Tick, Tick, Boom! Page 12

  “Yeah, you right. He definitely needs the rest.” Jordan followed him grabbing a plate. “Well, while he sleeping, it ain’t no need for you to miss out on this breakfast.”

  Ponytail went in the far side of the kitchen. “Hey, Reckless, hey, boy! Here come daddy!” He cracked the door open letting the pit bull see his familiar face.

  Watching him jump up and down, Jordan backed away from the animal whose head and body were as big as a small pony. “Get him, get him!”

  “Girl, stop tripping, you good.”

  “Naw, fuck that.” Jordan eased near the doorway not ever wanting to go in that direction. “I don’t play with no damn dogs.”

  When Ponytail was finished feeding his four-legged companion and letting him run around the fenced-in backyard, he finally fixed himself a plate. Not wasting any more time when he was done, he snatched his keys off the coffee table. “You listen up. I know you probably mad busy with shit to do, but ol’ boy need somebody to stay with him. One of us can make sure we pick his car up from the hospital.”

  “It ain’t no problem, but what about his girl Kenya?”

  Ponytail was on a mission. Having to pick up the ticket money from several trap houses, Storm’s childhood friend was short, brief, and to the point. “Look, like I told you last night, I ain’t seen her since I been here, so just look out ’til I get back okay?”

  Jordan finished cleaning up the kitchen as Storm snored away on the couch, still dead to the world. Having spent the night on the couch, she had yet to see the rest of the condo Kenya, whom she hated, had the privilege to call home. Making her way up the stairs, she admired the color scheme along with the extravagant pictures that were hung tastefully on the walls. Peeping her head inside the first bedroom, her jaw dropped. This must be the master bedroom. They living like fucking kings. Overlooking the clothes tossed around, broken picture frame glass, and overall messiness, Jordan was still very much jealous. In between dope and Alley Cats, Storm was getting it.

  Not caring if Storm awoke and came upstairs to find her snooping, Jordan strolled into one of the walk-in closets, discovering what appeared to be all of Kenya’s expensive wardrobe thrown about. Wherever her stupid ass at, I sure wouldn’t have left this. She held a dress up to her body. Or this. She picked up another.

  Minutes after being nosey in there, she went down the hallway discovering the room London had been sleeping in. What the fuck? Picking up baby clothes off the floor and prenatal care books off the dresser, Jordan was confused and amazed. Okay, so that bitch Kenya is pregnant. So what’s the big secret? And why Storm get so defensive about the bullshit? Looking over at the bed and all the personal items that sat on the nightstand, she then started to laugh. Oh, hell naw, don’t tell me him and that stuck-up bitch been sleeping in separate rooms!

  Twenty or so minutes into playing detective, Jordan finally went back downstairs before Storm woke up or Ponytail came back. By the looks of what she’s just seen, Kenya showing up anytime soon was the last thing on her mind.

  * * *

  MARCO

  “That good dick-sucking trick got some damn nerve hanging up on me.” Marco slammed the receiver of the hotel room’s desk phone down and grabbed his pistol. “I got a right mind to leave up out this motherfucker and kill her punk-ass sister for real! She must think I’m one of them tricks she mind fucks down at that club. I ain’t the one. I’ll put something real hot up in her for real.”

  Pacing, agitated, he picked up an empty bottle of liquor off the floor hoping he’d be blessed with maybe a corner he could kill off. Turning it up and not getting so much as a taste he got angrier as he clicked on the television to the morning news. I swear, if them police wasn’t still looking for my black ass, I’d be out, because that ho Jordan is bugging! She straight trying it with me. I’m a boss out in them streets; nothing more nothing less.

  Having to take a leak, Marco set his gun down on the minibar before going into the bathroom. Trying to come up with a master plan to murder Storm, then get out of town not captured and alive, Marco paused almost in mid-piss as he heard the room door handle move, then push open. What the fuck?

  “Hey, Miss Lady!” a man’s voice shouted out obviously now inside the room. “Damn what’s been going on in here? I need to call housekeeping.” He made reference to the over-the-top mess and disregard for the hotel room. “You do know this room is rented, don’t you? Come on out that bathroom so we can talk. And why did you have that DO NOT DISTURB sign on the door? What was that about?”

