Honor Thy Thug

by Wahida Clark

  “Excuse me.” I leaned up and boldly tapped the cabbie on his shoulder. I asked, “Are you going the right way?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I am. According to the GPS, we are one and a half miles away.”

  I was glad to hear that. I sat back in the seat. My stomach swirled as if I was upside down on a rollercoaster. It was threatening to release everything I had eaten for lunch. I peeked up at his GPS and saw that we were now less than a mile away. We made a left turn, and the houses were getting bigger and bigger. Everyone was trying to outdo one another.

  “O.J. used to live in this neighborhood.” The cab driver stated with pride.

  I guess the cabbie decided to turn into a tour guide at the last minute. But I didn’t care about O.J. or the fact that all of a sudden he was trying to be friendly. I had my fingers crossed, hoping that a For Sale sign was nowhere to be found. I felt the vehicle slow down, and then it came to a stop. My eyes scanned the property and its surroundings. Thank God, somebody did live here and hopefully it was who I was looking for. Toys were tossed around on the freshly manicured lawn, and it was quiet, except for the faint whisper of an airplane high up in the sky.

  “Thank you,” I told the cabbie, and paid him his fare.

  “Ma’am, would you like for me to wait?” Now all of a sudden he wasn’t in a hurry.

  “No. I think I’ll be all right here.”

  “Well, just in case, here’s my card if you need me to come back.”

  I took it from him, grabbed my purse, and got out. I was sick of riding. I had that bumpy plane ride from Phoenix. And then the long ride in the cab. I was hungry and ready to unpack and get comfortable. But even more anxious to meet Tasha Macklin. The words on the mailbox read “The Macklins.” So . . . this was it. I was at the right place. I waited impatiently as the cabbie took my two bags out of the trunk, jumped back into his ride, and pulled off. He was out of sight before I sucked in a deep breath, picked up my belongings, and trudged up the walkway, forgetting about my hunger pangs but getting more excited with each step I took. A smile spread across my face. I was close and I could feel it. I reached the front door and set my bags down. My stomach was churning. I rang the doorbell. I rang it again and again and again.

  No one answered.

  RICK

  I didn’t realize how much I missed California. The pace. The palm trees. The L.A. streets. The weather. I deeply inhaled the L.A. air and reminisced about the days I used to wreak havoc on this city. Denzel Washington, Training Day style. Being here had me feeling rejuvenated. I pulled over and called my woman, Nina and told her that I wished I would have brought her with me and that we had to talk about relocating out here.

  “I’m having my baby right here in Arizona, Rick. Not California,” she snapped.

  “Baby, what difference does it make?” I tried to reason with her before I figured out I was wasting my time. “Look, we’ll talk about it when I get back.” I hung up, thinking, Arizona? California? What the fuck difference does it make? Women.

  Speaking of which, I had finally pulled up in front of my ex-wife’s house. I scanned the area. Being a detective, I know how much people are creatures of habit, and she was no exception to the rule. I rang the bell and knocked, but she didn’t answer the door. I went around back for the spare key, and sure enough, it was in the same spot, down in the flower pot.

  I went inside and did a walkthrough. Surprisingly, I didn’t get nostalgic. Most likely because she’d made sure it never felt like home to me in the first damn place. Everything that I remembered was gone. Everything was new. She had stripped the damn place. Stripped it of anything that had to do with me. Nothing was the same.

  When I went upstairs to her bedroom, I went straight to the closet to see what kind of man she had stuck her claws into. Whoever he was, I felt sorry for the muthafucka. But to my surprise, both closets were full of nothing but women’s clothes. I looked down at the shoes, and it was the same scenario, all women’s stuff.

  I walked over to the dresser, and she still had the picture of me and her at her sister’s wedding. The rest of the pictures were of her and a dark-skinned sister with a mole on her chin. In some of the pictures, they were hugged up; in others, they were out to dinner or in the backyard. Wait a minute! She must be gay with all of these pics with the same broad. I gots to be one hell of a nigga, if I can make a bitch switch sides. But then I thought, what if she was gay while we were together? Then the joke was on me. Ain’t that some shit!

