All the kings men, p.7
All the Kings Men, page 7
As my breathing mellowed out, and I started having dreams of drowning in darkness, the blaring sound of my alarm going off had me jolting up in bed. On some real shit, I swear that I had just laid down, scratched my nuts, held my dick, and got one snore out when my alarm went off. I changed into the respectable dress clothes my brother got me—dark jeans, a dressy black sweater, and a business jacket— before heading to my PO the next morning. I sat there, smelling Newports and stale coffee while staring at that nigga’s hanging face. After pissing in a cup and going through all the loops that a PO could put me through, I got on the bus then went off to work to start my day in the world of moving people’s shit.
What a fucked-up world, I heard in my brother’s voice.
Chess objective 3: Piece-development: Develop your pieces to their full potential because well-developed pieces have more fire-power than undeveloped pieces.
Chapter 8: Natasha
I didn’t sleep that well. When I got up the next morning, I was grumpy as fuck. Grumpy and horny. I didn’t know what shocked me more, the fact that Mali was so calm after taking out a whole family or the fact that he stripped naked like I wasn’t even in the room before heading to the shower. If I had any doubts before, after seeing him naked, there was no doubt in my mind that he was a full-grown man.
Not to mention our conversation at the end of the night still plagued me. He thought I’d been pitying him when that wasn’t the case. I just realized he was a product of his environment and for the last ten years, his environment had been prison.
Walking into my office the next morning, I felt numb, but I acted as I normally would. I greeted Ms. Duncan who was my secretary and then walked three doors down to the coffee shop to get us some lattes and breakfast rolls. Once that was done, like clockwork, Sheriff Duncan, Ms. Duncan’s son, walked in.
“Good morning, Natasha,” he said.
“Good morning, Chevy.”
“Saw you at Uncle Lo’s hanging with the convicts this morning,” he said while he stood in the door of my office.
Chevy was fine by all standards of the word. He was six-three, with chocolate skin and he worked out like the gym would close if he didn’t stay in there at least three hours. His bald head glistened under the light, and the uniform he had on hugged all the muscles he owned. However, he was a piece of shit, and I had no use for him other than what they paid me when the sheriff’s office needed my services. He’d been married once, but according to him, his wife, Alissa, had walked out on him.
“And? I always talk to Uncle Lo before coming here in the mornings. Ask your mother,” I said as I typed away on my laptop.
“Yeah, but this morning, I saw you talking to Malcolm Cane.”
My spine stiffened but I kept it cool. Sighing, I looked up. “Okay?”
“Well, you know he hung around those niggas who got your cousin killed, right?”
I frowned. “He was already locked up when that happened.”
“Yeah, but you want to be hanging with somebody who ran with the dudes who could have possibly murdered your cousin?” he asked as he scowled at me like I stunk.
“You saw me talking to him and you think I hang with him now?”
“You know Lo is really his uncle, right?”
“Yes, Chevy. Why wouldn’t I know this? How long have I lived here again?”
Chevy sighed, then sipped his coffee as he walked over and sat in front of my desk. My office was big. I had a red Tudor style sofa that sat under the bay window on the left side of the room. Across from that was a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf that was filled with law books. A flat screen TV sat mounted on right wall across from my desk. The dark hardwood floor had been cleaned and shined to the point I could see my reflection. My degrees lined the wall behind my desk along with other awards I’d won.
Chevy set his coffee on my desk, then took the other half of my breakfast roll. “I’m just saying, don’t get caught up with the wrong kind.”
“Uncle Lo and I have had a great working relationship for years. When a few of his second chancers ran off that time, I was the one to locate them for him. So I’m well aware of that. I also know that Uncle Lo is a good man and as long as Malcolm follows his lead, he’ll be fine.”
Chevy cleared his throat. “Just looking out for you. That Malcolm looks like trouble.”
“How? He just got out.”
“He’s been locked up since he was sixteen. Bet he’ll be back in there before the year’s end. He’s ignorant and arrogant. Used to living like an animal and shit. Used to hang with those damn Kings. Niggas like that stay in and out of prison.”
