Ruthless and Rotten (4 page)

O.T. found the girls scrunched together down in the corner, near the door of the hotel room. “Where is it at?” He scanned the room with his eyes darting around.

“By the side of the bed.” Kenya threw her hand in the direction of the small box. “It's over there.”

O.T. swiftly bolted to the other side of the bed, bending down on one knee. London watched the cocky, perfect muscle-ripped, sagged-jeans, baseball-cap-backwards–wearing thug, turn into melted butter as he held the evidence of his brother's apparent harm in his rough, seemingly strong hands. London could now for the first time since encountering O.T. somehow relate to his pain. Just like that, he now was a human in her eyes, instead of a beast, as he let his guard down, sobbing loudly.

“Please don't cry. We're gonna figure something out. I promise.” London cradled him in her arms while her sister escaped to throw up in the bathroom. She had been in Dallas less than twenty-four hours and was already entangled in obstruction of justice and another murder. Including Swift, the hit man back home, that was two altogether.

“I'm tight, uhm . . . London.” O.T. could barely remember her name with all the chaos that was going on that night. He wanted to call her Kenya, but he caught himself. He stood up first, reaching his hand downwards to assist London to her feet. As they were standing face-to-face, O.T. leaned in close, moving London's hair out of her eyes. Her inexperienced romantic heart was working overtime. She shut her eyes and waited for him to kiss her. Feeling his body get closer, she held her breath in anticipation.

“Listen, London,” he whispered in her ear. “We good, right? You ain't gonna tell nobody about that little punk-ass-faggot crying bullshit, are you? A guy slipped up on that female tip.”

“What?” London was pissed, to say the least and disappointed that all O.T. was ultimately worried about was people knowing that he was normal and had normal reactions to abnormal circumstances. Her sudden compassion and fascination with him had come to a quick halt. “Is that all you concerned with—what people think?”

“Naw, but . . .”

Kenya came back into the room on the tail end of the conversation between them. “What's going on in here?”

“Nothing, Kenya,” O.T. answered for both.

“Yeah, nothing!” London happily agreed.

 

 

You owe me
and a phone number was written on the note that was stuffed inside the box.

“What does that mean?” Kenya rubbed both sweaty hands together. “
You owe me
? Owe who? Owe what?”

“We gotta call this number and hopefully we can find out.” O.T. pulled out his cell phone, dialing the mystery person. After a few rings, what had to be an older-sounding man answered his call. Listening attentively, it was a voice that wasn't familiar to O.T. at all.

“Yeah!” the guy repeated twice before he got a response from Storm's brother. “I hope you're ready to listen? And pay attention!”

“This O.T., who this?” he finally blurted out, wanting some answers.

“Listen, let me make this perfectly clear, I'm asking the questions here, young man, not you. Is that understood?”

“Who the fuck is this?” O.T. was losing his patience with the man at the other end of the line.

“Tsk, tsk. Now, is that any way to address your elders?” The man also was growing seemingly frustrated of all the cat-and-mouse talk. “Didn't your project-living, three-part-time-job-working, two-different-baby-daddy having, now-crackhead mother teach you or your brother any manners?”

“Huh, what did you just say?” O.T. was thrown off his square as the girls looked on.

“You heard perfectly well what I just said and believe me, I'm not in the mood or accustomed to repetitious conversation!”

“Yo nigga, how you know shit about my ol' girl?”

“Trust me. I know everything about your entire family. From your sorry excuse for a father, your brother murdered, to your third cousin twice removed on your mother's side—and by the way, I don't like to use the term
nigga
! I find it derogatory and barbaric.”

O.T. was completely outraged by the stranger's overly blatant disrespect for him and his family. “Listen, dude! Where the fuck is my brother at? I swear to God, if you—”

The man cut him off, laughing. “You swear to God what? I'm not amused. Please refrain from making idle threats you can't possibly back up. I have come in the past not to appreciate them nor tolerate them. So now, if you don't mind, can we get to the business at hand, youngster, your brother's life or what's left of it.”

