“You ho-ass motherfucker,” Marco, still handcuffed, gasped looking up with contempt. “I’ll kill you and your family!”
Kendricks leaped to his feet running over toward his partner and grabbing his arm. “Malloy, just chill out.”
“Oh, the game done started, huh?” Marco’s cuffs dug deeper into his wrist as he moved around. “That was quick!”
Luckily before any more police brutality could take place against Marco, Malloy was called out of the office to conduct a guided tour with the junior high students who’d just arrived and then he had to participate in a brief mandatory presentation about careers in law enforcement.
“So it’s like that, huh?” Marco sat straight up. “Ya manz gonna sucker punch me in the gut and you gonna let these cuffs cut off my circulation? That shit foul as a motherfucker!”
Getting a call from the doctor in charge of Paris’s care, Kendricks had no time for Marco’s mouth. “Be quiet, dude!”
“Yo, yo! These cuffs is killing me, man!” Marco ignored Kendricks’s pleas to take it down a notch. “I can’t feel my damn hands and shit! Yo! I’m serious! Damn white hat! Yo!”
Not being able to hear what the doctor was saying, Kendricks asked him to hold the line. Having had enough of Marco’s boisterous complaints, Kendricks went over loosening the handcuffs on each hand. “Are you happy? Now shut your fucking mouth!”
With his back turned, Kendricks sat at his desk returning to his call with the doctor. Deep into the conversation, the trained officer of the law didn’t pay attention to the fact he hadn’t heard the click of one of the steel restraints when he did Marco that favor to keep him silent. Maneuvering his right hand out the cuff, Marco stood to his feet. One cuff dangling, slowly, he crept up on Kendricks from behind. Lifting an industrial-size stapler off one of the desk he slammed it down across the rear of the sergeant’s skull. No sooner than Kendricks’s limp body hit the ground, a puddle of blood gushed out of the gash. Using the officer’s keys, he unfastened the other cuff then smiled. Taking the sergeant’s gun and cell phone, Marco looked at the office door, knowing that trying to get out that way was an immediate death sentence waiting to happen.
Bolting over to the window, and climbing out of the one-story dwelling was an easy alternative. Still dressed in street clothes, but no laces in his sneakers, Marco dashed into the parking lot just as a car was pulling in. Sticking Kendricks’s police-issued firearm inside the open window of the vehicle, he shoved the muzzle to the side of the driver’s head. “Yo, hit the locks, motherfucker, and let me in before I put some of these hot ones up in you,” he loudly demanded snatching the suit-wearing city councilman out of the dark four-door sedan.
As Marco drove off into the early morning traffic, he could hear the stunned carjacking victim yelling for help.
Chapter Eight
STORM
Feeling the vibration of his cell phone on the bed, a still-towel-clad Storm woke up. At seven o’clock, with eyes still half shut, he realized how exhausted he must’ve been. In between dealing with O.T. being hurt, Kenya acting a fool, London running around pregnant, and meeting the connect his mind was jumbled. The last thing Storm remembered doing was talking to Jordan about the renovations at Alley Cats. Before he could get up to take an early morning piss his cell was vibrating again. Reaching over he pushed the side button lighting up the screen. “Damn, I know, I know,” he mumbled seeing the number 6.
Standing up, leaving the towel on the bed, a naked Storm walked into the bathroom. Deciding to take another shower to wake himself up, he adjusted the water temperature. Five minutes into the hot, streaming water from the nozzle pouring on top of his head, he was interrupted by the sound of a horn blowing in his driveway. Looking out the small window, he rubbed the moisture off. He couldn’t help but laugh at the one-ofa-kind vehicle. Throwing on a pair of track pants and a wife beater, Storm jogged down the stairs opening the front door. “What you doing here so early? It’s like seven, seven-thirty. Your ass must be ready to put in work for real.”
Ponytail unlocked his rear hatch of his customized station wagon taking out a huge duffle bag. Talking over the sounds of his albino pit bull, Reckless, barking in the rear seat, he explained his situation. “Dude, I told you my girl wasn’t gonna go for that ‘I’m only gonna slang for a minute’ bullshit. Shit, ten minutes of me coming into the crib she was on my back. By the time she finish going off, I was tired as a fuck.” Ponytail let Reckless outside of the car putting on his leash. “When a nigga woke up, my bag was already packed. She told me and him to get to stepping!”