  Hell, I needed a drink. I left her bedroom and went downstairs to pour myself a stiff one. I made myself comfortable and ended up having two. As I sat on the sofa, I thought about how when I passed Trae’s house, just down the street, I was scared to stop. Me. Muthafuckin’ King Rick wasn’t scared of anything know what I would say. Trae was my man and we were still cool before I had to get ghost. It’s not like I did him dirty and left on bad terms like I did with countless other muthafuckas. The truth was, I wasn’t sure how he and Tasha would treat me since I was responsible for Kyra’s death . . . in a way. Fuck it! I needed to man up and get the shit over with. I had to stop by there. That’s why I came out here. I could hope he would hear me out. If not, at least I could say that I tried and take my ass back home. I needed closure. But either way, it felt so good to be back in L.A., the City of Angels. California. I got up, leaving the same way I came in. Made it to my ride, turned back for the last time, and looked at where I used to live, shaking off the memories.

  “Rick? Is that you?” It was Mrs. Singer, my old, nosy ass neighbor. Some things never change.

  I didn’t even bother answering. Let her figure it out. I started the car and headed down my old block. Slowing down in front of Trae’s, I noticed that there was someone sitting on his porch. She had her head in her lap, a little chick. It felt as if I’d seen this girl before. I threw my ride in park, turned it off and jumped out. Her head popped up and she was up and on her feet as I walked towards her.

  “Excuse me. Do you live here?” she asked me. “I’m looking for Tasha Macklin.”

  Her voice went right through me. My heartbeat started racing. My mouth turned dry. I rushed up the walkway. But it couldn’t be. I stood there face-to-face with . . . her. I wanted to turn my back toward her before a tear fell, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her.

  “Do you live here?” she asked again, placing her hand on her hip.

  I wanted to open my mouth to answer, but . . . how could this be? Finally, I asked her, “Kyra, is that you?”

  She cracked a smile. “Do you know me?”

  The sound of her voice made my heart race. Now I was scared for real. But she looked so different. “You don’t remember me?” I asked her.

  “Do you know me?” she asked again.

  We stood there staring at each other for what felt like an eternity. This was not happening. I mean, what were the fuckin’ odds? I didn’t want to believe it was her. The dreads were telling me it wasn’t her. But the scar. I could see the scar. She was shot. I had seen countless gunshot wounds. That’s when I knew. Those eyes. I would never forget them. It was really her. My eyes again welled up with tears. “I didn’t kill her,” I whispered.

  She reached out and wiped my tears with her thumbs. I kissed her hand. She was trembling. “Are you okay?” She tilted her head to the side. She stared at me with a little more intensity. Finally she said, “Rick?” She kept repeating my name. “Rick?” Tears were rolling down her cheeks. She hugged herself as she backed up. “Rick. Your name is Rick. I remember you.” All of the color drained from her face.

  And then she fainted.

  I caught her just in time. My heart beat a mile a minute as I picked Kyra up from the porch and took her to my car. It felt as if I was performing a kidnapping. My palms were sweaty, and my adrenaline was high. Moving as if I was robbing a dope boy’s stash house, I held onto her for dear life, opened the car door, and lay her across the backseat. My cell rang, and the ringtone let me know that it was
my fiancée, Nina.

  Immediately, guilt set in. “Shit,” I spat. Now I was feeling like I was caught cheating, which urged me to take the call. “Nina, baby. I’m in the middle of something. Can I call you back? Is everybody okay?”

  Silence lingered on the other end. Then she finally asked, “Is everything okay with you?” She was sounding as if she sensed that I was up to something.

