Tick, Tick, Boom! Page 4

  Already having most of London’s belongings thrown in the middle of the floor, Kenya searched through the pile picking out baby outfits that her sister and O.T. had purchased weeks before in anticipation of her giving birth. With the price tag still attached, Kenya grabbed a diaper bag, filling it with clothes and stuffing it with all the newborn Pampers that could fit inside. Not being able to close the zipper, she opened the closet to get another bag or suitcase out. Before she could pull out the black small-sized bag on wheels, a case of Similac was staring her in the face. Hell yeah! Ain’t this some shit? Good looking out, London, on always being so damn prepared! Throwing a few cans of the formula in the suitcase, along with some bottles, Kenya rolled the bag to the edge of the stairs. She also took her sister’s purse and cell phone off the charger stuffing it in her back pocket.

  Going into the bedroom that she and Storm shared, she wasted no time entering the huge walk-in closet that she had specially built. Taking two huge Coach duffle bags and one Gucci makeup case out of the corner, Kenya snatched outfit after outfit down, some with the hangers still on, stuffing them into the bags. Frantically running back and forth to look out the window, it was as if the house were on fire and she’d been given five minutes to gather up her most prized possessions or lose them forever. When both of the duffle bags were packed to capacity, Kenya’s hands clutched the straps, dragging them out of the bedroom and over near the bags with the baby’s belongings.

  Rushing back in the room and to her dresser, Kenya used her forearm to clear all her personal items off and into her oversized makeup case. Opening the top drawer, she grabbed a few pair of panties and bras. Kneeling at the side of the bed she slept on, Kenya raised the designer comforter reaching her hand underneath and removing a boot box that contained several pictures and important documents she couldn’t bear to leave behind. Going to their stash spot, Kenya threw all her jewelry, Storm’s jewelry, and close to $12,000 in cash into her purse. He don’t need none of this. Thanks to my dumb ass he about to get on! He can replace it! Twelve stacks ain’t shit! She felt no regrets for taking every watch, ring, and chain Storm owned, or the loot.

  That’s it, I guess. She paused as her eyes quickly scanned the room that she and the man of her dreams once shared. Motherfuckers always saying you can’t change a ho into a housewife; well, I guess you can’t change a cheating-ass street nigga into a husband. Infuriated she was forced to abandon all the rest of her clothes, some personal items that couldn’t fit into her car, and the home she’d put so much of herself into, Kenya smashed a picture of her and Storm against the wall shattering the glass frame. He wanna see a real Detroit diva in action, well, I’m that bitch! Kenya hit the light switch with malice in her heart and revenge on her mind.

  Out of breath, Kenya finally got the last bag loaded into her car. Feeding the baby a quick bottle to get him to stop crying, she went back upstairs snatching several fluffy bath towels out of the hamper. Placing them in a blue laundry basket, she carried it out to the attached garage. Okay, this shit right here is gonna definitely work. Keeping a close eye on the front door, Kenya started to worry as to why Storm hadn’t come back yet from his meeting and why O.T.’s loud ass hadn’t been around all day. Maybe they ho asses is together celebrating the shit I made happen, whatever! Fuck ’em both! The clock was ticking, and she knew sooner rather than later one of them was destined to show up, so she had to pick up the pace.

  Taking the sleeping baby off the couch, Kenya had tears in her eyes as she placed her nephew on the floor next to his dead mother, her twin sister. “Sorry, y’all, but it’s time for you two to say y’all good-byes.” Leaving the room to make a call and give the pair a strange moment of privacy, Kenya wanted to throw up. She’d been involved in some pretty fucked-up bullshit since first meeting Storm, hell, really since she’d started dancing back home at Heads Up in Detroit; but leaving her sister’s dead body in the middle of the floor took the cake. Fuck Storm; he was just some dick when it came down to it. Granted it was good dick, but still just some dick. However, London was her sister, her twin, her blood, and now she was treating her no better than she would a common ho in the street. Shit! Fuck! Damn! God, she silently prayed, you gotta forgive me for this! Damn!

