RedBone 2 (17 page)

 

 

Slade sat in Markee’s living room with his brothers and Judge and Grant. After all this time, they still couldn’t find Eleanor, and Knox hadn’t made another appearance either. There was nothing more they wanted than to solve the mystery and go back home.

Della walked into the living room and sat in the recliner next to the sofa. “Your cousin Barry just called back from Mississippi. He checked all of the old places Knox frequented, and just like I thought, he hasn’t made contact.” She removed the gun from her waist and set it in her lap. Ever since she was shot at, she stayed strapped. “Any news on your end?” She looked at everyone.

Grant sighed. “We been looking but have had no luck finding Eleanor,” he responded. “But it won’t stop us from trying. We just have to remain here until something comes up.” He looked at Slade. “Farah, on the other hand, has proven to be interesting. I’ve observed her keeping time with several different men who all end up dead.”

Slade was uneasy. “Fuck do you mean?”

Grant laughed. “It’s clear. We follow her. She meets someone, and that person later dies.”

“People die all the time. Whether Farah meets them should not be a question. I thought you were looking for leads on Knox.”

“This is a lead. If she’s killing people who later show up in the news, she could have possibly killed Knox too. You may not want to admit this, but your girl is very capable of this kind of crime.”

“First off, she’s not my girl, and if you think she knows something more, question her yourself.”

“We’ve been trying to, but she’s never home,” Grant continued. “And whoever she’s rolling with now seems to be good at shaking us when we’re trying to follow her. It’s easier trying to get a hold of the president.”

“Well, that’s on you, not me,” Slade responded, relieved she couldn’t be caught.

“What about this Randy?” Della asked with narrow eyes. “He took a shot at me, and I still want him taken care of.”

“He hiding low. Real low,” Grant said. “From what I understand, he never came out since the hit the boys took on his shop. But the nigga who handed the one they call Lollipop over to us—”

“They call him The Vet,” Killa interrupted.

“Whatever his name is, we’ve been following him, hoping he’d lead us to him. I have somebody on him right now. The moment he finds out where Randy is, he’ll let us know and we’ll go take care of him too.”

“Good, because although it won’t make me breathe easier or bring my boy back, it will make me feel better having some blood shed around here,” Della responded, looking at her family. “I know you don’t want to hear this, Slade, but I’m going to take a chance at talking to Farah myself. Are you cool with that?”

He wasn’t, but he wouldn’t let her know. “Do what you have to, Ma.”

“I always do.”

He paused. “So what’s up with Audio? How is he holding out? Back home?”

“He’s fine,” Della responded. “Don’t worry about it, son. He’s just mad now, but you made the right call by sending him back down South. He would’ve gotten himself in trouble or killed, and I support your decision one hundred percent.”

They were just about to discuss more details when Markee, whom they hadn’t seen in months, walked through the door. Fifty pounds lighter, he looked like life was weighing him down.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Slade asked, stepping up to him. “You had niggas thinking you were dead.”

He walked into the kitchen and grabbed a water bottle. “It’s a long story.”

“Does it have anything to do with Randy?” Slade continued.

“Like I said, it’s a long story.”

“We ain’t got shit but time.”

 

 

Randy cruised down the street on the way to the Serenity Meadows senior citizens home, checking his rearview mirror repeatedly. Although he didn’t want to admit it, the Baker Boys had him on the run. He knew it was a bad move to shoot at them with their mother in the car, but hindsight was twenty-twenty. When he saw he wasn’t being followed, he parked his Yukon in the back of the Serenity Meadows senior citizens home. It was one of his two secret hideouts.

He’d donated more drug money to the facility than any other sponsor, past or present, so much so that the management agreed he should have his own office. He used it to discuss business with people he didn’t trust in his home.

Holding a brown paper bag filled with fresh bagels, he was greeted by Harriet Tillman, the program director for the center, the moment he walked inside. “Hello, Mr. George.” She took the bag from his hands and saluted him with a wide smile. “Can I get you something to drink? We just made some fresh lemonade. It’s in the refrigerator. It’s a little too sweet for my taste, but you might like it.”

