No Home Training (11 page)

As Storm posted up in the hospital waiting room he sat back thinking how his life had drastically changed, some things bad and a few things for the better. Even though he knew all the controversy the birth of his son was going to cause that was still his flesh and blood. He heard London's valid concerns for him and his brother's lifestyle ring in his ears repeatedly and reached on his hip for his cell phone.

“Good afternoon. Law offices of Jeffery Benson and Associates, how can I help you?”

“Hey there, Yolanda, is Jeff in yet?”

Recognizing one of their favorite and frequent clients' voices, Yolanda had smiled as she answered. “Yes, sir, Mr. Christian, he just got in from court. Would you like to hold?”

“Yeah, I'll hold.” Storm leaned back as he waited.

“Hey, Storm! My main man!”

“What it do, Jeff?” he quizzed not really giving a fuck.

“Just getting back from plea bargining some knucklehead probation, but that's neither here nor there. What can I do for you?”

“I need you to set up a trust fund or some shit like that for a baby just in case something happens to me.”

“A baby? Don't tell me congratulations are in order for you and Kenya! When's the due date?”

Storm, although ashamed of his actions had to come clean with his lawyer, who on more than several occasions he'd trusted with his life and freedom. “Well, Jeff, it's like this . . .”

“Are you serious?” Attorney Jeffery Benson inquired having been told a heap of crazy stories throughout the duration of his long career. “Whoa twins? And you didn't know the difference?”

“Can you help me? Those papers would make life easier for me to make moves without second-guessing my shit.”

After explaining the bizarre made-for-television story, Jeff promised by noon the next day Storm could stop by, sign, have notarized, and pick up all the documents he needed to ensure the child's financial security. Handling that business was a gigantic burden off his shoulders and would hopefully be one off of London's also. Now, he could get back to worrying about Kenya and, of course, that parasite Marco.

After hours of Storm sitting and sleeping in the waiting room Kenya was escorted out by the nurse having a look of disorientation, disappointment, and regret. The fresh hairdo Charday had given her the day before was wrecked and Kenya's eyes were red and puffy.

“Hey, babe.” Storm stood up reaching out for her shaking hands. “Are you okay? I asked them bitches at the desk four times if I could come back there with you, but they kept saying you was taking different tests and shit.”

“Let's just go home,” Kenya barely whispered holding on to his arm with one hand while grasping a group of papers that included releases, prescriptions, and a few pamphlets. “I just wanna leave.”

“Come on, babe!” Storm was persistent as they left out the sliding double doors. “I been out here all this time and you ain't gonna tell me what's the deal? Damn, what did the doctor say was wrong with you?”

“I'll tell you later. Please, just take me home!”

“Say you promise!” Storm kissed her on the forehead using her favorite saying.

“Yeah, baby, I promise!” Kenya rubbed her arms getting a slight chill from the evening air as he opened her car door helping her get inside.

Driving along the interstate, Kenya closed her eyes remembering the day she met Storm at the mall and he bought her that designer suit she'd tried on. She thought back on the first time they made love and the day he asked her to marry him. “Do you love me?” Kenya turned her head to face him.

“Yeah, I love you!”

“Say you promise!” She gave him a faint smile.

As they pulled in the driveway, Kenya got a glimpse of London's and O.T.'s silhouettes through the blinds and got sick to her stomach. She made Storm swear that he wouldn't let his brother or her sister say anything to her until she was ready to speak.

“I just wanna go up to my bedroom and go to sleep.”

“Don't worry, boo-boo, I ain't gonna let them stress you the fuck out tonight. I got you!”

When they walked through the front door of the condo all eyes were on them. Kenya quickly became the center of attention as Storm whisked her up the stairs.

Sitting on the edge of their bed, Storm took out his cell phone clearing a lot of unnecessary calls off his log of numbers. Momentarily gazing at the bathroom door hoping when Kenya came out she'd tell him what the doctor had told her, he waited and continued passing the time by erasing several irrelevant text messages that he'd received.

Dressed in her robe, she finally emerged and crawled into bed. “I'm about to go to sleep. Can't we just talk in the morning?”

“Naw, baby girl, we can't.” Storm had enough of Kenya beating around the bush and wanted answers.

“Look—”

“Naw, you need to tell a guy something!”

