BOMAW 7-9

by Mercedes Keyes

  "Oh, my God!" Deidre had cried out, immediate tears coming to her eyes. "How horrible." She felt sick to her stomach, because the fact was, if Jeremiah didn't think his mother committed suicide, that meant only one thing—someone killed her. Looking at him, she had a feeling who it was they suspected.

  "Hey, man, change the subject. It ain't right to be puttin' her through this, man." Maxwell felt sorry for her. "She been through enough. I'on wanna talk about it no more."

  "No, it's okay." Deidre spoke up.

  "He's right, let's get off the subject." Jeremiah agreed.

  "If your mother didn't commit suicide, who do you believe…did that to her?" Deidre couldn't help herself—she just had to ask.

  "Hey, let's drop it, okay?" Maxwell reached over and touched her arm, giving it a squeeze. "It's Memorial Day, let's not talk about death."

  "You would be the one to say something so dumb. What do you think Memorial Day is about?!"

  "Man, I'on wanna care what it's about. The lady here with us, we was havin' a good time, if it's gone keep goin' down that road, I'm gone skip on up outta here."

  With Felicia's intervention, the subject had been changed to a much lighter topic. Before long, they were back onto things to laugh about. In the laughter, however, Deidre noted Jeremiah's absence—although for all intents and purposes, he was aware of everything being said. Her time with Jeremiah had given her a window to watch and get to know him thoroughly. And what she found, was that Jeremiah was a work-o-holic; as well a man of deep contemplation, an intellect that she suspected bordered on genius. The extent of his knowledge into the world of politics, business, economics and law was mind-blowing. During her stay, she often got to hear him in action, see him in action, especially when he was on a case defending his clients, gathering facts for them, or—stirring and irritating Detectives Johnson and Gleason. As much as he got on their nerves, he was relentless for details and gathering the facts and handling things carefully. This about him, they could not deny. Even at his most irritating, they pretended to enlighten him with their investigation, when in fact, they were running by him what they had—to pick his brain, so to speak. Watching him with them, Deidre picked up on the fact that he'd brought to their attention questions and things to look into that they might have otherwise missed. Of course, they would never admit to that, but Deidre wasn't stupid. She could read the expressions on their faces as well. Jeremiah had taken up whistling the Laurel and Hardy theme ditty, the Coo-Coo song upon their leaving, that immediately had Detective Gleason swinging her hand back with her middle finger up for him, sending Deidre into fits of giggles. For once, she had enjoyed herself. She'd become too comfortable in his home. Too comfortable with quietly reading her health pamphlets, as he sat reading the paper. Often she would glance up, to see him in full concentration, he was that way with everything he did.

  While with him, something else she learned—that being, he had a black belt in karate and practiced Tai Chi. Watching him gave her the giggles; noting this, he commented, "You know, there is more to life than health of the body, there is also health of the mind. Focus and concentration, the ability to draw away from all that surrounds you, to create your own universe where one can tap into the regenerative sources that renew the spirit." He informed her as he stood going through his paces.

  "I happen to agree. I promise I will have to give it a try when I've fully recovered." She'd promised.

  While there, before Memorial weekend, Maxwell had been visiting her. Especially after the news report, heralding him as a hero. He'd shown up a few times, offering his gratitude for buying his new car and paying up front a full year of coverage for him. Most of the time when he showed up, it was when Jeremiah was at the office, or in court saying, "Just thought I'd come check up on you. You got to be bored, right? Sittin' up in here and thangs—I mean, you know—if you need somethin', anythang, hey—just hit them digits, know what I'm sayin'? I'll be straight on it for you. For real!"

  "I do get bored sometimes. I've been doing a lot of reading, come in—sit down. Can I get you something?"

  "Hey! Naaaw, let me take care o'that! You need something?"

  "No, I'm fine, really I am."

  "Well, I'm not gone stay, just wanted you to know, you need anything, call me. I'mo get on up outta here. Just ring me, know what I'm sayin'?"

  Deidre smiled, "Yes, I know what you're sayin'. And I thank you."

