He didn’t mean one word, just wanted his name in the mix. Shit was turned up a notch when a picture of Jurnee’s crumpled up SLS was posted. All of the AEF porn stars were showing their true support for Jurnee. Some were still speaking on the unsolved murder of Brooke Vee. Swagga was about to log out when a tweet from Trevon popped up.
@ Jackson Memorial showing love for Jurnee. Pray!
His face balled up instantly. “I need to use your car!”
“Huh? Where you going?” She looked up as he jumped off the bed.
“Don’t ask too many questions. Not tonight.”
She laid her cell phone down, sliding off the bed with the bottle of Moet. She set it on the floor and then stared at him shoving his legs in a pair of black slim-fit Carhartt jeans. “I’m going with you!” she stated with her fists on her hips.
“No you ain’t,” he said, reaching for his hoodie.
“Why?” She stomped, making her brown titties wobble.
“’Cause I fuckin’ said so, bitch!” he shouted at her from across the room.
“Why I gotta be all that?” She matched his tone.
“Listen,” he sneered, dropping the blue Louis Stewart bag on the bed. “Get dressed and get the fuck outta my crib!”
Nashlly was about to get fly at the mouth, but held her heated words when Swagga pulled a gat from the LS bag.
“You think I’m playin’, yo?” he said, placing the .22 in his pocket.
“This is fucked up. I know you’re going to the hospital to see your ex!”
“Fuck you talkin’ ‘bout?”
“I just saw the tweet by your ex bitch, Kandi! She’s on her way to the hospital too.”
Swagga flopped on the bed to put his $525 black Mark McNairy boots on. “You don’t know what the fuck you talkin’ ‘bout, so shut the fuck up!”
“So you gonna do me like this!” she screamed.
Swagga’s mind was twisted around knocking off two birds with one stone. He wouldn’t pass up the chance to catch Trevon and Kandi at the same spot. All his troubles would end tonight! Fuck any talking—wasn’t shit else to say. Since they wanted to hold that Chyna shit over his head, they would die for it. When he was on his feet, he stared at Nashlly. “Don’t be here when I get back!”
Nashlly saw her future of living the ballin’ life fading quickly. “Swagga, wait. I’m sorry, I’ll—”
“Bitch, it’s over. Get yo’ shit and get missin’!” He started for the door.
“Swagga!” she called after him. “Swagga, please!”
She was left alone in his bedroom, shocked at how fast things had turned from sugar to shit. The flashy LS bag was still on the bed. She waited a second, thinking he was coming back to see if she was leaving. Instead, she saw the light flick on outside the huge window. I know this dumb ass fool ain’t leaving for real? she thought, rushing across the floor to look outside. She stood at the window looking down at Swagga’s multi-port garage. Nashlly waited a minute before she saw his ass running toward the garage. He couldn’t take her Mustang because the keys were over on the dresser. A minute after he slipped inside the garage, she saw him pulling off with no lights on, behind the wheel of Rick’s 760Li.
“This fool done crossed the wrong bitch!” She fumed, turning from the window. She made a quick dash for her cell phone on the bed. Clinging to a hope that he wasn’t dead ass serious, she called him to see what was really up. Hell, she could deal with the shit talking and his bitches on the side as long as he kept her laced up. But nooo, this muthafucka trying to bump me to the curb! Oh, really! She stood by the bed waiting for him to pick up.
“What the fuck you want, bitch!”
“Baby, why you buggin’ out on me? Listen, we can have some freaky sex when you—”
“Yo! Why are you asking like I care or need your ass? It’s two things ain’t ever seen. One is a UFO and two, a bitch I need!”
“So you gonna shine on me like this?” she asked, getting upset.
“Bitch, you don’t even exist to me no more!”
Nashlly was one on one with the dial tone a second later. Steaming mad, she got her shit together and snuck out past Rick with a tight grip on the money-filled LS bag. She had a trick for Swagga, one that would put his ass on the cover of XXL and Hip Hop Weekly!
