Lance stood, shook Darryl’s hand. “Hi, Mr. Williams.” Responding to Darius’s comment, Lance threw Darius a fast ball then said, “How many times I’ma have to tell you, I’m not white. I’m Canadian. When you travel to Canada, we call you American. Not black.”
“That’s cool.” Darius flipped the ball back to Lance. “But you still white to me. I’ll see you at the team dinner before the game. Later, man.”
Tapping Darryl on the shoulder, Lance asked, “Excuse me, Mr. Williams? You mind if I ask you a few questions about the NBA next time you come by?”
Darryl patted Lance’s shoulder, smiled, and then said, “Not at all, Lance.”
Walking outside the dorm building, Darryl said, “Darius, you have to learn how to respect your teammates.”
“What did I do wrong this time?”
“Once he told you he was Canadian, you should’ve acknowledged that and not followed up with what you said. Politics, son. I keep telling you this entire game is full of politics. The sooner you learn how to become an ambassador, the more support you’ll get and the less problems you’ll have. What if Lance refuses to pass you the ball? Changing the subject, your mom called me. Said she wants to have breakfast with us.”
Damn, Darius thought, but wouldn’t say aloud. Probably a setup to take something else away from him. Riding along Interstate 5, Darius said, “Lance is good people and I will apologize to him before the game tonight.” Darius quietly drove to his mother’s house while his dad preached more life lessons. Cruising into his mother’s circular driveway, Darius said, “Thanks for being my dad, man. I love you.”
“I love you, too, son. Let’s go in before your mom comes out here.”
Frowning, Darius said, “Hey, mom. How are you? You don’t look well.” What was wrong with his mother? Darius knew Wellington was cheating on his mom, but if his mother’s baggy sad eyes and depressed spirit were the results of infidelity, Darius would never cheat on Fancy. His mother was once so beautiful; now she’d aged five years in less than one.
“Hi, baby. Hi, Darryl. Come on in. Have a seat at the breakfast table.”
Moms had biscuits, turkey bacon, grits, eggs, and fresh fruit in serving dishes on the table.
Darius’s spirit was dwindling with his mother’s. Darius sat next to his mom, across the table from Darryl. “Where’s Wellington?”
“Gone. He left. We’re getting a divorce. Don’t ask any more questions about him. We’re not here to discuss Wellington.”
Darryl commented, “So maybe after breakfast we can discuss us being a family.”
“There is no us, Darryl. All we have in common is Darius.”
Darius reached for the bowl of grits. Darryl grabbed his hand. “You can’t eat that on game day. You’ll lose your stamina before halftime. You can eat plenty of eggs, all the turkey bacon you want, and a bowl of fresh fruit. That’s it.”
Reaching for the eggs, Darius asked his mother “You coming to my game tonight?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Is you-know-who-coming?” Darius asked staring at the grits.
“I doubt it but I don’t know.”
“Ma, I love you. I’ll take care of you. I can move in with you tomorrow and take care of you. I don’t know what I’d do if anything were to happen to you.”
Jada slid Darius a deposit slip across the table.
Leaping from his seat, Darius yelled, “Yes! Thanks, Mom! I love you! I love you! I love you!”
Darryl looked back and forth from Jada to Darius, then said, “He’s acting like you just gave him ten million dollars.”
“I did,” Jada whispered.
Darryl stared at Jada then at Darius, and shook his head. “Give it back, son.”
Sitting next to his mother, hugging her tight, Darius frowned at Darryl and said, “What? You’re kidding, right?”
“Darryl, I didn’t give the money to Darius. He earned it from the movie Soul Mates Dissipate. It’s rightfully his. It’s his first payout. There’s more coming. And soon, Darius, you’ll have your company back. I’m buying Wellington out of your business in exchange for not asking for interest in his company.”
Darryl asked, “What about your business? I remember the day we sat at your mother’s table and you said you were starting your own business. I knew you didn’t need me to become successful. I’m proud of you. And I believe I know you well enough to say, within two days you’ll be back to taking care of yourself. But will Wellington have interest in Black Diamonds?”
