Groove

by Geneva Holliday

  I lost it. My hands flailed in the air as I jumped up and down in the river of water.

  Henry was horrified and began backing slowly out of the bathroom. “It’s okay, Ms. Atkins. It’s all right,” he said in a calming voice.

  “No, it’s not. No, it’s not all right!” I cried. “Everything is ruined, everything!”

  “I’ll call some of the maintenance guys to come up with the pump so we can get this water out of here,” Henry said, and then he was gone, shutting the front door behind him.

  I screamed until my throat hurt, and then I cried until a knock came at the door and Henry hollered, “I’m back, with José and Sanchez, and we have the pump. We going to make it all better for you.”

  With a pump, Henry, Sanchez, and José were going to make it all better for me? The laughter came then, spilling out of me as quickly as the water had spilled from the bathtub faucet. “Well,” I yelled as I stumbled toward the front door and swung it open, “if I’d known that all I needed was a pump and you guys to make it all better for me, I would have flooded my apartment a long time ago!”

  Henry and the other men exchanged glances. I’m sure I looked and sounded like a madwoman.

  “Maybe we come back later, when you’re—um, feeling better?” Henry said.

  “No, no, I’m feeling just fine. Fine and dandy, in fact!” I said, throwing my hands up in the air with glee. “Come in, come in!”

  They hesitated, but then Henry made the sign of the cross and stepped across the threshold and the others cautiously followed.

  Fifty

  Kendrick could see that there was someone sitting in the chair. He couldn’t tell if it was a woman or a man, though. His vision was blurry, as it always was after he’d gone too long without a hit of Hades.

  Kendrick squinted at the figure in the chair. “Is that Abim—” he started.

  “No, it’s not,” Cassius said curtly and grabbed him by the hand, dragging him into the kitchen. She made a point of throwing the possum-playing Chevy a warning look as she went.

  “Now, how much today?” Cassius said, once they were in the kitchen and out of Chevy’s eyesight.

  “Um, um,” Kendrick muttered as he dug through his pockets, pulling out the fifty and the jewelry he’d stolen from Crystal.

  Cassius shook her head. Kendrick was full-blown addicted. His nose was running and he could barely keep his eyes open. His beard had grown out full and bushy, he was in desperate need of a haircut, and as far as Cassius could see, Kendrick hadn’t even taken the time to pull a comb through his hair, which was now a matted Afro.

  What a shame, Cassius thought to herself. He’d been such a good-looking man. And a good fuck at that.

  “I got this,” Kendrick said as he weaved and bobbed in place.

  Cassius looked down at his meager offering. “What the hell am I supposed to do with this?” she said, her voice filled with revulsion.

  “Take it and give me a vial,” Kendrick said, sounding offended.

  “This wouldn’t even pay for a quarter of a vial,” Cassius spat. “You’re wasting my time.”

  Kendrick looked down at the money and jewelry. He tightened his fingers around it and pushed it toward Cassius. “Please, c’mon now—you know we been doing business for a long time. Can’t you just help me out this one time?”

  Cassius shook her head pitifully. “No. I’m sorry, Kendrick, I can’t.”

  The first rule of the game was never to give in. No one gets a break or a handout, because that is like feeding a stray cat. Everybody knows that once you feed a stray it comes back every day.

  “C’mon now, Cassius, c’mon,” Kendrick pleaded, hopping back and forth on his feet like a two-year-old.

  Chevy couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Kendrick Greene, an addict! Look at that, she thought to herself. Crystal always coming down on her, telling her the right way to live, and here she was, dating a junkie.

  Wait until she saw her again. She was going to smear it all across her pretty little face!

  “I can’t, Kendrick, really,” Cassius said, shaking her head. “Now you have to go.”

  Kendrick just stood there staring at her for a while before calmly placing the money and jewelry back into his pocket. “Okay, okay, then. What do you want me to do for it?”

  Cassius gave him a strained look. “Only thing I want you to do is leave.”

