Chapter Two
CHAPTER TWO
A Trip Down Memory Lane
M om was a great distance away, but I saw her clearly. She’d been reaching out to me, her hand stretching in my direction. She was about to speak, but the words died on her tongue. A deep black hole appeared where she stood and swallowed her. She was gone as quickly as she’d appeared standing there. If I’d blinked, I’d have missed the entire spectacle.
A fear like I’d never known wrapped itself around me and squeezed me like a serpent does its prey. I didn’t go to try and save her. I was a child, frozen in fear, unable to move forward or take a step back. My heart banged inside of me—a severe flutter of pumping vessels and clasping muscles—and a cold sweat coated me from my scalp down to my toes. Liquid warmth trickled down my face, and my father’s muffled screams echoed in the distance. His shrieks were bouncing off the walls, carrying like disembodied wails.
‘Mommy! Daddy!’ I called out, but no one answered. I was all alone. The odor of something sickeningly sweet filled the air. Like dead flowers.
Suddenly, it was quiet. Too quiet. The rhythmic clomping of hooves against the ground could be heard in the empty space, breaking the calm like shattered glass smashing against concrete. It sounded like a horse.
Out of the hole that swallowed Mom up burst a gigantic muddy brown bull with twisted red horns. Huge as an elephant, he was charging at me, gaining momentum. I was still frozen, as if a heavy weight were pushing me down, keeping me in place for the pending painful death. As the beast drew closer, I realized the reddish color on the horns was wet, dripping blood. Shreds of fabric clung to the jagged pointy tips of the gnarled horns. The orange-eyed beast snarled and gained traction. Moments later, I was screaming, too. Mom held me, rocking me against her bosom. She kissed the top of my head and said, “Lenny, baby, it was just a bad dream…’
Children are afraid of the dark-eyed ghosts hiding in the closet, the smelly monsters under the bed, and the creepy shadow thing that shows up in the corner of the room in the middle of the night. So was I, but then I grew up. Something within me no longer allowed fear to be either companion or adversary. It was nothing to me, just another crack in the sidewalk. Another cloud in the sky. Another blade of grass in the lawn. I looked the ghost, monster and shadow thing in the eye, and told it, “No. I’m not scared of you.” He promised me that next time I would be, and there’d be no one to wake me from the bad dream, for it would be my reality…
Yuna’s, ‘Strawberry Letter 23’ was playing in Club Obsidian in Houston, Texas. After fixing the collar of his leather jacket, Lennox snatched a driver’s license out of a young woman’s hand. He peered at it, then at her. Without a word, he handed it back to her, took her thirty-dollar club entry fee, and did the same thing with the next person in the long line.
It was a rainy Saturday night. Just a miserable drizzle, but enough to make the streets slick and the air smell earthy. Lennox finished his stint by the front door as the clock struck midnight, changing positions with Todd, another bouncer in the club. They slapped hands as they passed one another in a thick crowd of hot, sweaty bodies. Reaching inside his dark brown leather jacket trimmed with white fur around the hood, he pulled out a pouch filled with five, ten, and twenty-dollar bills. Money from patrons who’d shown up for an evening of loud music, socializing, drinking, and possibly getting laid.
He sidled up at the bar and handed the pouch to one of the bartenders, Dale, then ordered a beer. He had exactly ten minutes before he needed to head across the room and start manning the place. Breaks on Saturday nights were scarce. The establishment was just too busy, and too much ruckus happened if one got too comfortable and let their guard down. He drank half the pint, pitched the rest down the sink behind the bar, then made a pit stop to the restroom. Piss-soaked tissue was scattered on the painted green floor, and he kicked a wad of it out of the way as he approached a urinal.
When he was finished relieving himself, he washed his hands and dried them with a paper towel, which he tossed in the overflowing trashcan on the way out to the dancefloor area. He scanned the room and saw two other bouncers making their rounds, guns on their hips and chins up. Slipping his phone out of his pocket, he checked the time, then headed toward the VIP tables. It wasn’t long before another fight broke out, and he and another bouncer escorted three drunk men out the front door, tossing them like garbage onto the sidewalk. Curse words and the all too familiar, “Do you know who I am?!” was hurled in their direction as they turned their backs on the riffraff.
As he came back inside after the altercation, ready to head over to the dancefloor, he noticed a woman sitting at the bar staring down into a glass of red wine. Thick dark brown hair flowed down, obscuring part of her face until she tucked it behind her ear to reveal a sparkling gold and diamond rose-shaped earring. Her lips were glossy and tulip-shaped with a defined Cupid’s bow, and her eyes were large with heavy lids. She was a rich umber complexion, and almost appeared in a trance.