Jada tried to smile but couldn’t. Her eyes stretched more than her lips. “You don’t stop loving someone overnight or within two days. I still love Wellington very much. I just can’t accept the things he’s done.” Jada squeezed Darius’s hand. “Honey, did you know Wellington has a daughter?”
Darius and Darryl responded in unison, “What! You’re kidding, right?”
“Morgan.”
“I—” Darius’s cell phone rang, interrupting his comment. “Hello?”
“Darius, Ciara insisted I call you and tell you she’s in labor. She wants you to meet her at the hospital in fifteen minutes. In case you don’t recognize my voice, this is Ciara’s sister—”
“I know, Monica.” Exhaling heavily, Darius became overwhelmed with relief. He knew Ciara wasn’t dead because no one, including his parents, had questioned him about the accident. Fluttering his eyelids, Darius withheld his remorseful tears.
Monica hung up.
“What’s wrong, son?”
“Ciara is in labor. She wants me to meet her at the hospital.”
“Let’s go,” Darryl said, standing.
“I can’t go. I have a big game today.” The real reason Darius didn’t want to go was because he was scared. He hadn’t called Ciara since she had slipped, fell, and hit her head in her office, fearing something bad might have happened to the baby.
Jada said, “You have to go, sweetheart. She’s your wife. I’ll meet you there in a half hour.”
Darius protested, “She’s my wife only on paper. I don’t love her.” Darryl stared at Darius. “I know. Politics.”
While Darryl drove to the hospital, Darius constantly looked at his watch. Two hours before he had to be back on campus with his teammates or he wouldn’t play.
“How long will it take her to have this baby?” Darius asked, stopping at the information booth.
“Son, she might not deliver until tomorrow but if you visit her now, you can come back later after your game is over.”
Darius asked the information clerk, “What room is Ciara Monroe in?”
The information clerked scanned her computer and said, “We don’t have a Ciara Monroe.”
“You have to. Maybe she’s not in the system yet because she’s still in labor.”
Darryl asked, “Do you have a Ciara Jones?”
“Yes, we do. She’s in the delivery room. Here are your visitor passes. Take the second bank of elevators to the fifth floor.”
Outside Ciara’s birthing room, Darius prayed again that he wasn’t the father of Ciara’s child. When Darius and Darryl entered Ciara’s room, two Los Angeles police officers stood blocking the door.
“Are you Darius Jones?” the short and stocky cop asked.
“This is bullshit, Ciara!”
Darryl interrupted the police officer. “What do you want with my son?”
The officer handed Darryl a piece of paper. “I see,” Darryl said, handing back the paper. “Clearly you’ve got the wrong Darius Jones. My son isn’t a murderer or a thief.” Instantly Darius’s eyes connected with his dad’s. Neither of them said anything. “I’m his father, Darryl Williams.”
The police said, “We know who you are. Darius Jones, you’re under arrest.”
“What for? My dad just vouched for me. Let me go!” Darius said, stepping backward.
“Son, I’ll be at the precinct when you get there.” Darryl shook his head at Ciara and said, “When we take over Somebody’s Gotta Be On Top, your
contract will be terminated immediately.”
Ciara sat in that fuckin’ birthing chair breathing heavy and rubbing her stomach. “I don’t think so, Mr. Williams.”
“Pick one,” the officer said answering Darius. “The murder of Thaddeus Drexel. Check fraud in Dallas, Texas. Credit card fraud around the country,” he said, gathering Darius’s hands behind his back. “Thanks, Ms. Monroe, for being cooperative.”
Darius didn’t know how to tell the officer that it was self-defense without making him tighten the handcuffs more. Darius hadn’t allowed himself to really think about Fancy until now. Fancy was either crazy or she honestly loved him. What woman would almost take a bullet for any man?
Scared that Ciara had reported him to the police for assault, Darius had left Fancy’s condo before the cops had arrived and after he’d shot Thaddeus. Ceasing all communications with Fancy, Darius hadn’t seen nor spoken with her since he’d shot Thaddeus, but until now Darius hadn’t known Thaddeus was dead because Fancy hadn’t called him either. Darius’s heart ached not knowing Fancy’s whereabouts. Now Darius was on his way to jail, and if they didn’t know about Ciara’s incident, which was honestly an accident, Darius was certain they’d find out before releasing him.
