Graveyard Love

by T. C. Littles

  I backed out of the hotel room and spoke with security about why I was here and how I’d found him. I kept making it known I’d just found him in this condition, not murdered him.

  “Listen, ma’am, we must hold you until the cops get here for questioning.” The security guard stayed tightlipped as I plead my innocence.

  “But I ain’t did nothing. This could be my job, sir!” By this time, I was getting hysterical. The only reason I was here in the first place was that I needed the money. If I lost my job, I’d really be up shit creek without a paddle.

  “Calm down, ma’am. This is just a normal procedure.”

  He walked away, and I was left in the hallway with another security guard to make sure I didn’t leave. I slid down the wall with my heart racing, wishing with all of my might I could go back just twenty minutes ago. I would’ve taken my ass home to my kid instead.

  When the elevator bells went off, I turned and saw my manager getting off. Aw, shit, it’s about to be hell. It was company policy for employees not to fraternize or stay in the casino’s hotel with patrons. Not only was I in violation, but also I was busted red-handed with a dead body.

  “Iesha Morrison, you have some serious explaining to do.”

  Spade

  “Let me get five dozen of these long-stemmed rainbow roses, my dude.” I spread five large bills across the counter griming the small Chinese man. I swear they owned everything in the hood.

  “No problem, sir. You like vases for them or just wrapped in box?” His broken English aggravated me.

  “How in the fuck am I supposed to get five fuckin’ vases home, chinky? Huh? Wrap them bitches up so I can be out.” I was rude and disrespectful to him and his race and didn’t care or show any remorse. He and his people stayed opening businesses in our communities and overcharging, so why should I care about how I spoke to them?

  He scurried off to get the boxes for the roses I was purchasing for Jakia. I owed her a few peace offerings for yesterday, and this was just one of the stops on my list.

  She’d been eyeing a pair of Gucci leather sandals and a matching bag that I’d surprise her with that should help ease her open wound, so I needed to hit the mall before the crowd and make it back before she woke up. And from the pounding I put on her face, pussy, and that tight, virgin asshole, she should be out cold for a few more hours.

  “Would you like the vases in a separate bag, sir? They be nice for you girlfriend,” he smiled, showing a rack of gray, rotten teeth.

  “Yeah, man, whatever.” I threw another hundred on the counter.

  I hit up Rocko’s cell when I got back to my truck to check in, but it went to voicemail after a few rings. Knowing my dude, he was probably still paying ole girl off with some stroke for the overcharging.

  I couldn’t blame him ’cause she’d come in handy, fa’sho. When we finally got a chance to speak business, I’d let him know I was ready to rock-n-roll on the lames he’d been watching.

  I set the cruise control to 70 and coasted up I-75N toward Somerset Mall. It’s whatever. I’m about to spend a few racks on myself too.

  Somerset Mall was in the suburban city of Troy, almost thirty minutes from the city of Detroit where Rocko and I did most of our dirt. I parked in valet even though my truck reeked of green buds, then walked in ready to do some damage.

  I got a mad rush when it came to spending other niggas’ hard earned cash. For it to still be early, the mall was packed with big spenders eager to splurge. I might’ve been walking with rich white men from elite walks of life, but my pockets had bricks of cash in them ready to spend just like theirs. Today was like any other day for me. I demanded respect, and when I didn’t get it—I took it.

  Within thirty minutes, I’d spent over a grand on just myself, and it felt hella good. I’d copped a Louis Vuitton belt with a matching shirt and kicks, plus a few pair of denim shorts for the summer season.

  My swag game was getting ready to be hella official. We’d made licks before that set us up to make moves—but never this major. For once, I wasn’t worried about writing a check I couldn’t cash or breaking the bank.

  After setting Jakia up right with her Gucci stilettos, purse to match, and some Mac makeup to cover the bruises I’d so effortlessly beat on her face, I was on my way out the exit until the salesman at Rogers & Holland’s jewelry store flagged me down.

