Love Trumps Game (9 page)

“If Topps is tracking my every move like you say, how the hell can you be sure he don't know that we're here now?”

“You thinking smart. I like that. But check this, when you hit me up on my cell, my boy and I was kicking it at his place after I dropped off his money.”

“You sure?”

“Nee, you think I'd be here with you if I wasn't sure?”

She found some comfort in his words. “Well, I'm out.” Neema grabbed up her gear, walked over and gave Slick a quick peck on the lips. “You a good friend, Slick.”

“I know.” He kissed her forehead. “Oh yeah, shortie, before I forget.” He picked up his jacket, reached into a side pocket and pulled out a banded wad of one hundred-dollar bills. “A little somethin' to sweeten yo' day.”

“Good looking out. Thanks.”

“You welcome,” he said, patting that ass as she turned and headed out.

Neema stuck the money in her tote without another thought and headed to her SUV. She got in, started her engine and waited a minute before pulling off to finally get her kids from her mother's house. Too engrossed in her thoughts of how her mother would act once she arrived, she didn't notice the black panel van parked across the street from the motel.

Inside the van, the blue-eyed private detective had taken three pictures of Neema: exiting the motel, opening her car door and getting in.

“Looks like a done deal,” he mumbled lowly to himself, then
sat back and waited for her male companion to exit the same motel room. He didn't have to wait long for Slick.

His client had paid him good for his service. More than any other client he'd dealt with.
Click. Click. Click
. “Look this way and smile for the camera.” Two more clicks. “That's a good boy.” He smiled.

“Topps did what?!”

“He picked the kids up.”

“Mama, why would you do that?!”

Hattie Mae felt flustered. Plus, she didn't like the way Neema was talking to her. Hell, she was practically yelling at her. To keep from saying something to hurt the girl's feelings, she got up from her La-Z-Boy and went into her kitchen to turn on the oven. No doubt it was too late to be baking, but she'd promised to bake three cakes for her church's fundraiser on Tuesday. Now was a good time to get started. It was bad enough that she'd almost been carted off to jail earlier with Raynita trying to steal from Walmart. Then Topps had shown up asking for the kids, and now this.

“First of all, you need to lower your voice. I don't like no yelling in my house, Neema Jean.”

“Mama, I'm not yelling, I'm just trying to figure out why you gave my kids to Topps.”

Hattie shook her head. “Could it be because he's their father?”

“But Mama, you knew I was coming to get the kids. Didn't he tell you that earlier?”

“I told you, Neema, he popped up at my door, said you had a migraine and that you sent him to pick up the kids. And they wanted to go with their father.” Hattie poured sugar into softened butter and turned her stand mixer on low. “Them kids missed a
whole week of school fooling with you. Don't make no sense. It was time for 'em to get back home.”

“Well, in case you don't know, my kids make good grades. Missing one week won't hurt 'em. B'sides, school will be out next week. End-of-the-year testing is done with.”

“Not the point, Neema.” Hattie shook her head. Neema always had an answer for everything. “Dumping those kids off the way you did, you didn't even consider if I had doctor appointments or anything. You can't be selfish all your life, Neema. You're a parent now. You have responsibilities.”

Neema turned her back so she could roll her eyes. “I said I'm sorry, Mama. Dang. I wouldn't have left Nita and Brandon like that if you had said yes to watch 'em for a few hours. I get tired, too. Sometimes I need a break.”

“Humph,” Hattie snorted back, unconvinced. She needed to vent and Neema wasn't getting off that easy. “Didn't even call to check up on 'em the whole time. What kind of caring mother does that, Neema? You tell me that.” She turned her mixer off and picked up one of four eggs and cracked it. “Not enough clothes or underwear. No extra food for 'em. Nothing.”

“It won't happen again, Mama. I'm sorry you don't enjoy spending quality time with your own grandchildren. Most grandmothers do.” Neema knew she had it coming. Though her mother wasn't the high-energy woman she used to be, she still enjoyed her church functions, Monday night bingo and shopping trips to the mall. Dragging two kids along had to be hard on her. “Maybe you don't love my kids like you love Myra's.”

“Oh hell no, you didn't!” Hattie shot a hot glare at her. “Don't you dare use that psychobabble with me, Miss Thang! I love all five of my grandkids the same, but when I spend quality time, it should be when I choose to do so—not because they mama ran
off from 'em.” She snatched up a second egg and felt like throwing it at Neema. “Got some nerve saying that mess to me.”

