Page 9

THREE

The sun had settled in its final resting place and wouldn’t revisit Clarke until morning. Though natural lighting had evaded the city, it hadn’t escaped my home. On the theater chair, stretched out underneath the weighted blanket, was a pure ray of sunshine.

The prettiest kind .

Movie night had put Malaya right to sleep. I leaned over and collected the glasses from the tray connecting the chairs in the center. With both hands full, I made the third trip to the kitchen. I lowered the dishes into the dishwasher and began the cleaning cycle.

When I returned to the theater, baby girl hadn’t moved an inch. She was in desperate need of the rest she was getting. To settle the madness in her head that she didn’t quite understand, I scheduled father-daughter activities that I knew would bring her the peace she craved. Even if only for a little while.

The weekend with her mother was cancelled at the very last minute. Discovering the demise of George had shaken her mother up, leaving me to make a decision I had dreaded since my knife cut through his flesh the first time. While it was revitalizing, it was just as condemning.

George hadn’t disappeared by choice. I’d made the message clear that it was best he found something safer to do than Yara. He’d done far too much damage when I finally connected the dots and stopped being in denial about her addiction. Learning that it was heroine she was addicted to nearly sent me over the edge.

It was called dog food for a reason. It was a very hard drug and an even harder drug to disobey. Your body became dependent upon it to survive at some point. Fortunately, Yara was far from that point of her addiction. She was still a newbie, essentially. Her commitment to her patients saved her veins most days and a few nights.

That was the only reason I hadn’t forced her to end her employment. It was all she had to hold onto and she refused to lose her license, even more than she was afraid to lose her child. Because, Malaya had me. Without her license, Yara would have nothing. Or at least, she felt that way.

I lowered my lips onto her forehead and pressed them against her pretty dark skin. She didn’t budge.

My baby is tired .

I decided to leave her alone to get some rest. I had a more pressing matter to tend to in the meantime. Unfortunately, rest wasn’t a luxury of mine, either. I couldn’t close my eyes and peacefully sleep knowing my daughter’s world was crumbling around her.

I stepped out of the Ralph Lauren pajama pants and folded them neatly before putting them away with the top that matched. I replaced them with black slacks that I buttoned at the waistline. The crisp white shirt slid up my arms with ease. I gathered the buttons at the center and began fastening them. A matching jacket and black socks completed the set of threads I’d chosen.

I slid the Patek on my wrist and employed the diamond bracelets to accompany it. On the opposite wrist, I settled for two of my Cartier bracelets. After sliding my feet into the loafers, I removed the rag from my head. The thin, damp washcloth that kept the stray strand of hair in place followed.

I conquered the length of my home. My exit was accompanied by a black SUV and its struggle to keep up with my pace.

Hi

My name is 6lack but people call me 6-lack

I don’t mind because they’re stubborn and my bank account is looking mighty fine

I hiked the volume of the stereo as I mashed the gas. My head nodded to the beat. My heart matched its rhythm.

I ain’t sliding if you with him

Baby, you gone have to leave him

I got morals

The street light turned red as I approached. I gripped the handle of my burner and placed it on my lap, prepared to shoot through the window if anyone wanted to get stupid. From one side to the other, I turned my head, checking my surroundings.

I was in the suburbs of Clarke, but one could never be too careful. Motherfuckers were hungry, and I was a very good meal ticket. My jewelry alone would put them up two hundred grand if they were smart enough.

Scccrrrrrrrr .

I slammed my foot on the gas, disinterested on waiting for the change of the light. I entered the freeway at full speed. Everything around me blurred as my mileage per hour increased. I weaved through the vehicles that were stifling my temporary need for speed.

Fuck .

I quickly remembered there was one following me. A glance in the rearview mirror confirmed the distance between us. Raquim’s name flashed across my dashboard at the thought of him.

“Yeah,” I answered with a single tap of the touchscreen.

“Just tell me where you’re headed, El. A nigga can not keep up with you,” he huffed.

Chuckling, I revealed my intentions, “Headed to Yara’s.”

“Bet. See you there.”

I ended the call and the music resumed. Because he knew where I was headed, Raquim was no longer my concern. I eased my foot down on the pedal, increasing my speed by the millisecond.

Yara’s home was nestled in a quiet neighborhood in Windridge. The two-story, three-bedroom, modest family home was her proudest purchase. Admittedly, she’d done well for herself.

