Hell yeah, I’m on now. Kenya felt his manhood stiffening. Reaching her hand down, she started stroking it through his Dockers. “Damn, it’s like that?”
“I’m so sorry, Kenya.” He pulled back stumbling against the wall and dropping the scalpel to the floor. “I apologize.”
“For what?” Kenya smiled licking her lips. “For being human? For seeing something you like?”
Doc’s dick got harder by the second as he tried to explain. “No, it’s not that.”
“Then what?” She raised the wife beater exposing her bare breasts. As each hand groped her breasts, Doc’s eyes danced around not knowing what to do next. “You don’t like what you see?”
“Yesss, but Storm—”
Wasting no time with what he was going to say next, Kenya, turned into Tastey and dropped to her knees, unbuckled his belt, and unzipped the middle-aged man’s pants. Shockingly surprised to discover his dick was at least half an inch longer than Storm’s, she started to slobber on the head then suck him off until he busted. It had been way over a year since she had any other man’s dick in her mouth, except for Storm, but she was on a mission. When she finally let go of Doc’s dick, he was panting trying to stay balanced on his feet.
“Kenya, please don’t tell Storm! If he ever found out, he’d kill me! Please!”
“We friends now ain’t we?” Kenya stood to her feet walking over to the dresser. Picking up her cell phone, she excused herself going into the living room. “I’ll be right back.”
Moments later, Big Doc B bolted out the rear bedroom waving his phone. “Why? I don’t understand! Why would you record that? Why?”
“Oh, I see you got my little message, huh?” Kenya smiled as Doc’s hand fumbled trying to delete the video of her sucking his dick. “I thought you’d want a reminder of our newfound friendship!”
“My wife! Storm! Please erase that, Kenya, please!” Holding his hand up to his open mouth he panicked accidently pressing play again on the video. “You trying to get me killed or something? If Storm ever found out—”
“Don’t worry, sweetie.” She seductively walked over caressing his face with one hand while rubbing his now limp pipe with the other. “As long as you don’t tell anyone about me being over here let alone even seeing that baby back there, you good!” She then strutted toward the door. “But if you mention a single solitary word to anybody and it gets back to me, Storm gonna get to see a copy of our award-winning performance! Shit, then you know he gonna kill you and probably your entire damn family! You know how my man gets down when he’s angry, don’t you?”
“Yeah, I know.” Seeing firsthand Storm, O.T., and their ruthless cohorts stump the piss out of more than a few unruly guys down at Alley Cats, Big Doc B dropped his head knowing he would forever be silent if he wanted to live.
Before turning the doorknob, Kenya stuck out her hand. “Oh, by the way, any cash you got on you I’m gonna need. So please run it!” Big Doc B, dumbfounded, took out his wallet giving her all $653 he had inside. Kenya noticed his gas card and took that also. “Thanks, Doc! And for the record, if I weren’t bleeding, I would’ve got some of that big-ass dick of yours! Your wife is the lucky one!” Kenya shut the door in his face leaving Doc confused as hell, scared shitless, and most definitely satisfied like a motherfucker with her impromptu blowjob.
Not knowing O.T. was battling for his life, Tangy was dead, and Paris was about to confess all of their deadly secrets to anyone who would listen, Kenya went on with her game plan to get out of dodge. Gathering a few additional items at the apartment she might need on the long road trip ahead, Kenya and the baby she nicknamed Li’l Stone after her dead uncle got on their way. Getting a full tank of gas, courtesy of Big Doc B, and a huge bag of sour cream and onion potato chips, she drove to the highway heading toward home: Detroit.
Passing a police squad car, Kenya got nervous, feeling remorseful for all of twenty seconds before the guilt left her system all together. Fuck this town! If all went as planned, Kenya and “her newborn son” would be back in the Motor City in nineteen hours.
* * *
PARIS
Within a few hours of O.T. leaving her bedside, Paris started mumbling different words and shaking as if she was going into convulsions. Doctors, as well as the nurses on staff, were in shock because, up until now, the once beautiful, outgoing girl hadn’t spoke since being transferred there.
“Dead!” Disoriented she sat straight up in her hospital gown shouting out as her eyes bucked twice their normal size. “Blood!”
