The Heart of Revenge (24 page)

“Let mi ask you this Aubrea. What you doing
to help? You don't even want to wash out the baby clothes. No
matter how the garbage stink, all if it’s stinking up the whole
house, and you here whole day, you rather dead first before you
just take it out!” Pinky clung on to my leg and her mal-nourished
hand tugged at my shorts, “One hand can’t clap. Help out nuh.
Everyday you get up with the same bloodfire thing. Look how much
work you turn down. You —-“

“You breed mi and drop mi out of school, how
mi to get a decent job and mi never finish school idiot? As the
man, you suppose to take care of mi. That’s what a real man
does.”

“Nothing not wrong with the jobs. At least
you could buy gas now. Don't? Any work is work , you have too much
pride?”

“That’s all mi have left after you turn mi
into a pauper.” She started crying as she talked. “Mi wish God
would just take mi life sometime than to live here so with you, God
know. Mi fed up, mi fed up, mi fed up.”

Pinky was crying louder, her face turning red
and her whole face wet.

“Daaddy ... Daaddy.” She buried her head in
the back of my shorts. I remembered I wiped my roach splattered
hand there, I grabbed her, pulled her around, her forehead
plastered with crushed roach. I stooped, wiped and picked it off.
Stand. Her puny shoe-string arms stretching up, I lifted her and
she was so light; filled with more air than food, like a bag of
O’lay’s potato chips is filled with more air than anything
else.

Aubrea got fired up looking at me and Pinky
together. She stormed off in a tantrum into the bedroom, rooting
out all the clothes out the chestnut draw and throwing them behind
her across to the bed. Most of the clothes landed on the floor.
None of them I had bought for myself. I had bigger responsibilities
to take care of with my small earnings. All the clothes were bought
by Aubrea, with some of the money her father had given her before
totally cutting her off and forgetting he ever had a daughter named
Aubrea.

“Leave. Come out. Mi don't want you in
here!”

I didn't want any of the clothes she had
bought for me. I didn’t need her handout. All I wanted was my
daughter.

“Keep the fucking clothes, make them full
your belly.” I walked out into the black night with Pinky hugged in
my arms. I had enough money in my pocket to buy chicken-feed.

Nowhere to go.

I went back inside, stole Aubrea’s car key.
Drove away with Pinky, stopped at a bar, got drunk, drove drunk,
lick down a little boy without knowing, stopped, wondering what I
had hit and reversed the car over him. An angry mob came to chop me
up. I slammed my foot on gas, sped off to escape, ran head-on in a
lightpole, crushed Aubrea's car and it caught ablaze immediately.
Pinky was unconscious, she got a big hell of chop on her foot. A
nasty scar for life. The blood was spewing, my foot was broken in
two places. I never walked the same again.

by: Pinky

Mi push down the pack of Matterhorn in my
bosom, my eyes glued to the message in Aubrea’s phone from mi man.
Mi not sure what the messages mean but mi blood start bubble like
Konshens tune, just to see that they texting each other behind my
back, worse, mi never like how the message sound. Mi read it again,
just trying to figure out what it mean and what them could be up
to. The text from my man read,

‘Tonight zeen. Make sure.’

What the rass was happening tonight? What’s
happening between the two of them that I don't know ’bout? What
kind of secret thing is this? I take two slow steps away from the
blue board shop because the old lady was making me uncomfortable
from staring at me. I walked around to the side of the shop by the
lightpole, out of her sight. Mi going to buy thirty-six in Cashpot
tomorrow, old woman. Mi open up the message Aubrea sent him. This
mi have to see. Her text was plain and straightforward; it didn’t
need any second thought. She was the culprit, it read,

‘Finaral Please don’t do that. No games, real
thing tonight sure. Linking you at the same place, same time. Pinky
in the room, so mi will shout you later.’

What that could’ve meant? Why the fuck she
sending mi name in her text to mi man for? And why she can’t talk
to him when mi around? Mi squeeze the phone tight and a single word
jump out mi mouth,

“Whore!”

