“I heard that. And FYI to your ass, Swazy ain’t my boy.”
“Yeah, well.”
“Yeah, well, what about what I asked you?”
“What in the fuck you talking about now, fool?”
“You heard me, bitch, so stop clowning. I said what you got for daddy?” Taking it to the head, he downed the rest of his second forty-ounce for the day and was about ready for the third.
“Rico, please. Don’t even play yourself. You must be on a serious one. You know those days of getting my bread are long motherfucking gone.”
“Oh, is that right, Miss Shit Talker?” Belching, he sarcastically replied, putting the television on mute. “You wasn’t blowing that garbage out your mouth a few months back when we was freaking with your girl from the club.”
“Hell yeah, it’s right. You better believe it. That was a few months back, and this is now,” she yelled, feeling her true independence. “Matter of fact, I need to be asking your fake wanna-be pimping ass what you and that ugly bumpy-face ho you fucks with got for my son! She got some good head on her, but I needs that cash.”
“Come on now, Ocean. You bugging.”
“Boy, I ain’t bugging. I’m trying to be straight up. What you got for my son?”
“Anyway, girl.” Conveniently, he ignored her question and went onto more of his own. “How you get that ride? Put me up on game.” He took the television off mute.
“Ain’t no game. My new dude hooked me up.”
“New dude?” Rico firmly questioned, calling himself getting serious. “Who you got being around my damn seed?”
“Boy, bye. Slow your deadbeat daddy roll. Ain’t nobody around your son. My new guy, or should I say trick, is married. He just got that serious bread jumping off. He stays wearing a suit and tie. And even if my son was around the next motherfucker, so damn what?”
“Yeah, well, kill all that stupid noise. I wanna see you. How about that?” Rico’s voice got louder and more demanding with each word he spoke. So loud, in fact, he failed to hear Keisha storming in through the front door. “I wanna see that ass tonight.” Before he knew it, an overly aggravated Keisha was standing right over him, prepared for battle.
Chapter Twelve
“Commissioner Jackson, you have a call on line one from a Mr. Lawrence Grant. Do you want me to put it through?”
“Yes, thank you, Robin.” He sat back in his oversized chocolate-brown leather chair. Lifting the receiver, he eagerly placed it to his ear, pushing the flashing light.
“Yes, Mr. Grant, what’s the latest?” He spoke like they were old friends. “What do you have for me?”
“Well, Mr. Jackson, I mean Commissioner Jackson, sir, I just saw your daughter.”
“Well, it’s about time. I was starting to lose confidence in you. That initial bit of four-one-one you had on his personal life has proven to be a lot more lucrative than I anticipated, but still not enough.”
“Please, sir, it’s just that in between working and—”
“Listen, I’m not in the mood for any excuses. It’s been a long day, and I’m running out of patience. The deal was you get me all the information about that friend of yours and my baby girl, and you keep your job and your freedom.”
“I know, sir, I know.”
“Well, what happened? Tell me. Was that dirty fool with her? What did she look like?”
Swazy went on to explain their surprise Coney Island encounter. Not everything said between the two was repeated, but enough to let him know Keisha was a little bit closer to kicking Rico to the curb once and for all.
“I told her I had been trying to get in touch with Rico and set things straight like you suggested, but she just brushed it off. It was like she was in some sort of a daze.”
“Daze.” The sometimes concerned parent sat up in his chair, listening attentively. “What do you mean, dazed? Like he has her on drugs?”
Swazy wanted to throw Rico under the bus again and lie, but knew if Keisha’s father heard that about his daughter, it might push him all the way over the edge. It was one thing to have a freak, sloppy-seconds slut-bucket for a child, but a random-dick-slurping crackhead whore was another. “No, sir, not drug dazed. More like fed up, exhausted, what-in-the-hell-can-happen-next daze. Kinda like that.”
Somewhat relieved in the answer, Commissioner Jackson informed Swazy to either step up his game of delivering valuable information that could help bring Rico to his knees or suffer the consequences. Only moments after ending that conversation, his secretary pranced into the office, telling him he had another call, this time from home.