  As the voice got louder and the questions kept coming, Marco was frozen. I must’ve left that double lock off when I cuffed that fucking food. He was trapped in the bathroom and knew his only option would be to shoot his way out. Shit! he thought, quickly realizing his pistol was on the other side of the door.

  “Jordan? Hey, Jordan!” Big Doc B yelled toward the semi-shut bathroom door. “Bring your ass out here! I’m about to call somebody up here to clean this mess before I end up paying an arm and a leg for permanent damages. This don’t make no type of sense. You need to be ashamed of yourself.” Reaching for the phone that was sitting on the nightstand, he was hotter than fish grease. “I have never seen this side of you. Do you keep your apartment like this? Because if you do, it’s a wonder you haven’t caught some sort of disease. This is terrible.”

  Before he could get an answer from Jordan or push the number nine button for the front desk, he paused. Something shiny caught his attention. Raising his brow, he noticed what looked like a gun across the room on top of the empty minibar. Placing the receiver down on the hook, he walked over to investigate. As he stood with his back to the bathroom, he was confused. First not believing the nasty condition of the room and now noticing a huge revolver in plain sight, Doc started to feel like something was very wrong.

  “What in the hell?” Big Doc B’s hand reached for the long-barrel pistol with the wood-grain handle. Before he knew what was happening next, he felt a strong, painful force come crashing down on the rear portion of his skull. Big Doc B lifted his hands up to shield from whatever was causing the impromptu pain. That didn’t stop the mysterious attack. Matter of fact, it increased the blows rendering him disoriented. His legs grew weak. He was barely standing. As his fingertips and knuckles became drenched in what he knew had to be his own blood, Big Doc B attempted to turn around. Like clockwork, he was then met by some other object smashing into the dead center of his forehead. Immediately a huge gash opened up, and blood started to leak down. His eyes were quickly covered. He fought to stay alert and in the moment, but he couldn’t. His body collapsed on the floor right next to a pile of dirty towels.

  * * *

  Nursing a massive headache from the metal towel rack used to knock him out cold, Doc soon regained consciousness. Focusing his eyes, he was face to face with the infamous Marco Meriwether who he’d seen breaking news alerts about all morning on every channel. Tied up with strips of the bed sheets, Doc was helpless. Struggling to break free or at least get the tight gag off his mouth was amusing to his captor as Marco sat across the room smiling.

  “Come on now, you know you about hit so just fall back,” Marco calmly advised while fumbling with Doc’s phone. “You’s just wasting your time. I used some of them dumb-ass Boy Scouts knots they taught at them old welfare summer camps. So look, old dude, chill!”

  Knowing he was 100 percent correct, Doc stopped moving all together. He breathed hard, and his eyes showed fear. Why did I come over here? Why didn’t I just go straight to the office? He searched the room wondering if Jordan was tied up in the bathroom somewhere or if she was part of Marco’s mayhem.

  Scrolling down Doc’s contacts, he came up with several familiar numbers. “Damn, nigga. Storm, Kenya, O.T., which you can delete.” He laughed. “And of course our girl Jordan. Alley Cats, Bare Faxx, The Hot Box, shit! You got all the strip clubs on speed dial.” Moments later he searched through Doc’s text messages to pass the time. Suddenly, Marco’s eyes widened. “Oh,
hell naw! Let me watch this freak shit again!” Marco couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “Hold up, is this you getting some head from Storm’s wifey? Your flabby ass fucking around with Jordan and that uppity ho Kenya?”

  Temporarily forgetting about the immediate danger he was facing at Marco’s hands, Doc squirmed around, terrified what Storm would do to him if he ever saw the video Kenya recorded.

  “That bitch going in ain’t she? Dang, why ain’t you bang them guts?” After watching, the “Tastey Does Doc” video show a few more times, Marco’s demented laughter got louder and his comments got harsher. “Oh, snap, do Storm’s gangster-wannabe pimp ass know you giving his girl the dick all up in her head? I’m about to send him this bullshit right fucking now and see what a boss he think he is then!”

