Mute (17 page)

“I’m keeping the African importers in business,”
Moni said. “Mariella likes it too. She’s drawn some of these animals. She
especially likes the horses.”

“Oh yeah?” He faced Mariella but smartly kept his
distance. “I know a horse ranch. How’d you like to go horseback riding some
time?”

After a few seconds processing the offer, Mariella
nodded slowly. As Mariella sat on the couch coloring alongside her new teddy
bear, the cool breeze seeped in from the screen in the rear of the house and
jostled through the girl’s hair. Moni and Aaron sat around the dining table,
where they could see her and still talk quietly without the girl overhearing.
She liked his surfing and boating stories so much that she nearly asked him for
a trip out on the water with him. The problem was Moni didn’t like any body of
water she couldn’t see straight through. She imagined there were critters or
slimy things in there. With all that bacteria gunk in the lagoon, that applied
more than ever.

And Mariella had bathed in that vile water enough.

“Listen, Aaron,” she said during a narrow gap
between his stories. The less she countered with stories about her life, the
better. “I think Mariella feels more comfortable with you now. Can you check
her out a little just to be sure she doesn’t have… you know?”

“I’ll try, but I don’t think she’ll let me touch
her. I wouldn’t want to force myself…”

“I can keep her steady. We’ll start with her
mouth.”

“The mouth, huh? Have you ever seen anything there?
You know what they look like.”

Caught hesitating, Moni shrugged. She offered him a
seductive smile that she hoped would make him forget the question. Sure enough,
Aaron grinned as dumbly as a rabbit trapped in a box and munching on the bait.

Moni sat besides Mariella and started stroking the
girl’s hair as she colored. Her eyes locked on those brownish pink lips. She
wondered whether those delicate petals hid a horde of purple welts full of
life-sucking bacteria. They would have left their toxic residue on every
utensil and dish in Moni’s house. Every time Moni opened her mouth or breathed
in the air inside her own house, the tiny assassins invaded her body. Mariella
didn’t appear sick. Moni didn’t feel bad either, but the very thought of their
existence made her blood curdle inside her veins.

The moment Aaron took a step toward the couch with
the black bag at his side, Mariella froze. She dropped her crayon, clasped her
palm atop Moni’s hand and cowered against her protector. Nothing got past this
girl.

“Oh Mariella. I told you Aaron won’t hurt you. He’s
just gonna give you a quick check up.”

“Only if you’re okay with it,” Aaron assured her.

“Oh course, she…”

Feeling Mariella’s frightened touch, Moni realized
that she couldn’t speak for the girl. Just because Mariella didn’t talk, that
didn’t mean Moni could make her decisions for her. The tiny trembling fingers
digging into her hand told her all that mattered. Mariella felt healthy and
strong. She didn’t need instruments probing her body. She hated needles. Moni
couldn’t let anyone do it—even Aaron.

He paced closer. Moni stood up and shielded the girl.
“Change of plans.”

“Oh? You seemed so sure a second ago.”

“Mariella isn’t ready for more tests. What she had
last week after we picked her up was enough.”

“I’m not arguing.” Aaron dropped his bag and kicked
it underneath the table. “We’ll play doctor another time. But right now, how
about we play ‘order that pizza’?”

“Now you’re talking.” Moni grinned and set a fresh
sheet of paper on the table for Mariella, who finally relaxed her grip so the
blood could rush back into Moni’s arm. “Hey, baby, why don’t you draw me a nice
picture of all the toppings you…”

Her words were cut off by a loud bang and crash
from in front of her house. Mariella scampered behind the couch as fast as a
mouse shooting back into its hole. Moni leapt up and marched past the befuddled
Aaron toward the front window. She brushed back the curtains. The side mirror
on Aaron’s sedan had been bashed and left hanging like a mangled limb. Darren
had paid them a little visit.

“That’s my fucking car!” Aaron hollered. “My dad
will be so pissed.”

