The Game of Deception

by Victor L. Martin

  “It don’t fucking matter!” he shouted. “Answer—my damn question!”

  She wiped her eyes. “Ghetti is your cousin, isn’t he?” she said. “That’s his room. Why did you fucking lie to me, Mance! Why?” she screamed.

  “’Cause—bitch—you the motherfucking police!” he shouted back. Even in a heated beef, he regretted the harsh words the instant they flew through his lips.

  Volanda stumbled back as if he had hit her. Sticks and stones do break bones, but today, Mance's words hurt Volanda, deeply. She stumbled back aimlessly until she tripped over one of the chairs. Reacting on pure reflex, Mance moved quickly and caught the woman he loved before her head caught the edge of the table. On the floor, she tried to push him away. She gave in and buried her face into his chest. He apologized to her in a rhythmic chant. They stayed this way for a few minutes.

  “I’m sorry, Mance,” she whispered. “I don’t want to lock your cousin up. Those two men don’t mean nothing to me.”

  He lifted up her face to kiss her tears away. “What are you trying to say?”

  “You’re my family now.” She hugged him tighter. “I will help Keith—he’s your family—our family.”

  Mance kissed her softly on her forehead. “We got to work this out.” He rocked with her. “C’mon, let’s get off this floor. Are you okay?” He was concerned about the baby.

  She nodded yes, keeping her tear-streaked face buried into his chest. Together, they got up and went to the bedroom. Sitting side by side, they talked. No loud words and no anger. When she told him how her curiosity had led her into Ghetti’s room, she began to sob again. Mance consoled her, wiping her tears away. When it was his turn, he told her the entire truth from the day he received the call from Ghetti at his barbershop. He apologized for lying to her, but explained that he had no idea why Ghetti was on the run at the start of the situation.

  “So what do we do now?” he asked. “You can cancel any talk of my cousin turning himself in. What’s really connecting him to the case—just that snitch?” He listened while she told him the facts about the case, starting with the DNA left at the scene.

  “Let me think for a minute,” she said, rubbing his knee. “If his DNA matches the one we have, then the D.A. will have a lot of pull on his side to win a conviction.” Mance knew she was correct.

  “Ouch!” she said when he pinched her butt.

  “That’s for playing my intelligence by leaving that case on the table. You knew I would read it.”

  “Baby, I’m sorry,” she whined.

  “It’s all good. But I’ma punish that ass tonight with some good make up sex.”

  Volanda smiled at the mention of getting her pussy plugged. Maybe she could take her surprise sexy outfit back out of the closet. “Let’s do it now,” she said, rubbing his leg.

  “Nope later. Get dressed.”

  “For what? Where are we going?”

  “To pick up Ghetti.”

  “Baby, I don’t think it would be—”

  “Just trust me, baby. Get dressed and let’s go.”

  They stood up and kissed each other briefly. On their way out, Volanda had to rush back into the kitchen to turn the oven off. Mance drove his Lexus while Volanda grew nervous about meeting Ghetti. They agreed on one thing, Amanda could not be trusted with the truth.

  Ghetti’s mind was heavy. Mance’s words were bringing him down to reality. The death penalty—life in prison—he was not trying to do either. He tried to think of some cats from the hood that had eluded the pops and remained free—none. They all seemed to slip by doing something stupid or being where the pops expected them to be. He remembered how Swagger from Cornwallis apartments had stayed on the run from the feds for a measly nine days. He was caught trying to sneak through his baby mother’s back window. Word on the street was that, Nekesha had that bomb pussy, but Ghetti would bet anything that Swagger would regret it for the next twenty plus years he was about to pull. Ghetti knew he could rely on Mance helping him. But maybe things were different; Mance had a baby on the way plus he was engaged. Ghetti felt he had to prove something to himself. Could he handle his own fucked up issues and not bring Mance down with him? He was sitting on the bed in the dark when the hotel phone started ringing. He picked it up lazily. “Yeah?” His voice was flat.

  “Hey!” Verenity said.

  “Whut up?”

  “Nothing, I know you are mad about yesterday, but I can explain.”

  “I heard already. You’re late. Somethin’ ’bout a family member being—”

  “That was a lie. How did you hear it?”

  “Amanda called your room and your roommate told her, then she told me.”