“Hell naw!” Storm protested feeling like he’d broken up a happy home asking his boy to help him out.
“It’s all good, guy. I needed a vacation anyway.” He spit on the grass while trying to control the loud, vicious dog that was trying to break free. “So now we gotta post up here. Ya girl ain’t gonna care is she?”
Storm looked back at the empty condo and shrugged his shoulders. “Even if she did, ya ass is family to me.”
Making sure Ponytail had a strong grip on Reckless, Storm led them both inside the house. Believing London would be back in a few days after Kenya cooled off, he didn’t want Ponytail sleeping in her room, if only temporarily. Since the basement was remodeled, he took him downstairs telling him he could stay as long as he wanted to. Not comfortable with the dog, aka Cujo, who was less than friendly, running loose in the crib, Storm gave his longtime homeboy two options: one, he’d gladly pay for a kennel to board the animal; or two, he could stay in the huge empty storage room separating the kitchen and the walk-in freezer.
“Yo, he a straight-up nutcase!”
“I feel you, Storm. He just ain’t that good with strangers, but my kids love him.” Choosing the second option, Ponytail grabbed the still-barking four-legged growling menace by the collar. “Come on, Reckless. Come on, boy.”
Standing on the other side of the large kitchen, Storm was cautious, to say the least. He let them both pass, wishing he had his gun just in case the strong-willed beast broke away from Ponytail’s grip. Only a few yards from the walk-in freezer, which was now secretly a temporary tomb for London and the dreadful truth, he shook his head. Storm made up in his mind right then and there he wasn’t going anywhere near that direction unless absolutely necessary. Amused, the pair of them stood back watching Reckless scratch wildly on the freezer door and sniff at the bottom. Storm and Ponytail chalked it up to the dog being hungry and obviously smelling food on the other side, certainly not a corpse.
Leaving his friend to get settled, Storm went back upstairs to get dressed. Slipping his belt through the loops, he stopped when his cell rang. “Yeah? Hey, Jordan.”
“You fell asleep on me last night.”
“I know. I was out my mind. I woke up with the towel still on from my shower.”
“Wow, that sounds interesting as hell,” Jordan flirted while still trying to be slick. “I know Kenya was happy.”
Changing the subject after hearing Kenya’s name, Storm cut to the chase. “So do I remember you telling me you got all the final inspection paperwork?”
Sensing she’d struck a nerve by his tone, Jordan smirked. “Yeah, Storm baby, you know I got you covered. I have the papers right here on the nightstand. You want me to drop them off or do you wanna meet me for breakfast?”
Storm had a lot on his plate and decided to kill two birds with one stone. “Listen, J, do me a favor and run them by the hospital. I’ll be there about noon.”
“Okay, babe. And, listen, the contractor said—”
“Hold tight, J. I got another call coming in from a strange number. Matter of fact I’ll hit you back in a few.” Storm ended that conversation by clicking over to the other line. “Yeah, hello.”
“Bitch-made nigga!”
“What!”
“You heard me! Bitch-ass-made nigga! So ya little brother got hit, huh?”
“Who in the fuck is this?’ Storm looked at the number not recognizing it.
“Who you think faggot?”
Having had enough of entertaining the caller’s bullshit, Storm hung up. Two seconds later his cell was ringing again. It was the same number. “Yo, whoever the fuck this is, ya best bet is to stop calling this motherfucker!”
Avoiding several cars by flashing his lights and blowing the horn, Marco came up on his exit. “Damn, Storm, you should know better by now not to threaten ol’ Marco. I don’t like that kinda shit. Real rap it could get you like that ho-ass brother of yours: shot the fuck up!”
Storm was confused. Less than twenty-four hours ago, Detective Malloy was at the hospital claiming Marco was locked up; now he was calling his cell phone going hard like it wasn’t shit. “Let me tell you something, nigga—”
“Naw, let me tell you,” Marco cut him off while pulling into a hotel parking lot. “The game is back on, and since your brother is on an indefinite timeout, after I kill you, I’ma do that pregnant bitch of yours in his place!”
