4. Rico
Rico
I have a minute of downtime so I catch up with my cousins in our family groupchat on Worldchat.
It’s too many of these niggas. After Fredo and my other cousin died within a month of each other, they decided to not let time zones and country borders keep us from knowing each other.
The older cousins work here at the hotel, or have settled down in the States. The young wild ones are having their way across the country, from Placencia to Belmopan to right next to us in Corozal.
Reno’s laughing at something NiNi posted when my office door bursts open.
Mars barrels in, mouth agape and frozen mid-cry. His hair is half combed as he runs to me, arms outstretched, rounding the desk to climb in my lap.
“It hurts!” he cries in Spanish. “Nan’s hurting me!”
He hiccups, still not breathing as he buries his head in my chest.
Mars is so tenderheaded. And Nan has never gave a fuck about a lil’ nigga being tenderheaded.
She shuffles into my office and points to Mars with a paddle brush.
“Stop all that crying! I need to comb your hair!” she thunders in Spanish.
“You’re hurting him,” I mutter.
She turns her heated glare to me. “You won’t let me help the girl. You won’t let me comb his hair. He cries enough! Now it’s two people in here crying, crying all the time. I give up!” She launches the brush at us before storming out.
It’s been like this for almost a month. She watches the cameras in Snow’s suite more than I do, but I’ve forbid her from interfering.
She needs to quit cold turkey.
Nan doesn’t think she’s strong enough. Before today, we only communicated through notes, with her petty ass. Messy scribbles in old cursive about how detoxing will kill her. Little snide remarks about how that must be what I want.
She’s not wrong.
Snow succumbing to her body craving that shit is way less messier than me just killing her. I can still shoot her rotting corpse with my bullet. Or maybe I can just put her out of her misery, when she finally begs for me to end it all.
So far, she just whimpers about how much she hates me and Auty.
“Mars. You know I have to finish combing your hair,” I say as softly as I can. “Or… I can just cut it off.”
He leans back, tears clinging to his lower lashes. “I don’t wanna cut it,” he murmurs low.
“Then you gotta get used to Nan, or learn to comb it yourself. If it gets matted, it will be cut.”
“Can you do it?”
It’s funny. Mars has the same medium brown eyes as everyone in our immediate family, but they do the exact opposite. They turn into molasses when he’s upset, his irises moving and erupting like lava instead of going flat like mine do.
Maybe he will break the curses that plague us. But I still think that’s too much pressure on a five year-old’s shoulders.
“Yeah,” I sigh. He clings to me as I stand, and I hoist him up when I go to grab the paddle brush.
Nan’s too old to bend over the tub like she used to, and too stubborn to use the handheld showerhead. I take Mars into his bathroom and have him lean over while I saturate his hair with water, then conditioner.
He hates getting his hair combed, and I know the only way he’ll manage is if it’s drenched.
He sniffles as he lays his head on my lap. I’m as gentle as I can be, but the conditioner helps considerably, and soon enough, his hair is detangled.
“You spoil him.”
I grunt, not acknowledging Nan at the doorway.
“Mars, go find Miele and tell her I said to give you plaits.”
He rises from his knees, his hair slick and straight and hanging in an awkward line like a cartoon character.
Before he passes Nan, he hugs her legs, letting her know he forgives her. Her hard exterior cracks as she pats his shoulder, then shoos him out of the bathroom.
“If you don’t help her tonight, I will. After I kill you.”
I heave myself up and begin to clean up the bathroom. “I die, and he is still sent away. Them niggas answer to me, Nan. Even in death.”
She bares her teeth again, but the old bat refuses to speak English.
“Why must you torment her? What has she done to you? You cannot stand him, but you’re just like–”
“Quit while you’re fucking ahead,” I seethe, dropping the brush into the sink. I meet her unflinching gaze in the mirror and nearly dent the counter with how tight I’m holding it.
She smirks back at me victoriously. It’s not often she can compare me to my sperm donor, but any time she can, she jumps on it for her own manipulative gains.
And I hate that I’m such a slave to not being like that bitch ass nigga, that I play into her hand each and every time.
I turn around and face my grandmother. “She is not Ayani. She is not Areeanna. You think these strays we pick up can be molded into the daughters you wish you had, but they can’t. That’s why Mars is growing up without his mother, or did you forget?”
Her eyes stretch with hatred, and I keep the smirk I want to show at bay.
“Snow is mine. I find out you’re anywhere near her, for any reason, and I mean it, Nan. I’m taking Mars back to Kenton, and you’ll never see him again.”