  “Excuse me, sir, I see you’re taking some fine gifts home to your lady.” He noticed the bags I was carrying. “Let me get a moment of your time to show you a few things that’ll really have her smiling.” He walked out into the hallway putting his arm over my shoulder.

  “Hey, dude, I’m gonna need about five feet.” I backed up, letting him know off rip I wasn’t comfortable with a man touching me.

  “Not a problem. My apologies.” He stepped back adjusting his gray tie. “Please, if you have a moment, sir, let me show you a few pieces that you might be interested in.” He took another glance down at the high-priced shopping bags in my hands and couldn’t resist the urge to lay his sales pitch on thick. “And if you like what you see and are ready to buy, I’ll give you a real sweet deal.”

  “Shit, man, yeah—whatever. Lead the way.”

  By the time he was done showing me displays of diamonds, including watches, rings, earrings, bracelets, and the catalogue of merchandise giving me the option to customize a piece, my pockets were three grand shorter.

  “Here you go, sir,” he slipped the 1-karat white gold diamond ring on my pinky finger. “And I’m sure your beautiful lady will love this gorgeous Julianna-style engagement ring. The diamonds are flawless, simply impeccable at a full carat to show just how devoted you are to her.” He smiled widely as I handed him thirty crisp one hundred-dollar bills knowing his commission just went straight through the roof.

  “A’ight, my dude, you can chill trying to up-sale me shit else. You’ve worked my pockets enough.” I swooped up my bags, not being rude, but feeling my pockets take a hit.

  I was glad he’d hooked me up with the jewels, but in the back of mind, I was already plotting on another hit.

  “Well, here’s my card if you change your mind. You’ll be needing a band to go with that ring once you two set a date. Congratulations, by the way.”

  I threw my hand up as I strutted out the door. “Yup, yup, holla at cha’, playa.”

  Jakia

  The morning after was always the worst, but this particular sunrise was terrible. I peeked through my eyes seeing the room was pitch black but couldn’t manage even opening them wide. Spade had smacked me in the face more times than I could count, and I could still hear my ears ringing from his mighty blows.

  I lay there feeling miserable and alone. I missed my brother but resented him for sending me to hook up with Spade in the first place. Since the first day of being under his grip, I haven’t had my own mind or another alternative for happiness.

  I took a deep breath feeling my chest cave in at the excruciating pain. I was scared to take another one just in case my lung had collapsed. I couldn’t even use my hands to rub my wounds ’cause even they ached.

  Spade had been far from the love of my life as he bent each finger back on both of my hands like a monster. At that moment, I prayed for death.

  Feeling the sensation to pee, I climbed out of bed, wishing I had a catheter. As gross as it sounded, anything would’ve been better than pissing from my sore coochie hole Spade slammed in and out of relentlessly last night.

  I picked at his come on my thighs and around my mouth as I swallowed hard, almost gagging at the salty taste. The few minutes before I blacked out, he was tag teaming my tonsils with no remorse.

  After grabbing a few crackers and a bottle of water, I checked the mail and was overjoyed to see Juan had written back. I’d taken a chance giving him my home address. Spade seldom got the mail, but if he did, I’d just suffer the consequences like I’d been doing for doing nothing at all. I ripped the envelope open to a one-page letter, front and back, that
I couldn’t wait to read.

  Jakia, baby sis . . .

  Thanks for the cash on my books, but I’m so sorry for sending u to that bitch nigga. It was hard reading the type of shit u out here doing.

  My word, when I’m out, he gonna have 2 explain his beef with u. I swear to Allah I’m gonna take care of shit, sis, better than b4. I been learning shit in here no man can take away, and fuck that nigga for putting his hands on u.

  I wish him death b4 I get out cuz payback gonna be a bitch. Have u seen Momma in them streets? I gotta get my whole fam right. Be strong, sis. I talk to my lawyer in a few days to give up Spade and his ho-ass cousin.

  4u, I’ma let the grain hold itself down and come out like a snitch. I love u, sis. It’s cool. Ain’t no man worth my time. Be strong ’cause u got that Coleman blood.—1.