***
Trevon sat alone inside his XJL talking to Janelle on his iPhone. “Ain’t nobody telling me nothing!” he said in a state of frustration. “All they keep saying is that she’s still undergoing a bunch of operations and shit! I don’t even know if she’s breathing on her own or not. She had to be airlifted from the accident, so I know her condition ain’t good,” he said.
“Trevon, listen to me,” Janelle’s voice broke from the pain she was dealing with. “I know what we do for a living isn’t viewed as righteous. But tonight it’s really based on what you and I believe in, okay? We have to pray for her and I mean hard.” She sobbed. “We are all the family she’s got right now, so we have to stay strong. But know that whatever happens it’s for a reason and it’s God’s will, so—”
“She gonna make it,” he stated firmly, refusing to listen to any negative talk about Jurnee not pulling through.
“I know she will.”
“How soon can you and Victor catch a flight from New York?” he asked, wiping his eyes.
“I hope by noon tomorrow. If I can get a sooner flight, I’ll take it.”
“Ai’ight ‘cause I’ll be here. Ain’t goin’ no fuckin’ where till I can take Jurnee home.”
Trevon was patient with himself as he struggled to control his emotions. He was unconcerned about the bullshit he thought was so important. He didn’t care if his rims were shiny. He didn’t care which model had the biggest ass. He didn’t care about fucking a new female. All he cared about was his friend, Jurnee.
A car parked next to his sedan pulled off, its headlights briefly filling the dark cabin of his ride. He saw the wetness around his eyes in the rearview mirror. Shedding tears wasn’t helping Jurnee. When he slid out of the XJL, he eased the door shut and reluctantly made his way back inside the hospital.
He was drained, walking with his head down. Trevon couldn’t forgive himself for being in bed with Tahkiyah while Jurnee was fighting for her life. He had learned from the police that her last phone call was made to him. He was on the phone with her at the point of contact. All he could do was hate himself. Stopping at the front desk, he spoke to a black male RN and was again given no news. Tonight he wasn’t going for that ‘no news is good news’. Leaving the front desk, he ended up finding a seat in the waiting area. He tried to sit away from everyone else. Alone was what he wanted to be.
***
Kandi swallowed the lump in her throat when Trevon walked by her. He didn’t even notice me, she thought with her eyes blurred. Part of her wanted to sit and just stay silent. I have to do it. She shouldered her black leather Fendi tote bag and then rose up in her ankle strap pumps. A small kid ran by with an older sister giving chase. Kandi left her tears in place as she closed the space between the man she so deeply loved. He sat with his head down, his once strong shoulders slumped.
“. . . Hey, Smooch,” her voice broke.
He didn’t move an inch. Kandi waited, her heart jumping. After what seemed like forever, he looked up at her. His face showed no emotion. Each time he blinked it sent a new line of tears down his face. Kandi shifted her eyes away, hoping he didn’t hate her.
“What are you doing here?”
She fidgeted with the strap on the tote bag, unable to look him in the face. “I’m . . . here because of Jurnee,” she whispered.
“I guess your man put you on a private jet, huh?”
“I’m not with him anymore,” she replied quickly, and then added, “I been here in Florida since yesterday.”
His expression stayed the same. Beefing with her now ain’t the time nor place, he reasoned.
“Do you know anything about Jurnee’s condition?” he asked, sitting up in
the chair.
“Not much. I just got here about ten minutes ago.”
He scratched his chin. “You can sit down if you wanna.”
Kandi had all types of feelings still locked inside her heart for Trevon. If she could, she wanted to just be in his strong arms again and just be. Just be one, together. As it stood, her life was turned upside down with the blood speeding to her head with a dizzying quickness.
Silence bounced between them for a moment as they sat inches apart. Out the corner of her eye she saw the pain in his slack posture. She couldn’t stomach the act of adding more hurt in his life by telling him the truth about the baby. That’s what she wanted to do. But in truth, going off her talk with Jurnee, she knew she needed to tell Trevon the truth. She had to do it, even if it ran the risk of Trevon hating her.
“Trevon, can I talk to you?” she asked nervously.
“You ain’t gotta explain nothing to me.”
