Obsession

by Treasure Hernandez

Ivy gave Quick a bloody smile. “I love you, baby,” she whispered weakly.

  “It was a accident, Quick,” Lucky said as he heard sirens in the distance. “It was a accident,” he said again as he backpedaled out the front door.

  Quick stayed at Ivy’s side as he watched her lifeless eyes drift off into space. A tear escaped his eye as he took his two fingers and closed her eyes.

  Seconds later, Ivy’s apartment was full of cops and paramedics.

  Quick found himself answering questions all night. The cops placed a sheet over Ivy’s body and left her laying right there on the floor where she died, after they took pictures of her and the entire apartment.

  Detective Davis stepped out of his car and flicked his cigarette into the street. He had been up for the past four nights going over details in two different cases. He walked inside the apartment and looked at the murder scene.

  “What do we have here?” he asked a uniformed officer.

  The uniformed officer told him, “Twenty-seven-year-old woman dead. Seems as if someone kicked the door in and shot her.”

  “Was anything stolen?” Detective Davis asked as he pulled out his pen and notepad.

  “Nope,” the uniformed officer answered. “I think it was drug-related though, because her boyfriend was here, but he’s not talking.”

  “Boyfriend?” Detective Davis echoed, a smirk on his face.

  “Yeah, he’s right over there.” The uniformed officer pointed over in Quick’s direction.

  Detective Davis looked over in the direction the officer pointed and saw Quick sitting over in the corner with tears in his eyes. “Oh shit! That’s the new guy,” he said to himself. He remembered seeing Quick’s face as he left the trap house the other day.

  Detective Davis walked up to Quick and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “Cigarette?”

  “No, thank you,” Quick said, his mind all over the place at the moment. He thought about killing Lucky. The only thing saving him was the fact that it was an accident.

  “Care to tell me what happened here today?” Detective Davis asked.

  “I’ve answered these questions a thousand times already,” Quick said.

  “Well, now you going to answer them a thousand and one times,” DetectiveDavis said, matching Quick’s tone.

  “Me and my girl was in here chilling,” Quick began. “Next thing I know, I heard a loud boom, followed by the door getting busted open.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “I remembered Ivy was in the shower. When I hopped out the bed, I heard a single shot. By the time I made it to the living room, I saw her laid out on the floor bleeding.”

  “So you didn’t see the man or men who done this?” Detective Davis asked with a raised brow.

  “No.”

  “Did Ivy have any enemies, or anyone who might want to see her dead?” Detective Davis asked.

  “Not that I know of,” Quick told him with a straight face.

  The detective pressed, “Do you have any enemies that may’ve killed her to get to you?”

  “Nope,” Quick replied.

  Detective Davis knew he was wasting his time. Quick wasn’t going to talk, and he knew it. He never could understand the stupid street code of silence. Why wouldn’t a man help the police put away the person who had just killed his girlfriend, especially if he had information that could help?

  Quick sat answering questions for most of the day until the cops and detectives finally left. Even after five hours of questioning, he kept telling the same story over and over again. “I don’t know who could’ve done this.”

  After having the cops fucking with him all day, Quick stepped out the house and hopped in his car and decided to just go for a ride. His mind was so scrambled and all over the place, he didn’t even notice Detective Davis tailing him.

  The first stop Quick made was at the liquor store. He hopped out the whip and disappeared inside the store. Minutes later, he returned carrying a bottle of Cîroc. He cracked the bottle open and guzzled straight from it as he pulled back out into traffic. He still couldn’t believe what had just happened. Half of him wanted to hate Lucky, but the other half wouldn’t let him.

  Quick thought long and hard as he cruised the city getting drunk. He wanted to kill Lucky, but how could he come to kill the same person he had grown up with?

  Before Quick knew it, his bottle was halfway empty. “Fuck!” he cursed loudly as he felt his stomach began to feel a little nauseous. He realized he hadn’t eaten anything all day.

