Bad Blood

by Mary Monroe

  I shuffled into the kitchen and called Caroline. “I want you to pack up Darnell’s things. I’ll drive down tomorrow to pick him up.”

  No matter how pleasantly I spoke to Caroline, I couldn’t remember the last time she had spoken to me in a civil tone of voice. Her voice had become deep, dark, and menacing over the years. Today she sounded almost like Darth Vader. “Why can’t you send him a plane ticket?”

  “I’d rather drive down there. I . . . I need the time alone to clear my head.”

  “What about Miss Thang? If she’s coming with you, you’d better leave her uppity ass in the car, because I do not want to look at her butt face.”

  “She’s not coming with me.”

  “And I’m telling you here and now, the first time my son calls me and tells me she’s mistreating him, I’m coming up there to bitch slap her—and you, too, if you fuck with me while I’m doing it. Shit.”

  “Now, you look, Caroline. If you feel that way, we can leave him with you.”

  “No. I can’t deal with this boy another day. If you don’t come get him, I’m turning him over to the state. Let his ass rot in a foster home!”

  “Caroline, I’ll be there tomorrow evening. Please have him ready.” It took all the strength in my body for me to remain composed. “Now, good-bye, and you have a blessed evening.”

  It was a six-hour drive to L.A. I cried and cussed and slapped the steering wheel off and on the whole time. I couldn’t believe the mess my personal life had become. My marriage was less than ideal, my business was shaky, and to bring a troubled teenager into the equation could only make matters worse. There was not a day that went by that I didn’t think about how different things might have been if I had married Rachel. I was convinced that had I done so, my son would have benefited tremendously. And maybe I would have, too....

  I had eaten a light breakfast—toast, one egg, and a cup of coffee. When I arrived in L.A. around 2:00 p.m., my belly was growling. I decided to get something to eat, because I was going to need all my strength to deal with Caroline in person. She had recently moved into an apartment on some backstreet in Inglewood. To get there, I had to pass Roscoe’s House of Chicken and Waffles, one of the most popular restaurants in the area, because so many stars patronized it. I ordered a couple of pieces of fried chicken, some greens, and a soda. But as hungry as I was, I barely touched the food on my plate.

  It was just as well. When I got to Caroline’s gloomy street, what I saw was so disturbing, I would have puked, had there been enough food in my stomach. The parking lot of the four-story building she lived in looked like a three-ring circus. Drug dealers were openly selling drugs, whores were prancing around, advertising their wares, and young kids were smack-dab in the middle of this mess. A naked toddler darted out in front of my car, and if I had not noticed him in time, I probably would not have lived to talk about it. Everybody was looking at me like they wanted to skin me alive. My BMW was not that conspicuous. There were two others parked in front of the building, right next to hoopties and burned-out vehicles that looked like they had been sitting in the same spot for years. I got out of my car and spoke very cordially to a couple of scary-looking young men. Even though we all spoke the same language, my accent, which was cultured and refined compared to theirs, was a dead giveaway that I did not belong in this neighborhood.

  “Can you tell me what side of the building Caroline Mitchell lives on?” I asked a dreadlocked young brother who was blocking the building’s front entrance.

  “You her caseworker or a bill collector?” he asked.

  “You a cop?” asked the hooker standing next to him. She had a huge red Afro wig and wore a blue leather skirt and thigh-high boots.

  “No, I’m a friend of hers. I’m her son Darnell’s father,” I said, speaking as pleasantly as I possibly could.

  “She on the other side.” The hooker pointed. “Uh, you want some company later on?”

  I smiled. “Not today, but thank you, anyway.”

  Caroline lived in the first apartment on the second floor. The elevator was out of order, so I took the stairs up, huffing and puffing like a man twice my age. I was surprised to find the front door open when I got to her unit. The first person I saw was a pitch-black dude with an angry look on his face. He was stretched out on the living room couch, with a greasy gray do-rag wrapped around his head.

  “Is Caroline home? I’m Darnell’s father, and I’m here to pick him up,” I said. I stood in the doorway with my car key still in my hand.