Moni didn’t care how much Aaron mooched off his
parents at that moment because she knew the man who smacked that mirror off
Aaron’s car wouldn’t hesitate in separating parts from real bodies. The door
shook under his pounding.

“Open this door Moni!”

Her father had screamed the same message at her
when she held tight to the handle on the other side of her closet door. He had
always overpowered her flimsy arms and barged inside with his breath aflame.

Darren’s boot slammed into the door. Moni felt the
vibration of the blow in the floor and jolted back.

“I got ways of com’n in here. Remember, this is
where I live! This is my house!”

Moni’s hand hovered over the gun hanging on her
waistband. It stood ready for a moment like this. She didn’t touch it. Darren had
smacked her around, but he’d never go gangster on her.

“Moni, who the hell is that?” Aaron asked.

“Just some guy,” she mumbled.

“Some guy’s gonna make us call the police. No
offense and all, but I think you could use some backup on this one.”

“Don’t. I got this.”

He didn’t deserve jail time. He wasn’t like her
father. She had thought Darren would protect her from her father. He’d never
mess with a 6-foot, 4-inch mass of black muscle adorned with thick chains, gold
teeth and tribal tattoos all up and down his arms.

“I know you got some little faggot in there wit’
you!” he shouted through the door. “You really want me to break this window
don’t you? Or how about I come ‘round back and stomp in your screen?”

Moni glanced behind her. If Darren came through the
rear, he’d see Mariella hiding behind the couch. That asshole had ruined enough
girls’ lives.

“You wanna see me?” Moni asked. “Here I am.”

Her hand froze over her gun. Darren wouldn’t go
that far unless she drew first. She unlocked the deadbolt. He immediately
yanked open the door, but the chain stopped it from opening more than five
inches. Darren nearly dislodged the chain from the wall. Moni saw cracks form
in the wood around it.

His nostrils flared as he poked his face through as
far as he could. Those lips that had once kissed her so passionately all over
her body and made her squeal with delight now snarled like a panther with
gold-capped fangs.

“You can’t kick me out,” Darren said. “I paid for
this crib.”

“You leant me a couple hundred bucks once. That
doesn’t mean you own the place.”

“I own what I say I own and we’re not done until I
say we’re done. I don’t remember breaking up with you, bitch.”

“Yeah, what you call what you were doing with that
ho? That’s a relationship killer right there. There is no coming back home from
that shit.”

“Men got urges. Sometimes that’s what happens when
the woman is working late when her ass should be home. You can’t blame me for
that.”

“Fine. I don’t blame you… Now get away from my
house.”

Moni pushed the door shut, but Darren wrapped his
bear paw of a hand around the door. She couldn’t press it closed. She squinted
her eyes and shoved it harder. Her effort stymied, Moni opened her eyes and saw
the silver nozzle of Darren’s gun in her face. She instantly realized how
foolish she was to trust that she wouldn’t need to draw her gun.

“Ain’t you gonna invite me in so I can meet your
guest?”

Chapter 15

Moni did what her ex-boyfriend said. She dropped
her gun on the floor and unlocked the chain so he could come inside. Aaron had
never been held at gunpoint. The worst weapon he’d seen used on the beachside
was a skateboard swung around. His blood ran cold when the hulking black man
burst in the house and swept the aim of his gun between him and Moni.

After telling himself a thousand times that this
wasn’t happening and holding his ass from shitting his pants, Aaron got the
notion that Mr. Muscles wasn’t playing games. This guy intended on hurting
somebody—maybe killing them.

“What’s up?” the man barked as he pointed the gun
at Aaron’s forehead.

His mumbling reply didn’t form a coherent response.

“You think you can mack on my girl? Yeah, this is
what happens.”

He brought the barrel within inches of his face.
Aaron squeezed his eyes closed.

“Stop it, Darren!” Moni shouted. “This is between
you and me. It has nothing to do with him.”