And then, she smiled, revealing a row of snow-white teeth.
The expression was odd. Picturesque. Wretched. She reminded him of the lyrics to a sad love song, words wrapped around a slow beat, clinging to a lulling rhythm. Her smile broke out from the darkness though, like a rainbow after a storm.
His body warmed at the sight.
Where did this woman come from? I don’t remember letting her in here.
Her body was encased in a long, plain black dress, the fabric clinging to curves and lengthy limbs. She nervously swung one of her crossed legs back and forth, her feet clad in white sneakers. Perhaps she’d just gotten off from working somewhere and wanted to kick up her feet for a bit. She appeared to be alone. No one was engaging in conversation with her, and she was singularly focused on her drink. It didn’t seem that she was familiar with the two men chatting to her right, nor the lady on the other side of her who was texting on her phone. This woman with the expressive warm eyes was by herself.
This wasn’t exceptionally strange. Sometimes people arrived solo, possibly after a bad date, or it could be, their friends decided to leave early. But something about her made him want to draw closer, see her from a better vantage point. Something about the way her body bowed forward, and the way her hand gripped the stem of the glass… reminded him of something familiar. When he was about four feet away, he couldn’t believe his eyes. Had his intuition been right? No, it couldn’t be her…
He leaned against the bar and stared at her for a few seconds. Same features…
“…Nadia?”
“Yeah? Who wants to know?” The woman slowly looked up from her wine glass, and their eyes locked like the intertwined fingers of lovers.
She cocked her head to the side, and her lips pursed as if to say, ‘Not another shitty man trying to hit on me.’ And then, her eyes widened, and her full lips parted.
“Ain’t no way… Oh my God!” She cackled. The wrinkles in her forehead smoothed right before his eyes. “Lennox? Is that really you?”
“Yeah, it’s me. Damn, it’s been a long time, lady! Come ’ere.” Without a moment of hesitation, he wrapped his arms around her and squeezed tight. Her strong yet lovely perfume filled his nostrils, and the sweet scent of her hair as it brushed against his nose and lips put him in mind of strawberries and cream. They slowly pulled away from one another, and silence ensued. In this noisy place, for just a second, a mere wink of time, there was nothing but the two of them.
“I thought you lived in Atlanta now. What brings you back here?” he said after clearing his throat.
“Atlanta. Atlanta. Atlanta.” She rolled her eyes and slumped back down onto the barstool. “Nah, that place didn’t work out.” She turned away and took a sip of her wine.
“I see. Well, so, uh, how long have you been back?”
“’Bout a year. Hey, have you talked to Abby or Marchella?”
“Names that are blasts from the past.” He gleamed. “Nah, not since I stopped working in Greater Heights. They got jobs over in that same area after the Red Rooster shut down.”
She nodded in understanding.
“You look good.” He raked her with a slow gaze.
“So do you.”
He focused on her lips.
“You work here?” she asked.
“Yeah. Bouncer. I have a few jobs, actually. Personal trainer, fitness instructor at the gym, amongst other things.”
“You always did have a bunch of jobs. You’re like a Jamaican,” she teased, making him laugh. “One time I think you had, like, four jobs. Always had a strong work ethic.”
He looked at her fingers, noticing there was no ring, much to his happiness .
She’s been here a whole fucking year and didn’t bother to try ’nd look me up? Weird.
“I’m on the clock, so I’m not going to keep you.” He glanced at his watch. “Let’s catch up. Exchange numbers. Is that cool with you?” He pulled out his phone from his pocket.
“Okay, yeah, that’s fine.”
So exchange numbers they did. Before he left, he leaned close to her ear.
“You’re even more beautiful than when I last saw you all those years ago. I’ll be in touch.” With that, he waved goodbye…
…The next day
Nadia lay in her bed, the sound of Jack Harlow’s, ‘Lovin’ On Me’ serenading her as she clutched an old Polaroid photo of her and Lennox. It was yellowed around the edges, and a red scratch was etched along the top. There the two of them stood, arms crossed in B-Boy stances with silly expressions on their faces. She wasn’t sure of the occasion, her memory shorted out regarding that detail, but she remembered distinctly how she’d felt when the photo was taken. Happiness. Elation. A sense of safety. Perhaps the picture depicted just another day in their life and not a special occasion.
