by Oasis
“Ahh, Kitchie.” GP shook his head. “Don’t do this. I don’t want to talk about this right now. Why you always want to show your ass in public?”
She rolled her eyes. “I want to talk about it. You tried to kill a man. If I were in there, would you have shot me, too?”
“Mami, no! You sound crazy.”
“When did you start not trusting me?”
“This conversation is a wrap. If you were going to stress me, you could’ve got your ass in the car and went with Jewels and the kids.”
“You’re bobbing and weaving real good. Answer me, GP.”
“The pieces just fit, Kitchie. You satisfied now? It made sense for it to be you.”
He trailed Jewels as she circled the congested block for the second time. She wheeled the Escalade into an alley and parked.
He picked the .9mm up from the seat. “Time to pay the piper.” He parked and his Nikes hit the pavement.
Jewels walked through the door of the Mayor’s office as though she had been given permission.
“You can’t go in there.” His secretary went after her.
Mayor Brandon Chambers spun his chair around to face the door. He took the phone away from his ear. “Who the hell are you?”
“Like you give a fuck.” She tossed a piece of crack cocaine on his desk.
He covered the rock when his secretary crossed the threshold.
“I tried to stop her,” the secretary said.
“Don’t worry about it, Karen. It’s okay. Close the door behind you and hold my calls.” He hung up on his caller.
Jewels spoke again once Karen was gone. “I know all about you and how you get down.”
“You don’t know a damn thing about me.”
“Motherfucker, watch your tone. I don’t let crackheads get away with one fucking thing. Now, if you don’t want me to let the public know you suck glass dicks, I need you to yank a few judicial strings for me.” She took a bag of Starbursts from his desk and began eating them. “Your wife know about Shea?”
“That bitch.” He watched her throw candy wrappers on his floor. “So what is this, blackmail?”
“Call it a favor that only the boss of this city can do.”
“Whatever it is, forget about it.” He poked a finger at Jewels. “Fuck you. Fuck Shea. You can’t prove a damn thing. If it’s one thing I know how to do, it’s how to cover my ass. Neither one of you are credible enough to make accusations against me.” He leaned forward with confidence. “I’m the mayor, the head niggah in charge. Now get the hell out of my office before I have your ghetto ass arrested.”
She got up to leave and placed a crack pipe and lighter on the desk. “I didn’t know if you had one stashed here or not.” She went to the door and pulled it open. “Y’all come here for a minute.”
Secret and Junior came in.
The head niggah in charge seemed as though he was struggling to get air into his lungs.
“You better breathe, Mayor.” Jewels smiled. “The public won’t have any problem believing them.”
“Hi, Brandon,” Secret said. “I didn’t know you were our mayor. I would’ve let you drop us off at our front door.”
He sighed and looked at Jewels. “What is it you want me to do?”
“How tight are you with the district attorney?”
“I’m having lunch with him today.”
“That’s a damn good answer.”
“Stop the car!” Mr. Lee ordered his chauffeur.
“But, sir—”
“Stop the car this instant, Hartford.” Before the limo came to a complete stop, Mr. Lee had the door open. He dodged coming-and-going traffic to get to one of the several street vendors.
Kitchie slapped GP with all the strength she could muster. “That’s such bullshit, GP, and you know it. I can’t believe you’d disrespect me by thinking so low of me. Explain to me what the hell ‘it just fit’ is exactly supposed to mean.”
“Goddamn, girl, I trust you!” He watched her closely, expecting her to swing again. “Keep your hands to yourself. That’s your warning.” He lowered his voice an octave and rubbed the warm side of his face. “It didn’t have anything to do with you. It was a combination of things dealing with me on a personal level. It was my own insecurities—not you. I was looking for a way to validate my insecurity. I was upset. I had no idea where you was, and when I heard that girl yell out—”
“Pardon me, I don’t mean to interrupt.” He stuck his hand out. “I’m Stan, Mr. Stan Lee, owner of Marvel Comics.”
“Get the hell out of here. You expect me to believe that?” GP took in the European suit on this distinguished-looking white man as he shook his hand.
“I remember you.” Kitchie moved closer to GP. “You spent over a hundred dollars about a month and a half ago.”
“That is correct, young lady. I’ve been looking for you ever since. Honestly, I had given up. This place wasn’t occupied for weeks.”
“Well, you found us.” GP straightened a stack of Street Prophet comic books. “What can we do for you? Good thing; today is our last day in business.”
Stan picked a book from the table. “I read every one of these—twice. I know raw talent when I see it. What you have here is a talent that is highly marketable.”
Kitchie hung on to Stan’s words while GP acted as if he had heard it all before.
Stan put both hands in the air, touching the tip of his thumbs together, and gazed through the opening. “I see the Street Prophet on the Cartoon Network, action figures, animated films, lines of comic books distributed nationally. I love the urban essence this guy brings to comics.”
“Yeah, and I bet you want all the rights and complete creative control.” He put his arm around Kitchie. “We’re fine. I won’t sell out like that.”
“You’ll receive a fifteen-percent royalty on all rights. I’m an artist myself; I wouldn’t dream of taking away your creativity. That’s what I’m impressed with. I’m interested in the Street Prophet.”
