Aftermath (16 page)

“I just want to talk to you,” Saadiq explained. He had been dating Gillian for more than a year. But after her father's death she had cut him off, ignoring his repeated phone calls, text messages, and e-mails. It was clear that their relationship was over as far as she was concerned, but he just wanted an explanation.

“Talk about what?” Gillian looked aloof, standing there with her arms folded across her chest and a scowl on her face.

“What happened with us?” Saadiq asked. “I mean the last time I saw you was at your parents' anniversary party. I left that night and I knew you were upset, but I didn't think it was that serious. I picked up the paper the next day and read about what happened to your father and your brother. So, I called you, I came by here, and I couldn't find you anywhere. Then I saw that his funeral had taken place and I've been trying to get in touch with you ever since.”

Gillian shrugged. “It's over,” she said matter-of-factly. “Everything is different now.”

“Different how?” Saadiq asked, frowning.

“I'm with Frankie now,” Gillian explained.

Saadiq stared at her, his temper flaring by the second. “Frankie?”

Gillian nodded and watched the wheels turning in Saadiq's head.

“So all that time you were swearing that you two were just friends…”

“We were,” she said. “But losing my father brought us closer.”

“And now you're with him?” Saadiq's voice dripped with hurt and anger.

Gillian nodded again. “I love him.”

“You don't love him.”

“I don't love
you
.” Gillian didn't blink as she said it. “And I would appreciate it if you could leave me alone and let me be happy.”

Saadiq wanted to knock her lights out. “You're a cold bitch, you know that?”

Gillian smirked. She didn't care what he thought of her. She had bigger concerns right now. Saadiq could kiss her ass. She stepped back inside her house and shut the door in his face, then watched as he pathetically retreated down her stairs with his tail between his legs.

Turning on her heel, she walked back into the living room and sat down once more on the sofa across from her guest.

Biggs sat stone-faced before Gillian, but he was actually feeling quite anxious. Gillian was asking him to do a very serious thing.

“So,” she said, picking up where she left off. “Can you handle that for me?”

“You want me to kill Jojo?” Biggs confirmed.

She nodded, crossed her legs, and looked him dead in the eyes.

Biggs cleared his throat. “Does Frankie know about this?”

Gillian frowned slightly, annoyed that Biggs seemed to be questioning her authority. “No. He's got other things on his mind these days,” she said. It was true that Frankie had been understandably sidetracked by the tragedy in his family. But Gillian was still thirsty for the taste of Jojo's blood. She wanted desperately to avenge her father's murder so that she could find some peace at last.

Biggs watched Gillian's facial expression vacillate between irritation and control. “And, for the record, I'm in charge of this family now,” she said, her perfectly glossed lips tightly pursed.

Biggs stared back at her, listening to her assert her power. For a moment, he thought about calling Frankie and clearing it with him, just to be on the safe side. After all, Gillian was new to the powerful position she now occupied. He understood her bloodlust, but he wondered if she was being a little hasty. Looking at her now, he could see that she was serious.

“You thought this out all the way?” he asked.

She nodded once again. “All the way.”

Biggs nodded finally and licked his lips. Leaning forward in his seat, he clasped his hands together. “I'll make it happen.”

*   *   *

Jojo stumbled out
of the bar and toward his car. The crowd at Lucky Lefty's bar in the Bronx had been a smattering of familiar faces from his days growing up in the Boogie Down borough. It was his birthday weekend, and he had been celebrating hard all night. In fact, his birthday hadn't been the only thing he'd been celebrating. His beef with the Nobles family was over. The war had been won, Jojo believed, once he and his goons had killed Doug Nobles and critically wounded Baron. With news of Frankie's brother's recent death at the hands of his own sister-in-law, Jojo was celebrating what he deemed to be the demise of his rival crew.