  Juan

  My legs felt like putty as I took a seat on the bottom step crying my eyes out. If Juan got out of jail early, my whole life would be fixed. I swear I couldn’t take this shit anymore. Spade was turning me into something I truly hated, a wounded bitch.

  8

  Iesha

  I sat in the corner of the hotel room in the large, plush chair biting away at my fingernails. The 710-square-foot room seemed to be the size of a thimble as Michigan State Police officers crowded in dusting for fingerprints, taking pictures of the crime scene, and what daunted me the most—their constant questioning of me.

  “Ms. Morrison, how is it that you knew Mr. Taylor?”

  My supervisor stood over me with a tight lip, waiting for me to give my response.

  “I met him down in the gaming room this evening. So, I guess you could say I didn’t really know him,” I stuttered.

  “Tsk tsk tsk! Iesha,” she whispered through clenched teeth.

  The officer put his hand up to silence her, then continued. “And what were you doing here?”

  As if he couldn’t tell from the skimpy, hot-pink minidress I was wearing what my intentions were, I humored him simply because I didn’t have another choice. Had he been a bum from the hood, I would’ve cut into him rough and raw.

  “He asked me to meet him here when I got off. So I went home, got dressed, and came back. That’s when I found him. He was dead when I got here.”

  “He asked you where? You need to be very specific with me right now, because, as of now, my superior is telling me to take you to the station. I’m trying to work with you.”

  White people scared me, and he was no different. I broke under pressure. I went over everything from the first greeting he and I shared. I started babbling beginning with the first moment ole boy and I first flirted, the huge tip, proposition, and exchange of numbers.

  I even broke down crying about the eviction notice taped to my door yesterday, which prompted all of this tricking business in the first place. I didn’t care if my shabby life wasn’t much to go back to—I wasn’t trying to end up fighting a murder case.

  “We’ve got the tapes,” another officer announced, saving my behind from further questioning.

  “Now, Ms. Morrison, I won’t see anything on these tapes that are contradictory to the story you’ve just told me, right?”

  I hopped up from the chair excited as hell. I knew my story would check out. “Hell naw, let’s run that tape!” As the film began to play back tonight’s events over the 42-inch television, I wiped the tears from my eyes happy that I was about to be cleared.

  “Don’t get all happy now, Iesha. You broke several rules, so regardless how this plays out, your continued employment with this casino is still up for termination,” my manager rudely snapped, then crossed her arms while waiting on the tapes to finish.

  The casino’s security tapes were so vivid, meticulous, and close-up on every patron gambling at the tables and slots that it made my skin crawl. If I hadn’t told the truth, my story was about to check out right about now.

  I watched myself on tape serve the late-great-possible-trick, lead him to the bar, and even take the wad of cash he considered a tip. Watching him on film made me wish I would’ve gotten a chance to feel his stroke for real—for real. He was sexy as hell.

  “Hey, stop that tape. He left with that girl!” I’d forgotten all about him dissing me for some rich, paid-looking woman. Well, here she was, and now the heat was shifting from me.

  “Can we get close-up shots of this woman?” the officer standing nearest to me spoke up after hearing my claims. “From the time she enters the casino until the time she leaves, I want tapes from every camera in here. I don’t understand what type of sloppy security team allows this ratchet bullshit to happen. Well, not on my watch,” he yelled, turning beet red. “I want a list of everyone who was involved with this room, cleaned this room, and dealt this dead man his last card. Leave no rock unturned when it comes to solving this murder, you peons!”

  As all the cops scattered around trying to appease the obvious boss, I sat quietly in my seat like a church mouse afraid of getting caught. All of this bullshit, and for what? Those few Benjies ain’t even get me off of scraps.

  Ring! Ring! Ring! Ring!

  “Captain, it’s the man’s wife on the phone,” another cop said, holding the phone out so someone else could deliver the grave news.

  My manager used that time to snatch me into the hallway where she gave me the tongue-lashing of a lifetime. I watched her mouth move as she attempted to belittle me, but I was too caught up in trying to figure out how I was going to pay my eviction notice tomorrow.