“Well, it's like this.” Kenya started her confession as the house phone rang. Leaning over, she picked it up hearing the operator on the other end with a collect call from Tangy. Immediately hanging up, she ran her fingers through her hair and tried to fess up once again but was stopped by the annoying sound of the phone.

“Who the fuck is that?” Storm got pissed.

“It's Tangy's ass!” Kenya rolled her eyes. “I'm too tired to deal with her and all them questions about Paris.”

“Then just tell her to stop calling!”

Kenya accepted Tangy's call as she pulled the blanket up over her legs. “Hello.”

“Hey, Kenya. Why you didn't accept the charges the first time I just called?”

“Because I'm busy.”

“Oh yeah, doing what, thinking about me?” Tangy tried flirting.

“Look, Tangy, I'm not trying to be rude, but I'm busy talking to Storm right now so—”

“So what? You don't have time to hear some good news from somebody who's supposed to be your homegirl?”

“Tangy, what in the hell is wrong with you?” Kenya got loud as Storm went into the bathroom to wash his face.

“Damn, Kenya, just tell me how my cousin is doing.”

“Not now, Tangy, besides I haven't been there to visit her this week.”

“Oh, so you so stuck back up in that cheating-ass man of yours behind, you abandon your best friend just like that!” Tangy yelled frustrated she wasn't getting the attention that she wanted.

“Listen, you burly bitch!” Kenya gladly returned the attitude. “I don't know who in the fuck you think you talking to, but you got me all fucked up! I ain't one of them little weak-ass hoes you kick it with! Now if I wanna talk to my man or whosever else's then that's my business. I don't owe you jack shit! You's Paris's cousin and nothing fucking more to me!”

“Yo, sweetheart, you and your man ain't about shit. Don't think 'cause I'm locked up I ain't heard about Royce's boy Marco terrorizing y'all's asses!” Tangy laughed. “The whole town know y'all weak out in them streets! I was just calling to tell ya some good shit, but you on a whole other level. And as for Paris, that's my blood! She don't need you!”

“Good I'm glad she don't!” Kenya didn't realize the time allotted for the call had expired and Tangy had been disconnected as she went on screaming into the phone's receiver. “'Cause her crazy-ass is the reason God marked me and I can't ever have any kids of my own! So fuck you and her!”

Slamming the phone down, Kenya grabbed for the small box of tissue in the drawer of the nightstand. Lying back on the pillow, it then dawned on her what extremely personal information she'd just blurted out to Tangy.

Oh damn! No, I didn't just say that to that bitch!
It didn't take long to then realize her man Storm was standing right in the doorway in between the bathroom and bedroom.

“Kenya, what did you just say?” Storm felt betrayed that what he definitely overheard her saying she chose to say to a total nobody first, instead of him. “Is that what the doctor said? You can't have any babies?”

Not knowing what to say or what to do, Kenya mouthed the word no and decided to just lie there looking dumbfounded. It was like she was now living a dream or watching television. All she wanted to do was stop stripping and she did that, moved away from Detroit and she accomplished that, run a legal business making lots of money and of course Alley Cats solved that. Praying for a good, loyal, or at least halfway decent man was on the top of her list like every other normal bitch in the world. Thankfully Kenya had found that in Storm and now, through no fault of her own, she wouldn't ever be able to give him a baby.

Even when the three or four specialists explained it was some sort of inherited reproductive genetic trait that must have magically skipped her identical twin, Kenya knew it was God's way of paying her back for killing Chocolate Bunny's unborn child. Now knowing what she knew and London being pregnant with Storm's seed, she balled up in the fetal position refusing to discuss anything with him.

Storm didn't press his girl to talk because he knew how hurt she was. It was evident by the expression on her face. The 100 percent truth of the matter was he himself was devastated about the heartbreaking discovery. Hell motherfucking yeah, he was excited about being a father to his and London's baby in a few weeks, but that still didn't mean he didn't look forward to having more children in the near future with Kenya, who would soon be his wife. Not knowing what to say to console her, Storm dropped his head leaving the bedroom.

“Hey, Storm!” London stood hopeful at the bottom of the stairs as he came down. “Is my sister okay? What's wrong with her?”

