.
TWENTY-FOUR
“That stank-assed witch!” Topps took Gina’s cell phone and flung it against the living room wall. The instrument made a small hole in the thin drywall before it shattered. Gina ran out from her bathroom to see what was up. “Neema’s mammy think I’m playing with her ass.”
“What the hell? Nigga, why you do that? I just got that phone last week.”
“Yo’, who gives a shit, Gina. I’ll get you a better one.”
“That’s not the point, Topps. It was my phone, not yours.”
“I said, who gives a shit!” His malcontent was like a sickness eating away at him. Each passing day was another day of failure. He still didn’t know where Neema was. Still didn’t have his kids. Couldn’t move on without closure. “I’m sick of shit, I know that.”
Slick was gone. His ashes scattered here and there. His soldiers had been disbursed. All three warehouses were shut down until further notice. It was a notice that wouldn’t be coming. Former workers were lucky. They had been spared their lives. His first inclination had been to pop every last one of them, but such a task seemed tremendous, even for him. What did it matter if they told about his drug business now? He was closed down, all product moved and sold. The bulk of his cash was stashed in Swiss accounts, fat and waiting. Secret safes had been filled to the brim with his money. Money, money and mo money. He was a man set for life. He had everything except for his children.
Between moving drugs, buying up old land, loan-sharking and a few scattered franchises, Topps Jackson had accumulated enough money not to have to work another day in his life. Still, he was discontent. Restless syndrome. With no drugs to run, no business to oversee, he now had time on his hands. Too much time was driving him crazy. He glared at Gina, waiting for that skank to say one more thing he didn’t like…He didn’t have to wait long.
“Baby, maybe you need to get out and get some air. You agonizing too much about those kids. Leave ’em be for now.”
“Say what, Gina?” His eyes locked on her like radar. She had just gotten out the shower and was standing there with a large white towel wrapped around her. Gina was jealous of his kids. That’s why she kept making little snide remarks about them. Just like a bitch. Always jealous about some shit she can’t control.
“Baby, look, I’m only saying that you’re getting too upset about those kids. It’s not like they’re with a complete stranger. Let ’em be with they grandmother ’til their mother shows back up. That’s all
.”
Topps got up. Gina’s jealousy reminded him of his mother. Lanette had been a jealous bitch, too. That jealousy had seeped out of her daily, like a stench. It had caused her to treat him like he were somebody’s stepchild that didn’t deserve much in life. Always taking shit away from him. Taking everything that could cause him some happiness. He grinned, thinking of how the last laugh had been on him when her ass had starved to death.
He had been an only child for Lanette Wrider. The perfect little boy to a young mother who couldn’t seem to find the right path in life. Lanette had tried college. It wasn’t for her. She had tried opening her own business, a dress shop. That didn’t work for long. Then, Mack Jackson had blown into her life some time after that. According to his mother, Mack was handsome and smart. Mack loved her. He would make everything better. Mack had brought hope, security and dreams. Then, Mack brought hard drugs into his mother’s life.
Finding a needle sticking out the arm of his passed-out mother became the norm. Days when his mother was good, she was good; but those days became as rare as having food in the house, heat to keep them warm—clean clothes to wear. Topps had been young, but saw depression slipping in like some lowly thief. His father, Mack, came around every now and then—long enough to keep his mother addicted. Then came the hate. Topps’ young eyes had watched resentment eat away at his mother day after day. Mothers who hate men sometimes hate the sons they produce. Unnecessary scolding and beatings proved it. Hatred was like jealousy.
Topps couldn’t stand an envious woman, and lately, he was spending a hell of a lot of time with one. Gina didn’t have any kids, so she couldn’t stand his. Gina probably didn’t care if Neema showed back up or not. That’s how jealousy worked.
Gina was walking away from him.
“Yo’, what the hell you trying to say, Gina? Why you keep jaw-jackin’ and trippin’ about my kids?”
Love Trumps Game Page 15