  “Fuck it!” Quick said, pulling inside the IHOP parking lot. He cut the engine off and walked toward the entrance. As he was walking in, a customer coming out bumped into him. He nodded his head and quickly apologized for being in the way.

  Quick followed the hostess over to a booth over in the corner. He rested his head down on the table for a second, trying to get his thoughts together. His head was spinning, along with a million thoughts on his mind.

  “Hey,” Tiffany said, knocking on the top of the table to get Quick’s attention. “You all right?” she asked, her voice full of concern.

  Quick looked up and saw Tiffany’s bruised-up face. “Yeah, I’m fine. Can I have some water, please?”

  “Yeah, sure,” Tiffany said, and she went to go get Quick some water. She returned with a glass of water and two aspirin. “Here you go.” She sat the glass of water down on the table. “I brought you some aspirin too.”

  Quick tossed the two pills in his mouth and washed it down with some water. “What happened to your face?” he asked. Instantly he could see the embarrassment on her face.

  “I’m okay,” Tiffany said, not knowing what else to say. She knew sooner or later somebody else besides her mother was going to ask her about the bruises that she’d tried to cover up with too much makeup.

  “Well, you don’t look okay to me.” Quick checked out her bruises. He knew Blake had to be responsible.

  “And neither do you,” Tiffany shot back.

  Before Quick could say another word, two detectives and three uniformed officers came storming up in the restaurant. Immediately Quick’s heart sank into his stomach. He knew the cops were going to try and make it seem like he had something to do with Ivy’s murder.

  One of the detectives shouted, “You’re under arrest!” as he forcefully slammed Tiffany face-first down on Quick’s table and slapped the cuffs on her.

  “Under arrest for what?” Tiffany asked, wincing in pain.

  “Attempted murder!” The detective snatched Tiffany up and escorted her out the restaurant.

  Tiffany and Quick made eye contact as the officers escorted her out of her place of work. Quick looked on with the rest of the diners as the detectives roughly tossed her in the back of the unmarked car before pulling off.

  Tiffany sat in the back of the detective car, tears streaming down her face. She knew it was only a matter of time before the cops came for her. All of her things were still inside the house, along with pictures of her and Blake together. Everything had happened so fast, she didn’t have time to remove all traces of her being or either living there.

  “I feel sorry for you.” The detective shook his head as he looked at Tiffany through the rearview mirror. “Them butch bitches are going to love you,” he said, taunting her. “With that nice ass you got, they gon’ pass you around like a cigarette.” He laughed.

  If looks could kill, the detective’s head would’ve been cut off. Tiffany did her best to tune out the detective. She continued to remain silent as they pulled up to the station.

  When Tiffany got inside, the detective placed her in a holding cell along with a few other women.

  “Fuck!” Tiffany cursed as she sat down on the wooden bench and leaned her head back against the wall. For a second she just thought about how her life had slowly gone down the drain. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” she said to herself.

  She thought about how the next few years in jail would be, and she began to cry again. “Get you
rself together,” Tiffany told herself as she wiped her face. “Fuck it! If this is where I have to stay for the next ten years, so be it.” She figured being in jail was better than living with Blake.

  After Tiffany sat in the cold cell for two hours, the detective finally came and called her name. She stepped out the cell and followed the detective to the interrogation room.

  “Cigarette?” the detective asked, holding the pack out to her.

  “I’m good,” Tiffany said, as she sat back in the chair.

  “So,” the detective began, “why did you try to kill your boyfriend, Blake Robinson?”

  “I don’t know what you talking about. I don’t even have a boyfriend.”

  “Bullshit!” the detective yelled. “Your clothes, toothbrush, pictures of you were found all throughout the apartment.”

  “And?”

  “And I think you have some explaining to do.” The detective placed a pen and pad in front of her.

  “I stopped dealing with Blake months ago. I moved back in with my moms a few months, and she’ll tell you the same thing.”

  The detective laughed. “That’s funny, because I just spoke to Blake, and he told me that you were the one who had stabbed him,” he lied, trying to come at Tiffany from a different angle, hoping that she would fold.