  Scrolling down the numbers in her cell phone contact list, Kenya found the name she was looking for. After two to three rings the man answered.

  “Hey, Kenya.”

  “Hey. I need you to do me a favor.”

  “Anything, just name it.”

  “Thanks. I knew I could count on you. I need you to meet me at my friend’s apartment in about twenty minutes. Can you make it?”

  “Sure, you know I’m here for you and yours!”

  Giving him the directions and other information he needed to know before meeting her there, Kenya ended the conversation telling him to keep their plans hush-hush.

  * * *

  Spending time at the house that hid his strong, uncut shipment of heroin, Storm tried calling his little brother once more. Damn, where in the hell this nigga at? he wondered as he figured out a game plan to move the illegal product as quickly and police drama–free as possible. Ol’ boy in the swimming pool made it crystal clear that the ticket was nonnegotiable and the time frame for repayment was set in stone. He probably somewhere laid up or rubbing his goddamn hands on my baby momma’s stomach. Storm fought with being jealous of the obvious bond his brother had seemed to build with London and his unborn son. If I find out that nigga fucking her ass with my seed still in there . . . Naw, he wouldn’t do that foul bullshit. But just to be on the safe side I’ma give his ass so much of this magic potion to move out in them streets, he gonna be too busy to worry about pussy, especially London’s.

  Securing the stash house until he could make other arrangements to move the dope to another location in the morning, Storm jumped in his ride with a smile of satisfaction on his face. Keeping the radio low, he called O.T. a third and fourth time and was still met with the annoying, long, drawn-out musical message greeting on his voicemail. “I should call Kenya and see what’s up, but I know she still tripping out about that insurance mess. Fuck it. London know where that nigga at, if nobody else do.” After talking himself outta calling his fiancée, he called London’s cell. Damn, it’s ringing. Shit! Her voicemail too! Storm wasn’t that far from the house, so he decided to just go home and face whatever dumb shit Kenya was gonna be talking as soon as he stepped inside. He’d been with her long enough to know that if his pockets were deep enough, he could buy her forgiveness for just about anything.

  Within twenty minutes, he bent the corner of the gated community he called home. Noticing yellow tape around the spot where the fire hydrant was at and a street signpost lying on the side of the curb, Storm chalked it up to one of his many Caucasian neighbors who came home drunk on the regular knocking over any- and everything in their path. As he turned on his block, Storm drove past a car parked a few houses down from his that looked like O.T’s, but he wasn’t certain. Turning up in his driveway, he noticed the lights were all off except for a small glimmer shining through the security window of the front door. “Damn, where in the fuck is everybody?” He spoke under his breath knowing the darkness at this time of the evening was strange for his household.

  * * *

  KENYA

  Going back into the living room, her heart broke as she bent down using her sister’s cell phone to take a picture of her dead sister and the baby together. Fighting not to have another emotional breakdown Kenya exhaled. Y’all both look like y’all sleeping. As luck would have it, the cell rang no sooner than the picture was snapped. Damn look at this bullshit! This nigga calling to check on his ho! He ain’t shit! An unexpected call from Storm to London set Kenya’s emotions back into high gear. Picking up the child, she took him out to her car putting him in the laundry basket that was now doubling as a car seat.

  On her final trip back inside the condo, Kenya lifted both her sister’s legs and struggled dragging her out t
o the kitchen, past the storage room, and into the rear walk-in freezer leaving her by a case of porterhouse steaks. Bye, sis. Tell Gran hi for me, ’cause I know I ain’t making it to heaven. Holding a solemn final conversation with her twin, Kenya made her peace before throwing a few Glade air fresheners inside. Shutting the freezer door behind her, she knew Storm wouldn’t immediately discover London since he hated to cook, let alone defrost shit. Nine outta ten times, he wouldn’t smell death in the usually vanilla-scented condo air. Nevertheless, Kenya hoped she was buying herself some time as she used several old rags and T-shirts to clean up the bloody remnants of the afterbirth spilled onto the living room floor. Good, it’s all up! No one can tell! She tossed the rags underneath the sink as quickly as possible.