He climbed behind the wheel of his Benz, although he knew that he had no business driving as drunk as he was. He waved at his boy Day-Day as he pulled out of the lot, and then headed toward the FDR. He stayed to the right, opting for the slowest lane of traffic in his inebriated state. So he was a little befuddled when he saw flashing lights in his rearview mirror and realized that he was being pulled over.

Reluctantly, Jojo pulled over to the shoulder and stopped his car. The unmarked vehicle with the flashing lights pulled up behind him and Jojo dug in his pocket for his wallet. He looked in the mirror to see if his eyes were red as he retrieved his license. He watched the tall officer clad in all black approaching his car and popped a mint in his mouth to cover up the smell of tequila. Next, he reached into glove compartment for his registration. Sitting upright with his paperwork in hand, he lowered the power window on the driver's side just as the individual who had pulled him over approached. Glancing up, Jojo came eye-to-eye with Biggs.

He recognized Frankie's henchman immediately. Instinctively, he tried to reach under his seat for his gun, but it was too late. Biggs shot Jojo three times in the face, the silencer on his .45 caliber avoiding the detection of the passing motorists. Calmly, he walked back to his truck with the smoking gun concealed at his side. He climbed inside, tucked away the phony police siren, and drove off.

*   *   *

Her eyes were
downcast as she spoke, her voice low and her hands intertwined.

“I met him on the six train. He struck up a conversation with me and I thought he was cute.”

Octavia had showered and was feeling cozy, so glad to be back at home in her pajamas. She had twisted her shoulder-length hair into a single braid and was perched on the living room chaise, her knees pulled close to her chest. She looked more like a child than ever, Dominique thought. Seated in the recliner across from her daughter, she listened silently as Octavia told her the story of how her misfortune began.

Octavia was relieved that her mother was calmly listening to her. It made it easier to be honest as she told the story of the torment she'd been dealing with alone for so long. She wondered what Toya had said to her mother to calm her down enough that she could listen so raptly. Whatever it was, she was glad as she continued.

“We exchanged cell phone numbers and he would call me. Granddad was going to dialysis three days a week and I was supposed to be in dance class those days. At first, I just missed one day, then the next week I missed two. If the dance teacher called, I would delete the messages. He wanted to take me out to the movies and I knew you would never go for it. So I snuck and did it anyway.” Her tone was flat and she finally made eye contact with her mother.

“That's interesting,” Dominique said, her gaze locked on her daughter. “Obviously, you knew better than I did.”

Octavia didn't know how to respond to that. She proceeded with her story instead. “Yeah, so I was skipping dance class and meeting him. We would go to get pizza or just sit in the park, a couple times we went to an arcade or to a movie. But then he invited me to his house instead.”

“His house … where exactly is his house and who does he live with?”

“He lives in Harlem River Houses.”

Dominique closed her eyes, shook her head. Here she was busting her ass to afford a luxury condo, a private school for her child, and all the perks of good living. And all the while, Octavia had been up in a project apartment getting fucked by some hoodlum named Dashawn.

“His mother just got custody of him again.”

Dominique rubbed her temples.

“She was on drugs, but she's clean now.” Octavia thought back to how Dashawn's mother had treated her during her week on the run. She hadn't held any punches when she told Octavia what ordeals awaited her if she chose to keep her unborn child. “She's kind of like … tough all the time. Not mean, but just tough. Anyway, when she wasn't home I would go over there with him and we would…”

“Have sex,” Dominique filled in the blank. “Continue.”

“Yeah.” Octavia shifted a little in her seat. She hadn't had many conversations with her mother about sex. Having one now, as she sat pregnant before her at the age of fourteen, felt awkward. “We used condoms most of the time. But sometimes we didn't. I would tell him to use one, but he would say he didn't need to, that I could trust him.” She wiped a tear that fell from her eye.

Dominique felt like kicking this bastard's ass. “Did he force you, Octavia?” she asked, through clenched teeth. “Did he make you do it?”

Octavia shook her head. “No. He didn't force me. But I told him that I was scared to get pregnant and he swore that I wouldn't. And he said that if I did, he would take care of me. So I didn't think about it.”

