Murder Mamas (11 page)

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Authors: Ashley Antoinette

BOOK: Murder Mamas
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Macy was totally taken off guard and stared at his friend, who was sitting before him. Macy was a man before anything, and he let Carter know.
“I stand behind my nigga. If he has to die for me to get connected, then it's not worth it. If you shoot him, you might as well shoot me right,” Macy said bravely as he looked Carter square in the eye.
Carter nodded his head in approval and grinned slightly. He knew at that moment that he had picked the right protégé.
Polo also grinned, impressed with Carter's judge of character. Polo then snatched the sack off of the man's head, revealing his face. Macy gasped in disbelief. The man wasn't Case, but a guy he had never seen before. A sock was stuffed in his mouth, and he was already beaten badly; Macy could tell by the bloody nose and two black eyes.
“What the fuck is going on?” Macy asked Carter, as he was totally puzzled.
“That was just a test. I knew that if you were willing to cross your own man, then down the line you would eventually cross me. I respect your gangster, young blood. I respect it,” Carter said as he slowly nodded his head up and down in approval.
Macy smiled, realizing that he was dealing with some serious gangsters and was happy to be in their circle. He then asked out of curiosity, “So who is this?” he said as he pointed at the man tied up.
“This is the nigga's place you are taking. Come to find out, he was talking to the feds. Ain't that a bitch?” Carter said as he reached for the gun that Polo held.
“So what you going to do with him? Kill him?” Macy asked.
“No, not at all. I'm a businessman. I'm not a killer,” Carter said as he took a step closer to Macy. “You are going to kill him,” Carter said as he handed Macy the loaded weapon. Carter was testing Macy's gangster and also verifying that he wasn't an undercover. He knew that if he was a cop, he wouldn't kill a man.
Macy, young and ambitious, took the gun and gave the man two to the head without hesitation. Not one of them even flinched as the loud shots rang out. On that day, it was solidified that Macy was connected.
When Macy went to explain the ordeal to Case, Case wondered why he wasn't invited, and that was the beginning of the end.
Chapter Nine
The weeks following Boomer's death were one big blur to Fatima. She could hardly remember if she was coming or going her head was in such disarray. She couldn't focus on anything, and it felt as if she had a gaping hole where her heart used to be. Pinot Grigio became her escape and her only confidant. She lived in a constant state of inebriation to avoid dealing with Boomer's death. She silently blamed herself. She had been so preoccupied with her own life, so busy and involved with Macy's political career. Now with Boomer gone she was forced to admit that she had contributed to his destructive lifestyle.
I saw him falling apart. If I would have been more focused on him, this would not have happened. I should have gotten him off the drugs,
she thought somberly. Hindsight was always 20/20, and she wished that she could go back and right her past's wrongs.
Macy could see Fatima falling into a depression. He was going above and beyond to pull her out of it, but his efforts were futile. Nothing could shake the hazy fog that had fallen over her. She couldn't see through all of the pain. She slept days away to avoid dealing with reality. Her world had become too chaotic to even cope with. Although she was well aware of Boomer's drug issues, she still could not believe that he was gone. The police had labeled his homicide drug related, which meant that he would just become another unsolved murder.
As Macy entered the room, he saw Fatima lying on the bed with her hands tucked safely between her thighs. He could tell from the rhythm of her breathing that she wasn't asleep. He knew her like the back of his hand and didn't even have to ask what she was thinking of.
“Stop obsessing over this, Tima. He's gone. There is nothing that anyone can do to bring Boomer back,” Macy said as he stood over her.
“I know. I would just feel better if I knew who killed him and why,” Fatima said.
“You don't want to know that,” Macy replied surely. “Just let it go.”
Fatima looked past him and out of the window. She was so absent and distant that Macy was willing to do anything to snap her out of it.
“You can't just rot away in this house, ma,” he whispered. “I'm worried about you, Tima. I've got meetings and stuff to attend, so I can't just look after you every minute of the day. Why don't you get dressed and get out of the house. Go shopping ... on me ... and afterwards, go check into a plush room, enjoy some time at the spa. Relax your mind and get your spirit right. You deserve it after what you've been through,” Macy said as he reached into his suit jacket and removed his wallet. He pulled out a black card and placed it on the nightstand. “I know you're not going to turn that down.”
