Scandalicious (23 page)

E
very call to Earl’s phone had been going to voicemail. Lincoln had been trying to get in touch with his brother since noon. He realized that Earl wasn’t a morning person, but it was two-fifteen in the afternoon. Any normal person would be up by now. Lincoln shook his head, reminding himself that his crazy-behind brother didn’t live his life abiding by society’s rules.

Lincoln had been on the edge of his seat all morning, waiting to hear about the visit Earl had paid to Raheem, the mechanic. The last time he and his brother had exchanged words, Earl told him that he and Crowbar were on their way to West Philly to holla at Raheem and leave him with a little memento. Lincoln had made it clear that the memento should not be life threatening; something minor like a knot on the head or bruised ribs.

Earl wasn’t a morning person, but when it came to money, he had a way of dragging himself out of bed. Lincoln wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised to find Earl and his partner in crime camped outside of his job when he arrived at work this morning.

There was something a little disconcerting about not hearing from Earl.
I hope Earl didn’t do anything stupid last night.
He ran an anxious hand over his face. Suppose the plan had backfired—suppose something had happened to his brother?

The sudden ring of his desk phone startled Lincoln. He wasn’t in the mood for work-related issues, but he reluctantly picked up.

“Hey, Lincoln,” Rachel said. “Your brother is on the other line—”

“Put him through!”

“It’s a collect call, but I went ahead and accepted.”

Collect!
Lincoln’s heart dropped in his stomach.
Did Earl get arrested last night? Is he calling from jail?
“Rachel, I appreciate that you accepted; now would you please put the call through,” he said impatiently.

“You’re going to have to pay out of pocket when the charges show up on the company phone bill,” Rachel informed, using a formal, business-like tone.

“Okaaaay!” Lincoln was two seconds from flipping out on the receptionist.

“Yo, Bro’, that secretary that answered the phone is rude. She got issues. You need to get with her,” Earl said, sounding miffed.

Hearing Earl’s voice was a great relief. “Where are you, Earl? What happened? Please don’t tell me your ass is locked up.”

“Nah, ain’t nothing like that. I’m good.”

“Why’d you call collect on the work phone?” Lincoln was annoyed with his brother. Didn’t Earl have a couple of quarters to drop in a pay phone? This was beyond trifling—even for Earl.

“I lost my cell during the melee last night,” Earl said disgustedly. “All my contact information is in my damn cell. I had to call four-one-one to get the number to your job.”

“Okay, man. I’m glad to hear your voice; glad that you’re okay. So what’s up—how’d everything go?”

Earl didn’t answer. He was holding marijuana smoke in his lungs; that was always the case when he took a long time to respond. “Shit got fucked up, man,” Earl said and then loudly inhaled on the blunt that he was no doubt puffing.

“What went wrong?” Lincoln had a horrific image of Raheem tagged up and lying in a morgue. That mental picture wouldn’t be so bad if Lincoln wasn’t involved. In the eyes of the law, Raheem’s death would be considered a contract killing.
Shit!
He wiped sweat
from his forehead. “What did you do, Earl?” Lincoln shouted. “What happened?” he said in a lower tone of voice when he noticed that his coworkers giving him curious glances.

“You didn’t tell us that your boy was strapped. That nigga in the Navigator was tryna take us out!”

Lincoln’s stomach began to churn. “Did anyone get hurt?” he whispered, eyes darting. He stood up to peer over at Rachel, to make sure she wasn’t listening in on the call. Thankfully, she was chatting with the dude that delivered bottled water.

“I can’t talk on this phone, Earl.” Lincoln was pacing nervously with the phone pressed to his ear.

“Before you go, take down this information. I need you to send me that money by Western Union. I’m stuck in Atlantic City.”

“What are you doing there?”

“Man, after we stepped to dude, that nigga started shooting. Bullets were flying everywhere. All over my head and shit. My whole life passed before my eyes. And my main mans, Crowbar—the bull that was with me—he’s lucky he only got grazed. I had to get the fuck out of Philly for a minute after that shit went down. Gambling is relaxing—it’s like a sedative. You know what I mean? I had to feel some dice in my hand to try to get my head together, calm down my nerves and whatnot.

