The Million Dollar Demise Read online

  14

  Freddy sat slumped low in the cracked vinyl seat, behind the steering wheel of his car. He stared at the small brick middle-class home in front of him. He had pulled up not five minutes ago, but had not moved an inch since then.

  It was approaching two P.M. He was surprised Joni had not called to find out where he was. But then again, Joni wasn’t that type. She was an easygoing woman. She didn’t trip over foolishness, and Freddy thought back to when they had dated—if he said he didn’t want to be sweated about this or that, Joni would say, “Whatever. Fine, I won’t sweat you.”

  She had been that way since Freddy had first met her in high school. Joni was cool, but Joni was trouble.

  It seemed she was in detention as much as Freddy. Either she had beaten up some chick, tried to beat up some dude, or stolen something that wasn’t hers. Back then, Joni wasn’t big into work, into putting forth the effort it took to earn things herself. The only reason she had a house was because her father died and left the Atlanta crib to her. It was the reason she left Chicago. That and the fact that she had gotten the idea that Freddy’s interest in her had disappeared. Freddy had dated Joni for thirteen months. They had everything in common. They both had fuckthe-world attitudes, got high together, spent what money they had, and didn’t sweat over what they didn’t have. And they had sex constantly.

  “Come in me, baby,” Joni would breath into Freddy’s ear whenever she felt him reaching orgasm. “Come in me,” she’d plead. “I want some babies.”

  What the hell? Freddy always thought, making no effort to withdraw, even though he wasn’t wearing a condom. Every time they would screw, he would bust in her, always expecting some night she’d come to him, grinning wide, talking about how she had missed her period. Freddy would’ve had no problem with that. He always wanted kids. And seeing as how they got along so well, knowing that no woman loved him or had his back like Joni did, he figured why not have kids with her? He figured maybe one day they’d even get married.

  But that all changed one night while Freddy was out at some college party. He had no business there—was probably drunk and just stumbled in. But while he was there, he met Kia. In Freddy’s opinion, Joni was a decent-looking girl. She had the Afro-centric thing down pat, with her short-cut natural hair and the tiny diamond in her nose. The girl had a body, too. A tiny waist that flowed into some ridiculous curvy hips and the roundest ass Freddy ever saw fill a pair of jeans.

  Yeah, Joni was tight, but Kia was beautiful. Kia was sophisticated. Kia was a law student.

  Freddy didn’t know why, but the woman gave him play. And from the moment he walked away with her phone number, he felt like a better, more important man. As he became closer with Kia, he lost more and more interest in Joni. Being with Kia made him want to do more for himself, for his mother, and possibly for Kia, if his dreams came true and they ended up together.

  A month after Freddy started kicking it with Kia, Joni came to him and said, “I seen you with that girl. Is that why you haven’t been coming by?”

  Freddy didn’t want to hurt Joni, but they had always been honest with each other. “Yeah. I think we need to call it quits, Joni.”

  Joni didn’t blow up in his face, try to fight him, or beg him to come back. Freddy knew she wouldn’t. Joni was too cool for that. But she did stare right into his eyes for a moment. Her lip quivered, and she looked to have blinked away a tear or two, then said, “If that’s how you want it. I ain’t gonna be living here much longer anyway. My father died, and I got to move to Atlanta to take over his house.”

  “I’m sorry,” Freddy said sincerely.

  “It’s okay. But I’m not gonna change my cell number, so … so …” Joni said, blinking back tears. “If things don’t … you know, work out, give me a ring.”

  Things didn’t work out, Freddy thought now, still staring up at Joni’s house. Things were fucked up, and if Freddy didn’t come up with some sort of plan, his ass would be going to jail, might even get the damn death penalty. Freddy quickly shook that thought out of his head. It was still too early in the game to think about dying.

  Bottom line was, the shootings were in Chicago, and Freddy was in Atlanta now. Hopefully none of that would ever follow him here.

  Freddy saw the curtains in the front window move. They parted for a second, then fell closed. It was Joni checking to see if Freddy had arrived. A moment later, the curtains were opened wider, Joni stepping between them.