“Man, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. I’m innocent, man. I’ve got bail money in my pocket. Let me call my mother.”
Tightening the handcuffs, the officer said, “You can call her from the precinct.”
“I’ll call her, son. Don’t worry. Just be cool,” Darryl said, then hurried out of the room.
“That’s too tight, man. I got a game tonight. Don’t hurt my wrists.”
“The only place you’re going to play ball is in prison. Let’s go,” the cop said, escorting Darius to the patrol car.
Women. If Darius hadn’t fallen in love with Ladycat, her past wouldn’t have endangered his future. By and by, Darius was beginning to think the homeless woman was right when she’d said, “Death follows you,” but wrong when she’d claimed, “You’ll be happy again.”
CHAPTER 23
Two weeks had passed since the incident. Accident. The shooting. Since that day, the only two places Fancy frequented were her broker’s classes and Howard’s office, consuming herself with studying and working. Denise tried consoling Fancy by saying, “It’s not your fault. If anyone breaks into your home and tries to rape you, they deserve whatever they get. Including death.”
Fancy hadn’t returned to her condo since Darius had killed Thaddeus. Pow! Pow! constantly rang in her ears as though she’d pulled the trigger. Now, whenever a car backfired, she jumped. The thought of going to gatherings where the audiences cheered, collectively clapping or stomping, made Fancy visibly uncomfortable. Wringing her hands, shifting in her seat, trembling, in addition to constantly looking over her shoulder, had become habits she hoped to break someday.
Shortly after Darius fired his gun, five cars with flashing blue lights lined the crowded street and circular driveway beneath Fancy’s balcony. Oakland policemen came quickly, undoubtedly because of her address, but by the time they’d arrived, Darius, against Fancy’s plea—after untaping her mouth, hands, and feet—had left instantly. Abandoning Fancy in her greatest time of need. He’d left her alone at home with a dead body bleeding all over her designer wardrobe.
Pow! Pow! Two shots to the heart and Thaddeus’s flesh and blood splattered all over Fancy’s naked body. With all the cops in her condo, a bath would have to wait so Fancy sheltered her body with a long, brown, thick robe. Later that night the paramedics arrived but left shortly after Thaddeus was pronounced dead.
One police car and two officers remained until the coroner removed Thaddeus’s body from her condo. After hours of intimidating questioning by multiple officers, Fancy showered, washing away memories of a neglected childhood, a horrible father, a spineless mother, and an absent lover. What else could go wrong?
Fancy packed a small suitcase, and when the officers left at daybreak, Fancy left, too. She’d respond to the nosy board members that were in and out of her apartment when she returned. If she returned.
Fancy wanted to go to church and beg for forgiveness, but she wasn’t sure if it was too late to call upon the Lord in her time of need, since she hadn’t praised him in her moments of glorious success. Being spared her life, twice. Having more money in the bank than she’d ever earned before. Finally knowing what it felt like to love someone, that true love brought pain and pleasure. Both feelings were extreme beyond measure. Beyond comprehension. Dictating irrational behavior. And although in her heart Fancy didn’t want to, she’d stopped calling Caroline. Maybe if Thaddeus was serious about killing Caroline, Fancy had saved Caroline’s life. Make that Darius had saved Caroline’s life.
Lodging at the downtown Marriott on Tenth and Broadway, Fancy opened her suite door and picked up the newspaper then tossed it into the unread pile on the sofa. Pouring herself a cup of orange juice—Fancy didn’t drink coffee let alone from a guestroom pot—randomly Fancy selected a newspaper and removed the dirty rubber band to review the real estate section.
When Fancy unfolded the paper, her heart almost stopped beating. Fancy gasped. “My God. Darius? On the front page? Arrested?” Glancing at the date, two weeks old, Fancy read the headlines aloud: “Poor Little Rich Man Arrested for Fraud and Murder.”
