“Hey babe, it’s me. Call me when you get a chance,” Sabathany said to Kendrick’s voicemail before dropping the phone into her purse.
She parked her champagne-colored 2012 Lexus across the street from a run-down, white bungalow, located in Inglewood, California. The front yard of the house was overwhelmed by burnt grass and weeds. It was littered with a dirty mattress, a couple of beat-up tires and a rusty tricycle.
Sabathany had been sitting there for over an hour, having watched at least seven men come and go from the house. This confirmed what she suspected—her mother, Lola, was using again.
Sabathany blamed Kendrick for this. Once upon a time she begged him to buy her mother a place in a nicer neighborhood. She figured if Lola had a better place to live, void of the drug pushers and riffraff, she might be more careful of the company she kept. Maybe she would have a spec of pride in herself to stay on the right track.
Sabathany got out of the car, clicking the car alarm. Her white blouse flapped in the lazy breeze as the silver necklace she wore glistered in the waning sun. Sabathany’s high-heeled feet carried her purposefully across the street.
After a series of impatient knocks, Lola finally came to the door. She stared at her daughter as though she were a stranger.
“Hello, Lola,” Sabathany said.
“Did you bring it?” Lola asked, stepping aside to allow Sabathany entrance.
“You stink.”
“Well, excuse me, Ms. Thing. I’ll be sure to wash my ass the next time. Did you bring it?”
Sabathany went inside the house, glancing one last time at her car before closing the front door. There was a vague, putrid stench settled in the living room. It was familiar only because Sabathany smelled it the last time her mother was strung out. The last of the day’s sunlight died in the fabric of drawn curtains. What little light flickered in the dark living room came from the television.
The two women were almost mirror images of each other. Lola used to be beautiful like her daughter. But that faded beauty was marred by scabs on her face, chest and arms from where she scratched away imaginary crawling bugs.
“If I’d known you were coming right this minute I would’ve cleaned up a bit,” Lola said, sitting on the sofa and sneakily placed newspaper over a crack pipe.
“Why try to hide it?”
“Hide what?” Lola asked innocently.
“Cut the shit, will you? I already know you’re using again,” Sabathany snapped.
Lola paused, unsure of whether to even bother conjuring up another story—another lie. She looked up at her daughter with glassy, defiant eyes. “So?”
“We had a deal. I told you I would help you as long as you stayed clean. Doesn’t look to me like you’ve tried very hard.”
Sabathany grimaced at the squalor of the room. Dirty clothes everywhere. A dingy bed sheet draped over the sofa. Empty soda cans and take-out containers filled with congealed grease and cigarette butts were piled on the coffee table. Chicken bones lay atop newspaper. There was even a used condom on the floor near Lola’s foot.
“Is that from today?” Sabathany asked, eyeing the condom.
Lola picked it up and tossed it into one of the take-out plates. She giggled.
“Oh, I guess this is one big joke to you!”
“Listen; don’t come in here with that. I don’t wanna hear anything you got to say. I know you’re ashamed to be here. I can tell by the way you’re standing.”
“This place is filthy.”
“Girl, please. You think you’re Ms. high ‘n’ mighty, with that knock-off outfit you probably got from down at the swap meet. You got the nerve to act like you’re better than me? I was doin’ just fine back in Detroit. You the one come calling, talking about how much you needed your mama!”
“Is it so horrible to want to have a relationship with my mother?” Sabathany asked, surprised by the quaking emotion in her own voice.
“Did you ever stop to think there was a reason I gave your ass away? Did you think that maybe I don’t want a relationship with you?”
“I thought maybe time might’ve changed that.”
Lola laughed. “Let me tell you something, little girl. You and me both made our choices, okay? You told me things would be good when I got out here, remember? Instead, you went off to live the good life and left me in the dust. Chose your man over me. But that’s all right. You keep on doing what you have to do and I’m gonna do me.”