“I’m broke, man, so I can use that paper you promised.”

“All right, Earl. Give me the information, and I’ll send you the money.” After jotting down the details, Lincoln had to sit down for a moment and say a prayer of thanks. After composing himself, he strode past the reception desk, on his way to wire Earl some bus fare.

“Lincoln!” Rachel called out excitedly. Groaning inside, Lincoln stopped mid-stride. Rachel crooked her finger, gesturing for him to come closer.

Quite reluctantly, he leaned in close, braced for Rachel to comment that she’d “accidentally” snooped on his private conversation with Earl.

“I think the boss and Amber have something going on.”

Relief washed over Lincoln, and he broke out in a big grin. If Rachel hadn’t been gossiping with the water delivery guy, she wouldn’t have been able to resist listening in on the “collect” call.

“No, not Frank,” Lincoln protested. “He wouldn’t get involved with a young girl like Amber,” Lincoln said with a chuckle. The idea was ridiculous.

“I thought Frank was a straight-shooter, too. But I don’t know…” Rachel shook her head. “Frank and Amber are getting awfully close. Keep your eyes and ears open.” Rachel gave Lincoln a conspiratorial wink.

He nodded as if to say, “Sure thing.” He hurried down the stairs and out the door. A million thoughts raced through his mind, and he concluded that Raheem the mechanic was a dangerous dude. How could Chevonne get involved with a man that accessorized his work uniform with a pistol stuck in his waistband?

Lincoln should have known better than to get his brother involved. Earl was a piece of work, and loyalty had never been a quality he possessed. If someone had gotten hurt or killed last night, Earl would have been quick to snitch—he’d have no problem pointing a finger at his own brother in exchange for a lighter sentence.

It had been a harrowing morning and afternoon. But it was over now. Thankfully, Lincoln wouldn’t have to kiss his children, his wife, and his freedom goodbye. It was time for Lincoln to let shit go. His personal vendetta against the mechanic could have cost his brother’s life. Miserable life that it was, Earl was still his blood.

From now on, Lincoln was staying in his lane; criminal activity was not his forte.

He drove to the nearest Western Union location and filled out the form. He handed the lady behind the counter fifty dollars. He was only giving Earl enough for bus fare and a couple dollars to get something to eat. That clown was crazy if he thought Lincoln was paying the full amount for a botch job.

I
t didn’t matter that his family rarely sat down to a home-cooked meal. What was important was that they were all together—Lincoln, Chevonne, and the kids—eating Chinese takeout.

“Mommy, can I get Dora the Explorer lip gloss?” Tori asked.

“You have enough lip gloss and nail polish. I refuse to buy any more,” Chevonne answered.

Amir stuck his tongue out at Tori. Tori rolled her eyes at him.

Scowling, Lincoln looked at Chevonne accusingly. “Tori’s only five years old; isn’t that a tad early for her to be wearing makeup?”

“It’s only lip gloss, Daddy—not makeup. All my friends wear it,” Tori piped in.

“She’s right, Lincoln. They market the stuff for kids now.” Chevonne lifted one shoulder in a quick shrug. “It’s harmless. I think it’s sort of cute.”

“Why does our daughter have to do what all the other little fresh-butt girls are doing? How long has Tori been wearing lip gloss?”

“Since September, when she started first grade.” Chevonne’s eyes were darting about nervously.

“Why wasn’t I involved in that decision?” Now Lincoln was getting irritated. Tori had many years of childhood before she started the turbulent teens. There was plenty of time for her to start worrying about enhancing her looks. For the time being, all she needed to focus on was staying an innocent little girl.

“You’re making a big deal out of nothing,” Chevonne said in a sharp voice that urged Lincoln not to disrupt their family time.

The phone rang. Chevonne crossed the marble floor and answered it. “It’s your brother.” She mouthed the words to Lincoln.

