Darius Jones (17 page)

T
he media had better get their stories about Darius straight. And they'd better do it pronto! I wasn't marrying a male whore.

How was I going to get my Darius out of this horrible mess? I sat in first class reading the front page of the
Times-Picayune.
Opening the barf bag, I heaved my undigested beignets. I wasn't sure which situation made me more upset. That two-headed lady stealing my engagement ring or the media lying on my Darius.

“Miss, here,” the attendant said, handing me a trash bag. “Let me get you some water.”

I shoved that trash bag in her direction. What the hell did she think I was? Trash? “Ginger ale, with ice.” I spread the paper wide. Who was the tramp in the picture in the paper with my Darius? I read the article twice. There was no mention of her name.

The man next to me moved my arm. “Miss, please. I don't want to read your paper. I've got my own.”

Darius was complicating our lives. I'd come too far to give up. But was he worth it? Vacillating the remainder of the flight, I was the first one to deplane at LAX. I stopped at the shop next to McDonald's, bought the
LA Times
. My heart raced. Think, Bambi, think. The twins weren't going anywhere. I had too much happening at once. Darius. The twins. And I hadn't forgotten about Fancy. But I'd almost forgotten about Grant. He was a great fuck. I went to the Red Carpet Lounge for a drink and to hear the news.

When I entered, the news reporter announced, “Remarkable. First, Darius Jones is allegedly caught with a prostitute; now his mother is arrested for kidnapping. Jada Diamond Tanner is being held on a million-dollar bond for the kidnapping of her ex-fiancé's twin boys, Luke Hill and London Hill. The boys are still missing but Mr. Grant Hill told reporters that Jada knows where the boys are. Police have searched her primary residence and reportedly there are no signs that the twins were ever there. We'll keep you up to date on both situations throughout the day.”

They say it comes in threes. I had three brilliant ideas.

I retrieved my bags, hopped the shuttle to National Car Rental on Aviation Boulevard, took the escalator to the upper level, picked up a blue Dodge Charger from the Executive section, and phoned another one of my contacts. “Can you get me eight ounces of potassium chloride packaged in an IV bag?”

“Damn! I don't wanna know. You know the deal. I can get whatever you want for the right price. It's gon' cost ya one grand. How soon do you need it?” he asked.

“Meet me outside at the Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf on Beverly in exactly three hours.”

“No prob. You need any more Cialis?” he asked, laughing.

“Sure, just in case,” I said, smiling.

“I'll toss those in for free. Peace.”

Didn't bother calling my parents' law firm. Didn't want to use my pro bono services to bail out Jada or have the attorneys questioning my motive. I tossed my phone on the passenger seat beside my purse, headed to Aladdin Bail Bonds on Avila. Taking the 405 would've doubled my drive time for the same thirty mile trip so I took 105 East to 110 North.

Jada and I hadn't had our lunch date yet. Definitely couldn't do so if she was locked up. I posted the ten percent of her bond, told the bondsman, “Make sure she knows Bambi bailed her out.”

My next stop was the Coffee Bean. That ten-mile trip from Aladdin took thirty minutes. I parked in one of two spaces adjacent to the bus stop, went inside, requested a brown pastry bag from the cashier, then posted up at an outdoor table under the red canopy and waited. I neatly folded the cash, then stuffed it inside the small paper bag.

He arrived on time, parked in the vacant space beside my rental. He got out of the car holding a Tiffany & Company bag in his hand. “Let's do this,” he said, sitting across from me. He sat the bag on the black circular iron table. “How long you gon' live this incognito lifestyle?”

Ignoring his question, I said, “Thanks.” I gave him his package, took my package. I went inside the coffee shop, bought a Red Bull, went back out. I sat outside the coffee shop people-watching and thinking. Staring across the street, I saw Cedars Max Factor Family Tower was to my left, Starbucks to my right.

Fancy was obviously the one woman standing in my way. She was the only one in love with Darius. Ashlee was too crazy to care. And Jada, she had motherly love, but she wasn't one of those crazy mothers who treated her son like he was her man. But I wasn't quite through with Jada yet.

I couldn't bring my parents back, nor did I have any remorse for injecting them with a lethal dose of potassium chloride. Didn't care that they were dead. Didn't owe them an apology. I had business to take care of.

It was time to permanently silence my next victim.

