Authors: Kiki Swinson
I'm Still Wifey (18 page)
“Yo, partners, I ain’t trying to be in no witness protection program.”
“I’m sorry, but it’s too late,” the passenger commented.
“That’s bullshit! It ain’t too late.”
“Yes, it is. Because once you’ve assisted an agent with a federal investigation, your life becomes a target. And when that target is compromised, then you’re put in witness protection.”
“So, you telling me that the cats I done told the Feds about is after me?”
“That’s what we were told,” the driver continued.
“But how did they know?” I said out loud but the thought was for my mind to figure out.
“Because your wife told him,” the passenger turned around and said as he pointed a 9 millimeter semi-automatic weapon in my face with a silencer attached.
And before I could say a word, he said, “Papi, sends his regards,” and pulled the trigger.
The Antidote
I took a trip just like Papi told me to. And believe you me, I had a blast. But it seemed like my seven-day trip ended very quickly, so you know I hated to come back home. Here I am at Nikki’s house, unpacking all the new shit I bought while I was away.
After everything was put away, I lay back on this guest bed I’ve been sleeping on for the last month and a half to get me some rest and here comes Nikki, running towards me with the cordless phone in her hand.
“Here, listen to this,” she insisted as she pressed the phone against my ear.
That’s when I realized that it was a voice message left by Rhonda.
“Nikki, when you get this message tell Kira to turn on her cell phone or call me back at the shop because it’s all over the news that Ricky got shot in the head by two white guys who were posed as U.S. Marshals. The police found him dead in the back of a look-a-like police car. Oh yeah, tell her that two police detectives and a FBI agent came up here to talk to her yesterday after it happened. But since she wasn’t here, they left their phone numbers for her to call them. So give her this message and tell her to call me, so I can give her their numbers. Okay. Talk to you soon,” Rhonda added and then she ended the message.
I pulled the phone away from my ear and looked directly into Nikki’s eyes. But I couldn’t say anything because my mind was still trying to absorb the fact that Ricky was now dead.
A second later, I got an odd feeling that started circulating in the pit of my stomach. I mean, could you believe it? I was beginning to feel sorry for that heartless bastard. So then I had to remind myself of all the bullshit he has ever taken me through. And that’s when I began to come back to my senses.
“So, Papi really did it, huh?” I commented in a nonchalant way. Now, I can go back home without looking over my shoulder every step I take.
“But, how?” Nikki asked, with a puzzling expression.
“You heard the message.”
“But how were those fake cops able to sign him out of jail?”
“They must’ve had the proper paperwork.”
“Damn! That’s scary shit!”
“What?”
“To know that Papi has power like that.”
“I know. And Ricky wondered why I refused to help him set Papi up. I mean, you see how easy it was to pop him. Just think how really easy it would’ve been to get me.”
“Girl, don’t even think about it. Just put all this shit behind you. ‘Cause it’s over now.”
“Yeah, I know. But remember there’s two detectives and a FBI agent that wants to talk to me.”
“Let ’em talk. I mean it ain’t like you killed him. And besides, if they want to know where you were at, just show them your flight tickets and hotel reservations from our trip.”
“Nikki, you took those words right out of my mouth,” I told her.
Then I went into strategy mode. And since I wanted to do it alone, I asked Nikki to leave me by myself for a while, because, I wanted to be ready when I finally met with these muthafuckas. And even though they can’t prove that I had something to do with his murder, I am still going to be on my toes.
***
Against Nikki’s wishes, I gathered all of my things the following morning because I was ready to go home. I was psyched to know that I was about to start my life all over again. And this time it’s going to be hassle free.
After I packed everything in the trunk of my car, I got behind the driver seat and headed on home. I accomplished this because Nikki got up and left this morning before I woke up. She said she had a breakfast date with Syncere, so she would be back in a couple of hours. And when I heard that tad bit of information, I used it to my advantage.
Now when I arrived in front of my apartment building, I hesitated before I got out of my car. I did this because I could still see a few spots of Mark’s blood dried up in the cracks of the pavement right in front of my door. Naturally I reflected back on what had happened the night of the shooting. And that’s when I broke down in tears. I know that spot right there is going to constantly remind me of that night, which was our last night together.
