On the Run with Love (19 page)

Simone sat in downtown Goldsboro on an old bus stop bench. The sun had set so the streets were all but deserted and all the stores were closed. Her face was outlined with salt from all the tears she had shed.

There were no more illusions or facades to hide behind. Freddie's actions had cost her more than love; they had almost cost her her life. They had waved guns in her face, snatched her out of her own house, off her own doorstep, and taken her prisoner. She could still feel the man's finger inside her, violating her womanhood while he laughed at her pleas. He taunted her with threats of doing worse and she was helpless to stop him. It seemed as if her unborn child had sensed the danger and was lying dormant, not kicking or moving, so out of character.

Simone was all cried out. There would be no more tears. She sat stone-faced and half-naked at a public bus stop, like she had been abandoned and discarded. This was how Freddie found her when he skidded up to the corner and jumped out, gun drawn. When they got the money, they told Freddie where he could find his Simone. He went there, holding his breath, not knowing exactly what he would find.

“Simone! Are you okay, baby?” he inquired intently, checking her from head to toe. She stood and Freddie tried to embrace her, but she didn't hug him back. She just stood there like a lifeless doll baby wrapped in his arms.

She pushed him away firmly, but calmly, and said, “Just take me to the apartment, Freddie.”

He was so happy to have her back, he failed to realize she called it “the apartment” and not “home.”

Dante and his crew of shooters sat up in the Motel 6 plotting their next move.

“Man, this country-ass hick town ain't but so big. Where the fuck is this joker at?” Dante wanted to know, pacing the floor. He had waited a long time to avenge his brother's death, and now that he was this close, he wasn't about to give up. He was growing impatient.

“At least we know what kind of car he's drivin',
papi
,” the brunette hit woman offered as consolation. They found that out from a local hustler whose baby mama had been letting Freddie juice her on the regular for all she had or could get her hands on. He had seen through Dante's game, and he had nothing but hate in his heart for Freddie.

“And who the fuck is this Slug muhfucka?” Cream asked, mouth full of pizza. “We find him, we beat Freddie's whereabouts the fuck outta him!”

“Whoever Slug is, these bamas damn sure ain't tryin' to point him out,” Dante commented.

“Fuck it, let's ride out some more. We bound to see this CLK Freddie pushin',” Cream suggested.

“Fuck, yo,” Dante spit. “I ain't leavin' 'til this cocksucka' bleed. That's my word on everything I love!”

Detective Wilson had the same thing on his mind. Nobody shot a cop and got away with it in his book.

“Look, man, I done told you all I know,” the skinny, damn near toothless crackhead said, sitting in an interrogation room with Wilson and Timmons. He was the same crackhead who had moved Freddie's furniture, but he had caught a felony larceny charge, and he was trying to duck the habitual offender category looming over his head by giving them Freddie's.

“I don't know where he live no more. All I know is him and Slug makin' paper. A lot of paper. And he push a Benz.”

“What about hangouts? Where's he pushin' the stuff?” Wilson asked eagerly.

“He don't. Neither one of 'em do. The only place I can tell you he might be is Pop Bogs or the Blue Note. All the major dealers be out there on Saturdays.”

Wilson looked at Timmons, who shrugged and said, “It's worth a try.”

“So, if y'all catch him, y'all ain't gonna forget about me, is you, Timmons?”

Timmons looked at the dirty crackhead with disgust. He hated a black man on drugs, but he hated a snitch even more. “Take yo' ass back to the cell.”

Simone and Freddie rode home in silence. Freddie wanted to ask her if she recognized anything, heard any names, and most importantly, ask what they had done to her. But her facial expression was one he hadn't seen before. He knew the ordeal had been traumatic, but he prayed she'd be okay.

When they reached the apartment, Simone went straight to the bedroom and slammed the door. Freddie started to go to her but decided not to. She was home safe. He could hear the bathwater running from behind the closed door and thought it best to leave Simone to herself.

