Torn by the Code

by Eureka

  Flex came back into the party a few minutes later with the blond female right behind him. Both of them tried to play it off as if they weren’t just in his truck busting nuts all up in there. I watched as Flex adjusted his clothing discreetly as he made his way to the restroom. When he made eye contact with me, I cut my eyes and looked away. He continued to the bathroom, and I continued to play the good wife in front of Naheri and his colleagues.

  Inside, I was seething with anger. I wanted to confront Flex. I was about to make strides toward the bathroom but decided against it. Thoughts flashed to the child we already had. I thought we would never be able to have a happy life. Living a lie was getting to me. There were so many days I planned to come clean because the guilt was eating me alive, but I got too deep into the game, and there was never a right time.

  Chapter 8

  Light It Up

  “Dutch, I’m a man, and I had needs. Li’l buddy was something to do. I never loved her. She was good for me to fill those days and nights when you were with your husband and our son playing family and shit. What else was I supposed to do? Baby, I couldn’t have you, so what was I supposed to do?”

  “You know what? Fuck it! Fuck it, fuck it! I don’t have time to think about this shit right now. I need my son back in my arms. Nothing and no one else matters,” I said as I walked out of the room.

  Flex almost lost his footing as he rushed behind me and swung me around to look him straight in the eyes. “You serious right now? Really? How the fuck could you say that, Dutch? All this time you have been married, and I had no one because I could never get past the love I have for you. How could you just say fuck it—fuck us? I didn’t have you, and I especially didn’t have our son,” he said, emphasizing the word “our.” I have sat back and watched how the choice we both made and the lifestyle we chose to live caused us to be lonely. “Yeah, I banged the broad. But she meant nothing to me. All I wanted was you. All I have ever wanted was you. How the hell did you think I felt when you gave birth to my firstborn, my seed, and I couldn’t even be in the room? That shit damn near killed me! When I first laid eyes on him, I knew he was mine.”

  He looked into my eyes as my tears began to fall down my cheeks. I had to think about every word he spoke, and my heart went out to him because he was right. How could I be mad at him for trying to find a piece of happiness while I stayed in a marriage of convenience?

  “You’re right, Flex. But you didn’t find that odd that Bridgette would call you? I mean, if you weren’t official, why she would call you? And for that matter, how did Rasta even know y’all were messing around? Some shit not sitting right with me about this at all.” I always thought out every detail. That was how I had been able to escape and live another day and not get locked up . . . by staying one step in front of the rest.

  “You’re right; we were not exclusive, and out of the whole time we saw each other, I never took her out too much in public. If we did go out, I would always get a quick drive-through meal, and every car I had always had a dark tint with bulletproof glass. The more I think about it, the more things really don’t add up.” Flex paused a moment. “Hey, Dutch, how long ago did that shit happen with Rasta’s brother?”

  “Man, that shit was over two years ago. I knew I should have hunted him down and killed his ass. Why you ask that?”

  “I think this sh—” He stopped midsentence as he answered his vibrating cell phone. “Yo, what’s the word?”

  Chapter 9

  My Screw Face

  “Ow, why the hell you hit me like that? That shit hurt!” I yelped and rubbed my face.

  “Mi sorry, Bridggy. Mi had to make it sound good. Besides, that fool boi not gonna come just for ya ass alone. Mi had to make it real fo dem,” he said as he leaned over and kissed me on my face. “Pretty soon dis be ova. You did good, me vanilla bean. Mi would never have known anyting about the son if you hadn’t told me. So the bitch is more dutty than mi thought. How she lying to this doctor husband, and he be lying to her? These Yankees are so treacherous. Mi no trust none of dem.”