  Now, here she was—back home again. With a bodyguard outside of her door and another staying with her. Laying on her bed as well, was a new phone still in the box. The one she had was wrecked from her throwing it against the wall. Her mother calling her. Her father calling her. Yelling at her. Accusing her of being out to get them, out to ruin them. Her own parents. Having heard enough, in a rare fit of temper, she tossed it, and now needed a new one.

  With her case still on the bed, she could hear Jeremiah in the other room, grilling her bodyguard. Charlie Carlton. Her real name was Charlene, but she didn't like Charlene. She was insistent that people call her Charlie—and Charlie they did. She was black. Tough and not to be played with. She would become Deidre's own personal assistant. Where she went, Charlie would go. She was armed and dangerous. A 3rd degree (dan) black belt in Karate. And a smile like sunshine. What Deidre realized was, she would have to get used to being called "white girl". To get back at her, Deidre referred to her as Suzy Sunshine, which was the complete opposite of the way she could look. Charlie could look two ways, hard as nails or pretty and soft as a kitten. She was 5'8—160lbs of solid muscle. Weighing that, by no means, did she look even close to plump. Nor was she masculine in her fitness. She was all woman, made up like one, but tone, lean and lethal. Brown eyes, an odd shade of reddish-brown, olive-like skin tone with freckles galore; all over her face and body, with a natural head of red hair, a riot of small curls, in a close afro—kinda. She had small lips, not so full, and a long narrow nose. She walked about with a professional chip on her shoulder, defending her heritage. Clarifying, before anyone asked, because she'd become accustomed to someone doing so. "Just so you know it, yes, both my mama and my daddy are black! I'm red like he is! Freckles and all!" She could throw knives as accurate and deadly as the job required, and not even Jeremiah would try to bother her, because she was three grades higher than him in karate. He was just a black belt. She was way out of his league, and worth the money they were paying her to keep Deidre Charlotte Wherrington alive.

  "You okay in there, white girl?"

  Deidre shook her head and groaned. "Just fine, Suzy Sunshine," she answered. She could hear Charlie's chuckle outside the door. Deidre sighed, Charlie would be a challenge. She'd never met anyone like her before. Never spent a lot of time with black people, and Charlie—fully educated, without a doubt, was exhausting to be around. Her exuberance, her energy, laughter, raw sense of humor, earthy and direct talk, had left Deidre with her face flaming. With her degrees and all, Charlie was what Maxwell called a crazy ass black woman, with kick-ass abilities beyond the norm. Few men were up to a woman like Charlie. Deidre's face burned again just remembering her and Maxwell's first meeting, he made the mistake of calling her butch, insinuating that she might be gay, a lesbian.

  "Let's get somethin' straight right now, Mr. Fitty-Fitty! Ain't a woman nowhere, can do for me what I need to get done, understand? Strictly dickly, baby! I'm a dick rider, baby-boy, you better believe it! Shit! Whip out yo' dick! I dare you! My pussy muscles so tight, I'ah sit on yo' ass and pick you up by yo' dick! Stan'up—yo' ass be danglin' below, cock my ass back and launch yo' ass forward so quick, throw yo' ass cross the room—knock yo' ass out! WOO-BAM! Just like that!" She illustrated with a glint in her eyes. "Wanna try me?!"

  Jeremiah turned away, trying not to laugh at the look on his brother's face. Deidre had both hands crossed over her mouth in disbelief. Charlie turned and looked at her, grinned, winked and said, "Look at'him! Scared as hell! Don't mess with me, lil' boy! Fitty-fitty! You ain't been pussy whipped yet! I get thr
ough with you, you will be!"

  Having nothing to say, Maxwell stood, looked at his brother like he was crazy and walked to the door saying, "And you talkin' 'bout my friends, dawg?! I can't believe you." And out he went. Deidre didn't know if she was ready for Charlie or not—but she had her, and according to Jeremiah—with her by her side, anyone who tried to go for her—would not make that mistake again.

  "Deidre?" Jeremiah called her name from the other side of her door.

