Tick, Tick, Boom! Read online

  * * *

  POLICE

  “Kendricks, how you been holding up?” Malloy questioned his partner. “You at home living the life, huh?”

  “Naw, man, not really. You know after all this time on the force I miss doing that old-fashioned police work.”

  “Well, just take this time off to get yourself together. We can make it a few weeks without you. Put your feet up and watch a little television for me. Worrying about the review board ain’t gonna make them decide your fate any sooner.”

  Kendricks, just yards away from Paris’s room, held his cell up to his ear listening to the advice of his old friend and comrade. Leaning against the wall, tape recorder in hand, he informed Malloy that he wanted to meet up with him later. “Listen up, guy. I done stumbled up on some information that I know is gonna make the review board just about build a statue in my honor.”

  Excited at the thought, Malloy eagerly agreed. Before ending their conversation, he gave Kendricks an update on the leads the department was following up on. “Make it first thing in the morning. Today is gonna be a long one. It seems as if Marco Meriwether’s prints were found at a crime scene at a hotel.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Kendricks snarled angry at himself for dropping the ball letting that animal back on the streets. “What kind of scene was it?”

  Malloy knew how Kendricks was feeling, but he told him the truth just the same. “Homicide. The victim this time was a plastic surgeon. I just got finished trying to calm the man’s distraught wife down. She was beyond hysterical. For her privacy and the sake of the department, we’re keeping his murder real low-key. Oh, yeah, there was another set of prints on the scene besides Marco’s, but they weren’t in the system. We still going through tapes and questioning the hotel staff.”

  The suspended officer had enough. “I’ll just see you in the a.m.” Kendricks shut his cell and went back to sit by Paris’s side.

  * * *

  MARCO

  Marco continued following Jordan. Her every movement, he was there. First out to Storm’s condo, then to the Sprint store, and finally to the funeral home, he was on her trail. In between answering calls from Big Doc B’s wife, begging for a reason for her husband’s murder, calls from the wannabe-tough cop Malloy, urging him to turn himself in, and texting Jordan that he was gonna fuck her up if she tried to cross him again, Marco plotted his next move in making sure Storm suffered for all the threats, insults, and inconvenience he’d caused him. He knew deep down, he should’ve just been trying to get out of town, but now he was banging on point and principle.

  So this is where that good shit-talking O.T.’s hookup gonna be at? Marco hissed turning down the car’s sound system. “I should show up and spit in that nigga’s face while he lying on display or at least shoot the son of a bitch service up. Or maybe I should just rush up in there now and kill everybody!”

  Parking half a block down, so he could still see the funeral home entrance and Jordan’s car, he went through Doc’s glove compartment and middle console to pass the time. Luckily, he discovered some bacterial ointment in Doc’s ever-present medical bag to soothe the still-burning feeling of the deep scratches Jordan made on his face. Feeling like he’d hit the lottery, he then pocketed some bottles of pills.

  Just short of an hour later, high off some of the prescription drugs, he saw Storm and Jordan exit the building and pull off. Driving at least three cars behind, he saw them go through the gate of the city impound lot.

  “Oh, shit, this is perfect.” High as a kite, he got out of the BMW tossing the keys on the passenger seat.

  Back in the day, Marco and his crew used to steal cars off this very lot and joyride for days before the owners, who finally scraped up enough money to retrieve their automobiles, or the employees even knew the vehicles were missing from the premises. Slipping through the same flimsy fence near the rear corner of the lot, Marco picked a Chrysler minivan. Chrysler ignitions were always the easiest to break down. Five minutes later, with the aid of a piece of metal he’d torn off another car’s front grill, the van was started, and he was plowing recklessly through the fence and out of the general area.

  “It ain’t no need to follow them bitches anymore. I know where they laying they heads at!” Marco laughed blasting the factory radio. “Besides, I got unfinished business at the hospital to take care of.”

