Ruthless and Rotten (7 page)

London and Kenya left Alley Cats that night, staying pretty much secluded in the confines of the hotel until the repairmen had the condo back in livable condition. O.T. delivered the profits from each night at the club and the loot that he made from other ventures here and there. Staying true to his ways, he made sure to flirt with London on every occasion he saw her. Kenya, not blind or naive, noticed an increasing change in her sister's behavior every time he'd stop by their suite. London was acting overly sassy and out of character.

On the day the girls finally returned to the condo, Kenya was a bit worried her home, which people once described as a masterpiece, would not be repaired properly. When the sisters originally crossed the threshold of the door, Kenya took a long whiff, trying to see if she could smell the scent of death in the air. She rubbed her chin, trying to figure out the difference between fresh paint and plaster and the everlasting, imaginary stench of Deacon's lifeless corpse.

Taking a tour around her home, inspecting the workmanship, left Kenya having flashbacks of her and Storm's once perfect life. The stainless-steel sink was clean and the kitchen cabinets were all freshly varnished. New appliances lined the walls. The floors had custom-made marble that reached clear out to the patio deck. With the brand-new living room set, along with the rest of the other overpriced furniture she charged on credit, Kenya was somewhat at peace.

It was bad enough that Kenya had to live with the feeling of being violated, by strangers being in her private sanctuary, but she had no intentions of keeping not one stick of butter they might have touched. Even though some of the condo contents could be salvaged, Kenya wasn't interested. She wanted no reminders of their trespassing presence whatsoever.

“Is everything okay?” London watched as her twin slowly made her survey.

“Yeah, I'm tight,” Kenya sighed. “I was just thinking about the days that we have left to hustle up on the funds we need.” It was eleven days and counting and they were still short by 48,000 dollars.

 

 

Although Storm preached repeatedly, time and time again to his baby brother, about hanging out, chillin' in the dope spots, and actually making hand-to-hand transactions, at that point it didn't matter. O.T. stayed in the streets slinging dope, night after night, sunup to sundown . . . he hustled. Everyone knew if you broke a package down and sold it, you'd make double, maybe even triple, what you originally paid. The risk was high, but the payoff was lovely.

Paris was missing her man, especially at late night when she wanted some, but she had her own task: holding Alley Cats down. Caught up in being an almost one-woman hustling army, she had drink specials running all night long, even letting the fattest, ugliest girls shake their asses on the big moneymaking days. As long as a chick could come up on the house fee, which was raised to a hundred dollars a night, they were good to go. Everyone was doing their part to get Storm, whether they knew it or not.

Paris's patience as temporary club manager was being put to the test on a daily basis by the increasingly arrogant actions of Chocolate Bunny, who ho-hopped around Alley Cats as if she owned the motherfucker or had stock. Lately, whenever O.T. came into the club, Paris would find him tucked away in some corner of the bar, whispering in Chocolate Bunny's big floppy ears. As far as Paris was concerned, she wanted her man to barely speak to the chicks who danced there, shaking they asses, then keep that shit moving. Breaking the house rules, to Chocolate Bunny, weren't by accident—they were more like a force of habit. Fighting back the urge to snap, Paris held her tongue for the good of Storm's safe return. Yet, she knew in the back of her mind as soon as he returned home, her claws would come out and she was gonna wax the floor with Chocolate Bunny's face.

 

Back home in Detroit, the real estate agent had contacted the twins, informing them that there was some sort of holdup in the transferring of the deed to Gran's house and there would be a thirty-to forty-five-day delay in the closing process. Sadly, any thoughts of relying on that cash revenue to push them past their needed goal were ceased. It seemed as if that house was cursed all the way around.

Just as Kenya put her hand around the brass-plated banister to go upstairs, her cell phone rang. “Hello.”

“
As-salaam alaikum
, Kenya. Is this you?”

“Brother Rasul! Brother Rasul!” Kenya was elated as she smiled from ear to ear. “I'm so glad to hear from you. I wanted to get in touch with you ever since we got back in Dallas, but I knew better. Plus, so much been going on!”

