Darius Jones (13 page)

T
he wheelchair the nurse rolled into my room was supposed to signal happiness. My boys should be in my arms. Grant should be pushing the chair. Joy should have filled my broken heart.

I asked the nurse, “Give me a minute alone in my room before I leave.”

I sat in my wheelchair and wept. “Dear God, keep my babies safe. Please don't let anyone hurt them. Please don't let them be dead, or cold, or hungry, or sick, or in pain. Give me their pain. Let me suffer, not them.” My throat ached. I felt like I was gonna die. But I had to live for my babies. I, Honey Thomas, had a reason to live. I'd never felt this way before. “Momma's gonna find you, Luke and London. I promise.”

“Knock. Knock.” Sapphire opened the door. “You ready…? Oh, mama you're crying. I understand. I promise you I'm going to find your babies.” She leaned over the chair and hugged me. “I'm on it. Trust me. Grant is downstairs with Valentino. They're going to take you to Velvet's house. You need to dry those tears and put on your thinking cap, you hear me? I need your head clear. And start thinking about your sleeping arrangements.”

I sniffled. Smiled a half smile. “You're right. I do have to keep a clear head. You got Valentino off?”

“Actually, Grant posted his bail. Said he owed Valentino one. Don't ask me. Men. But my people will have Valentino's charges dropped.” Sapphire sat at the foot of the bed. “Which one of them you want, Honey?”

That was a question I hadn't thought about much. I actually had a choice between two men. “I'm not sure I want either of them.” Valentino and Grant entered the room. They deserved to hear what I had to say so I kept talking to Sapphire.

“I love Valentino. In a brotherly way. Kind of like we're cut from the same cloth. Sexing Valentino when I was his madam felt good but I felt bad afterward. But now that I've witnessed his good side, I'd do anything for him. We both hustled our way to multimillionaire status. We don't look for trouble but if trouble finds us, we have no problem doing whatever we have to do to survive. His parents are deceased and mine might as well be dead. We're two people who need one another but I'm not in love with Valentino.”

Valentino said, “A nigga can accept you keeping it one hundred. But I still want to help raise the boys.”

See, “nigga” was in every other sentence for him. Pimpin' was in his blood. Valentino wouldn't be content for long, living the family life. If that was what he truly wanted, he'd be with his wife and kids, not here with me.

“Come here,” I said, extending my hand to Valentino. I picked up my purse from the bed, removed the ring he'd given me, then said, “I want you to take all that love that you have in your heart for me and my babies.”

Grant interrupted. “Our babies.”

“Nigga, she ain't talking to you. Put a lid on it before I put a cap in it.” His threat was filled with sadness.

I patted Valentino's hand. “You're right. I'm not talking to Grant so look at me, not him. I want you to take all your love and give it to your twins, your son Anthony, and even if you don't want to be with Summer, you owe her an apology.”

“A nigga don't owe her no apology. She left me hangin' with the kind of change that left a hole in a nigga's pocket. She don't need me. And a nigga don't need her.”

This conversation was taxing on me. Weighing down my spirit. Why were men, no matter how strong, weak underneath their armor?

“That's where you're wrong. You were her first. Do you remember telling me that? She loved you before you ever met her twin sister. And if Summer's father hadn't banned you from seeing your firstborn, we wouldn't be having this conversation. Don't do the right thing for me. Do the right thing for your wife and kids. Pride don't love nobody. Love don't love nobody. People love people. Try loving your wife again. You have nothing to lose but much to gain. I'm gonna be just fine,” I told him. I gave Valentino a hug, then gave him back his ring. He slammed the ring to the floor, left the room with tears in his eyes.

“What about this one?” Sapphire asked, nodding toward Grant.

Grant stood tall like he was the defendant and I was his jury.

“Grant, he's different. His parents are upstanding.” I thought about but wasn't going to mention Grant's brother, Benito. Don't know how I dated him for three years. “The most trouble Grant has been in is a result of his being associated with me. He wouldn't shoot a person if you paid him.”

Grant asked, “But do you still love me?”

Why did he pose that question as opposed to confessing his feelings? Grant always wanted to make sure he wasn't the one taking a chance on loving me unless he was positive beyond the shadow of a doubt that I loved him first.