He turned his attention to payback and picked up the phone to call Slug. Things hadn't been good with them at all since the fight, but they were blood, and he knew Slug would ride out with him.

“Hello?” Kiki answered the phone.

“Ki, this Freddie. Where Slug at?”

“He ain't here, Freddie. Call him on his cell. How you doin'?” she asked.

“I'm cool.”

“Simone there?”

Before he could answer, Simone walked out of the bedroom fully dressed and carrying a small suitcase. Freddie didn't even bother to answer Kiki and hung up.

Simone dropped her keys onto the coffee table. “Let me go, Freddie,” she stated firmly, a look of resignation in her eyes.

“Go where? What you mean, boo?” Freddie asked, knowing full well what she meant. He tried to take her hand but she stepped away from him. “Baby, I know that what happened—”

“No, Freddie, you don't know. You couldn't know. They didn't have a gun in your face; you didn't . . .” She sighed. “I don't want to talk about it. I just want you to let me go.”

Freddie was beside himself with fear. Any man who's been confronted with the loss of everything, the only thing he's ever cared about, can understand. Those who haven't can't understand until they have.

His mind raced and his tongue stuttered, “You right, ma, I don't know. But I do know that whoever did this is gonna pay. I swear to God, they're gonna pay for what they did to you.”

Simone laughed without smiling. “You just don't get it, do you, Freddie? There's nothing you can do to pay them back for what they did to me. Ever!”

Freddie grabbed both of her hands and said, “Then let's get away. You wanna leave? Cool, I'm feelin' you, but let's leave together. Let's go somewhere and start all over, get away from all—”

Simone walked away from him. “So you can do the same thing all over again, Freddie? So I can lie in another bed, alone? In another strange place, hearing your lies and your apologies? I can't do this anymore, Freddie. I don't love you anymore.”

“Please, boo, don't say that,” he whispered, trying not to cry, “I know I fucked up. I know there's nothing I can do to make this all go away, but please don't take your love from me. It's all I got.” Tears welled up in his eyes and Simone had to turn away to keep from being magnetized by his open display of emotions.

“I can't do this, Freddie. Can't you see? It's over, Freddie. Just let me go,” she repeated her demand.

“How could you leave me, baby? How? I gave up everything I have for you, to get you back, Simone,” he begged.

“And I gave up everything I am for you! How dare you ever say that, Freddie! I gave up my life, my dreams, my body! They were going to rape me, Freddie!” Simone cried.

Freddie went to her and embraced her, and she found herself hugging him back. “I'm sorry, Simone, I'm so sorry. Please, boo, I'll make it better. I will, I promise.”

At the word “promise,” Simone cringed and pushed him away. “No, Freddie, no! I don't love you. I hate you! Do you hear me? I hate you! Just let me go!”

To hear his heart turn on him was too much for Freddie's pride to bear. “You wanna go? Go! I ain't stoppin' you!” He paced the floor, realizing his love was leaving, but he had to salvage his manhood to survive. “You wanna leave? Leave! Fuck you waitin' for? Huh?”

“Yes, Freddie. Let me go,” she whispered to herself.

“I gave them everything! Everything! And now you wanna leave? Bitch, breeze. I can make another baby. Can you make another Freddie?”

He was purposely trying to hurt her, not knowing that's what she meant by let her go. Freddie's words stung her, but she knew it was what she needed to break free.

She reached down and picked up her suitcase. “I . . . I need a ride to the bus station.”

Freddie tossed the phone at her feet. “Call a cab,” he hissed dryly and turned his back to her.

“Thank you,” she whispered and turned for the door. The first step was the hardest, but she forced herself, step by step, until she was halfway down the street.

Freddie stood in the middle of the living room, cold and alone. Simone had walked out the front door with his heart. So he had no choice but to be heartless. He wanted to go after her, beg her to stay, and he knew she would. He knew the power he had over her, but without the love, it wouldn't be the same. Simone was right. It was over.