“That’s just it, you’re always doing you. Couldn’t care less about me or anyone else. And don’t sit there and act like I haven’t tried to help you. I begged Kenny to let you live with us, but you had just gotten out of rehab, and we didn’t know if the treatment would stick. Clearly it didn’t.”
“Well, I got news for you. Paying my rent is the least you can damn do for me giving birth to your ungrateful ass! I’m just glad you’re finally putting that hole of yours to good use. ‘Bout time you started using it for something constructive.” Lola burst into a maniacal fit of laughter. “I remember when you were giving it away to every Tom, Dick and Harry. Gave it to that NBA player too, and he still dropped your ass. So, don’t get preachy with me about a used condom when you’re basically doing the same thing, bitch!” Lola fished the condom from the take-out plate and threw it at her daughter.
Sabathany stepped away in time for the condom to sail past her and hit the floor; the contents oozed from it.
Sabathany held up what she knew Lola was looking for. “Fine. I’m done. Since you don’t want my help, you won’t be needing this.”
Some of the spite came down from Lola’s voice. “God should knock me dead for talking to my child like that. Baby, I’m sorry. You know I don’t mean what I say half the time. It’s them drugs.” She stood up from the sofa and ran dirty hands down her t-shirt. Her eyes remained fixed on the money.
Sabathany handed Lola the cash, who snatched it from her daughter in the same way she snatched money from a trick. She gave Sabathany a cold, obligatory hug, which lasted half a second, then counted the money, never noticing the smile spread across her daughter’s face.
“Two-hundred? What am I supposed to with this?”
“Well, since I already paid your rent, use it to live. And don’t smoke it up.”
“I asked you for five.” Lola flimsily held up what she perceived to be a piddly sum.
“I know, but all I’m giving you is two.”
“Listen, sweetie, baby, I need more money. I already told you that I got this cat who’s gonna be coming back around looking for his money.”
“You mean to tell me you smoked up five-hundred worth of crack? What kind of dealer lets you smoke that much on credit?”
Lola shifted uncomfortably. “Because we’ve had certain arrangements in the past and he trusts me, see? But I need more money.”
“I won’t bother asking you what kind of arrangements you’re talking about.”
“What do you care?”
Sabathany removed keys from her purse and turned to leave. “Goodbye, Lola.”
“Wait a minute… Sabathany, come on! You gotta help me out… I’m scared!”
“You must think I’m a fool. You need to either take what I gave you, or give it back.”
A look of alarm claimed Lola’s face. Unhappy with the choices presented to her, she said, “Then, I guess I’ll have to make do with what you gave me.”
“Good answer.”
On the way home Sabathany’s phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Baby, please don’t hang up. I know I was wrong for how I spoke to you, but you have to help me! You don’t understand, he’ll kill me if I don’t get the money.”
“If you needed my help then why did you talk so disrespectfully earlier?”
“I was embarrassed. But I’m sorry.” Lola waited for a response. When none came she continued, “What do I gotta do? Tell you that I’m worthless? All right, fine, I ain’t shit! Are you happy now?”
Lola’s hyster
ics drew a smile from Sabathany. “When’s he coming?”
“He told me ten o’clock tonight. Daughter, please! How many times do I gotta say it? I’m sorry!”
“Yeah, I know you are. I’ve got to swing by an ATM. Another three-hundred should do it, right?”
“Yes, please,” Lola sniffled.
“Okay. I’ll see you in a little bit.”
“Thank you! You’re a good daughter…a merciful daughter… and I love you.”
“Yeah right,” Sabathany muttered before ending the call.
Sabathany luxuriated in a bubble bath with a glass of champagne. Justin Timberlake’s “Suit and Tie” caressed the atmosphere, but neglected to block out the incessant ringing of her phone. She put down her glass and counted the twelve missed calls. The phone rang again at 9:45PM. Turning down the music, she picked up.
“Hey, I’m on my way,” Sabathany said, then clicked off before her mother could speak. At 10:05PM she answered the phone and was greeted by a commotion coming through the line.