“Do you hear the awful things she’s saying?” one nurse asked the other as they tried stabilizing her.
“Blood. Dead. Blood!” Paris’s voice rang throughout the normally quiet facility. “Deacon! Deacon!” Her hands wrung together at a fast pace.
“Oh, my.” The second nurse closed her sweater tightly standing by the window. “One can only wonder what this poor child has been through.”
“You’re right,” the nurse answered holding their patient’s legs as still as possible. “Maybe that’s why she tried committing suicide. Whatever it is, it’s weighting heavy on that child’s heart that’s for sure.”
“Baby. Bunny. Dead. Baby!” The words got clearer and extremely louder. “Sorry. Sorry. Sorry!”
As Paris continued to ramble on not making any sense whatsoever, the doctor finally entered giving her a mild sedative to calm her down. “Keep an eye on her pressure and monitor her heart rate as well.”
“Dead! Dead! Blood!” Through dry and cracked lips, Paris sporadically screamed out a few more confused, troubling words before the shot took an almost immediate effect and she closed her eyes.
Standing outside of the private room, the two nurses explained to the doctor that Paris’s abrupt erratic behavior started shortly after a visit from a young man earlier that day. “One minute he was sitting in the chair near her bedside talking and the next he ran out of the front entranceway like a bat outta hell!” Both caregivers agreed as they looked over Paris’s chart.
Taking into consideration the off-color remarks Paris was saying, the doctor, who was also the head of the facility, made the determination to contact his patient’s next of kin who was listed, Tangelina Gibson, and Kenya James and, most importantly, the police detective who had months prior come inquiring about Paris’s overall mental state wanting to question her pertaining to some unsolved homicide cases. The doctor got no answer from either of the women, but Sergeant Kendricks picked up, incidentally informing the doctor he was already en route to the facility to serve Paris a death notification of her cousin.
* * *
STORM
Rushing through the double emergency room doors, Storm was met by two uniformed security guards before he could get to the information desk. “Yo, my little brother is back there.” He tried to bulldoze his way by. “Get the fuck outta my way! Get the fuck on!”
“Listen, guy.” The heavyset guard shoved back as his partner placed his hand on his firearm. “Unless you go through that metal detector and then calm down, I don’t care if Jesus is passing out autographed Bibles on the other side of this wall, you ain’t getting by!”
Trying to regain his composure so he could see what exactly was going on with O.T., Storm took a deep breath. “Look, y’all. I just found out they brought my people in here with gunshot wounds! I need to get back there, ASAP!”
“A black male? Did he come by way of ambulance or do you know?” The armed guard over to the side looked on, questioning and hoping to expedite and defuse the situation.
“Yeah.” Storm’s face showed signs of worry as sweat poured off his brow. “Sometime this damn evening! Now I gotta go see him!”
After the two guards quickly exchanged glances, they hurried to get Storm through the checkpoint, while again advising him to calm down. Moments later the receptionist was calling a doctor out to the desk to speak to Storm regarding O.T.’s medical condition.
“Excuse me, sir, but are you the family
of Othello Terrence Christian?”
“Yes, he’s my brother!” Storm almost knocked the doctor off his feet and his clipboard to the floor as he ran to his side. “Can I see him? Is he good? You need to take me to him!”
“I’m sorry, but he’s still in surgery. It seems like there was extensive damage to some vital organs and he lost an enormous amount of blood. Unfortunately, it’s going to be awhile, but I’ll keep you updated.”
Left standing in limbo, feeling like his world had just ended, Storm’s eyes searched the packed waiting room area for Kenya and London, who he assumed both had to be there. Not seeing either, he reached on his hip for his cell phone to once again dial Kenya, but he was interrupted by an unwanted face approaching him. “What in the fuck do you want?”
“Storm, how you doing? Not too good, huh?” Gloating over Storm’s misery, Detective Malloy answered his own question.
“Dude, what the fuck you want? I ain’t got time for no bullshit!”
“Any news on O.T.?” He nodded his head toward the doorway going to the back. “He didn’t look so good when they brought him in. At least that’s what word on the street is!”