The man turned the gun from Aaron and casually
aimed it at her ribs. “Oh, so when you bring some punk home to lay that pipe in
you it means nothing, but when I stray for just one night it’s all over. Is
that how it works with you? That’s a double standard, if you ask me.”

“You don’t know shit about what I’m doing. I
haven’t done anything with Aaron. He’s here as a friend.”

The diss of being called a friend didn’t hurt Aaron
as bad as how Darren responded when he heard his name.

“Aaron, huh?” Darren turned the gun on him again.
“So that’s the name they’ll be writing on your tombstone.”

Aaron shielded his face—as if his arms could block
a bullet—and backed off.

“Darren, get a grip on yourself! You’re not that
kind of person. I’ve known you since high school. You’re no killer.”

Aaron peeked out from behind his arms and saw
Darren facing Moni with the gun on her again.

“You’ve known me all these years, Moni, and now
you’re kick’n me outta this house like a dog. Cause I made, what, one mistake?
How many times have I covered for you when you screwed up? Huh? You still
haven’t told off your father and he keeps com’n round. Without me, you think he
would have left here without hurting you?”

“And now you’re telling my father all about my
life. You’ve sure come full circle.”

“I’m just making sure you remember how good you had
it. You think this little white boy is gonna save you from your ex-con daddy?
Look at him.” He waved at Aaron with a hand and forearm nearly as wide as the
kid’s calves.

By Aaron’s count, Moni had a thuggish ex-boyfriend,
an abusive father and a cruel boss. With her horrible luck with men, Aaron
figured he resembled a dashing prince in comparison. Of course, he didn’t feel
all that heroic with Darren and his gun in the room.

When he saw Moni’s desperate eyes putting him on
the spot to say something and stand up for his manliness, Aaron couldn’t catch
his tongue. His bragging would have been like the town sandal shiner unleashing
a battle cry in the face of a Spartan warrior.

“Get outta here, punk.” Darren said without even
pointing his gun at him. The deep growl in his voice sounded deadly enough.
“Leave me and my girl and don’t let me catch you even looking at her again. If
I see you again, there’s gonna be a whooping headed your way.”

Aaron didn’t feel readying for a whooping that day,
especially from the business end of a gun. He faced Moni, who still had the
weapon trained on her. “It’s okay, Aaron. You don’t have to stay for this.” She
couldn’t even look at him as her words drowned in disappointment.

Aaron took a couple of steps toward the door. Then
he doubled back and glanced at Mariella, who cowered behind the couch where
Darren couldn’t see her. One week before, the girl had seen her parents
beheaded and gorged by a freakish killer. Today, she would see the only person
left in the world who cared for her shot dead, Aaron thought. Who would love
and protect her then?

As Aaron stared at Mariella’s remarkably serene
brown eyes, he remembered the brown eyes and black skin of his childhood
friend, Crystal Marshall. Only one of six black kids in his elementary school
on the beachside, she had lived a few houses down from him since they were
toddlers. They always played together, often pitting toy soldier against
purse-wielding dolls. Yet, as they got into middle school, most of the kids
weren’t so friendly with Crystal. They made fun of her “mini afro” and said she
smelled like a monkey. When the girls shoved her, Crystal hit back. The teachers
always saw the second blow and suspended her.

Aaron got picked on too, but not nearly as bad.
Hanging out with Crystal would give them a whole new arsenal of names they
could call him. Some of the boys said they’d beat the crap out of any white kid
who dated one of the black students. The only guy who broke this rule was a
football player, and he could fend for himself better than puny Aaron could.

So he blew Crystal off. They didn’t talk for the
whole spring of eighth grade—not even at the bus stop they stood at every
morning. That summer, a moving van rolled onto Crystal’s driveway and loaded up
her house. Aaron went over and asked her mother whether he could see Crystal.
Even at fourteen, he recognized the look of betrayal on a grown woman’s face. Crystal
didn’t want any part of him.