Bad Blood (33 page)

Chapter 64

Rachel

T
HERE WAS NEVER A GOOD TIME OR PLACE TO HAVE SOMEONE
approach you and hand you a restraining order. I was glad that the process server had not come to my job. I would have had a hell of a lot of explaining to do. But I had some explaining to do, anyway, because he came to my apartment on a Monday evening, while I was cooking dinner for Matthew.

“Rachel McNeal,” the man said as soon as I opened the door just enough to see his face and the document in his hand.

“Yes,” I replied.

He handed me the paper and said in a mocking tone of voice, “You've been served.”

“What the . . . ? Wait a minute!” I yelled as he made a swift turn and trotted back to a Volkswagen parked in front of my building. I heard Matthew walking up behind me, so I folded the paper and closed the door.

“What's going on, Rachel?”

“Uh, nothing serious,” I said as I glanced at the notice.

Before Matthew could ask me another question, somebody else banged on my door. Assuming it was the same guy who had just left, I snatched open the door again without looking through the peephole first. I was horrified when I saw Skirt standing in front of my door!

“What in the world? What are you doing here?” I asked, shaking my finger in his face.

“Since you ain't took the time to call me and let me know what was up with that business thing we discussed, I decided to come over here and find out. Where's my money?” Skirt's face was so close to mine, I could smell the weed and whiskey on his breath.

“What money?”

“Them three hundred bucks you promised me!” Skirt paused. I realized he was looking over my shoulder when I turned around and saw Matthew standing even closer to me now, with his hands on his hips. Skirt couldn't have looked more like a street thug if he had tried. His hair was in cornrows, his plaid shirt was wrinkled and dingy, his pants were two sizes too large, and he had a fresh tattoo of a cobra on the side of his neck. The only thing missing was a set of gold teeth.

“I want my money!” Skirt yelled.

“You smell like a damn liquor mill! I . . . Can we talk about this later, after you go home and sober up?” I asked, trying to shut the door. Skirt forced it to remain open by placing his foot against the doorjamb.

“Will somebody tell me what the hell is going on?” Matthew asked. He put his hand on my shoulder and shook me. “Rachel, who is this dude, and what does he want?”

“This dude wants to get paid!” Skirt hollered. “Your woman and me was supposed to do some business together, and she promised to pay me, whether we did our business or not! I been waiting a coon's age to hear from her, and I ain't heard a peep out of her. Well, today is payday.
Shit!
Rachel knows I ain't nobody to play with when it comes to money! I'm leaving here with my money, or somebody's butt is mine!”

I had never seen a more horrified look on a human being's face than the one on Matthew's face now. You would have thought that he was staring at Satan himself. “What is he talking about, Rachel? Who is this character?”

“Look, motherfucker, don't you be calling me no ‘character,' because I will hurt you!” Skirt shook his fist in Matthew's direction. “And since this silly bitch ain't told you nothing, I'll tell you what I'm talking about! I heard through the grapevine that the suit-wearing motherfucker she was supposed to marry cut her ass loose so he could marry another girl, and Rachel copped a serious attitude. She wanted to bust into his house and do some crazy shit . . . steal something or break up something or whatever! She wanted me to—”

I held my hand up to Skirt's face. “Stop talking, Skirt! You don't have to go there. I'll tell Matthew everything,” I whimpered.

“Fuck that shit! You can tell dude whatever the hell you want to, but I'm telling him what I know so I can get my money!” Skirt pushed past me and steamrollered into my living room. “Keep playing games! I'll find my money myself and—” He spotted my purse on the coffee table and staggered toward it. “Take what's mine, plus a tip for all the trouble you put me through!” He ended his sentence with a maniacal grin.

I sprinted across the floor, grabbed my purse, and removed my wallet before he could get to it. “I'll give you your money, and I want you to get the hell out of my sight for good!” I yelled. I couldn't fish three one-hundred-dollar bills out of my wallet fast enough. “Here's your money! Happy?” I handed the cash to Skirt, and he snatched it so hard, he almost took my hand with it.

Skirt grinned. “Hell, yeah, I'm happy now.” He stuffed the bills into his shirt pocket and sniffed. Then he turned to Matthew and winked. “Dude, this bitch is as nutty as a fruitcake! That's why I dropped her ass!”

“You two were involved?” Matthew calmly asked, looking from me to Skirt. From the look of disgust on his face, I knew he was wondering why I'd get involved with a hood rat like Skirt. All of a sudden, Matthew's face froze, and he stumbled toward me. “Were you . . . ? Hey, wait a minute! This is the man I saw you kissing that evening.”

“Kissing ain't all this bitch's mouth is good for. Man, she used to suck my dick
all night long,
” Skirt said with a sigh. “And I sure do miss that. . . .”

“Get out of here!” I roared, pulling Skirt by his arm toward the door. I didn't realize just how strong I was until that moment. All it took from me was one mighty shove and he was out the door. I shut and locked it and then turned to Matthew. “I can explain everything.”

“I sure as hell hope so, because I don't like what I just witnessed. Maybe you're not the woman I think you are, after all.”