  Behind that window, she didn’t mouth any words to him, didn’t motion with a curled finger for him to come in. She just stood there, watching Freddy. Something told him she knew he was considering driving off. She knew him that well. They were close, and if she had gotten pregnant, they would’ve probably been married by now. Freddy’s hand was on the keys. Yeah, he could go. He actually was thinking about it. He didn’t want to heighten his risk of getting caught by trusting Joni. But not just that. He didn’t want to run the risk of her getting into serious trouble just by being involved with him. But where else would he go? He was going to leave in a day or two, after he came up with a plan. But right now, where would he go? He had no answer. Freddy pulled the keys from the ignition and climbed out of the car. He opened the back door, reached in, and pulled Nathaniel out, carrying him in his arms. He closed both doors with his hip, then started around the car and walked up the steps to the front door.

  15

  That evening, Daphanie lay across Brownie’s sofa. The flat-panel TV was on above the mantel, but Daphanie just stared up at the ceiling, thinking about the news she had gotten earlier.

  When she heard the locks being undone on the front door, she didn’t even look up to see her friend enter her house. Brownie walked in looking worn out. She was five-foot-three and had a small upper body, but her hips and thighs were so curvy, men often stopped her on the street, trying to get her number. Her skin was fair, and she most often wore her blond-streaked brown hair in a ponytail. Wearing hospital scrubs, as usual, Brownie kicked off her Crocs at the door and said, “You’re at my place more than me. Cook dinner, by chance?”

  “I’m getting fired,” Daphanie said to the ceiling.

  “What?” Brownie said, hurrying around the corner and sitting beside Daphanie. “What are you talking about?”

  “Remember a few of months ago I told you Parker was trying to get me to transfer, because there was a chance they were closing our branch?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, they’re closing it.”

  “Aw, I’m so sorry,” Brownie said, giving Daphanie a hug.

  Daphanie stood, took a couple of steps from the sofa. “The only reason I didn’t transfer is because that motherfucker said I had nothing to worry about.”

  “And which motherfucker are we talking about?”

  “Nate.”

  “Oh, yeah. That motherfucker,” Brownie said.

  “He said I’d be a housewife, or I could take my time looking for a new job if I lost this one, because he would have my back. Now look what’s happened. This is all his fault.”

  “Uh, Daph … I don’t know if it’s all his fault.”

  “Trust me, it is,” Daphanie said. “I can’t stand him!”

  “I don’t know if I agree with you.”

  “Then you don’t know what you’re talking about,” Daphanie said, walking back to the sofa and having a seat. “What am I supposed to do about a job? You know what the unemployment rate is now? You know how many drug reps keep asking me if Reese is hiring?”

  “Please, Daphanie, you have nothing to worry about. You were a nurse first. Nurses are never out of work. Dust off the old license and—”

  “The old license expired three years ago. So now do I need to worry?”

  Brownie dropped her head. “Damn, girl. Now you might be in a bit of a fix.”

  “Yeah, in a fix with a baby on the way.”

  “And what did you decide to do about that?”

  “What do you mean?” Daphanie said, s
tanding again. “I’m having it. I didn’t fuck Trevor because I was horny, I fucked him because I wanted a baby. Why would that change now?”

  “Well …” Brownie said.

  “I’m not gonna worry about that. I’ll find a job, and if not, I’ll find some creative way to pay for this child. How many sisters been in the same situation and just make it work?”

  “I feel ya,” Brownie said, not seeming very certain.

  “Till then,” Daphanie said, “I think it’s time to call Trevor and tell him what he’s gotten himself into.”

  16

  Nate sat in his wheelchair in his hospital room, brooding, determining if he had missed absolutely any information at all. His private investigator, Abbey Kurt, stood on the other side of the room, holding a pen and a pad, taking down everything Nate said. She was a small, muscular woman. She wore a dark pantsuit, her gun and holster undetectable beneath the jacket. Her hair was pulled back into a bun, and she wore no jewelry, save for the watch on her right wrist. Abbey had been working with Nate for five years. He trusted her with his life. She was the first person he called once he gained access to a phone.

