Brick (Double Dippin') (19 page)

Munch can handle the first half. When he gets Fawn close to the edge, I’ll take over and lay some pipe. After I finish deep stroking that bitch, I don’t wanna hear shit except, ‘Thank you, Kaymar!’

T
he place was nothing fancy. A family-oriented motel with a swimming pool. The room was basic, equipped with a small fridge, a coffee pot, and a microwave—merely a place to rest their heads.

Brick sat in a chair, searching through his contact list. He wanted to get in touch with Tayshaun from the projects, but it wasn’t easy because Tayshaun, also known as Taye, changed his number every two weeks. Taye sold everything: drugs, electronics, weapons, cars, and even concert tickets…you name it and Tayshaun sold it. If he didn’t have it on hand, he could get it. Brick was interested in purchasing something from the arsenal of illegal weapons Taye possessed.

Anya stared out the window, gazing at the pool area, listening to the sounds of water splashing and the sounds of childish squeals and laughter. An unwelcome flashback of happy times with her parents on vacation in New Jersey blazed across her mind. She could clearly envision her mother relaxing by the pool and reading a novel while she and her father splashed around in the water.

The swimming pool below the window sparked another powerful memory. Anya’s parents walking the boardwalk holding hands while Anya sat upon her father’s shoulders.

Instead of brightening her mood, she was haunted by the memory. Cruelly reminded of how much she’d lost.

She turned away from the window, pulled the curtain closed. She walked over to Brick. He felt her eyes on him. He could feel her sorrow as he busied himself, sending out texts to people who could possibly put him in touch with Tayshaun.

Brick continued handling business, his fingers tapping on the screen. Respecting Anya’s somber mood, he felt no desire to fill the silence with unnecessary small talk. She’d told him what she wanted and he was doing his best to get it for her.

“My mother was stoned to death—that’s how she died,” Anya said.

Brick’s fingers stilled. Holding his cell, he looked up at Anya, scowling in confusion. “Was she on vacation somewhere? Did it happen over in Iraq…Afghanistan?”

Anya winced. She drew her hand to her mouth and absently gnawed at her fingernail. Until this moment, he hadn’t noticed Anya biting her fingernails.

“No, it didn’t happen in a Middle Eastern country; it happened in America. My mother was stoned to death in Philadelphia. One of her killers got a life sentence; the other got ten to twenty.”

Brick continued to scowl at Anya quizzically.

“My mother never got justice. And while those two killers get a cot and three hot meals a day, my father ends up homeless—a bum, living on the streets.

She looked Brick in the eye. “Ain’t that some shit? A woman endured a brutal death by stoning in modern times in an urban city, yet one of the killers is walking around free!”

“Come again? I assumed she got shot…you know, during a robbery.”

Anya let out a bitter laugh. “No, she was stoned to death in Tacony Creek Park in Philly.” She grew quiet again. Drew in a deep breath and released it.

Brick set his phone down, prepared to give his undivided attention. Or hold her in his arms if she required comforting. Whatever she needed, he was there for her.

“My mother was from Trinidad. She didn’t have any blood relatives in the States. What I remember most about her was that she worked hard. Went from a cleaning woman to a registered nurse. She worked the third shift at a health care facility. Being the supervisor, she got to work every night a half-hour early. My dad usually drove her, but sometimes she drove herself. Whenever she drove, she always parked in the underground lot on the premises, believing she was completely safe.

“But one night, two teenage boys were looking to jack somebody’s car. When my mother parked and opened her car door, they were hiding in the shadows, and ordered her at gunpoint to get back inside the car. She was abducted inside her employer’s parking lot.

Brick frowned. “Why didn’t they just take the car?”

“I’ve asked myself the same question a million times. Why didn’t they just take the car?” Anya shrugged helplessly. “When the prosecution asked the same question, the sixteen-year-old blamed the older boy, stating it was his decision to make my mother drive out of the garage to a remote location.”

“Why?”

“So they could rape and rob her.” Anya emitted a soft whimper of despair.

“Wow, baby. I’m really sorry to hear this.”

She held up a hand, indicating she wasn’t finished…she needed to continue. She cleared her throat. “No one ever told me exactly what happened to my mother. My grandmother, my father, my aunt Minerva; everyone hid the truth from me.”

“They were trying to protect you.”

“Well, I read every news article that pertained to the crime on the Internet.”

“Damn,” Brick murmured.

“I read the complete court transcript online. I know every aspect of my mother’s fear. Her pain. I’ve read every pleading word she spoke to those two murderers. They made her drive to a remote area and then they raped her. Both of them raped her in the back seat of her car. When they were finished, they took her purse, her car keys, and her clothes. Then they ordered her to get out of the car. She did what they said, but those animals…” Anya couldn’t go on. She broke down and wept.

“It’s okay. Let it out, baby. I gotchu,” Brick said as he circled his strong arms around her.

Anya pulled out of his grasp and went in the bathroom and closed the door. She was in there for a good five minutes. Crying. Wailing. The mournful sobs changed to sniffling. Then Brick heard Anya blowing her nose. He heard the sound of running water. And then she opened the door. The tear stains had been washed away, but her red-rimmed eyes could not conceal her pain.

Composed, Anya sat down. She cleared her throat and continued, “They called it a random killing. How do you have that kind of rage toward someone who has never done anything to you—someone you’ve never set eyes on before?