  Rasta sat there with a smirk on his face. His plan was coming together. He had set Naheri up right where he wanted him. He played on the weakness of any man in love: a woman. “Seems to mi de bad boi has a hidden motive,” Rasta said as he shrugged his shoulder, smiling widely as he looked over at me. At that time, I was partaking in the drug of my choice. He watched me as I reared my head backward and pushed a white substance up my nose. The night I was “abducted,” we staged everything. Rasta needed me to make his plan work in exchange for some of the purest cocaine Jamaica had to offer. It was a win in my book. I didn’t have to do much to keep my expensive habit afloat.

  Rasta told me after Dutch or Elana killed his brother, it put him in a position where he was reduced to poverty. He was back down to scraps and pennies, which made his thirst to kill her even greater. No one would deal with him. Word was out that he was a snitch, and he was the one who set his own brother up to be robbed and killed. When he did find one of his brother’s old connects that was willing to deal with him, he ran off with over ten kilos with a net worth of $250,000. When his spot got robbed, he was stuck. They wanted their dope or the money. The only way around it was to pay up . . . or die.

  The only other thing they wanted more than the money or dope was the Great Dutchtress. He promised to deliver her head to them in a gym bag, and that would wipe his debt away. I wanted to ask him who “they” were, but I thought I was already in it to the point of where if I knew any more, my life would be in jeopardy. It made me shiver when he said he wanted her son to be there when her head rolled across the floor.

  “Make de boi some food and bring it to him. He need to eat someting before he see his moma dead,” he sternly said to me. Then he sat back in the chair and watched me move to obey his orders. I was half high and only semiaware of what his orders were. Slowly, I got up, barely standing, sluggishly grabbed a sandwich from the counter, and carried it into a small, dimly lit room.

  Little Naheri lay there in the same clothes he had on for a week already. His little face was swollen from the beatings he had been receiving when he would cry out for his mother. Rasta showed the small child no mercy. In Rasta’s mind, the boy’s mother was the reason for his downfall, and he would make her pay by any means necessary.

  I threw the plate next to his head, barely missing him. Then I stumbled back out of the room. Rasta looked at me with a frown on his face as if he smelled something rotten.

  “Fuck this! I ain’t no fuckin’ babysitter! Give me my shit so that I can go!” I said in protest.

  “Shut up, stupid crackhead. Ya be who I say ya be. Now come ’ere and do the ting ya know well, bitch.”

  I walked over and dropped to my knees in front of him and placed his short, stubby manhood in my dry-ass mouth. I started bobbing my head up and down on his manhood like he told me. I couldn’t stop until he came in my mouth. When he finished, he looked at me with a disgusted expression, laughed, then pushed me to the floor, zipped up his pants, stood up, and walked into the bathroom, making sure to slam the door.

  I lay on the floor in an altered state of mind. The drugs had taken effect the way I wanted them to. I felt nothing: no guilt, no pain, no depression. I knew deep down that once his plan was over, he would have no use for me, and he would kill me just as quick as Elana’s head rolled. I cursed my life and what I had become—a bottom-of-a-barrel bitch—and not in a good way.

  My life was out of control and was unbearable. I had turned tricks for money and drugs before Naheri gave me the job as a receptionist in his office. I was grateful to him since all of my close friends and family turned against me. They could not take all the lying and stealing of their shit when they tried to help me. My family quickly put two and two together and figured out that I was on drugs and would do anything to get them, which included selling my ass on the street. Honestly, Naheri had a place in my heart. He was the only one who treated me with respect and gave me the tools
to have some dignity about myself, and he didn’t even realize it.

  When Rasta first approached me with his plan, I didn’t want to do it. But after a night of drugs and drinking, he gained some information from me about her family. Where they lived and where they worked. He was smart. Got me talking about my life and how much shit I went through with my family to have them believing that I was finally clean and living a good Christian life. He used that information to make me go along with the plan, and if I didn’t, every one of them would die because of me. I couldn’t have that on my head. I promised to do as he asked as long as my family was unharmed, and he kept my secret.

  I lay on the floor with come still dripping from the sides of my mouth.

  “Get up! And go wash ya ass! I swear you witch sure look ugly wen ya no dun up.” Rasta shook his head in disbelief as he headed out the door.

