Red Lineage

by Ozias Goldman

  Red was much faster than me, especially in my condition. He had made it to the end of the alley and turned left before I made it halfway down the one I was on. I rounded the corner and slid to a stop. It was a dead-end. Red was gone. I looked up and around, searching the deep shadows for the door or window he ducked inside. There was nothing but a crumbling brick wall.

  A bottle clanged on the concrete back in the alley I had just turned out of, startling a filthy white stray cat walking along the base of the wall, causing it to scatter into a small hole in the corner, and I heard a series of rapid footfalls heading my way.

  “Red…” I said, trying to project my voice and whisper at the same time. “Red, I didn't see where you went. Red. Re—”

  "I hear him!" A voice echoed from dangerously close. "Around the corner."

  "Fuck!" I said, not bothering to quiet my voice anymore. I backpedaled deeper into the alley. Before I could think of what to do, three men turned the corner in a full sprint. The lead was the big dude that was with Chocolate. The other two were regular sized guys, whatever that was worth. I didn't remember seeing them with the guy at all back at the club.

  I learned a lot about myself that night. I didn't beg. I didn't try to bribe them or explain away the situation. It was the first time in my life I confronted the man I was, not the man that I saw myself as, or even the man I wanted to be. I had always thought I had heart, that I wouldn't freeze in the moment. It wasn't until right then and there that I knew for sure. It was the only silver lining that came from that night.

  For some reason, I expected some exchange of words. But the swole dude took a few deep breaths, and then just walked straight at me. Chocolate came flying around the corner, barefoot, heels in hand. She came to a stop and just stared from me to the big dude back and forth, and didn’t say a word.

  The others began approaching a step behind the big guy, and I held my ground as they drew near. As soon as the big guy got to within five feet of me, I rushed him.

  CHAPTER TWO

  THE NEXT THING I remembered, I was staggering in ankle-deep grass under the shadowed canopy of thick, leafy tree branches overhead. I looked around and frowned. I was in a park, but it only took a moment to recognize which one; I grew up in Harlem, after all. I knew Morningside Park drunk or sober, no matter the time of day.

  Flashes of memory came back to me, and I froze as I tried to hang on to them. There had been fighting, I think. No sooner than the images entered my mind's eye, they were gone.

  I looked around. There was no big angry guy anywhere around. I spun in a slow circle and almost lost my balance. My equilibrium was somehow worse than what the alcohol alone did to me. In fact, I might have a concussion. Glancing up at the dimly glowing amber colored lamp a few feet away and feeling the acute pain right behind my eyes confirmed it. That, and the severe nausea that watered my mouth. I knew concussion symptoms well.

  I turned away from the light and all but gasped when I looked down at my pants, shoes, and shirt. They all used to be an impeccable white but were now a disgusting mix of the brown and black filth of the alley grime, as well as the bright red streaks and splotches that could only have come from blood. I prodded my face and body, checking for cuts or bleeding, and couldn't find anything other than tender bruises.

  A chill ran down my back as I tried in vain to remember any little detail from the fight I’m sure I must have had. But there was nothing, just a hole in my memory. Either I drank way more than I thought I did, or really got my ass handed to me.

  “How the fuck did I get up here?”

  "Ah...so you finally returned to the world," Red said from behind me.

  I turned to see him sitting on a nearby bench, lounging back with sprawled legs and an arm over the back. My anger flared. “I was right behind you, man! You fucking left me.”

  “Did I?”

  “It looked that way to me. If you were anyone else, Red, I’d think you set me up.”

  “Careful, D. I think you know better than that.”

  “Do I? You left me hanging.”

  Red laughed. "Did I? Or am I the reason why you fuckin' made it out of that alley? Don't get mad at me. I told yo ass not to drink. You got sloppy and couldn't hear me until the last fuckin' second when I was tryin’ to warn you. That’s on you.”

  There was no point in standing in the middle of the park, going back and forth with Red. I didn’t have the mental energy for him half the times, even on a good day. I turned and started walking down the grassy hill towards the street.