For the first time in weeks, she laughed slightly, giving him a soft smile. “That's my girl,” he said as he helped her out of the bed.
Fatima dressed quickly, and Macy checked on her before he left for the day. “You need me to call the car service for you?”
Fatima shook her head. “No. I can drive myself. I want to be alone anyway.”
Macy's office phone rang loudly, and she nodded her head. “Go ahead. I'm fine, baby. I'm on my way out. I'll call you to check in,” she said.
Macy kissed her cheek and retreated to answer his phone call as she headed out. She grabbed the keys to Macy's Mercedes, knowing that it had more trunk space for her purchases, and then pulled off.
 
 
Fatima wasn't a mall shopper, and with Macy's permission, she ripped through Rodeo Drive like a professional buyer. She indulged in everything from Mikimoto pearls to Fendi handbags, not even stopping long enough to look at a price tag. On any other day, this would have been her dream, a shopping spree with no limits and no man beside her to slow her down; but no matter how much stuff she purchased, she still felt low. Her spirit was dampened. The death of her son had damn near snuffed out any possibility of future happiness.
Her face had been plastered all over the news during her son's funeral. Macy's political career had made Boomer's death local news, and as she patronized her favorite stores, she could feel the curious eyes of the other customers. She was a recognizable figure around the city of Los Angeles, and it only made it harder to deal with the chaos. She needed solace and privacy so that she could process her loss in her own way. Oversized shades covered her swollen eyes as she spent a small fortune trying to make her sorrow go away.
It wasn't long before the media got wind of her outing, and soon cameras and reporters were crowding her. She maneuvered through the crowd of paparazzi and avoided their questions as she kept her head down.
“Mrs. Sigel, how are you dealing with the death of your son?” a reporter asked as she shoved a microphone in Fatima's face.
“Is it true that your son's death was drug related?” another asked.
“Is it true that the mayor is an affiliate of known drug dealers in the city? Is that why your son was shot and killed?”
Fatima pushed the microphones out of her face as she carried her packages to the car. The media were like vultures as they attacked her with a barrage of intrusive questions. She had learned long ago never to open her mouth for them. It wouldn't have mattered what she said; they would have twisted her words and spun a story to portray her in a negative light.
The city officials were already up in arms that Macy Sigel, a black man, was the elected mayor. She had to be extremely careful how she moved. She had to constantly be prepared to handle the press, which was why she said nothing and gave them the cold shoulder as she rushed to get in the car. Her shopping trip had been cut short, and it was on days like today that she felt like her lavish lifestyle was not worth the cost she paid to live it.
A mother deserves to deal with the death of her son in peace,
she thought as a tear escaped from behind the glasses on her face. Through her jaded lens, all she could see was sadness. This had been the first day that she had felt a sense of normalcy return to her world, and in the blink of an eye, the news reporters had ruined it. The way that she was feeling, she was tempted to go off on them for being disrespectful and for turning her family's tragedy into the city's latest entertainment story. They were making her life appear to be a circus act on TV, and she was vexed. Fatima knew that she couldn't act out her anger, however. She had a husband to represent, and she had always done it well.
She popped the trunk and went to place her belongings inside. Fatima jumped slightly and paused as she snatched her arm back out of the trunk. Bloody clothes lay crumpled inside, and she quickly closed the trunk so that the prying paparazzi and reporters did not notice.
Where did those clothes come from? Why is Macy hiding them?
she thought as a dull ache filled her. Her intuition was telling her that something wasn't right, and she quickly shook the cameras as she hit the expressway and headed out to the beach. It was where she went when she needed to think.
As she stepped out of her car, the smell of the salt water appealed to her. She quickly went into the trunk of the car and pulled out the bloody clothes. “He was wearing these the day Boomer died,” she said with a gasp. “Why is there blood?” she asked.
Fatima wasn't naïve and didn't want to assume that Macy was clean-cut. He had always been hood and prominently respected in the drug game. Overall, he wasn't a good guy, but he was good to her. She didn't want to think that he would ever do anything to hurt her. A million and one thoughts went through her head as she gripped the clothes in her hand.