I looked at him and said, “Yes, I do still love you. I will always love you.” He smiled. “But I'm not in love with you.” His smile slowly faded. “Like I've said before, sometimes love isn't enough. You crushed my heart, then stomped on it by throwing Jada in my face like she was better than me. I don't compete with no bitch. I don't have to. She's not better. She's different. And if she's had anything to do with my boys being missing, I'ma kick her ass first.” I stared into Grant's eyes, then continued. “Then yours, and I'm dead serious. If you think you can ease your way back into my life because of the boys, you're wrong. You have no idea what love is.”

Sapphire stood. “Well, there we have our sleeping arrangements—separate rooms for everybody,” she said. “And I, my dear, have to get back to finding our babies. You guys can continue this conversation without me. I'm going to pay Jada's son, Darius, an unexpected visit.” Sapphire left.

Grant sat on the edge of the hospital bed, rolled my wheelchair in front of him. “Honey, can't you see I love you?”

He didn't get it. He kept making himself the victim. “No. Love is action supported by words. It's not something I can see. Valentino was with me every day of my pregnancy. He went with me for my checkups. Took me to the doctor when I wasn't feeling well. He knew the babies weren't his and he still cared for me. That's love. And maybe he loved me because he needed someone to love him. Whatever his reasons, that was okay with me because his heart was in it. You on the other hand told me not to call you again ever. What had I done so wrong that you never wanted to hear my voice again?”

I held my hand up to him. I wasn't finished. “It takes two people to love unconditionally. When you love someone, as you claimed you loved me, you don't intentionally hurt them. You fucked me one day, then the next day you told me you were marrying Jada. You're a fucking user. You coaxed me into loving you, then you find a reason to end our relationship. You didn't want to talk about it. Fuck what Honey thinks. Fuck how Honey feels. I had to pick myself up…. You're scared. You're afraid to let yourself truly love someone. Dump them before they dump you. Hurt them before they hurt you. That's the spirit, G. You used me and now you're using Jada. You haven't apologized to me, not once.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Don't forget, Valentino kidnapped and tried to kill you. But I guess that's okay with you too?”

I stared at Grant. What was wrong with him? I turned my wheelchair toward the door. He swiveled my chair facing him.

“Honey, I'm so sorry,” he said with tears streaming down his face.

“Save it. I didn't say those words for an apology. You need to think about what you're doing to women. Keep it one hundred with yourself. I have more important people to worry about. Get me out of here.”

T
he envelope Ashlee handed me at the hospital haunted me.

Hadn't heard from her since she'd left. I didn't want to open the envelope, but I had to. I held the white letter-size in my sweaty palms. I was home. Alone. Sitting in my family room with no family. No DJ. I missed my lil' man. I missed my wife terribly. I hated not being at the hospital with her. My mom had made things worse for me by involving Ashlee. Wasn't sure if I was glad or not that my mom wasn't around.

My cell phone rang. It was someone calling from the hospital. My heart thumped in my chest. Glad or not, I wished my mom was here with me right now because I needed her…. But she wasn't here to make me feel better. K-9 was a true friend but he had to be in Cleveland for our game tomorrow. I wanted to be there too. But I stayed in LA, for my wife.

For the first time in years, since that day I'd tried to commit suicide, I felt alone. Back then I had no one depending on me. Now I have my son, my wife, my teammates, and I'm man enough to understand I have to look out for my mom no matter what I think about what she'd done. She was an only child and my family was all the family she had.

I knew I was learning what unconditional love meant when I opted to stay in LA. The game would go on without me. I couldn't go on without my wife. I placed the envelope on the end table.

“Hello.”

“Mr. Darius Jones, is he available?”

I recognized the voice. “Yeah, it's me, Doc.”

“I have good news,” he said. “Hold on.”

The softest voice, barely above a whisper, said, “Hey, you.”

All I could do was cry her name. “Ladycat?”

“Yeah,” she said.

Then I heard, “I told you I had great news. But we have to keep her here a little longer. She should be home in a week or so. Therapy could take weeks or months before she's back to normal but I expect your wife to make a full recovery. I want you to come see your wife this afternoon.”