  “And where you goin’, D?”

  “I’m going home. Where the fuck else would I be going?”

  “And how exactly are you going to do that?”

  “Shit.” I stopped.

  “Exactly. You need to actually listen to me. You’re not in the right frame of mind right now, which means you are in no condition to drive.”

  “Where the hell is my car, anyway?”

  "Back in Brooklyn. Don't worry. I already took care of it for you."

  “Took care of it how?”

  "I just told yo ass not to worry about it. Right now, you need to worry about getting home and laying low. Things got ugly tonight. A club fight is not the type of shit you need getting back to the firm, especially with your new position."

  I nodded with a sigh. “Fine. I’ll call Karl.”

  "Have you seen yourself? You ain't callin' Karl or taking the train, or any other crazy idea that pops into your liquored up brain. You're gonna walk."

  “Walk?”

  "You heard me. We don't have time for any more talk. Take that suit jacket off and toss it. It has the most blood on it. Your pants are good, just filthy. That and the fact that you're walking makes it look like you just had a pissy drunk night—which ain’t too far from the truth.”

  I went to take the jacket off when pain flared in my left side, freezing me in place for several seconds. I patted a hand to my side gingerly; it was sore for sure, but it didn't seem like I broke anything. I took my time when I tried again and thankfully managed to take it off without discovering any new twinges of pain.

  “Aight,” Red said as he began to pace, “you can’t just toss it anywhere.” There was an awkward silence as I stood watching Red walk back and forth. After a moment he shrugged. "Fuck it. Just drop it there. I'll figure out how to get rid of it somehow. You get goin’. Remember, walk, and try to stick to the shadows. We got no cash on us now.”

  I frowned and patted my pockets. I always carried cash on me just in ca—he was right. My clip was gone. I had no money. Which meant, I couldn't take a cab home even if I wanted to.

  “Red, I can’t walk home like this. I feel like I’m standing on a moving subway car.”

  “Of course you can. You better get goin’ now. Fifty blocks ain’t that far. Besides, that will help you sober up some before you get home.”

  There was a slight edge to Red’s voice, but I ignored it. I left him still pacing side to side.

  The walk home was odd, to say the least. Even walking as slow as possible and stopping for every ‘Don’t Walk’ light that caught me on the corner, I made it home faster than I would have liked—just over an hour later.

  The only good thing about the walk was the fact that I had sobered up a lot by the time I made it back to the street corner of my block. I glanced behind me at the south-west entrance of Central Park and seriously considered killing more time, as if it would help. I shook my head and walked towards my building.

  Cedric, the longtime night shift doorman for my apartment building, said something to me as he pulled the door open as I approached, but I didn't make out a word. My mind was elsewhere, but I did catch the usual excitement in his tone. It was the same every time I came home since I moved in. Even after five years, the old man still couldn't believe another brotha owned a unit.

  When I stepped inside of the elevator, I hesitated for about a full minute before I put my key in the panel. I forced myself to turn the ring and key in
the thirty-third floor, and then closed my eyes and cursed under my breath. I don’t give a fuck what Red wants to celebrate. Never again, especially after a night like tonight.

  The elevator opened, and I stepped directly into my darkened apartment that was illuminated only by the lights of the city skyline that came in through the floor-to-ceiling windows that lined the far end of the spacious living room. One of my favorite places, anywhere in the city, was just on the other side of the glass across my living room—the terrace that overlooked the park below. I headed straight for it, but only made about halfway across the room when I saw movement on my sofa out of the corner of my eye.

  Shit was the only thought that came to mind.

  “Darien, baby is that you?” Said Fati in a sleepy voice, thick with worry. She never worried about me. It wasn’t unusual for me to come home late from last minute client deals or functions back at the office. It was as if she had felt something had happened, or was that just my guilt playing tricks on me? I should have just come home and spent the evening with my wife like I wanted to. Well, like the better part of me wanted to.