Her eyes narrow as she smiles at me. I think she’s going to call my bluff, until she just shakes her head. “Identical.”
With that, she leaves me alone.
The house is asleep by the time I make my way to Snow. The syringe is heavy in my pocket, but deep down, I know this is the right thing to do.
If only so she can be healthy when I put a bullet between her eyes.
A healthy Snow means endless possibilities of ending her. Watching her waste away isn’t as fun as I’d hoped, especially with Mars now asking questions about the wailing woman on the other side of the villa.
Punching in the code on the new lock of her wing, I enter, closing and locking both doors behind me until I’m in her room.
The padded cuffs are new.
As is the pajama set Snow is sweating through.
She’s lost even more weight, and can barely keep water down.
Her hair hasn’t grown either, probably from the stress her body is under.
Shallow breaths fill the room as the moonlight bathes her gaunt form. It smells like death in here.
Miele, another distant cousin, bathed her, changed her, and the sheets. She reported that she didn’t even need help, that the fight has left her.
Snow is dying.
I creep to the side of her bed and take out the alcohol wipe, cleansing her other arm. The track mark in the other is slow healing, but at least it’s not infected.
Her eyes flutter when I tighten my grip on her arm.
“Rico,” she whispers, her lips so chapped they’re bleeding.
I don’t answer her. My eyes stay on her arm as I take out the syringe and pop the safety cap off.
I’ve read up on ibogaine. One dose will have her fucked up for ninety-six hours. Most of them she’ll be hallucinating, going through her life and watching it unfold like a spectator as her body rewires itself.
Then, at the ninety-seventh hour, she should be whole again. Her mind should stop fighting itself, her body should stop craving all the poison she pumps into it.
The other effects are minute compared to this. The other shit she can work through, as long as she’s clean and wants to stay clean.
I push the syringe into her vein and depress the ibogaine into her system. Her breath hitches as she tries to pull away from me, but even if I weren’t holding her by the arm, she wouldn’t have been able to get far.
“Look at what you’ve done to yourself, Snow.”
Her fists ball as she tries and fails to scoot away from me. Her pupils are blown wide, but I know the drug will take about an hour to truly start working its magic.
I stand and round the bed, pulling the antique armchair up to the other side of her to sit. Her eyes can’t even track me, her head thrashing on the pillows.
“I always go back on my word for you, Snow. It’s infuriating. I told myself I wouldn’t have mercy on you, and yet here I am, helping you kick this habit you’ve formed. One I’m sure you blame me for.”
Her head turns toward the sound of my voice. She grinds her teeth, but her eyes are still unfocused, barely open.
“You listened to that bitch about how dog food is a better high than white, but I’m the reason you on it.
You hooked up with them west side niggas who needed to stay up all night, but I’m the reason you on that.
You were smoking and drinking since before we even linked up, and yet I’m to blame again.
I’m just the only villain in your story, huh Snow?
The reason for your downfall. You never could stand to see that you’re the cause of your own destruction. ”
She can’t even hear me, so it’s no use. I’ll save the rest of my spiel for when she’s lucid. When my words can cut the deepest. When I can really drive her to end it all.
And then, maybe I’ll supply her a hotshot. An ode to Set. He’ll feel it, even though he never loved her. Even if he’s happily married now, a family man who goes to church and physical therapy and is the real life Black Bruce Wayne of Kenton.
He’ll feel her death when no one is looking, since it couldn’t be a coincidence that two women in his life died the same way.
He’ll finally see how Snow’s downfall is as much on him as it is on her.
How he didn’t give a fuck until it was too late, because he didn’t learn how to see people, really see beyond himself, until he met Sabrina.
I’m not surprised, since Tiny raised him from eight. But it’s no justification. Snow had been digging deep into addiction the entire time they fucked, and he never saw it.
I should give him a hotshot, too.
But you won’t.
My eyes shift from Snow to the sliding doors. Fredo smirks at me, before dropping it when his eyes dart to Snow.
“I won’t,” I agree aloud, forever mad I made that stupid promise to him. “But I should.”
“You weren’t there,” he says, shoving his hands into his jeans. “You were in the Marines, and a lot of stuff you forgot about.”
“Oh yeah? Like what?”
He shrugs. “Set used to get sloppy, pissy drunk. Always been a lightweight. Coke helps with that.”
I chuckle. The tally between him being a ghost and my mind’s invention always tips. “You’re saying that nigga’s a powderhead?”