  With car keys in hand, she headed toward the garage to leave her old life behind. Oh my God! What in the entire hell! She stopped dead in her tracks as a pair of bright headlights, unfortunately, pulled up in the driveway. Shit! Fuck! Hell naw; not now of all damn times. Seeing Storm jump out of the car, Kenya panicked running to get the same butcher knife she’d used to help deliver his son. Her heart was racing in anticipation of what was about to pop off. Damn, what am I doing? But what will he say? He don’t give a fuck about me! I gotta look out for me! She argued with herself, sweaty palms and fingers tightening up on the handle of the sharp-edged knife. Biting her lips, Kenya took a deep breath as Storm came toward the front door of the condo.

  “If he comes in here with that bullshit, I’m straight cutting his cheating ass,” Kenya swore with every step Storm took up the walkway. “He started the shit, so I’m gonna finish it!” she reasoned trying to convince herself what she was gonna do if he didn’t come correct.

  “Oh, boy, here the fuck we go.” Storm shook his head getting prepared for the drama that his girl was probably about to bring. Reaching his hand up to the screen door, he pulled at it, but it was locked. Still holding his keys, he searched through them finding the correct one. Sticking it in the lock, he turned the cylinder all the way to the right.

  With her ear pressed to the door, Kenya’s hand and arm shook, and her heart raced. She waited, knowing she was as good as caught. Oh my God. I’ma have to just give him a hard gut shot with this knife and get it over with.

  Storm slowly opened the screen while looking through his keys for the right one to unlock the main door. Just as he found the right key and was sticking it in, he was interrupted by a voice calling out to him from the sidewalk.

  “Excuse me! Excuse me! Mr. Christian, excuse me!” The same elderly neighbor who had knocked earlier, Mrs. Farrow, came closer. “How is your brother doing? Is he going to be okay?”

  “Huh, my brother?” Storm paused still standing in between the two doors with his keys dangling from the lock. “What you mean is he going to be okay? I’m lost.”

  “I knocked at the door when it first happened, but no one came. You know we don’t have that type of thing happen on our street or in this community!” She had a condescending, holier-than-thou attitude as she spoke.

  “When what first happened?” Storm stepped off the porch letting the screen door slowly close.

  Kenya perched down, knife still in hand, trying to hear what her nosey neighbor was saying but she couldn’t quite make it out.

  “When did this happen?” Storm shouted out confused at what he’d heard. “Are you sure?” He looked over at the car parked in front of her house that he thought was O.T.’s.

  Seconds after his neighbor told him her colorful version of all the evening events that resulted in his little brother being shot in her driveway, Storm ran back up to the condo door snatching his keys out the lock, jumped back in his car, and peeled off en route to the hospital. “That must be where Kenya and London are both at. Dang, no wonder ain’t nobody answering they cells.” He pressed his foot down onto the accelerator not knowing his brother’s medical condition or that he was now a father of a healthy baby boy. “Damn! That motherfucker dreadlock-wearing faggot gonna pay for this bullshit!” Storm banged on the steering wheel, automatically assuming Marco Meriwether had shot his brother.

  Kenya said, “I wonder what in the fuck that old nosey-ass bitch told him now. With her, it’s always something, but nine outta ten it was probably about some shit she ain’t have no business telling in the first place! One day that nosey shit gonna get her face smacked off. She lucky I’m on a mission, or I would do it my-damn-self.”

  Relieved Storm didn’t come inside and strangely chose to drive off like his ass was on fire, Kenya ran out to the garage to make her getaway before he came back.

  Chapter Three

  KENYA

  “Hey what up, doe? What took you so long to get here?” Kenya peeked out Paris’s apartment door to make sure her visitor was alone. “I was starting to think you stood me up.”

  “Never that.” Big Doc B barely fit between the small space that Kenya had left in between herself and the doorway. “I was at the club and had to go back by the house and grab my bag.”

  “Oh, okay then.” Kenya smiled while still trying to fix her nappy hair. “You gotta excuse the way I look, but I’ve kinda been through it tonight.”

