Tick, Tick, Boom! Read online

  Storm laughed having her pull up in the driveway. “I’m straight I guess. But good looking.”

  “Hey, Storm, I don’t know if you still have my number, but here it is in case you need a ride back to the hospital. You know me, you, O.T., and Paris go way back, so don’t be a stranger! I’m around anytime, night or day.”

  Taking the card, Storm glanced at O.T.’s car, which was still parked in the same spot as the night before. “Yo, it ain’t gonna be too much longer before the club is reopened. I hope you can come back and still hang with us. I’ll squash that bullshit between you and Kenya. She was set tripping anyhow; you good!”

  “Don’t be silly.” Jordan licked her lips seductively as if Storm were a potential trick. “You know I’ma be down with you no matter what. I was there the day you and Deacon first opened the doors and gonna be there when you open that son of a bitch again!”

  As Storm headed up the walkway, Jordan backed out of the driveway calling her older sister. “Hey, girlie, thanks for the 411 on my people.”

  “It wasn’t meant to be gossip; it was meant to show you what can happen when you run in those dangerous circles you so intent on running in. That lifestyle can only end up in two ways: dead or in jail!” Nurse Jamison hung up on her always nosey, always street-scheming sibling and tried to get some rest before her next shift started.

  Fuck what her goody-goody butt talking about. And Kenya’s fake wannabe-boss behind wasn’t down there with her man fine ass at all. It’s definitely trouble in paradise, and if Kenya don’t want him, I showl in the fuck do! If she know like I know, she better bring it because the game is on and payback is a bitch!

  Jordan smirked, knowing it wasn’t a coincidence that she ran into Storm in front of the hospital when she did. For months she wanted nothing more than to repay Kenya for going in extra hard and embarrassing her in the dressing room of Alley Cats. Now she had the perfect opportunity at hand. Fucking around with Marco Meriwether from time to time, Jordan was grimy and backstabbing. Spoon-feeding him information about Kenya and Storm, who didn’t stand up for her that night his girl bugged out, had just hit a brick wall considering ol’ boy was now locked up. Now she’d set her own revenge traps.

  * * *

  STORM

  Still believing Kenya was on the other side of the door waiting to hit him over the head with a skillet for the harsh message he left, Storm eased his way inside the condo. With all the lights off and the drapes drawn, it was hard for him to see. Knowing it was well past seven o’clock and the house was so quiet immediately bothered him. Even if Kenya was in one of her “everybody, shut the fuck up” moods, London would at least be downstairs watching television or reading.

  “Kenya! Yo, Kenya!” Taking the steps three at a time, Storm quickly reached the top of the landing. “Where you at?” he shouted, pushing his bedroom door wide open. “Oh, hell naw! Ain’t this some shit!”

  The shattered glass from a picture of him and Kenya covered the floor, along with different items of clothing thrown every which way. With the room looking like a tornado had struck, Storm ran over to the walk-in closet, which appeared to be ground zero. Standing in the middle looking at all the bare racks and empty hangers, he got caught in his emotions. No, the fuck she didn’t! This don’t make no sense! Over the past few months he and Kenya had gone through some tough and difficult times but she never ever took as much shit as was missing now. Checking the top drawer on the left-hand side of the dresser, Storm discovered her jewelry as well as his was also gone. I swear to God, this crazy bitch better not have it! He rushed to the stash spot, coming up empty-handed.

  Before even going to check on a pregnant London, Storm dialed Kenya’s cell; of course, he was shot to voicemail. “Hey, you can be pissed the fuck off and pout all you want, but I’ma need that bread back! With O.T. down, you stupid bitch, I’ma need every penny to meet this deadline! So get back home and run my shit!”

  Storm threw his phone on the bed and went to talk to London to see if she could tell him what jumped off yesterday when his little brother got shot and if Kenya’s lunatic ass said anything about where she was going, although he knew nine outta ten times she was probably at Paris’s apartment, like always when they beefed. Walking down the hallway, Storm was stunned stupid when he got to London’s door and found almost the same scene as in his and Kenya’s bedroom. Clothes were thrown everywhere, hangers were tossed around, drawers were left open, and stuff was wrapped in a blanket. Also near the doorway, Storm saw a case of baby formula. The thick plastic was ripped open, and several cans were missing.

