Dear Summer (9 page)

Mark Pratt trailed Tommy to a car wash on the west side of town. There Tommy and Ditty, who had also followed Tommy, met two men; both black. One was tall and skinny; the other one had a more solid build and was wearing a wife beater with tattoos covering his body. Mark sat across the street and watched. He wanted to know what was going on. Who were those men and what were they talking about? Questions needed to be answered. Tommy handed the tall skinny man the keys who then gave them to the man with the tattoos who then hopped into the Escalade. Why was this truck changing hands so much? The skinny guy gave Tommy a Nike shoe box. Tommy jumped into Ditty’s car, and they pulled off.

Mark Pratt followed the men to the Bahaman apartment complex in the ghetto on the west side of Charlotte. He drove into the parking lot then quickly exited. There were no leads; only confusion. Who the hell were these men? Were they drug dealers? How would he find out? He would have to come back with help. He knew he was on to something. But what? he wondered. He turned his air conditioning unit up and drove away.

At his father’s house, Tommy counted the money he’d received from Scooter. He sold the Escalade for thirtyfive grand, profiting $10,000. After he counted the money, he climbed up into the attic. When he was coming down from the attic, he met J.C., who was smiling. “Hey, I didn’t know you were here.”

Tommy stepped down then pushed the ladder back up into the attic. He walked past J.C.
“What’s wrong, son?”
Tommy ignored his father and headed for the door.
“Tommy, you don’t see me?”
Tommy turned and faced him. They stared at each other for a while. Then Tommy walked past J.C. into the living room. He sat down on the sofa nearest the TV and crossed his legs. J.C. came in behind him. “Son, what is bothering you?”
Tommy looked. His father seemed thin, but maybe he’d always been that size. Maybe it was the fact that he’d seen the crack pipe that made him appear thinner. “Pops, earlier, when you were asleep…” Tommy stopped.
“Son, what is it?”
“Pops, are you smoking that shit?”
J.C. lowered his gaze. He didn’t answer. He walked over and sat on the sofa next to Tommy. “Hell, no. Are you crazy?”
“Well, what the hell happened to your money?”
“Bad investments, Tommy.”
“Bullshit. You smoking and you know it.”
“Watch how you talk to me, son. I’m still your daddy.”
Tommy stood. He turned his back then said, “I’m outta here.”
“Son, don’t go.”
Tommy turned and faced J.C. He noticed that his T-shirt was too big for his pop’s frame. Now that he could see him, he realized he’d definitely lost weight.
“Pops, how could you do it?”
“Son, I wasn’t…”
“I saw the crack pipe.”
“It wasn’t mine,” J.C. said as he turned from Tommy’s gaze and started to walk away.
Tommy grabbed his pop’s bony shoulders. “Oh, my God. Look how skinny you are.”
J.C. turned and faced his son. His eyes were now red. “Son, I ain’t gonna bullshit you.”
“I’m listening.”
“I have a problem…I mean, I tried…I mean, shit’s been hard.”
Tommy threw his arms up in disgust. “Shit hasn’t been that fuckin’ hard. How in the hell could you do this?”
“Son, the money brought the problems and the problems brought the stress.”
“But YOU bought the fuckin’ crack. I can’t believe my pops is a goddamned crack head.”
“Don’t disrespect me like that. I’m still your daddy.”
“Nigga, you ain’t my fuckin’ daddy. My pops wouldn’t be this fuckin’ weak minded.”
J.C. took a deep breath then said, “We’ve all made mistakes before. Nobody is perfect, Tommy.”
“I’ve never smoked a joint. Hell, you was the one that always told me to stay away from drugs. You were the one who told me that people who did drugs were weak.”
J.C. covered his face. He was ashamed. Seconds went by and neither said anything. Finally, J.C. said, “I know I did.”
“What happened?”
“I was with a woman, and she was using. I was feeling kind of fucked up because I’d lost some money in a botched real estate investment and she told me that that shit would make me feel better.”
“What shit?” Tommy asked. He wanted to be sure he knew what his pops was talking about. He wanted details. He wanted the facts.
“You know—crack.”
“Okay. How did it make you feel?”
“The first time I took it, I tell you the truth, nothing could beat this feeling; not even sex.”
Tommy shook his head. “You’re pathetic.”
J.C.’s face became solemn. “It’s like that, Tommy. Addicts chase the feeling of the first hit.”
“You’re an addict?”
“Yeah.”
“So, you were so weak for a bitch that she convinced you to spend all your money on crack?”
“No, Tommy. I was depressed.”
“You were weak as hell…you are weak as hell.” “I need your help, son.”
“How the fuck am I supposed to help you?”
J.C. grabbed his son’s hand then looked him in the eye. “I want you to help me get off this shit.”
“You want to go to twelve steps?”
“Anything. I just want you to be there for me.”
“I love you, Pops.”
J.C. embraced his son then whispered, “Son, I’m sorry I let you down.”
Tommy held J.C. tightly. “It’s okay. We’re going to make it.”

ngie sat in the living room watching “Grey’s Anatomy.” Tommy walked right by her without saying a word. She paused the TiVo player using the remote control and looked in his direction. “So, you’re not speaking?”

