Tick, Tick, Boom! Page 13

  “What did you say?” Storm demanded to hear. “Speak up, we can’t hear you!”

  “I said, London, would you mind getting a hotel room somewhere until me and Storm figure all of this mess out?” Kenya, ashamed of what she’d just asked, failed to look at her twin sister. “Please, sis, it’ll only be for a few days, I promise, until we work stuff out!”

  “Naw, make that forever!” Storm shouted in response to Kenya’s question to her sister.

  “Oh, it’s like that?” London was heated over what Kenya said. “I’ve put my life on hold for you for months, and now you’re taking his side over mine! How could you?”

  “Please, London!” Kenya whimpered not wanting to face or hear the truth. “Please!”

  Storm started to laugh and couldn’t help himself as he taunted his woman’s sister. “You heard her now didn’t you? So go pack your shit and leave so I can get back to my life.”

  “Yeah, okay! Not at all a problem!” London headed up the stairs and to her room to gather her belongings. “You two deserve each other! I don’t know how I stayed here in this madhouse this long anyhow!” she yelled as she tossed her clothes and a few personal items in a bag.

  When she came back down Storm and Kenya were sitting on the couch talking. He was still dogging Kenya out, but he stopped to sneer at London’s seeming fall from grace. “Don’t worry. I already called your silly jealous ass a cab, so you can just go wait on the damn curb!”

  Kenya was silent as London passed by and went into the kitchen to get something else before struggling to drag her bags to the front door. Just as she opened the front door, the cab was pulling up and blew once. London looked back at her twin giving her one last chance to change her mind. “You sure about this, Kenya? You’re picking this slimeball dope dealer over me?”

  Kenya lowered her head in embarrassment over what was apparently her decision. After all she and London had been through and stuck together, the sisterly love and bond they shared was now being torn apart.

  “Okay, so you know what it is, bitch. Now kick rocks.” Storm held the door open. “And don’t bother us again. Kenya will call you so don’t call her, you lonely ho!”

  London was really overjoyed to leave. She’d suffered through just about enough of Storm’s disrespectful mouth not to mention Kenya’s spineless demeanor. With all her bags on the porch, she spitefully turned around to face her sister and the man she’d so easily chosen over their bond. Vindictively London pulled up her T-shirt exposing a secret of her own that would shut a boisterous Storm up once and for all. Rubbing her slightly pudgy stomach in a circular motion looking down, London grinned delivering the show-stopping revelation of the evening thus far.

  “It’s all good this way. Don’t worry about me. And trust, I ain’t gonna be lonely for long, believe that!” London smirked as all eyes were on her rubbing her belly. “Tell your auntie Kenya and daddy Storm bye!”

  “I don’t understand! What the fuck are you talking about, London?” Kenya broke her silence running over to the door following her sister out to the cab. “What you mean daddy Storm? What is you talking about?”

  Storm frowned after reliving the night that changed his life forever. “Damn it was crazy and now all this aftermath of bullshit to go with it.”

  “Dang, guy, and I thought I had thangs hard trying to live the nine-to-five life!” Ponytail cut their conversation short when the evening news came on with, of course, coverage of Marco Meriwether’s brazen escape and assault taking the lead. “This fool probably halfway to Mexico by now.”

  “With him, it ain’t no telling. That’s why I told my girl and her sister to stay underneath the radar.”

  “Yeah, Storm, I feel you on all that, but don’t you need somebody to help you with the funeral arrangements?”

  Storm paused for a minute, but he knew until Marco was caught, dead, or at least spotted halfway across the world, it was best for the ones close to him—Kenya, London, and his unborn child—to remain out of dodge. “Yeah, I do need somebody, but that’s what I got Jordan’s big-titty, wide ass around for. That bitch is a Ryder! So let her do what she do best: ride for a nigga! She expendable like a motherfucker, but my family ain’t. I already done lost my blood. Besides, when it comes down to it, ain’t none of them hoes paying the tab for my baby brother’s final day.” He snatched a few stacks off the floor. “That tab is all mine! But I do need to check on Kenya’s crazy ass.”

