“You tryna blackmail me? Your boy?”
B was my friend, but if it came down to my freedom or his life, that shit was a no-brainer.
Propping my good hand behind my head, I said, “Straight. Plus—”
“Plus what? Plus the hell what! You’re the one who introduced me to Lace, convinced her to let my broke ass move in while I pretended to have money. And speaking of money, don’t forget that I still owe you twenty g’s for the engagement ring you bought for me to give to Lace.”
That motherfucka knew the deal. “Ya damn straight! Don’t make me tell you again. Get your ass over here!”
“Naw, man. This ain’t worth me going to jail. Hell, I’ll take that rock off her finger tonight. You can have it back and I’ll go back to playing ball before I get involved with your bullshit.”
“Bullshit! Your sorry ass is washed up. Bad knees. Bad back. It’s my miracle that got you a fine-ass woman. Your tongue must do all the fuckin’ ’cause that’s the only thing you’re working right now. I told your punk ass it was an accident, nigga! Look, I’ll hook you up with a quarter of a mil and forgive your debt. I have a safe at Lace’s house with the money in it. Memorize this combination twenty-nine, seventeen, eighty-one, fifty-two, then unscramble it with that decoding shit we used in high school. Then never tell Lace I gave the combination to you.”
Right now, I needed to have every trick and dick close to me at my motherfuckin’ mercy. That ludicrous talk about Lace handling my business—“Everyone knows Lace is the one running this show and you’re just her dirty lil’ pimp ho”—was all about to change. Lace’s time had come to move on. But I wasn’t letting her leave with my money or her dignity. If Lace hadn’t brought Summer back into my life, she would’ve kept her job. Now I got a death on my hands because of Lace’s poor judgment. How in the fuck did Summer get to me? I should’ve had Reynolds kill Lace months ago.
Interrupting my thoughts, Benito mumbled, “Say what? For real? A quarter of a mil?”
That dumb fuck would bury his white stepmother for two hundred and fifty g’s. No matter how hard Benito tried, I knew he was never her favorite son anyway. That’s another reason why I hooked him up with Lace. Two rejects automatically became legitimately blind codependents. Each one aware of the other one’s faults. Both incognizant of their own baggage and shit.
My whole world was fucked up because my parents didn’t love me. Whateva. Niggas with one fuckin’ excuse after another needed to lie down and die, get the fuck bulldozed over, or get over their fucked-up childhoods and move on. Complaining and shit wasn’t going to change a motherfuckin’ thing. B would gladly take my dollar, but since he retired that mentally decapitated fuck wouldn’t get up off his ass to make dime.
Easy money. That’s why there were so many beautiful, brainless bitches waitin’ for a G like me to rescue them from themselves. I could snatch an educated bitch off Wall Street and with the right incentives, make her walk a beat. And I had no regrets. If a trick was stupid enough to let me sell her pussy, I was just the man for the job.
In the worst way, Benito wished that white chick hadn’t adopted him. Until he turned ten, he gave her someone to love. But then his mommy married a black man, and surprisingly got pregnant after the doc told her she couldn’t have any children. Blah, blah, blah…so sad.
Then his stepbrother, her biological son, was one of those elitist Negroes. Half black, half white, utilizing whatever ethnicity was beneficial to him at the time. Benito was too proud and too black to follow his brother’s lead, claiming one day he wanted to find his real parents because his adoptive mother never changed his adopted name. Boo-hoo-hoo. That was because she never wanted his ass in the first place. Benito needed to wise the hell up and man the fuck up.
But that trick couldn’t wait to give her son his father’s name, Grant Hill the second. If he wasn’t Benito’s brother, I would’ve paid somebody to whup his ass when we were in high school. I guess my boy should be thankful that white broad gave him a better life than his crackhead mammy and deadbeat pappy. And he should be grateful that I gave him somebody to love him back. Lace St. Thomas was the baddest, smartest, finest bitch in the state of Nevada. That was straight-up factual and too bad because I was exterminating Lace. No way she’d become more important to my operation than me.
“I don’t know where no safe is. Besides, how you got a safe in my woman’s house and I don’t know about it?”