“I ain’t got nothing to say.” He walked into the bedroom. Angie sucked her teeth and unpaused her show.
Tommy was tired. Today had been a very eventful day for him. He needed someone to talk to, but, more than anything, he needed some rest. He kicked off his Nikes and lay in the bed with his shorts on. Angie would bitch, but he could care less about what she thought. He picked up his Blackberry and emailed Summer.

I hope your day was better than mine. I really needed you today. Me and Angie had it out today. She’s not like you Summer and I don’t know how I can truly say that I love her because today she really proved that she doesn’t love me. But that story’s a long one that I don’t have time to explain. My real problem is I found out today that my pops is smoking crack. I tell you that shit crushed me like you wouldn’t believe. I straight up found the crack pipe in his room. When I first asked him about it, he denied it, but then he later admitted that he was smoking. I hope you don’t ever go through no shit like that with either of your parents. I needed you more than anything today but I didn’t want to bother you with my problems. I knew you would understand. Angie wouldn’t. She’s not like us. She ain’t from the hood. So I didn’t tell her. I hope you have a good night or if you read this in the morning, have a great morning.
Peace.
Tommy
Sent via Sprint PCS Blackberry

Q and Country were on the balcony of Q’s condo smoking a blunt when Q brandished a chrome 9mm. “I swear to you, Country, that nigga has to go.” Q inhaled the blunt and cocked the hammer of the gun. “You see, that’s the difference between me and a lot of other getting-money niggas. You see, I’m real. I don’t play the fuckin’ radio. I will kill Tommy’s punk ass.”

“That nigga ratted,” Q said. His eyes were red from the weed smoke.
Country took the blunt from Q. “You ain’t got no proof that Tommy set Squirt up.”
“Squirt believes it in his heart that Tommy had something to do with it.”
Country coughed some, then took another drag and finally passed the blunt to Q. “I think you need to do some research first.”
“Nigga, you were the one questioning me about Tommy. Have you forgot that?”
“Yeah, but none of us has proof that Squirt was set up. I mean, why would Tommy set him up?”
“I don’t know.”
“Exactly.”
Q tucked the gun back into his waistband then pulled out a condom. “This is how I’ma get him.”
“You gonna fuck him?” Country laughed.
“No. I’ma fuck his bitch, with her fine ass.” He then put the condom back into his pocket and sucked up the rest of the blunt. *****

Quentin seemed to be a nice guy. Though Summer didn’t know much about him, she decided to meet him for lunch. She wanted to meet in a public place although it was risky since she knew she could possibly be seen by Tommy; but hey, they weren’t an item. She and Q met at Fuel Pizza, downtown. Q was dressed in shorts, Timberland boots, and a wife beater. A humongous diamond glistened in his left ear. He and Summer sat at a booth in the back of the restaurant. Q looked damn good. Summer thought so herself, and she occasionally looked at the Superman symbol tattooed on his arm. Damn he had a nice body.

Q smiled again, and this time Summer quivered a little. Q had his elbows on the table, and she usually didn’t like that, but she liked that roughness about him because she knew he could be gentle. He had warm eyes.

“Are you hungry?” she asked.
“No. Actually, I just wanted to see you.”
“Well, I’m hungry.” She smiled. “I know you’re used to a lot of