Storm was furious as he snatched up the remote. Turning on the television to see breaking news on every channel about Marco Meriwether’s daring escape from police headquarters in broad daylight, his assault on an officer, and the carjacking of a city councilman, he cringed. “If your punk ass is that brazen to think you can fuck with me and mines, nigga, come on down, ya feel me?”
“Don’t worry, dude, I got you. Be patient.” He surveyed his surroundings. “In due time you and ya brother gonna be laid the fuck out just like ya manz Boz was!”
Suddenly ending the call, Marco found what he was searching for in the semi-crowded parking lot. I thought so. Driving off the premises, he abandoned the stolen sedan eight blocks over on a residential street knowing it was probably now being tracked by GPS. Throwing Sergeant Kendricks’s cell phone against a concrete wall for the same high tech reasons, he quickly hiked it back to the hotel.
Inconspicuous as possible, Marco walked through the lobby taking the elevator up to the fifth floor. When he got to room 521, he checked to make sure the coast was clear. Wasting no more time, he removed Sergeant Kendricks’s gun from the rear of his waistband. As his heart raced, his adrenalin rose and his dick got hard. Rubbing his recently bald head, Marco missed his thick dreadlocks as he knocked twice on the fifth-floor door.
“Who is it?” the voice from the other side asked.
Avoiding the security peephole, Marco stood over to the side of the door sinisterly replying, “Room service.”
* * *
JORDAN
Content hearing Storm’s smooth voice, Jordan slid her thong to the side and fingered herself imaging it was him bringing her so much pleasure. When he’d fallen asleep on her the night before, she stayed on the line listening to him breathe for at least twenty minutes before hanging up. The fact that he called her almost the first thing this morning was getting her hotter by the second. Trying to get Storm to go to breakfast or maybe meet her over at her apartment didn’t seem to be working out. He claimed he had other shit to do.
With two fingers now soaking wet in her snatch, Jordan tried to find out where Kenya was so early, but Storm wasn’t falling for that either. This motherfucker is playing hardball with my pretty ass, I see. She was on the verge of cumming from just listening to his rough-boy swag tone when his other end rang interrupting her flow. “And, listen, the contractor said—” Not satisfied the evening before by her and Big Doc B’s sexual exploits nor the fat, stank-ass city inspector she let fuck her brains out behind the bar to ensure Storm got his final paperwork, Jordan was hoping Storm would take up the slack. “Damn, ain’t that a bitch!” she fumed after he abruptly ended the conversation getting another call and telling her to meet him at the hospital. “It don’t matter how hard his ass act, he gonna be mine!”
Having had smoked half a blunt of Kush, Jordan kept on her mission to cum for the second time, when out of the blue someone knocked on the door. Who in the fuck? She climbed out of the bed going over to the door. “Who is it?”
When the man on the other side answered, “Room service,” immediately she shook her head thinking Big Doc B must’ve called in a breakfast order for her.
“Just a minute,” Jordan put on her silk robe thinking how sweet Doc’s good-tricking behind truly was.
* * *
STORM
Shit, this ugly motherfucker got more lives than a goddamn cat! Storm folded his arms as he switched from channel to channel seeing Marco’s mug shot flash repeatedly. Without them dreads dangling in his face he look like Helter Skelter or some crazy bullshit like that. Not believing his bad luck, he ran over to the closet, which was still in shambles, and he got another one of his guns. “If this nigga wanna meet the devil so bad, I’ma send him on his damn way,” Storm snarled loading both clips.
Wringing together both his sweaty hands, he prayed Kenya would stop playing the “I’m pissed at you” game and bring her black ass home. It was one thing when he thought Marco was locked up in jail, but now the savage was back out roaming the streets, looking for nothing better to do but terrorize him and his. Pushing her number up, he waited. One ring, two rings, three rings. Fucking voicemail again! Trying London’s cell, he got the same reaction. Logging on to Facebook, he saw Kenya hadn’t posted in the last few days either. I hope they dumb asses is watching the damn news! Knowing the shit he was dealing with had gone from bad to worse, Storm finally broke down. Scrolling through his contacts, he came to the Bs. “I hope this guy done heard from her or maybe London talked to his girl.” Turning away from the television, he was elated while at the same time ashamed when Brother Rasul answered.
