Kiss the Ring (9 page)

She looked up and down the nearly deserted street for oncoming traffic before she crossed.

From the looks of L&B's you would think it was closed
and deserted. On both sides of the entire block there was nothing but empty lots where houses and apartment buildings once stood. The diner sat in the middle of the block and nothing but a few cars was parked outside of it. It was in bad need of a good pressure wash and a paint job. The windows were covered by bars, and old weathered graffiti, probably dating back to the eighties or nineties, covered the broken stucco.

It looked like the perfect spot to get got. No witnesses. Nowhere to run and hide. A straight-up jack spot.

She paused on the street to see if she could spot the three-bedroom apartment building where Red and Vivica stayed. She doubted that she could, since it was a block over, but she checked anyway. She wanted to get in and get out before Vivica's noncooking ass showed up. Naeema called her phone to see where she was and got no answer.

As she stepped closer to the diner she could smell the grease frying everything from eggs to chicken wings. She couldn't front that her stomach liked it and grumbled away in hunger.

The front door opened and a tiny dude with a short 'fro held the door open for her. “Thank you,” she said, smelling the scent of weed and the diner's scent of greasy food heavy around him.

“No problem, ma.”

The inside was not a mismatch with the exterior. It was small with a long counter and just four booths near the front door. There was barely room for two people to walk down the length of the diner at the same time. The walls were filled with cards showing the different meals offered and they looked like they hadn't been updated since the eighties
or nineties either. She did appreciate that the air was blowing like crazy and the cool restaurant was a welcome from the heat outside.

The truth was, Naeema had seen and eaten at a lot worse. Sometimes it was these little dives that had the best food. As she took a seat at the counter she brushed back her black Chinese bob wig and eyed the older woman flipping burgers on the grill with one hand, the other on her hip. “What can I get you?” she asked, looking briefly over at Naeema.

“A cheeseburger combo to go, and I was looking for Brianna,” she said, turning when she felt something brush against her ass.

It was just the bag of a woman making her way out the diner.

“I'm Dianna,” the cook said. “Who you?”

“Monifa,” she lied, as she took in the woman who had to be thick into her forties or even fifties.

I know damn well Brandon was not choppin' down this old lady.

“A friend of mine, Ms. JuJu, raised this boy named Brandon that got killed—”

The woman's face changed. “Oh, I thought you said
Dianna
,” she said with emphasis. “Brianna is my granddaughter.”

Thank God.

Naeema felt her body relax. She was glad she didn't have to whup this old lady's ass for molesting her son. And she meant straight fuck her up for all eternity.

“What you want with her?” Dianna asked, sounding suspicious as she slid burgers onto buns sitting on plates, like she'd been doing it for years.

“Ms. JuJu found a girl's ring in his stuff and wanted to
get it back to Brianna if it was hers,” Naeema said smooth as hell, using the lie she had benched and ready. To top it off, she pulled out a fake gold ring she'd bought at the dollar store.

“Brianna went downtown. You can leave it with me,” she said, turning away to set the plates in front of two elderly men sitting at the end of the counter.

“Okay,” Naeema said, even as her mind worked double time for a backup plan she didn't have.
Shit
. “Thank you.”

Dianna came over to lean her short and square figure against the counter as she held her hand out. “Damn shame how he died,” she said.

Naeema handed her the ring. “I'm just in town for the week and Ms. JuJu don't really talk about it. What happened?” she asked, sounding curious.

The bell over the door rang.

“It's hot out there.”

Dianna looked past Naeema and smiled. “I told you to wait 'til that sun went down to go out in that heat.”

Naeema's pulse raced. She swirled on the stool and looked at a tall, slender teenage girl with a curly weave walking toward them carrying a Payless plastic shopping bag. She had that pretty and perfect dark complexion and wide bright eyes with deep dimples.

Naeema saw a brief image of her son and Brianna sitting at one of the booths across from each other, smiling and flirting and not noticing anything around them as they got caught up in each other the way teenagers did when they were crushing on someone hard.