“Yes, I do,” she said. “Do you remember when I said you couldn’t understand why I—”
“I remember everything you told me! I remember you said it’s over, so why try to—”
“Trevon, please!” She laid her hand on his knee. “Just listen to what I have to say, okay? I never—I swear I never meant to hurt you.”
“Well, you did. And like I said, it is what it is.”
“No, Trevon. It’s not what you think—”
“It never is!” He finally looked at her. “You wanna talk. G’head and tell me why I deserved this shit you put me through. Make me understand!”
She held her useless tears at bay. “Trevon, I didn’t cheat on you, okay? I was already a month pregnant when we met, and I didn’t know it.”
Trevon stared at her as her words sunk in. “So what you saying? The baby ain’t mine!”
“I swear to God I didn’t know I was pregnant when we met, Trevon.”
“This some bullshit,” he muttered. “How the fuck—yo, this shit here is—”
Cutting him off, she told him everything. She left nothing out, speaking the truth, just as she did with Jurnee. He didn’t know how to feel when she explained how she planned to have an abortion. “I was wrong, Trevon. I should’ve told you back in November after I learned I was fourteen weeks pregnant.” She wiped her eyes with her lips quivering.
Trevon had to face his reality. D-Hot was the father, not him. Did it hurt? Yes, a hole was widening in the center of his chest.
“Please don’t hate me, Trevon.” She sobbed quietly.
Finding the right words to say eluded Trevon. He didn’t hate her. He couldn’t hate her. Staying silent would not solve any issue in this case.
“So, you thought I would . . . not love you anymore had you told me this last year?” he asked with no anger in his tone. If anything, he was loaded with misunderstanding her actions.
She nodded weakly.
He sighed, feeling pity for her. “Life ain’t perfect, LaToria. If you had told me back then, yes I would’ve been crushed just like I am now. But it wouldn’t have changed how I felt for you.”
She looked up. “I’m so sorry, Smooch. I just didn’t know—”
“How’s the baby?”
She blinked, and then glanced down at his hand on her belly. All she could do was cry. Trevon sided with staying calm. What would him going off in anger help? Nothing. What shook him were the memories of all the good times they shared. Their issue was defined easily. A mistake on LaToria’s part that they would have to settle together. Trevon knew what would have happened had he known the truth last year. He would’ve stayed with her. He was in love with her for the present and the future. Her past didn’t form who she was today. Trevon wouldn’t judge her, not tonight, not tomorrow, never.
On the strength of keeping it real, he eased his arm around her shoulder. “Stop crying, okay? We gon’ talk about this, but right now we gotta be strong for Jurnee.”
She nodded against his chest, thanking God that he didn’t hate her.
CHAPTER
Thirty
Bustin' Shots
Back at the Mondrian hotel, Tahkiyah was doing her own research of LaToria’s whereabouts. At the time noted on her laptop, 10:18 pm, she hit a patch of luck. By visiting the AEF webpage, she caught the news about the accident involving Jurnee. Tahkiyah, at first, didn’t make the connection of Honey Drop being Jurnee until she came across her picture. On a hunch, she then logged on to Twitter and saw the last tweet posted by Kandi. She didn’t waste any time getting dressed to make a ride to the hospital. On her way out the door, she turned back and added one certain item in her purse. Her mind was set, and there would be no other alternative, other than finding and facing LaToria. Once she was seated insider her BMW, she checked the 9-millimeter inside her purse to make sure it was loaded and ready.
***
Swagga killed the headlights after he found the closest parking spot to Kandi’s black Escalade. From his position, he could see the front end of her SUV to his left. He had also found Trevon’s XJL, but it was too close to the hospital entrance to do anything crazy. He would wait and form a plan now with the .22 placed on his lap. He sunk lower in the seat when a Metro Dade police van rode by. A plan! I need a fuckin’ plan! Ai’ight. Cappin’ that bitch out here might get my ass life. Gotta snatch her ass up somehow. He picked up the light .22 just as it dawned on him of his fuck up. “Damn!” he vexed through his teeth, popping the clip out. He only had six rounds left out of the ten he had loaded earlier with gloves on. In his rush to catch Trevon slipping, he had forgotten to reload the .22. Shit! Three for Trevon and three for Kandi. Fuck it.