  Instead of responding, the dude sat up and looked toward a back room. “Wooman, get your bum out here straightaway, wooman! Somebody here to see at you! And hurry it up so you can get in de kitchen and fix me a something to eat!” He had a foreign accent, and because his skin was so dark, I assumed he had come either from the dark side of one of the Caribbean islands or straight out of Africa.

  Caroline came flying into the room like a bat out of hell, and she looked like one, too. The cute girl I had known in high school now resembled an old hag. Dark circles surrounded her eyes like moats. Her lips were dry and chapped, and her skin looked like sandpaper. She wore a faded blue denim dress with stains in various colors on the front and sides, flip-flops that looked big enough for Hulk Hogan, and a blond wig that was so askew, it looked like she had been flying.

  She looked at me with a scowl on her face, of course, but she turned to the man on the couch and addressed him first. “You ain’t paralyzed, Oyey. If you want something to eat, you better take your black ass in the kitchen and fix it yourself. If you want a woman to slave for you, you better go on back to that village in Nigeria where you came from. Shit.” She turned back to me, with the scowl on her face that was even more severe. “It’s about time you got your ass down here, Seth. That boy is about to drive me crazy!” she yelled, waving her arms as she strode over to me.

  It was obvious that I was not going to receive an invitation to stay around long enough to do any type of socializing. And based upon all the empty beer cans strewn about the room, I had a feeling a whole lot of “socializing” went on in this place.

  “Is Darnell ready to go?”

  “You damn right he ready to go! And not soon enough!” Caroline hollered. She took a few steps back in the direction she had just come from. “Darnell! Get your black ass out here, boy! And be quick about it! I ain’t playing with you!”

  A few moments later, Darnell slunk into the room. It was hard to believe that this brooding young man was the same son I had cuddled when he was a toddler. This boy looked like he wanted to cuss out the world. Menacing tattoos decorated his arms and neck. His baggy clothes looked as if he had slept in them.

  “Son, are you ready to go?” I asked, placing my hand on his shoulder.

  “Yeah, I guess,” he growled, rolling his eyes. “I ain’t got no choice.”

  “I kept telling your ass that if you didn’t straighten up and fly right, I was going to send you to live with your daddy!” Caroline barked, hands on her hips. “Maybe he can beat some sense into your hard head.”

  I was so sick of people telling me to beat my child that my jaw started twitching. I looked at Caroline, and I did not like the smug look on her face. “Caroline, you know I don’t believe in beating children. I told you that years ago. There are more effective ways to discipline a young person these days.”

  “It don’t matter to me what you do to get this fool to behave! He ain’t my problem no more!”

  From the corner of my eye, I noticed a sad look cross my son’s face, and it made my chest ache. With mothers like Caroline, it was no wonder inner-city black boys were in such a sad state.

  After a few more minutes of small talk on my part, I excused myself and escorted Darnell to my car. And not a minute too soon. Three boys around my son’s age had already surrounded my vehicle, looking at it like it was something good to eat.

  It was a tense drive back to the Bay Area. We stopped only for gas and snacks, and Darnell kept his headphones on
most of the time. During the last twenty miles to our destination, he decided to talk.

  “You going to hook me up with a car of my own?”

  “A car? Don’t you think that’s a little premature?”

  “Premature. What that mean?”

  “There are other things we need to focus on before we talk about you getting a car. How are your grades?”

  “All right, I guess. They been passing me on to the next grade every year,” he said with a shrug. Then he looked at me with a strange expression on his face. “You still with that same woman?”

  “If you mean Darla, the answer is yes.”

  “I was hoping you’d tell me you and Rachel got back together. She was the coolest grown woman I ever met. She still in Berkeley?”

  “Uh, I think so. Why?”

  “Can I hook up with her some time?”

  “Absolutely not! That woman has caused me a lot of misery since we broke up, and I will not allow you to communicate with her at all. Is that clear?”

  “Yeah. Why? What did she do to you for you to be sounding so mad?”