I stepped onto her porch and laid a finger on the doorbell. The night breeze shoved nature each time it blew, swaying the leaves leftward. I shoved my hands in my pants, prepared for the wait.

Yara was prompt. Her delayed appearance made it clear to me that she wasn’t sober. I began to pace the porch, contemplating my next course of action. As much as I wanted to give her the benefit of doubt, I knew her all too well.

After two minutes, I threw caution to the wind and removed the spare key from my pocket. I’d duplicated hers twice and kept one key in the house and the other in whatever car I was driving. My fear of Yara’s overdose kept me on my toes and ready to enter her home involuntarily at any moment.

I shoved the door open, unsure of what was waiting for me behind it. The living room was clear. So was the kitchen. I visited Malaya’s bedroom where Yara often slept in her absence, but she was nowhere to be found. After clearing the entire first floor, I headed upstairs. Yara’s room was the first stop. Her bed was still made.

Panic-stricken, I lowered my body to the floor and pushed my hand between her mattress and box spring. The gun I’d purchased her for protection was still in its rightful place. Instead of leaving it, I shoved it into my waistline as I pushed open her closet door. I’d return it when she was better. Sober. Back to the Yara I knew.

Whimpers caught my attention. I nearly pulled a muscle in my neck with the rapid turn of my head. The light from the bathroom shined from the cracks between the door and the frame. I rushed across the room, twisted the knob, and gained entry into the bathroom immediately.

And there she was. On the floor, back pressed against the tub, and her knees up to her chest. The small black pouch beside her made my gut churn. I swallowed the lump of nothingness that formed in my throat as a sigh deflated my chest. I’d been holding my breath since I stepped on her porch. Knowing she was still alive and still breathing offered an ounce of relief.

“Yara–”

My tone was so low, so gentle, that I hardly recognized it.

“Israel,” she cried.

“Yes. It’s me. What’s the matter?”

“Everything.”

Tears streamed down her pretty face as she scooted lower on the floor and rested the back of her head against the tile of the tub.

“It doesn’t have to be, though. I told you, when you’re ready to fight this beast I am standing behind you ten toes down.”

“I don’t have any fight in me, Israel. Every time I try, I– I can’t do it.”

“You’re not ready to do it, Yara, and there’s a difference in the two.”

“You don’t understand.”

“And, I don’t disagree with that. I don’t understand. Not one bit, but I’m not trying to. I want you better. I don’t need to understand to want that for you.”

“I just feel so alone.”

“You’re not. You have Malaya. You have me. You have help, Yara. You just have to take it.”

“George is gone. Malaya is gone. You’re gone.”

“I’ve been gone for twelve years, Yara. Let that pain go. George deserved the death he succumbed to. May that nigga rest in hell. The lowest, hottest part of that motherfucker. Malaya is here, but I’m not sure how much longer I can allow her to be. You’re ripping our baby to shreds. That’s why I’m here, Yara. You’re destroying any ideal of normalcy baby girl has. Don’t do that to her. I need you to get up. I need you to fight this shit. Then, I need you to get back to the mother she remembers. That’s all she asks. That’s all I ask.”

“I keep trying, Israel.”

“Not hard enough. I’ve seen what you can do, Yara. You walk a straight fucking line in that hospital. You know more than any of the physicians you work for. Your track record is clean. You don’t fuck up. When you enter those hospital doors, this part of your life doesn’t exist. That fucking drug doesn’t exist.

“You’re a completely different person. But, the second your feet touch concrete again, you fold. That woman you clock in as, that Yara, that’s the one that we want to win. The one we need to win. She’s there. Your co-workers and patients see her every fucking day. Let Malaya see her.

“She needs her. You need her. Not just them motherfuckers lying in the beds at the hospital. Your daughter is in crisis mode as well. Get out of your own head and out of your own way and wrap this shit up, Yara.

“You don’t have the luxury to be here on this fucking floor too many more nights. Your daughter is waiting for you. A better you. A sober you.”

“I know. I knooooooow. I love her so much. I just want her to come home.”

“Not like this. She’ll never come home when this is what she has to look forward to.”

“I’m trying.”

“You’re not ready, Yara. You’re not ready. It’s the same fucking conversation every time we talk. As pissed as I want to be with you, I can’t be.”

I lowered until I was squatting in front of her.

“That’s why the nigga that put you on to this shit is pushing daises. Don’t worry about going to the funeral to see him for the last time, either. His casket will be sealed. I made sure of it.”

I grabbed her by the back of the neck, lifting her head from the side of the tub.