“What I say I was gonna do, bitch?” said a booming male voice in the background.
“My daughter said she’s coming with the rest! She should be here any minute! Sabathany, girl, where are you?”
“I ain’t got time to be playin’ with yo’ ass! Now, where’s my money?”
“Here, you can talk to her yourself. Sabathany, please tell him you’re on your way!”
Sabathany chuckles. “Lola, I’m not talking to one of your imaginary friends. I already gave you money, now tough it out.”
There was a brief pause before Lola replied, “All right, then. Whatever happens is on your head.”
“Bye, Lola! Do me a favor and lose my number!” Sabathany ended the call, holding the phone to her glistening chest.
When Sabathany finished her bath, she dried herself off and found her favorite terry cloth robe. After refilling her glass, she gazed out the floor-to-ceiling window. The Los Angeles night sky glowed with twinkling lights that extended a far distance. Bringing the glass to her supple lips, she felt a tear fall, brought forth because of Lola’s earlier mention of her first love, Michael Wray, who played shooting guard for the Los Angeles Knights.
When they were a couple, life was finally beginning to resemble the vision board she had kept since her teen years. She envisioned herself with a dream man who would give her the lifestyle she ached for, but Michael left her, surrendering to his proclivity for transsexuals. Michael gave Sabathany a nice piece of change to keep his secret, but soon after, one of the working “girls” he picked up on Santa Monica Boulevard shot off her mouth to the wrong person and got them both shot to death in his yellow Maserati.
Sabathany raised her glass, hardened by the memory. “To Lola and Michael…may they both go straight to hell!”
FOUR
11AM the next morning, Sabathany received a call from the police informing her of what she already knew. She did her best grief-over-the-phone impression, hoping it would be enough to keep them away. However, not only did the multiple in-coming calls on her cell phone not go unnoticed by the cops, they inspired further questions.
They could’ve called me last night with this mess, she thought to herself in the shower. She had expected to be awakened in the middle of the night. At least then she would still be in the moment, capable of giving the police the performance they wanted. She had managed to keep hints that anything was wrong from Kendrick when they spoke just before she went to bed. But that morning she was off her mark, worried she would be asked questions intended to trip her up.
Sabathany was ready to leave, giving herself a last-minute check to make sure she looked appropriately mournful. Her wet, hanging hair supported the illusion that she was too distraught to bother with it.
Sabathany arrived at the precinct, announced herself to the first officer she saw, then took a seat. The police station was quiet. She expected a bustling place, filled with petty criminals being booked and prostitutes being led away, walking on broken high-heels as they popped gum and gave their skirts a tug for modesty. Sabathany expected ringing phones and officers scribbling down anonymous tips.
She guessed that the officer sitting at the front desk was content in his boredom, and would probably be annoyed should he be called into some major action.
“I must watch too many cop shows,” she muttered.
Soon, a broad-shouldered man with dreadlocks appeared. He wore a fitted, white collared, button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled. He introduced himself as Det. Daryl Trueblood, the person she spoke to on the phone.
Sabathany was escorted into an office where another detective waited. Det. Trueblood sat behind his desk, while the other sat on the desk’s edge, snapping a rubber band. Sabathany recognized him immediately.
“Ms. Morris, this is my partner, Det. Matthew Howards.”
Sabathany offered a slight nod to Howards, whose eyes glowed with animus.
“Yes, I know Matthew,” she said.
“Well, here his name is Det. Howards,” Trueblood admonished.
Sabathany fought the smirk she felt forming on her lips. “Got it.”
“There’s nothing funny about why you’re here, Ms. Morris. Unless you want us to get the wrong impression, I’d advise you to wipe that smirk off your face,” Howards snapped.
“Again, I’d like to offer my condolence for your loss,” Trueblood said.
“Thank you.” Sabathany allowed her eyes to fall mournfully to the Kleenex she walked in holding. Toying with it, she shrugged helplessly.