  Tiffany swallowed hard but remained quiet and just listened. She knew if the detective knew what he needed to know, he wouldn’t be questioning her right now.

  “And our friend Blake is prepared to press charges against you,” the detective said, continuing to lie. “You looking at fifteen years minimum.”

  Tiffany just remained quiet as she listened to what the detective had to say. After two hours of listening to that bullshit, she was taken back to the cell, where she waited a few more hours until it was time for her to see a judge.

  Tiffany almost passed out when she heard the judge set her bail at $200,000. After the court officer escorted her back to her holding cell, all she could do was wait and see what the next step in the process was.

  Two hours later a CO called her name.

  “Get your shit. You just made bail,” he announced as he led her toward the front desk to fill out her paperwork.

  This has to be some kind of mistake, she thought to herself as she nervously filled out her release papers. She knew nobody in her family didn’t even have close to one hundred dollars, let alone twenty-thousand. She filled out the papers and quickly walked out of the station before they realized that the system was making a mistake.

  When Tiffany stepped outside, she saw Quick leaning on the hood of a Dodge Charger. “You bailed me out?” she asked, walking up to him.

  “Yeah,” Quick answered as he walked around to the driver’s side of the car and hopped in.

  Tiffany followed his lead and slid in the passenger seat. “Why did you bail me out?”

  “Jail ain’t no place for no one,” Quick said, pulling away from the curb.

  “I appreciate it, but I can’t afford to pay you back.”

  “I didn’t ask you to pay me back,” Quick said, as the sound of Jay-Z hummed through the speakers at a low level. “What’s going on with you and that nigga Blake?”

  “Nothing,” Tiffany answered quickly. “I tried to kill his ass. That’s why the cops came to get me.”

  “You shot him?”

  “No. Stabbed him up.” Tiffany wasn’t proud of what she had done, but she just felt she did what she had to do.

  Quick smirked. “Damn! I guess I better stay on your good side.” He laughed out loud.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “Wherever you want to go,” Quick answered. “Where do you live?”

  “Live?” Tiffany laughed. “Wherever I can at the moment, until I get my shit together.”

  “I just got a new apartment. You’re welcome to stay there with me, if you like.”

  “I don’t know,” Tiffany said, putting up a weak protest. “You’ve already done too much for me, don’t you think?”

  “Trust me, you won’t even know I’m there when I am there, ’cause most of the time I’m out.”

  “Okay, I’ll stay with you until I get back on my feet. Deal?”

  “Deal,” Quick said, and the two shook hands.

  Thirty minutes later, Quick pulled up in front of his new apartment and shut off the engine. “Sorry, but I don’t have any furniture yet.” He popped the trunk and removed a box containing an air mattress inside. “I hope you don’t mind sleeping on this,” he said, holding up the box.

  “No. That will be perfectly fine,” Tiffany said with a smile as the two stepped inside the empty apartment.

  Immediately Quick plugged in the air pump and blew up the bed. Then he went and grabbed some sheets and made the bed.

  “I have to step out for a few. You need anything?”

  “Just some sleep,” Tiffany said, laying down on the air mattress.

  Just as Quick was about to head out the door, she called his name, stopping him dead in his tracks.

  “Thank you for everything.”

  Quick smiled and winked as he headed out the door. He hopped back in his car and headed down toward the church.

  When Quick pulled up to the back of the church, he saw Turf and Goliath coming out the back door.

  “Look at this nigga,” Turf said with a smirk on his face. “Glad to see you still alive.”

  “Glad to still be alive.” Quick smiled. “I saw the police got to Wolf. Did Major Pain make out all right?”

  “Yeah, he’s fine,” Turf said, as him and Goliath slid in the awaiting Range Rover. The passenger window immediately rolled down. “This spot is dead from now on,” Turf added. “I’ll have Goliath text you the new meeting spot tomorrow. Go home and get you some rest,” he said, and the Range Rover pulled off.