“Excuse me.” Robin, clearly irritated, gave him the side eye. “But Sandy is on the phone again—something about your wife. She claims it’s important. Do you want to speak to her or tell her you just stepped out?”
“No, I’ll take it. Thank you.” He winked, now in a much better mood after speaking to Swazy. “And can you please shut the door on your way out?”
“In between your wife, Sandy, and that other thang that’s been calling, it’s always something,” Robin mumbled underneath her breath before doing as she was told.
It’s always motherfucking something. One day I’ma stop being his side chick and be wifey. And when that happens, I swear things gonna change around here.
* * *
“Who in the hell you talking to? Whose ass you wanna see so bad tonight?” Keisha tried unsuccessfully to snatch the cell out of Rico’s hand.
“Damn, Keisha. Where in the fuck—” He was stunned, spinning around to avoid her hitting him across the back of his bald head.
“That’s right, you lying sack of shit. I’m right here. And I just heard exactly what you said.”
Quickly pushing the END button, terminating the call, Rico jumped to his feet in an attempt to explain. “Listen, Keisha, before you start blowing stuff outta proportion and trying to go hard.”
She was still infuriated about her revealing conversation with Swazy. Catching Rico red-handed talking to some tramp was only adding more fuel to the fire. Ripping the plastic bag, she opened both white containers, throwing the food she’d just purchased onto the floor.
“Fuck you and this food!” She smashed it with the soles of her shoes while screaming. “I’m out working to keep a roof over both our heads, and you sitting your black ass around drinking, smoking weed, playing video games, and talking to bitches.”
“Wait, Keisha, damn!”
“Wait for what? So you can tell some more lies like the ones you told about what happened between you and Swazy that night?”
“Swazy? I know you ain’t say his name in this house. What in the fuck that snake-ass nigga got to do with jack shit?”
“Don’t keep playing with my intelligence, Rico. I just spoke to him and his cousin.”
“Oh, yeah? And did you give that country gold-tooth faggot the pussy this time, or was it just head again?”
“Oh, that’s nice, but trying to flip the script ain’t working this time around.” Keisha’s blood started to boil. “I know what he told me, and I sure in the fuck know what I just heard. All of this is too much.”
“Look at your insecure ass wasting food and a nigga hungry.” Rico, full of beer, had to piss something awful. Headed toward the bathroom, he continued to hurl accusations and try to deflect the guilt. “You tripping as usual. I don’t know why I fucks with you. That was the weed man I was talking to.” He slammed the bathroom door shut.
“What?” Keisha screamed out before noticing he’d left his cell on the couch. Without a second thought, she swooped it up. Finding the recent calls icon on the touch screen menu, she pushed CALL. Seconds later, a female’s voice was on the line.
“Damn, henpecked Negro. That uppity, goofy bitch got you shook! I heard her getting off into that ass.”
“Excuse me?” Keisha arrogantly fumed, ready to go in.
“Oh, damn. My bad.”
“Who is this?”
“Who in the hell you think it i
s?” Ocean laughed, taunting Rico’s girl.
“How should I know? That’s why I asked. Now once again, who is this?”
“Now once again, who is this?” She mocked Keisha’s white-girl, private-school tone. “This is Ocean, okay. Rico’s son’s mother. Now do you know who I am, or do you need to taste this sweet pussy again to remember?”
Immediately offended by what she’d just heard, Keisha went completely off. “Why in the hell are you talking to Rico? What are you two low-lives scheming on now?”
“Huh? Excuse you?”
“No, Ocean, excuse you. I’m tired of this bullshit.”
“Then that seems like something you need to take up with Rico, not me. Y’all weak bitches kill me. Always blaming the next female instead of they man. If he fucks with me or any other chick, then that’s on him, not us. Grow the fuck up or go kill yourself.”