Q laughed. “Knock yourself out. I just don’t like pizza. Cheese fucks with my stomach and I don’t eat meat.”
Summer stood. Her jeans were gripping her ass. She hadn’t planned on wearing tight jeans, but she was glad she did. Now she would sashay to the counter and watch from the corner of her eye. Her heels clacked as she walked away. She looked long, lean, and sexy. The yoga was paying off. She had the attention of every man in the pizza parlor. She glanced at Q and his eyes were glued to her ass.
“A slice of cheese and a bottle of water,” she said to Kevin, noticing the name tag on the teenager behind the counter.
The boy put the pizza in the oven and handed her the water. “Did you need a cup?”
“No, I’m fine.”
“That’s for damn sure,” Q said as he walked up behind her and pulled her hair. She felt like a high school girl. She blushed. “You like pulling on hair, huh?”
He licked his lips. “My specialty.”
Kevin handed her the pizza and she and Q walked back to the booth. He sat beside her.
She bit into the slice. The cheese was like elastic as she drew the slice away from her mouth. She’d gotten cheese all over her face. As she licked it off, Q said, “Damn.”
She laughed. “What?”
“Nothing. Just thinking. I bet you can do wonders with your tongue, that’s all.”
She busted out laughing then sat the pizza back on the paper plate. “Quentin, you are too much.”
He looked in her eyes. “Listen, Summer. I been thinking about you since the day I met you, and I can’t get you off my mind.”
“What have you been thinking about, Q?”
“Nothing. Just that I wouldn’t mind being with a girl like you.”
She opened her water. “That’s bullshit, Q. You want to fuck me.”
Q looked the other way and didn’t respond.
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about, Quentin. You want to fuck me. Why don’t you just go ahead and admit it?”
He shrugged and smiled. He looked very boyish at that moment and she liked that.
Finally, he said, “I ain’t gonna lie. I think you fly as hell, but I really just wanted to feel you out.”
She put his hand on her thigh right below her private parts, and a few seconds later he tried to feel her pussy. She moved his hands.
“What’s wrong?”
“I was just seeing how far you would go.” She laughed. “Niggas are easy to predict. All you want is some pussy, Q. Why don’t you just admit it?”
He laughed then said, “You called me Q.”
She bit down on her pizza. “I did, didn’t I?”
“Yeah. It’s okay though, because all my friends call me Q. I don’t like that Quentin shit, anyway.”
Her eyes lit up. “Quentin is the nice guy, and Q is the nigga.” “You funny.”
She sat the pizza down and looked him in his eyes. “Q just wants to fuck. Quentin will treat me with respect. Q can be a womanizer. Quentin has respect for his mother and his sister.”
Q looked confused. “You think you know me, shorty?”
“I don’t know, but I’m just hoping there’s some good in everybody.”
He licked his lips again. For a few moments she imagined him between her legs, stroking her clit with his tongue. Damn, she wanted to fuck Q and not Quentin. She wanted it rough at that moment and Q seemed like he could handle the job.
“So what we doing after the pizza, shorty?”
She looked at her watch. It was only 1:00 p.m. “I have a client.”
He looked startled. “What do you mean you have a client?”
“I do hair.”
“What? You work in a salon or something?”
“No. I do natural hair and braids…twists. You know?”
“Okay. I feel you. Getting your hustle on, huh?” He laughed. Then he said, “Didn’t you pull up in that red Benz?”
“Yeah.” She drank some tea. “I know what you’re about to say.”
He grinned a toothy smile and it made her heart beat faster. “What am I about to say?”
“Probably wondering how in the hell can I afford a car like that?”
“You guessed it.”
“It was a gift from a guy friend.”
Q knew Tommy had probably given her the car but he would play dumb. “What you got—a sugar daddy?”
She smacked his arm with an open hand. “What, you think I’m a ho or something?”
“No, I’m just saying who the hell gives a chick a Benz except a sugar daddy or a hustler?”
“Let me change the subject, because I’m getting upset.”
Q grabbed her hand and caressed it while making direct eye contact. “Listen. I’m sorry, shorty. I could care less about the car.” He still caressed her hand and made a point to look into her eyes.
She yanked her hand back from him and lowered her voice. “Quentin, what do you want?”
“Nothing. I just wanna have a good time with you, that’s all.”
“I’m not that easy.”
He wanted to ask her what she meant, but he didn’t say anything.
“If you’re here for pussy, it ain’t that easy.”
He smiled like she had read his mind. “What you like? I mean, I know you like nice things. How can I romance you?”
“Well, if you have to ask, obviously you don’t know anything about romance.”
Q smirked. “You don’t know me. I know how to treat a lady, but the key word is
lady
.”
“I’m one.”
“Yes the fuck you are,” Q said as he looked her up and down until his eyes landed on her thigh. He was amazed at her curvy figure.
“Q, I really just like simple things, like attention. That’s how you can get me.”
“That’s it?”
“I’m not a gold digger.”
He peered through the window, eyeing the Benz. He knew Tommy was fat and insecure. There was no way in the world Tommy would believe he got her just by being nice. Q looked her up and down again. Tommy had paid for her alright.
“I didn’t say you was a gold digger.”
“Write me a letter. That’s how you can get me. Write me a heartfelt letter. I mean, share your feelings with me.”
“A letter? How bout an email or a message from my Sidekick?”
She frowned. “I want a letter—that’s more personal.”
He looked confused. “Do people even write letters anymore?” *****