Don't assume anything. This could be anyone's blood,
she thought.
Fatima took off her expensive shoes and put the clothes in the back seat of her car before stepping onto the smooth sand. It sank between her toes as she began to walk down the beach as the sun set behind her. She picked up her phone to call Macy, but hung up quickly, knowing that the questions she had to ask were ones that needed to be asked in person.
Fatima walked into the house clutching the bloody clothes in her hand. She had already told herself that Macy would have a good explanation for hiding them in the trunk of his car, but she wanted to hear what he had to say. She wanted to see his face when she questioned him about them. Fatima silently prayed that his explanation made sense. She needed to hear him say something that made her feel silly for ever thinking otherwise. Fatima needed Macy to look her in the face and tell her that he had nothing to do with Boomer's death.
A nagging sensation gripped her as she stalked toward his office, determined yet nervous at the same time. Macy wasn't expecting her. At that moment, she was supposed to be an hour away, across town, enjoying a Swedish massage and sipping expensive champagne, but her mind wouldn't let this go.
She could hear voices coming from the back of the house, and she realized that Macy was not alone. She recognized Edris' voice and crept silently as she stood outside of the office door. Itching to confront Macy, she cursed under her breath because she would have to wait until his company left. Fatima didn't like to air her dirty laundry in the streets, and impatience ate away at her cool visage. She took a deep breath to calm herself and was about to announce her presence, until she heard her name come up.
“How's Tima doing with all of this?” Edris asked.
Fatima put her ear to the thick cherry wood door, ear-hustling as she tried to intercept the entire conversation.
“Not good at all, fam. She's broken over this shit,” Macy revealed. “It's fucked up, because I'm sitting back watching her go through it.”
“Does she have any idea that it was you?” Edris asked.
Fatima's heart fell, and she felt as if someone had snatched the air from her lungs. She hoped that she had heard it wrong, and she held her breath as she waited for Macy to respond.
“Nah, she doesn't know. It's all bad right now, though, fam. That shit is eating me up. Every day I'm looking her in her eyes knowing I killed Boomer. I've handled many niggas before, but Boomer is eating me alive,” Macy admitted. “She's my wife, and I took a piece of her soul away. I don't think she will ever be the same.”
Fatima's emotions overtook her as she stormed into the office. Anger, sadness, shock, pain ... it all shot through her as she rushed Macy. She threw the bloody clothes at him. There was no need to question where they had come from. The brown stains were a brutal reflection of the crime that Macy had committed. It was Boomer's blood, and she felt as if she could not breathe as she attacked his killer.
“You bastard!” she shouted. Her nostrils flared. “You killed him! You killed my son?” she said, posing a question of disbelief.
Macy was taken off guard and was about to fix his mouth to deny her accusations, but she had heard it from his very lips. There was no lying his way out of it. She knew the truth, and as he tried to wrap his arms around her, he immediately sensed a change in her. Her body instantly went stiff as she stopped breathing.
Fatima didn't know if she was frozen in fear or if she was just stifling her anger. She could not believe what she had just overheard, and she just knew that her mind was playing tricks on her. But when she saw the expression of guilt on her husband's face, her stomach churned and she felt as if she would be sick. Fatima went ballistic.
“Don't touch me!” she shouted as she picked up the paperweight from his mahogany desk and tossed it at him. She swept the contents off of his desk, throwing anything that felt heavy enough to inflict harm. “Don't touch me!” she yelled again when Edris tried to grab her. “How could you? How could you, Macy? He was our son!” She was like a tropical storm as she flew through the room destructively, trying to get to Macy.
“It was an accident! Tima, listen to me!” Macy pleaded.
She backpedaled out of the room while shaking her head from side to side. “No, I'm done listening to you. I trusted you. You're a liar!” she shouted as mascara mixed with anguish and created trails of black tears down her cheeks.
Macy raced after her as he tried to explain. He had not expected her to return home. He had gotten loose with his lips and had spoken of Boomer's death too freely. Fatima ran until she made it to her car.

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