Right then, her stomach rumbled. She tossed the photo to the side and her mouth watered as ancient memories emerged and flooded her heart. Bacon and egg sandwiches reminded her of him—with salsa on the side.
That’s what Lennox would offer her, along with a fresh cup of coffee when they worked at the restaurant together so long ago. They’d come in early, before everyone else. The first time it happened, she thought she was alone, and she cried. He didn’t ask her what was wrong when he discovered her in the back pantry crouched down next to the large bags of flour. Instead, he reached past her, as if he didn’t see her, and grabbed a big container of onion powder. As he walked out, he turned around and told her to come eat ’fore George, the shift manager, got in. She got to her feet and watched as the sizzle of the griddles merged with the music from a jukebox. She kept her eyes trained on this big young man wearing a grease-stained apron as he fixed her breakfast.
And that’s how they continued, day after day. She’d check inventory in the mornings, making sure they had enough grits and sliced lemons, and then set up the tables for customers. Salt and pepper shakers. Tabasco sauce. Before the sun rose and The Red Rooster was officially open for business, he’d pack her a little bag to take home. Bacon or sausage sandwiches on a fluffy, buttery biscuit with packs of strawberry jam. Sometimes he’d add an apple or banana, too.
He was one of three cooks at the Red Rooster, a decent chef but an even better friend. As time wore on, she found herself pouring all of her troubles at his feet. Lennox had that way about him. He was easy to talk to—maybe even too easy. He’d listen to her intently, then give her great advice and pep talks. Like a psychologist she didn’t have to pay.
She’d learned a few things about him, too. Such as the fact that he was close to his mother, but didn’t trust his father. He was protective of his sister. She realized soon after they’d begun confiding in one another that he was a gym rat but loved to stuff his face, too, and had a weakness for apple cobbler. She baked the best one he’d ever had. Or at least that’s what he said.
He enjoyed reading travel brochures and planning trips, but what always struck her as peculiar was how down to earth and humble he was. Fact was, Lennox was an attractive man. Extremely attractive. Guys like him typically were full of themselves, at least in her experience. She’d had her share of handsome boys, and rarely did they come across as modest.
More strikingly, there was an intensity about his electric gray gaze, although not alarmingly so. Lennox radiated an invisible golden light one couldn’t see but feel. Even the way he looked at a person when just walking past would make them turn to putty. He had thick eyebrows, broad shoulders, and an impressive height. He was muscular. Naturally tan. Gorgeous ebony hair covered his head, tapered on the sides and at the nape. When she saw him last night at the club, he had a beard, which made him look more mature. When they were younger, he was clean shaven and had a cleft chin.
She used to tease him about the vein that ran in the middle of his forehead, which pulsed when he was laughing, or his temper flared. Lennox didn’t seem to notice how many women’s heads he turned. How ladies flocked to him, attracted to all of his brawn and God-given swag. He wasn’t a player. Or at least, he never presented himself as such.
They’d had many candid conversations over the two years they’d worked together at The Red Rooster. Sometimes he’d drive her home when her car was acting up. Sometimes she’d bring him medicine when he was fighting a cold and refused to take proper care of himself. She opened up to him in ways she never imagined she would, and to her knowledge, he’d never told a soul her secrets. There was no gossip spreading around town about her on account of her confiding in him, and she kept his personal information close to her heart, too. Things he told her before she left for Georgia. Things that stuck to her heart like glue.
They just got each other. What was understood didn’t need to be explained. He had a wisdom about him, and when she found out the fucker was wealthy but working in dives and holes in the wall, she angrily confronted him. Yet, instead of being pissed off that she could blow his cover, he simply said, “Nadia, not all money is good money. Little boys run to shiny things. I run to what’s real… I’m a man. A REAL man. Shiny shit don’t impress me.” And that was that. Rufus’ (Chaka Khan) sang, ‘Stay,’ on her favorite oldies playlist, coloring her memories in sepia and honey love.
Her phone suddenly shrilled, the old-fashioned ringtone snatching her away from her thoughts. She answered it without even looking at the I.D.
“Hello?”
“Nadia, good mornin’. It’s Lennox. I hope you’re fully awake and sober because we need to talk…”
Lennox’s mind wandered as he waited for his special guest. That day at Grandpa’s had been far from a friendly visit, and it didn’t take long for old man Longhorn to get revenge for what he perceived as disrespect from his seven disobedient grandsons. Each of them was sent a warning of sorts… Country Mafia style. Grandpa didn’t take too kindly to the laughter, interruptions, and questioning of his authority. Perhaps it was bad enough that they’d already told him by their actions to take that job and shove it where the sun doesn’t shine.