I
got my Ho-on-the-Go bag out of the trunk, walked straight to the back, went inside the unisex restroom at the coffee shop. I changed my lace wig to another glue-on platinum blond lace front. I brushed the hair in a circular motion, then let it fall naturally. The right side was layered above my ear, the left side curled under my chin. I switched my contacts to lavender. To make my lips look thinner, I outlined my lips halfway from the top and the same from the bottom, then filled in with a brilliant red Taylor Swift lipstick. Now it looked like I barely had lips. My eyeliner and eyelashes were dark. My foundation was ghost white. I had to admit I looked a mess. I eased my white collarless v-neck scrub over my head, put on my matching white drawstring pants and shoes. I was on my way to Cedars.

I parked at a meter on Beverly Boulevard near Emergency but I knew an alternate escape route out of the building. My stun gun was secured in my girdle and my pepper spray was tucked in my bra with my car key. Picking up the light blue bag with the IV, I quickly entered the hospital lobby. With thousands of nurses on staff, getting past registration was easy. I made it to the third floor. All I had to do was get inside Fancy's room, switch the IV bags and leave.

Quietly and quickly, I opened the door to room 3117. Hanging my head, I walked to her bedside. Turned my back to her. I successfully gave her the bag of potassium. It only took a minute.

I heard voices growing closer. I had to hurry. After I switched the bag, I stood with my back to Fancy for fifteen seconds. I wanted to watch her die like I'd done with my parents. I had to see her exhale her last breath. Afraid Fancy was the one the two-headed lady was referring to when she'd said the woman could read me, I couldn't let Fancy see my face.

There was something fascinating about watching a person die. The fight. The struggle. The surrender. I preferred their eyes remained open. That way I could tell for sure. Closed eyes were deceiving. Thirty seconds had passed. The voices grew closer.

I glanced over my shoulder. She stared into my eyes and screamed, “Ahhhhh!”

Fuck!
I didn't know the bitch could speak. Why the fuck didn't the media cover that shit? I snatched the pillow from beneath her head, covered her face. I knew I should've run out the door. I stood over her holding the pillow. Anxious to watch Fancy take her last breath, I hadn't noticed the slow drip of the IV. At this rate the potassium chloride would take too long for her to go into cardiac arrest. I tried to adjust the drip. She snatched the pillow. I snatched it back, pressed the pillow harder against her face.

She grabbed my hair, pulled my wig off my head. “Ahhhh!” I screamed. That shit hurt. The hair from my front hairline ripped from my head and stuck to the wig glue. “You bitch. I'ma kill your ass for sure now.”

The door flung open. “What the hell are you doing?” one of the nurses yelled.

The other nurse grabbed me. I refused to let go of the pillow. I back-kicked the nurse in her shin. She screamed, then let me go. The other nurse opened the door, then screamed, “Get security up here now!”

I slammed the pillow against Fancy's face, held it with determination.

The time for this bitch to die was now.

T
hanks to Moms, my life was fucked up again. In a monumental way this time.

I was my mother's son and her keeper, not her damn baby and babysitter. I knew my mom. She was many things; a kidnapper wasn't one of them. Yet, there was no way I knew for certain if she had information on the whereabouts of Grant's twins. The likelihood was slim but with her obsessive behavior I'd begun to have doubts. Tried to tell her leave the dude's ass alone. I knew he was still fiendin' for that Honey chick. What the fuck was my mom trying to prove? She couldn't make him love her.

If Mom hadn't been involved with dude, that underhanded (no longer undercover) bitch wouldn't have set me up. I owed that female who'd sucked my dick an apology. She was just kickin' it with me but I was so busy treating her like a whore, I blamed her for the situation when I should've blamed my mother.

That woman, whoever she was, her refusal to grant media interviews let me know she was legit. I'd never been caught cheating on my wife. This was the first time. I prayed my wife hadn't found out. I had to get back to LA. I had to tell Ladycat my version face to face. Let her look into my eyes. See how much I loved her. How I never meant to hurt her. I was just giving that woman a ride to her car. That was my truth.

Normally I'd travel with the team on our private jet. Being I was a straggler, I'd copped a seat in first class to D.C. Would've bought all the first-class seats if they'd let me. The guy next to me kept looking at the front page of the
LA Times,
then at me. Good for him he'd kept his mouth shut or my size eighteen shoe would've went up his ass and came out his fuckin' mouth.

I exited the plane at Dulles International. I decided to do the right thing and sit this game out. It was still preseason. My team could do without me. Didn't want the media embarrassing my teammates, plus I'd confirmed I had an official custody hearing this morning. If the judge honored my custody order in Dallas and allowed me to keep DJ, the media would see the softer side of me.