I can’t believe that fool is calling my house, trying to hustle me!
“Tell Earl we’re having dinner; I’ll call him back,” Lincoln said in a voice that was loud enough for Earl to hear. Earl knew damn well that he didn’t earn more than the fifty that Lincoln had sent him. Earl had a set of balls on him!

Chevonne relayed the message to Earl and quietly listened to whatever smack Earl was talking. Lincoln was growing more agitated by the second.

“He says it’s an emergency.” Chevonne held out her hand in a helpless gesture.

Lincoln stared at Chevonne pointedly, trying to convey with his eyes that he did not want to talk to his nuisance of a brother.

But Chevonne walked over to the table, bringing Lincoln the phone. “Earl, he says that he lost his cell phone; there’s no way for you to get in touch with him.”

Groaning, Lincoln took the phone. The call warranted privacy, and so Lincoln left the kitchen and stood outside on the deck. Hot with aggravation, he welcomed the chilly autumn air. “What’s up, man?” he barked into the phone.

“We got problems.” Earl’s tone was grim, and Lincoln got the distinct impression that this call was not about money.

“What kind of problems?” Lincoln swallowed, dreading whatever Earl was about to tell him.

“You could have at least warned a nigga that the dude you wanted me to handle was stark-raving crazy.”

“Huh?” Lincoln felt the hairs rising on the back of his neck.

“Huh, my ass. That mechanic muthafucka is tryna come for me.”

“He doesn’t know you.”

“Man, I dropped my phone, and that nigga got it! He’s been going through my contact list, texting all the bitches that I fuck with, pretending that he’s me! One of them broads gave up the tapes. Now that nut bull knows my name and where I rest my head at. This shit ain’t cool.”

Earl was right. This was bad. Real bad. Lincoln’s mind went blank and his body went numb.

“Say something, man,” Earl bellowed.

Lincoln massaged the top of his head, trying to encourage his brain to come up with some helpful information. “What exactly happened last night?” he asked, stalling because he didn’t know what else to say.

“I ain’t got time to give you a blow-by-blow description of events. I stepped to dude and he shocked the hell out of me when he pulled out a hammer. I’m lucky to be alive. The nigga tried to kill me and now he wants to finish the job. He called my mans, Crowbar, you know, the bull that was driving the squatter last night?”

“Uh-huh.” Lincoln didn’t actually know Crowbar, but he wanted Earl to go on.

“That nut bull told Crowbar that he was going to torch his hooptie. Then he told Crowbar to watch his back, cuz he was gonna stuff some dynamite up his asshole.”

Lincoln uttered a sound of shock.

“Crowbar ain’t know if the bull was serious or not, but taking a precaution, he parked his whip a couple streets over from where he lives. And guess what?”

Scared to ask, Lincoln muttered indecipherably.

“That nut bull turned around and called Crowbar again—using my muthafuckin’ cell phone! He told my mans that his car was in flames and that his ass was next on his list.”

Lincoln grunted in distress. What kind of maniac had his wife been fuckin’ around with?

“Crowbar said dude got a real raspy voice, and be talking a lot of raspy shit. He said dude sounded like one of them terrorists, yelling out a long list of heinous crimes he was about to commit. The bull had Crowbar so convinced that he was gonna light his ass up like a firecracker; Crowbar was shaking like a leaf. My mans had got his hands on some pain pills for that bullet graze on his arm. After listening to those terroristic threats, my mans popped damn near a whole bottle of pills. He washed ’em down with syrup—you know, to relax his nerves and whatnot.”

“Is Crowbar okay?”

“Hell, yeah. He’s better off than I am,” Earl said with a snort. “Having them drugs in his system is Crowbar’s ticket out of Philly. He just got out of rehab last month, but now he’s on his way back to the rehab facility. He’s gon’ check hisself back in and use it as a hide-out spot.”

“Umph,” Lincoln uttered. He was thinking that Crowbar had come up with a good plan.

“So my mans, Crowbar, is safe out in the boonies, but the nut bull is still coming for me!”

“Where’s your crew—those killer dudes you used to roll with?”