  Removing the battery after disabling the GPS, he felt somewhat at ease. Creeping up in the hospital parking lot, Marco used the minute TracFone he’d just purchased from a corner store. After abandoning Doc’s BMW, he knew it would only be a matter of time before the police started trying to get hits off of different cell phone towers and try to pinpoint his general location if he kept using Doc’s cell; however, he needed all the contact numbers in the phone, so he pocketed it. Calling the front desk of the hospital, he asked for Nurse Jamison. Marco hung up instantly when she picked up.

  Good, that bitch at work. Reclining the driver’s seat of the stolen minivan, he sat back waiting for Jordan’s sister to get off her shift. Licking his lips, he smiled. I’ma get some of that goody-goody stuck-up pussy tonight! I hope she’s a freak like her sister.

  Chapter Sixteen

  STORM

  Storm woke up with constant thoughts of London stuck in his mind. Relentlessly trying to get in touch with his baby momma was getting him no closer to finding out if what Kenya’s malicious ass said was indeed true, that London did have the baby and was choosing not to be bothered with him.

  “Naw, London wouldn’t do anything like that,” Storm reasoned out loud as his phone started to vibrate. “But right about now, I ain’t got time to worry about it. I need to focus on my brother and paying that damn money back on time. These fellas don’t play.” He pushed the envelope button showing that Anika must’ve passed on his new cell number. “I know, I know. Three days. Damn, I’m working on it!”

  After taking a long, hot shower, Storm went downstairs to find Ponytail just coming back inside from feeding his dog, and Jordan sitting on the couch in tears. “Shit, what the fuck is wrong with you? What’s with all the tears? Was the mattress in the spare room that hard?”

  Ponytail stepped in answering the question for Jordan, who seemed much too upset to speak, let alone laugh at Storm trying to be funny. “Man, somebody just called and told her that her sister was in the emergency room.”

  “The emergency room?” Storm had enough of hospitals for a lifetime, and it showed by his facial expression. “Why? What happened?”

  Ponytail waited to see if Jordan was going to answer this time. When she didn’t, he pulled Storm over to the other side of the living room. “From what I could get out of her, in between the tears, her older sister was beaten, raped, and left for dead. They found her behind some office building across town.”

  Storm felt bad he’d been monopolizing all of Jordan’s time. Time she probably should have been spending with her own family. Putting his arms around her in hopes of easing her pain, Storm asked Jordan if there was anything that he or Ponytail could do, including riding with her to the hospital.

  “Naw, I’m good. My other family is down there,” she lied knowing it was just her and her sister living in town. “I really don’t get along with my people. They don’t like what I do for a living, so they kinda don’t deal with me or want me anywhere around.”

  Her fake tears should’ve won her an Academy Award or a Daytime Emmy. Jordan could truly not care less about her sister being brutally attacked and left for dead. If anything, after the way she ignored Marco’s calls the entire evening, she kinda expected it. She’d ignored his calls all night, so she assumed this was his way of sending a message that he wasn’t bullshitting around with her anymore.

  “Yo, I know how that shit goes.” Storm sucked his teeth thinking about being alone in the world now that his brother was gone.

  “Yeah, that’s pretty messed up,” Ponytail agreed nodding his head to the side.

  Storm caught on realizing his boy wanted
to talk to him about something in private. Considering he didn’t want to let Jordan’s good ear-hustling self in on his business, he and Ponytail walked toward the rear of the kitchen, past the walk-in freezer door where London’s body still lay behind. Not being able to talk because of Reckless’s loud barks, they stepped out in the backyard to speak in private.

  Once outside, Storm was informed that while they were sleep, apparently an out-of-control Marco had robbed two of their spots. Furious, Storm was about to explode when he found out the amount of cash and product that was stolen.

  “Out of all the times to take a fucking hit, this is the damn worst!” He knocked over the barbeque pit and kicked a hole through the wooden fence separating him and his nosey elderly neighbor, Mrs. Farrow. “We need to try to make that grip up. And how in the hell did that goofy fool Marco catch them young boys slipping? I need to just suit up and hunt that buster down my-damn-self!”