  “Everything’s fine. Let me call you later.” I hung up before she could say anything. I didn’t want this moment to be ruined. I wanted her all to myself. I rushed back to the front porch and got Kyra’s things. She had two suitcases, a purse, and a shoulder bag. I popped the trunk, tossed everything inside, slammed it shut, and jumped into the front seat. Cranking the engine, I took a deep breath and then turned to take another look at Kyra. My mind and my eyes were at odds with each other. There she lay, just as beautiful as she was the last time that I saw her. Then the loud voice inside me yelled “She’s alive!” I couldn’t believe this was happening. The woman I fell in love with, the woman I thought was dead and buried by her dope-fiend-ass husband, but here she was alive and in the flesh. My mouth filled with saliva, and my hands began to sweat. I turned and gripped the steering wheel as I pulled off, heading for the hotel where I was staying.

  KYRA

  I was dreaming that I was riding in a car. However, when I opened my eyes, I actually was. How did I get here? The last thing I remembered was looking for Tasha Macklin and then standing on the porch in front of Rick. I had recognized him. Tears were streaming down his cheeks and then everything went black. But now my head was pounding. It was hurting so bad that I kept swallowing to keep from throwing up. “My head,” I moaned out loud, closing and squeezing my eyelids together as if that would stop the pain.

  As soon as I did, the car stopped and jerked forward, damn near throwing me off the backseat. I sat up in a panic. The next thing I knew, the back door opened, and this beautiful specimen of a man leaned in and asked if I was all right, and should he take me to the hospital. I looked at him and felt my face frown up.

  “Relax, it’s me, Rick,” he said.

  I studied his face. “I know who you are. But is it really you? If it is then I’m Kyra. We dated.”

  “Yeah, it’s me, and yes, you are Kyra and we didn’t just date we were in love.” He hugged me gently, as if I was too fragile for a real embrace. “I’ma get you to a hospital real—”

  “No! Please, no more hospitals!” I grabbed his arm tight, causing him to pause. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been in the hospital? I was in a coma for months and then in rehab for more months, and I couldn’t and still can’t remember who I was or how I got there. So please no more hospitals.”

  “Okay, okay. Relax. Do you realize that you fainted back there?”

  “I just need something for my head. It’s pounding from the fatigue and all of this excitement.” Just as quickly as he was in the backseat asking if I was all right, he was back up in the front seat and pulling off. I had to lie back down.

  We drove for a few minutes before the car stopped again. I pressed a hand on each side of my head as if that would make the pain go away. Rick jumped out, and after several minutes, he came back with some milk, cookies, and a bottle of Tylenol for migraines. He helped me sit up.

  “You can’t take these on an empty stomach.” He opened the cookies and gave me two of them. I gobbled them down. He opened the carton of milk and held it to my mouth as if I was a baby. He then opened the pill bottle and shook two out into my hand. I swallowed them and drank some more milk, and then Rick motioned for me to lie back down. I did, because I badly wanted the headache to go away. It hurt to even think. I wondered if the headache was from me fainting or from the excitement of being possibly reunited with my family. “I’m taking you to a place where you can relax.” He left me alone and got back into the front seat.

  The car started moving again, and my thoughts were moving even faster. I was remembering people, places, and things. Now my chest was tightening up, making it hard for me to breathe. Visions and parts of my memory came flooding back. The doctors told me that if I saw something or somebody familiar, it would trigger certain events. My baby! I popped up. My baby daughter, Aisha Aaliyah. My heart raced. Where is she? I began rubbing my temples. Rick. I remembered creeping around ‘with him while I was still loving . . . Marvin. And Marvin? Where is Marvin? I was now gasping for air. More flashes of events and faces began to crowd my head. There was a gun pressed up against my temple. Mook. I could still feel the cold steel against my face and the smell of alcohol on his breath. I remember screaming at Marvin to give that nigga the money and to stop haggling with him. Then Marvin shot Junie and yelled for me to put the car in reverse. I did, slamming on the gas and crashing into the car behind me. That was when Fish jumped out, shot Mook, and then shot me. The events came to me crystal-clear. It was night time and my daughter was in the back seat. I was petrified.

  “If you want your wife, I suggest you give me my muthafuckin’ dough right now,” Mook said.

  “Mook, get that fuckin’ burner away from my wife,” Marvin warned him.