“How often were you having sex with him?” Dominique looked at her daughter and knew that she didn't really want to know the answer to that question. She prayed that Octavia hadn't contracted any diseases having unprotected sex with this idiot.

“I don't know.” Octavia shrugged. “A few times.”

Dominique swallowed hard, clenched her fists involuntarily.

“And then right around the time when Granddad got sick, I realized that I wasn't getting my period. I got scared and I didn't know how to tell you.” Octavia glanced sheepishly at her mother. “There was so much going on, and you were already upset about Granddad.”

Dominique knew that things had been crazy around that time. She looked at her daughter and her eyes narrowed. “Did you tell Dashawn?”

Octavia nodded.

“And what did he say?”

“He was stressed, just like me, worried about what his mother would say. But he said he would handle it. He said I could stay with him if you kicked me out.”

Dominique frowned. “But you didn't even give me a chance to kick you out, Octavia. You just left.”

Octavia didn't know what to say. Her mother was right. Fear of disappointing and angering Dominique had been only part of the reason Octavia had run away to her boyfriend's house. Truthfully, she had wanted to feel grown-up, to live with Dashawn, wake up beside him, and have the freedom her mother wouldn't give her.

Dominique leaned forward in her chair. “And, for the record, I wouldn't have kicked you out. You're my daughter. I love you, no matter what you do or what mistakes you make. And you should know that by now.”

“I know.” Octavia did know that her mother loved her. It was just that Dominique was busy all the time and so much more strict than her friends' parents.

“And you already know that I had you when I was a teenager myself. How could I dare to throw you out when I've walked a mile in those shoes already?”

Holly's mom had asked the same question. Octavia still came up blank for an answer.

“So you ran away, why?” Dominique pressed.

Octavia took a deep breath and thought about the question posed to her. She looked at her mother and came clean.

“I wanted to be with him. I was hoping that he would let me stay there with him like he said he would, and that we could have our baby.” Octavia began to cry. She shook her head in shame as Dominique watched her. Octavia looked to see if she saw disgust in her mother's eyes. She knew now that the idea of finding her Prince Charming at the age of fourteen and living happily ever after was nothing more than a little-girl fairy-tale fantasy.

“But after a couple of days, his mother started wondering why I wasn't going home.”

“After a couple of days? What kind of mother wouldn't question you spending even
one
night in her home when she hadn't even spoken to your parents?”

Octavia shrugged again. She didn't really care too much about what type of mother Dashawn had. She only wanted to be with the boy she had fallen in love with.

Dominique was sick of seeing her daughter shrug her little fucking shoulders. “What is this woman's name? What is this nigga's last name?”

“Her name is Dee Dee. Jackson is their last name.”

“And what did she say when she finally found the time to question you?”

“She sat me down in the living room and asked me what was up.”

Dominique pictured the scene in her head. She hated the thought of her daughter being at someone else's mercy.

“I told her that I was pregnant and she told me to get rid of it.” Octavia was crying, still. She reached and took the box of Puffs that sat on the end table. She took out a tissue and wiped her face as she glanced at her mother.

Dominique did not respond, instead she watched Octavia compose herself.

“She told me that she got pregnant when she was young. She had Dashawn and regretted it from day one.” Octavia thought back to how badly she felt hearing Dashawn's mother admit that in front of him. It was bad enough that she hadn't raised him, but to state her regret over his birth so blatantly seemed foul. “She talked about how she worked as a stripper to support him and then started using drugs; how she lost custody of him and he grew up in foster care. Now he's sixteen and he's just getting to know his own mother.”

Dominique had heard enough about the woes of the fucker who had gotten her precious child pregnant. She wanted to know where he stood now on that issue. “So what was he saying while his mother was telling you to have an abortion?”

Octavia's face fell. She toyed with her hands and sadness swept across her. “He told me he agrees with his mother, that we're too young to have a kid.” She shrugged. “Then they told me to go back home and talk to you.”