  “You want to fuck me, don’t you?” Kendrick sneered and pulled his shirt over his head. “Fine. I’ll fuck you for a vial!”

  Cassius made a face at him and then stifled a laugh behind her hand. “I don’t want to fuck you. Look at you. You’re disgusting!” she spat.

  “Oh, now you wanna act like you don’t want it?” Kendrick said as he unzipped his pants.

  “Stop,” Cassius said. Her voice was beginning to shake. Kendrick was frightening her. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”

  Kendrick dropped his pants and stepped out of them. He had no underwear on, and his dick hung limp between his legs.

  “So you want me to eat you out? That’s what you want!” Kendrick took a step toward Cassius.

  Cassius tried to remain cool, but she was scared to death. She thought of calling out to Chevy for help, but that would probably be futile. Chevy wouldn’t raise a finger to help her, even if Kendrick tried to rape her or, worse yet, kill her.

  “Look, Kendrick, Abimbola will be back any second now, and if he walks in here and finds you naked, he’s going to kill you.”

  Kendrick balled his fists and placed them on his hips. He was beaten. He chewed at his bottom lip and bounced his head up and down. “All right, all right,” he sputtered. Turning his back to Cassius, he bent over to retrieve his pants, mooning her.

  Cassius turned her head away, embarrassed for him.

  Pulling his pants up, he then reached for his shirt and pulled that on too. Turning back to Cassius, he offered her a boyish grin. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  Cassius was taken off-guard. “What?”

  “I behaved horribly. You’re right. I should be embarrassed, and I am,” he said as he extended his hand to her. “No hard feelings?” he said, smiling sweetly.

  Cassius looked down at his hand. She was confused, but mood swings were common in people who used Hades.

  “None,” Cassius said and placed her hand in Kendrick’s.

  They shook, and then the smile suddenly slipped from Kendrick’s face as he roughly jerked Cassius toward him and promptly butted her in the head.

  Cassius’s eyes registered fleeting surprise before they rolled up and into her head and she fell unconscious to the floor.

  Kendrick wasted no time. He shot out of the kitchen and nearly fell as he scurried across the hall and into the bedroom, which contained only a bed and a nightstand. He ripped the drawer open. Empty. He tugged it out and looked beneath it. Nothing.

  Throwing it to the floor, he turned to the bed. Like a wild man he ripped the linens off the mattress. Then he tore the mattress from the bed. Still nothing.

  He went through the closets, tearing the clothes from the hangers and tossing them to the floor. Nothing. He peered into the dark crevices of shoes. Still he came up empty.

  Kendrick ran out of the room and back into the kitchen, where he tripped over the still unconscious Cassius. His head struck the edge of the counter. He hardly felt the pain, but he was annoyed by the blood that was trickling into his eyes, and he levied a kick on Cassius because of it. “Bitch!” he bellowed when the toe of his sneaker made contact with her thigh.

  Cassius grunted but her eyes remained closed.

  Kendrick opened all of the kitchen cabinets, but all were empty except for a tin of coffee. That he opened, shaking the contents out and into the sink.

  “It’s got to be here somewhere!” he screamed and then bent over Cassius. “Where is it, bitch, where!”

  Cassius didn’t flinch.

  “Think, Ken, think. Now, you’re a smart man—where would you hide your dr
ugs?”

  Kendrick pounded his fists into his head.

  “Where, where!” he screamed, and his voice bounced off the walls and back at him.

  After some time, Kendrick’s head popped up and a broad smile spread across his face. “Ah, you smart bitch,” he said as he knelt down beside Cassius and turned her over and onto her back.

  He tore her blouse open, revealing a black lace bra. He studied her 38-Cs for a moment and then gingerly removed her breasts from the bra cups. Nothing.

  “Okay, okay,” he said and then pinched his lips together as he tried to slip his hand down inside the waistband of her skirt. He couldn’t get his hand down far enough.

  Frustrated, he yanked his hand out and then, as if suddenly slapped with the smart stick, he pushed up the hem of her skirt.

