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“Because he fucked the wrong bitch!” Dale and I both fell out laughing. “You feel me?” He moved toward me for dap. “Anyway. Back to your ass with the craziest shit you’ve done for love.”
Oh. Right…
“Yeah. I’d just gotten that gig. The original keyboardist dropped at the last minute, and the party was the next night. But when this call came through, I begged my O.G. to let me go. Now, mind you: we’re talking like ten to twelve Bloods. So, you know none of them niggas had driver’s licenses. When my uncle said no, at first, I reminded him of that. Then he said I could go, but had to stay in the car, and if we got pulled over and caught with guns, I wasn’t to claim shit. My dumb ass drove over eight hours to pull up on this nigga. The woman’s pops and his crew packed up all her shit, and moved it to a crib she so happened to have stashed away from this nigga.”
I was happy as fuck when I learned about it that night. And I felt satisfied when Lennox told me years later how it was Chino who gave her the money and wisdom to do it.
“Oh, word? That’s what’s up.”
I nodded. “But that wasn’t the crazy part of the story. What’s fuckin’ with that is when we were at their old crib, the O.G. took his daughter and her things to the new crib, and I stayed behind with my uncle and a few others. Before we pulled off to follow them, I slipped out of the car, and found the pill head inside the house, packing shit up. Dude is like six inches taller than me. I’d seen him before and could tell his weight had dropped. It was the shit he was on. I ain’t give a fuck. I walked into the room he was in and swung on his ass—BOW!” I threw a jab in the air.
“Damn!” Dale sat up on the stoop.
“I did. The nigga fell to the floor. He was expecting it—not from me, though. He thought it would come from one of the niggas in there with the way they jumped out on him. So, while he’s on the floor, grabbing his bloody nose, I pulled his pretty ass up by the shirt, got close to his mixed-ass eye color, and told him to remember my face, because if he ever threatened or laid a finger on her, my face would be the next and last he’d see. I told him I’d kill his ass. Then I kicked the fucker in the face with myTimbos. Knocked him the fuck out. One of the lieutenants was a shortie, Rory. Old head chick that would bust off before you pull out. Lil’ thing, too. Ol’ girl’s like four feet, ten inches, or some shit. Now, she got a legal mind. She was there to tell the O.G.s how far they could or couldn’t go depending on the charges at stake. She was standing in the doorway, arms crossed, and I thought she was gonna rip my ass. But she winked, saluted me, then motioned with her hand for me to get the fuck out.”
Dale busted out laughing again.
“Word.” I nodded. “I wasn’t supposed to be there. ‘Til this very day, the girl don’t even know I was out there, in that shit. But I saw her big crib with her husband, and the one they live in now. I didn’t get out of the van for the second one. I kept my ass still, trying not to fuckin’ cry like a baby.”
“For what?”
I shook my head, defeated. “That I let her marry this weak-ass, dope head for one. Then I felt helpless knowing they had only been married for about two years or so, and he’d been fuckin’ up on her. I knew I could love her better than that nigga, and there I was, sitting outside like a fuckin’ kid, not doin’ shit, but waiting.”
“But you fucked her husband up.”
“Yeah, but guess who ended up with her that night?”Again.
Dale’s eyes locked onto me. “That’s some shit, Tobe.”
“Yeah. For ‘the one.’” Feeling fucked up rehashing all that shit, I turned back to the keyboard. Before playing again, I checked my phone, and saw nothing from Lennox.
Once again, I’m this close to the crib you share with him, but won’t step foot on the doorstep…
ChapterTwelve
“What’s going on here?” I asked the first police officer in my path after slamming my car door closed. I had to park in front of a neighbor’s house because mine was covered with armed police. “Excuse me!”
The white man with a walrus-styled mustache turned my way. “What business is this of yours, ma’am?” His snarly tone of authority made my blood boil.
“The type that owns the property your compadres are on!” I was snappy because he was being nasty.
Their presence caused anxiety to coat me. It was one of the common emotional and physiological responses I’d learned to cope with since becoming Mrs. Kelvin Richardson.
“Are you Mrs. Richardson?” a female officer asked as she took long lunges toward me.
“Yes.”
“She’s the wife,” the woman told her colleague as she approached me. She stepped into my personal space, I learned quickly it was to control the volume of her message. My neighbors were out looking, or peeking through their windows. Another nightmare I’d lived from time-to-time with no control. “My captain got a call from the judge this morning. Not only did Richardson not comply with the outpatient rehab mandate by the judge, but he approached an undercover last night, trying to cop. When the officer made an attempt at an arrest, he fled. Last night, both undercover officers were able to identify Richardson—I mean…” She shrugged, and I understood. Kelvin was their prized fighter less than ten years ago. He was also a fucking conspicuous tree in height. “So, the officer got in touch with the prosecutor, his probation officer, and the judge. And the judge…” She gestured toward the house.
Instead of replying—because what the fuck could I say?—I started for my driveway. In my wake, I could hear the two officers informing their flank of colleagues I was “the wife.” Inside, Kelvin was pushing his feet into old sneakers. His hair out-grown, clothes wrinkled, face stained with red from a lack of rest and frustration. He was surrounded by officers, radio chirps, and messages from their walkie-talkies filling the thick air.
His hazel-green eyes met me, then the muscles in his face contracted with disgust. “You’re never the fuck where you’re supposed to be when needed!”
“Excuse me?” I was just with his nephew. After driving him to both his Saturday activities, Scott asked if he could hang out with his soccer teammate this evening. The mother of the friend offered to drop Scott off at home after dinner. Quickly, I was grateful for the last-minute arrangement. Scott wouldn’t have to be traumatized, once again, by his uncle’s antics. “What’s going on here?” I asked Kelvin.
“I need a lawyer. A real one. You can’t keep telling me these shitty ass Legal Shield lawyers are helping me!”
“What did you do, Kelvin?” I asked again, my heart racing and armpits misting.
