by Nikki Turner
She crossed her arms and looked out the window.
“Say something!” I yelled. “Answer me, damn it!”
TANK
I couldn't believe how these motherfuckers were tearing up my house. All I could do was sit there and let them look around, trying to find something that ain't here. I never kept product in the house, never. And the bodies I had on the land, I had started moving them one by one right after Labor Day. Each day I'd take the remains, cut them up in pieces, put them in a suitcase, take a train up to Baltimore, then throw the suitcase into the Chesapeake Bay late at night. See, I knew eventually the day would come when they would come to my house trying to dig up dirt. But I dug the shit up first, literally.
The only thing they got were some pictures of me and Renée. I knew what I was doing by leaving them out. See, I couldn't let Renée know everything. If she knew everything, she probably would not have agreed to go along this far. I knew that the police had been after me for years. I knew they had been trying to build a kingpin charge on me, too, but all of that would be null and void by the time the judge saw that nigga had been trying to frame me so he could have my girl all to himself All that needed to happen was for the police to find the fake-ass letters I planted in the kitchen drawer from that nigga Chris, threatening to set me up, all on his letterhead. On top of that, Renée left me keys to his office and his house, so I was able to plant so much evidence to incriminate that nigga, he'd wish he never even thought about meeting Renée.
I figured the original plan might've worked, but I couldn't take the chance of Renée having a change of heart. You know, she might've fallen for the nigga or something. I knew I'd done some fucked-up shit to Renée in the past. See, women get emotionally attached where men are concerned, so I had to play it safe with this whole setup. Was it right? Probably not, seeing as this put Renée in a fucked-up situation, but I needed to look out for myself. At the moment, she didn't know what cards to play Lucky for me I knew her so well—I knew she wouldn't tell him anything until she found out what was going on. She wouldn't incriminate me in any way.
Now I had to get to Renée, tell her to tell him that we dated before, hooked up a few times since they met, but that I meant nothing to her. Plant in his head that the only reason she got with me recently was because I threatened to hurt Chris. I would tell her they found the pictures by accident, so we would have to change our stories. Everything would fall into place. I realized this scandal could possibly affect Renée's career, but she'd bounce back. She had a degree; plus she was smart, so she'd be all right. But I couldn't take the chance of going up for a kingpin charge on top of a possible murder charge, so I had to do something.
I walked outside and sat in my truck, leaving the police officers to have a field day trashing my house. I connected my voice recorder to my cell phone, then dialed Renée's cell phone.
“Hello?” Renée answered.
“Hey, baby. Where are you?” I asked her.
“Tank, you need to tell me,” she said, followed by a shuffling sound. Just then, a male voice came on the line. I could only assume it was Chris.
“Look, you twisted bastard, I don't know what you're trying to do to me and my woman, but I'm going to make sure that you rot in hell. You understand me?” asked Chris.
“This must be Chris,” I said, cool, calm, and collected.
“You goddamn right this is Chris. What are you trying to do, huh? You got something against me, you come to me. You don't put my woman in the middle, you sick fucker!”
“Did she tell you? Did she tell you about us? How it used to be? That's okay; she'll be back,” I said.
“So that's what this is about? You crazy motherfucker. You got this woman scared to death of you, but I'm not scared. You are going to get exactly what you deserve, just wait.”
“Listen, man. I need to talk to Renée. She needs to know that I still love her and I want to be with her. She needs to know that I'm a changed man.”
“Are you crazy? She doesn't want you anymore. Whatever you had with her is over, okay?”
“Did you see the pictures?” I asked.
“Yeah, I saw the pictures. What did you do, threaten to kill her or threaten to kill me? She told me it wasn't what it appeared. I'll bet you threatened to kill me, huh? That's okay, because your ass is going down,” Chris said.
“Tell Renée I love her,” I said; then the line went dead.
RENÉE
Chris was screaming like a madman, and I was still at a loss for words. The only thing I told Chris was that the pictures were not what they seemed. I didn't know what else to say. Now he had my cell phone, yelling at Tank, and I had no idea which route to take. Chris shut my cell phone so hard that the antenna broke.
“He told me everything,” Chris said, breathing heavily. “Yeah, that's a sick bastard. He confirmed everything.”
“Chris, what did he say?” I asked, anxious.
“It's okay; I got his number. He confessed—not in so many words—but he confessed that he was in love with you, but you weren't with him anymore. Why didn't you tell me?”
Still a bit confused, I just played along. “I don't know. I … I couldn't. What exactly did Tank say?”
“He said something about still loving you and how he's a changed man. Hmph, this whole situation is foul. What I can't understand is why you never mentioned him to me. You've heard me talk about him before, but you didn't say a thing. As a matter of fact, I was talking about him this evening before you ran back into your apartment. What did you do, go and call him? This shit is not making sense to me.”
“Look, that situation with Tank, it was a long time ago. He's just upset because I've moved on with my life.” I leaned over and kissed Chris on the lips long and hard. “I'm with you, right? We're together, you and me. Those pictures mean nothing. They are old, before us.” By now I had leaned his seat back as far as it could go. I sat on his lap, straddling him.