“Here, give it to her yourself.”

Naeema turned and looked down as the ring was pushed
back into her hand. “Thanks,” she said softly, not sure why she felt all discombobulated and shit.

“We was just talking about Brandon,” Dianna said before she turned to go handle her grill.

Naeema was watching the teenager and she saw the pain flash across her face. The dimples flattened and her eyes got sad. His death was still messing with her.

“You knew Brandon?” she asked, her eyes stopping at different points on Naeema's body.

Her face.

Her body in the strapless peach sundress she wore.

Her nails.

Even the sandals showcasing the French pedicure on her feet.

Naeema knew she looked much younger than her twenty-nine years. She'd heard every age from twenty to twenty-four but never a number close to thirty, and she definitely looked young enough for Brianna to get jealous that
she
was one of Brandon's chicks.

If only you knew, little girl . . .

Knowing the ring would piss her off, Naeema slid it back into her bag and stood up to step closer to her. “I'm a friend of Ms. JuJu and I was at her house and she wondered how you was dealing with everything.”

“Ms. JuJu? Who dat?” Brianna asked, her thin face showing every bit of her confusion.

Shit. Naeema was confused as shit herself. Maybe her and Brandon wasn't that close?

“That's the lady that raised Brandon,” she explained. “He must've been so caught up in you because he told her all about you.”

Lies was slipping from her lips like breaths of air. Just easy. Too easy.

But very necessary.

Brianna's face softened as her dimples reappeared with a smile. “I really liked him,” she said, sitting her bag on a table before she slid into one of the booth seats.

Prayers up that her grandmother too busy on that grill to stroll her ass over here and sit down . . .

“I didn't get to meet him but Ms. JuJu talks about him a lot,” Naeema lied. She hadn't seen or spoken to the woman since she'd learned of Brandon's death. Naeema couldn't face the one person who knew she turned her back on her own son.

“He was real cool. Real laid back . . . but not no punk,” she said, twisting one of her tight curls around her slender index finger. “I was a junior and he was just a freshman but he was cocky enough to holler at me in front of all my friends one day in the caf. Plus he was
too
cute.”

Was.

“I was talking to this other kid named Rico and he felt like Brandon dissed him and all of that drama.” Brianna reached across the table and lightly touched Naeema's hand like they were hangout partners. “Brandon whupped that ass. In front of the whole school too.”

Naeema's heart skipped a beat. Maybe two.

Rico? Another damn lead the police missed?

“Rico Lopez? I think I know his mother,” she lied.

Brianna shook her head. “Oh no, this Rico is black. Rico Anderson.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“And
then
somebody put that shit online. YouTube.
WorldStar. Facebook. Twitter. Instagram. Umph-umph-umph. Whoo, that ish was wild.” Brianna shook her head. “For a hot second I felt bad for Rico but yo, if you start sum'n there gon' be sum'n so be ready or don't even start it, you know?”

“Shit, I woulda dropped out after that,” Naeema said.

“Me too. But he didn't. Matter fact . . . Brandon the one that dropped out,” she said.

Naeema's heart pounded hard as another new fact was dropped in her lap. Something else for her to feel guilty about. She knew more about her son in death than she had when he was alive. “Maybe Rico scared him or something.”

Brianna shook her head. “Nah, that was because of his guidance counselor.”

Naeema stayed quiet.

Brianna played with one of her curls again. “He didn't like how Mr. Warren stepped to him one day after school in detention. He really liked Mr. Warren too. He trusted him. That's why it fucked with him. I told him to report his perverted ass but . . .”

Naeema couldn't hide her frown. Another blow. Another missed opportunity to protect her son.

Brianna just shrugged her shoulders as her face filled with sadness again. “I'm glad you told me he talked about me to the lady because we had just really started talking,” she said, her voice soft as her big eyes filled with tears. “It's fucked up. He was so cool and funny and smart. It's just fucked up. Right?”