“She'll tell you when she's ready,” he said taking his hand and rubbing her stomach as he had done the day before.

As O.T. observed London not resisting his brother touching her, he knew he'd better step up his game before Storm was banging both twins on the regular.

The next morning Storm got up early leaving the condo without even waking up his brother who, for some strange reason, had been acting distant toward him. He had a few important prearranged meetings with the heating and cooling contractor as well as the painter. Arriving on time they all did a detailed walkthrough of the work that was completed at Alley Cats along with an update on finishing the remaining portion of work.

Tying up all the loose ends of his first stop of the day, Storm pulled out the newly paved parking lot on the way to his lawyer's office. Having an appointment at twelve o'clock sharp to pick up his freshly drawn paperwork, he sat in his car calling Brother Rasul's connect as requested, confirming he'd be on time for the drop-off later that day.

“Yeah, I know where.”

“Seven,” was all the caller said.

“I'll be on time,” Storm replied as he turned off his car and went inside the tall office building.

“Listen up. Keep a low profile on the Christian brothers,” Malloy radioed to both his officers on surveillance duty. “We just got some crazy evidence from a crime scene we over here working and by the looks of things something might jump off in the next few days and we wanna be ready.”

“Okay,” the first one remarked back. “O.T. is just leaving out the front door, so I'm on him.”

“Yeah, Malloy, Storm just left his club and is now inside of some office building downtown near police headquarters,” the other reported as he downed a bottled ice water.

“Both of you just be on alert,” Malloy advised.

Placing his two-way radio back on the seat of the unmarked Town Car, Malloy rejoined his partner, Kendrick, and three homicide detectives who were searching the apartment of a murder victim: eighteen-year-old Alexander Robinson Jr., known to all his family and friends as Coonee. More than a month and a half late on his rent, the landlord knocked on the door of her young tenant to notify him the bailiff would be there the next day so he needed to vacate her premises or take the risk of his personal belongings being thrown into the streets.

Instead of being able to issue him a warning she found his door ajar and entered the premises to see what if any damages were done to her property. Five minutes of being inside snooping she saw Coonee's feet sticking out from under a pile of dirty clothes and screamed repeatedly causing the next door neighbor to call the police. When the cops got there securing the perimeter, the evidence tech soon arrived. Less than five minutes later he gathered items off the bathroom floor letting them know Marco Meriwether had definitely been staying there.

Peeking in on London who was lying in bed reading a book, O.T. asked her if she needed anything before he left. Reminding her that the doctor wanted her to get as much rest as possible in these last weeks before her due date, London promised to take it easy. He could tell she seemed preoccupied with something, but she was acting hush-hush.

O.T. knew the importance of chasing down Marco making him pay for Boz's death and the other ridiculous shit he'd pulled, but decided to put that task on hold while he handled some personal business. Getting in his car starting the engine he blasted the music loudly disrespecting the neighbors as he took off flying down the block. The officer parked at the far end of the street barely had the opportunity to turn around and catch up.

Having direct orders to stay on O.T. by any means necessary the officer would do his best.

First going to the mall, O.T. turned in valet parking, tossing the attendant his keys. After a couple of hours he exited with over $1,000 worth of baby clothes and accessories. Even though money was tight for him, he chose to go in his emergency stash and do something that would win London's heart. Another store followed that trip to the mall, followed by a couple more.

Next, zooming down the highway on the edge of the state line, O.T. dipped into an apartment complex where he grabbed some brochures and a rental application. Looking at his cell phone to see what time it was, he had one last stop to make to ensure his life would stop being as chaotic as it had been. He parked his car in a space labeled
VISITORS ONLY
as he entered the secluded two-story building to make his peace.

Strolling out the law office with a manila envelope tucked under his arm, Storm had a huge grin on his face as he got in his car speeding away. Knowing Kenya was probably hungry he stopped at the local deli, buying her a hot corned beef sandwich on onion roll.

Also thinking about London, who was carrying his child, he ordered her the exact same thing figuring they had the same taste. Storm was gonna go home to try kicking it with Kenya and let her know that baby or no baby he was in her corner, rest up a little while, and chill until the designated time for the drop-off. He was in the best mood he'd been in for months because after tonight, he'd be back on top. Royce, his number one competitor, was out the picture, leaving no one to challenge his takeover bid of the Dallas drug game.