  “Voilà!” Kendrick bellowed.

  There, beneath her skirt and in a custom-made thigh holster, were forty vials of Hades.

  “Eureka!”

  Fifty-One

  He wasn’t going to kill me too! No, man, not me!

  When he ran into the bedroom and started rifling through and turning over shit, I made a break for it. Slipped right past him and out the door.

  I couldn’t even believe what I’d heard. Kendrick was a stone-cold addict! Damn, what it must be like to be addicted to something so hard, you’re willing to degrade yourself like that. Begging and pleading and offering up your body!

  I should really call the police, I thought. I mean, Cassius was a bitch and all, but she didn’t deserve to die. She had to be dead. I mean, I saw her sprawled out on the floor. She looked dead, anyway. It wasn’t like I had any time to stop and check her pulse or anything.

  But sometimes people ain’t dead—they’re just unconscious. If I called the cops now, maybe they could save her.

  Yeah, yeah, I’d call the cops. I didn’t have to give my name—I knew that much.

  But wait, my fingerprints were there. They’d dust for fingerprints. That’s what they did at crime scenes, right? I didn’t need any more blemishes on my record!

  Damn, she was just gonna have to die, ’cause I ain’t done nothing but swallowed some sugar.

  Sugar? Oh, shit—I had to get me some Ex-Lax and get this mess out of me.

  Fifty-Two

  When the phone rang, I almost jumped out of my skin. I looked at the door. It was pretty well barricaded. I’d dragged the couch over and pushed it up against it, and then for good measure I’d piled the kitchen chairs on top of the couch.

  I wasn’t taking any chances.

  “Hello?” I whispered into the phone.

  “Well, I’m sitting here in five inches of water,” Crystal said.

  I was relieved that it was Crystal and not the Calorie Counters militia.

  “What?” I said, my eyes watching the front door.

  “That bastard left the tub running and flooded my apartment,” she said in a voice that was so calm, it almost sounded crazed.

  “Um, are you okay, Crystal?” I asked as I walked over to the window and peered down into the courtyard.

  “Sure, fine,” she said calmly. “I have thousands of dollars’ worth of damage and loss, and I’m just fine.”

  I walked to the other window and looked down at the sidewalk.

  “So did he fall asleep or something?”

  “No, nothing like that. He just turned it on and walked out.”

  “What—he did what?”

  “He turned on the water and walked the fuck out and flooded my apartment. Of course, all his shit is in storage. The only thing of his that’s ruined are his ‘dry clean only’ clothes,” Crystal said, and then let out a crazed laugh.

  I looked at the phone. “Do you need me to come over?” I asked, even though I was petrified of leaving the apartment.

  “No, I’ll come to you,” she said and then hung up.

  I looked at the phone again and then pressed End.

  Two minutes later the phone rang again. I snatched it up and said, “Crystal, can you bring some potato chips when you come?”

  “I’ll be bringing my foot to put up your ass!” Miriam screamed from the other end.

  That was it for me. I threw the phone down, snatched my pocketbook up from the kitchen table, and bolted.

  It took me no time to throw the chairs off and push the couch to one side. So before you could say boo—I was out the door.

  Fifty-Three

  What are you doing down here?” I said as I approached Geneva, who was shifting nervously from foot to foot as she lit a fresh cigarette with the butt of another.

  She turned on me; her eyes were wild and darting all over the place.

  “Let’s go,” Geneva said and grabbed at my arm.

  “Hey,” I cried and tried to snatch my arm away from her, but she held tight. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  Geneva kept walking. “I can’t be standing on this corner out in the open,” she barked. “It’s not safe for me.” She began walking quickly away.

  “What are you talking about?” I asked, finally freeing myself from her death grip.

  Geneva turned on me. “If I tell you what I’ve been going through over the past few weeks, you’re not going to believe me. You’re going to say it’s my guilt eating at me and playing tricks on my mind, but I know it’s not!” Geneva said, and her index finger shot up in the air for emphasis. “Now, if I say it’s not safe to stand here, it’s not safe to stand here.” Geneva’s tone was stern and serious.