  “Did you follow up with those detectives, see if they found out anything?” Nate asked. “What were their names?”

  “Detectives Martins and Davis,” Abbey said. “And no, they have no new information, Mr. Kenny.”

  “Did they activate the AMBER Alert?”

  “I’ve called them, and it’s already been activated, sir.”

  “Good,” Nate said, glancing over at his nightstand. His pain medication sat on top of it in a little plastic cup. He was in agonizing pain. He knew the meds would knock him out, and he needed to be awake to plan how he would go about finding that bastard Freddy Ford. “You will get the contact information for everyone Ford knows.”

  “Yes, sir. I will get the information for his ex-girlfriend Kia Martin, for her father, for Freddy’s mother, and for his uncle, Henry Ford—the man Freddy used to work for.”

  “Do the police have a photo of Ford?” Nate asked.

  “I e-mailed one to them immediately after you asked me to.”

  “Good,” Nate said, his voice soft. He was not satisfied, though. He knew, regardless of what the police did, Ford had the upper hand because of his head start. He could be anywhere, doing who knows what to Nathaniel. That is, if Nathaniel was even still alive.

  Nate leaned over and locked the wheels on his chair. He pressed his palms onto the arms, and with everything he had tried to lift himself from the chair.

  Abbey rushed over to him. “Mr. Kenny, what are you doing? Do you want me to call a nurse?”

  Nate fell back into the chair. “No. They don’t even want me in this chair. They want me to remain in bed. I can’t do that,” Nate said. “Now help me.”

  Abbey stood at Nate’s side, grabbing him by his arm. He pressed his hands onto the arms of the chair again. With all of his strength, Nate grunted and pushed, and with Abbey’s help, he stood from the chair.

  “Now let go of me,” Nate directed.

  “Sir, maybe this isn’t such a—”

  “I said release me!”

  Abbey cautiously let go of Nate’s arm and took a step back. Wobbling on his legs, his arms spread out to his sides like a blind man, Nate stood. His surgical incisions that had been sewn up felt as though they might rip open. He told himself they wouldn’t. He needed to do this to accelerate his recovery. While Ford was still out there, while he still had Nathaniel. Nate could not afford to be a patient, lying drugged and helpless in a hospital bed. He had to find Ford.

  The door to Nate’s room opened.

  “What are you doing?” Tim said, stepping in, seeing Nate appearing as though he were about to fall. Layla was in Tim’s arms. He rushed over, gave Layla to Abbey, then grabbed Nate by his elbow and carefully lowered his brother back into his wheelchair.

  “Nate, what the hell?” Tim said.

  “None of your business.”

  “Nate, you can’t—”

  “Tim,” Nate said, reaching his arms out toward Layla, a smile now on his face. “It’s over. You brought Layla like I asked, and that’s all I care about right now. Abbey, bring her to me.”

  Abbey carried Layla over to Nate and set her down to stand on the floor in front of him. Nate grabbed her little hands.

  “Uncle Nate would love to pick you up, but he’s in a little bit of pain right now. But I would like a kiss.”

  Nate leaned down as well as he could. Layla stood on her tippy toes and gave Nate a peck on the cheek. He took her hand and held it.

  “How is she?” Nate asked Tim.

  “She’s fine.”

  “Does it seem as though she might’ve heard any of … you know?” Nate said, referring to the shooting he hoped the child had slept through.

  “If she did, she’s not showing any signs, or saying anything about it.”

  “Okay,” Nate said, smiling down at the little girl.

  “So … if you don’t mind me asking,” Tim said, his voice hushed,

  “what are you going to do with her?”

  “While I’m in here, I’d appreciate it if you continue to keep her.”

  “You know that’s not a problem, Nate,” Tim said.

  “But I won’t be staying in here for much longer.”

  “And what about after you’re out?”

  As Layla played with one end of his robe belt, Nate lowered his voice.

  “I’ll do what Monica wanted. I’ll adopt her, and we’ll raise her like our own, since her father is in jail.”

