Black Widow

by Nikki Turner

  If for some reason you feel like you can take my money and do what you want with it, I need to explain something to you so that you can have a complete understanding as to what comes with spending my money.

  What you have in your possession is blood money. A lot of blood was shed in order to obtain it. I sold my soul to the game when I started hustling, and a contract comes with that. You see, some niggas in the street, as well as squares, think that type of money is free money, but nothing is ever given to you for free. There are consequences and repercussions that come with it. For some people, the repercussions just come quicker than for others.

  If you spend any of my 313,000 dollars without my blessing, you take on everything that comes with it.

  “So what, motherfucker!” Isis laughed to herself, waving the pool waitress over. “Excuse me, but can I get another apple martini, please?” She gave the hostess a twenty-dollar tip, courtesy of Bam and his blood money.

  Looking up from the drink, Isis noticed four guys in street clothes, walking toward the pool. They were searching for a spot at the pool to chill. She smiled as they pulled chairs from other places to make their own little area. One of the men from the group caught her attention. He wasn’t the best-looking one, but there was something about him. He looked slightly older than the other three. His head was bald, his beard was perfectly manicured along his jaw, and his body was chiseled with the precision of a jeweler cutting a rare diamond.

  As Isis watched this work of art disrobe, her cell phone rang, competing for her attention. The number had an 804 area code, but she didn’t recognize it. Isis decided to answer it anyway. “Hello.” Just as she spoke into the receiver, Mr. Perfect Body made eye contact with her.

  “Hold on a second,” a female’s voice on the other end of the phone said.

  “All I want is my paper from you.” This time the voice on the phone belonged to Bam.

  “Whose phone are you calling me on?” Isis asked.

  Bam answered nonchalantly, “A friend’s.”

  “You mean your baby momma’s?”

  Bam was quiet for a minute.

  “Hello? Is anyone there?” Isis said. No one said anything. “Hello, Bam?”

  “Yeah, man,” he said slowly.

  “Yeah, it’s your baby momma, or yeah, you on the phone, or the both?”

  “Man, look: I gotta call however I can since you put a block on the phone.”

  “Look, despite what you think, I was at the courthouse on the day of your sentencing. I got sick and had to be rushed to the hospital. And I became sick after meeting your goddamn baby momma!” Isis continued her rant. “You got some motherfucking nerve.”

  “Look, let’s talk. Let’s work this out.” Bam had a much more accommodating demeanor now than in his jailhouse letter.

  “You crazy, muthafucka,” Isis said. “I don’t have shit to say to you.”

  “I didn’t call to hear you talk anyway,” Bam told her, realizing that honey wasn’t going to get his money back, so he might as well resort back to vinegar. “I called for my muthafuckin’ money. If you think that just ’cause I’m in jail I’m going to let you or anybody else take something from me, you must’ve busted yo’ head or something.”

  Isis pushed the button and ended the call, but before she could even look up, there was another voice in her ear. “Don’t let dem niggas upset you, Princess.” Mr. Perfect-Body took a seat next to her. The conversation with Bam had distracted her. She had almost forgotten that just moments ago she was in an eye-wrestling match with the man.

  “Thank you for your concern,” she said. “And I won’t.”

  “You promise? Because you too cute to let anyone put a frown on your face.”

  Her frown turned upside down. “Thank you.”

  “What’s your name, Princess?”

  “Isis. My friends call me Ice,” she said. “And yours?”

  “That would be Logic.” He smiled. “And yes”—he nodded—“that’s my real name.”

  “That’s a very interesting name. Are you going to drop some logic on me?” She teased.

  “No, but I can logically give you reasons why a pretty girl such as yourself shouldn’t be wasting a beautiful day in Vegas arguing with some fool on the phone when she can have dinner and a night of gambling and entertainment with someone that would appreciate her company.”