  "Coming out now." She replied, taking her cane, using it to hobble to the door. She still walked with a limp. Although in physical therapy, she still ached after being on her feet any length of time.

  She looked across the loft, towards the front door and men were bringing in Charlie's things. She would be occupying the room next to her. At least that's where she would be placing her equipment that she worked out with. It had been firmly established that she would be sleeping out in the flat, not inside of a room behind closed doors. All kidding aside, Charlie took her job as bodyguard seriously. She knew what she had to do to protect her client, and all measures were put into place to see the job done right.

  "I just wanted you to know that I'm leaving. You're in capable hands now. You need anything, anything at all—you know how to reach me." He assured her. He'd grown in his affection for her. All plans to use her to get back at the Wherrington's flushed for good. There was no need to use her, what was slowly coming together, was doing the job just fine. Now, his primary objection was to get Oscar T. Wherrington, and protect his daughter.

  Soon, Jeremiah was gone, the door was closed with the first shift guard posted outside, and Charlie setting up her things in the spare bedroom. Deidre walked over to her phone and noticed it beeping. Checking her messages, there were quite a few, once again from her parents. They'd come in before they knew where she was, before they discovered that she was hidden away. Then she heard three from Angela.

  "Oh, my god!" She gasped, listening to them. The last one stating, "Mom...I hope you're all right. I've been trying to reach you, I even called your cell phone. The number you gave me at the hospital. I hope you're okay. I love you—I miss you."

  "That your daughter?" Charlie asked, coming out of her room.

  "Yes, she's been trying to reach me. I feel so stupid. I broke my phone, and she's been calling me. I have to call her," Deidre explained. Charlie nodded, looking around the loft flat. Checking the security of everything with her note pad.

  Deidre waited as the phone rang, realizing it was close to 10:30 in Wisconsin, while it was almost 8:30 where she was. Someone picked up, she could hear music in the background. She was relieved that at least she wasn't waking them up. It was Sylvia.

  "Hello? McPherson residence."

  "Sylvia? It's me...Deidre."

  "Deidre! Where have you been!? Your daughter's been calling to speak to you—she was worried about you."

  "I know. I just moved back home. I've been staying elsewhere. My cell phone was broken, and so I never knew she called me. Now that I'm home, I was listening to my messages and phoned right away. Is she okay?"

  "Oh, she's fine! She just got home from riding with my daughter to take her friends home. She's running around here somewhere now. Here, let me find her, she's with her cousins dancing and—"

  "No...it's late. If she's having a good time, just let her know that I'm back home now. Maybe she can call me in the morning, tomorrow."

  "You sure? I don't mind going to find her for you."

  "No, Sylvia...I'm sure."

  "You okay now?"

  "Yes...I'm doing just fine. What about you, your pregnancy going along okay? I see you're back home."

  "Yes, I'm back home. The baby is fine, growing—there's a strong possibility it's a boy. My last ultra-sound showed that it might be. Shawn has run with that, as if it's for sure. He so crazy!"

  "Aaah, well—I hope it's a boy as well. And—Shawn—so, he's okay then?"

  "Shawn is fine. I would call him to the phone, but he's somewhere with his mother."

  "No, no—I just—wanted to ask. Well, I hear you've got company. I won't keep you. Just have Angela phone me tomorrow."

  "No problem, will do. Bye, Deidre."

  "Bye."

  "Who was that?" Charlie asked, making notes of things that would have to be installed for security.

  "Sylvia...she's my ex-husband's wife."

  "You two talkin' like ol'buddies. So, you two get along, huh?"

  "No reason not to. She has my daughter. Last time I talked to her, she was bubbling with joy. That's because of Sylvia."

  "Wow...she must be some kind of lady."

  "She is."

  "That tells me a lot about you, too. You must be some kind of lady. Not often you find ex-wives getting along so well with their ex-husband's new wife."

  "There's no reason for me to resent her. I'm the reason my marriage ended, no one else is to blame for that."

  "Sounds like you have regrets."

  "I'll probably always regret. But, there's nothing I can do to undo. I'm not about to foolishly make his life miserable, my life miserable, my daughter's life miserable. Time to move on."