“As sala’amu alaikum.”
“Walaikum as sala’am,” out of respect Storm replied. “Hey there, good brother, I hate to bother you, especially since you already done looked out so swell.”
Brother Rasul was on edge but played it cool. He knew sooner or later Storm would get around to calling him if he hadn’t heard from Kenya or worse than that discovered London’s dead body. Having not really got the entire uncut version of what went down to prompt Kenya to blink out and do what she’d done, he was at a total disadvantage over what exactly to say or not say. “So I guess that situation worked out for you, huh? I haven’t heard from my people so—”
“Yeah, yeah, that was super tight,” Storm fired back with gratitude. “I’ma be all right for sure. But, I don’t know if you heard or not, but my brother took a few hot ones.”
“Damn, is he good?”
“Yeah, he’s holding his own. O.T. is too strong to check out this piece without a fight!”
“That’s a blessing.” Trying to be sympathetic but at the same time rush him off the line before he started talking about Kenya didn’t work. “I’ma pray for your family. Y’all stay strong and take care.”
“Wait, wait, hold up,” Storm protested. “I know this is gonna sound kinda crazy and all but . . .”
Brother Rasul had just put into his car the last of the bags he’d just purchased from Kmart for Storm’s newborn son who was back at his house sleeping. He could tell that, at least, Storm hadn’t found London at this point, because if he did, he wouldn’t have been as semi-calm as he was. “Yeah, what up, doe?”
These Detroit niggas with this “what up, doe” bullshit, Storm said to himself before asking the million dollar question. “I know this question is out the blue, but have you spoken to my girl in the last day or so?”
“Kenya?” he stupidly replied wasting time as he sat behind the steering wheel yet to start the engine. “Well, to be honest—”
Getting a burning gut feeling that maybe he had, Storm interjected. “Listen, man, I’m not trying to put you in the middle, but that nutcase-ass motherfucker who was giving me and my brother so much trouble, Marco Meriwether, he done broke the hell outta lockup, ya feel me? Then dawg had the nerve to call my cell talking cash shit! So if you talked to Kenya or Fatima done talked to London let me know.”
Realizing at this point Kenya’s fiancé obviousl
y hadn’t been in the walk-in freezer to discover his dead baby momma, Brother Rasul chose his words carefully. “Well, I did speak to Kenya, and she was kinda confused.”
“Brother Rasul, I’ma keep it a hundred. I said some pretty fucked-up shit to her, but she just bugged out for no good reason. Now she’s hiding out in some hotel somewhere, with London’s naïve pregnant ass following right behind her,” Storm explained as he glanced behind him to see Marco’s breaking news escape update flash across the flat screen. “I really wasn’t tripping at the fact that she hasn’t been answering my calls, but with ol’ boy out and about, I don’t want her and London getting caught in the crossfire on the humble.”
At a loss for words, Brother Rasul paused. “Okay, I tell you what. Let me handle some business first, and then I’ll try to talk to Kenya and see what’s what. That’s the best I can do, brother, and I’ll definitely tell her about Marco.”
Ending it like that, Storm went downstairs to put Ponytail up on the latest 411.
* * *
KENYA/ BROTHER RASUL
Just back in from Kmart buying a small bassinet and a few other items needed for the newborn, Brother Rasul found Kenya still fast asleep in the middle of the bed he and Fatima shared when she was home from the university. At thirty-six years old, he had seen and dealt with plenty of women in his lifetime. However, even thinking back to the first time he met Kenya inside of Heads Up, he knew there was something special about her. Taking in account both she and Fatima were about sixteen or seventeen years his junior, he thought it was their youthful approach to the world that made him so mentally held captive.
Having just heard what Storm had told him, he was torn. Trying to fight the feeling of his manhood rise, Brother Rasul stared at every curve on Kenya. I know this ain’t right. His eyes traced her body as his mind pulled back the burgundy satin sheet. Down boy! he demanded watching her squirm as she woke up. Down!
“Oh, hey.” Kenya sat up in the bed wearing only a T-shirt belonging to Fatima. “What time is it?” She yawned rubbing her weary eyes.
Tick, Tick, Boom! Page 9