  “I heard that. I’ma bust up and give you a minute.” Ponytail got up after the final count was fourteen stacks, mostly fives and tens. Shaking his head thinking about the twisted situation his boy was facing, he went into the kitchen. “Yo, do you. I need to go feed Reckless anyhow. He gets real ugly when he misses meals.”

  Using the house phone, Storm dialed Brother Rasul’s cell after Kenya and London failed to answer theirs.

  “Yeah, hello.” Storm headed on the front porch looking up at the late evening stars then over at the spot his brother was supposedly shot at.

  “Hey, Storm,” Brother Rasul replied seemingly shocked to hear Storm’s voice. “What’s going on your way? How’s your brother doing?” He played it off not wanting him to know he had people out in Dallas giving him updates on all of his activities.

  Storm lowered his head. “Yeah, well, um, shit my way is fucked up. My little brother gone. He didn’t make it.”

  “Gone? Are you serious?” Brother Rasul held the phone being as sympathetic as possible considering he just had sex with Storm’s woman. “I’m sorry to hear that. If it’s anything I can do, let me know.”

  “Well, it is two things a nigga, sorry, I mean a guy needs.”

  “Speak on it.” Brother Rasul sat on the edge of the bed caressing a nervous Kenya.

  “Well, first things first, have you heard from my girl? I need to let her and London know about O.T. I know the news is all over town by now, but I need to kick it to both of them personally, you feel me?”

  “Yeah, I feel you,” Brother Rasul agreed moving his hand up to Kenya’s face. “I talked to her earlier and when we hang up I’ma make sure she calls you, okay?”

  “All right, cool.” Storm knew Brother Rasul’s word was bond, so if he said he was gonna make sure Kenya called, then she was definitely gonna call. “And the other thing is, since I’m dealing with my brother and all this madness, not to mention Marco’s dumb ass, I was wondering if—”

  Brother Rasul easily read in between the lines and knew where Storm’s next statement was going. Wasting no time, he cut him off. “Hold up for a minute. If you gonna ask me anything about you and them boys,” he said, knowing low-key that Storm understood who he was referring to, “then don’t! I told you when I first hooked that situation up, it was no turning back. And I know for a fact they had to have told you that too.”

  “Yeah, I ain’t gonna lie. It was told to me, but I damn straight ain’t expect my brother to be out the picture and me having to plan a fucking funeral and cash it all the way out!”

  “You didn’t have a policy on your brother?”

  “Hell naw! Me and him was planning on life, not goddamn death!”

  Brother Rasul was torn, but the game was the game. And Storm freely chose to play it, so now no matter what jumped off, he just had to roll with the punches. “I feel your pain, but real talk, it ain’t much I can do. Try putting some extra people on the streets and grind out as much cash as you can.”

  “I think I’ma have enough dough to make that first payment, but I need Kenya to run me back that money she stole. Normally I wouldn’t trip, especially since I know she’s hurt about me and London having a baby together, but I need that money bad.”

  “Look, Storm,” Brother Rasul wisely advised, “I tell you what. Hang up and let me get with Kenya. Then maybe y’all can come to some sort of an agreement. I know for a fact she needs to speak to you as bad as you need to speak to her.”

  “All right, bet.”

  Brother Rasul hung up the phone and looked
at Kenya who was trying her best to get dressed. Part of him wanted to say fuck Storm, he wanted her for himself, but the Muslim in him said to at least give the man a fighting chance. “Hold up, Kenya. You just heard me tell him you were going to call. Now slow your roll and call the brother. He straight going through it. So here.”

  Slowly taking the cell out his hands, she pushed *67 before calling Storm’s cell. “It went to his voicemail.” Relieved, she wasn’t off the hook as Brother Rasul instructed her to try again. “No, sorry, voicemail again.”

  “Well, try this number.” He scrolled down his caller ID. “This is the number he just called me from.”

  Dialing the number she recognized as the house line, Kenya got an answer. “Hello.”

  “Kenya, baby, is this you?” Storm was a broken man in spirit when he heard her cracking voice. “Hello.”

  “Yeah, it’s me,” she spoke softly while twisting her hair through her fingertips. “What’s going on?”