Lennox got in trouble with the old man, too. All because he had decided to stick up for his mother, and would do it again if necessary. That put him on the target list right along with the rest of his cousins. He’d gone into work at the gym that week and been notified that a man had robbed the register. That within itself was bad enough, but the guy dropped something on his way out: Lennox’s I.D. How in the hell did that show up? He figured Jasper had probably taken it during one of the pat downs. Grandpa was always thinking ahead…
The fuzzy cameras at the gym only showed a hooded guy about his same build, and sure as shit, his license was missing. Thankfully, Viola, one of the clerks, vouched for him stating that she’d just spoken to Lennox, and saw him with her own eyes as they FaceTimed. He’d been in a bookstore about thirty minutes away, picking up some materials for a client. She knew exactly where the bookstore was, for she frequented it often, and could see the books in the background during their video conversation.
There was no way he could have gotten to the gym that fast unless he was a cheetah. His other cousins had also received “special treats” from Grandpa. Some were mailed rather disgusting materials along with a threat, while others had been impersonated making obscene phone calls and what not to important folks. Not all of them had proof to exonerate themselves, or were believed. The damage was done. To ensure that they knew the old fucker was behind it, soon thereafter, a text message appeared on all of their phones from an unknown number that simply stated: KEEP FUCKING AROUND AND FINDING OUT.
You just don’t talk to Grandpa any ol’ kinda way, and that was that. To Grandpa, blood was thicker than water, even if that blood was black as coal, and poisonous as a venomous snake. Grandpa made the tricks, but he was far from a kid. If you listened to grandpa well, and paid close attention, in many ways he was rather predictable. He knew before he left that they were all up shit’s creek. Lennox thought it awfully odd that the old man barely flinched while his cousins berated him. Grandpa had sat there during that meeting cold as ice. Unfazed. That wasn’t Grandpa’s nature at all. He was typically jovial and psychopathic. A true blue nutjob with a constant axe to grind. He knew the man had to be up to something because he’d killed men for lesser offenses, and though family was important to his grandfather for all of the wrong reasons, he was rumored to have “removed” a few relatives, too.
Lennox knew right then and there that he was correct about all of his suspicions. He’d been watching Grandpa closely during that entire meeting, and figured something was going to happen. He could smell it on the geezer. Grandpa had been collecting evidence of all of their misdeeds like stamps, while planning to return that shit to ‘sender.’ Sure enough, he made the punishment match the crime. At least in his own mind. Lennox’s transgression had been pretty low key, so his punishment wasn’t as extreme. No life taken. There would be a special gift, so to speak, for dear ol’ Kage though—the one who’d spoken his mind and given it to Grandpa with no Vaseline. He had to be at the top of the old man’s hitlist. Kage, the wily wolf that he was, had crossed the bull’s line, and boy did he pay the price. In fact, all of their surprises from Grandpa paled in comparison and were walks in the park compared to the specially crafted retribution for Kage.
Kage let everyone know, from the comfort of his hospital room, that some motherfucker had set his garage on fire, blowing it up like a grenade had been thrown inside. The fire quickly spread, but most of the house was salvaged. A clear ominous cautioning. He’d endured smoke inhalation and some nasty scratches from flying glass and debris yet got out in the nick of time, luckily otherwise unscathed. The icing on the cake was, he was then chased into the woods by only God knew what. Kage claimed the thing appeared fast and inhuman. Maybe a rabid dog. No one was sure if that was Grandpa’s doing, too. Hell, maybe it was a cruel joke and the old bull of a man had let loose a demented wolf to hunt his most hated grandson. Needless to say, it had been a rough night for his cousin, and Grandpa also left him a special text message which Kage thought too funny not to share:
DID YOU HUFF AND PUFF AND BLOW YOUR OWN HOUSE UP?
All of these messages disappeared somehow before anything could be done. It would have been their word against his, and besides, running to the police about a crime lord who ran Houston’s underbelly was not only a snitch move, but a useless one, too. The police knew who the hell Grandpa was, and the last cop to try and be a hero ended up with fifty-eight holes in him, stuffed in a barrel, and floating down the river. There was no one worse than Grandpa. And there was nothing worse than a vengeful, power-hungry old man who knew his way around guns, the Bible, explosives, and technology. Amen.