Just like that, Keisha was in an all-new state of mind. The light switch came on in her brain. Realizing Ocean was 100% correct and her true beef was with Rico, not the next female, Keisha conceded, easing up on her verbal tirade. “I guess you right, but Rico—”
“No buts.” Ocean wasn’t in the mood to let her mouthy attacker off the hook that easy and decided to really rub it in. “Look, girl, me and that fool you wanna call your man go back to sixth grade and hide go get ’em in the basement. I know he ain’t shit. He never was.”
“Well—” Keisha started to question but was stopped.
“Well what? Why did I have a baby with his slick punk ass? Why do me and him do what we do from time to time?” Ocean nonchalantly fired back. “Because he fine as hell with a big dick, that’s why. But to have that buster as my man—girl, you a fool. Trust when I tell you don’t no other bitch in Detroit wanna claim him but your dumb ass.” She giggled into the phone, further agitating Keisha. “But I tell you what. If you ever wanna get down with me and my new man on some freak shit, I can straight hook you up. After all, I know firsthand your head game is on point. Or should I get Kilo? Rumor is he got some good head too.”
“What?” Having had enough of Ocean’s advice and insults, Keisha happily hung up jus as Rico came out the bathroom.
“So, you still out here bugging or what?”
“Naw, liar.” Keisha threw his cell phone against the wall as hard as she possibly could. “I was out here talking to the weed man, Ocean.”
Knowing he was cold busted, Rico tried to play it off as he bent down, picking up his phone. “Okay, so I was talking to my baby moms. So what? Big deal. You want me to not check up on my son? Is that what you saying?”
“Oh, yeah? Is that what you was doing? Or was you two discussing that video?”
“Stupid, look what you did.” Rico acted as if he hadn’t heard what she’d just said. “You cracked my damn screen.”
“So damn what? I paid for the son of a bitch. Now you wanna explain what Swazy told me that I know is true? Or better yet, lie some more about Ocean? Which one is it?”
“Fuck it. I’m over this shit. Go fuck yourself or A.J., or better yet, Kilo.” Stepping over the food smashed on the floor, Rico pulled up his sagging jeans, grabbed his house keys, and left out the front door.
Following close behind, Keisha called him a few names from the front porch before he bent the corner, heading God knows where. Wanting to call Kim and vent, she knew she couldn’t. Having not spoken in close to a month, her once-best-friend-since-childhood told her never to dial her number again if she didn’t leave Rico after the Kilo incident. And since Keisha hadn’t, Kim lending an ear was out of the question. Her next thought was Sandy, or maybe her mom. Unfortunately, the few times she’d called home anonymously, to just hear one or both of their voices before hanging up, Keisha had come to find out all the numbers were disconnected or changed.
Trying to disguise her voice, calling her father’s office didn’t work either. His overzealous secretary, barely over her own age, recognized Keisha’s voice and refused to put her through just like she was ordered to do. Having no one but herself for comfort, she looked at A.J.’s number and thought of calling him, at least just to talk, but quickly tucked the paper into her purse. Feeling sorry for herself, she cleaned up the mess on the floor before curling up in a ball on the couch and crying.
* * *
“Yes, Sandy. What is it now?” Commissioner Jackson stretched his arm outward. “It’s already been a grueling day. I told you that last time you called. I hope you have better news this time.”
With apparent hesitation in her voice, Sandy apologized for the constant interruptions but gently reminded her boss he’d told her to call him every hour or so with a household update concerning his wife’s overly intoxicated, as well as medicated, condition. “I’m so sorry. I tried everything I know, but she’s just getting worse. Her hands feel cold to the touch, and her eyes look weak when I hold the lids open.”
“When will that woman learn? Mixing all those pills and martinis are for the white man—the Caucasians,” he argued, knowing he had to call it a day and return home. “If I thought it wouldn’t hurt me politically right now, I’d divorce her old ass.”
Not knowing what to say next, Sandy remained silent. She knew since a small child and an early teen that Mr. Jackson wasn’t one to be argued with, told no, or kept waiting.
“Well, I’m calling Calvin for the car and will be there shortly. I know the maid is gone for the day, so I need you to make sure the bathroom in the far end guest room is clean. I’ll be sleeping there tonight again. It’s no need to try to deal with Mrs. Jackson this evening, is it?”