“My mother’s nude body was found at Tacony Creek Park under the Olney Tabor Bridge. The autopsy report said she died of blunt trauma to the head, but her whole body was stoned. After they killed her, those killers drove around in my mother’s car for two days. Two days!

“She did everything they told her to do until they insisted that she walk out of the park naked. She didn’t care about the wallet, her car or anything. All she asked them for was something to cover up with.

“One of ’em hit her with a small stone, telling her to start walking toward the creek. At that point, she did. She started walking away from the car, naked. They hit her with another stone, telling her to speed it up. She began running. And they chased her, hitting her with bigger stones. Rocks. Stoning her until she couldn’t run anymore. Until she dropped. And they kept on hitting her. She was crying, begging them not to kill her. Telling them she had a child. The transcripts say one of the rapists told her to bow her head and say some prayers. She was praying when he bashed her in the back of the head with a rock. Though she was probably dead, they didn’t stop. They turned my mother over and bludgeoned her face.”

Brick expected Anya to break down again, but she was eerily calm.

“I don’t know which one dealt the killing blow, but as far as I’m concerned, they both deserve to die.”

“Maybe the young bull was following blindly behind the older dude,” Brick suggested.

Anya’s face grew taut. Her eyes were black dots of fury. “At sixteen, he knew right from wrong. He didn’t do anything
blindly.
He fully participated in rape, sodomy, and a heinous murder. That wasn’t your everyday carjacking, turned accidental homicide. My mother was degraded, taunted, and tortured.” Anya dropped her head again, as if too overwrought to go on.

“It’s all in the court transcripts,” she said, dropping her gaze. “The sixteen-year-old and the older boy described the crime in the exact same way. But each said that he was coerced by the other. It doesn’t matter who coerced whom. They’re equally to blame.” She looked up, staring deeply into Brick’s eyes, revealing the depth of her agony.

Brick saw himself in Anya’s eyes. Her eyes mirrored his pain. She was a woman who could not rest until she’d exacted revenge.
And there was nothing Brick could say or do to convince Anya to move on and let it go.

“The last time I saw my mother, you know what she said to me—she said, ‘See you in the morning, Sweet Cakes.’ But I never saw her again. Not even in the casket. It was a closed-casket funeral, and I recently found out by reading the news reports, that the mortician couldn’t fix my mother’s battered face.”

Brick recalled that his mother had told him something similar the last time he’d seen her. She said she’d see him in a few days, but she disappeared without a trace. Leaving him in the hands of child abusers.

Bringing Brick back to the present, Anya said, “They bashed in her skull. And then they turned her over and bashed in her face, thinking they could conceal her identity. How do you exert that much hatred and aggression toward an innocent person?”

Brick shook his head. “I don’t know. Two psychopaths. That’s the only explanation I can think of.”

“Well, I’m a psychopath now,” Anya said. “The sixteen-year-old is grown. And I’m comin’ for him. In the transcript, Kaymar is accused of pulling my mother’s hair, and telling her, ‘Your mouth is too dry, bitch. I wanna see some slobber running down my dick.’”

A groan escaped Brick’s throat. It was hard hearing what had been done to Anya’s mother. He felt every bit of her rage and anguish. Whenever he imagined Misty on the ground and helpless and getting hit with a tire iron, his blood ran cold.

“I’ma look that killa in the eye while he’s sucking on the end of a pistol,” Anya said with her jaw clenched. “And before I cock the hammer, I’ma tell that depraved bastard I wanna see some slobber on the barrel.”

S
ometimes I get the willies when Evette touches me. I don’t know what she’s doing to me, but today she has the magic touch. The shit feels good.

I’m laying with my back to her, and she’s running her fingernails softly down my back…giving me the shivers. Causing my dick to bob up and down.

Growing bolder, she places a kiss on the back of my neck.

I tense up. Evette knows better than to be putting her crooked lips anywhere except on my dick. I have rules about kissing and any kind of romantic gestures.

“Cut it out,” I warn her as she sneaks in a couple more sloppy kisses.

“I’m sorry, Kaymar. I couldn’t help it. You’re so gorgeous. Like a work of art. It’s hard keeping my lips off your body.”

I don’t have a comeback because her words sound so sensual, they take me off-guard.

“I just wanna kiss every inch of you. Can I? Please, Kaymar?”

I’m still at a loss for words, and Evette takes my silence as permission to put her messed-up mouth on my body again. This time, she presses her lips against my shoulder blade.

I wince, surprised at how good her lips feel. Her mouth moves lightly across my broad back and settles on my other shoulder blade. A moan escapes my lips when I feel the cool moisture from her tongue.

She’s licking me now. Like a cat. She’s got me shuddering and reaching for my dick.

But nah, I ain’t going out like this. I flip over, and now I’m lying flat on my stomach, doing my best to keep my dick restrained. I don’t wanna pop off and waste a good nutt. I start Evette off every morning with a thick cum shake. I doubt if her day would go right if she didn’t get her morning ration.

I’m struggling and straining to keep from busting, tryna let Evette enjoy herself for a few more minutes before I grab her by the hair and pull her head back. The more worked up I am, the rougher I get with her.

Evette doesn’t mind the rough treatment. She likes it. I have a routine in the morning. It kills me to hold back as I push past lips and tonsils to get where I gotta go. When my dick is embedded in the back of her throat, making her gag, that’s when I relieve myself.