  17

  Earlier that afternoon, when Freddy walked into Joni’s house with Nathaniel, the first thing she said was, “Who’s the little shit?”

  “His name is Nathaniel,” Freddy said, giving Joni a long once-over. “I’ll tell you more about him later. Right now he and I both need to get some sleep. You got a bed?”

  “Yeah. Two. They’re upstairs, already made up. I’ll show you.” Joni looked good, like always. She was still in crazy shape. She still had those hips, those thighs, and that flat belly. She was showing it off in cut-off shorts and a halter top. Joni walked in front of Freddy up the stairs. When they reached the second floor, she turned to him. “This is your room right here. You can put the boy in there.”

  “Yeah, thanks,” Freddy said, staring at Joni again. “What happened to your face?”

  Her left eye was swollen, bruised purple, and her lip was cut down the middle. It looked as though it had been healing for about a day.

  “I’ll tell you later. Like you said, ya’ll need to get some sleep,” Joni said.

  —

  After climbing out of bed, Freddy pulled on his T-shirt and slid back into his jeans. He looked at himself in the mirror above the dresser. The five hours’ sleep he had just gotten did him some good. He felt better, but still looked like hell.

  The room he was in was small. He walked over the old, creaking hardwood floor back to the bed and pulled the blanket up over the pillows.

  The house Joni’s father had left her was an ancient, wood-paneled thing. The white paint outside was dirty and peeling. The lawn was unkempt, mostly weeds. It was in Fairburn, a city outside of Atlanta.

  On her particular street, the houses were spaced wide apart. They had big yards. Old trucks were parked on front lawns. Some folks even had a chicken or two running around. It was country as hell for Freddy’s taste, even though it was only twenty-five minutes outside of Atlanta.

  Still looking at his face in the mirror, staring into his thoughts, Freddy wondered what was going on in Chicago. Had anyone found the bodies yet? He walked across the room and cracked the bedroom door. He smelled food cooking. He opened the door all the way and walked to the next door over. It was the third bedroom, where Joni had made the bed for the boy.

  Freddy opened the door, saw Nathaniel sleeping on the twin bed. The child jerked every now and then, his facial muscles twisting into expressions of fear, then anger, the
n sadness. He was reliving what he had seen the day of the shooting, Freddy told himself. It was a shame the child had to deal with that, but shit happened to everybody. He would get over it, or at least learn how to deal with it, Freddy thought, closing the door.

  Approaching the stairs, Freddy heard Joni’s voice. She was arguing with someone on the phone. As Freddy descended the steps, he was better able to make out what was being said.

  “I told you, I’m done. No! Don’t be coming around here no more. I’m serious. Good-bye!”

  By the time the conversation ended, Freddy was downstairs, standing in the kitchen. Joni’s back was to him.

  When she turned around, Freddy could tell that she was startled by him. She smiled, played it off. “Hey sleepyhead,” she said, a plate of fried chicken sausage in her hand. “Just in time. Have a seat.”

  Freddy told himself since he had just gotten there, he had no right poking in her business. At least not yet.

  The kitchen was the biggest room in the house. Freddy pulled out a chair at the head of the old painted wooden table, and sat before the plate and silverware already set.

  “Hope you don’t mind breakfast food at night. It was all I had,” Joni said, scooping eggs onto Freddy’s plate, along with two sausage patties, toast, grits, and sliced cantaloupe. She served herself half as much food, then sat next to him, opening a napkin and smoothing it over her lap.

  She stabbed one of the sausage patties with her fork and was about to take a bite when she said, “What you waiting for? Eat.”

  He wanted to mention what he had just heard, but he again told himself it wasn’t his business. He ate.

  Halfway through the meal, Freddy said, “You call off from work today?”

  “I don’t work,” Joni said, chewing. “When you ever known me to?”

  “I know that. But seeing as you have this house, how you pay for it? How you live?”

  “The last scam was a good one. I knew a guy who worked at Home Depot. He said if I let him push a box on me from a shelf thirty feet up, I could sue and we’d split the money. I wasn’t hurt. Just pretended.”