  “Oh really, so Amanda showed up?”

  Amanda told him it was better to keep their actions a secret. They agreed to say that she came over, stayed awhile, then went home. He had pondered telling Verenity a lie or the truth. If he told the truth, he would be keeping it real with Verenity, but risk the chance of fucking up everything, mainly with Amanda.

  “Yeah, but she left when she realized you wasn’t goin’ to show up.”

  “Oh, what’s wrong with you? Sounding all sad?”

  “Just got a lot on my mind. But whut happened to you yesterday?”

  “Ghetti, boy it’s on! Look I was with Karrine again and she popped up at the last-minute and you know I can’t turn her down.” She was giddy.

  “I ain’t surprised, turned down again for some pussy bumpin’.”

  “Fuck you!” She laughed. “But guess what?”

  “Whut?”

  “You should be proud of me and my pimp game, and how I be licking my bitches’ pussy. Anyway, Karrine got me going on a cruise next month and yesterday she surprised me with a brand new fucking car!”

  “Say word. Whut kind?”

  “Baby, yours truly got her bad ass a Jetta. It’s fully loaded, navigation, two-tone leather seat, sunroof, and my windows are tinted too!”

  “Where you at?”

  “My dorm, I just got back about two hours ago. When Karrine dropped me off, she had parked next to it and surprised the hell out of me. She just handed me the keys and Ghetti, I ate her pussy inside her ‘Vette soooo good. But anyway, I want you to help me pick out some rims. Karrine said for me to pick out any kind and she’ll get them for me.”

  “Alright, but don’t be pickin’ out no big shit. It will look good on some twenties.”

  “Okay, you still mad at me for not showing up?”

  “Nah, it’s all good.”

  “My girl Amanda, look good, huh? I told you she had a nice ass and I know your nasty butt was checking her out.”

  “Yeah, she alright.” He held back his true words. In truth, Amanda was fine as fuck. Creamy baby soft skin, flat belly, nice soft hips and a smooth bubble ass that felt like cotton. Her tits were like a pacifier. And that narrow pussy! Ghetti would never forget the sight of her ass up face down.

  “I’m about to call her so let me get back with you,” she said.

  “Aye. Don’t slip up and say Ghetti.”

  “Vic. I remember, I’ll call you back. Bye.”

  “Alright.” Ghetti ended the call. Verenity was something else. He had to give it to her on how she ran game on her female lovers. He picked up the TV remote.

  BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM!

  Ghetti jumped to his feet dropping the remote and turned toward the door.

  “Police! Open up!” Came the authoritative voice from behind the door.

  Ghetti had nowhere to neither run nor hide. His heart jumped in his chest. He had no weapon, nothing. He unconsciously backed up until his back was up against the wall. Down in Miami, Fly was getting over his ill feelings toward Ghetti. He had found Ghetti’s cell phone that he left behind and read the heated text message that Jazmine had sent. When he had called to confront her over the issue, she lied and said that Ghetti had come on to her asking for some pussy. Fly believed her. Fly felt it was Ghetti’s true reason to bounce. In truth, Fly
didn’t give a fuck about Jazmine, but he wanted his respect. Fly felt that a man couldn’t be trusted if he couldn’t think with his head and not his dick. Jazmine knew that Fly was making power moves, so she stayed on his dick or had it in her mouth every chance she had. She was now sleeping in his bed and tending to his every need. Jazmine’s plan was simple. As Fly balled his way to the top, she would be riding his dick every step of the way. She kicked her porno dreams to the side. She had no idea the exact amount of weight he was pushing, but she knew it was more than what he was doing up in Durham. Just yesterday, she had ridden with him to pick out a brand new Benz GL 450 SUV. “This is your last warning, Ghetti! Wipe the dookie out your butt and open up!”

  Ghetti snapped out of his fear as the words registered in his mind. Wipe the dookie out of your butt. Ghetti balled up his fist then walked toward the door. He unlocked the door, yanked it open, and found the prankster, San in motion to bang on the door. Rasta Mark was with him. When they saw the look on Ghetti’s face, they exploded in laughter nearly falling inside the room. San was cracking up so hard that he was on all fours. Rasta Mark was on his back laughing so hard that he farted twice on the low.