“Be quiet and let me talk,” I said, motioning for Matthew to sit on the couch. He folded his arms and remained standing.

“I'm listening,” he said in a gruff tone of voice. “And this time, tell me
everything.
”

Matthew finally sat down on the couch, and I stood in front of him. I told him everything there was to tell. Even the part about me breaking into Seth's house. I even told him that the man who had come by a few moments before Skirt had served me with a restraining order that Seth had initiated.

By the time I ended my confession, Matthew's face looked as hard as stone. And there was a look in his eyes that made me shudder. He no longer looked like the same man I knew. When he spoke again, he didn't sound like him, either.

“Rachel, I've been associated with law enforcement for a lot of years, and I've seen and heard all kinds of excuses as to why people commit crimes. But what you did . . .” Matthew paused and gave me a look I could not interpret. For a split second, he looked like he wanted to cry. “You fooled me.”

“I didn't fool you. I didn't see any reason to tell you all this shit before now!”

“So what you're telling me is that you've been involved in criminal activity since you split with your ex?” he asked with a dumbfounded look on his face.

“I don't know if I'd call it that.”

“What would you call it, Rachel? Last time I checked, it was against the law to tamper with another person's credit cards, commit vandalism against that person, and break into his house.”

“That's all behind me now,” I said. “I'm through with Seth Garrett. And low-life men like Skirt. Meeting you has made such a difference in my life.”

“When did you decide that? From what you've just told me, you continued to do these things even after we met.”

“I know, I know. But . . . I've made the statement I wanted to make. I had made up my mind to leave Seth alone. That's why I didn't call Skirt to go with me to break into his house.”

“But you hacked into his e-mail and got the information you needed so that you could break into his house on your own. That's pretty low, Rachel,” Matthew said, rising. “I'm sorry about dinner. I think I should leave!”

“You don't have to go!”

“Oh, yes, I do.”

“But why? I'm through with Seth!”

“That's the same thing you told me in the casino restaurant that day.”

“I was through with him then. I just . . . I was just still mad enough to do a few other things to him.” I swallowed hard. What I was saying was not doing me much good, but I kept talking and making excuses, anyway. “And you don't have to worry about Skirt. I gave him his money, so he has no reason to speak to me again!”

Matthew had already made it to the door.

“When will I hear from you again?” I asked, grabbing his hand.

He snatched his hand out of mine and gave me a hopeless look. “I don't know,” was all he said.

He walked out the door and slammed it shut so hard, every picture on my living room walls shook.

Chapter 65

Seth

D
ARNELL CALLED ME FROM JAIL TWO DAYS AFTER THE COPS HAD
come to the house, looking for him. It was a few minutes after 6:00 p.m.

“Hey, Pops. You need to come bail me out of jail,” he said. He sounded just as arrogant as always. “These damn roaches up in here is big as shot glasses, and the food is slop that a hog wouldn't eat.”

“Did you do what they say you did, son?” I asked in the gentlest voice I could manage.

“Who me?”

“Yes, you. Did you participate in a robbery?”

“I ain't did nothing wrong! I was there, but I didn't do nothing but try to buy me some nachos and a moon pie! I was set up! I didn't know Derrick was going to pull out a gun!” he boomed. “Now when you coming to get me out of this motherfucker?”

It was April Fools' Day, and I felt like the biggest fool of all, because I had lost complete control of my life. All because of the bad choices that I had made all my life. Well, it was time for me to start making some good choices, and I was going to start with my troubled son.

I sucked in some air and closed my eyes for a moment. Then, with renewed strength, I said, “I'm sorry, son. You're right where you need to be.”

“What the fuck? You just a fucking punk, like Mama always said you was!”

“Darnell, I can't get you out of this. And to be honest with you, you had it coming. They . . .” I stopped because I was about to say the last thing I ever thought I would say, and I had to think about it for a few seconds first. I could not believe the next words out of my mouth. “Son, a few years ago, I betrayed somebody. She told me that karma was going to be a bitch in my case. And she was right.”

“Karma, scharma! What the fuck kind of off-the-wall crap is that? I always knew you motherfuckers up here in Berkeley could come up with all kinds of weird, new age shit! I never thought my own daddy was into that shit! You just as bad as them white motherfuckers, talking all that smack! Karma, my ass!”

“Let me use a couple of phrases I'm sure you're probably more familiar with. What goes around comes around. And you've made your bed, and now you have to lie in it.”

“Why, you no-good . . . I . . . I can't believe my ears! You one poor excuse for a black man!”

“And so are you,” I said.

My son slammed down the phone so hard, my ears were still ringing five minutes later.

I spent most of the night drinking and wondering how I had allowed myself to end up with such a mess on my hands.

 

I had no idea where my wife was. She didn't get along that well with her family, so I didn't even bother calling her mother or any of her siblings. I called my mother instead, because she was the one Darla depended on the most when she needed a free babysitter.

“Mother, I'm sorry to be calling so late, but I was worried about Darla. Do you know where she is?”

“No, but she was here earlier. She didn't stay but a few minutes, though,” Mother told me, sounding stressed. “That was around six o'clock this evening.” It was almost midnight now.