  “Okay, okay,” I said and looked cautiously around me. Shoot, she had me feeling paranoid now. “Well, why don’t we just go upstairs to your place,” I suggested as I moved alongside her.

  “Uh-uh, I can’t be there right now.”

  “So where are we going to go?” I said, coming to a full stop and placing my hands on my hips.

  Geneva stopped walking, tossed her cigarette butt to the ground, and then shook another one from the pack before turning around to face me. “I don’t know,” she said as she popped it between her lips and lit it.

  “Geneva, what’s going on?” I asked again, but all I got for a response was a shake of her head before she turned around and started walking again. “Well, we can go to one of the restaurants, sit outside and have something to eat. It’s a beautiful day and—”

  Geneva turned on me. Something primal had been released in her eyes. “Have you not been listening to me? I cannot be out in the open.” She spoke slowly and carefully, as if I were learning disabled.

  “Well, we don’t have to eat outside. We can get a table inside.”

  “It’s just not safe for me to be anywhere in the city right now,” she huffed, and then her head snapped around suddenly.

  “What?” I asked, terrified.

  “Did you hear that?”

  “Hear what?” I said, looking frantically around.

  Geneva started walking again and mumbling something like “I thought I heard Chinese chucks.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing, nothing,” she said and broke into a run.

  “Where are we going!”

  “Brooklyn!” she yelled back over her shoulder before turning right and breaking hard for the subway station.

  “Brooklyn?” I said, coming to a halt again.

  The last thing I could hear her say before she disappeared down the steps was “Call Noah—tell him we’re coming.”

  Fifty-Four

  Chaka Kahn was blowing my walls down from my hi-fi as I lay stretched out on my couch, snapping my fingers to the music while my other hand ushered my glass of wine to and from my lips.

  Who knew just talking about my problem could make me feel almost normal again? That’s not to say that my mind hadn’t wandered. Not to say that I hadn’t had a craving or two, because I had.

  The first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem. So I’d openly admitted it, and that first step really felt wonderful, and that’s why I was lying there, basking in Chaka and Pinot Noir.r />
  Zahn would be there in just two more days. I could hardly wait. Just having him there would help to get this monkey off my back. I’d have to tell him, of course, but he loved me and I was sure he’d understand, and . . .

  Ring, ring, ring.

  “Hello?”

  “Noah? I can hardly hear you. Can you turn the music down, please!”

  “Stop your screaming, Chevy.” Rolling my eyes, I plucked up the remote for the hi-fi and lowered the volume. “Sorry, Ms. Chaka, Ms. Drama is on the phone,” I said, loud enough for Chevy to hear. “Now what’s the problem?”

  “The problem is, I think Kendrick just killed this woman.”

  I yawned. “I thought you stopped watching the soaps?”

  “You’re so funny,” she said calmly before screaming, “I’m serious, Noah!”

  “Okay, you’re serious.” I lifted my hand and literally wiped the grin off my face. “Now I am too. Now, who is Kendrick?”

  “Kendrick Greene, Crystal’s boyfriend.”

  I just smirked. “You been smoking again?”

  “I ain’t high, Noah. I’m serious. I saw him do it!”

  The call-waiting signal beeped in my ear, but Ms. Drama did sound serious, so whoever it was would have to wait.

  “Where?” I asked.

  “In this apartment in Chelsea.”

  “What were you doing there?”

  “I was . . .”

  Uh-huh. Chevy was someplace she had no business being, I thought after she took an eternity to answer.

  “I-I was visiting my friend,” she stammered, “the one he killed.”

  “Are you shitting me?”

  “No,” she whined.

  “Did you call the police?” I was up and pacing the floor now, near hysterics. “Are you hurt? Did that bastard hurt you?”

  “No, no,” she stammered. “But she’s lying dead right on the kitchen floor!”

  “Okay, okay. You have to call the police, Chevy.”

  “I-I can’t.”