I felt my nerves set aflame. “You don’t know the man, Chevy.”
“Bullshit. He’s a menace to fucking society. I remember him and the rest of them niggas. They robbed my grandpops once. Just stay away from him if you know what’s good for you.”
“Wait, excuse me? And if I don’t?”
Chevy studied me for a few minutes. The muscles in his jaws ticked as if anger was riling him up. “I don’t like the looks of him. He probably got AIDS or something coming out of there. He went in as a boy. Probably got raped, fucked in the ass, all that. No telling what he did to survive that long in there.”
“Chevy, I need you to leave my office now.”
He tilted his head to the side. “Please don’t tell me you feel anything for that nigga.”
“I literally just met the man last night,” I lied. “And even if I did feel anything it would be my prerogative to do so.”
He chuckled with a faraway look in his eyes.
“What’s funny?” I asked.
“Just thinking about how I almost hit someone this morning, and how if you fall for a nigga like that, ain’t no telling what your future will hold.”
Chevy was two seconds away from having me show a side of myself that only those closest to me knew. I was already on edge. I didn’t need him peacocking around my damn office. I gave a hard inhale, cutting my eyes at him.
Chevy stood then brushed off his uniform. “Oh, I see. You have the hots for the Cane boy. You and he have a thing now?”
Taking a deep breath, I gave Chevy a slow blink. “He and I are no more a thing than you and I were.”
His eyes narrowed and shoulders squared. “Oh, I see. I’m not good enough for you, but the likes of that convict is? The fact that you would even consider fucking bottom of the barrel—”
“I fucked you, nigga. That was as bottom of the barrel as I could get.”
He laughed. “You see, I’m starting to see through that whole bullshit good girl bourgeoisie façade you put on. You and Jaded may have been cousins and come from different upbringings, but I see that hood-ass low class bloodline running through you.”
I stood, pressed my hands flat against my desk and leaned forward. “You still mad because we fucked and I didn’t call back the next morning, huh?” I watched him bristle. That smirk he carried was not so cunning anymore. “Chevy, get out of my fucking office,” I snapped, no longer caring that his mother worked for me.
What Chevy had hinted at didn’t surprise me. He wasn’t the first one to suspect more than friendship had gone on between Mali and me.
“Well, just so you know, his old running buddy, the one they used to call Powder? Friends from Roswell P.D. tell me that he and his family were found murdered.”
My eyes darted around the room in a confused manner before settling back on him. “Okay…why are you telling me this?”
“They’re saying that Powder had a male lover who’s being questioned.”
“Okay. Again, why are you telling me this?”
“I just find it odd that on the day Cane walked out of prison, his old buddy’s whole family bit the dust.”
“Didn’t you just say he was living a double life? What in hell does that have to do with Malcolm?”
Chevy turned his lips down. “Just saying. If you’re going to hang with trash, watch your back. Who knows what kind of trouble is following the likes of him.”
He snatched the door to my office open and stormed out. Taking a deep breath, I rolled my eyes. My heart thudded against my ribcage. I needed to let Mali know that Sheriff Duncan was jealous of him because it had potential to cause problems with our little revenge spree.
Sitting down, I shook my head. Last night, Mali was in my dreams. One minute we were lovers and the next we were fighting. I was his enemy just like our old crew. I woke up, drenched in sweat. Tossed and turned most of the whole night. Once I arrived at my office, I got to work searching out Screwface and Magnolia. I had skillsets along with friends in high places. Magnolia was the closest. After having an FBI friend run his photo through a face recognition database, I found he lived in Chattanooga, Tennessee now.
When lunch time rolled around, I left my office and met Mali at Pauletta’s, an eatery that Uncle Lo had bought several years ago and named it after Mali’s mom. They served the best homemade burgers and fried fish although it seemed the floors were always greasy and the counters were never really stain free. There wasn’t shit fancy about the place. It actually looked as if it was locked in the 1950s and even had the same old juke box.