  “I like how that kid moves,” Turf said to Goliath. He could tell that Quick was hungry, and on top of that, he was loyal. Turf also liked the fact that Quick used his head before he reacted. That was something that couldn’t be taught. Either you had it, or you didn’t. A few more months up under Turf’s wing, and Quick was going to be heading toward the top fast.

  “We got some company,” Goliath said when he noticed flashing lights in his rearview mirror.

  “Pull this muthafucka over,” Turf said in a calm voice. He removed his P89 from his waistband and handed it to Goliath, who placed both Turf’s gun along with his own gun inside the secret compartment in the dashboard.

  Goliath pulled over and placed the Range Rover in park. He watched the cops’ every move from his side mirror.

  “He fuckin’ with us for no reason. I ain’t did shit wrong,” Goliath said as the detective made his way to the driver’s window.

  Detective Davis tapped on the driver’s window with his flashlight. “Roll this muthafucka down,” he ordered, shining the bright light directly in Goliath’s eyes.

  “What seems to be the problem?” Goliath asked, an angry look on his face. If the man standing in front of his window wasn’t a cop, he would’ve gladly killed the man with his bare hands.

  “I’ll ask the questions around here,” Detective Davis told the giant that sat behind the wheel. “License and registration.” He watched the big man reach over to the glove compartment and remove the items he had requested.

  “Here you go, sir.” Goliath handed him his license and registration, and through his side mirror he watched the detective walk back to his car.

  Goliath huffed, anger all in his tone. “Bitch-ass nigga fuckin’ with us for no reason.”

  “Just be cool. We clean, so he can’t do shit to us anyway,” Turf said calmly. He was already used to the harassment by the police; it was all a part of the game. You had to take the bad along with the good, and to be the boss, you definitely had to pay the cost.

  Detective Davis walked back up to the driver’s window and tossed Goliath’s license and paperwork at him. “I want you two drug-dealing scumbags to stay the fuck off my str
eets!” he spat. “The next time I catch you two punk muthafuckas on my streets, I’ma make sure y’all have hell to pay.” Detective Davis looked over at Turf and saw a smirk on his face. “Something funny?”

  “Only thing funny I see is you,” Turf shot back.

  “Tough guy, huh.” Detective Davis smiled as he walked to the passenger side of the Range Rover. He called for backup right before he reached the passenger side window. “You got a problem over here, boy?”

  “The problem is, you fuckin’ with us for no reason,” Turf replied. “You ain’t got nothing else better to do with your life?”

  Turf and Goliath burst out laughing.

  “Tell you what,” Turf said, looking in the detective’s eyes. “When you ready to stop working for the man and start working for a real man, holla at me, and I might give you a job.”

  “You a funny muthafucka.” Detective Davis laughed as he noticed his backup pulling up to the scene. “Step out the car.”

  “For what?” Turf asked.

  “I said step out the car!” Detective Davis yelled as he opened the passenger side door and snatched Turf out the passenger seat.

  Turf’s feet hit the pavement, and from there on out, it was on. He turned and punched the detective in his face as the two broke out into a scuffle right on the side of the road.

  The other officer quickly ran over and jumped into the brawl, striking Turf repeatedly with his nightstick.

  Goliath hopped out the driver’s seat and laid the officer out with one punch. Then he made his way over to Detective Davis and wrapped his hands around his neck and applied pressure.

  “Look at you now, muthafucka,” Turf said as he punched the detective in his face.

  Detective Davis tried his best to pry the big man’s hands from around his throat, but it was no use. Goliath’s grip was too deadly.

  When Turf saw Detective Davis’s eyes start to roll in the back of his head he stepped in. “That’s enough,” he said, and immediately Goliath let go of the detective’s neck.

  Detective Davis’s body hit the ground, and Turf and Goliath busted out laughing.

  Seconds later cop cars swarmed the area. Turf and Goliath laid down on the ground in surrender. They knew the NYPD was going to put a beating on them, but they definitely didn’t plan on going out without a fight.