***
Kandi was back on Twitter making an update when a frugal dressed middle-aged dude shuffled into the waiting room. It was easily seen that he was homeless.
“’Scuse me,” he said with his hands in his pockets.
No one seemed to pay him any attention. The only reason Kandi looked up was because she could smell a funky odor coming off his body. She moved her purse under her seat with her foot, ignoring the white bum like everyone else. Kandi looked past him, hoping that Trevon would return with some good news about Jurnee’s status.
“Um . . .” the bum continued. “Anybody in here drive an uh, black Escalade truck?” He pointed over his shoulders. “Been a little fender bender, and the other—”
“Sir,” Kandi said with hopes he wasn’t talking about her SUV. “Did you say a black one?”
He nodded. “Yeah, an’ it got dem big ole chrome rims. Real nice-looking too.”
Kandi muttered a curse under her breath and then got up to find out what was going on. Damn! Of all nights, this is the last thing I need!
***
Back in Fort Lauderdale, Rick was shoved out of his sleep by Tweet. He sat up with his eyes heavy. “What’s up?”
“Dawg, we got major problems!” Tweet exclaimed.
“Talk.” Rick shoved the covers off as Tweet looked over his shoulder back at the door.
“Feds at the front gate.”
“Feds!” Rick shot up and grabbed his six-shot Sig Sauer Sub-compact 9-millimeter.
“FBI, and they ain’t playin’.”
Rick rubbed his face. “Fuck! All right. Where Swagga?”
“Uh, that’s another problem. I checked all over the place, and he ain’t here.”
“Fuck you mean he ain’t here?” Rick shouted.
“Nigga bounced. That ‘ho Nashlly gone too. I think Swagga took yo’ Beemer ‘cause it’s gone and so is Nashlly’s whip.”
“Call—”
“I already tried calling Swagga like . . . five times. He ain’t picking up.”
“Yo, let the Feds in. . . . They might . . . shit—just let ’em in. I’ma be down in a sec.”
By the time Rick reached the first floor, the Feds were stationed around the living room ten deep. A tall suited black agent looking like Cuba Gooding Jr. met Rick at the bottom of the stairs.
“Your name, sir?”
Rick looke
d at the three other bodyguards on duty with Tweet. All four were seated on the sofa with worried looks. “Uh, Rick.”
The FBI agent frowned. “Your government name.”
“Rickey Terrell.”
The agent glanced across the room at an agent standing by the lamp. They exchanged a quick nod that went unnoticed by Rick. “Ah, repeat that please.”
Rick sighed. “Rickey Terrell.”
“Mr. Terrell. I have a search warrant for this property.”
“Can I see it?”
Rick was shown a legalized federal search warrant that he couldn’t dispute. The only thing that seemed odd was the fact that the warrant didn’t list what the Feds were looking for. When Rick took it upon himself to ask, the agent said he would soon find out. Shit got weird when one of the agents pulled out a small handheld scanner. Once he turned it on, he waited a few seconds and then left the room.
“Mr. Terrell, can we step into the kitchen?” the suited agent asked Rick.
“What’s this all about?”
“I’ll explain in the kitchen.”
Rick knew he had no choice. Fuck! I hope Swagga ain’t leave no weed or nothing lying around. Rick tried to play it cool with the agent following him to the kitchen. Once they were seated at the table, the agent introduced himself.
“My name is Lorenzo Thompson, and I’ll get to the point, okay. I have a picture of a man I’d like to show you. Here’s the first one.” Agent Thompson reached inside his jacket and removed two 4 x 6 glossy pictures.
Rick’s stomach dropped to the floor when the agent slid a picture of Fritz across the table. It was clear the picture was taken without Fritz knowing it.
“His real name is Ronald Bleibtreu. Born in Germany and he has a very interesting military background, which I can’t speak on. He’s fluent in six different languages, and you might know him simply as . . . Fritz.”
“Never seen ’im before.” Rick slid the picture back.
“Are you positive, Mr. Terrell?”
Rick scratched his neck in a nervous fit. “Yeah, I ’on’t know dude.”
Nude Awakening II Page 23