  After thanking Isis, Logic and his three friends all hung out at her cabana until 6:00 when it closed. Once the cabanas closed, they each headed their own separate ways to get dressed so that they could meet up again in an hour. It didn’t take long for Isis and Logic to put the duck on his friends.

  Neither Logic nor Isis were big gamblers, but one couldn’t tell by looking at them. When they got in the casino, the two of them gambled and gambled and gambled, all night long. Isis’s favorite game turned out to be the craps tables. Every time she rolled those ivory dice down that long felt table, she won. After about eight hours of hanging out together, they cashed out, and Logic walked her to her room.

  When he got her there he asked, “Am I going to see you tomorrow?” Snapping his fingers, he said as if he’d forgotten something, “That’s a crazy question. But of course I’m going to see you tomorrow. I have to take you shopping tomorrow so that we can spend some of our winnings.”

  Isis agreed and smiled. “Pick me up in time for brunch.”

  Logic was all teeth. “It’s a date. I’ll pick you up at eleven.”

  As soon as Logic got back to his room, he dialed Isis’s room number on the phone, and she answered on the first ring. Somehow she just knew it was going to be him.

  “Hello.”

  “I was thinking, Ice,” he said. “So that I won’t run off with all our winnings, perhaps it would be better if I sleep on your couch. That way, you know all the money is safe, and plus, that way I won’t miss our brunch date.”

  She hesitated for only a second before agreeing. She reasoned, What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, right?

  Getting what he wanted was an effect that Logic had on 98 percent of the people he met. He had a way of getting his point across and never raising his voice to do it. Thirty-one years of age, Logic had been on his own since he was fourteen. He started out hustling on the corner, but he didn’t stay in that occupation for long. He knew the value of saving and investing his money. By the time he was eighteen, he was loaning money to other drug dealers to buy work. By the time he was twenty-one, he was loaning young entrepreneurs money for DVD companies, record labels, artist-development projects…it didn’t matter to him, as long as they paid his money back with thirty percent interest. And the majority of them always did, because there was another side to Logic that people had heard of but didn’t want to deal with personally.

  No one really knew how many people Logic had actually killed, not to mention those he had someone else kill for him. But overall he was fair. He always kept his word, and he demanded the same from whoever he dealt with. Disloyalty was punishable by death in his book. That was it, period and dot. So for those reasons, he almost always got paid, and he made lots of money.

  That night, he did as he promised: He slept on the couch in Isis’s room and woke up only when he heard her get up and try to tiptoe to the restroom.

  Although nothing sexual jumped off between the two, being with Logic felt like a dream. Isis found herself imagining what it would be like to be his girl, but in the real world she knew that a man like Logic was way out of her league. Yeah, she had been with drug dealers before, but somehow they just didn’t seem to measure up to Logic’s stature. She was sure that he had plenty of women chasing him, not to mention a wife, mistress, and a few girlfriends on the side. But of course, he told Isis that he wasn’t married.

  Why wouldn’t he be married? she asked herself. All of that charisma and money, and no one has locked him down?

  After racking up in the Forum Shops, Isis and Logic went to see Elton John’s show. Afterward, they decided to try their luck at the
casinos again. Before they started gambling, Logic ran into his boy, Jacob, who needed some money, claiming that it had not been his lucky night.

  Jacob was a compulsive gambler. From the time they arrived in Vegas, he showed no interest in any women, shows, or sightseeing. The only thing that kept his attention was the roulette table. Jacob not only looked like he had been up for days but he really had been up for days—losing. On a normal day, Jacob was a pretty handsome guy, always dipped in the latest crisp gear, but this day was a different story. The bloodshot rings around his green eyes gave them the look of Christmas ornaments. And both his hair and clothes were disheveled. Vegas had put it on him, and put it on him hard.

  While Logic stepped off to the side to talk to Jacob, a lady with long, stringy, dark hair and a colorful crocheted pocketbook with long straps crossing her chest walked up to Isis. “Excuse me. Would you like a psychic reading?”