“Would you like us to give you a moment?”
“No, I’m okay.”
Her eyes met Howards’ cold stare, but not because she expected sympathy. He was a familiar, albeit hostile face. I can’t believe he’s still pissed, Sabathany thought to herself just as her memory took her back…
It was March 2011 when she and Matthew met, just two months after Michael Wray passed away. They were both in attendance at a wedding reception of mutual friends in Simi Valley. It was getting late, and Sabathany’s ride left her to score sex. She was on the lookout for a man who could give her a ride not only to her house, but possibly in the bedroom. Sabathany had already been dancing with Matthew Howards. His body was doughy, hardly the body-conscious-type she usually went for. But his five o’clock shadow contoured his face nicely, and his eyes held an intensity she found alluring. As the night progressed, tipsy from the tequila shots and wine, Matthew became her catch for the evening.
Later at her apartment, their sex romp was aborted when his penile dysfunction kicked in. Without saying anything, Sabathany angrily got up and hopped into the shower, signaling the end of the evening. If he was smart, he would be gone by the time she finished her shower. She didn’t want to have to embarrass him any further about his “little problem” than he probably already was. As the hot water rinsed away her disgust, he appeared in the bathroom doorway.
“I guess I should be going,” Matthew announced.
“Yep. See ya.”
“You think maybe we could…”
She began to clear her throat, her way of warning him not to continue.
“Well, anyway. You take care of yourself.”
“Yep. See ya!” she repeated.
“Listen, I didn’t mean for any of that to happen, so you don’t gotta act like that!”
“And you really didn’t have to waste my time. Someone should let unsuspecting ladies know about you.”
“Whatever! Find your own way home next time!”
“Won’t be a next time,” she said, watching his silhouette through the frosted shower curtain disappear from the doorway. She listened for the closing of her apartment door, and was satisfied when she heard it.
“Ms. Morris?” Trueblood said, snapping his fingers which transported Sabathany back into the present moment.
“I’m sorry, what did you ask me?”
“When is the last time you saw your mother?”
“Yesterday. She said
she needed money.”
“How much did you give her?” Howards asked.
“She told me she’d just paid the rent and didn’t have anything left to buy groceries, so I gave her fifty bucks.”
“Did you know that your mother used drugs?”
“Yes. In fact, as soon as I walked into the house I could smell it. That’s all she did back in Detroit. If I would’ve known it was going to be more of the same, I would’ve left her there.”
“You moved her out here?” Trueblood asked.
“Yes.”
“How long had she been in California?”
“Just over a year. The agreement was that she would get treatment out here. If she stayed clean for at least a year we’d talk about her moving in with Kendrick and me.”
“Who’s Kendrick?” Howards asked.
“Kendrick Black. He’s my boyfriend. Surely you know of him,” she dripped in a sugary sweet tone.
Howards shrugged. “Should I know who that is?”
“He’s an actor,” Trueblood replied.
“Oh. Is he any good?”
“He’s not bad. I let my wife drag me to a couple of his movies.” Trueblood admitted. “The ladies like him a lot.”
Sabathany rolled with Trueblood’s light-heartedness. Bedding one of Hollywood’s sexiest, up-and-coming actors was a big deal, especially if it made a cop with erectile problems like Matthew Howards jealous. She had her fun. Time to get back to the issue at hand, and make the detectives think she had every intention of getting to the bottom of who killed Lola.
“She gave me up when I was a baby, so I was hoping this would be a second chance for us, you know?”
“Then you weren’t close?” Trueblood asked.
“Never had the chance to be. In the end, all I was good for was giving her an allowance. I feel like such a fool.”
“I don’t know. Maybe if I felt like someone made a fool of me, I’d want them dead,” Howards said.
Sabathany glared at him. “Fortunately, my mind doesn’t operate that way.”
“So you say.”
“Yeah, I do say. Look, instead of wasting my time, why don’t you go out there and find who did this?”
The Best Possible Angle Page 3