“After all the shit that had happened with you going to prison, Magnolia and Screwface ran to New York with their cut of the profits. While there, Magnolia started to fly straight after a while,” I said as I stuffed fries in my mouth. “He got married and got a job as a high school coach. Four years later, he was fired after some speculation that he had been having sex, more like raping, with some of the female students. After that, he ran back down south when a couple of the girls’ fathers got after him.”
I looked up to find Mali stuffing fried fish in his mouth. He looked good dressed like he was in corporate America instead of an ex-con, and I felt myself more drawn to him now. That was just the effect Mali had always had on me.
“Chattanooga is close, right? About two hours away?” he asked, mouth full of white bread and catfish.
I nodded. “Yeah, but you can’t leave the state.”
“Let me worry about that,” he said. “Where’s that nigga Screwface?”
“Last known residence was 260 Parkhill Avenue, Staten Island, but he has a baby mother who lives here.”
“Good. I wanna pay her a visit.”
“Okay, but no more kids, Mali.”
He stopped eating to glare at me. He was about to snap. I could tell by the way he dropped one hand to the table and scowled. I reached across the table, but then remembered he didn’t like to be touched unless warned first.
“Mali,” I said, voice soft, “I’ll do whatever you want me to do. Just no more kids. Promise me.”
“No.”
“Malcolm.”
“I ain’t making no such bullshit promises. No one gave a fuck that I was kid. Nobody. Not the judges. Not the lawyers. Not the fucking cops. And not them niggas. Fuck them and their kids.”
“I get that. I just don’t want you to lose your soul—”
“Soul? What soul? All I got in this here body is malice and vengeance. I ain’t got no soul,” he said through clenched teeth. “Funny thing about revenge. It could make a killer out of a nun.”
Silence settled between us. The place was filled with other second-chancers. Some old-time record was playing and ESPN was on the TV. Raucous laughter and yells of food orders fought for dominance of the air.
“How did it go with your PO?” I asked after a while, just to change the subject.
He shrugged. “He’s an asshole.”
I nodded. “Did you sleep well last night?”
“No.”
“The rest of your morning go okay?”
“Yes.”
He kept eating but wouldn’t look at me.
“You don’t have to keep being curt.”
“Then stop trying to shape me into the image you want to see.”
“I’m not—”
“Bullshit, and you know it. If you don’t want to help me then don’t, but I’m not going to allow anyone to become a liability to me. If you want out, say so now. If not, let me do me.”
“Fine, Mali. Fucking fine. I’m sick of your attitude already,” I snapped, catching myself off guard.
“Fuck you,” he snapped back.
“No, fuck you. I get it, okay? I get what you’re dealing with, but I’m the only fucking friend you have right now so keep that defensive shit over there. How the hell you want me to see you when you will only show me this shell of a man?”
For a long while, Mali just glared at me from across the table. He picked up the hot sauce then dumped some on his last piece of fish before putting it in his mouth.
“I really don’t give a fuck. If I’ma shell then so the fuck are you. Do you even know who ya are anymore? Because from where I’m sitting, I only see the shell of who you used to be, too,” he said, then out of the blue, he gave that same empty grin that showed all of his teeth, including the canines. “So look at us, being mirrors of one another and shit,” he finished, sarcastically.
“Screw you, Mali!”
“How you want it? Long? Hard? Fast or slow?”
Rolling my eyes, I tossed my napkin on the table before standing. I was about to punch the shit out of him until he looked past me, tilting his head. I turned around to find a pretty Latina strutting over to the table. Her golden hair fell down past her breasts, and she had on jeans that looked as if someone had painted them on. Her tight shirt showed D-cup breasts and her waist was so small, I wondered if she was real. Full lips and exotic eyes made every male in the place sit at attention.
“Mali, papi, how you doing?” she asked with an accent that said she came straight out of a borough in New York.