“Al hamd li Allah,”
Brother Rasul added to his greeting.

“Praise be to Allah,” Kenya repeated to him, calming herself down.

London ran to her sister's side. “Is that your friend? Is Fatima with him? Is she?” She grabbed for the phone. “Can I speak to her?”

Brother Rasul heard all the questions. “Tell her that Fatima is back up at the university and sends her very best wishes. She wanted to call London personally, but I also explained to her that it would be best to lay low until I got to the bottom of all of this madness.”

London was close enough to the cell phone to hear what the man who had saved their lives said. She believed in him for some strange reason. After all, Brother Rasul did put his own safety and freedom on the line for them and for that he forever earned her trust and respect. She was eternally grateful.

“I'm glad that you did as I told you and waited for me to get in touch with you,” he praised her patience. “That was indeed the best plan of action.”

“Oh, Brother Rasul, so much chaos has happened since we got here. We came home to find, Deacon, my fiancé's partner, dead in my house and some crazy son of a bitch is holding Storm hostage until we—”

“Until you come up with two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.” Brother Rasul finished a shocked Kenya's sentence. “I was thoroughly informed pertaining that situation.”

“Who told you? How did you find out?”

“Whoa, slow down, little sister. I told you I was gonna investigate the man-in-the-house situation and I did just that. Apparently, they go hand in hand with your present dilemma.”

“Oh, my God! Oh, my God! Did you find out any information about Storm? Is he okay? Did you speak to him?” Kenya sobbed, shaking from nervousness. “Please say yes—please!”

“Well, yes and no.” A calm-voiced Brother Rasul went over his conversation that just had taken place, less than a hour ago, between him and Javier. “It seems as if your friend's host, turned kidnapper, was first infuriated at the actions of Fatima and your sister London. Apparently, their widespread organization P.A.I.D. caused a lot of financial downfalls for quite a few slimy lowlife drug dealers infesting the neighborhoods and killing our greatest resource, kids. The marches on drug houses caused many to shut down. It's one thing to sell drugs, but not to pregnant women and underage children. That's where me and my people draw the line”

“Oh, I see,” Kenya interjected, feeling ashamed that Storm was one of the “anybody can buy” drug dealers that Brother Rasul was referring to. But nevertheless, she still wanted him home safe and sound. The world be damned about their point of views.

“Well, Kenya, after sending one of his henchmen, Swift, to Detroit to execute this London Roberts person, he somehow came to find out that Storm had been dating her. It seems as if Javier and everyone who was in attendance at this meeting, who saw the pictures being passed around for the first time, assumed it was you, Kenya, aka London Roberts. Do you understand what I'm saying?”

Kenya's mind flashed back to the altercation that she had in Alley Cats. At that point it didn't take a brain surgeon to figure the whole thing out. Kenya couldn't avoid the truth any longer, even if she wanted to. This was concrete evidence that Brother Rasul had gotten straight from the horse's mouth and it was crystal clear.
Now it made sense what Royce meant when he called me a snitchin'-ass bitch. Damn, that's why that fool called me London. Oh, fuck! He must have seen the pictures and thought that she was working with the police. I mean, he thought that I was. Damn!
She started to hyperventilate and wheeze when it hit her. The two worlds Kenya systematically did her best to keep apart, were now colliding. Then the next alarm rang in her head.
Oh, shit! If Royce's ass saw those pictures, then I know that Storm must've seen them too. Oh, my God! I can't believe this! I know he must be going half out his mind. My baby probably thinks that I betrayed him. He must hate me right about now! Why didn't I just be honest and tell him from the get-go—why?

London took the cell out of her panicked sister's hand. “Hello. Hey now, this is London.”

“Hello, London. Where is Kenya? What happened?”

London glanced over at a blank-faced-looking Kenya and answered Brother Rasul's question. “I'm sorry, but you should know how she is by now. You know Kenya overreacts with everything she says and does. She's playing the drama queen right now, of all times.”

“Come on, London. That's your sister. You have to realize that she's going through a difficult and trying time in her life now. So give her a break.” Brother Rasul was acting as both peacemaker and therapist.