  “I’m telling you, Blue, he’s going to split her wig. Just give me my dough. You owe me, remember?” Junie spat.

  “I don’t owe you shit, nigga! That was years ago. And here you are pressin’ me about some fuckin’ chump change? Why you pressin’ me about that shit?” Marvin asked his cousin Junie.

  “Stop haggling, Marvin. Just give the nigga the money,” I blurted out, and slid him his burner.

  “Listen to your wife,” Junie said.

  “Babygirl, these pussies ain’t going to shoot nobody, not like I will.” Pow! Marvin shot Junie in the stomach.

  “See. That’s how you do that. I didn’t even have to get out,” Marvin bragged. “Put the car in reverse, babygirl, and let’s get the fuck out of here.”

  As soon as he said that, Fish jumped out of the ride behind us and started waving at us.

  “Hold up, babygirl.” Marvin told me. He then hopped out.

  Fish snatched the gun out of Mook’s hand and put a bullet in his head. I remember the BOOM! making my ears ring. “Pussy muthafucka.” He clenched his teeth as he watched him slump to the ground.

  Marvin started laughing. “Fish, nigga, where did you get these pussy muthafuckas from?”

  He shrugged. “That’s what happens when you send a boy to do a man’s job.” Fish pointed his gun at me and let one off. All I heard was . . . BOOM!

  I could hear, but I couldn’t move. Aisha! My baby! The last thing I remembered was hearing my daughter saying, “Daddy, we can’t leave Mommy.”

  The anguish from all the memories overwhelmed me. I brought my hands to my face and cried. I was excited that I was remembering. But my daughter . . . Marvin left me? My stomach knotted up, and I couldn’t hold back the tears. “He left me!” I screamed out.

  “Kyra!” I heard Rick yell from the front seat. “Are you okay?”

  “He . . .” I felt dizzy, and then everything went black again.

  KYRON

  I woke up to my brother and Trae staring in my face. These two pussy muthafuckas were standing at the end of my hospital bed with rocks in their jaws. I was disappointed in both of these niggas. I didn’t know who these muthafuckas were anymore. Mad niggas were telling me that they were all wifed up and shit, crying about gettin’ out of the game. Get out? I reminded those fools that we used to fuck the shit outta New York, raw. It was me who gave their lil’ asses the muthafuckin’ keys to this city. It was me who hooked them up with a connect that set them up for life. It was me who did a bid for these two pussies and got outta prison thinking we were gonna be out here makin’ this paper, and what did I get? Knifed up over some pussy? And did my own brother have my fuckin’ back? Hell, no! Since when was this a part of the game? So what if I fucked Trae’s bitch, he was supposed to take that shit and keep it moving. Niggas, bitches, wives and girlfriends been getting fucked since the game s
tarted. Now niggas want to stand by their vows and shit. My only plan was to take back what was mine . . . the streets of New York. Do these muthafuckas think that my plan is supposed to change because they went soft and shit? Or because the Dons are complaining? Fuck my brother! Fuck Trae! And fuck the Dons. Shit, they ain’t the only ones with work around here. I do shit my muthafuckin’ way. I can ride solo. I told both of them to get the fuck away from me. I told them that I was no longer ridin’ with them.

  TRAE

  I was glad when Kay got on the elevator and left me to do me. He knows that this shit between me and Kyron is not going to end until one of us was dead. We both knew that Kyron had 90’s dreams about taking the streets over once again. That is what is wrong with the majority of these niggas, they come home and think that shit still supposed to be like it was. No matter how many ways we tried to explain to this nigga that snitching is accepted with these new generation wanna-be hustlers, he wasn’t hearing it. I saw the greed and excitement in his eyes. Now it was time to put his lights our permanently. I took the five inch blade out of my pocket and went to work, wishing that I could have chopped his head off with an axe. I pulled the knife out of his throat and stood by the bed watching this grimy muthafucka take his last breath. All the while thinking to myself that out of all the lives I took and all the shit I did, not until this very moment had any of it felt justified.