  “You always look good, Miss Lady. Storm is a lucky man,” he respectfully commented even though he’d never seen Kenya in sweats before. “I’ve always told him that.”

  “Whatever,” Kenya offhandedly remarked while leading him to the rear area of the apartment and into the bedroom.

  “Is O.T. here? This is his place if I remember correctly isn’t it?”

  Stopping him in the hallway, just before entering the bedroom, Kenya was over being cordial. “Look, man, what’s with all the twenty questions and shit? Ain’t nobody here but me and I need you to do me a favor. Now are you with it or not?” With her hands posted on her hips, she waited for his reply.

  Big Doc B didn’t want any problems with Kenya because he knew ultimately that meant problems with Storm and that was definitely a headache no one in the city wanted. “I’m sorry, Miss Lady, I was just—”

  “Naw, we good, Doc.” Kenya changed her tone quickly realizing she could get more honey from any man being sweet. “My bad; just come on and hook a sister up.” She made sure she rubbed her body against his.

  Stepping into the room, Big Doc B saw a baby clad in a small blanket resting in the center of the king-sized bed. “Is something wrong with the child?”

  Taking a deep breath, Kenya started telling him the lie she’d concocted on the drive over. “Well, it’s like this. One of the dancers from Alley Cats called me.” She rubbed her sweaty palms together as she continued to lie. “Apparently she was pregnant and didn’t know it.”

  “Oh, yeah? Wow!” Listening attentively to Kenya, Doc unwrapped the blanket, examining the infant.

  “Yeah, and her man didn’t know she was knocked up either!” Kenya watched Doc’s face to see if he was buying her fabricated story so far. “She told me her dude can’t have any kids so he would know she was fucking the next nigga if she would’ve kept the baby. She texted me to meet her at a motel off the interstate and this—I mean, he”—she pointed at the baby—“is what I found.”

  Seeing the child’s umbilical cord was still attached, Big Doc B reached inside his medical bag. A plastic surgeon by trade, scalpels and other sharp instruments were his specialty. “I can fix him up, but you sure you don’t want to take him through emergency?”

  “No!” Kenya yelled causing her sleeping nephew to jump. “She might get in trouble. I promised her!”

  “Don’t worry, Kenya, I got you.” As he clipped the cord properly, his mind started to wonder exactly what dancer was the mother of this baby he was helping. “Listen, I’m not trying to overstep my boundaries, and you and Storm know I’d never open my mouth, but which girl—”

  Kenya wasn’t dumb. She figured out where he was going with his statement and stopped him. “Don’t worry, Doc; it ain’t one of your favorites. I swear to God you good.”

  Reliev
ed one of the young dancers he often tricked with, especially Jordan, an ex-dancer at Alley Cats, hadn’t given birth to his illegitimate child and he would be forced to tell his prescription-addicted, pill-popping wife, Doc smiled. “Oh, I was just thinking, that’s all.” He went to the bathroom to wash his small scalpel off and get a warm rag to finish cleaning the baby up.

  Kenya looked at her small nephew lying on the bed and knew she needed some extra insurance if she wanted to keep Doc from mentioning the baby to Storm or O.T., even in passing. Removing her sweatshirt, Kenya rubbed her breasts, causing the nipples to get hard and poke out through the white wife beater that hugged her body. Taking her vibrating cell phone out of her back pocket, she saw she had an incoming call from Paris’s physician. Wrong time for updates. Whatever’s wrong with her is just wrong! Leave a fucking message! Propping her phone on the dresser, Kenya asked, “So do you think he’ll be okay without going to the hospital?”

  When Doc reentered the bedroom to answer Kenya’s question, he was shocked to see her headlights standing straight out. “Um, um, yeah, he’s gonna be fine. But he does need to be cared for properly.”

  “Oh my God!” Kenya ran up to him wrapping her arms around his neck. “Thank you sooo much! I knew I could count on you!”

  “Anytime.” Doc was in heaven as Kenya hugged him tightly. Being the freak he was, automatically his dick started to get hard. “Not a problem.” He tried backing away from her grip, but couldn’t.