“But in one of them, you're wearing the set I bought you,” he said.
“Shhhh,” I whispered, putting my finger over his mouth. I began to chew on his ear, making him breathe hard as I ground back and forth on him, making him get bigger and bigger.
“All I want is you and only you,” I said. I managed to unbuckle his pants, and before my hand reached his manhood, he was already moaning.
“Tank could never do for me what you can. You are my man, not Tank. Don't talk about the pictures. Don't even think about the pictures. This is obviously an attack on me. You let me deal with him my way, okay?” I began rubbing on his chest. I put my hand inside his sweater and played with his nipples. He seemed to get a thrill out of this.
“But … but … Renée, you were wearing the set … I … I …,” he stammered.
His cell phone rang, but I pushed it to the floor on the passenger side. I needed to get Chris back in sync with me and off of Tank.
“Don't talk about it. Just lean back and do me right here, right now. I need you in me. I love you,” I moaned.
By this time, Chris was so aroused that I thought he was going to explode inside his pants. I took charge by pulling up my skirt, turning full circle. Then I lay on top of Chris so that he was face-to-face with my thong. I was face-to-face with his erection. I unzipped his pants and found his manhood with my tongue as he went to town licking and sucking my valley. For whatever reason, doing it in the car was something that set Chris off, so I planted my size-eight-and-a-half Ann Taylor boots on the backseat while I rotated my valley and sucked Chris, all in unison. I tried to keep my eyes out for passersby to make sure no one knew what we were doing.
“I'm coming. I'm coming. Shit, Renée, I'm coming,” he moaned. His cell phone rang again, but this time we both ignored it.
“You going inside, or you want to stay outside and play?” I asked.
“Don't stop, don't stop,” he said.
Then, without full warning, he just shrieked, pushing my head back, and exploded all over his pants. I moved, almost
breaking the heel of my boot on the console, when his cell phone rang again. I got in his lap, facing him, and pushed my tongue into his mouth.
After kissing him, I said, “All this is yours, okay? Don't worry about that thug Tank. I can handle him just fine. Just let me take care of it, okay?”
“What if he tries to hurt you?”
“Chris, let me take care of this, okay?”
“Okay.”
I climbed over to the passenger seat while trying to fix my clothes.
“Damn, look at my pants,” he said.
“I guess we need to go to your place so you can change.”
We pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward Monument Avenue. Chris's house was only about fifteen minutes away, right off of Monument, in a very prominent area. When we got to his two-story, all-brick colonial, there was a Richmond City police officer on the porch, another in a parked car.
“Now what?” Chris mumbled. “You want to come in, or are you going to stay in the car?” he asked me.
“I'll go with you,” I replied. I figured that I might as well see what Tank planted, since I was the one who left the spare house key under the mat so he could get in.
“Can I help you, Officer?” Chris asked.
“Sure, Mr. Hall. Don't mean to disturb you on Thanksgiving. Just got a call from the New Kent police that we needed to check some things out over here,” the officer replied.
“Check what things out?”
“Well, apparently they found some letters with your name, and I'd rather not say anything else without you having legal representation.”
“Come on, Officer, I am a lawyer. You can tell me what they found. What sort of letters?”
The officer was staring at me as if I were the culprit in all of this. I wrapped my arm around Chris, giving the officer the same stare, letting him know that whatever he had to tell Chris, he could tell me, too.
“Mr. Hall, can I just come in and take a look around? Apparently this Mr. Jones character was claiming that you are out to get him, trying to set him up because of his relationship with, um, Ms. Anderson.”
“What? Please tell me you're joking,” said Chris.
“I wish I were. All of this sounds pretty ridiculous to me, too. But Mr. Jones said you called him, threatened him, then when the police went to his home in New Kent and found the letters … well, they sent me out here to check things out. Do you mind if I just take a look around? Not looking for anything in particular, just want to say I came out and did my job,” said the officer.
I was hoping that my facial expressions weren't giving me away, but nervousness was starting to kick in. I had no idea what Tank planted in Chris's house, but I knew he had planted something. Not thinking with his lawyer brain, Chris agreed to let the officer in. In his mind he was totally innocent.
“Sure, come on in. Make it quick; we're on our way to Thanksgiving dinner,” he said.
Chris unlocked the door. I walked in first; then he and the officer followed. I stood in the foyer, which separated the formal living room from the formal dining room. Both rooms were decorated with contemporary but very expensive Henredon furniture. The foyer had hardwood floors, as well as custom-built hardwood stairs that led to the second floor. Chris headed upstairs while the officer motioned for his partner to come inside. I went to the living room and sat down on the oversize chocolate brown sofa. One of the officers came into the living room behind me, while the other passed by the living room and headed to the back of the house, where Chris's kitchen and home office were. My phone vibrated. I recognized the number. Tank wasn't the only one with a plan.
“Hey, I left the code under the lamp in the living room. I'll call you back later,” I said, hanging up quickly.
“So, you and Mr. Hall are pretty serious, huh?” asked the pudgy white officer.
“I don't think that's any of your business, do you?” I said, staring at his pimply face.