  “First things first, yo. I’m sorry all them lies I been telling. I ain’t mean that bullshit, it’s just that, well, you know.”

  “Naw, Storm, I don’t know. Tell me.” Kenya tried hard swallowing the lump in her throat.

  “O.T. is dead, baby! He’s dead! That crazy bitch Tangy killed him!”

  “I know.” She closed her eyes listening to him fall apart. “I heard.”

  “I can’t fucking believe how shit done turned out!” Storm knew he had to choose his words carefully, especially since Kenya might bug out and hang up. “A nigga was just trying to do what I thought was best. I wasn’t trying to hurt nobody and now you gone, my brother gone, and—”

  “Don’t say it.” Kenya stopped him before he mentioned her sister or the baby. “Didn’t you get the picture message?”

  Storm was confused. “Picture? What picture?”

  “The one from London’s phone.” Kenya’s voice started to tremble even more. “The one with your son.”

  “My son?” Storm stood to his feet. “What you talking about, Kenya? Where is London?”

  At that point in the conversation, Kenya realized, amazingly, he still hadn’t gone into the walk-in freezer and discovered her twin. Maybe Brother Rasul was correct and she could make things right with Storm. Maybe he could forgive her callousness and they could be a family. “Umm . . .” She stumbled over answering the question. “She, umm . . .”

  “Kenya,” Storm yelled wanting to know exactly what she meant saying “his son.” “Kenya, did you say son? Where is London? Put her on the line! I ain’t bullshitting around no more! I know she didn’t have my baby and y’all both trying to say fuck me!”

  Anger and frustration reentered Kenya’s mindset as her blood started to boil. “Oh, damn, there go the selfish son of a crackhead Storm I know! I knew that ‘I’m sorry’ bullshit wasn’t gonna last.”

  “Look, bitch!”

  “Bitch? Bitch? Oh, yeah, I got your bitch, bitch!”

  “Listen, Kenya, stop playing games and put London on the line. If I find out she had my son and y’all keeping him from me then—”

  “Then what?” Now up on her feet walking around the once quiet room, her loud tone startled the baby, who started to cry.

  “Is that my son I hear in the background? Is it? I hear a baby!”

  Kenya, still feeling some sort a way about how she’d been mistreated by him over the past nine months, was over it. Having had about enough of Storm, she let him have it full blast. “Yeah, fool, that’s your fucking son! Hell motherfucking yeah! And guess what, even if Marco wasn’t hunting your black ass down and I was staying out of dodge, you still wouldn’t be able to see this baby, trust!”

  Storm was overjoyed she’d informed him that London had given birth, but he was way past the point of kissing her ass. “Look, I need to speak to London. What hospital she at? And then I need for your dumb ass to run me my money! You think you just gonna gangster my shit? I need that shit!”

  “Fall back! People in hell need ice water, so now what?” Pushing the END button, Kenya was done talking to Storm. Any thoughts she had of a happily ever after ending were over. With twisted lips, she waited for Brother Rasul to say anything positive, which she didn’t want to hear, and the baby continued to cry.

  Storm, regretting the fact he smashed his cell breaking it in two pieces, hated he couldn’t see any pictures of his newborn son. First order of business the next morning would be buying a replacement phone.

  Chapter Thirteen

  JORDAN

  Enjoying a good night’s sleep in her own apartment, Jordan awoke with a serious official “I don’t give a damn about jack shit” attitude. Having dreamt about what she’d do with the life insurance money she’d inherit if Marco made good on his threat of murdering her sister, Jordan finished getting dressed. Throwing on a tight-fitting jogging suit and a pair of flip-flops, she got ready for the long but much anticipated prearranged day she was gonna spend with Storm running errands.

  Already planning on making herself at home at his condo, Jordan packed a small duffle bag with a few essentials, not to mention a couple of “ho items” (tricks of her trade) that could possibly take Storm’s mind off the grief he was suffering. Even though she felt like Ponytail had been giving her the eye, low-key, the night before, Storm was definitely the hog with the big nuts. He was the main catch, the one who could change her lifestyle and status citywide. And now that Kenya had fallen off, for whatever reason, Jordan was set on taking advantage of the situation.