  "You go, girl! Well, listen up. Been checkin' around..." Charlie started, taking a seat at the kitchen bar, pulling a stool out. "...we're gonna get an alarm installed. And you're going to be taking lessons in shooting, and I'll be teaching you some defense moves."

  "Is that really necessary? I mean—I am paying you." Deidre asked, cringing at the idea.

  "Okay...here we go. See, we gone have to get some things established—right now. I didn't wanna get all black on you, but look like I'm gone have to. First of all, do I look like goddamn Superman to you? Super-girl? Wonder-goddamn-Woman? Spider-fuckin-man? Huh? You see me bring a cape in, when I bring in my stuff? You see one? I assure you, I don't have one! Wanna know why that is? 'Cause my ass—is human! Get them superheroes and Kevin Costner ass out your mind! This the real world, baby - 'cause this mess don't work that way! You understand me?"

  Deidre stared at her with an expression of disbelief.

  "Listen up, now. Pay close attention. 'Cause this, white girl, is the truth! I will do—my absolute utmost—to save you—at every opportunity—I find—that is possible for me to save you. I will be there! You pay me to be there, Lord knows, I'm gone be there! However—let's get real—okay? This is serious, so pay attention, I need you to understand. There will be times, when I just—will not—be able—to get there! I will give you one perfect scenario! If I am in that bathroom—sitting on the toilet—takin' a shit...and at that particular moment—some stupid ass wise guy— knuckle head bastard, comes in here after you—and I am in the middle of a shit—you gone have to hold his ass off a minute! You understand me? Because I need time—to wipe my ass!"

  Deidre gasped in disbelief, she couldn't help herself, a laugh erupted.

  "I'm not laughing! Do you see me laughing? I'm serious! I need a moment to wipe my ass! I—will not—jump up—off of that toilet—with shit—still on me—clinging to my ass, to save you! I must—get that shit off of me first! I don't care if you screaming to the heavens above—I cannot function to the best of my ability—knowing that as I fight, shit is creeping up the crack of my ass! It throws off my focus! You gone get killed, I'm gone get killed, and I be damn—if on the coroner's report, there's gone be a line saying, shit found up crack of ass! Hell no, not on my report! I don't like shit like that! Let's get that straight, right now. Shit offends me! There's two kinds of shit in the world, bullshit—which I can deal with. And human shit, which I cannot. Especially other people's shit—that's why when I use a public toilet, I check for shit first! I don't care if there's just a smudge of shit staining deep down in the bowl, under the water...I ain't using that toilet—my ass is not sitting there! That's somebody else's shit—I don't wanna get nowhere near it! The same goes for the shit coming out of me! If I could think of a way to shit, and it not touch me—I would do it that way. I'm tellin' you now - you g
one have to learn to hol'em off till the shit is clear—'cause I ain't comin' 'till it is! Now that's for real! I'll stand before bullets! I'll fight'em with knives, kick asses all over the place to protect you—but don't let nobody pull out no shit! If they do, you better run, you better keep up with me, 'cause I'll be damn if I'm gonna stand for somebody t'put shit on me."

  * * *

  Wisconsin

  Sylvia stood in her kitchen, laughing and talking with her mother, Sheila and Meribel. Shanna was off with Officer Collier. Vivian was across the road with Jake. Angela was up in her room with Sasha. Crystal was out in the yard with her friends because Mundo was still playing music. Bart, Lucas, Dennis, Derrick and DJ—were playing cards in the yard, a game of poker. The rest of the boys were scattered about, running, playing and entertaining themselves.

  Sylvia was in the midst of using her food sealer she purchased a while back, showing Sheila why she loved it so. They sounded like they were doing a commercial for a leading company. "Girl, we gone be eating this food for days. I love this thing." Sylvia was saying as they made an assembly line, putting everything in its own plastic, to be vacuumed and then sealed shut. "Once it's all frozen, if you want, you can put some aside to take home with you."

  "You know what we want...some meat! Dennis loved that pig, girl! Ya'll threw down, that ain't no lie!" Sheila spoke up.