“Why, Israel? Why?”

“Because, you don’t get to bring harm to my child and not see the nigga that brought you into this world.”

I pressed my lips against her forehead and closed my eyes. She was limp like a ragdoll. Slowly, the Yara I knew was fading.

“Get better soon, baby girl.”

I released her and stood to my feet. With her favorite black pouch in my hand, I left her on the floor where I’d found her. By seven, she’d be sober, and this moment would be nothing more than a blur if she remembered it at all.

I exited her home and locked the door behind me. Raquim stood outside of the truck with his eyes planted on the door. When I entered his line of vision, he pushed off the truck and waited for instruction. I didn’t have the capacity to give him any.

“She good?” He questioned.

With a nod, I responded. “She will be.”

“Where to?”

“Blue.”

“Seafood?”

“Yeah. I need a fucking drink.”

I unlocked my phone at the thought of dining alone. That wasn’t in my interest. I found Meela’s contact and pressed the message icon.

Blue’s Prime Seafood.

Forty-five minutes.

See you soon.

I’ll be there . Her response was short and simple, leading me in the direction of my car. I tossed the black pouch to Raquim.

“Get rid of that shit.”

It was going to the graveyard of others I’d stolen from Yara’s place over time.

“Say less.”

I stepped out of the GT 63 and stretched my long legs. The valet attendant rushed to my side, taking the door by the handle.

“Good evening, Sir. Reservations?”

I took one look at the thickened, rimmed glasses on his face and knew that driving my car would be the highlight of his night. To be quite honest, I didn’t give a fuck. If given the opportunity, I’d burn the rubber off the tires at his age.

“No.”

“Alright. Can I get a name and number to put–”

“Be safe during your ride, Vince.” I patted his shoulder as I read his nametag. “Just don’t scratch my shit. I don’t have to tell you not to wreck it because you understand you’ll lose more than your life if you do.”

“Yes, Sir. Of course.”

“Have fun.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

I entered the dimly lit restaurant with my diamonds leading the way. They glistened under the warm white lighting. The yellow undertones matched perfectly with the black decor. Together, they set a vibe that kept me coming back to the spot at least twice a quarter. The food was a major factor as well.

“Welcome to Blue Prime Seafood. Do you have reservations with us tonight?”

“I don’t. But, put me down for a table of four, set for two, as soon as one comes available.”

“Any preferences for location?”

“The back of the house.”

“Great. I have you down. Can I get a name for you, Sir?”

“You know my name, love. It’s the same as last time and the time before that.”

The smile of the hostess faded as she nodded. Each time I visited, she was the person I was talking to. She did her job well. Not only did I believe it but her bosses did too because she was always front and center.

“Right.”

“I’ll be at the bar.”

I took off, headed for the bar that was near the area I was interested in dining. There were not many empty chairs, so I grabbed one of the two vacant ones next to an older couple enjoying a drink and each other’s company. The bartender was in front of me with a napkin and menu before I was able to settle in the high top chair.

“What can I get for you?”

“A Manhattan.”

“Coming right up.”

Intently, I observed as my drink of choice was constructed. I placed both hands in front of me, elbows on the bartop. My palms combed down my face as I gathered my thoughts.

“Argh,” I groaned, lowly.

My drink arrived a mere sixty seconds after the order had been placed.

“Here you are, Sir. Will you be closing out your tab or leaving it open?”

“Keep it open.”

“Alright. I’m Henry. Holler if you need anything else.”

I nodded, assuring him of my understanding. The chilled glass and ice-cold concoction inside brought saliva from my glands. The glass was relatively small in my hand, reminding me of my daughter’s tea cups between my long fingers during the many tea times I’d attended in the past. I pulled it closer to me, then up toward my lips.

The first sip was revitalizing. Things faded. Not everything, but many. Enough to make my shoulders less heavy and my heart not feel like anchors were keeping it grounded. A lengthy sigh followed the sip.

The issue I was facing was unlike anything else I’d encountered. At the snap of a finger, the pull of a trigger, the ambush of a location, or a payment that couldn’t be refused had fixed every problem I’d had in adulthood. But, this was different. There was no amount of money I could pay Yara to convince her to get better for our child.

I felt like I was fighting a losing battle at times. There was hope, but the longer this shit went on, I was wondering how much hope I could have for someone who wasn’t hopeful for themselves or their situation.

Giving up on her is not optional . I reminded myself.

I didn’t plan to .