  "It's me, Fati," I said, trying to sound as normal as possible. But normal was never a reality when a husband unexpectedly comes home just a couple of hours before dawn on a work night.

  "What happened?" She was more alert now. Her shadowy form uncurled from the couch, swinging her legs down to sit on the end, the farthest she could get from me. "Did you get called in late?"

  "No, I..." I began, but couldn't remember the lie Red and I had devised this time. In fact, I couldn't even remember the thought I was trying to complete. I must have taken a blow to the head at some point.

  “Hello?” Fati asked, bringing my attention back to her. “I just asked if you got called in late?”

  The walls felt like they were closing in on me under the weight of her modest questioning. It had been getting more and more difficult to face her each time, but this felt like a crushing weight, regardless of how loopy I felt. “I can’t fucking remember anything…” I said in a not-so-low whisper, though I’d only intended to think it.

  “What?” She said, her voice now annoyed. “What does that even mean?”

  I decided to head for the guest bathroom on the opposite side of the living room—it was the closest place I could go to clean up, but as soon as I stepped into the pool of light that flooded most of the interior of the room, Fati gasped. I glanced down at myself and cursed again under my breath.

  "Oh. My. God!" Fati said. There was a pause, and then as if her brain took a delayed moment to kick into gear, she jumped up from the couch. "Hey Gordon," She paused for just a moment until the faint jingle from the computer sounded, indicating that it was listening. "turn on the living room lights and dial 911."

  The lights came on, and my heart sank to my stomach as I looked at her, then around the living room. I was officially the biggest asshole in New York City. Her long, freshly done, locks were tied up into a neat high bun, and she wore a strapless black crop-top with a matching dress just long enough to flirt with the imagination. It was a classy, but sexy outfit that struck the perfect balance for the home.

  On just about every available surface of the living room—the center and end tables, along the entire marble surface of the bar near the entrance to the bedroom suite, even along the floor near the floor-to-ceiling terrace windows at the far side of the room—were dozens of blown out candles, evenly placed in what had to be a painstakingly meticulous process.

  Moreover, on the rectangular mahogany table at the center of the room, in the middle of the three plush Italian leather sofas, sat my favorite meal on two matching plates: a seared porterhouse, at least thirty ounces for each of us, three lobster tails, and a garnish of roasted asparagus. Between the dishes were two empty wine glasses and an unopened bottle of champagne.

  After taking in the full survey, my heart had dropped from my stomach to the floor. I was the biggest asshole in New York City.

  “Dialing 911.” Came the monotone voice over the centralized speaker system invisibly embedded into every room of the house.

  "Stop, Gordon," I said. "Don't dial 911."

  "Okay." Said the A.I., "Emergency services disconnected. Should I turn back off the lights, Darien?"

  “No, leave them on.”

  “Okay, Darien. Goodbye.”

  "Baby, you need medical attention," Fati said as she rushed over to me. She looked like she was about to embrace me, but hesitated. “Are you hurt? Were you mugged?”

  I looked down at myself again and nodded. "Yeah. I don't remember much of what happened. I went out for a drink with the guys after work to celebrate landing our new client."

  “Babe, you don’t drink.”

  “I know, Fati, but the guys insisted. I thought it would be a good chance to rub the right elbows now that I got the new title, set the right tone.”

  “Tell me what happened.”

  I broke eye contact as I pieced together my story. “I remember stepping inside the pub right down the street from the office for maybe an hour. The rest of the guys stayed longer. I toasted two drinks, the average per million I had made the account for each transaction on my first day controlling the entire portfolio. I left right after. The next thing I knew I was waking up in an alley, filthy and confused."

  Fati gasped again but then frowned. "But you still have your watch and chain?"

  “I must have fought them off. They did manage to get my bracelet and cash though.”