O.T. was, for the first time since the call was placed, silent. He looked at Kenya and London, both sitting on the edge of the bed, anxiously waiting to hear any news.

The man started with the answer to O.T.'s original question. “This is Javier and your brother, Storm, is here with me. For the time being he is safe from harm's way. And trust, if all goes as planned, he will stay that way. You have my word on that much, but the outcome depends on you.”

“How can he be safe, you lunatic?” O.T. grew more enraged staring at the ring box. “Ain't this a chunk of his damn ear and shit? You a sick-ass bastard for doing this!”

“What did I just mention about your mouth, young man? Any further outburst and name-calling will cause me to bring this call to an abrupt end—terminated. Are we clear?”

“Yeah, we clear.” A once-again silent O.T. sat still after being scolded like a child.

“Now, as I was saying. Storm is here with me and alive, for the time being. If you have possession of this number, it is very safe to assume that you already have come in contact with your brother's business partner and associate, Deacon. Is this much true?”

“Yeah, if that's what you wanna call it.” O.T. was being sarcastic and bitter. “Man, that shit was foul as hell! How could y'all do some old crazy stuff like that?”

“That's life in the game we all chose to play—you, me, your brother, and the recently departed Deacon. Now deal with it!” Javier chuckled before revealing some truths. “Your brother and his twisted personal life, has caused me and my various operations throughout the region major financial strains that must be satisfied.”

“How so? I know for a fact he has never been short on a single payment to anyone on any package.”

“Well, because of him, his ex-stripper girlfriend, and her do-good sister, I just have been made aware of my cash flow has been slowing down and that is not acceptable—not acceptable at all.”

O.T. looked at the girls and felt a deep veil of hatred come over him. He now knew that it was because of them that his big brother was in serious trouble as he spoke. “What's the deal, old man? What you want?” O.T. wanted to skip straight to the point of their conversation. He wanted to know exactly what it would take to get Storm back safe and sound.

“Well, it seems London Roberts, his soon-to-be sister-in-law and her little group P.A.I.D., have been causing a few bumps in the road here and there,” Javier spoke calmly in an even tone. “There was some confusion as to the identity of her and her twin Kenya, the dancer whore, at first, but that mystery has since been solved. A recently ex-employee of mine, a one Mr. Swift, ill-fatedly found out the hard way, but as the game goes it's always casualty in war.”

“What?” O.T. asked, confused.

“So goes life,” Javier coldly remarked.

“What the hell is P.A.I.D.? And who is Swift?” O.T. inquired, as he attentively kept his ear pressed to the telephone receiver. “I don't follow you! What the fuck does any of that bullshit mean?”

“Listen, O.T., you have to ask your peoples any questions you need answers to. They can fill you in on their part in all this. My main concern right now is my revenue and nothing more. By my calculations, your brother Storm owes me approximately two hundred and fifty thousand dollars in lost sales. Although it's true he never has been late on his own payments, he is being held responsible for his peoples' actions, as it may.”

“Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars! Are you nuts? That shit just ain't right, dude. What fucking people? What you mean?”

“Well, I guess that Storm's safe return doesn't mean that much to you.” Javier still remained calm. “I'm sorry to have troubled you. I guess that this is good-bye and have a good life!”

“No, no! Wait!” O.T. stuttered, wasting no time reconsidering. “I'll get the money, I'll get it! But it's gonna take me some time. That's a helluva lot of bread to come up with just like that!”

“I'm aware of that and no one can say I'm not a fair man, so I will give you at least—shall we say—thirty days to gather it. Are we clear on the time frame or what?”

“Yeah, we clear. I'll call you as soon as I get the cash together. I swear to God I'ma get it, but how do I know Storm is even still alive?”

“You don't—not for sure. It's a gamble you have to take. And by the way, there's no need in calling this number again. I'll get back in touch with you when necessary,” he vehemently demanded. “Thirty days youngster, no more.”