  Confused and enraged, that’s when he really hit the roof. “First of all, how in the hell did them two get back to speaking terms and who do London think she is taking her ass out this house? She about to deliver any day and she got Kenya dragging her across town to Paris’s on some temper tantrum bullshit! Both them Detroit hoes is tripping!”

  Storm went back into his bedroom to take quick shower, change clothes, and get back down to the hospital. Even though he was in the mood to drive over to Paris’s apartment, kick down the door, and smack the cow shit outta Kenya and London both, he knew O.T. needed him. With the hookup blessing of a lifetime waiting for him at a stash house and a deadline of seven days and counting, this was the worst time ever to be going through all this turmoil.

  Dressed but still angry at the world, Storm ran down the stairs and straight out the front door. Never once did he go into the living room where his son was born, let alone the kitchen walk-in freezer where his son’s mother’s dead body was. Using his set of keys to O.T.’s car, Storm glanced in the rear seat at all the bags of baby items his brother had purchased for his seed. That nigga is all in. Right before he drove off his cell phone rang. Hoping it was Kenya returning his call, he answered without looking at the screen. “Yeah, you dumb ass!”

  “Hello?” An older man’s voice spoke.

  “Damn, my bad. Who is this?”

  Finding out it was the contractor doing work at Alley Cats, Storm was distracted from his original game plan having to go by his strip club, currently under renovation, before heading back to O.T.’s bedside. When he got there, Storm was even more frustrated when the man informed him someone had to be on the premises with them until five or six o’clock in the evening to sign off on various final inspections from the city and state. Normally Kenya would’ve had his back, but now calling her and expecting any type of cooperation was out of the question. Oh, yeah. Reaching in his wallet, Storm took out two cards: one from the sassy-mouth female from the day before, Anika, and the other from Jordan. Dialing Jordan’s number, he was happy when she picked up on the first ring.

  “Yes, hello,” the always conniving female purred in the phone like she knew it was a man on the other end.

  “Hey, J, this is Storm. I know you just dropped me off, but I need you to do me a solid.” Informing her detail by detail of what he need her to do when Jordan showed up at the club, Storm practically hugged her to death for her loyalty, even though Kenya had given her the boot. Introducing the full-breasted scantily clothed beauty to the contractor and his people as the new manager of Alley Cats, Storm gave Jordan two one-hundred dollar bills for her trouble before he drove off.

  This shit is working out better than a bitch could ever plan, Jordan schemed, tucking the folded currency in her lace bra. Wherever Kenya is at, the ho slipping!

  Chapter Six

  KENYA

  It was nighttime again as Kenya crossed the Michigan state line. Having stopped in a Walmart located in a small town off the interstate, she was fortunate enough to buy a car seat for Li’l Stone as well as some more diapers. Finding out O.T. was lying in the hospital fighting for his life was horrible, true enough. But knowing her own sister was dead, probably because of her, was weighing far more heavy on her mental state of mind. Every time her cell rang or she received a text, she was terrified she’d been found out back in Dallas. Each trooper in each state who just so happened to be parked
on the side of the road, Kenya felt was positioned there to apprehend her. At her wits’ end, fatigued being a new mother to her kidnapped nephew, the Motown-born-and-raised female got a much-needed second wind, reading the green and white WELCOME TO DETROIT sign. Knowing her long, grueling journey was almost over, Kenya cleared all the missed calls from Storm off her phone and called Brother Rasul.

  Practically walking around all day with his cell in his hand, he answered right off rip. “Kenya! Where you at now?”

  “I’m on Eight Mile, heading your way in about ten minutes.” In a vehicle packed with as many of her belongings that could fit, Kenya kept it moving. No matter what crimes she’d committed or what guilt she was carrying with her, she was still glad to be back home in the D. “Are you by yourself, though?” She looked into the rearview mirror at the car seat and who was asleep in it.