“Okay. Okay. You're upset about it. I get it, but I didn't run off, Mama. I took a break.” Neema had been standing at the kitchen door with her arms folded over her chest for the last five minutes while her mother fussed up a storm, but she'd had her fill. “I had an important appointment. Three hours of your time; that's all I wanted from you.”

“Then how does a few hours turn into eight days, Neema? Explain that! Then you have the nerve to come up in here questioning me on why I let Topps take 'em? Like I want that man coming to my house. I can't stand his behind and you need to get the hell outta here with that mess!” Hattie could feel her heart rate speed up. Of her two daughters, why was it that Neema could always bring out the worst in her?

“Well, I'm back now, Mama, so get over it.” Boldly, Neema trudged over to a chair and plopped down. She looked around and blew out a deep breath. She had more important things to worry about, like how to save her own life, and how to get her mother to move away from Compton.
Here goes
, she thought. “This house is paid for, right?” She placed her tote bag on the table.

Hattie looked over at her like she was crazy. “Thank God. Don't owe one cent.” Maybe a change of topic was for the best.

“You know you could probably get a good grip for this house. Maybe enough to move and pay cash for a brand-new house.”

Hattie didn't look up from adding flour into her mixer. “If I was thinking about selling, I guess I could.”

“Maybe you need to think about it, Mama. I mean, couldn't you stand a change of scenery? We both could leave California together.”

“Why would I want to move away now, Neema?” Hattie gave her a curious look. One thing about her youngest daughter, the girl was full of surprises and there was never a dull moment. Something was always going on with Neema. The soft purr of the mixer filled the room. “Why, what's wrong?”

“Nothing, Mama. Dang. You so suspicious. I'm just thinking out the box. You know, thinking about the future and what's best for the kids.”

Batter done, Hattie clicked the mixer off. “What's best for the kids, huh?”

“Never mind, Mama. I gotta go.” Neema stood, fumbled through her bag and pulled out the wad of money Slick had given her. One hundred, two hundred, three, four, five hundred. She laid the crisp bills on the table. “This should be enough to cover the kids' expense. I'll be talking with Nita about that little stunt she pulled at Walmart. You won't have to worry about seeing the kids for a while.”

“If that's drug money from Topps, I don't want it.” Hattie found her little performance amusing at times. Neema had been a drama queen since she learned to talk. She simply didn't get it. Doing what she wanted, when she wanted. Always thinking about herself and treating others with little respect or with no regard for good morals. Neema being Neema.

“I swear, it's not Topps' money.” Well, it wasn't, it was Slick's money.

“You don't work, so where did the money come from?” She resisted the urge to ask about the new furniture the kids had informed her about.

“Mama, I earned it. Okay? Dang. You always drilling in my business.”

Hattie turned her attention back to her cake batter. “Somebody need to be in it.”

Neema shoulder-strapped her bag. “So how long ago did Topps come for the kids?”

“About an hour ago.”

She had been getting her nut busted about then. The delicious thought tingled between her legs. “Did he seem upset?”

“No, Neema. He didn't. Should he be?”

“No. I mean, not really. I'm just asking, Mama. Jeepers.” She watched her mother pour batter into a Bundt pan. “Next time, Mama, please check with me before you hand my kids over to someone else.”

“And next time, you need to leave a damn contact number so someone can check with you about your kids. Hell, if you don't trust Topps to pick up his own kids, you should have said so before you abandoned them.”

“Mama, I didn't abandon…never mind. I have to go.” Neema tossed the bills on the table and headed out.

“Let me say this before you leave.” Hattie closed her oven door and dried her hand on a towel. “I'm praying for you, Neema. Praying that you come to your senses, find a good man, get married and get back in school. You have a smart head on you, so use it.”

“Topps is a good man, Mama, and college wasn't for me.” She wished her mother would stop throwing college up in her face. Right out of high school, Neema had thought she wanted to be a registered nurse. But wanting to be one and sticking out two to three years to make it happen was easier said than done. She gave the nursing program a good five months before realizing that running product for Topps paid a hell of a lot more than sticking needles in the asses of sick people. “He wants to marry me.”

“He's a ‘good man?' Is that why you here interrogating me about why I let him take his own kids, cause he's a ‘good man?'Neema, all I'm saying is that this fast living is going to catch up with you. That's why I keep praying.”

“You praying?” A sneer found her face, and Neema folded her arms across her chest. “Well, while you at it, Mama, maybe you can ask God why He never answered none of my prayers when I was younger. I used to pray, too. Prayed for Daddy to stop being so mean and stop hitting you. Prayed for Daddy to stop drinking so much. Where was God then?”

“And you say that to say what, Neema?”

“That God don't give a shit about me, Mama. And you either. That's what I'm saying.”