Waiting for my driver to get my bags, I powered on my iPhone. I'd missed one, two, three, four…ten calls from Mom. Probably calling to apologize for letting Ashlee take DJ. No missed calls or messages from Ashlee. Ashlee could've let DJ give me a shout. She was probably gallivanting over my bad press. Camera crews surrounded me at the baggage carousel snapping photos. At this point all I cared about was my son, my mom, and my wife.

I kept scrolling.
Fuck!
Fifty missed calls, from the hospital.
Boom!
My heart exploded harder than that truck that had slammed into the back of my SUV. Damn shame how that hit and run driver almost killed us. Who was looking for them? After I got DJ situated with Fancy, I was going to personally find the owner of that white pickup truck. They were going to feel my pain.

Before I could return the calls, my phone rang. It was a call from the hospital.

Following the driver who'd collected my bags, I answered, “Don't tell me any bad news. Please, I can't take any more.”

“Oh, so you can dish it out but you can't take it? Mr. Jones, I don't know how to say this any other way. Thanks to you, your wife almost died a few hours ago. This is nurse Anita Harris.”

“Almost?” Ladycat must've heard about the woman in my car. My wife wasn't dead. I didn't have to make funeral arrangements or prepare for the worst. But I held my breath, pressed the phone closer to my ear, and listened.

“Thank God we got to her in time. If you were here, where you should've stayed, with your wife, instead of running all over Hollywood sticking your dick in a prostitute, this wouldn't have happened.”

She's not a prostitute.

“The person who tried to kill your wife, she got away. I stood between her and your wife and I was hit in the side with a stun gun. She pepper-sprayed the other nurse, then ran out the room. Security couldn't find her. Listen. As soon as your wife is better, we're discharging her. And, yes, I am suing you. If my counterpart is wise, she'll sue you too. We're not operating a patient protection program here. Mr. Jones, this is a hospital. I hope busting a nut was worth it. I hope you can live with yourself, Mr. Jones.”

A woman tried to kill my wife? Who? Why? Was it the same person from the accident? I'd reserve those questions for the police. “I'm sorry for all of this. My wife. What's her condition?”

“Thankfully the slow drip IV we had in her arm saved her life. God showed her favor today. She's stable. At least one of you are.”

I exhaled. “What happened with her IV?”

“The woman switched her IV bag to a bag filled with potassium.”

“Potassium. That's good for you. Right?”

“Just like your fucking a stranger, Mr. Jones, too much of a good thing can kill you. For your wife's sake, I hope you used protection. The amount of potassium chloride that entered your wife's bloodstream wasn't lethal. The amount in the IV bag could've killed three people, three times. We gave her oxygen. She's breathing on her own again. Her verbal and motor responses are good. You must've done a lot of cruel things to a lot of people to have this kind of karma. Bad luck comes in threes, Mr. Jones. In your case it might be to the tenth power.”

I'd begun to feel this woman had had a distorted crush on me, perceived me to be a failed role model, or she felt I'd let her down. I asked, “Is my wife's mother there?”

“No, Mr. Jones. She never made it. You might want to check on her.”

Whoa. I hoped Caroline and her daughter were okay. “What about my mom? Is she there?”

“Kind of hard to be in two places at the same time. Your mother was arrested from this hospital earlier today for kidnapping and trespassing. I told you, in your case, Mr. Jones, your bad luck is shooting through the roof. You're already at three. I have two words for you, Mr. Jones. Prayer and restitution. Bye.”

Four, if I counted Ashlee taking DJ. The three most important persons in my life needed me and I wasn't doing all I could to ensure their safety. This wasn't a good time to call Ladycat. I felt alone. My mom? In jail? I called her cell phone anyway.

“Hi, Darius,” she answered.

“Hi, Mom. Thank God. You're not in jail?”

“Not in jail anymore. I'm suing the hospital, that nurse Harris, and Grant. When I'm done with him, he'll wish he'd never met me.”

“Who bailed you out?” I asked her.

“My personal assistant is heaven sent. Bambi bailed me out.”

“Can't wait to shake her hand.”

“Son, you're adding more drama to my task list than Grant. But the good news is Bambi is working on generating good press for you. You know it's harder than I realized to make you likable. You haven't contributed much to your community. After the season is over, we're starting a nonprofit organization in your name. I owe Bambi. That was considerate of her to post a hundred thousand dollars. We can exchange stories when I see you. Where are you?”

“No thanks to you, I'm in D.C. for my custody hearing tomorrow. I have to go.”

What the fuck did she mean, I added more drama to her fucking task list than Grant? He had her arrested for kidnapping. Was she pissed because I wasn't there to bail her out? I ended the call with my mom so I wouldn't regret telling her what I really wanted to say.

And who in the fuck was this Bambi chick scoring Brownie points with my mom?