Coming in the house and upstairs he stopped by London's room first, tapping on the closed door. Hearing her give him the okay he entered her room.

“Hey, Storm.” London was still reading her book.

“Here you go. I got you something to eat on if you get hungry later.”

“It smells like corned beef. Is it?” London turned up her lip putting her hands up.

“Yeah, it is.” Storm wondered what was wrong when he saw her reaction. “I thought you'd like it.”

“I'm allergic to that kind of meat.”

“Dang, your sister loves this shit!” He laughed. “Y'all is different as day and night.”

“That's what our grandmother used to say before she passed.” London got sad.

“Well look over this and see do this make ya ass break out in bumps and hives!” Storm winked handing London the envelope he'd gotten from his lawyer as he shut her door and went to check on Kenya. Seeing that his woman was up and standing out on the balcony looking at the trees in the backyard he took that as a sign that maybe she was ready to talk to him about the tragic news they both learned the night before. “Hey, Kenya. How you feeling, sweetie?”

“Oh, hey.” She tightened her robe.

“I stopped by your spot and bought you your favorite.”

“Yeah, I can smell it from way over here.” She turned stepping back inside the glass door. “Thank you.”

“No problem, but before you eat I wanna tell you something.” Storm led Kenya to the bed where they both sat down. “Listen, I'm not gonna lie. I knew in my heart that someday we were gonna have kids and there was nothing in the world that would've made me happier than for us to have a beautiful daughter who looked like you or a son who was, well, you know what I mean.”

“Well we both know that shit ain't gonna happen.”

Storm reached over holding Kenya in his arms. “That's what I wanna tell you.” He vowed, “None of that matters to me. The bottom line is that me and you got the rest of our lives to do our thang. We got some many things going on that right now or even a few years from now that we need to straighten out that a baby wouldn't immediately fit into the game plan.”

“Okay, that sounds all good and all, but you about to have a baby. So you already made it clear that you were gonna be there for him.”

Storm was quiet for a moment. “You right and I am, but from a distance. When this deal is over this evening, with thanks to you for making it happen, and my cash flow gets back to normal, me and you can get married and go on a long vacation. London is a grown-ass woman and will have to stand on her own. Me and you will work out something with her together about joint custody or at least frequent visitation rights. Shit, the white man do this bull all day and make it work!”

“I know but—”

“No buts, Kenya.” Storm promised, opening the bag with her sandwich inside, “Me and you ain't about to let nothing come between our love. You already know what it is! Don't you trust me?”

“Yes, I trust you.”

“Good, then eat your food because I gotta leave in a few hours.” Storm watched her take a bite while he crunched on one of her pickles.

Feeling like a fish out of water, O.T. went up to the silver metal desk that was in front of an extra-thick sheet of Plexiglas that separated it from the rear of the building. Waiting for the middle-aged, stern-faced, heavy-set woman to get off the phone, O.T. spoke up.

“Hey how you doing?”

“I'm good. What can I do for you, son?”

“I'm here to see a patient.”

“Okay, what's the person's name?” She tapped the computer keyboard.

“Her name is Paris.”

“We need a last name, son.”

“Oh, sorry my bad. Her name is Paris Yvette Peterson. I don't know the date when she was transferred here.”

“She's in our observation ward. Room 251. Are you the person who called earlier for directions?”

“Naw, that wasn't me.”

“Oh, all right then.” The lady pointed after pushing the button opening the door. “Room 251.”

As O.T. entered the room, he saw Paris who was once full of life and loved to talk cash shit sitting in a chair that was pushed to the window. Standing there for a brief second he could tell that she was in some sort of a trance or something.

“Are you family?” A nurse stopped by to change Paris's IV bag from which she had been getting fed half the time.

“Well, I guess,” O.T. muttered shocked his ex-girlfriend was looking the way she was and in the bad mental condition that she appeared to be suffering from.

“Whoever you are, just be tolerant with her. You know she doesn't speak. Miss Paris is alert, but doesn't respond to people.”

“Oh, okay,” was all O.T. could say as he got closer to do what he'd come to do, which was apologize for all the madness he'd taken her through the time that they were a couple. “Hey, Paris, can you hear me?”