“Neema, you be careful what you say.”

“I'm talking truth. As far as I'm concerned, there ain't no God!”

“Neema!”

“That's how I feel, Mama. You need to hear the truth. All prayer don't work.”

“That's not what His word says.”

“The Bible? Get real. It's a book written by some stupid white men to keep stupid black people in control. That's what the Bible is, Mama. And that's the truth.”

Hattie's mouth sagged open. For a second or two, the room felt like it was spinning and she would surely pass out.

“See? I knew you couldn't handle the truth.” Neema waited for Hattie's rebuttal but none came. “Got it? Good! I'm out. Thanks for watching my kids for me.”

F
orty-five minutes later, Neema pulled her vehicle into Topps' driveway. She cut the engine and sat for a while, dreading to go inside. More mess was coming and she knew it. It was always that way with Topps. Questions of her whereabouts. Who did she see? What did she do? More drilling. Intimidation. Shouting. Drama. And she might have to take a wash-up, two showers and a bath before she could get some peace and quiet. She was exhausted already. How did she let her life get so out of control? All she wanted was to collect her kids and get back to her own place for a little peace of mind.

“This nigga bet not give me a hard time. I swear to God I'll drop a dime…” She got out, and made her way to the door with her keys in hand. Before she could knock, the big, wooden door swung open, swishing air around her. Topps stood in the doorway with a glass of wine in his hand.

“Yo', where you been, Nee?”

“I stopped to get something to eat.” Neema stepped in, closing the door behind her.

“You and who?”

“Me, myself, and I. Then I stopped over a girlfriend's house for a minute.”

“What girlfriend?”

“Dena. You don't know her.”

“Yeah, I bet.”

“Look, you could have called and told me that you would slide by Mama's to get the kids. I told you that's where I was headed.”

“Maybe I thought it was taking you too long.” He undid the belt to his satin smoking jacket but didn't take his eyes off her. His hard scrutiny suggested that he didn't believe her.

“Where my kids at?” Neema put her bag down.

“Your kids?”

“Our kids. Whatever. I don't feel like playing games. Give me the kids so I can go home. I'm supposed to be packing up my stuff, remember?”

“Yeah. You should be packing alright.” Topps half smirked. “That's why I got to thinking that maybe I should keep the kids here with me. You know, so they won't be in yo' way while you packing up. I called the moving company like I said. They should be there day after tomorrow.” He went back to the great room where a basketball game was playing on a fifty-inch plasma.

“Stop playing around and tell me where my kids are. And I don't appreciate you going to my mom's house and getting 'em without my permission.”

“Didn't know I needed yo' permission to get my own damn kids.”

“You've never picked them up before without letting me know what's going on. Why you doing that shit now?”

“Maybe this is the new me.” He patted his chest like some Mighty Joe Young making a point. “You better get used to it.”

“Forget you, Topps.” She pushed past him and marched down the marble hallway to one of two guest bedrooms. Inside she found Raynita down on the floor playing with some Barbie dolls while Brandon didn't bother to look up from the X-Box he was mesmerized with. “Hey guys. I'm back.”

“Mama, Mama!” Raynita squealed, jumping up for a hug.

“You miss me?”

“I sure did. What took you so long? Where have you been?”

Neema kissed her cheeks and forehead. “I'm sorry. I had some business to take care of. But it won't happen again. Did you have fun at your nanny's house?”

“Nita got caught stealing,” Brandon casually announced. His attention stayed on the game.

Neema's shoulders slumped. “Yeah. I heard. But that's not going to happen again. Right, Nita?”

“Brandon stole somethin', too,” Nita said, frowning over at her brother. “…but he didn't get caught.”

“Alright now, what I tell y'all 'bout that telling just to be telling?”

“Snitches can't stop telling.” Brandon made a face at his sister.

“Yeah, well, like I said, it's not going to happen again. You two know how I feel about stealing.” Neema felt like a hypocrite. Her vice of stealing from Topps was one thing. It was part of survival. Still, she constantly tried to instill in her kids about right and wrong. Despite her own shortcomings, she had higher expectations for Raynita and Brandon. Her kids would grow into college-educated adults with good moral judgment, even if it killed her. “Can't have that going on with you two, but we'll talk about it again later.”

“We going home now?” Raynita wanted to know. “I wanna go home.”

“Maybe. And what about you, Brandon? No hug for your mama?”

Brandon managed to pull himself away from his video game, jumped up and hugged her. “Take Nita home and I can stay here with Daddy.”

“I don't think…what's that on the side of your ear?” In disbelief Neema pulled a thin-wrapped reefer joint out from its tuck. “Who the hell gave this to you?” She knew the culprit already.