“It's real fucked up,” Naeema said, blinking to keep from joining her in showing her sorrow. “You think Rico had something to do with it?”

“Nah. He got locked up for a stolen car in March. I don't even know if he out yet.”

Another dead end?

Brianna stood up and grabbed her bag, using her free hand to swipe away her tears. “Tell that lady I'm sorry I missed the funeral. I just couldn't see him like that. You know?”

Naeema knew all too well. She hadn't been at the service either. “I'll tell her.”

“Poor thing stayed in bed crying, her eyes puffy and red for a week after,” her grandmother said, walking up to hand Naeema a bag with grease already seeping through at the corner.

Standing up, Naeema pressed a ten-dollar bill into her hand. “I better get going,” she said, feeling far too many emotions swirling around her like a hurricane.

She needed a fucking moment. Or two.

“What's your name?” Brianna called behind her.

Naeema had just opened the door and sounded the bell. She turned.

I'm Naeema, Brandon's mother.

She opened her mouth wanting to speak the truth but instead she said, “Monifa. I'm Monifa.”

She was just about to leave the restaurant when she turned and came back in. Brianna looked up in surprise. “I'm glad Brandon had you in his life. Even if for a little while, Brianna,” Naeema said truthfully before she turned and hauled ass again, hurrying to climb into the back of the cab.

“Where to now?” Crabby Cabbie asked.

“Just drive off,” she said, closing her eyes as she let her head fall back against the headrest.

“I need somewhere to drive off to.”

She was ready to straight cuss him out until he sat down and had a long talk with himself to reevaluate every bit of his life. “Broad and Market,” she snapped.

Just in case a trail led back to her coming to that diner, Naeema didn't want them to be able to call the cab company and trace the cab back to her and where she lived. These days her life was all about “just in case” and trying to think three steps ahead of every fucking decision. On guard. Making moves. Telling lies. Playing fucking I Spy With My Little Eye and shit.

I don't have a choice.

Naeema refused to turn her back on her son again.

• • •

The next night Naeema sat in the glass shelter of a bus stop across from O'Malleys Bar in Hoboken. Her eyes were trained on the large wooden front door with its black metal latches. The number 40 bus came and went. The door opened and two white men with medium-length brown hair exited. She squinted her eyes as she peered at their faces and then swiped her thumb across her touch screen to double check the photo she saved to her phone.

Not him.

The door opened three more times and each time she did her check.

Squint. Swipe.

She would go inside if she didn't think she would stick out like she wore a sign that stated the obvious: Lone Negro in the Building. Hoboken was miles away from Newark, and in terms of differences between the two, the distance might as well have been a million miles.

The door opened again.

Squint. Swipe.

She sat up straighter.

Bingo, motherfucker. B-I-N-G-O.

Naeema kept her eyes locked on the man as he walked down the street and turned the corner. She was already up on her sneaker-covered feet and crossing the street on his heels. She was nervous. She was unsure. She even thought she was going slightly crazy. But more than that, she was pissed the fuck off. Pissed always trumped every other emotion.

He removed keys from his pocket and unlocked the doors to a bright blue smart car.

Fucking figures. The perfect car for this clown-ass fool.

“Mr. Warren,” she called out.

He turned and his face became puzzled.

The wide-leg stride that brought her so close to him paused at a vision of him standing over Brandon in a small office with his hand reaching down between her son's thighs.

“Can I help you?” he asked, his keys readied in his hand.

“No, but you can stop helping yourself to little boys at the school where you work,” she said.

Blue eyes shifted to the left and right real quick. “Excuse me,” he said, sounding offended.

Like I give a fuck.

Naeema came to stand before him. They were the same height and she was able to look him directly in the eye beneath the glow of the streetlamp. “You wanna play with dicks and balls, bitch, find you a grown-ass man. West Side High ain't your motherfuckin' playground.”