  Once I heard the door slam behind him, I slowly rose up and made my way to the bathroom. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror—and I immediately threw up. The sight of my worn and frail-looking image made me sick. What have I done to me? Who am I? I wiped the mirror thinking that it was my mind playing tricks on me again. Quickly, I splashed water on my face aggressively. Then I grabbed a washcloth hanging by the sink and dipped it under the hot, running water. I scrubbed my face, hoping it would rub this fucked-up look off it. After that, I stared at the reflection in the mirror . . . and started to rub my face again with the washcloth. I wanted to tear away my skin.

  “This can’t be life; this won’t be my life.” I continued to scrub my face as I yelled, “Oh hell, no, I’m out of here! Fuck this shit!”

  I didn’t know if it was the strength of the coke I was on or if I was really prepared to change. All I knew was at that very moment, I had had enough! No longer would I allow men and drugs to define me. I turned the water off, ran into the living room, and grabbed some clothes. That’s when I heard him. The moaning and crying came from Junior in the other room.

  “Mommy, Daddy!” his little voice cracked from dehydration.

  I walked over to the room where the scared and battered child lay.

  One part of me wanted to turn and walk the other way. I don’t want no part of this crazy shit anymore! I’m not with hurting a child. Fuck this; I’m out!

  I hurried to the door and slowly turned the knob, but it was as if something was holding me back. I looked over my shoulder, cursing myself for what I was about to do. I knew that either way, it meant certain death, whether it be by the hands of Rasta or Elana and Flex. Either way, I would pay.

  But maybe, I figured Flex would show me some mercy and spare my sorry life. Then the thought popped into my head like a lightbulb. I’ll call the one who has shown me nothing but respect. Naheri. I know he will be happy to see his son!

  Quickly, I ran into the room and picked up the crying boy, then raced to the front door. I threw him over my shoulder like a fireman and cautiously opened the door. Two big men were standing in front of it with their backs toward the door.

  Damn! I quietly closed the door so they wouldn’t notice I had opened it.

  I rushed back over to the room where Junior had been and closed the door. I laid little Naheri on the mattress on the floor and began searching the room for an exit. He started to moan and cry again. “Shh, shh, I’ma get us out of here!” I whispered to him to be as quiet as he could be.

  I walked over to the boarded-up window in the room and tugged and pulled until I felt one of the boards loosen up. I was able to pry one of them off the window to create a space big enough for us to fit through.

  “One more good pull.... Aaah!” Finally, I removed the board. I stood still for a moment to make sure we were the only ones in the house.

  I stuck my head out of the space I created to make sure no one was watching the window from outside. Once I saw that we could get out, I grabbed Junior and climbed out of the window. As soon as my feet touched the ground, I took off running like a track and field star with Junior in my arms. I wasn’t stopping until I got close to Naheri and got out of town before anyone could find me.

  After running without stopping for at least five minutes, I looked up at the street sign to see where I was. I ran all the way from an abandoned-looking house on Sixty-third and Laflin Street on the Southside of Chicago to Seventy-ninth Street and Ashland Boulevard. I ducked and dodged the main streets on my way to Naheri’s office.

  My heart almost skipped a beat when the office came into my sight. I stopped abruptly when I spotted Rasta’s dark-colored wagon parked outside on the side entrance of the office.

  Immediately, I ducked into an alleyway and hid behind a few garbage cans. Cautiously, I peeked above the cans to see if Rasta’s wagon was still there. After a few hesitant peeks, I watched Rasta leave from the back of the office. Then I saw Naheri standing in the doorway with a strange look on his face. After I was certain Rasta left and was out of view of the office building, I headed that way, making sure to keep my eyes open for his wagon or any man with dreads in the area.