GP devoted his full attention to Stan for the first time. He threaded his fingers with Kitchie’s. “How interested?”
“Say, a signing bonus of…” He took his checkbook from his inside pocket and neatly printed a large figure. “This is just a bonus.”
“Thank you, Keith. You’re saving my ass with this one.” The mayor gave Jewels a thumbs-up as he spoke into the phone. “Yes, of course lunch is still on…See you then.” He placed the receiver on its base.
“How soon?” Jewels thumped a candy wrapper in the mayor’s direction.
“The charges against Mr. and Mrs. Patterson are being dropped as we speak.”
“Good looking out, Mayor.” Jewels stepped to the desk, blocking the children’s view. “Here’s a little something extra for your troubles.” She gave him a few more pieces of cocaine and a cell phone number. “Your secret is safe with me. Hit me up when you want to get right.”
“What you go by?”
“Jewels.”
When they left the office, the mayor secured his door and stuffed a rock inside the crack pipe.
Outside of the mayor’s office, Junior followed behind Jewels and Secret as they talked.
“That’s cool; my daddy ain’t going to jail.”
“Secret, you gotta get this shit right. You can’t be sounding like a square when you’re kicking it with me. If you say ‘that’s cool,’ you have to put as hell with it. That’s automatic. Now let me hear you say it the right way this time.”
They rounded the corner where Jewels’s Escalade was parked in an alley behind the mayor’s office.
“Mommy told me not to. She said there’s a lot of intelligent words to use in the place of cuss words, and she said if I really want to use bad words, that I’ll have plenty of time to when I’m grown.”
Jewels typed in a code on the car door and paused. “Hell ain’t a bad word.”
“Why not?”
“Do you think God uses bad words?”
“No
. God is good. He wouldn’t do that.”
“Hell nah, His good ass wouldn’t. But He says it a thousand times in the Bible.”
Junior’s eyes bulged with fright as he watched a dark man running toward them with a gun pointed at Jewels. “Aunty!”
Jewels and Secret turned to face him.
Jewels was astonished. “Junior, that’s what the—”
“He’s got a gun.” Junior pointed.
She turned in the opposite direction, just in time to…
“Three hundred grand?” GP stared at the fresh ink on the check.
“All you have to do is tell me who to make it out to. It’s all yours as soon as you can go over the contract and sign it.”
Kitchie began to tremble.
“I need a Street Prophet clothing line.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem. Our subsidiary rights department will take care of those things.”
Kitchie began jumping and shouting.
Smitty, the book vendor, rushed over. “What’s going on?”
Stan stuck his hands in his pocket. “That’s usually the reaction when you’re about to become a well-known artist in a matter of days.”
GP held on to Kitchie while she emotionally unraveled.
“I forgot to tell you, GP,” Smitty said, pointing at Stan. “This guy has been around here looking for you awhile now. It slipped my mind.”
Sticky Fingers pointed a Glock 9 at Jewels. “You think you could rob me and live to enjoy the proceeds? Spend this, bitch.” He pulled the trigger five consecutive times.
The silencer muffled the shots. The first bullet slammed Jewels into the Escalade, leaving a hole in her chest. The next shot entered through her eye and exited her head, shattering the driver’s side window.
Secret screamed while Junior repeatedly called out to Jewels.
The third, fourth, and fifth slugs were for general purposes. Secret grabbed Junior and they ran in the opposite direction of Sticky Fingers.
The hospital lobby was quiet. It had been two weeks since GP had decided on a tribute to the memory of Jewels. Now that the day had arrived, he was hesitant about relinquishing the urn.
“Everything will be fine, Mr. Patterson.” Markell Rawles, Family Gewels’s representative, peeled GP’s fingers from the urn’s handle. “You’ll never regret your decision. It’s all about keeping a connection to the deceased.”
“Papi.” Kitchie put an arm around his waist. “Jewels wanted this. I know that this is hard for you, but don’t forget that we need to get upstairs. Visiting hours are almost over.”
GP pulled in a deep breath and released it slow. “You’ll have her back to us in two weeks, right?” He fingered the briefcase on his lap.
“No more than, but maybe less, if our technicians can get her ashes under a million pounds of pressure in the next twenty-four hours.”
Kitchie reached out a hand. “Thanks for going out of your way to meet us here.”
“I’m not too fond of hospitals, but it wasn’t a problem. I’ll be in touch very soon. If there are any questions or if you just want to check on the status, please feel free to call me at the lab or log onto FamilyGewels.com to check the status.” Markell carried Jewels out of the hospital.
Kitchie and GP rode the elevator to the rehabilitation wing in silence.
After a gentle nudge from Kitchie, GP entered Desmond’s room. GP couldn’t understand how a person could have a cast on one side of their entire body. Knowing that he himself was the sole reason behind the painful sight, GP wished that he could take it all back. He stared at Desmond, who was suspended from something resembling a bed minus a mattress.
Desmond was face down with a limited view of two floor tiles. He was held in perfect stillness by wires and suspension straps. He smelled an expensive perfume consume the room. “Who that?”