  “Look, don’t worry, sis. She’s not here. It’s just me,” Brother Rasul reassured Kenya automatically, knowing she was referring to Fatima, London’s best friend and confidant. “Just come on. I’ll be on the porch waiting. It’s all good!”

  Brother Rasul was confused as to why Kenya was foolish enough to make that type of road trip so spontaneously, but since she was being so close-lipped throughout every brief conversation they’d had throughout the course of the day, he was at a loss. Once or twice, he was tempted to get in touch with Storm and find out from him what was going on, but he opted to hear it straight from Kenya’s mouth like he promised her he would.

  Having turned off the elaborate security system and the light-sensor motion detectors, Brother Rasul stood guard on his porch with one of his ever-present handguns tucked in his waistband. He was excited, watching the block like a hawk. Ten short minutes later his homegirl for life was pulling into his driveway.

  * * *

  STORM

  “Are you sure he’s gonna make it?” Standing vigilantly at his baby brother’s bedside, Storm quizzed the team of physicians and specialists who were in and out of the dismal room all afternoon and early evening. “All these tubes and shit can’t be good.”

  “He’s holding his own, but it’s going to be a good forty-eight hours before we can operate once again.” The doctor scanned down O.T.’s chart shaking his head. “His is a most difficult case, and we need to get out of the woods before I can be more optimistic.”

  Attempting to get back in touch with Kenya or at least London was wearing on Storm’s last nerve. After hours he wanted to reach out and call Brother Rasul since he was the only person Kenya ever seemed to listen to; however, he knew first of all his loyalty was to Kenya. And secondly, he knew he’d feel that if he couldn’t run his own household, how in the hell was he gonna be able to run business with the new connect? Deciding to swing by Paris’s later in the night and bring the twins back home, kicking and screaming if he had to, Storm had to get the ball rolling with coming up with the ticket money due in seven days. With O.T. out of commission, his longtime road dawg Boz dead, and best friend Deacon having been out the picture due to Javier’s murderous, brutal tactics, Storm needed someone else he could trust to help hold him down.

  “Yeah, can I speak to Ponytail?”

  “Who is this?”

  “This is Storm. Is he there?”

  “Yeah, hold on!” the female hissed into the receiver.

  After a brief moment of silence and what seemed like a bit of a loud argument in the background, a dog barking, and a child crying, Storm heard his childhood friend pick up. “I got it! You can hang up!” he shouted out to the female who in turn slammed the phone down as hard as she possibly could. “Yeah, hello.”

  “Ponytail! My goddamn nigga! What it do!”

  “Storm, is that you?”

  “Yeah, motherfucker, who you think it is, Santa Claus or some gay-ass shit like that? What’s good!”

  “Yo, what’s been up with you?” Ponytail’s smile was so big it was if it Storm could see it through the phone. “Long time, no hear.”

  “Yeah, dude, I’ve been trying to make moves low-key and stay outta folk way. You know how I do.”

  “All right, dig that. Well, I’m glad you called. I’ve been wondering how things been going with you and O.T.”

  Leaving his brother’s hospital room walking down the crowded hallway looking for a little privacy, Storm continued to talk shit. “It don’t sound like ya girl is too happy a nigga hit you up!”

  “She just know I’m not down with that street life no more, so when you asked for Ponytail instead of Kevin, she straight bugged out. You know how these females can be at that time of the month. But it ain’t no thang. I run my household! You know how I get down!”

  “No doubt, no doubt!” Storm quickly agreed knowing time was ticking and in less than twenty-four hours another day would have passed, and he still wouldn’t have even broken the seal on the uncut package of heroin. “Well, a nigga like me got some good news and some damn bad.”

  “Oh, yeah? Well, run it.”

  “Yeah, dude, first the bad: this crazy bull dyke fucked around and tried to take O.T. out the damn game! Hit his ass at least a good five times!”

  “What!” Ponytail’s voice rang out causing his girl to get even more irritated by the call out of the blue from her man’s childhood running buddy. “Oh, hell naw! You lying! O.T.?”

  “Yeah, guy, on the humble over some pussy-ass shit, but they think he gonna be good. I’m posted down here at the hospital right fucking now. Nigga got tubes and machines stuck all up in his black ass!”