What a waste. That’s why I couldn’t put his ig’nant ass on my payroll.
“Straight. Trust me. I’ll tell you after you finish this assignment. Man, I don’t have anyone else I can trust. I have to get rid of this bitch before Lace gets back tomorrow, so get your ass over here now! And whatever you do, don’t tell Lace. I can’t afford for her nosy, analytical, wannabe, law-degree forensic scientific ass to get past my front door until this stiff trick disappears. Lace is worse than a bloodhound. You’ve got thirty minutes to get your ass over here or else.”
“Whatever, I—”
Cutting Benito off, I placed the gun on the nightstand, sat on the side of my bed stroking my dick, then mumbled, “This shit never would’ve happened if I hadn’t given Lace last night off.”
When Benito got quiet, I knew I was in like a mug. Niggas were stupid. A hint that another man might’ve been banging their trick and their heads were all fucked up. Why niggas took another G’s word over his bitch’s was beyond me, but with a few simple lies, I had Benito right where I needed him.
Finally he spoke. “What? She told me she worked last night.”
“Nigga, you slippin’. I’ma buy you a pussy pocket. See if you can keep track of that. You believe everything that comes out…and goes in Lace’s mouth? You’d better start tappin’ that ass and I don’t mean with your dick. You gotta pimp smack the fuck outta her a time or two to prove your manhood, nigga. Check your woman. If you don’t, next thing you know her balls will be bigger than yours. Oops, sorry, my brotha, they already are. I’ll school your ass when you get here. Hurry the fuck up so you can get this decomposing bitch outta my house, and don’t forget my ointment.”
CHAPTER 13
Summer
When I arrived home with my father, all I wanted was to curl in Sunny’s bed underneath the covers and pray my bad vibes were crossed with some sort of stomach virus. Unlacing my black tennis shoes, I left them at the front door.
Greeting us in the living room with AJ in her arms, Mama asked, “Well, Daniel, where’s my baby?” One look at my snotty nose, red eyes, and droopy cheeks, and my mama screamed, “Lord, no! Say it isn’t so!”
AJ yelled a piercing scream so I grabbed him.
“Calm down now, Helen, you upsetting our grandson. I’ma call the police,” Daddy said. Picking up the cordless phone, he dialed three numbers and waited. “Yes, I’d like to report my daughter missing…uh-huh…okay…thanks.”
Rocking my son, I watched Mama closely watching Daddy’s mouth. “Well, what’d they say?” Mom’s wide brown eyes bucked at Daddy as she eagerly anticipated a response.
“Helen, please, she’s my baby too. Give me a minute before I forget the number.” This time Daddy dialed seven digits, then repeated himself. “Uh-huh, okay, I’m on my way.” Hanging up the phone, Daddy looked at Mom and said, “Helen, go get some pictures of Sunny and get your coat. Baby girl, I think it’s best you stay here. We’ll take the baby with us. We gotta go file a report.”
Mama stared at me as Daddy took AJ. I tried to conceal my emotions, but when Mama hugged me I started crying on her shoulder.
“I’ll get the pictures,” Daddy said nervously, walking away, drying his eyes.
Sometimes it frightened me how connected Sunny and I were to my mother. Was I that obvious? “Mama, I don’t know anything for sure. We didn’t find her,” I said, easing from her embrace before I had another breakdown.
Bypassing my room, I noticed a large insulated yellow envelope on my bed, so I backed up. I’d ordered identical charm bracelet
s online at www.italianbraceletcharms.com for Sunny and me to wear. That was gonna be my sentimental connection to her while we were apart. Each bracelet had twenty-one charms to celebrate our twenty-first birthday tomorrow. I’d bought links with our names, best friends, Daddy’s girl, love Mom, a pink butterfly, angel wings, an emerald heart trimmed in gold, praying hands, Jesus loves me, and a cross embedded in a sunset because Sunny was my sunshine and I was the summer rain she loved to dance with to the song Luther Vandross sang about his father.