“Fuck the word on the street, you feel me?” Storm’s fist closed tightly and his teeth clenched together as he spoke. “And, matter of fact, dig this here, Dudley Do-Right house nigga, ain’t jack shit about my brother your fucking business, all right?” He licked his lips sticking his chest out. “Instead of being all up here in mines, you should be out trying to find Marco’s ho ass before I catch that grimy son of a bitch and kneecap him for good!”
Detective Malloy easily read in between the lines and happily enlightened Storm with an update to his misinformed belief. “Marco? You mean Marco Meriwether? Man, we picked him up early this afternoon at the Greyhound bus station at least a good ten or so miles away from the location your brother took them slugs at!”
Storm was obviously confused, and it showed. “Come on, guy, don’t play with me. What is you trying to say?”
“You know Tangelina Gibson?” He stepped to Storm with a crooked grin. “Well, that manly carpet-muncher is the one who tried to take your little brother out the game. A goddamn female! Now ain’t that a kick in the ass!”
“Tangy?” Storm was stunned to hear her name. “I thought that dyke was locked the fuck up; now you saying she the one who shot my little brother?”
“Yeah, she shot him. Chased him down like a dog!” The detective laughed at her nerve. “But karma kicked in faster than she thought. One of our guys had to kill her, so I guess you kinda owe the department, huh?”
“What?” Storm backed up fighting with himself not to swing on the mouthy cop.
“Yeah, we saved you a bullet and a murder case!” Detective Malloy smiled as he glanced down reading a text message from his partner Sergeant Kendricks.
“Man, get the fuck on!” Storm had just about enough of Malloy’s slick comments. “I ain’t trying to hear shit you talking!”
“Not a problem. It’s all good; duty calls anyway! It seems like your brother’s little girlfriend, Paris Peterson, is out at the nuthouse all of a sudden in the talking mood! Go figure!” He casually strolled to the exit. “Maybe I’ll be back to see you after we talk to her and see what interesting things she has to say. What you think? You’ll be here right?” Being a sarcastic asshole, Detective Malloy left.
That Negro is straight working my motherfucking nerves. One day I’ma lay that fag and his partner out, badge or not! And Paris best to keep that mouth of hers shut about me and mines! Watching one of the constant thorns in his side leave, Storm made his way all the way inside the packed waiting area to make sure he hadn’t overlooked Kenya’s and London’s presence. Damn, they ain’t here. Maybe they went to grab something to eat or some shit like that. “But why Kenya ain’t at least call me? I know she probably still pissed the fuck off, but shit!” he mumbled under his breath calling her cell once more.
“You’ve reached 313-443—”
Storm hung up after hearing the recorded message on Kenya’s cell. Taking a seat near the vending machines, he quietly waited for his fiancée and her sister, his baby momma, to return. Considering the fact that Marco’s spiteful ass was knocked on the bus way before the last time he’d spoken to Kenya, Storm wasn’t overly worried about where either twin was at. That nosey old bitch, Mrs. Farrow, and Malloy’s ho ass only know so much of what jumped off at the crib. When Kenya gets back, hopefully she can tell me the real deal. Leaning his head back, Storm shut his eyes daydreaming about the good old days. The ones when he and O.T. were just kids and their mother wasn’t sucking on a glass dick and sticking a needle in every vein she could find.
Chapter Four
BROTHER RASUL
Ring. Ring.
“Hey, Kenya, what’s going on, sis?” Brother Rasul grabbed the remote control pausing the DVD he and Fatima were watching.
“I really, really messed up this time!” Kenya yelled into the phone as she drove in the darkness of the highway. “I don’t know if even you can forgive me this time!”
“Come on now, Kenya, you know me and you go way back. Ain’t nothing strong enough to break what me and you have. I’m always gonna be there.”
Fatima was instantly infuriated hearing her man tell the next female how devoted he was to her. She knew Kenya was selfish and self-serving, not to mention London was her best friend in the world and she hated the way Kenya had been treating her. “What do she want now? With her it’s always some damn drama!”
“Is that the television or do you have company?”
Brother Rasul wasn’t in the mood for listening to Fatima badmouth his homegirl. Tossing the remote on the couch, he stood up going into the other room. “Naw, I’m good, Kenya. What’s wrong? Did Storm handle his business or what?”
