“Where were you, anyway? How did these guys get hold of you? I had extra security at our place. And no one saw you leaving.”
“Tanner . . . I don’t remember.”
He pondered. “Hmm. Maybe they broke in and drugged you. I’ll have the locks checked. Lorenda had keys. I certainly hope she didn’t get hooked up with someone meaning to do me harm.”
“You?”
“Well . . . you know. Get at me through you.”
He may have had a point. Still, his questions and accusations wore on me. I wished he’d stop. Maybe the police would arrive soon.
“This is too much of a coincidence. All this stuff happening days before the mayor appoints me. Rory, Henry outside our apartment, and now this. It just seems orchestrated. And it doesn’t look good to have scandal swirling around the Coleman name. I need to get to the bottom of this and make whoever’s responsible pay.”
I struggled to sit up. “Isn’t that the job of the police?”
“At times,” he muttered, eyes suddenly icy. The only face I had recognized was that man Henry. As weird as it seemed, something told me not to share that with Tanner. When the police arrived, I didn’t know if I’d be so hesitant.
“Mrs. Coleman?” the doctor announced, returning to check on me. “If it’s okay, the detective would like to speak with you.”
I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,
Henry had said in the car.
“I’m ready to speak with them,” I answered.
32
PUMPKIN
A
ll those questions they had for Bianca. Poor thing had no answers—only humiliation and pain. Between the police and Tanner, they’d pounded away until she’d fallen asleep. I was exposed, and poor Bianca had to suffer for my mess-up. Damn her for not allowing me to reassert control when that was happening.
I hoped her dreams were peaceful, for I was about to make life for some a living hell.
The IV had done me some good, but a big, fat hamburger was on my mind. A meat eater I was. And I hated hunting on an empty stomach.
Bianca was being held for observation, but I wasn’t one for being watched. I had places to go.
I pulled out the needle and yanked the bandages off my arm.
Lowering myself to the floor, I limped over to the restroom, legs a little wobbly after what those little-dick motherfuckers had attempted to do. It wasn’t about rape. They tried to break a bitch. Thing is, they didn’t get it done.
Sure, I was a little banged up, but my face was in pretty good shape. Hated the look, but I would have to suffer through it until I got my hair and eyes back. Upon further thought, my current look still had some use.
“I need you to get my doctor now!” I screamed frantically as I staggered into the hallway.
“Mrs. Coleman, I’m under orders to stay here.”
“And I’m ordering you to get my doctor. Please. I just had a bad dream. And . . . and . . . I can’t take it.” I put my face in my hands and began sobbing.
I hated using Bianca, but it didn’t take a lot to fake the weak-sister act. The security guard bit on it, dashing down the hall to get my doctor. I removed my hands from my dry face, exiting in the opposite direction in search of something more stylish than the drab, ill-fitting hospital gown.
So much destruction, so little time
. I sighed as I sauntered by the empty nurses’ station.
The cab dropped me off eight blocks away. I walked the rest after questioning the manhood of my Pakistani driver and shorting him ten bucks. Even though my destination was in the heart of Hunter’s Green, I wasn’t staying away. I stood across the street, watching. Blending in below the broken streetlight amidst the crackheads and other quick studies of life’s inequities.
They were afraid to walk on
that
side of Craw-ford Street. In front of the house that didn’t quite blend in—the front yard way too clean, burglar bars and a security camera, the new trucks in the driveway no one would dare touch. It spoke to me.
Money.
Cash money.
Kash money.
The inside of the house probably resembled a touch of Henry’s upscale loft with a dash of the TV show
Good Times
.
Unfortunately, I didn’t get the memo to be afraid.
Tonight.
Tonight it was going down.
A man like Kash made enough from suckers like Henry to live on the same block as Tanner. But he was all about keeping it real.
The fool.
Wrong time for that. Made me think about that
Chappelle’s Show
skit “When Keepin’ It Real Goes Wrong.”
A porch light came on, drawing my interest. The bright Hispanic flunky emerged in his underwear, throwing out some boxes of Popeyes chicken. Made me regret the burger I’d had. After he discarded the trash in the garbage can, he brushed off his hands. The casual manner in which he acted broke it down for me. The hood was their comfort zone. Everywhere else, they had to have their guard up. Here, they understood the game and felt safe.
Before he returned to the house, he pushed the remote on the black Yukon. Once it unlocked, its lights came on. He was reaching underneath the front seat when I sneaked up. I feared it was a gun he was going for, so I had to be quick.
As he exited, he saw my smiling image in the door mirror and froze. A ghost, he had to think, considering what he and his friends had done to Bianca.
Except the ghosts I knew didn’t pack old screwdrivers. Amazing what you can find on the sidewalks on this side of town.
Silly man would’ve agreed if he weren’t collapsing with it stuck in his neck.
As he went down, he reached for me, snagging my arm, his other hand desperately covering the fatal wound in his neck. I spat on him as his grip slowly diminished.