  Isis had never had one before, but she thought, Why not? “How much?” Isis asked.

  “Well, I charge”—the frail lady cleared her throat—“different prices. It depends if I do a tarot or a palm reading,” she said. “Palms, fifteen dollars, and tarot cards, twenty dollars.”

  Shit, twenty dollars. What the hell I got to lose? I am on vacation, she thought.

  “Princess”—she heard Logic’s voice call out—“come here.”

  “Hold on one second,” she told the psychic chick as she went to see what Logic wanted.

  Logic informed Isis that before they would be able to start gambling, he would have to run up to his room to retrieve more money. He had given everything in his pockets to Jacob.

  “While you run upstairs, I’m going to look in those two shops we passed.”

  “A’ight. Just don’t stray too far from them, because I am going to be right back.” He kissed her on the cheek, and then headed through the crowded casino to the elevators.

  Isis almost bumped into the palm reader when she turned around. She had forgotten about her just that quickly, but Miss Psychic must’ve known that she was open to the experience.

  “Let’s get it popping,” Isis said to the hippie-looking lady.

  “Let’s go over here to a quieter place,” the lady suggested, and took the lead. There were really no quiet places in any Vegas casinos. They sat at two nickel slot machines and faced each other. Isis held out her palms for the lady to read.

  “What do you want to know about?” the self-proclaimed psychic asked. “Love? Money? Family? Work? Health?”

  Isis answered, “All of the above.”

  “Okay. First, within ten days, you’re going to take a trip,” she said.

  Yeah, I am going home, Isis thought.

  “You have never experienced real love in your life.”

  “What?”

  “The man who will really love you will address you as his princess.”

  Okay, step up your game, lady. We both know you just heard Logic call me Princess.

  “The first man that you loved…didn’t love you back.”

  Warm, but that could pertain to almost anyone. The one we love hardly ever loves us back.

  “He thought of you as a sister, and he used you for his own selfish reasons. Then, the second person you thought you loved hurt you, made you do something that you couldn’t really forgive him for. Now he hates that he loves you, and you don’t love him.”

  Warmer.

  “You are going to marry soon.” She paused. “Within the next six months. And your husband is going to love you unconditionally.”

  Six months? To who? Bam and I are never going to get back together.

  The psychic continued. “You just came into a lot of money. Be careful; all money isn’t good money.”

  No shit!

  “You are also going to be successful at your own business.”

  I hope you’re right.

  “You had a great childhood, but your mother had to leave you. But when she left you, it was only because she wasn’t in her right state of mind.”

  How could she know that? That hit home. Isis was starting to get a little scared of this woman.

  “You were raised in a lifestyle of homosexuality, but you never indulged in it yourself. And you were the life raft for someone who should have been dead years ago.”

  Isis began to look around. This wasn’t funny anymore. This lady was getting too deep and way too personal. Isis searched the casino to see if anyone she knew was there to tell this woman the stuff she had revealed.

  The psychic was earning her money. “Thirteen isn’t a good number for you. Stay away from anything that has anything to do with the number thirteen. Everything thirteen will forever be a bad omen for you.”

  Tears started to well in Isis’s eyes. She was thirteen when her life took a turn for the worse. This definitely wasn’t funny anymore. The things the lady was saying were all too true.

  “Our time is almost up, so let me say this to you: I know you think that I am a charlatan, but this is something you won’t be able to deny—someone in your family will have a newborn baby within four weeks by the name of Abigail.”

  You done fucked it up now, because ain’t nobody in my family having a baby in four weeks, and nobody damn sho ain’t going to name their child no goddamn Abigail.

  “How much do I owe you?” Isis asked.

  “This isn’t a game to me, as you seem to think it is. It’s my gift, and God will provide me with my riches. He just uses people like you sometimes to give me financial blessings. So, that’ll be fifteen dollars.”