London listened to Brother Rasul's speech with growing anger, almost wanting to throw up in her mouth. The feeling of animosity toward Kenya and the whole mess was fueling her outburst. “I know she's catching it right now, not knowing if Storm is alive or not, but what about me? Who's feeling any sympathy for my plight?” London was visibly enraged as her impromptu rant continued. “I should be back at school with Fatima, working on my degree, not stuck here playing Inspector Gadget for some dope dealer!”

For the first time since being in Dallas, London was determined to make someone hear and understand her point of view. Playing the background dummy was over. It was her time to vent and get some things off her chest. Caught in her emotions, enraged, she went on and on, not giving Brother Rasul a second to get a word in edgewise. As London was almost out of breath from all of her screaming, O.T. entered the room. She saw him coming out the corner of her eye and decided to pour it on extra-thick.

“No one loves or cares about me! What about me?” she sobbed out loud, as the fake tears flowed, dropping the cell phone to the carpeted floor. “Who's going to look out for me and my future? I'm scared too! What about me?”

O.T. reached down, picking up the phone and yanking London into his body in one quick motion. “What's wrong? What's the deal, baby girl?” O.T. wrapped his arms around London's waist. “Tell me and what's wrong with your sister?”

London continued to play the weak role as O.T. finally spoke to the person on the other end of the phone.

“Yeah, hello! Hello!” He was impatient for a response as he kept a clinging, calculating London in his arms.

“Peace. Whom am I speaking to?” Brother Rasul remained, as always, even-toned.

“This is O.T., who this?”

“My name is Brother Rasul Hakim Akbar. I am a close friend of the girls.”

O.T. loosened his grip on London, realizing who he was speaking to and the power that Royce mentioned that this man held. “Brother Rasul. I've heard of you.”

“I trust that it was all positive and uplifting, but in all fairness I must admit that I don't know you.” Brother Rasul was respectful, yet guarded, as he spoke to this stranger. He had no intentions of socializing with just anyone. “Can you please let me speak back to one of the twins? We have a bit of unfinished business that I need to inform them of.”

“No problem, dude, but first I need to know if you know anything about my brother's whereabouts?”

“And just who is your brother?”

“His name is Tony Christian, but he goes by the name Storm. He's Kenya's man! I know you've heard of him!” O.T. was tired of all the formalities and went straight to it. “Look, I already know you down with them Motown Muslim Mafia cats! I know y'all bodied that nigga Swift that tried to do Kenya and London.” O.T. rubbed his hands across London's wet face and drew her back close to him. “Tell him I'm official, London. Tell him it's all good.”

London leaned her cheek next to O.T.'s. “Hey, Brother Rasul. This is Storm's brother. He's been helping us and making sure that we stay safe.” London made sure to mimic Kenya, trying to look sexy and seductive as she spoke. She softly bit the side of her lip just as Kenya often did to get her way with a man.

“Okay then, little one, I'll tell him what I wanted to put Kenya up on,” Brother Rasul agreed.

O.T. was all ears. “All right, guy. You heard her, now please tell me what you know about my brother. Is he still alive or what? What's the real deal? Raw or not, I need the truth!”

“Well, I just got off the phone with Javier. He told me that he gave your family thirty days to come up with two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Is that correct?”

“Yeah, that's right,” O.T. huffed, “And that's some bullshit, straight-up extortion!”

“I know. That price is a little steep, even if Javier feels like he's been wronged somehow.”

“Wronged how? Storm didn't know shit about all that P.A.I.D. crap y'all keep talking about.” O.T. walked to the other side of the room away from London. “How is he to blame? Tell me that much—how?”

Brother Rasul could feel O.T.'s intense fury over the phone. “Listen, brother, I'm not calling to discuss who's right or who's wrong or who owes who what. My organization tries not to get involved in the drug game on a daily basis. That's not our main objective. We have other concerns.” Brother Rasul finally dropped the bomb, putting O.T. out his misery. “I just wanted to let Kenya know that I settled up the rest of the debt that Javier was strong-arming you all out of.”