Randy walked past her and toward his office. “I’m not hungry or thirsty.” She could be a pest at times because she was always interested in what he was doing.

She followed Randy toward his office. “We have been having a lot of strange people around here lately.”

Chill bumps covered his skin.

“I was going to tell you earlier, but you called and said you were on your way.”

“Strange people?” Randy felt like his world tilted. Slowly he approached. “What did they say?”

She stepped back into the wall. “Nothing. Just asked a bunch of questions about you. I’m s . . . sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“Fuck sorry!” he yelled in her face “What exactly did they say?”

“They asked if we knew you and stuff like that.”

He shook his head in anger.

“Don’t worry. We told them nothing! I promise.” When he backed away she exhaled. “We would never do anything to compromise you here. You’ve done so much for us already.”

They walked into his large office. “I bet.” He smirked. “It wouldn’t have anything to do with the cash I pour into this place, now would it?”

She frowned. “I didn’t mean it that way.” She paused. “Of course we appreciate all of the work you’ve done for us, but we would keep your privacy all the same.”

He laughed. “I’m just fucking with you.” He took his coat off and placed it on the rack. “What did these strange people look like?”

“African American. Young.” She shrugged. “They didn’t sound like they were from the area, but I can’t be sure.”

“Country accents?”

“I’m not sure.”

He placed his hand over his face. Someone found him, and he wondered if it was the Baker Boys. “Obviously I won’t be able to come around for a while. That is, until I find out what’s going on.” He sighed. “Is Mrs. Hammond still hallucinating and causing problems in the wings with the other guests?”

“Yeah . . . but I called the doctor like you said. She seems to be getting worse by the day. And since she’s senile, it’s kind of hard to know what’s sparking it. It’s like it’s happening from nowhere.”

“Are you monitoring who comes in and out of her room like I suggested?” He paused. “Because I was told she had some guests who looked suspect.”

“We try to watch her guests, but we also like for our patients to have family members visit. And if I’m not mistaken, the only one who comes to visit Mrs. Hammond is her daughter, Mooney. Whenever she comes, she seems happy.”

Randy frowned. “The woman is crazy, Mrs. Tillman. She doesn’t know what it means to be happy anymore.” He grabbed a small tube of antibacterial gel off of the desk, squirted in his hands, and wiped them together. “Where is she now?”

“In her room.” She looked worried. “But if I were you, I wouldn’t go in there. Earlier today she was cursing everyone out and didn’t seem too nice.”

“I don’t care how feisty she is. I can handle myself. Before she started losing her mind, she told me I was the son she never had. Remember that?”

“Yes, I do. It’s just that she was very mean and her daughter left a note with the staff that she didn’t want anyone bothering her today. I want to respect her wishes.”

“Respect mine first,” he said. “And if her daughter wants to talk to me, be sure to tell her that she wanted me to be a part of her life. Make sure you make that clear. Okay?”

She shook her head. “Yes, it’s clear.”

He stood up and moved toward the door. “Let me see how she’s doing.”

Randy walked to the cafeteria to get Mrs. Hammond’s favorite treat, tapioca pudding. Before walking into her room, he stood in the doorway and watched how she sat next to the window in her chair. The sunlight beamed against her chocolate skin, and to him she was stunning. Randy always had a fetish for older women, but he kept that and a few other sick secrets to himself. Although he found her attractive, Randy had other motives. He was dirt broke, and Mrs. Hammond had a home, which up until recently had gone unused. With the heat he had on his back, without her house he would probably be dead.

When he finally entered her room, he closed and locked the door behind him. Then he placed the pudding on the table next to where she was. Her long gray hair hung down her back, just the way he liked it. Her skin was wrinkly, brown, and covered in age spots. She looked vulnerable and very seductive to him.