  Chapter Twelve

  KENYA

  Lying in Brother Rasul’s king-sized bed, Kenya started to wonder why Storm hadn’t responded to the picture message she’d sent him of his newborn son. Yeah, she knew the text she’d sent underneath it was cold, harsh, and straight to the point, but that still wouldn’t have stopped him from calling back talking shit, not to London, whose cell she sent it from and certainly not to her. He probably planning some ol’ crazy Rambo stunt. Shit, his ass probably searching every hotel in Dallas.

  After a few minutes, her mindset shifted. Maybe he found London and know it’s some shit behind that text. Maybe he called the police and they looking for me. Kenya immediately erased that thought knowing him turning her in to the law would be like turning himself in. She pulled the thin blanket up over her head, and her stomach growled as she thought about the good dinner Rasul had prepared for her the evening prior. That stupid ho Fatima don’t know how good she had it. She had a dude cooking for her and looking out financially, not to mention trustworthy, not cheating. If I could turn back the hands of time for me and Storm, I would in a heartbeat.

  Just as Kenya was replaying Brother Rasul’s conversation /argument he’d had with Fatima, especially the part of him saying he wanted to fuck her, she heard him walking up the stairs. “Hey, you.”

  “Hey, Kenya, how was your nap?”

  “It was good. I’m sorry I’m putting you out your bed.” Kenya sat up as he came over toward her. “I told you I can sleep in your spare room.”

  “Naw, don’t be silly, queen. You and li’l man is my guests.”

  “Thanks, Ra. When I woke up, I saw he was out his bassinet, so I figured you had him downstairs.”

  “Yeah, me and him was doing a little male bonding,” he announced. “He’s asleep on the couch with a pillow around him, but I need to talk to you about something important.”

  Oh, damn, here we go. Kenya held the covers tightly. “What is it? Did Storm call again?”

  “Naw, it wasn’t Storm. It was one of my people out there. They had an update for me.”

  “An update?” Kenya puzzled.

  Brother Rasul sat down on the edge of the bed. “Listen, Kenya. Apparently Storm’s brother O.T. died late yesterday afternoon.”

  “What! Are you serious?” she shouted constantly surrounded by death and mayhem. “Not him too?”

  Brother Rasul held Kenya in his arms as she started to sob. “Listen, queen, I need you to hold it together because I need to ask you something.”

  Wiping her face, Kenya looked into his eyes. “What is it?”

  Cupping her face in his hands, Brother Rasul started his speech. “I know you and Storm ain’t on the best of terms, and I know you scared, and whenever he discovers your sister’s body in that freezer he’s gonna nut up even more, but that man gonna need you and your strength now more than ever. He’s gonna want his son with him. Don’t you think you owe him that much?”

  Kenya was confused. She was hurt. And most of all she was worried. As long as she was in Detroit, with Brother Rasul, she was safe. Kenya knew for certain he wouldn’t let anyone or anything hurt her. “I don’t know.”

  “Listen, you need to make amends. You know you can’t keep that man’s seed away from him forever. I mean if he is anything like me, sooner or later he gonna find a way to be with him.”

  Laying her head on his shoulder, Kenya smelled the scent of his cologne, which happened to be one of Storm’s favorites. Distraught and feeling lost, she pressed her wet face into Brother Rasul’s neck. She held him closely, and Kenya’s lips softly kissed his neck once, then twice. Before the both of them knew it, the friends were going at it like teenagers. Hands here and there and everywhere. Tongues were on every part of each other’s body, and sweat and lust exploded on the sheets.

  * * *

  An hour later, the two so-called friends lay, bodies entangled, in the king-sized bed confused over what had just happened. The fact that Kenya told him she was still bleeding, the fact that she had let her sister die, and the fact that she’d just days before slept with Storm meant absolutely nothing to Brother Rasul. All of Fatima’s disrespectful insults had come to be true. He did have feelings for Kenya, and he’d go against anything or anyone to make her happy, even his religion, which forbids having sexual intercourse with a woman during her time of the month.

  Hearing the baby crying, he sat up. “I’ll be right back. Let me get little man.”

  When he stood to his feet, Kenya took a deep breath staring at his tall, chiseled frame but her mind was back in Dallas and the life she’d just run away from. “Damn,” she mumbled holding the sheet up to her body watching him leave the room. “I wonder what Storm is doing? I hope he’s okay. I know he’s fucked up in the head right about now.”