  “Iesha Morrison, you’re no longer an employee of this hotel. Please remove your belongings from the locker downstairs. Security will be certain to escort you out.”

  “I don’t give two sweet fucks, lady. You can shove this job up your tight asshole and go straight to the burning fires of hell.” I hawked up a glob of spit in her face. What did it matter? As of now, I had no job and was on my way to getting sat out on my ass.

  She stood in amazement as I devilishly grinned at her, knowing she wouldn’t spit back. “You little degenerate,” she grimed me before screaming to the cops to arrest me on assault charges.

  They waved her off as there were more important things to tend to. Her petty claims were mediocre compared to an unsolved murder case.

  “Bye, Felicia!” I burst out into laughter, then ran down the hall toward the staircase. I could hear her talking cash-shit to the cops in the background, but I didn’t care.

  Wasn’t no one checking for my unemployed, broke ass with a dead body sprawled out in a casino hotel. I took the steps down two at a time until I bolted out the door, running full speed. Forget just leaving this hotel. I was about to jump fresh out of Detroit. After this night from hell, I needed a fresh start. Iesha Morrison was officially off into the wind.

  Rocko

  “Hey, ma, wake up. Rise and grind. It’s time for you to start making moves up out the D.”

  I was already up watching the block and thinking over where I’d squat at next. As much as my dick wanted thirds and fourths of Lezlee’s kinky sex acts, I wasn’t the type of man that made decisions based upon a nut.

  “Aw, are you serious? What about what we talked about earlier? You ain’t trying to make moves with me?”

  I wasn’t trying to hurt Lezlee’s feelings or send her back to Chicago scorned, but in a hot second, there wasn’t about to be any other way.

  “Listen, once everything blows over with your now deceased boss—we’ll hook up. You’ve gotta play the game, baby girl.” I leaned over and kissed her cheek as she looked up at me believingly.

  “Say you promise.” She grabbed my head and locked eyes with me.

  Ring! Ring! Ring!

  “Grab ya, phone, ma; you got it.” I was saved by the phone and able to blow off her question.

  “I ain’t worried about this phone,” she mumbled, then rolled over to snatch it up from the floor anyway. “Oh my God! Rocko, shit—what should I do? It’s Robert’s wife calling!”

  “Calm your ass down and breathe
,” I yelled. “Answer the phone and try not to act any different.”

  “Hi, Mrs. Taylor. This is Lezlee.” The longer she held the phone, the worst her facial expression got. Within forty-five seconds of hearing the woman’s rundown, Lezlee had crumbled and was stuttering and crying into the woman’s ear. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Taylor. I’m soooo sorry. Please, fo—”

  Before I knew it, I was having a Spade moment. I didn’t know what her next few syllables were, but I wasn’t taking a chance. With all intent of yoking Lezlee up, I snatched her up by her throat ready to choke the life out of her. “Are you fucking crazy? Keep it short and end the call,” I mouthed.

  “No, no, I haven’t talked to him since earlier.” She paused, looking at me with panic. She wore nothing but anxiety on her face. “I told him what time the car would be out front and his itinerary for the day. Then we ended the call. I haven’t spoken with him since.”

  Unlike Spade’s girl, Jakia, it was apparent Lezlee wasn’t cut out for the games I was into. “Don’t you say one wrong word,” I spoke in a low, powerful tone.

  Tears streamed down her chocolate face as she held the phone for what seemed like an eternity. After making her turn the volume up, I hovered over her, listening closely to hear whatever leads they might’ve had without needing Lezlee’s translations.

  From what I could make out through the wife’s screams, Detroit police had found her husband dead and was apparently hot on the case. They were going over security footage, dusting for possible prints, checking with other guests to see if they heard or saw anything, but there were two main things his wife said that had even a gangster like me shook up.

  They were planning to release a picture to the news of the woman he was last seen with to stir up leads, and they were dusting his body for prints, bodily fluids, and hair. Since it was clear her dead husband was a cheater, she at least wanted to know who the whore was who killed and robbed him.