  “That’s not important! The important thing is I don’t want you to have a damn thing to do with Rachel. Now you forget about her. She’s out of our lives. I’m through with her!”

  It would not be long before I found out that Rachel was not through with me. . . .

  Chapter 56

  Rachel

  IT HAD BEEN THREE MONTHS SINCE I’D SENT THAT ANONYMOUS LETTER to the IRS. From what I had seen on Seth’s calendar, his life still appeared to be peachy keen. He had lunch and dinner dates with everybody from his parents to more potential clients. One weekend he had the nerve to take his wife and her mother to Vegas. There had been no mention of the IRS, so I assumed they had not confronted him yet. Since I didn’t even know if they would, I had to go on to plan B. I wanted to torment him in a more personal way. That meant I had to get into his house and either trash it or take something that meant a lot to him.

  I had no trouble getting the address of the fancy new house Seth had purchased. He was listed in the telephone book, so that information was public. Had it not been, I could have easily gotten it from public records at the courthouse.

  I checked his e-mail on a daily basis. I knew his, Darla’s, and his son’s schedules for the next two weeks, so my checking out his place was not going to be a problem. But since I had never broken into somebody’s house, I needed some “professional” assistance. I knew not to ask Lucy or Paulette to help me. I had not seen or heard from Patrice since she’d dropped off that barbecue sauce. Surprisingly, Lucy and Paulette had not heard from her since that night, either. I certainly wouldn’t have asked Patrice to help me do anything, especially since I had decided to tell her not to call me or come to my apartment anymore. I still didn’t want any of my friends to know what I was up to, and for more than one reason. For one thing, if I got caught, I didn’t want to take any of my friends down with me.

  I knew I could not ask Uncle Albert to help me, for the same reason. Just the sight of a cop made him tremble. His boyfriend, Kingston, had offered to kick Seth’s ass more than once, so I knew he was the type who wouldn’t think twice about helping me with my plan. I didn’t consider that possibility, though. Kingston drank a lot of that rice sake and smoked a lot of weed, so his brain was probably mush by now. It would just be a matter of time before he blabbed my business to my uncle. I had convinced Uncle Albert that I had gotten Seth out of my system and had moved on with my life. Well, I had moved on with my life, but it included getting more revenge against Seth.

  As far as I knew, Seth had no idea that I was the cause of some of his problems since our breakup. Other than that day in the restaurant, when I had embarrassed him in front of his lunch companion, he had nothing on me. I would let him know eventually, because I wanted him to know that I had gotten my revenge. In the meantime, I wanted to keep my actions on the down low. I had a lot more in store for that man.

  I had not seen Skirt since I’d run into him at a club a couple of months ago. He had arrived with one of his many women on his arm, and I’d been with a date, but that hadn’t stopped Skirt from showing me some affection. He had strutted up to me and kissed me passionately on the lips. His sister Paulette had told me that he was still in and out of trouble with the law. That didn’t surprise me. He had confessed to me one night that his criminal activity had begun with a few armed robberies while he was still in junior high school. Of all his crimes, the only one he had never been apprehended for was breaking and entering. Alarm systems and even guard dogs didn’t faze Skirt. He had tools that he used to disable alarm systems. He’d laughed when he told me about the time he had burglarized a doctor’s house while the doctor was asleep in bed. He had sprayed the doctor, his wife, their live-in housekeeper, and their two huge German shepherds with some kind of concoction that worked like the tranquilizers animal handlers used.

  Skirt was currently between prison stints, so I knew that if I wanted to recruit him before he got locked up again, I had to act fast. I didn’t act fast enough. He had changed his cellular phone number. And because he always lived with one of his lady friends, I couldn’t call him on his home phone or go to his residence.

  I waited a few days before I contacted Paulette and asked her if she’d give me her brother’s new cell phone number.

  “Yeah. Why?” she asked. “I thought you were done with that jackass years ago.”

  “I just wanted to say hello to him,” I replied. “I know his birthday is coming up soon. I’d like to wish him a happy birthday.”