I stood over him, observing the life fade from his eyes, remembering the silent curse I’d made as he took his turn with Bianca. When I was powerless.
I placed my foot atop his chest.
“Good night,” I said smartly with a wave as he made his final gasp.
Curious whether I might find a better weapon to use, I reached into the Yukon to retrieve whatever he’d been going for.
A bottle of K-Y. The kind that warmed. Good choice, but not a weapon unless one was wielding a slippery dick.
No wonder none of the fellas were hanging outside tonight. Entertainment was going on inside.
Cautiously entering the open door, I expected someone else to be on guard.
Nobody.
Even the stairs descending to the basement were dark and still. Instead I spied numerous notebooks and ledgers stacked neatly throughout in enormous columns as far as the eye could see. Kash hadn’t gotten with the digital age, relying on whatever wits he’d inherited instead of a formal education. I assumed the records were organized according to some system—between small fish and big suckers like Henry. Probably other types of business mixed in to diversify his criminal portfolio. A man like that could’ve been valuable to Tanner.
Oh, well. Maybe in the afterlife. They both deserved a hell.
“Lupe?”
I bristled at the sound of the voice, ducking against a stack of notebooks that slid over. Whoever it was stopped, sensing they weren’t alone.
“Lupe, Kash said to hurry up,” came from innocent vocal cords for which I wasn’t prepared.
I stepped out from my vantage point to confront the young girl. I wasn’t expecting Kash to have his kid in this environment.
Except it wasn’t his kid.
Damn.
Kid was about thirteen in spite of the attitude she tried to project. She wore only a T-shirt, one adorned with one of those sassy slogans that seemed inappropriate for her age. I was the last one to be acting motherly, but . . .
“Go. Now. And don’t come back,” I said sternly. “Or I will find you and beat your little ass.”
She nodded, agreeing before darting past me. I don’t know if she saw the body outside, but she’d probably seen worse growing up around here.
A TV was on toward the rear of the house, just past the kitchen. Sounded like somebody had a porno on. Just the way to relax after a gang rape, I guess.
“Lupe, hurry the fuck up! This little bitch gotta be home soon.” Kash’s throaty voice bellowed. I followed the sound. And my palms began sweating.
In the kitchen was a bank of monitors connected to the exterior cameras. No one was minding them. Careless.
Atop one of them rested an expensive watch— someone’s collateral. Its familiarity led me to pick it up.
“Henry,” I muttered upon closer inspection. I stowed it in my pocket, knowing I didn’t have time to dwell on such things. Kash would become curious sooner or later.
“Money, what you doin’ in there?” He’d heard my shuffling around, but was too lazy to get up.
“Nothin’,” I answered as close to her adolescent voice as I could.
“Where’s Lupe?”
“He on the phone.”
“Oh. Well, get your ass in here then.”
Kash didn’t react when my hand reached in and flipped off the light switch. He was still bathed in the unflattering light of
Black Orgy Jam IV
. He was drunk and fixated enough on the on-screen ass slapping to miss that the nude girl in his bedroom was several inches taller than Money. Lying there unclothed, he held a lit cigar in one hand and a half-full bottle of vodka in the other, making a mess of himself.
Then he saw the silhouette of my breasts.
“Damn, them things grew?”
“Uh-huh,” I whispered as I clung to the wall, easing closer.
“Come here! Let me suck on them!” he squealed, his vision blurry enough to grant me more time.
I sprang quickly, straddling him as I brought something onto the bed with me. I fought the urge to throw up, being this close. He reached up to grab my breasts at the same time he tried to push that dick in me again. I squirmed away, pinning down his arms and moving up his body until my pussy was in his face.
I rose onto my feet on the bed, allowing me to squat just above his mouth. As I thought, he couldn’t take his eyes off it. Just dancing there, mesmerizing him. He tried to lap at it with his tongue, but it was just out of reach. He tried one more time and I moved away accordingly. He grinned, enjoying the tease. He focused on my pussy again, this time squinting through the haze. As drunk as he was, even he wasn’t blind.
“You got some hair on that. That ain’t a little girl’s. Damn, that looks like a woman’s—”
“You know what I did wrong before?” I pondered in my own voice, cutting him off. “I didn’t hit you hard enough with that vase.”
Kash’s eyes widened to where I could see them in the darkened room. That lasted just until I brought the black cast-iron skillet from the kitchen over my head. I gave in to gravity, bringing it down upon his skull with a crack and a splatter of blood.
On reflex, he jabbed with his cigar, burning me on my side with the tip until I smacked him with the skillet again.
Then both his flailing arms fell lifeless at his side.
I was clothed when he regained a semblance of consciousness. Being awake but with no mobilitymust’ve have been frightening to a man such as him. Freak that he was, there were several tools of bondage in his basement. I’d dug around, taking the time to cuff his wrists to the bed. I nudged the mattress with my foot, impatient with his progress. I was on a schedule.
When that didn’t move him along fast enough, I filled the same skillet I’d wielded with water and poured it on his face. He gasped to life, eyes enraged.