“I’m saying, Rick, that we were all young and dumb. Molly and X were big back then in the city, and we all dabbled–well, besides Nut and Reem. But the rest of us? Hell yeah. Remember when Haze wrote you that letter about how I passed out in the champagne room at Paradise?”
This chuckle is genuine, remembering the polaroid of Fredo with his pants down, drink in hand, used condom on the floor.
He grins harder. “We all lived a life, grinding hard and playing harder. Snow would never say what, but something happened a little after Set turned twenty-one. That’s when he cut out drinking, molly, and pork.”
“Pork?”
“I think he tripped out making bacon, brodie. That’s why he moved into that highrise. He couldn’t get the smell out his other spot he had with Ty-Ty.”
“You niggas,” I mutter, shaking my head. Everyone kept me in the loop as much as possible, but I missed so much being away. Niggas grew up, adding another quirk each time I came back home.
Turk grew locs.
Shad combed his out.
Nutty finally got with Tati.
Haze had a baby with Turk.
Reem and Ty-Ty both got serious with girls, and moving weight.
Fredo was the only one who stayed the same, but then, when he passed, I’d learned that wasn’t the case at all. He’d actually changed the most.
“You always went to bat for that nigga,” I grit, rolling my eyes. “You the reason I hate his ass now.”
“Maybe part of it,” he shrugs again. “Either way, a promise is a promise Rick.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Done with the conversation, I take out my phone. Reem emailed me the book club pick, and it’s long enough that I can watch Snow and read about niggas who are having better luck killing they enemies than I am.
Faint knocking wakes me after I dozed off.
My eyes bounce to Snow. She’s asleep, almost contorted, fists so strained her knuckles are white. She’s sweated all the way through her clothes, and I make a mental note to change her when I come back.
Closing her door behind me, I amble to the front and smile when I see Mars. His hair is in bigger plaits than I would have wanted, but I know he likes the style, with how he keeps pulling on his front braid.
“I got up early enough. Can we go to the beach?”
I look out toward the back. The sun’s just starting to peek over the horizon.
“Aight.”
Mars squeals, his feet slapping across the wood floors as I follow him outside. The back of our villa leads out straight onto the beach. Most of the time, we walk along our little strip to find a perfect place for a sandcastle.
This morning, however, Mars finds a spot a little up from where the tide comes in.
I take a seat next to him and take in the changing sky.
“You slept well?”
Mars nods, before smiling at me. “I had a dream about Mommy and Daddy. We played all day right here.”
“That sounds lit.” I try for enthusiastic, but by the way Mars narrows his eyes, I know it didn’t land.
Still, he climbs to his knees and gets sand on me when he digs his fingers into my knee. “Can you call Mommy?”
“You know it’s like four in the morning where she is, right?”
“Nuh uh, tío! ‘Member? It’s before Christmas, so it’s an hour after!”
Mars can’t even remember how to tie his shoes, but he can remember which time zone his mother was in depending on the time of year. Kids, man.
But it’s his mother, so I get it.
So I take out my phone and dial out. I know the drill, so I put it on speaker. Mars is so particular about his mother, much to Nan’s chagrin. If he doesn’t hear the line click over himself, he’ll have a tantrum when she doesn't answer.
And according to Nan, she hasn’t been answering for a while.
I should have followed through and checked on her before I came back. But as usual, Snow fucks up all my plans.
The phone rings six times before the answering machine picks up. Mars deflates, before sitting back onto his shins and digging his hands into the sand.
“She didn’t answer.”
“You know she’s busy with school, Mars. She’s gotta get all A’s so she can get into medical school in Kenton. Then you can live with her.”
That just makes a fat tear roll down his cheek. “Mommy says I can’t live with her until after she’s done with school, but Nan says Mommy won’t be done until I’m a grown up. Is that true?”
He looks at me with those big eyes and I can’t bring myself to lie to my only nephew.
“I… I can’t call it, Mars.”
His chin drops to his chest, before he collapses into the sand. He’s so dramatic, but I don’t curb it at all. His imagination is huge, probably from being so isolated, and I often wonder how that will play into what he does with his life as an adult.
“How about this: once a day, we’ll call her. Not all at the same time. That way, we’ll catch her when she’s not busy.”
“Okay, Ricky.” His voice is thick with tears and sand. I stay seated, hoping that since Fredo isn’t bothering me right now, he’s watching over his bm. Eventually, Mars gets up, and we watch the rest of the sunrise together.