He grabbed the half-pint bottle of Grand Cru Rémy Martin cognac he had left on the kitchen counter days ago, cracked it open, and tossed it up. The smooth elixir slid down his throat, burning his chest. He didn't take the bottle down until it was half empty. His head was spinning as he tossed it up again, and drained it this time. Then he dropped it on the floor. He staggered over to the full-length mirror on the wall and looked at his reflection.

“I shoulda let 'em have that ungrateful bitch,” he said, trying to remain cold because it was the only way he could remain numb to the pain he was running full speed from. “I'm muhfuckin' Freddie,” he staggered and slurred. “Naw, Simone!” he yelled, “I ain't fucked up. You fucked up. 'Cause you'll never find a muhfucka like me. But you a dime a dozen!”

He wished she was still there so he could cuss her, humiliate her, and demean her. Then he smelled her Gucci fragrance and it sent him for the Crown Royal.

Simone was gone. There was nothing he could do about it. And his money was gone, too. He had to do something about that. Fifty-five hundred wouldn't last him the weekend. He had to make a power move, and he knew just where he needed to start.

He stumbled over to his cell phone lying on the floor and went through his contacts until he reached the Cs: Cynthia, the white broad he had conned out of three Gs a few months back. He hadn't called her since, but he was glad he'd kept her number.

“Hello?” she chimed.

“Cynthia,” Freddie slurred, and she knew exactly who it was.

She was standing in her bedroom in her slip, getting ready for a white-tie event. She glanced into the bathroom where her husband was busy at the sink. “Freddie,” she whispered with nervous excitement, “is that you? Why haven't you—”

Freddie cut her off sharply. “Check this: I ain't in the mood for no muthafuckin' questions 'cause I'm a grown-ass man, a'ight?”

“I know that, Freddie, I just thought—”

“Didn't I just tell yo' dumb ass I'm a grown-ass man? I don't need anybody to think for me. You can either listen or hang the fuck up!”

Cynthia swiftly left the bedroom, closing the door behind her. “I'm listening, Freddie, but you don't have to talk to me like that,” she said, trying to sound firm, but Freddie already knew he had broken her. If he hadn't, she would've hung up.

“Then understand where I'm coming from and I won't have to. Look, Cynthia, there's some things I need to share with you, some secrets I need you to keep. But I gotta know I can trust you, that I can count on you. I ain't sayin' jump when I say leap, I'm sayin' come when I call. Can you do that? Can I count on you for that?” By the time Freddie finished, Cynthia was a wrap.

“Oh, of course, Freddie. You can count on me. What do you need me to do?”

“I need to see you tonight,” Freddie told her.

Cynthia thought about the $1,000-a-plate charity banquet she was supposed to attend, and then she thought about the golden dick she had been fiending for. The decision made itself. “Where?”

“Get a room somewhere. Wilson; get a room at the Marriott. I'll call you in an hour, a'ight?”

“Okay, Freddie. Whatever you say,” she responded eagerly.

“And bring some money.”

“How much?”

“Surprise me.” He smiled and hung up. He purposely left the amount up in the air to determine what level they were on, and how he needed to put it down to elevate it. To Freddie, Cynthia was just the beginning, his door to that country club, jet-set pussy. It was time to step his game all the way up.

Freddie went and got dressed in his beige, white, and brown velour Coogi, a matching beanie, and a pair of brown and beige Gators. He threw on his jewels, earring to pinkie, not forgetting his Gucci frames.

He stepped in front of the mirror to admire himself. “Damn, you a pretty muthafucka!” he told himself. “What? Them niggas thought they could break me? A hundred grand ain't shit. As long as bitches got pussies, I'ma get paper.”

He wanted to shine on whoever had kidnapped Simone. He wanted all of them to know who they were dealing with. Freddie decided to stop through the Midnight Lounge on his way to Wilson, so all of them would know he couldn't be broken, that he was unbreakable. He jumped into the BMW M3 and headed for the club.