“No, sir,” Sandy replied before he hung up.
Gathering a few files, he took a quick shot from a bottle he kept in his desk. Going into the outer office, Keisha’s father was met with obvious shade from Robin, who was expecting overtime possibly in more ways than one.
“Well, you can just call it a night. I have to go home. And depending on a few things, I might not be in tomorrow. I’ll let you know.”
“Yeah, I heard.” Her response was cold to say the least.
Sensing the young woman’s attitude, knowing she’d been no doubt eavesdropping, Commissioner Jackson promised her a little something special in the days to follow if she put a smile on her pretty face. Motivated by money, Robin quickly obliged. When her boss stepped on the elevator and the door closed, she did what she always did—went into his office, sat behind his desk, and put her feet up.
One day, I’m going be calling all the shots around here. Using her foot, she knocked the picture of Mrs. Jackson off the desk and straight into the garbage can. With that slut-ass daughter already out the picture, I know he’s gonna need me! Delusional in thought, Robin stayed in the office another twenty minutes, fantasizing about what could be—that was, if she played her cards right.
Chapter Thirteen
Hooking up with Ocean, Rico went with her and their son to Chuck E. Cheese. With Rico’s pockets staying on empty, the entire evening of family time was sponsored by Ocean—by way of her older mystery man. Thanks to him, Rico was able to run around, with his son at his side, playing every game and putting him on every ride without giving two shits about how many tokens he was using.
“In between that new car and judging by that knot in your purse, it seems like you hit a serious lick with this so-called man. Where you meet his ass at anyway?”
“One night I was leaving the club, and he was just there.” Ocean giggled, explaining the chance-encounter-turned-financial-windfall. “He was parked over near the fence with his headlights out. When I went to unlock my car door, he rolled down his window and flashed some cash! Shit—he scared my black ass, almost making me pee on myself.”
Drinking a mug of beer, eating the last slice of pizza, Rico was amused by her story. “Oh, yeah? Then what?”
“What you mean, then what? Please, an hour later we was in a hotel room, and I was peeing on him.”
“Oh, hell naw.”
“Oh, hell yes, my nigga. Fa
ir exchange ain’t never a robbery.” Ocean brushed her own shoulders off. “You know how I do. I’m gonna get that money. I don’t care who I gotta fuck or suck to do it.” Looking over at the multi-colored ball pit their son was playing in, she began to grin from ear to ear. “Me and mines gonna always be okay with or without your deadbeat ass.”
“Dig that.” Rico low-key admired her go-getter attitude. To most, Ocean might have been considered a slut, but in his eyes, his baby mama was a trooper and about her paper.
Finishing the rest of their game tokens, the trio headed back to the Westside neighborhood they both called home. Ocean had to go to work later and insisted that she and Rico part ways before she dropped their son off at the sitter.
“For real, I don’t need your broke, good-hating ass hanging around the club tonight. You better go make up with that low-self-esteem bitch you dealing with—the one that made you cut them dreads.”
“Maybe I will, but not now,” Rico admitted with a devilish smirk. “She can wait. Right about now, you can just drop me off on Linwood and Davison.”
Driving off, Ocean left her baby daddy right on the corner. It was now dark outside, and he was still hungry as hell despite the paper-thin pizza slices he had at Chuck E. Cheese. Rico decided to grab a couple of original wings and maybe an order of potato wedges from KFC.
Heading through the glass double doors, he was shocked to see—who else, ironically—Swazy on his way out of the restaurant.
“Damn, dawg. What up, doe.” Swazy was the first to speak. “Where in the fuck you been hiding?”
“Hiding? Whatever. I’m still in the game.” Rico gave him the serious fuck-you-faggot side-eye. “I’m still pushing that bag.”
“I tried calling your wild ass. Damn, guy, you cut your dreads.”
“What?” Rico twisted his face in disbelief, tilting his head to the side. “Are you fucking serious?”
A Big Girl's Revenge Page 13