He grunted as he gave her a slow up and down once over. It was an appreciative look, one that said a man liked what he saw. The muscles clenched in my stomach, and all of a sudden, I had cotton mouth. Who was this bitch? And how did he know her? The nigga had been locked up for ten years. She brushed passed me to take the seat in the booth I just vacated.
“I’ll live,” Mali answered.
“See that you do,” she said, glancing my way. She did a double take like she’d just seen me standing there. Her smile faded and she asked Mali, “Who is she?”
Mali looked at me then turned back to whoever she was. “Nobody. You bring what I asked for?”
His words stung, so much so that I actually had to stand there and process it.
“Oh. Well. Anyway, I got his phone. Tomorrow night, he’ll be at a warehouse in McDonough, talking business. I left it where you told me to.”
“Thank you, baby girl. Always coming through for a nigga.”
“Just like old times.”
Mali smirked. “Like old times.”
“I’m glad to see you out, walking around. No more storage room fucks. So, whenever you can, meet me at my place and let me show you how good I can be when we don’t have to worry about getting caught.”
It was only then that it hit me that I was still standing there like a dumb ass and that Mali knew this woman from his time in prison. She must have been a guard or something. My annoyance level rose, and I found myself storming out of Pauletta’s. I shoved passed a few of Uncle Lo’s men coming in. Pushed one out of the way.
“Aye, bitch, watch where the fuck you going!” he yelled.
“Call her a bitch again and we gone have so many problems,” I heard Kadeem say.
I turned to find him coming behind me along with Uncle Lo. The man who’d called me a bitch held his hands up and walked away, but not before Uncle Lo made him apologize. Uncle Lo, Kadeem, and I walked outside. Uncle Lo kept stealing glances at me then back to Kadeem. Sadness was in Uncle Lo’s eyes, a sadness that gave in to resignation.
“What’s got you in a fit of rage, young lady?” Uncle Lo asked.
“I’m going to take a gander and say it’s my bro?” Kadeem added.
I took a deep breath. My eyes watered as I chewed on my bottom lip. I stared hard at Kadeem. That nigga, Mali, had me so in my fucking feelings I felt like a teenage girl instead of the grown-ass woman I was. I was outside of a mom-and-pop restaurant crying over a nigga who had walked out of prison less than forty-eight hours ago; a man I hadn’t seen in ten fucking years.
Uncle Lo was dressed in his usual: tan slacks, white dress shirt, and wing tipped shoes. Kadeem had on the same thing Mali and the rest of the workers did since he was supposed to be working with Uncle Lo today.
Slapping my tears away, I shook my head. “I’m just annoyed. I’m okay though.”
Kadeem quirked a brow. “You sure?”
“Yeah.”
“You and Mali getting along?” Uncle Lo asked.
“Like a scorpion and a beetle.”
Uncle Lo chuckled. “Your cousin loved the little boy who ended up in prison. You have to love the man who came out. I mean…if that’s how y’all are handling one another.”
“Fuck him,” I said, a little bit too quickly.
Kadeem tilted his head. I got ready to say more but Ms. Latina stepped outside. She was all giggles. She smiled up at Kadeem like a woman who knew him, a woman who knew his touch. At that moment, I was pissed. Pissed the fuck off that she knew Mali in ways I didn’t. Pissed that I would probably never know him again, not the way I wanted to.
“Sheriff Duncan has a hard on for Mali,” I said to Kadeem. My voice came out in quick spurts. “Be mindful of that. I have to go,” I said as I walked off before anyone could stop me.
Chapter 9: Mali
That quote about be wary of friends was floating in my head as I stared at two globes of perfect roundness. Shit was distracting. Shit was reminding me of the one thing that I needed when I got out—pussy. In my anger, and my plan of destroying all, I had forgotten that a nigga needed to take care of self. That was the one thing I learned repeatedly in prison. If a man was lucky while in prison and could link up with a woman willing to suck, fuck, and buck no matter her job or position of authority, then a man could almost have a nice little time in the clank.