  Ponytail put his hand on Storm’s shoulder reassuring him that he was gonna grind extra hard the next two days. “For real, man, don’t worry. I’ma make it do what it do, besides I gotta come up with some extra ends to shoot to my girl. She been blowing my cell up, bugging. And as for Marco, after you deal with your brother, if his stupid ass is still fool enough to be lingering around, I’ll suit up with you!”

  “That’s what’s up,” Storm agreed as they pounded fists.

  * * *

  JORDAN

  Making sure Storm and Ponytail were out of her eyesight, Jordan ran over to the kitchen window peeping through the curtain. With the dog barking like he had lost his mind, she tiptoed back into the living room. Hitting the redial button, she returned one of Marco’s numerous calls from a random cell. Two rings in, he picked up.

  “Yeah, bitch, so now you wanna call a nigga, huh? You over there playing house with that pretty boy! Well, both of y’all can suck my dick and oh, yeah, tell him I said thanks for the extra dough.” Marco lay in the rear of the van he’d slept in, counting the stolen money from Storm’s dope houses.

  “Oh, so I see you been real busy, huh?” Jordan sarcastically replied. “But all that flapping your gums don’t mean a damn thang. The cops gonna catch up with you sooner or later.”

  Marco smiled. “Well, when that day come, it just fucking comes. And by the way, your sister pussy is way more better than yours and tighter. I choked the bitch to death with this hard pipe! I’ma true pimp!”

  “Death.” Jordan snickered while making sure Storm and his boy weren’t back inside the condo yet. “Look, you half-ass motherfucker, FYI, my sister is still alive. The hospital just called me, but if she do end up dying, then I’m the one who’s gonna get blessed with a big, fat life insurance check. So your dumb ass did me a favor!” Jordan brazenly got off into Marco’s shit. “So tell me who’s the true pimp now!”

  Marco was infuriated. “If you do fuck around and got some revenue coming, I swear to God you ain’t gonna get a chance to spend it! So fuck you!”

  “Naw, faggot, trust. Fuck you!” Jordan, feeling safe staying in Storm’s condo, hung up hearing the fellas coming back in through the kitchen door.

  * * *

  With Ponytail out in the streets getting that bread, Storm and Jordan spent the day going through his closet to find the perfect outfit for the funeral director to dress O.T. in. Temporarily putting a smile on Storm’s face, Jordan sat on the edge of his bed going back down memory lane. Reminiscing about the many nights he, she, O.T., and even Deacon spent up in Alley Cats getting lifted after they closed, Storm wished he could turn back the hands of time. Jordan reminded him of all the good times they shared and even some not so good.

  Although he always thought Jordan was cute in her own way, he never had any romantic feelings for her. Yet, all in all, it felt great to have someone, other than his boy Ponytail, to kick it with about his loss.

  Jordan, not thinking anymore about the tragic attack on her innocent sister initiated by her involvement with Marco, sat back waiting and hoping for the chance to bang Storm’s brains out. She wanted to ask him about Kenya and dry snitch she’d found out his wifey was fucking Big Doc B and the baby she was carrying could possibly be Doc’s, but Jordan knew the last time she tried even mentioning Kenya’s name, Storm went bananas.

  Besides, how would she explain how she found out from jump? She damn straight couldn’t say Marco showed her the video. Jordan’s best bet was to keep quiet and imagine how she was gonna redecorate Storm’s condo. And that’s just what she did.

  Chapter Seventeen

  BROTHER RASUL/ KENYA

  It was early Wednesday morning. With a full tank of gas, Brother Rasul, who was all in physically and mentally for Kenya, turned his truck out of the service station heading toward the interstate. Safe and sound, the small infant, Li’l Stone, was strapped in his car seat. Kenya, his aunt, was lying back in the passenger seat, still nervous about returning to Storm and Dallas. She knew Brother Rasul had power in Detroit, but Dallas was clear across the map. She didn’t know how Storm was gonna react to seeing her, his newborn son, or London who was, as far as she knew, still in his walk-in freezer.