He cleared his throat and pretended to look around the room, nervously. He obviously felt a bit uncomfortable with me in the room, so he headed over to the dining room. As Chris came back down the stairs, this time wearing a brown-and-tan sweater with brown wool slacks, the officer who'd gone to the back of the house yelled, “Hey, Peter, come here a minute!”
The pudgy officer followed the voice of his partner, who sounded as if he was probably in Chris's office. Chris had a look of curiosity on his face, so he followed. After several seconds of silence, I could hear Chris yell, “What the fuck?”
I ran to the back, full of curiosity myself.
“Have you ever seen this?” Chris asked me, showing me a manila folder with Tank's real name, and what appeared to be some very confidential documents. There appeared to be stacks of papers about Tank sprawled all across his desk, as if Chris had been investigating Tank himself. There were letters that appeared to have been started, then pushed to the side, that were addressed to Tank, threatening him to stay away from me. Now I could see where Tank was going with this plan—the plan he didn't fill me in on, by the way He wanted to make it look like Chris wanted to get Tank out of the picture so that he could have me all to himself Chris would do whatever it took, as far as the defense attorney would be concerned, maybe even helping to build a phony murder case against an innocent man. The defense attorney would have a field day painting Chris as a jealous, lovesick fool whose only plan was to remove my ex-boyfriend from the picture. Tank's case was going to appear so contaminated that the judge would have to throw it out.
“No, I haven't,” I responded, now ready to play Tank's game.
“Come on, Renée, what's going on? Did you have anything to do with this?”
“What are you talking about? Why would I have anything to do with papers that are in your office, on your desk? Where would I get this type of information, anyway? I don't work for the legal system. This information looks confidential.”
Chris looked at both of the police officers, pleading with them with his eyes.
“Fellas, look, really, I have no idea what's going on here, and I definitely don't know how this got here. Think about it. If I really was out to get Mr. Jones, which I'm not, why would I volunteer to let you in my house, knowing I have incriminating information all over my desk? Come on, now, does that make sense?”
Both of the officers stared at Chris, not really buying his story.
“Think about it! Think!” Chris yelled, this time, making everyone in the room a bit nervous.
“Mr. Hall, I'm going to need you to calm down. Please take a seat and don't move anything.”
“Peter, you know me. Come on, tell your friend here,” Chris tried to explain, but Peter just shook his head. I guess they ran across so many criminals on a day-to-day basis that they had a hard time believing anyone. Peter just paced back and forth while the other officer called the New Kent police officers, who, I assumed, were still at Tank's house. He told them his findings. They asked him some questions, and once he was finished, he turned to Chris.
“Mr. Hall, I'm sorry, but I can't let you leave right now. I have a detective who's been working on the case on his way here from New Kent. Just hold tight. We'll get this squared away.”
“Peter, tell this officer—what is your name, anyway?” Chris said.
“Officer Boone,” he replied.
“Officer Boone, do you know who I am? I am Christian Hall, Richmond's commonwealth's attorney. Did you know that?”
“Actually, sir, yes, I know. I'm just doing my job,” said Officer Boone.
“Your job is to stand around here and harass a city official?”
“No, my job is to make sure the city official isn't committing some sort of crime, that's all.”
Chris was fuming. I, on the other hand, was sitting back taking it all in. I couldn't wait to talk to Tank.
TANK
The police finally gave me permission to leave my house. Ain't that some shit? Them telling me when I can come and go on my own property. This was one of the reason
s I realized I couldn't do time for nobody. I had a problem with people telling me what I could and couldn't do.
I still hadn't heard back from Renée, not since Chris snatched the phone from her and started threatening me. Lucky for me I had my recorder on, so his screaming, yelling, and threats are all caught on tape. I guess Renée threw her pussy on him to calm him down, and they were probably enjoying Thanksgiving dinner by now, not worried about a thing. In the meantime, I called Chuck back to see if Shelly was still there waiting for me.
“Yo, Chuck. Where she at?” I spoke into the phone receiver.
“She just left. Said she was heading over to the restaurant to try to set up for tonight. You straight?” asked Chuck.
“Yeah, I'm straight. They ain't get shit on me, but a waste of time. I'm clean as hell. I'm pissed, though, cause them motherfuckers tore my crib all to pieces. Wanted to see if Shelly could come over and help me clean up and shit.”
“Yeah, right, nigga. That ain't the only thing you want Shelly to do. I heard y'all in that bathroom. I'm still trying to figure out how y'all managed to do it in that small-ass bathroom.”
“As long as I got enough room to put at least twelve inches between us, I'm good.”
“Yeah, whatevah, nigga. I'll holla.”
I made a U-turn, jumped on the interstate, and headed toward the restaurant. Since me and my moms hadn't talked in years and my pops was locked down, I normally spent holidays with Renée. I considered her my only real family, however, since she was playing wifey to this sucker, I was stuck on Thanksgiving by myself, and I couldn't have that. I dialed Shelly on her cell and she answered after the first ring.
“Hello?” she said.
“What's up?” I asked.
“Hey, baby. I just came by the restaurant, trying to make sure everything is straight for tonight's party. Where are you?”
“I'm on my way to the restaurant now. I wanted to know if you felt like doing me a favor.”