  “Why the fuck y’all always playin’?” Ghetti slammed the door. “Shit ain’t even fuckin’ funny! I should kick both y’all asses.” Ghetti pushed San toward the sofa.

  San held his stomach with tears in his eyes. “We—we got you. Ohhhh shit. Oohhh my stomach.”

  “You gonna get enough of always playin’ pranks on muthafuckas, short ass nigga.” Ghetti was trying his hardest to hold his grin back.

  Things turned to normal a few minutes later when all three stood by the sofa. Ghetti went against Mance’s advice and called San. Ghetti felt he needed a gun.

  “Mark said he going out of business selling guns,” San said.

  “For real?” Ghetti asked.

  “Yeah,” Rasta Mark replied. “But for you, I’ll make and exception.” Rasta Mark reached inside his silver hooded bomber and pulled out an HK .45C.

  “Damn she tight.” Ghetti took the HK .45C into his eager hands.

  “It holds eight rounds and here . . .” Rasta Mark reached back inside his bomber and pulled out an extra clip and a box of bullets.

  “How much I owe?” Ghetti took the extra clip and bullets.

  “You can have it for free,” Rasta Mark said.

  “Now how you gonna charge me, but give this fool some free shit?” San said, joking.

  “Chill, hater.” Ghetti laughed. “Don’t hate on me ’cause I got a big banger.”

  San gave Ghetti a playful screw face then pulled out the bigger HK .45 that held a ten round clip. “No, don’t you hate,” San said, correcting him.

  “Y’all tripping,” Rasta Mark added. But not to be the odd man out, he upped the level by pulling out his Beretta 93R that was fully automatic.

  “Whut’s the word on Poo-Man?” Ghetti asked.

  “Coward still on the low,” San replied.

  Rasta Mark looked at his watch. “You ready.”

  “Yeah,” San said.

  “Where y’all ’bout to go?” Ghetti was super paranoid after feeling trapped from San’s prank. He needed to get some air.

  “Ain’t no telling. Why? You rolling out with us?” San zipped up his jacket.

  “Might as well. Lemme get my coat and bag.”

  Outside in the icy weather the three walked side by side laughing about the police prank. San used the remote to pop the locks on his ‘86 Monte Carlo SS. It was burnt orange with two black racing stripes on the hood. Ghetti felt on a more even ground with the HK .45C in his possession.

  Ghetti bobbed his head to Biggie’s “Sky is the Limit” that was pounding from the two 12-inch subwoofers in the trunk. Up front, San and Rasta Mark were arguing about where to go. San was speaking on a spot in Chapel Hill while Rasta Mark was bidding on Greensboro. The first store they came to, San pulled in to buy some beer.

  “Where we goin’? Chapel Hill or Greensboro?” Ghetti asked when Rasta Mark handed him a 40 ounce of Bull over the seat.

  “Chapel Hill,” San said before pulling from the store.

  Mance was heated as he left the Hilton. Where in the fuck was Ghetti? Volanda told him to call along the way, but he felt it wasn’t needed. Leaving the hotel, he tried Ghetti’s number, but he didn’t answer.

  “I’ma fuck his hard-headed ass up when I see his ass!” Mance seethed.

  “Baby, slow down, maybe there’s a good reason he left the room,” Volanda suggested.

  Mance glanced at his speed to see he was pushing 90 m.p.h. They rode in silence as Mance lowered his speed. On an impulse, Volanda picked up Mance’s cell phone, pushed redial, and got an answer on the third ring. She quickly handed the phone to Mance. Mance went at Ghetti hard. Volanda listened as they argued with Ghetti doing most of the listening. In the end, Mance made a u-turn to head for Chapel Hill.

  “Said his phone was off,” Mance said upset. “Out hanging with his friends like his troubles ain’t serious.”

  Volanda had her eyes closed, thinking. She was forcing herself to believe that she was doing the right thing. God—she hoped so.

  CHAPTER 12:

  I Ain’t Snitching

  The entire trip from Chapel Hill back to Goldsboro was rode in silence. Mance was so upset with Ghetti that he did not attempt to introduce Volanda.