  The suspicion melted from her face again. “Missing gaps of memory is symptomatic of a concussion. Doctor Morrison is on call back at the hospital. I’ll see if I can pull some strings and get yo—”

  "Fati, please, I need a shower and some rest. I'm fine now. If I feel any worse in the morning, I will call Doctor Wan and have her stop by."

  Fati shook her head. “Not good enough, hun. I know you. I’m scheduling an appointment with Dr. Wan for first thing in the morning. I’m sure she can stop by before noon tomorrow.”

  “Fati, I can’t wait for Doc Wan tomorrow. I have an important client mee—“

  "Darien, I'm not hearing anything else. Call whoever you need to call, but you're not going anywhere until the doctor sees you. Unless of course, you want to go to the ER now? That way, you can make it back in time tomorrow for your big important meeting."

  There was no winning this one. I nodded my head and started walking towards our bedroom suite. “Ok, hun. I’ll reschedule the meeting for the afternoon. But if Doc isn’t here before noon, I’m going into the office.”

  “Oh, I’ll make sure she’s here.”

  “Dad, what happened?”

  I froze again, not even halfway across the living room. I turned around and saw little DJ in his Spider-Man pajamas standing in the hall that led to his room. "Go to sleep, lil man. Daddy's all right."

  “Dad, I’m not a little kid anymore. I can help, too.”

  “Darien, you’re eight. You are a kid. Go to your room.”

  “Dad, I said I’m not a little kid, anymore. I can—“

  “You can do what I said. Go to your room. Now.”

  DJ recoiled as if I'd struck him, and I immediately regretted my tone as I watched him sulk back to his room. When I got home tomorrow, I'd have to make it up to him. Maybe I'd bring home that new game he is waiting to come out. The parent company of Ultra Digital Gaming was a smaller client of ours; I was sure I could get it a few weeks early.

  Ironically, it wasn’t until I was in the shower with my eyes closed, relishing the feeling of the dozens of heads spraying my body from every direction with varying patterns and pressures, and clenching my jaw in pain as Fati gingerly washed my back, that I finally relaxed. She didn’t deserve the kind of husband that would fuck another woman in the stall of a lounge just to prove to a friend that he could. She had everything I wanted: beauty, a phenomenal body, intelligence, and, most importantly, her loyalty was always without question. And sexually, well, no one has ever com
e close to her--so why was she not enough? Truth is she was enough.

  Never again.

  "Twenty-three," Fati said as she ran her hand in a small circle around the latest bruise she had found, this time on my left side, under my left arm. She pressed firmly, "Does this feel like a knife cutting into your lungs?"

  I laughed and shook my head. "No, but you might be if you jab me any harder."

  Fati gave me a playful punch in my back, and I made a show of staggering away as if she had given me her full force. I heard her laugh behind me, and then she grabbed me by the waist and pressed her body against my back, her head nestled between my shoulder blades. She shrugged. “Are you sure you’re ribs aren’t broken?”

  I laughed again. “I’m sure, Fati.”

  Fati of all people knew I didn't break my ribs, but when it came to the health of DJ and me, she never could lean on her rational mind or years of training. I was about to poke fun at her, but I felt the subtle shudder of her body, and I paused. "Fati? Are you crying, hun?"

  She cleared her throat. “It just... seems like our life is getting worse and worse, babe--growing more distant by the day. You’re putting in crazy long hours at the office, and now you’re coming home beat up and drunk.”

  I flinched when she said that last part. It had a little extra sting to it, likely because I knew she was right.

  "I don't know, Darien. We didn't have these problems back in the projects when we were kids sneaking up to the roof."

  I smiled as I mentally went back to those innocent nights, and picked up where she left off, “...sharing our craziest fantasies about where we hoped life would take us.” I turned around and met her eye. “We didn’t have these problems, no. Our problems were worse. Our homes were so hectic... we'd spend whole nights up there, and no one would notice or care. Shit, we'd pool our money together—you with whatever you could steal from your mom's purse." I laughed.

  Fati laughed too, but it was a hollow sound. “Yeah, whatever I could take before the rock did.”