I flipped over the package to find the return address missing. Shaking the envelope, I smiled when I heard a jingle. Peeling away the tab, I peeped inside. Emptying the contents onto my comforter, I cried, unfolding the eight-and-a-half-by-eleven sheet of paper.
Sunny Day. Checking account number 000…beginning monthly balance $276,000. There were twenty-five deposits of $2,000 each. Ending balance $326,000. PIN 6250, our birthday backward. I flipped over a business card with the name and number of a Sapphire Bleu. Sunny must’ve put this in here by mistake, I said, tossing the card into the empty waste basket beside my bed. Setting the bank statement on the pillow, I removed a green notecard from a lime-colored envelope.
Dear Summer,
There’s so many things I want to tell you I don’t know where to start. How about I miss my Summer rain? I wish I was more like you. Isn’t that silly considering you’re my other half? If anything happens to me, I have a duplicate driver’s license inside my Bible. Close my account, sell my condo, and keep the money. I’ve always wanted to travel abroad—Paris, Rome, South Africa, Italy. Promise me if I die first that you’ll take a trip out of this country and carry my spirit with you. Don’t try to keep or move into the condo or drive my Benz. You might be endangering yourself. If I make it out of this prostitution ring, and I’m told none of Valentino James’s girls do so alive, I’m taking you on a trip far away from Henderson, Nevada, and I’m not accepting no for an answer.
Your sunshine,
Sunny
I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t swallow, and couldn’t stop the tears from falling. I had to find my sister and I knew just the ex-man to help me but had no idea where to find him.
In the upper left-side corner of the red, white, and blue statement was 555 Chestnut, number 201. Logging on to my laptop, I typed www.mapquest.com and got directions to a location near the North Las Vegas Airport where that small plane had recently crashed. Fortunately, no one in that accident was killed and I prayed Sunny was still alive.
I picked up Sunny’s house key, slipped it into my purse with the bank statement, and exited out the back door to my two-door Honda. By the time my parents returned, I’d be at my destination.
Arriving at Sunny’s condo, I parked in the lot on the back side in a space marked for visitors. The lighting was dim and her end unit was partially isolated. Climbing two flights of cement stairs to reach the second floor, I pulled the key out of my purse. Overcooked spaghetti couldn’t have been softer than the muscles in my legs as I slid the key into the hole.
Locking the door behind me, I called out, “Sunshine, where are you? It’s your Summer rain.”
Total quietness surrounded me as I stood in the living room. The condo was as I’d pictured. Looked like a model unit. Decorative gold and emerald plates sat alongside a forest-colored table runner that was perfectly stretched across the middle. Five eucalyptus-scented candles were tiered on a brass holder freshening the entire condo.
The kitchen was spotless. The stove had plate covers with our family pictures on two and our toddler photos on the other two. I smiled at the image of Sunny and me hugging and grinning at our thirteenth birthday party. At first we couldn’t wait to become teenagers; then we stayed up all night when we turned sixteen.
Suddenly I became sad again remembering our birthday was in an hour. The condo was freezing so I hugged myself praying my sister was safe. Entering the bedroom, I knew this had to be Sunny’s. Artwork by a famous artist out of Oakland named Eve Lynne Robinson, a relative of Ray Charles Robinson, hung over Sunny’s bed.
The bright orange canvas represented Sunny. The simple green dress represented me. And the poised dark-skinned woman with the golden hair reflected our Gemini personalities. As sweet as I was, I became a hundred percent evil whenever anyone messed with Sunny.
Noticing an envelope on her nightstand, I stuffed it in my purse. Whatever was inside, I was positive I couldn’t handle knowing. Not right now anyway. Since the rooms were identical, I’d see my room later. Sunny’s bed was where I wanted to lie. Clutching the Bible to my chest, I knelt beside Sunny’s queen-sized canopy and silently prayed. Pulling back the comforter, I removed my tennis shoes and tucked myself in. If God heard me, Sunny would come home soon and I’d be here to welcome her with loving arms.
CHAPTER 14
Benito
“If I get fired, your fuckin’ ass had best not be here when I get back!” were Lace’s last words before slamming the door, and all I said was, “I love you, baby,” which probably irritated her even more. But what Lace couldn’t see was those words came from my heart, not my mouth.