“Mrs. Hammond . . . are you okay?” he asked, approaching her chair. He used a softer voice whenever he first entered her room to throw her off, because she was partially blind and could not see. “I came to see how you’re doing and to make sure everyone has been treating you right.”

“That man came in here and took all my money,” she yelled, speaking in the direction of his voice. “And I think my maids are in on it too. I want them out of my house right now! Do you hear me? I want them gone!”

“I’ll fire all of them. Don’t worry about it,” Randy said, rubbing her hair softly. “You can trust me.”

She smiled. “You promise? Because they’ll take everything I have if you let them.” She grew silent. “Wait . . . where is my daughter? Where is Mooney? She . . . she told me not to talk to anyone. She told me to tell her if someone came in here. Who are you anyway?”

Her memory recall frightened him. “I’m a friend, Mrs. Hammond.” He unzipped his pants and removed his penis from his boxers. He was rock hard as he stepped in front of her. “You don’t have to worry about anything.”

“But I don’t want a friend. I want my daughter.”

“Mrs. Hammond, enough with all that talk.” He paused, looking down at her. “You gotta take your medicine now, so open up.”

Before she could protest, he shoved his penis into her mouth and moved her head back and forth. Mrs. Hammond told the staff members that some strange man was putting stuff inside of her mouth and vagina, but no one believed her. Had they taken the time to seriously evaluate her concerns, they would’ve discovered that she had been raped on multiple occasions. Unfortunately for her, the only thing they cared about was his money.

Tears ran down Mrs. Hammond’s face as he ejaculated inside her mouth. Randy was a sick man who was abused most of his life by those coming in and out of his life and as a result, he was unable to enjoy consenting sex. If he was going to get off, he had to take advantage of the vulnerable. Bondage, rape, brutality, and humiliation were all parts of how he went about having sex.

When he was done, he eased his clothes back on, grabbed the pudding off the table, and fed Mrs. Hammond spoonful after spoonful, to mask his disgusting deed. She sobbed softly until she tasted the sweetness of her favorite treat. After it was almost gone, a smile spread on her face. Luckily for her, bad thoughts came and went, never holding her hostage for too long.

Talking in his regular voice instead of the fake one he used when he first entered her room, he asked, “Is everything okay, Mrs. Hammond? You look sad.” He wanted to see what she remembered.

She trusted this voice, unable to differentiate between the two. Whispering low, she said, “The man came in my room. The one I don’t like. He came back and he hurt me again. You can’t let him come back, okay?”

Randy continued to feed her as she opened her mouth wider. “What are you talking about?” He eased the spoon into her mouth. “You’re always talking about a man. Stop telling people that before they take you away. Is that what you want?”

“But there was a man in here,” she whispered. “It’s the one who hurts me over and over again.” Then she stopped eating the food and her mouth hung open. She’d forgotten her thought. “I want my daughter! Where is my daughter?”

“She’s not here. Relax and eat this food.”

“I don’t want it! I want Mooney,” she yelled. “You too stupid to know anything about my daughter! Tell my maid to bring me my jewelry! And get my daughter on the phone now!”

When he saw she was riding the wave of another mental rant, he smirked and dropped the spoon. This was why he loved taking advantage of her. She couldn’t keep a thought long enough to tell anybody what was actually happening to her. But he put a little something different in her treat today. Something to put her out of her misery for good. Originally he planned to kill her slowly, to prevent from getting noticed, but someone knew about his location, and time was of the essence. He could no longer come back.

Within an hour, after he was long gone, she’d be dead and he would be the beneficiary of her estate. He realized Mooney would contest the will. When that happened, Randy would call upon Mrs. Tillman to prove his case and to say that she looked upon him as one of her children. And if that didn’t do the trick, and if Mooney persisted, he would put her out of her misery too.

When his cell phone rang, he removed it from his pocket and saw Markee’s name. He’d been looking for him for months. He just hoped, for his sake, that he was telling him something that he wanted to hear.