And with that exchange Javier hung the phone up, leaving O.T. to explain to Kenya and London what was needed, not to mention get some of his own questions answered.

“What did they say? Where is Storm? Is he hurt bad? Is he coming home?” Kenya fired question after question. “Please tell me what whoever was on the phone said—please!”

“Well, bottom line is, thanks to you and this bitch right here, we supposedly owe Javier two hundred and fifty thousand Gs to get Storm back home. If we pay the dough, the old man claim he'll let him go fucking free.” O.T. was pissed and made no excuses as he mean-mugged London for being the direct cause for the financial uphill battle he was now facing.

“What do you mean, two hundred and fifty thousand dollars?” Kenya was left puzzled by O.T.'s comments. “And why the fuck you calling my sister a bitch? What she got to do with Storm or Deacon?”

“What the hell is P.A.I.D.?” he fumed, slamming his fist down on the nightstand, causing it to tilt over. “Can one of y'all identical bookends tell me that?”

London and Kenya quickly made eye contact with one another. It was now painfully apparent that Storm's sudden disappearance and Deacon's murder were all linked back to London's one true passion, People Against Illegal Drugs. The connection was all coming together.

“Damn frick and frack! Is one of y'all hoes gonna answer my damn question? Don't speak at one time! What is P.A.I.D.?” O.T. was now on his feet, towering over the girls. “And who is this dead nigga, Swift? Y'all need to start talking quick!”

Kenya jumped up in his face. “Hold the hell on, motherfucker. Me or my sister ain't gonna be anymore bitches or hoes, that's first of all. We can get that straight off rip!”

“What you just say?” O.T. spit out wildly, also caught in his emotions. “What you say?”

“You heard me, black man. I'm gonna explain everything and shit, but you not just about to come up here in our room and dog us the hell out. That ain't flying!”

“Oh, yeah! Is that right?” His nostrils flared and the veins in his neck were ready to burst.

“Yeah, it's right, O.T.” Kenya suddenly pounced up and swung on him. “I know shit is real messed up right about now and we all upset and worried about Storm, but you got me all fucked up! You better act like you know, nigga!” With all her big talk, her punch missed its mark.

O.T. admired Kenya's off-the-wall crazy spunk and backed down to hear her explain. “All right then.” He casually sat back in one of the chairs, folding his arms. “I'm listening and please don't leave shit out.”

“I ain't!”

“Good! Then speak!”

London was preparing herself for all the fireworks that were sure to jump. She knew that she was gonna be number one on O.T.'s shit list, but so be it.

“Well, first off, P.A.I.D. is an organization that my sister, London, and her roommate Fatima started back east in college.”

“And?” O.T. was growing impatient. “Go on!”

“Damn! Calm down and let me finish.”

“Go ahead, Kenya. I said I'm listening!”

“Like I was saying . . .” She rolled her eyes, clearing her throat. “My sister and her roommate were up at school and got together with a few other students to form a kids-against-drugs sort of a club.”

London jumped in the conversation, clarifying what exactly it was. “It's called People Against Illegal Drugs, and FYI, it is more than just a small handful of my classmates, it's almost the entire campus of my university, as well as several other schools.” She had her chest stuck out as she bragged about the strength of the group, not yet realizing the group was the reason behind the kidnapping and murder.

“Can you please shut the fuck up, London? Is you trying to make shit worse or what?” Kenya had to put her twin in her place. Even though London was busy trying to act all high and mighty, real talk, it was her bullshit that had Storm being held hostage and Kenya knew it.

“Yeah, London! Shut the fuck up!” O.T. co-signed with Kenya as he waved her off with his hand in a dismissive fashion.

London did as she was told and let her sister finish speaking, but gave O.T. the finger.

“Anyhow, the organization kinda spread out here to the South, I guess. I'm sure that's the group that Storm and Deacon were complaining about the other day. You know what I'm talking about, don't you?”