Weeks? Months? “Thanks, Doc.” I held the phone to my ear a minute after the call ended. “Yes!” I thrust my fist in the air, jumped up and down in one spot, and said, “A full recovery. Thank You. Thank You.”

I glanced at the letter, ripped the seal. “What the fuck?” Felt like the wind was knocked out of me. My joy faded to anger. A court hearing? In D.C.? For full custody of DJ? Was Ashlee for real? What's next?

The doorbell interrupted my decision to call Ashlee. I didn't recognize the curvaceous woman standing outside. She appeared harmless. Didn't have any
Awake!
magazines in her hands or another person behind her.

I greeted her, “What's up?”

“Hi, Darius. I know you don't know me,” she said. “I'm Sapphire Bleu, a retired private investigator and a personal friend of Honey Thomas. I just want to ask you a few questions about your mother and the kidnapping of Honey and Grant Hill's twin boys.”

I glanced over her head, scanned my driveway. “So Grant married Honey?”

“No, no. Sorry for the confusion.”

I had my own issues with the media showing up at my door questioning me about my wife. I didn't need my name or my mother's name attached to no kidnapping. “Lady, you crazy. I can guarantee you my mother had nothing to do with that kidnapping. From what I hear, that chick Honey has crossed a lot of people. Never know who was waiting for revenge.”

Had to take my words into consideration. What if Ciara, Maxine, and Ashlee were all waiting for the perfect opportunity to bring me down? What would I do?

“I wouldn't be so sure your mother isn't involved on some level.”

“Well, I'm sure the department wouldn't appreciate your knocking on my door being that you're retired.”

My mom's drama was involving me? How did this woman get my address?

“You can report whatever you'd like to the department. They're not going to side with you. I disclosed that information to let you know that I am helping and will continue to help Honey find her babies.”

So she unofficially showed up at my house? Why not my mother's house? “What are your questions,” I asked, still standing in the doorway. She was not coming inside.

“Was your mother with you yesterday?”

“No.”

“Did you speak with your mother yesterday?”

Had to think about that for a sec. “Can't remember. The days are rolling together.”

“Can't remember or won't say?” she asked. “Your mother will be arrested when the truth comes out. You don't need the bad press. If you cooperate, you can help save your mother. I reassure you she's wanted for kidnapping.”

Now, either this woman thought I was really dumb or super clever. Didn't matter. “I don't know where you're going with all of this but obviously you don't have any evidence or you'd be at my mother's house, not mine. You want me to help you? Find the owner of that white pickup truck that rammed the back of my SUV three times.” I needed solutions to my own damn problems.

Sapphire said, “Consider it done. But when I come back with your information, I want you to tell me everything you know about your mom's involvement with the kidnapping.”

I watched her walk away, get in a car, then drive off my property. Her response fucked me up for a second. Would she really find the person responsible or was she baiting me?

I closed the door, picked up my phone, and called my crazy ass baby's mama.

I
was in the City that Care Forgot strolling down Bourbon Street after dark.

The sidewalk was grimy beneath my black and blue Nikes. Moisture and grit crunched underneath my soles. I loved the glove-tight fit of my Lunarglide+ running shoes and how they molded to my feet. The traction would keep me from slipping on the slimy sidewalks that were filthier than the streets. The light weight would excel my sprints if I had to make a mad dash. I had grip to maintain my balance if I had to escape the unknown.

On television I'd seen the sea of natives and tourists covering every inch of Bourbon Street after the Saints won the NFC Championship. People huddled together like the team, interlocking their arms in an attempt not to be separated from family and friends. Some appeared successful. I was glad tonight wasn't one of those nights. The crowd, like my shoes, was lightweight.

I opened my purse, retrieved my cell phone, then answered the “unknown” call. “Hello.”

“I see you made it.” I recognized the two-headed lady's voice. “Take your time. Turn left on Bienville. I'll call you back.” She ended the call.

This was some eerie shit. Thought she was lying about knowing when I'd made it to the French Quarter. She must be Jamaican or from the Bahamas. Every time I went to the Caribbean, the natives could find me any time of the day or night.