  As they started their long journey, Kenya closed her eyes getting chills as she went down the long laundry list of the crimes she’d committed or been a part of the past year including murder, extortion, racketeering, fraud, assault, receiving stolen property, transporting drugs, manufacturing of drugs and, the worst crime of all, if not legally, then certainly morally, which was standing idly by watching her sister die.

  I guess Brother Rasul is right. I do need to go back and straighten things out, at least with Storm. And damn, London do deserve better, I guess. But how she think it was all right to have a baby by my man? Brought out of her daydream by a gigantic pothole and her cell phone vibration, Kenya got herself emotionally prepared to listen to both her and London’s messages as they rode.

  * * *

  STORM

  Waking up heated, Storm wanted nothing more than to speak with London. Although Kenya was being a class A bitch, he knew London would at least be honest with him if she’d indeed given birth to his son. After trying to call London, saying, “Can you please call me?” he lastly dialed Kenya, leaving the message, “Bitch, I done told you to run my money!” Less than five minutes later, like clockwork, he received a text from the connect: 2.

  Storm was frustrated, regretting he’d even made the drug deal in the first place. Everything that could go wrong in his once perfect world had. Hollering downstairs for Jordan to come up, he packed the garment bag she was going to drop off at the funeral home. O.T.’s body would be ready for viewing the next day if she got the clothes to them no later than noon, so that was the plan.

  Lending her his car, which they’d successfully gotten out of impound, Storm told her a few of his favorites to pick up from the grocery store on her way back. Jordan wanted to cook both of them dinner the night before, but either of them going to see what food was stored inside the walk-in freezer was definitely out of the question. Reckless would start barking for hours on end. And with Ponytail out all night hustling not being able to calm the vicious albino pit bull down, they just ordered a small pizza and two rib tip dinners to be delivered.

  When Jordan left, Storm started the long task of calling every single guy he’d ever done business with to try either to collect money they previously owed him or to offer to sell them some top-notch uncut product at a fair rate. He knew the chances of him getting the cash back from Kenya were slim to none. Ponytail was doing his part to meet the deadline; now it was time for him to temporarily stop mourning O.T. and do the same. Storm knew that in less than twenty-four hours from now, his cell would show the number 1, and he’d be getting texted instructions on where to make the first money drop.

  * * *

  JORDAN

  “Thank you, miss.” The greedy, sometimes unscrupulous funeral director took the bag briefly examining the contents. “You can tell Mr. Christian his brother’s body will definitely
be ready first thing in the morning. I have my best people on top of it.”

  “Okay, I will.” Jordan turned to walk away as he instinctively looked at her wide backside.

  Almost three times her age, being a man, he still flirted. “Umm, miss, just wondering. Exactly what is your relationship to the deceased?”

  Jordan had a devilish grin on her face, the kind the funeral director often saw when it was discovered one mournful family member was being more financially blessed with the passing of a loved one than the next. Besides Christmas and income tax refund time, a person dying and leaving you a li’l something somethin’ were the best times in a black person’s life. Being the beneficiary was like winning the lottery and Jordan looked like she’d just hit the Powerball.

  “My name is Jordan. Let’s just say I’m a real, real close friend of the family.” She winked before leaving the older man lusting.

  Driving Storm’s car, Jordan felt like she was on top of the world. Feeling a small bit of sympathy for her sister, she then decided to take time out of her busy schedule of trying to wedge herself into Storm’s life and check on her sibling, Nurse Jamison. After seeing her battered and bruised, black and blue with a feeding tube in her mouth, Jordan felt a small bit of remorse for what Marco had done, but not enough to stay more than ten minutes at her often judgmental sister’s bedside.

  After swinging by the market grabbing the items on Storm’s list, Jordan couldn’t help herself. She had to floss. Whipping up in the parking lot of one of the grimiest projects in town, Jordan phoned one of her girlfriends to come out and see her whipping Storm’s ride. Bragging that she was staying with him out at his condo and that bitch from Detroit Kenya was out of the picture, Jordan was feeling herself for real.