Mi snap mi head around to see if the old lady
heard me. Her head was peeping through a side window of the shop.
The window had a Mandingo calendar pin up on it. My eyes and hers
eyes made four, she was just staring in mi morning. I thought to
myself, what an old woman inquisitive, at the same time
contemplating going back to the hospital, over the ward Aubrea was
on. War was on my mind. Mi read the text one more time. Whore.

by: David Lexings

“You not drinking?” The fully-green
bartender’s voice woke me up out of my memories. I still held the
glass of vodka in my hand, waiting to drink it down. She blew out
and swelled a bubble between her crusty lips. It popped and she
dragged in the thin splashes of green bubble gum off her lips and
bit under her lip to get a stubborn piece that would not return
into her mouth.

The vodka in my glass was calling. Something
deeper inside me didn’t want it. I had enough. That accident had
affected my life entirely, my role as a father, my money, my walk,
my marriage, my son, Vance.

“How much mi owe you now baby-love?”

"One fifty.”

I stood, dipped my hand down to the bottom of
my pocket to pay her. She eyed me from head to toe.

“So watch here, nothing not wrong with the
vodka enuh, you not drinking it?”

"No, it’s alright. Mi have enough.”

“You still have to pay me for it enuh. Once
you order it and mi throw it out, you have to pay for it.”

“So that's not what mi doing now? You
blind?”

I didn’t feel any money. Strange. I dipped my
hand in the other pocket, anxiety building up. No embarrassment on
me today, please.

“And make sure you tip mi too.”

“Hold on nuh Green-Ranger,” I stopped digging
down in my pocket and stared at her in disbelief. “You don’t see mi
searching for the money, just let mi find it first.” What a
bartender cold. She didn’t even tell me good evening but now she
was demanding a tip. She must see a big round red nose in the
middle of mi face. Mi not tipping her a cent. I shook my head.

"What you shaking your head for? You not
tipping mi broke-pocket?”

I dug in my pocket faster. Let mi just pay
this young miss and leave ’cause she mad in her rass head. No
money. Pocket empty.

“Is what? You don’t have no money? You a real
broke-pocket enuh”

“Hold on nuh ... Just easy.” I searched
again. Thoroughly. No wallet. No money. I sank through the
earth.

The bartender called the owner of the bar,
who happened to be the police man in the car across the street.
Police. Damn. He roughed me up for the money. I tried to explain to
him that I was picked by a young youth in full beige but he didn’t
believe me. I was dealt with like an animal. Embarrassed in the one
place I loved. My place of escape was not escape any more. I knew
it was my sign. A sign that I should give up bars, and drinking.
Pinky came to bail me out the crisis with no money. The little girl
spend it off. Jesus Christ man, it was calamity on top of calamity.
Even though Pinky had spent my change. What she did was give Mr.
Mathias, couple bills fifty bags of weed out her bosom. And of
course you know she rubbed it in, that the weed I was cursing her
about came to my rescue. I replied to her,

“If you never spend off mi change mi would be
ok, you know you don’t bother send mi no ‘please credit me’ for the
rest of the month though, cause you spend off mi change.”

"Oh to rass, Daddy look here on ‘em text
messages here that Aubrea send mi man.” Her head was down looking
at Aubrea’s phone in her hand and pressing the buttons to bring up
the messages. She didn’t looked up. “Tell mi what you think, cause
is kill mi want kill the one Aubrea she.” She passed me the
phone.

I read the text, something definitely was up,
I answered Pinky

“Well it could mean anything still.”

"You blind? What else it could mean? It say
them linking up tonight, what else that could mean? You act like
you don’t know is long time Aubrea fucking on you, you need to stop
deny it, the whole community know. Mi love Vance but mi sure Vance
is not —-”

“Shut up your mouth nuh! Mi ask you anything?
Mi ask you nothing? You just don’t know when to bloodseed chat,
that's your problem. You think anything come to your mouth you must
chat, shut up man.”

"Daddy you know! Why you don’t do a DNA?”

“I don't need to do any DNA. He’s mine.”

“Well sure as the sun rise, tonight mi will
find out what Aubrea up to, and trust mi it won't be pretty.”

by: David Lexings

When Pinky and I reached by Vance’s bed at
the hospital, Vance wasn’t there.

Empty bed.