I looked up at the balconies above my head, saw a few normal-looking intoxicated people. Was that two-headed lady's lookout standing up there dressed in a black feather mask wearing a black gown? Or was she the woman on the other balcony with no shoes and a miniskirt barely covering her ass?

I took my time strolling along Bourbon. The sound of blues blared in my right ear, jazz in my left. From one block to the next there were small clusters of people partying. Some staggered from Iberville toward Bienville. Three young male tap dancers performed on the sidewalk soliciting tips. If I didn't have to open my purse, I would've gladly given them five dollars.

“Hey, Red. What cha know dat dere?” a man shouted.

I looked behind my back, to my left, to my right, then back at him.

Dragging his words, he said, “Don't be lookin' round, Red. I'm talkin' to you.”

I slid my engagement ring all the way up my finger, unsnapped the side pocket of my Louis Vuitton Petit Noe drawstring purse, put my cell phone stun gun in my hand hoping I wouldn't have to jolt him with 950,000 volts.

“Don't be cheeky like dat, Red,” he said, walking toward me. “Oh, you gon' give me your number? That's what I'm talkin' 'bout.” As he got closer I saw a mouth full of gold teeth.

Bypassing him, I kept walking. He followed me. I took a left on Bienville, walked a half block. He was on my heels. I stopped. Warned him. “Stop following me. Leave me alone.”

“Just give me your numba and…aw, damn, Red,” he said, falling to the ground.

I leaned over, gave him another 950,000 volts to let him know I was serious, then walked away. I opened my bag, pulled out my real cell phone again to answer the call. It was the two-headed lady. Damn, she was serious about knowing I was here.

“Meet me at the cemetery outside the French Quarter at midnight,” she said, then howled like a wolf. “Not the one-square block graveyard on Conti and Treme near the Municipal Auditorium. That's the St. Louis Cemetery number one. Meet me at the St. Louis Cemetery number two. You can't miss it. It's three blocks long and one block wide. It is where the overpass meets the underpass but do not pass either.”

“Three blocks? How will I know if I'm in the right block?” More and more, casting this love spell on Darius seemed like a bad idea. What if it backfired?

“Go to the open tomb. It is raised exactly three feet from the ground. It is surrounded with cement. Look inside. You will see a dark hole. Climb into the hole. I will be there waiting for you exactly at midnight. Don't go to the wrong location,” she warned. “And whatever you do, don't get inside the wrong tomb. There are demons and angels who refuse to cross over to the other side, lurking in every cemetery. Mortals have disappeared in this cemetery never to be seen again. I'm sure you've heard about the girl who was on her way to her prom and detoured through that very same cemetery.”

I wasn't about to ask what happened to that chick.

“Demons are like drug lords. They rule their territory. If you cross into their territory, they will bury you alive. Do not be one second late.” Her voice trailed off into another howl.

“Hello. Hello.” No answer. It was almost midnight. Bravely, cowardly, or stupidly, I continued my journey. Bienville Street grew darker. With the exception of the drunks passed out on the sidewalk, there weren't many people in view. I didn't hear any jazz or blues.

Couldn't see behind the wooden gates to my left. I'd heard there were beautiful courtyards with water fountains and gardens, and condos and houses behind the French Quarter gates I'd passed but I couldn't confirm.

The Quarter was a unique kind of place where pagans enthusiastically came to sin. Those who considered themselves Christians, once in the belly of the French Quarter, bartered their religion for good times. Maybe the French Quarter slave trade stirred the energy of sinners.
God only knew how many slaves died here,
I thought as I quickened my pace.

All in the name of love, I was doing this for Darius's uncontrollable attraction to me. I saw a shadow as I approached the corner of Burgundy. I put my lipstick pepper spray in one hand, had my stun gun in the other. When I got to the corner, the shadow disappeared. If I hurried, I'd be on time to meet the two-headed lady by midnight. A little relief came as I reached Rampart. It was a well-lighted main street. My cell phone dinged twice indicating I had a text message.

“Please don't let this be Rita.”

It was a detailed text from the two-headed lady reiterating the instructions on where to meet her. Technology was in her hands too. I kept going. Once I crossed Elk Place I could barely see my hand in front my face.

Bienville came to an end and there was only one way out.