Freddie pulled up to Midnight and hopped out of his M3. He was so drunk, it was a miracle he'd made it that far. Normally, he would be on point coming to the hot spot, checking his surroundings as he and Slug cruised through the parking area. But because of the liquor and Slug's absence, he hadn't noticed that he had just passed two detectives. Fortunately for Freddie they hadn't noticed him either. They were looking for the platinum CLK. His inadvertent choice of whips had gotten him past the police surveillance.

He entered the crowded club staggering noticeably. He looked around, knowing that whoever had played him was at the club and probably watching him, and they were. Slug and the kidnappers, J-dog and Bruno, were all together in the body-infested establishment.

“There go that pretty muhfucka now, folk,” Bruno said, watching Freddie move through the crowd.

“What up, folk?” J-dog asked Slug, ready to set it.

“Ain't shit up, folk. He still family. Ain't no need in pressing the issue. Y'all cats take that twenty grand and be out.”

J-dog gave Slug a pound. “We gonna miss you, baby boy. Holler at your manz and 'em sometime, dog.”

“Fo' sho',” Slug told them, and then they walked off.

Freddie spotted Slug and smiled at him. He came over to the table and sat down. “What the deal, cuz?”

“You,” Slug replied and they shook hands. “You a'ight, cuz?”

“If I ain't, I'm gonna be, yo,” Freddie boasted. “Why you ask?”

Slug shrugged his shoulders. “Look like you got a lot on your mind, folk.”

“Simone left me, duke,” was all Freddie said. He started to tell Slug about the kidnapping, but decided against it. What's done is done, and he was now ready to move on.

“What you gonna do now?”

“Relocate,” he stated simply. “And step the game up.”

“I feel you, cuz,” Slug said, pulling on his Newport. “I was thinkin' the same thang. 'Cept I'm leaving the game where it stands, yo.”

“The game's all I got, son,” Freddie replied.

Slug nodded and looked away. He felt sorry for Freddie. He was trapped, but he had trapped himself. Family was family, but at the end of the day, a man's gotta stand on his own.

“Be easy, cuz, I'll be right back,” Slug told him and got up, headed for the bathroom.

About that time, Dante and Cream walked up in the club looking around.

“Yo, duke, spread out. If you see that lame, don't do shit. The guns are in the car, but these his people, so we know somebody's strapped. We spot him, we lie until he bounce, and work him then, a'ight?” Dante laid it down and Cream nodded in understanding. They split up and began looking for Freddie.

Cream bumped into Tina, who was heading the other way carrying a bottle of Grand Cru. She saw Freddie lying low in the corner and went over to him instinctively. She slid into the booth next to him, kissing him on the neck, and caressing his thigh. “What's poppin', stranger? What's the matter, you ain't got time for Tina no more?” She pouted with her sexy bottom lip poked out.

“Naw, I just ain't got time for no games, yo,” Freddie answered.

Look who's talking
, she thought, but instead she said, “What's that supposed to mean, Freddie? You think I'm playing games with you?”

“It means shit's fucked up right now and my paper ain't straight. So until it is, I'm keeping everything official and everyone around me official, yo,” Freddie shot back at her, grabbing the Grand Cru and turning it up.

“And I ain't?”

“Are you?”

Tina smiled. “Freddie, I'm about the same thing that you about. But you got the game fucked up lettin' that square bitch carry you when a real boss bitch, like me, was born to take care of you.” She ran it down, checking game with science.

Freddie just stared straight ahead, his thoughts a blur. Tina stuck her hand in his pants, grabbed his dick, pulled it out, and began pumping along the whole shaft.

“Let Tina take care of you, baby,” she purred, and lowered her head, taking him into her mouth. Freddie put his head back and did something he hadn't done in years. He cried from the heart. He cried for his mother, knowing all she had put up with from his father; he cried for his father because he couldn't be a real father or a real man. He cried for everything he had put Simone through, and he cried for his unborn child that he now feared he'd never know. He also cried for how he had treated Gina and played Slug. But most of all, he cried for himself.