“I don’t really know for sure.” Kenya sighed wondering how things had gone berserk so quickly to the point of no return.
“What you mean you don’t know?” Brother Rasul opened the refrigerator taking out a bottle of apple juice. “He should have been back from the meeting by now.”
“Can you please stop talking about him and listen to me?” Kenya insisted before coming up on the next exit and pulling over to the side of the road. “I messed up, and I need you.”
“Where you at now?” Brother Rasul twisted the cap off and took a quick swig. “What’s all that noise? Are you outside?”
Kenya had to confide in someone and who better than the one person in her life next to Gran, Stone, and London who were all dead but always had her back regardless. “You gotta promise not to tell anyone you talked to me, okay? Please!”
“All right, not a problem.” He raised his eyebrow taking another swallow.
“I mean it; not Storm if he calls you and not even Fatima! Promise me, Brother Rasul! I’m serious!”
“Look, I already gave you my word, and you know it’s bond. Now, what’s wrong, sis?”
Kenya was ready to confess. The burden of what she’d done was weighing heavy on her conscience. As the tears started to flow, she explained to him that she was in her car and on her way driving across state back to Detroit. “No matter what you might hear about me in the next few hours, until I get there, don’t believe it!” she begged, wiping her tears with the side of her hand. “When I see you I’ll explain!”
“All right, li’l sis.” He could only imagine what bullshit Kenya had gotten herself into now, but whatever it was he was definitely gonna stick by her.
“Remember you promised and you the only one I can trust!” Kenya looked over her shoulder at her sleeping little rear-seat passenger as she headed back toward the entrance ramp. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“I got you. Be safe and check in with me along the way.” Closing his cell phone, Brother Rasul went back in the den where Fatima was still sitting on the couch. Reaching for the remote, he restarted the movie not saying a word about the strange call.
“Oh, hell naw!” Fatima
shouted jumping to her feet. “That’s it? Just like that? You gonna take her damn call then leave out the room like y’all got some old top-secret bullshit going on? How you playing me?”
“Who are you addressing like that, Fatima?” Once again he stopped the movie. “I never disrespect you; and the fact that you think you can verbalize to me in that tone, in my house no less, you have a major problem! We have a major problem!”
Fatima had enough of the Kenya/Brother Rasul show that was always going on, and she decided to finally speak her mind. “You need to cut her off! I’m sick and tired of her always calling you for this, that, and the third! She got a man! He might be a cheating sack of shit, but that’s her choice! Now when is it gonna stop? Why you so devoted to his damn woman?”
“Now it’s for you to demand who I cut off, who I help, and who I’m loyal to?” Brother Rasul, now pissed off and defensive, joined Fatima in the middle of the room. Standing six foot four with at least 285 pounds of muscle, he looked down at the younger woman he’d been dating. “Maybe it’s time you reevaluate this relationship and your devotion! Know your place. The Quran says—”
“Listen, despite what you think, I ain’t new to this! I know what the fuck it says!” She stomped her foot folding her arms as if she were a child having a tantrum. Wanting a reaction, she went all the way to the south. “Dudes kill me trying to make excuses for they foul-ass actions! Do you quote the Quran when you and the Motown Muslim Mafia decide to deal with motherfuckers? Huh? Hell naw, it might as well be the Bible then! So, nigga, please get on with all that!”
“Nigga? Nigga? Have you lost your senses?” Brother Rasul’s biscuit brown skin turned one shade darker. With everything in his power, he fought not to collar Fatima up and smack some respect into her.
That was it for him, and Fatima knew it as well. She’d crossed the line in an attempt to make her point. With blood obviously in her man’s eyes and a small vein on the side of his forehead sticking out, Fatima got her purse. Heading to the door then marching to her car while she was still in one piece, she kept pressing her luck. “For real, though, you need to take some time and figure out why you so much of a Captain Save A Ho whenever Kenya’s fake ass involved! You can just call me when you can get rid of that lowlife strip-club dancing dirt bag!” She waited to get a safe distance between him and her before she got any braver with her insults, stipulations, and claims. “I’m over the games, nigga!” She stressed every letter in the word.
Tick, Tick, Boom! Page 5