  I hope that ho Kenya and that baby of hers stay ghost. By the time she do get her shit together and try coming back, Storm gonna be my man.

  Removing her cell from the charger, Jordan wasn’t shocked seeing the small symbol in the corner of the screen indicating that she had multiple voice messages. After she’d hung up on Marco the day before, telling him to basically kick rocks, eat shit, and die, the feisty female expected nothing less. Putting her phone on speaker as she fixed her hair in the mirror, she giggled as she listened to the numerous threats, one by one.

  One: “Bitch, pick up this motherfucking phone! I ain’t playing with your stanking ass! You playing games like a nigga ain’t got no juice to reach out and touch your ugly ass!”

  Two: “You think this shit is a damn joke, ho! You think you doing something with your good nut-swallowing ass! Call me the fuck back!”

  Three: “Your sister dead, bitch, and so the fuck is you! I’ma catch that stuck-up bitch coming out that hospital and smoke her ass, watch! Pick up this damn phone, trick!”

  Four: “You got me all the way fucked up! You think a nigga can’t get at you, huh? Is that what you think, ho? I got something for you. I swear on my life, bitch, I’ma see you!”

  Five: “Oh, you hanging with Storm. You think he can save you? Bitch, y’all both dead!”

  Repeatedly, one after the other, they kept coming; number six , number seven , number eight. The pissed-off sound of Marco’s voice echoed throughout the bathroom walls a good ten minutes or so before Jordan’s voicemail inbox was completely empty. “You have no more new messages.” All the name calling, insults, threats, and promises about bringing harm to both her and her older sister meant absolutely nothing to Jordan. As far as she was concerned, Marco was lucky she hadn’t just called the damn police and turned his black ass in the minute she safely got in the hotel’s lobby and out of his reach. But instead, for old times’ sake, even though he dogged her, the general code of the street life she insisted on living in was she didn’t snitch his treacherous ass out. Jordan, now caught up with being Storm’s next wifey, decided to let the police do what they got paid to do: hunt Marco down on their own.

  Checking her watch, Jordan gathered a few more items and left her apartment. Cautious, but relieved Marco didn’t know where she laid her head at, since she only tricked with dudes at rooms, him being there was not even a possibility. On her own mission, she didn’t feel the need to look over her shoulder. Forget that asshole! If he know what I know
, he need to get outta dodge, before I change my mind!

  With just enough time to get a pedicure before meeting up with Storm, Jordan jumped in her car, turned up the radio, and sped to the nail salon forgetting about every vile message Marco left.

  * * *

  MARCO

  “Can you believe this foul-smelling pussy skank call herself going hard and not picking up?” Marco looked down in the bathtub at Big Doc B, who was still tied up. Having forced him to sleep there all night, Marco had no problem whatsoever taking out his dick and taking an early morning piss right in front of his victim. “She don’t know who she dealing with!”

  Doc was exhausted from trying his best to break free all night long. Dealing with a massive headache from the towel rack that had knocked him out, along with a severe cramp in his left leg, all he could do was what he’d been doing throughout the duration of the night: pray he made it out of this ordeal alive and back to his family.

  “That tramp think she’s so fucking smart, but I got a idea that’s gonna make her ass come right to me.” Marco schemed shaking his dick twice before putting it back inside his pants. “Oh, yeah, and I almost forgot. Your damn wife called your cell at least ten or fifteen times.” He laughed out loud as Doc’s eyes grew wider. “I texted her that your mouth was full of some slut’s pussy and you couldn’t talk! Plus I sent her your special edition video.”

  Hearing that gave Doc a new sudden burst of energy to get home to his family, but unfortunately, it wasn’t enough for him to get loose.

  “Yo, my nigga, stop all that wiggling around and shit while I get ready. I need to hurry up and bump heads with Jordan real, real soon. I need to show that goofy tramp my pimp hand is still strong!”

  Turning on the morning news, Marco surprisingly learned there had been several alleged sightings of him on the far side of town at least ten miles away from the hotel. Damn, they dumb as a fuck!