“We’re in this shit together, pretty,” I whispered as a whiff of wild florals, zest, vanilla, and berries swept past me.

Involuntarily, my nose followed the fragrant pleasantries. When my vision cleared and the main attraction came into full view, I flatlined. My heart stopped beating. My lungs collapsed. My limbs lost their mobility.

I fought for relevancy in my head, but quickly lost the battle. So did Yara. So did Malaya. So did Meela.

Red lips.

Red haltered dress.

Diamonds. Everywhere.

Stilettos.

A perfectly sculpted frame.

And, a presence that was unmistakable .

My gaze never departed. I watched as she made a home for her Birkin bag, hanging it beside her as she made herself comfortable in the empty seat on the opposite side of the elderly couple. Their bodies shielded mine, but I had a direct path to her. Hadn’t I, then I would’ve surely made one. She was that fucking admirable.

As if he’d been struck by lightning, Henry stood in front of the dark beauty with his eyes glued on her chest. I watched as he swallowed a lump in his knotty ass throat. My nostrils flared in disapproval, forcing me to realize I was alive and well. My heart was beating. My lungs were working well. My limbs were functioning.

“English Rose, Henry.”

Roulette fucking Childers.

The woman. The myth. The legend.

I’d learned great things about the nearly thirty-one year old bombshell. But it had only been once that I’d actually encountered her. That was three years ago. Somehow, she’d gotten three times more beautiful. More commanding. More irresistible. More confident. Sexier. Wealthier.

She was a heavy weight in Clarke. A high roller. A major player at any table she visited. The soft center between her legs was the downfall of so many of her opponents. Not because they managed to slide between them.

She was practically untouched. Practically untouchable. But, the misconception that led them to believe a woman was incapable of winning the game that was designed for men. She entered the entertainment world and nearly shut down every circus act in the city.

However, the low lives needed somewhere to hang, because they couldn’t enter her spot if their pockets weren’t laced. So, she let an establishment or two remain. They didn’t share customer profiles, so their business wasn’t hurting her pockets.

“Yes. Of course. Welcome.”

Frozen in place, Henry stayed grounded. He didn’t move an inch. I wasn’t even sure if he was breathing. With a shake of my head, I watched him dangle from the hook she’d thrown. He’d caught the bait and couldn’t let go.

“Any minute now,” she urged.

Long, dark lashes batted in his direction as she waited for him to move around.

“Uh– yes. Yes. English Rose Martini coming up.”

Henry shuffled his feet, ready to tend to her needs. Not just the request for a drink either. Anything she needed, he was ready and willing to give her. She’s cast a spell and he’d fallen victim, swiftly. I couldn’t fault him. Hadn’t I been able to avoid those eyes, that smile, those lips, and that face, then shit would be looking sketchy for me too.

Hell, I had yet to encounter her, and I was wondering if that table was even necessary. If Meela’s presence was necessary. As long as Roulette was at the bar, I had the right to believe I would be at the fucking bar.

Oh, Chino. My guy . I groaned, inwardly. Taking another sip of my drink, I chastised him. Letting this woman roam Clarke was a bad fucking decision . The worst .

“I truly appreciate you, Henry.”

She was slow to progress with her words. She didn’t need time on her side. It was her servant. It only moved when she was ready. The entire restaurant had come to a creep. Everything around us slowed down like a scene straight out of a movie.

“My pleasure.”

This nigga is a fucking fool if I’ve never met one . Chino was heavy on my mind. His ex-woman, however, was heavier on my mind.

She nodded, watching closely as he moved across the bar with ease. When he returned, he slid the glass across the bar, holding on to the bottom of the stem as he stared up at her. My temperature rose, and sooner than later, I wanted him out of her fucking face.

She didn’t resist the opportunity to stroke his ego. She used her feminine energy to her advantage. Just from observing I understood that it was her most powerful weapon, although I was sure she was toting fire in that seventy-thousand dollar bag hanging from the counter. She accepted the drink from him, allowing her fingers to hover over his. Their skin grazed, sending waves of heat up my spine.

Henry’s nervous system went into overdrive. He was overwhelmed with her beauty, her presence, and the attention she was giving him. Little did he know, even if he worked three hundred hours a week, he didn’t have enough money to appease a woman of her caliber.

Henry’s nostrils widened. The clenching of his jaw brought a smile to her face. She was amused. Possibly aroused. A low chuckled and shake of the head escaped me simultaneously. The fact that this woman had been set free would never sit well with me. It was blowing my mind–just as she was.