And what’s so crazy is that I’ve been busting my brain trying to figure out why he got killed, and if Syncere had something to do with it. I mean come on, Mark was a cool-ass nigga. And plus, I was beginning to really start loving him. But those two coward-ass niggas took him away from me. And now he’s gone forever. This will take me some time to get over. Now I know that the best thing for me to do is to move. I’ve got to. This will be the only other way I will be able to go on with my life. So I guess that’s the next step.
Game Over
Not even a second after I walked through the front door of my apartment, my cell phone started ringing. So I threw all of my things down on the floor to retrieve my phone from my handbag.
“Hello,” I said.
“Hey, where you at?” Nikki asked me.
“At home. Why?” I replied and then I took a seat on my living room sofa.
“I’m on my way over there.”
“Why? What’s wrong?”
“Syncere did it.”
“Did what?”
“I just found he’s involved with Mark getting killed.”
“How did you find that out?”
“Because when he was in the shower this morning, I went through his Sidekick to see if he had any text messages from any chicks, and that’s when I ran across an old message he had received the same night you and Mark got shot.”
“What did the text message say?” I asked as my heart sunk into the pit of my stomach.
“It said, ‘Squad leader was with his broad, so we had to plug both of them. We got his heat, jewels and his dough, so holla at me when you want me to make the drop off.’”
“Oh, my God!” I said out loud. “We gotta call the police.”
“I know, but what are we going to tell ’em?”
“We gon’ tell them that, that muthafucka’ had my man killed,” I screamed at the top of my lungs.
“But, we have no proof.”
“Where’s his Sidekick?”
“He has it.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter,’ cause I’ma call the police anyway. Ain’t no way I’m gon’ let that bastard walk the streets as a free man after today.”
“Will you wait until I get there?”
“You better hurry up.”
“I am. So give me about thirty minutes. ‘Cause I’m way out here in Newport News.”
“Well, I’m going to jump in the shower, so you better come on.”
“Okay,” she replied and then we both hung up.
Here I am pissed off once again, but hurt more or less about knowing Syncere is the one who had Mark killed. So what am I going to do? How are we going to prove the allegations? We have no murder weapon nor a motive, as the police would say. Our best bet is to get that T-Mobile away from him, which will be very hard to do. But I’ll figure something out. I owe him at least that.
Anyway I got undressed and hopped in the shower because my body needed it badly. The hot water piercing the tender parts of my muscles felt great, so I took my time and bathed every inch of my body.
Now when I was done, I turned off the water and flung back the shower curtain. And there standing before me was a man pointing his gun directly at me. I wanted to scream.
But before I could let out a single cry, he said, “I’m warning you, don’t scream!”
“Okay,” I said with my hands partially covering my mouth.
“Here, take this,” the guy told me as he handed me a newspaper clipping.
So, I reached for it and grabbed it like he instructed me to. And that’s when he said, “Papi wanted me to give you that. So, you can see that he took care of Russ, too.”
Hearing this man tell me that this article was about Russ made me want to read it. And there it was, typed in black on the Washington Post’s Metro section, about an execution style murder of a Russell Hastings, who was found in his bed at one o’clock in the morning, shot in the head three times. Police have no suspects at this time.
“This is Russ?” I asked the guy.
“Yes. That’s him.”
“So, can I ask you why you got that gun pointed at me?
“Because, my job is not finished.”
“What do you mean?” I began to stutter, trying to figure out what was this man talking about.
“I heard you talking on the phone about calling the police. And that’s not good.”
“But it was for something else,” I began to plead.
“I heard you. And you were talking about your husband’s murder.”
“No. I wasn’t. I swear.”
“Now, why are you lying to me? When I already heard everything you said.”
“Listen, it’s not what you think. I promise you that I wasn’t talking about my husband’s murder. I could care less about that muthafucka.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter anyway. Because you took money from Papi.”
“But I didn’t ask for it. He just gave it to me.”
“But you took it. And when you did that, that let him know that you’re weak and you can be bought at any price. So now you got to go, too.”
“But wait!” I screamed, because I wanted to explain myself. But it was too late. He had already pulled the trigger. That meant that my life as we know it was running on empty as my soul began to emerge from my body.
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