(RECAP)
"Am I your simp too, Vicky?"
"No."
"What am I?"
"Somebody better than a prostitute and a thief; somebody who deserves better than a selfish bitch who didn't even graduate high school. A good man better than the disgusting pastor who paid for it. Now you can be with a good girl instead of me."
I was shook to the core watching her back away into the darkness walking to Bentley's car getting inside. It sat there for a moment as I exchanged glances with my rival knowing I'd got more than he ever would unless he was willing to pay for it. I was frozen unable to get up or even move with the images of Vicky sitting on that chair behind Tubman Estates. She was waiting for a john that day we met, went out to eat and fucked.
Demon knew what she was and it angered him because she was a liar. He'd whipped her with his belt against my fence that night.
Bentley pulled off into the night taking Vicky out of my life.
I sat alone in the darkness of the night on those front steps for two hours just looking out at the street. My heart shriveled up along with the inherent goodwill I extended towards most people when meeting them for the first time. The catalyst for this mindset inflamed my thoughts making me clench my fist until it felt like the circulation was cut off.
"Renee Kelly, you're gonna be sorry."
**********************
MAXIMUM BADONKADONK Ch. 11
Featuring: Charity Gilbert-38F-29-39 (19 years old)
Phoebe -34DD-26-38 (28 years old)
Shawnee Thompson a.k.a Ms. WTF?!! (34A-32-??)
Introducing: Esther-46-38-62 1/2 (47 years old)
************************
It was just after seven in the morning but I'd already run several laps at the local park. I was doing my best to put everything behind me including Vicky Stone. It was already two weeks and I hadn't returned to church and that Youth Council front group run by her cousin Tressie. I just couldn't bring myself to look at her face in the aftermath but didn't wholesale rule out returning to use the inherent freedoms offered from a semi-vigilant mother. Part of my actual reason for running laps was to stall out until my mother went to work. She'd asked about Vicky one time too many.
If I had to be honest, I think I was running this track at the park to get away from my memories of Vicky now serving time on a bench warrant and apparently some misplaced words directed at her judge. I was already running from my cousin Jaquan who'd betrayed me in exchange for his parental rights. I wasn't supposed to feel that way I suppose in retrospect, but he hadn't disclosed this even after being in the know about what I was doing with his esteemed baby mama number two. I kept thinking if I hadn't been staying over there none if this would've happened, but I still would've met Vicky. We would've been free to explore our feelings for one another.
Nothing would've changed about her criminal past; she still would've been a prostitute on the low.
I stopped half skidding to a stop hunched over, hands on knees wheezing from exertion. Droplets of perspiration hit the concrete with these splashes. I straightened my back looking around the park listening to the chirping birds and other ambient chatter. Across the way a couple were running together keeping pace together in perfect synch. Something about that struck at my core as I recalled Vicky's ambush of me in this very park. She hadn't been forthcoming with me and I was angry that she didn't show me the texts and video clips before acting on her feelings. We could've worked through it and given our mutual enemy the middle finger.
We could've been something, but she was too wrapped up in her fucking feelings.
A couple of days later, I went to the clinic to get checked out. I was clean, but my mind felt dirty, nasty for stupidly trusting Vicky. There was no way I could talk to my parents about what I was going through and my father would've verbally dragged me from pillar to post. Mom, well she probably would've gone medieval on my ass in no uncertain terms.
She'd been mentioning my dad for the last few days talking about some garden party at his relative's home. It would be particularly awkward since my dad hadn't socialized me with his part of the family after the divorce, so it was always weird. I was intrinsically an alien thing of curiosity for the distant members and that party would be no different. I was by default, a mamma's boy.
"Bitch." I said to no one in particular and not directed at esteemed baby mama number two in general. No, I was incensed at a man today, a black man in color alone. He was due for a reckoning of sorts as I trudged home to take a shower and get some breakfast.
There was only one person I was aware of with the ability to supply my antagonist with access to Vicky's criminal history. One man stupid enough with his nose open wide enough to put his own career in jeopardy. One really stupid beat cop with nothing but muscle between his ears. I doubted there was even a pea rattling around in his empty cranium. Vicky sent her mug shot to my phone that night thinking to reveal the truth even if I ran her off. Time was running out after a promise had been broken. Despite her rough upbringing and criminal mind, she hadn't realized she was strapped down on a table for dissection mentally speaking.
An uber narcissist with an axe to grind would never keep her end of a hastily agreed upon bargain.
I found myself examining that mugshot over and over again going through a wide range of emotions. I must have gone through several stages of grief repeatedly before I realized the origin of that mug shot. Serendipity had come to balance things out after I was attacked and beaten in front of that salon only to be nearly arrested for it later.
Officer Johnson was going to give me a pound of flesh, hell, I was gonna take a few pounds out of his monkey ass when all was said and done. Weaponizing Vicky's mug shot was going to cost him big as I spent the following days going through his social media. It was enlightening to say the least finding at least three accounts under anagrams, variations of his name. Officer Chris Johnson was a very bad boy indeed.
"Damn, this big Deebo looking nigga get around like motherfucking Tupac." I sat in front of my laptop working intently on a digital dirty bomb of my own.
The cop in question was the definition of a player with a separate account for Carlie, another for the numerous rats he encountered while patrolling the mean streets of our fair city and finally one for the wife and kids. The last being distinctly G-Rated with myriad family outings and video clips of him parenting his small children like some horrible parody of Mr. Rogers in blackface.
Contrasting that with his other more salacious account, it was enough to make you wretch out of moral indignation. His page with Carlie Kelly was more geared toward them being a loving couple with tons of kissing pics and one were he'd found a way to go on an excursion to Vegas. I wondered how he finessed the wife for that one. I got out my phone dialing up a recent coconspirator and self-appointed mentor in all things "Mean Girl" evil.
"SPEAK, WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT AT THIS HOUR IN THE MORNING?!"
"Good morning to you too, Charity." She yawned into the phone definitely sleeping in after her manager's job ceased to exist.
"What do you want asshole?"
"Hey we're cool right? I know you're not still mad at me after I found a way to get you out of your dad's shadow, right? Come on Charity; you're supposed to be mentoring me in the ways of the Sith, aren't you?"
"You haven't been coming to "CHURCH" lately but I can tell you who has FYI, nigga. My father just loves the place and he's still up my ass when he's not desperately fawning all over that Tressie person. So, you've delivered nothing and haven't made recompense as we mutually agreed, nigga."
In this moment I remembered Charity's mother being mentioned as some high powered lawyer. The daughter definitely had the lingo down as I cracked my knuckles.
"I'm working on that."
"Work harder; now what do you want?"