I’m a man. A black man. A grown man. But what does being grown, black, and male mean in America? Oh, say, can you see? I have no factual documented history on this dirt or a desire to patronize a society that ostracizes me based on the color of my skin.
My jaded mind-set and countless issues were embedded in the DNA passed to me from my ancestors who were castrated and hanged for fun during slavery at picnics—which were literary pick-a-nigga-and-hang-his-ass gatherings—where white folks ate, drank, and were merry while the fat white dude in a red suit with a white beard called Ol’ St. Nick, who fucked whomever he damn well pleased, including children, was someone I was taught to believe in because he brought me…toys?
Excuse me if I forget to laugh or hate the fact that my brother can pass for white while the devil robs my breath at night. I can’t move. Can’t yell. Although I’m alive I’m trapped in a hellhole, black hole, on hold.
My heart was so heavy, loving Lace helped balance my energy. But why couldn’t my black woman understand I needed her to uplift me? To help me. For her to see me as more than what the white man denounced me to be.
Sitting in the living room, I flipped through over six hundred cable channels on Lace’s flat screen and couldn’t find one show that wasn’t on a black station and had more than two black men with starring roles.
Yet a black man is expected to sing sweet land of liberty when the only thing he’s free to do is die or be killed by a trigger-happy cop who plants a gun on the black man, then tells the sergeant it was self-defense while he vacations on administrative leave awaiting his reprieve.
Yes, I’m angry. Yes, I’m hostile. Yes, I’m a product of my environment, but all anyone ever sees when they look at me is a burly black man, which usually accompanies their predetermination of my being a monkey with a tail out on bail.
The white man sees a threat. The black man, like my boy Valentino, sees a debt due unto him. The white woman sees a big banana-sized dick that tastes ten times better than the white chocolate she has at home. And the black woman sees a quick hitch or overnight fix to repair her single parenthood into a family unit, not caring whether or not we are united. That’s how I slipped up and married Tyra’s ass.
But Lace was right. I needed to get out of the house or else I was gonna drive myself crazy with all this time to do nothing but think about rhetoric that most folks cared less about.
“What’s wrong with me? Acting like a child.” If Lace had mentioned buying me a pussy pocket, I would’ve exploded in her face the minute she walked through the door.
Powering off the television, I thought of Lace buying expensive stuff to come all over, then spending ridiculous money to have me take it to the dry cleaner’s, how illogical and a waste of our money it all was. I could’ve used that change toward starting my business.
Lifting the leopard throw from the floor, I felt a hard obj
ect scraping my palm. Massaging the soft hairs, I discovered a piece of plastic attached.
“So this is what scratched Lace’s pussy. I knew it wasn’t me, I knew it. I can’t wait until she gets home so I can shove this in her face and prove her know-it-all behind wrong.”
Sounded all good but I knew I’d back down the minute Lace would raise her voice, then threaten to kick me out.
Rolling the vacuum cleaner back and forth, I did what I’d often do when Lace wasn’t around, talked to myself. “Forget that idiot Valentino. I’m no fool. Sure Lace and I had problems in our relationship, but what couple doesn’t? I’m a lucky man to have a woman who loves and financially supports me. A woman most men, married or single, would gladly screw if they could. Valentino wasn’t slick. He probably wanted my woman too. I love Lace, but the thought of her giving my pussy to another man…is deeper than any woman could comprehend. Ou wee! I will beat the crap out of the dude if I catch him, but I could never slap my bread and butter. Lace knew I’d take care of her if I could afford to.”
Wrapping the black cord around my fist, I yanked it from the socket.
“Where was she? She came in here last night acting like things were normal…was I hearing right? Did Valentino say two hundred and fifty g’s? Maybe I shouldn’t trip. Lace was a good woman…two hundred and fifty g’s? Friend or no friend, a pimp like Valentino didn’t give away money for free. Either he was bullshitin’ or I…fuck that, where was Lace last night? That woman made me go against my own principles.”
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