  She now sat alone in the bedroom while Mance was in the kitchen arguing with Ghetti. Volanda was beyond nervous. She was putting her entire career on the line. She had thought about it along the trip back to Goldsboro with Ghetti sitting in the back. She was putting her freedom at risk. Her degree in criminal justice and the countless obstacles she overcame to reach the rank of detective was about to be thrown away. For a split second, an unimaginable fear ran through her mind. What would she do if Mance was planning to cross her to protect Ghetti? Blood was thicker than water, she thought. She looked down and rubbed her belly. She now had a part of Mance inside her—his seed, his blood. Her left knee bounced nervously up and down while sitting on the bed waiting for Mance. It was five minutes to eleven when Mance walked into the bedroom. Volanda stood up. He walked directly toward her and hugged her. She needed the comfort.

  “Is everything okay?” she asked, looking into his eyes.

  “Yeah, c’mon. It’s time y’all two meet.”

  Ghetti was sitting at the kitchen table eating a bowl of cereal when Volanda and Mance walked in. “Hey Volanda.” Ghetti looked up.

  She waved awkwardly as she sat down. Mance remained standing, leaning against the wall with his arms folded.

  “So ummmm, you really a homicide detective?” Ghetti asked. “For Durham?”

  She nodded yes.

  “Can I see your badge?”

  “Ghetti,” Mance said. Wanting Ghetti to chill.

  “No, its okay, Mance. I’ll show it.” Volanda reached under her sweater and pulled out her badge that was hooked to a chain. She pulled it over her head then handed it to Ghetti.

  He nodded his head while looking at the authentic badge. “Let’s get sumthin straight.” Ghetti laid the badge down. “Mance told me the whole nine on whut’s goin’ on, and to be straight up wit’ you, this shit don’t seem real. Volanda, you say you down to help me, right? But whut about down the line? Whut if you and Mance have some type of fallin’ out, then whut? Will you use me for some type of revenge?”

  “I cannot predict the future,” she said. “But I can tell you now that I am not that kind of woman. You will have to trust me, just as Mance has. When I came across your identity I could have easily called in an anonymous tip, but I didn’t. I debated long and hard with myself on what I should do and I’m risking a lot if you don’t realize it. My loyalty lies with Mance. Not that badge.”

  “I feel that. But like I told Mance, I ain’t turn’ myself in, so that’s dead.”

  “Mance has pointed that out to me. Whatever we decide to do will not happen over night. But for the time bei
ng, I strongly suggest that you stay off the streets.” She looked at Mance then back to Ghetti.

  “So, whut’s the plan?” Ghetti asked.

  “Where are the weapons you used?” she asked.

  “I broke’em up and threw ’em away, but I guess I fucked up by spittin’ on dude, huh?”

  “Yes, you did.” Volanda nodded.

  “Yo!” Ghetti snapped his fingers. “Is there any way you can check on Maria?” He was upset with himself for letting her slip his mind. She told them to remain quiet while she made the call. Mance refused to speak to Ghetti because his temper was still high. They both listened as Volanda made the call, which ended up lasting only five minutes.

  “Okay,” she said after the call ended. “She’s still in ICU with the bullet still inches from her heart. Right now the doctors are planning a major operation to remove it.”

  “Whut they waitin’ fo’?” Ghetti was concerned.

  “I don’t have that answer. I can promise you that she’s getting the best treatment and all that can be done is being done.”

  “Whut was she hit with?”

  “A thirty eight, Ghetti. Do you have any idea where Regail is?”

  Ghetti looked at her questioningly, “Who is Regail?”

  “Poo-Man, Regail Fields is his real name.”

  Ghetti rubbed his face. Volanda was trying to get him to snitch. Yeah, the situation was weird, but snitching was snitching. He glanced at Mance who was still tripping.

  “Volanda, if I knew where that busta was I woulda been done got at his bitch ass. And you askin’ me to snitch. Yo, I don’t get down like that so—”

  “Fuck wrong with you!” Mance snapped as he walked up on Ghetti. “You better wake up and see what’s going on! I’m standing here trying to help your black ass and Volanda is risking everything for you—Everything! Ain’t trying to hear no wack gangsta creed you talking.”

  “Mance!” Volanda butted in.

  “Nah. let me put this fool in his place ’cause he still thinks it’s a game! Ghetti, do you know where the fuck he at or not?” Mance dared Ghetti to buck. “Shit far from a game!” Mance balled up his fist. If he had to, he would beat some sense into Ghetti.