Kitchie’s eyes began to water. She couldn’t stand to look at Desmond any longer. She went back into the hall as GP moved closer to the therapeutic gurney.
“Who that?” Desmond moved his toes.
“I…I came to apologize.”
Desmond remained quiet as his anger raised his blood pressure.
The silence unnerved GP. It was irritating. “Say something.” He set the briefcase down.
“What, you want me to give you a blow-by-blow account of how I’m gonna fuck you up? You apologized. Now roll out.” He began counting the speckles in the tile once again.
“Just hear me out. I was wrong—dead wrong for disrespecting you and your company. There’s no excuse for my actions, but I was going through a lot of things.”
Twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty— “What does that bullshit mean to me, dawg?”
“My wife was missing. Come to find out, she’d been kidnapped. At the time I didn’t know that, and when I heard you getting busy with that Spanish mami, I jumped to conclusions. I thought it was you and Kitchie getting down.” GP paced the length of the gurney.
“So that’s supposed to make everything cool? Justify why you was shooting at me? Now you’re up in here trying to cop a plea. You should have made sure I was dead. We going to trial in the streets.”
“However you want to carry this situation, I respect your call. But know that I apologize for this mess.” GP passed a hand over Desmond.
“Apologize? Motherfucker, you screaming apology and these folks are screaming that if I walk again, I’m still gonna be a fucking cripple. You can’t apologize for that. Nah, not with words.”
“My accountant is taking care of your hospital bill.”
“Broke-ass people don’t have accountants.”
“I used to be broke.”
“Even if you did, do you think I give a fuck about a hospital bill? I wouldn’t pay it anyway. And the next time I get hurt they gonna fix me anyway. Fuck out of here.”
GP flipped the lid of the briefcase open, then pushed it under the gurney with his ostrich-skin shoe, giving Desmond a view other than speckled floor tiles. “A hundred thousand for the trouble I’ve caused. I’m asking you to accept my apology and let this go.”
“How is my big brother?” Sahara came in and set her purse in a chair near Desmond. “They said they’re going to turn you over today.”
“I’m all right.” Desmond studied the dead presidents’ faces. “I’m glad you’re here. Take the briefcase under me home with you when you leave.”
She looked through the wires and straps at the money. “You just won’t get enough, will you, Des? I pray every night that the person who did this to you would die by suffocation or worse. And you’re laid up in here on this…on this thing, still making drug deals.” She finally acknowledged GP. “Couldn’t you have at least waited until he got out of the hospital?”
“Sahara.”
“Nah, the hell with that, Des.” She glared at GP. “See what happened to him because of the things y’all are involved in. You black men make me sick.”
“I apologize for the intrusion, sister.” GP turned to leave.
Desmond could hear GP’s hard bottoms click against the floor. “Tell your girl, Jewels—”
“She was murdered two weeks ago.”
Sahara watched the door close. “Who was that?”
Desmond thought while staring at the money. “Nobody.”
CHAPTER 20
And this is the indoor pool.” Suzette pushed the glass sliding doors open. “Consistent with the rest of the house, the floors are heated around the deck. And as you can see, the pool area offers a spectacular view of the backyard.”
“Looks more like a park.” Kitchie pictured GP and Junior tossing a football around.
“This house sits on two-and-a-half acres of land.”
“I love it,” Kitchie said. “Suzette, I want to thank you again for everything you did for us. You’re an angel.”
“I’m glad everything worked out for your family. Sometimes you have to go through hell before you can experience heaven.”
“Uh, that’s deep.” Kitchi
e looked at her reflection in the pool. “So what happened with you and…”
“Todd.”
Kitchie nodded.
“He and I, we’re getting divorced. We had our season. I would’ve liked for us to have made it through all the seasons, but life doesn’t give you what you want, only what you need.” She paused to think. “It took me some time and a lot of bruised feelings to learn that we couldn’t make a relationship work for the sake of our children. Fire and gunpowder don’t sleep together. We’re working on communicating the best message to our children now. In my opinion, that’s what’s important.”
“I’m sorry it didn’t work out.”
“Don’t be. Only God’s perfection is active in my life.”
“Mommy.” Junior came running. “Guess what?”
“Stop running,” Kitchie said as Secret came behind him. “What is it?”
“This house is so big I can hear my echo.”
“Now this is tight.” Secret admired the pool. “We can have my friends over for pool parties and everything.”
“Where is your father?” Kitchie ran a hand over Junior’s head.
“He’s in that one room, looking at the paintings.”
“The entrance hall,” Suzette said. “If you all would follow me, I’ll show you to Mr. Patterson.”
When they made it to the entrance hall, GP was staring at a painting in deep thought. The painting was of a nun cradling her deformed infant.
Suzette stood beside him. “This piece is called Sister Francine’s Baby. All of these paintings came from the Parousia collection. Sister Francine’s Baby is estimated to be worth eighty-thousand, as well as these.” She gestured toward the remaining paintings.
GP looked at Kitchie. “Do you like it?”
“The painting or the house?”
“Both.”
“I’ve always been a fan of T. Clary’s artwork, but I’m in love with this house.”
He turned to Suzette. “We’ll take it.”