  “Well, sit tight, fam. We gonna kick it when I see you.” Finding out exactly what hospital O.T. was in, Ponytail ended the phone conversation, informing Storm he was on his way and he’d hear the good news update when he got there.

  Glad his boy was en route, Storm returned to O.T.’s room, but not before trying to reach Kenya once more, leaving another message. “Yo, Kenya, I know y’all camped out at Paris crib and shit, and you call yourself pissed, but don’t spend my bread. I’ma need that shit! I ain’t playing!”

  * * *

  KENYA

  Forgetting all about a sleeping Li’l Stone, she turned the engine off. Slamming the car door behind her, Kenya ran up onto the porch practically collapsing in Brother Rasul’s arms. “Oh my God. I made it. I made it!”

  Sensing whatever it was she was going through was deeper than he first imagined, Brother Rasul led her inside his house. “Damn, Kenya, what is it? What’s wrong?”

  Kenya clutched his arm while peeping around the corner of the living room. “Who here with you?”

  “I just told you nobody when you called.” He raised his eyebrow. “Now sit down and tell me what in the world is going down so hella urgent that you drove cross-country to get here.”

  “Did Storm call you? Have you talked to him?”

  “Kenya!” Brother Rasul stood over her with his hand reassuringly on her left shoulder. “Stop with the twenty questions you taking me through. What jumped off?”

  Burying her face in her hands, Kenya started on her sometimes rambling tearful confession. Initially, the part about her having a miscarriage, followed by Storm going behind her back getting life insurance policies and naming London as the beneficiary, didn’t get much a response from Brother Rasul. However, when she added the scattered details of hearing gunfire right outside her window and later finding out from Storm that O.T. had been shot, the tall, burly Muslim in faith ex-bouncer had to sit down.

  “It all happened so fast! One minute I was coming down the stairs to tell London to leave my house, then bam.” Kenya sobbed struggling to catch her breath with each word she spoke. “I swear I just wanted her to leave, that’s all!”

  Brother Rasul, always wise beyond his years, was confused in the twisted tale Kenya was laying out. “Wait a minute. O.T., Storm’s brother, got shot? Is he alive or what?”

  “I guess. Well, yeah. That’s what Storm told me.”

  “Wasn’t you there? You said it was just outside y’all condo, if
I heard that part correctly.”

  “It was, but I didn’t go outside.” Kenya wiped her tears with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. “I don’t know why, but I didn’t.”

  Brother Rasul paced the living room floor as the story he was hearing got stranger and stranger. “So that made you get in the car and leave your own house? I mean, I’m sorry, sis, but I don’t get it.”

  Kenya then stood up, slightly moving the curtain so she could check on her vehicle where her nephew was sleeping. “I don’t know why I did it. I was so mad!”

  “Don’t start on that again. Mad at what? At who?”

  “London and Storm. They pushed me!” She balled up her fist, and her voice took a harsh tone.

  “So you left both of them and came back to Detroit, just like that? Storm probably needs you to hold him down; and isn’t your sister, no matter how angry you are at her, ready to deliver?”

  “Please, you gotta know I didn’t mean it! She was my sister!” Now in a panicked, remorseful state, Kenya walked up to Brother Rasul dropping her head in shame.

  This time roughly grabbing both her shoulders, he shook Kenya. “What you mean, was? Kenya, sis, where is London?”

  “She’s back in Dallas, at the condo, in the walk-in freezer.”

  A weird silence filled the room as he tried to absorb what she’d just said and what she possibly meant. “Kenya, the freezer? What in the hell is you trying to say?”

  “I let London die. Then I hid her body in the rear walk-in freezer!” Kenya’s lips quivered as she spoke out loud the horrible act she’d committed supposedly in the name of love.

  Holding his head with both hands, Brother Rasul couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. Did she just say what I think she said? Erratically moving about the room, his heart raced. “Kenya, please tell me you lying! Please tell me you didn’t!” He walked from one side of the room to the other. “Where is your damn sister? Kenya! Nawwwww!” Stunned in denial, he was hesitant to ask any further questions in fear of what’d she say next.