  As I got closer, I remembered that it was Thursday, and there were usually no surgeries scheduled. It would be perfect to slip inside of the surgical suite and leave Little Naheri there. We were finally at the back entrance. I slowly crept over and opened the back door, which Naheri Sr. never locked. As soon as I walked in, I headed to one of the surgical rooms. I placed the little boy on the metal table and covered his body with one of the surgical gowns. The little boy was so tired and drained he just lay still, motionless, with his eyes barely open. Quietly, I closed the door.

  I walked over to Naheri’s office and stood in the doorway. I saw him in his chair, facing the window as if he was in deep thought.

  “Dr. Dolvan, you got a minute?” I said in a voice just above a whisper. I wasn’t sure how I was going to explain all of this to him, but I prayed he would understand.

  Chapter 10

  Care to Explain

  “Hey, Jorge, did you get that?” I asked.

  We had been out all day searching for Junior. We hit a few spots and even had one or two of them torched to keep sending the message. We found a couple who knew Rasta and really wanted to settle a few scores with him themselves.

  “Yes, amigo, I found out where Rasta is laying his head while he has been here in our fair city. One of my caliente reina negra told me she saw him in the hood over on Laflin Street. You know, over there by our old spot? The one those punk police hombres had shut down?”

  “Yeah, I know about that one. You mean to tell me that muthafucka been hangin’ out in my city right under my nose with Junior?”

  Jorge was silent for a moment. Then he took a deep breath. I could tell he had something bad to say, so I braced myself for what he was about to lay out. I took a deep breath. “Go ahead, amigo, spit that shit. It can’t be no worse than what I suspect anyway.”

  “A’ight, homes. The chica told me they been doing the li’l boy bad, beating him and starving him and shit. I mean, some really fucked-up shit is what she said.”

  I looked over at Dutch, who was pacing the floor. I decided not to tell her this last piece, as it would surely send her over the edge. “A’ight, man, how this chick know about all this? Is she with them?”

  “No, bro, she a party girl. She told me one night her and her friends were at the club up on Lawrence around Montrose in the Jamaican and Nigerian part of the city, partying and shit like they always do. She said she spotted these dudes with long locs and dark skin coming up in the club. She said her girl was on the dance floor when one of them approached her and asked if they wanted to party at the crib out south. Her girl, being one of them greedy-type hoes, agreed. Now I couldn’t get mad. She not my wife, so, hey, she free to fuck who she chooses. She said all of them left and met up at this house on Sixty-third Street and Laflin. She said when they pulled up, at first the shit looked abandoned, but her girl talked her into going inside with her anyway. There she saw a nice setup, she said. So when she asked to use the ba
throom, she accidently walked into the wrong room where she saw a little boy lying there like he was half dead. She said before she could get a good foot all the way in to help the boy, one of the men grabbed her by her arm and threatened her. She said he told her to forget anything she had just seen if she wanted to live. So when she heard me asking around, she put two and two together. These are some new dudes with Jamaican accents, and you know they asses stick out like a sore thumb in those parts.”

  I listened very closely to all that Jorge was saying. I had to get our son, and I will handle Rasta for good. It had only been a few days since Dutch told me about the scene she had with Naheri. She had been going back and forth to the hillside house, using it to shower, sleep, and eat. Her colleagues were handling her practice. There were no big cases, and her presence was not necessary. One thing I did notice was that she did not attempt nor made a move to see Naheri. I hoped that she was finally seeing the big picture of us and no one else.

  “I’m going to shower,” Dutch mouthed to me while I was still talking to Jorge.

  “My man. I knew you would come through. You don’t know how much this means to me. We’ll meet up soon; and trust me, you know how thankful I am.” I hung up the phone.

  I smiled with the news I just heard. And I knew Dutch would be ready to go get this motherfucker. Then our life could start.

  Staying at this hillside house with Dutch was great, but the circumstances weren’t. The last few days we were together, hunting, killing, sleeping, fucking, eating . . . We never left each other’s side for more than a few minutes. I thought of the day when we, she, our seed, and me, would be together and all this craziness would end. We would have to move to another country ’cause I know with the amount of destruction we have done, everybody would be looking for us.