  Isis gave the lady a twenty-dollar bill. She looked away when she noticed Logic coming toward her, and when she turned back around, the psychic was no longer there.

  For the rest of the night, Isis kept scanning the casinos for the lady, but she never did see her again. Over the next two days Isis and Logic had a ball until her time in Vegas was up and she had to go back home. Although Logic lived in Miami, he asked her to stay a few more days; she declined. She needed to go back home to pick up the pieces and move on with her life.

  Chapter 11

  Housejacked

  As soon as the big metal bird touched down in Virginia, Isis powered on her cell phone and checked her messages. Most of them were from Bam, talking smack. He went on and on about how she wasn’t shit and how she was going to pay.

  “Yo’ stankin’ ass ain’t gon’ live to spend that paper,” he spat in one of his messages.

  “Bitch, you better give me my shit if you know what’s good for you,” another one said.

  “I got seven words for you: pay me now or pay me later—with yo’ life, bitch!”

  The insults didn’t let up. “You think what I did to that baby was bad…bitch, I will suck the life out of you.”

  Isis dismissed the messages as idle threats and went to baggage claim, where she retrieved the original luggage she had traveled with, plus the extra suitcase she had had to purchase to lug all of the items she bought during her shopping trips with Logic.

  Samantha picked up Isis from the airport; the rain began to pour as soon as they reached the car. The weather had gotten so bad so quickly that Samantha thought it would be best to take Isis to her place until the rain let up instead of trying to make the trip all the way out to Caroline County. Because of a combination of jet lag, the time difference, and the late nights she had kept in Vegas, Isis fell straight to sleep when she got to Samantha’s house. It was her aunt’s voice that awakened her about five hours later.

  “Yeah, she’s here,” Samantha said into the phone.

  Isis’s first thought was that Bam had tracked her down, but she knew that Samantha wouldn’t have given Bam so much conversation. Samantha had never really cared for any man that Isis had dated, but she especially disliked Bam after he caused Isis to lose the baby. Even though Bam warned her to never come back, Samantha had even showed up at the trailer with her pistol ready to shoot him, but he had left before she arrived.

  “She would love to see you too,
” Samantha said into the phone. “She’ll be here when y’all get here. Bye-bye.”

  “Who was that?” Isis said as she rolled over on Samantha’s bed. She wiped her eyes to try to focus on the clock.

  “Ty and Anthony. They’re on their way over,” she said. “They want to see you.”

  Ty and Anthony were like Isis’s uncle and aunt. They had been friends with Samantha since forever and had even helped raise Isis. Ty didn’t work, so when Isis would get sick, he would go pick her up from school and take care of her. Ty was the woman in his and Anthony’s relationship. He cooked, cleaned, kept the house in order, and was one of the best-dressed men, women, or transsexuals Isis had ever seen. Anthony was all man: tall, dark, and handsome and highly sought after by many straight women, but he lived with and loved a cross-dressing man.

  Isis was still resting when she heard her surrogate aunt and uncle walk into the house.

  Samantha walked into the bedroom. “Aren’t you going to come and say hello?”

  Isis sat up in the bed. “I’ll be down in a few.”

  Once Samantha left the room, she lay back down, but only for a few minutes to get herself together, and then she got up. When she finally did make it to the front room, she was surprised to see that Ty and Anthony had brought another guest with them.

  “Oh my goodness, who is this little sleeping bundle of joy?” Isis asked, walking straight over to the baby that was nestled in Ty’s arms.

  Anthony answered first. “This is Abbey,” he said with a big simple smile on his face.

  “This is your little cousin Abigail,” Ty added.

  Hearing the name Abigail sent every single hair on Isis’s body sticking straight up. This can’t be!

  The entire room went into a blur, and all she could hear were the psychic’s words replaying in her head: I know you think that I am a charlatan, but this is something you won’t be able to deny—someone in your family will have a newborn baby within four weeks by the name of Abigail.