  “Well, don’t bother. He’ll probably spend his birthday in jail. The cops picked him up at my house last night for beating up his girlfriend’s husband.”

  “Oh. Well, when he gets out, tell him I asked about him.”

  “Here’s his number. You can call him and tell him yourself.”

  I wrote Skirt’s new phone number on a notepad, but I was not sure if I’d use it.

  A week later I ran into him at Whole Foods Market. He noticed me first. I was in the checkout line, with a basket full of fruit and veggies, when somebody blew air on the back of my neck and then squeezed my behind. I whirled around, prepared to slap whoever it was.

  “Skirt! I thought you were in jail for beating up some woman’s husband,” I wailed.

  “Girl, that was another bum rap. When I told dude how his bitch had been chasing after me, he dropped the charges. Then I heard he kicked her ass!” Skirt laughed and clapped his hands. “Listen, my sister told me you asked about me last week and wanted my new phone number. What’s up?”

  “I just wanted to say hello and wish you a happy birthday,” I told him.

  “Is that all?”

  “Yep.”

  “That’s a goddamned lie!”

  “Huh?”

  “I ain’t playing with you, girl! You know I ain’t stupid. What did you really want to talk to me about?”

  I turned around briefly to make sure the people in front of me were not listening before I answered Skirt’s question. I gave him a guarded look before I continued. “Well, I had a project I was trying to put together, and I thought you could help me with it.”

  “Uh-huh.” Skirt’s eyes got big. He leaned back and looked me up and down for a few seconds, licking his lips the whole time. He straightened up and tilted his head to the side and gave me a look that made me tingle. “Baby, you look sexier than ever. Look at them titties,” he said in a low voice. The last thing I wanted to do was hop back into bed with Skirt, but I was prepared to do whatever it took to get him to help me.

  “Let me pay for my groceries, and I’ll meet you outside,” I told him.

  “That’s cool. I didn’t see nothing I wanted to buy, so I’m out of here now. I’ll wait for you out in the parking lot.”

  I had parked right in front of the store. When I got outside ten minutes later, Skirt was standing in front of the building, smoking a cigarette. He glanced at his watch. “It’s a
bout damn time. I thought maybe you was up in that damn store, trying to hatch an egg,” he complained.

  I stopped in front of him and gave him an exasperated look. “You saw how many folks were ahead of me in that line, Skirt.”

  “Whatever.” He dropped his cigarette on the ground. “You still live in the same place? I been toting around a world-beating hard-on for you since the last time we hooked up. If I don’t do something about it soon, my dick might freeze up on me or fall off.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Yes, I still live in the same place, but I am not interested in having sex with you again.”

  “What else would you want with me?” he asked with an incredulous look on his face. “Shit! A few minutes ago you said something about a project you wanted me to help you with.”

  I glanced around first to make sure nobody was close enough to hear what I had to say. “Uh, I thought we could do some business together.”

  This was the first time I had seen Skirt’s jaw drop. “Business? Me and you? What the hell kind of business could me and you have other than sex?” He guffawed long and loud, and that made me angry.

  “Never mind!” I snapped. I stormed off to my car, which was a few feet away, and he followed me.

  “Aw, girl. Don’t be like that. You can at least tell me what it is you really do want from me—if it ain’t some dick. And you can have that anytime, any day, any way you want it. I ain’t stingy.”

  “As tempting as that sounds, I’ll pass. I . . . I . . . Will you help me break into my ex’s house?” I said quickly.

  Skirt looked at me like I was speaking in tongues. “Say what?” he said with his head cocked to the side and both of his eyebrows furrowed.

  “You heard me.”

  “You full of surprises, ain’t you? You was too much of a Goody Two-shoes to continue being seen in public with me back when we first hooked up, and now you want me to help you commit a crime.” Skirt laughed some more.

  “Never mind,” I snapped. “Have a nice day.” I didn’t even bother to put my groceries in the trunk or on the backseat of my car. As soon as I got my driver door open, I flung the bag into the front passenger seat, and then I got in and slammed the door. Skirt remained in the same spot, shaking his head and laughing as I drove away.