The story read, “Darius Williams, formerly known as Darius Jones, purportedly the number one draft pick for the NBA, son of former NBA star Darryl Williams and mega-publicist Jada Diamond Tanner, owner of Black Diamonds, was arrested for credit card fraud for purchases totaling over a million dollars. Darius Williams was also booked on check fraud for depositing a fifty-thousand-dollar check payable to Somebody’s Gotta Be on Top enterprises into his personal checking account after he no longer owned the company. As if that wasn’t enough to get Darius kicked off his college basketball team, this next charge might just slam dunk his basketball career. Darius Williams has been charged with the alleged murder of Thaddeus Drexel, an ex-convict . . .”
Frantically, Fancy dialed Darius’s cell and home phones, hoping someone would answer. Think, Fancy. Think. Suddenly Fancy realized, after having asked Darius a gazillion questions about his past relationships, his childhood, and his goals, she’d failed to request contact information for Darius’s parents. What if Darius had been shot in her condo? Who would Fancy have called? No one. Not Darius’s mother or father, or even the brother he hated. She would’ve had to call information then wait until Monday morning to call his mother’s company. Now Darius wasn’t answering his phone and Fancy didn’t know how to contact him.
Booting up her computer, Fancy logged onto the college Web site and then dialed the coach’s business office number. No answer. “Damn, it’s Saturday.” Nervously Fancy dressed in the one outfit—peach low-rise pants, a burnt orange shirt that buttoned across her breasts exposing her navel, and pair of high-heeled shoes—she’d hung in the hotel closet for two weeks and had worn once while in transit to check into the hotel. Nervously Fancy packed her travel bag then headed to the airport and took the next flight, first-class, to Los Angeles.
An hour and a half later, sitting in the back of a luxury Town Car at LAX surrounded by dark tinted windows, Fancy asked, “Where do they normally take law offenders?”
Turning, looking over his right shoulder, the driver replied, “Depends on what crime they’ve committed. Blue or white collar? Male or female?”
“Male. Murder. Allegedly. Credit card fraud. Allegedly,” Fancy said, dialing Darius’s number again.
“Probably IRC over on Bauchet.”
“What’s IRC?” Fancy asked.
“The inmate reception center.”
“Take me there.”
Lifting his eyebrows, the driver stared at Fancy.
“Don’t sit there staring. Let’s go.”
Driving along Interstate 5 to Highway 101, glancing in his rearview mirror at Fancy, the driver commented, “You do know th
at they’re not all innocent, right? How do you beautiful women get caught up with these deadbeat guys?”
Pressing the END button on her cell phone, Fancy stared at the driver in his mirror. “You don’t know me. Here’s my business card.”
Accepting her card, the driver replied, “I’m not questioning your status. Obviously you can afford to pay me two hundred dollars an hour. All I know is these dudes get caught up committing crimes and then they convince their women to bail them out. I hope you’re not expecting him to repay you.”
Silently, Fancy questioned herself. Why was she voluntarily doing so much for Darius? Would Darius have done the same for her? Tipping the driver, Fancy eased on her sunglasses and hurried inside like she was hiding. After waiting for hours, and discovering fortunately Darius hadn’t been transferred, Fancy posted his astronomical bail then waited several more hours until he walked out. He was unshaved and unkempt. Fancy only cared about the man on the inside. Darius’s eyes were red and puffy like he hadn’t slept for days.
Wrapping her arms tight around Darius’s waist, Fancy said, “I’m going to stand by you throughout your trials.”
Darius removed her arms and stepped back. “Thanks, but you’ve done enough for me.”
“Oh, you don’t have to thank me for getting you out. But I was surprised you were still here. Why didn’t your parents get you out?”
Shrugging his shoulders, Darius shook his head. “My dad was going to get me out then he suggested I chill. I don’t know why. Knowing him, he had a reason. But after I found out I’d killed a man, I needed time to myself. Taking your dad’s life killed a part of me. I can’t quite explain it. But I’ll never be the same. I had time to reflect and think about my life. All the wrong things I’ve done. But you have no idea what it’s like in here. It’s hell. I don’t know how people survive years behind bars caged like animals. Being treated as less than human. All I know is I’m innocent and I won’t be back. But you’ve done enough for me. It’s all your fault I was in here in the first place. If you had changed your locks like Denise told you, I wouldn’t be here.”
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