“Daddy.”

Brandon had shrugged and said it so casually, like he was talking about a stick of chewing gum. Topps had been introduced to drugs at an early age, but Neema didn't play that mess. “Fucking moron,” she hissed to herself. “Y'all get your stuff. We going home.” Neema went back to Topps to throw the weed stick at him. “Don't be giving shit like this to my son!”

“What? A blunt? Big damn deal, Nee. Shoulda have seen 'im earlier shooting my gun in the backyard. My boy has a good aim. Gets it naturally.”

Neema looked at him like he was insane. “What's wrong with you? Are you freaking crazy?”

“Nah. Not really. He gotta learn to shoot eventually.”

“Topps, if you want to do something good for your son, try acting like his freaking father and not his buddy! What asshole gives weed and a gun to a seven-year-old?”

“Hell, I was smoking herb when I was six. It's relaxing to overactive kids. Better than that shit the doctors pass out to 'em. Look at me; I turned out okay.” He aimed the remote and changed the channel.

“Guns and weed this time; what next, Topps, coke, and a bomb-making kit? Maybe some Ectasy? What's next?”

“Yo' Nee, whatever it takes to get 'em ready. You have to know a product to be good at operating a business selling it, and the boy gotta learn how to handle a gun.”

“I don't care if your daddy stuck a joint in your mouth the minute you came out your mama's twat. You don't even give a damn aspirin to my son without asking me!”

“Bitch, you need to watch yo' mouth.” He was up on his feet in a flash. “What? You think I'm some little punk ass you can talk to any kind of way? You better think again.”

“Look, I don't wanna fight. I'm taking my kids home with me. They have school tomorrow.”

“Why the hell you so damn concerned about the kids all of a sudden?”

“Forget you, TJ. I'm taking my kids!”

“You can go,” Topps said firmly. “The kids are staying here tonight.”

“Raynita! Brandon! Let's go!”

Topps took her by the arm and walked her back to the front door. “In case you didn't understand what I just said, let me lay it out again. You go back to your place and do some damn packing while you still have a chance.”

Both Raynita and Brandon showed up with their backpacks.

“Get your hands offa me!” Neema tried to snatch away but not before Topps twirled her around for a backhand slap.

Seeing her mother being abused, Raynita screamed and ran back into the room crying.

“Brandon, get in the room with yo' sister. Y'all get ready to take a bath and get ready for bed. Yo' mama was just leaving. Say good night.” He waited for Brandon to leave the room. “As for you, Neema, take yo' lying, conniving-ass home and pack. I'll take the kids to school in the morning and pick 'em up.”

“What about their clothes?” Neema asked, rubbing her face.

“They have clean clothes with 'em.” Topps twirled her around and pinned her arm behind her, pushing her hard against the door. “And the next time you disrespect me in front of my son, I won't be so nice.”

“Ouch! Stop it, fool! You're hurting me. Why you doing this?”

“Because I'm not blind, Neema. I know what's up.”

“Oouch. And what the hell that's supposed to mean?”

“You'll figure it out. Now go on home and do what you have to do. I'll expect you at the warehouse tomorrow. Ten sharp. Don't be late. Slick will have a package for you to transport. We can talk when you get back.”

“Maybe I don't wanna deliver shit for you no more.”

“Like I said, Nee. Ten sharp. You know how you love money. It's not like you to turn down twenty-five grand.”

“Why can't one of your other hoes do it?”

“Because, Nee, this is big money we talkin', and I trust you'll do the right thing. That's why. I can't have some new skank handling my big packages. Know what I'm saying?” He released her, and turned her around.

Their eyes locked in hatred for a few seconds. Neema felt like spitting in his face, but she wasn't that crazy. Was it really possible to love and hate a man with the same degree? Hell yeah, it was. She hated him, but at the same time the tingle between her thighs was heating up.

Topps kissed her lips, softening his tone. “Look, Nee. We just going through a rough spot right now. The kids will be fine here with me. Stop sweating it. Things will work back out to smooth soon.” He stroked the side of her face with a gentle backhand. “Plus, you don't need 'em in the way while you packing up your place. Now do you?”

Deep breath. Neema exhaled slowly. His words made sense. “I…guess not.” A little hope was somewhere inside her, that he would kiss her again, put his tongue down her throat, throw her on the couch, snatch off her clothes, pull her hair and make hard-thug love to her.
Do it, nigga. Do it now
!

“Once we get married and you my wifey, you can stop transporting for 'sho. Count on it.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Now, go on home. We'll talk about it tomorrow when we both feel better.”