I found out in the evening, according to what
Lee said, that she had locked herself away and turned off her
phone. Gloe then logged on to twitta or twippa, whatever it name,
and people were having a blast with the pics Munchy uploaded. The
pictures were funny and some unbelievable. They were retweeting
most of the wedding pictures Munchy uploaded, they were just too
funny. Browsing through the pictures the first one to make Gloe
laugh was the one with the frog-face Pastor Ellis which had gotten
the most retweets so far. Some persons were asking if it was
photoshopped or real. She saw some more hilarious shots of Pinky
fighting and thought it was pretty damn funny how Nathan was
running away like a coward. It was one hell of a wedding and Pinky
had some flowers pot to buy back. She saw the picture of Vance
getting an heart attack and her heart stopped. She knew Leelia had
left the wedding before this took place.

Leelia didn’t want any disturbance. Gloe
disturbed her persistently, insisting that she open up. Leelia
looked at the tweets. With only minutes remaining. Leelia called
Dr. Reid and paid for the Vance’s treatment by maxing out Qwan’s
credit card. Dr. Reid had already began surgery on Vance when he
heard of Pinky’s earnest devotion to ending his life. News had
already reached his ears of how much damage she did with several
flowers pot, he didn’t want to cross her path. Vance was held under
observation for three days before he was sent home with the warning
that he need to do the surgery by Thursday, latest Friday, or else
he’s dead.

Aubrea left the hospital the same day. She
didn’t drink the orange juice. She was to meet with Finaral in the
night.

Night came.

She didn’t leave the house.

Pinky was angry, because she was
time-pedalling the two to see what they were up to.

Aubrea didn’t leave because I warned her that
Pinky had read her texts.

Pinky said that she will never stop until she
got down to the bottom of everything. She vowed if she didn’t catch
them today then she will catch them tomorrow. I agreed with
her.

But I still warned Aubrea about Pinky’s
intention.

by: Leelia Lexings

Eleven days out of this week I’ve been trying
to get through to Qwan’s phone. This was my twenty-ninth time
calling his phone today without getting any answer. He wouldn’t
take my calls and he still wasn’t sleeping at his house. I just
can’t get through to him, no matter what I tried. He was too
devastated from the wedding. He had nothing to do with me anymore,
nor ever again. He didn’t want to see my face or hear my voice.

I tried calling for the thirtieth time. His
phone rang.

(((Rrring. Rrring.)))

Still no answer. I tried calling with Gloe’s
phone, I put my number on private, I called at nights, mornings,
evenings, days, blue moon, full moon. No answer. I gave up.

I resorted to my only other option, Micheal
Douglas.

I didn't want to blackmail Mr. Micheal
Douglas to persuade Qwan to get back with me but my brother was
depending on it. Time was ticking away, every minute counted. I was
desperate, and desperate situations demanded desperate things. I
dialled Mr. Douglas.

(((Rrring. Rrring.)))

No answer Yet.

(((Rrring. Rrring.)))

Got him.

“Good morning Mr. Douglas, it’s Leelia. Can
you talk?” He went silent then answered.

“Yes. Yes.” His voice then went up, “What is
it?” I felt his voice searching with curious eyes but with more
fear in his heart than anything else knowing I held the handle to
things and he held the blade. Just where I wanted him, pinned. My
next sentence proceeded to tactfully corner him.

“You remember that thing from the other night
—-“, he interrupted me

“I can’t talk to you about that now.”

“You better listen to what I ...” Something’s
wrong,

“Mr. Douglas? Mr. Douglas?” No answer. A
couple seconds passed before I heard the empty tone humming through
the phone. Shocked, I still held the phone at my ears listening for
his further response, waiting on my opportunity to talk. Did he
really hung up? I spoke in the cell.

“Mr. Douglas?” Continued nothing.
Unbelieve-fucking-able. That!.. That! ... I pulled the cell from my
ear and held it directly to my mouth, screamed,

“Mr. Douglas!” Only the annoying tone. Son of
a motherfucker. I yelled again, more angry

“Mr. Douglas!” Flatline sound. He definitely
had disrespectfully hung up. I heard the connection got cut. My
face slackened, astounded by his brute rudeness. Some nerves! He
can French smooch my ass!