“Is there anything else I can get you?”

She shook her head, tilting her chin toward her chest and looking up at him with those large rounds. “That will be it, Henry.”

“Consider it on the house– I didn’t catch your name.”

“I didn’t throw it.”

He chuckled.

“True.”

“Are you asking for my name, Henry?”

“I am.”

“Then ask.”

She paused, pulling the drink closer. She was dripping sex without the intention of ever removing her panties for the man in front of her. Nevertheless, the entertainment was good. The entertainment was great. She was a professional. It showed. Her performance was award-worthy.

She leaned in and met the glass mid-air. Her lips pursed as her chest caved. Those sharp corners of her shoulders displaying her confidence curled inward. She was satisfied with the first sip.

She lowered the drink to the counter and shifted her gaze. Inches away, Henry stood with his lips ajar and his shoulders rounded as if he, too, could taste the collection of flavors. Visions of my pistol between his teeth lulled my thoughts.

“I’m waiting.” She reminded him of the task ahead.

He was too far gone to follow up. She was killing him softly. Slowly. Subtly.

“Uh– Yeah. Your name.”

“What about it?” She chuckled, forcing him to proclaim his desires. “I know you can do better than that. Can’t you?”

He placed a finger between his collar and neck before running it along both. His fabric was growing warmer and tighter on his frame. He cleared his throat and finally released the breath he’d been holding. The nigga was folding. Fumbling. Fucking up. Though he didn’t stand a chance; if he had, then he was losing his grip on it.

“What is your name?”

“It’s whatever you want it to be. What would you like it to be, Henry?”

A fucking tease. I turned my head, ready to tune them both out. I had come to the bar to wind down. She had me worked up and it wasn’t me she was addressing. I cleared my throat and tried shaking my thoughts of her.

“I–”

“Ahhh– here you are,” A thick Colombian accent called out, startling an already nervous Henry.

“Mr. Kingston–” the waitress placed a hand on my shoulder, rescuing me from the turmoil I was in.

“Yes?”

“Your table is ready and your guest has already started toward it.”

Meela had arrived.

“Thank you.”

When I reached her chair, Roulette’s eyes were still penetrating Henry’s chest like knives. She was demanding a response and the man standing behind her was demanding her attention. Not until she was ready did she stand.

“Goodnight, Henry,” she stated, exposing the lost opportunity of the bar boy.

I rounded the bar, following the hostess toward the table. However, my feet developed a mind of their own. As if there was a magnetic force I was naturally drawn to, I returned to the bar. This time, on the side closest to the table where I assumed the hostess was leading me.

“Henry,” I called out, garnering his attention.

He snapped his neck in my direction, finally breaking free of the trance. He rushed to me, nearly tripping over his long ass feet.

“Yes. Close your tab, Sir?”

“That and your fucking mouth when you see her unless you want my Glock between your teeth next time. And, trust me, you don’t want that.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I– She’s ju– She’s beautiful, man. Mesmerizing,” he groaned, remembering just how beautiful Roulette truly was. I agreed. She was stunning.

“I don’t bluff, Henry. Everything about me is factual. Understood?”

As if I had the barrel down his throat at the moment, he shook his head up and down rapidly.

“Good, now put her drink on my tab. She doesn’t need shit on the house.”

I left Henry standing, possibly in a pool of piss. My stride slowed as I approached the table where Meela was waiting. She was as pretty as I remembered. I was sure her pussy was just as wet. Grippy. And anticipating my breech.

“I apologize for carving out time I no longer need from your schedule, Meela,” I explained, removing the wad of money from my slacks.

I counted off ten hundred dollar bills and laid them on the table. When I pushed them in her direction, our eyes met. Confusion plagued her, but there wasn’t an ounce of confusion hindering me.

“Israe–”

“Goodnight, Meela. I apologize.”

I leaned over and kissed her forehead. Slowly, I turned and put distance between us. Though I didn’t feel good about dragging her out of the house for an impromptu dinner that was no longer on my agenda, I had no regrets.

I exited the restaurant with my phone in my hand. The call I’d placed was connecting. I placed the speaker up to my ear and waited for an answer.

“Chino–” I greeted him the second he was on the line.

“What’s up, El?”

“About that thing you mentioned the other day–”

“Yeah. With Roulette?”

“Yes. Yes. With Roulette. Set that up and call me back with the details.”

“Change of heart?” He asked.

He’d be waiting for a response until he took his last breath, because I didn’t have one to give him.