I had to struggle to keep the anger out of my voice. “Did she leave Gayle with you again?”

“She sure did, honey.”

“Did she say where she was going?”

“She said she was going out with a friend. That's all she told me. I put Gayle to bed hours ago, so you don't have to worry about coming to get her. She's got plenty of clothes over here, so I'll get her up and off to school tomorrow. Now you go to bed and get some sleep. You sound tired. Good night, baby.”

“Good night, Mother.”

I was so tired mentally and physically, I couldn't keep my eyes open. I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. I got up a few minutes before 6:00 a.m. the next morning to shower and dress. Darla was not at home.

Mother called around 8:00 a.m. “What time did Darla come home last night?”

“She didn't,” I muttered. I felt so defeated, I wanted to crawl back into bed and stay there until things got better.

“My Lord! I hope she's not lying in a ditch somewhere! You'd better check with the hospitals.” I didn't have the nerve to tell my mother that Darla had come home after I had gone to bed last night and then had gone back out. The only way I knew this was that she had left a big mess in the bathroom.

“Um, she called, though. She's fine. She had a little too much to drink and decided to spend the night with her friend.”

“Bah! You need to sit her down and tell her she needs to start behaving like a married woman! She has no business running up and down the streets, drinking with her friends, when she should be at home with you and those kids. But I know how much Darnell gets on her nerves, so maybe it helps for her to get out once in a while.”

“You're right, Mother.” I agreed because I didn't want to prolong this conversation.

I went to work as if everything was peachy keen.

I didn't know which problem to address first—my son's dilemma or my wife. That was enough on my plate. But I still had to stay on guard as far as Rachel was concerned. I didn't know if the restraining order was going to be enough to keep her off my back, and if that didn't work, I didn't know what else to do. I did pray about it, though, but since I had not even been to church in years or acknowledged God in any other way, I wasn't sure He wanted to hear anything I had to say.

I picked Gayle up from my parents' house after I got off work. When I got home around six thirty, Darla was taking a bubble bath.

“I'm glad to see that you're all right,” I told her as I stood in the bathroom doorway.

“Why wouldn't I be?” She gave me a disgusted look.

“Who was the friend you spent the night with?”

“Who said I spent the night with a friend?”

“You told Mother you were going out with a friend, and you didn't call me to tell me otherwise. What else would I think?”

“You can think whatever you want. Now will you please shut that goddamned door?”

I couldn't believe that Darla had not asked about Gayle. “By the way, Mother took Gayle to school this morning.”

“Good.”

I rubbed the back of my neck, raked my hair back with my fingers, and moved a few steps closer to the bathtub. “Darla, we need to talk.”

“About what?”

“We need to talk about a few things. We can start with Darnell. He called me from jail yesterday. He wasn't too happy when I refused to bail him out.”

“I'm glad to see that you do have some balls, after all.”

“Meaning what?”

“It doesn't matter. What else do we need to talk about?”

“Us, I guess.”

“What about that Rachel bitch? What are you going to do about her if that restraining order doesn't keep her in line?”

“Please let me worry about Rachel. I'm more interested in talking about what I need to do about you. I'm willing to talk to a marriage counselor if you are.”

Darla looked at me like I was speaking a foreign language. “A marriage counselor? I don't need to talk to a marriage counselor. There's nothing wrong with me.”

“Fine. But I'm telling you now, I am not going to let things go on this way. I want this marriage to work, but I can't do it on my own.”

“I know you're not threatening to divorce
me,
” she said. That was followed by a snicker. “Is that what you're trying to tell me? Do it, then. I dare you! I'll take your bitch ass for everything you've got.”

“You can have everything I've got.”

“Well, you can forget about a divorce. I like being married.”

“I like being married, too, but I'm trying to tell you that I am not going to stay in a marriage that is causing me so much pain. I never thought . . .” I couldn't even finish my sentence.

“Never thought what?”

“I never thought you'd change so much after we got married.”

“Duck soup! I guess the next thing you'll tell me is that you wish you had married Rachel, after all, huh? I guess you sit around every day, wondering how things would have been if you had married that woman.”

I dropped my head for a few seconds. Then I looked Darla in the eye. “I do. I wonder what my life would have been like if I had married that woman.”

That must have been the last thing Darla expected to hear. When she spoke again, spit oozed out of the corners of her mouth like venom. “Well, it's not too late! You don't need to divorce me so you can run back to the bitch! I can pack my shit and be up out of here within an hour!”

“Rachel is not an option. I'm sure she doesn't want to be with me any more than I want to be with her. Under the circumstances, I'd be a damn fool to even consider resuming a relationship with her.”

“You're a damn fool, anyway! And I must be one, too, because I don't know what in the world made me get involved with your lame ass in the first place. I wish I had boarded a different train that day I met you!”

“I wish you had, too, Darla.”

 

Two more months went by, and Rachel had done nothing else to torment me. I assumed that the restraining order had made a major impact on her. But I was not convinced that I was out of the woods.
That woman
had gone for longer periods of time between incidents before, so a two-month break didn't really mean much.

All I could do now was wait.