  Moments later, a now robed Brother Rasul returned with the baby in his arms and a bottle in his hand. Sitting down in the La-Z-Boy near the bed, he fed the infant as Kenya bit at her nails. “Look, when I finish feeding this baby, we gotta straighten this bullshit out, okay? You gotta face the music.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “But nothing, Kenya. This mess is serious, and I need to get a hold on it before it gets so far gone I can’t do shit!” He slightly raised his voice. “Besides, you just can’t leave your sister’s body like that. She deserves better don’t you think? If you walk away like that, you gonna regret it later, trust me.”

  “Okay, well—” Before Kenya could say any more, they were interrupted by the ringing of Brother Rasul’s cell phone, which was sitting on the nightstand.

  * * *

  STORM

  After sleeping half the day away, Storm woke up still feeling the depressing thoughts associated with losing his brother. Taking a shower and going back downstairs, he found Ponytail sitting on the couch eating a sandwich that Jordan had made for him before she left earlier. “Hey, man.”

  “Hey, Storm, what’s going on? You good or what?” Ponytail set the plate on the coffee table and turned the television on mute.

  “Yeah, I’m just fucked up at this whole dumb-ass bullshit that’s all.” He sat in his favorite chair reflecting. “One minute a nigga here talking shit, smoking weed, and chasing behind hoes and just like that, bam, a nigga dead and gone. It’s crazy.”

  Ponytail, like the night before, was at a loss for words. “I feel you, man. O.T., me, and you had some wild times back in the day.”

  For the first time in days, Storm laughed. “Hell yeah. Matter of fact, I’m surprised all three of our black asses ain’t dead! We used to take this city through it!”

  “Yeah, back in the day.” Ponytail thought about his girl at home and his kids. “But shit done changed for me. Well, at least up until now.”

  “And straight up, dawg, a guy like me really appreciate you helping a nigga out in his time of need. Especially since ol’ girl is MIA.”

  Not wanting to be nosey or in the next man’s business, Ponytail finally asked Storm where Kenya was at while they counted out the ticket money on the floor. Storm was hesitant at first, but he knew he owed his boy some sort of explanation as to why he was alone without his supposed fiancée by his side. As the jaded story unfolded, Ponytail sat stunned
that almost stupid streetwise Kenya had a secret goody-goody twin who had lived back in Detroit without Storm’s knowledge. He was even more speechless that Storm had fucked around and dicked the wrong sister down, knocking her up.

  “Dude, you have no idea how crazy that bullshit was and how it jumped off. After that misunderstanding with Javier’s savage ass, I was messed up on painkillers like a motherfucker and drinking myself damn near to death. A brother was depressed like some old Lifetime movie them females so strung out on. Shidddd, I slipped up one night. Then bam, Kenya sister let that shit come out one night after we was beefing. Dawg, it was madness around this place.”

  “You know what, Kenya? From day one right off rip, I should’ve known that you was gonna be trouble. My little brother warned me about dealing with you, but I wouldn’t listen. Now it’s about to be a damn all-out street war because you and your sidekick Paris fucked the fuck up and killed that girl for nothing! The streets of Dallas gonna run red for this shit! I’m done with your ass for real this time! You costing me way too much!”

  Kenya went into hysterics as she started throwing dishes against the wall and begging for Storm’s forgiveness once again. Having no self-respect, the once Detroit diva was crawling on her knees pleading with him not to leave her. London, stunned, was now pissed as she watched her own flesh and blood lower herself by this pathetic display.

  “Kenya! Get up off that damn floor! His cheating ass ain’t worth humiliating yourself like this! Get up!”

  “And as for you, bitch, I ’bout done had enough of your instigating ass too! Why don’t you pack your bags and get to stepping with her bad-luck ass!” Storm ran up in London’s face like he wanted to swing. “Get your funky ass the fuck out my house!”

  “Slow down, Storm! This is my sister’s house too!” London fired back standing her ground.

  “Well, Kenya, you gonna tell this tramp to be ghost or what?” Storm waited with a smirk on his face. “It’s me or her, and I’m not playing around this time!” It grew quiet in the room as all eyes were on Kenya, who was breathing hard wiping the tears from her eyes. After a long pause, she finally mumbled.