A LaLa Land Addiction (17 page)

“We are sending one of God's angels home today,” Cinco said. He was a master of manipulation. The tears he shed were so believable that they were Oscar worthy. “Whatever you need today, fam, I got you.”

Iman didn't respond at first. “I appreciate that, bruh,” he finally replied. He was anxious to bury Tan because once the dirt hit the casket a part of his life would be dead as well. He was paying his last respects to a woman he had grown up with, a girl whom he had turned into a woman, and in turn she had helped him to become a man. It would be a long, gloomy day indeed.

The car rolled to a stop as it pulled up outside of the Catholic church. “She was baptized in this church,” Sandoza spoke solemnly as he looked out his window. “I almost don't want to go in. Once I step in, it will be real. It will the last time I see my baby girl.”

“I know everything is fucked up right now, Papa, but Tan is laying in there. We both know her spoiled ass wouldn't give a damn about any of these mu'fuckas coming today to say good-bye, but if there is one person she would want to see one last time it's you. She's waiting on you, Papa. She won't rest well until she hears you say good-bye,” Cinco said. His voice was strong, calm. He remained in control because he knew that Sandoza was watching his every move. “Have you heard anything about who's behind this? I don't know how this happened right under your nose,” Cinco added, throwing a cheap insult and placing subliminal blame on Iman's shoulders. Cinco knew that Sandoza would resent Iman for not protecting Tan. He had let his queen be touched and that was rule number one: always protect your bitch.

“Now's not the time or the place,” Iman answered sternly.

Iman stepped out of the car. He buttoned his Gucci suit jacket. It was like a celebrity had arrived. Iman knew half of the attendees were there just to watch the family crumble. They wanted to see if he would fold under pressure. If there were chinks in his armor, his enemies would attack, so he showed no emotion as he entered the sanctuary.

Hundreds of people packed the church. The scent of flowers filled the air and muffled cries could be heard as he made his way to the front of the church. Iman was uneasy, but as he made eye contact with his shooters who were meticulously placed throughout the room his tension eased a bit. He was almost positive that the heads of the other cartel families were in attendance. Everyone had come out to pay respect. Iman had love in L.A. He had expected the crowd, but he didn't know where the hate was coming from and that made him uncomfortable. It wasn't all love in the church. Someone harbored malice; Iman just had to figure out who it was.

He walked toward the beautiful gold casket that sat up front and placed one hand on Tan's chest. “Rest well, beautiful,” he said. This wasn't Iman's scene. There was something about being around death that made him feel like the Grim Reaper would knock at his door next. He went to the front pew and took his place next to Sandoza and Cinco as the doors to the cathedral closed and the service began.

*   *   *

Bleu watched as the people spilled out of the church and her heart skipped a beat when she set her sights on Iman.

“Make it quick,” Nixon said as she stepped out of the unmarked cop car and allowed Bleu to get out of the back.

Bleu walked sheepishly over to Iman. She fidgeted the entire way. She knew she looked a mess. After four days in lockup she even smelled horrible, but there was no way she could just leave L.A. without saying good-bye.

They locked eyes and Iman placed a hand over his heart as if the sight of her wounded him. She tucked her messy hair behind her ears, trying to tame it, but it did little to improve her appearance. When she saw Cinco exit the church and stand next to Iman she stopped walking instantly. Terror took over her and she turned around, running across the street so fast that she forgot to look. A car horn blared as the car barely missed her.

“Bleu!” Iman called after her.

She turned and waited as he caught up with her, but she could feel Cinco's eyes burning into her from across the street.

“Bleu,” Iman said sadly once he reached her. “No, ma.” He choked up more at the sight of her in this condition than he had inside the church. “Tell me it ain't so.”

Tears filled her eyes as she cleared her throat. She was so embarrassed to be standing in front of him like this. “It just got too hard,” she admitted.

“I was coming back to you, ma. I just needed time,” Iman admitted. “You should have given me more time.”

“There is no more time,” she said. “I'm going back home.”

“Stay,” he said. “I'll be here this time, ma. I can get you clean.”

Bleu shook her head. “No, Iman. I can't. I just didn't want to leave without telling you bye,” she said. She wiped the tears from her face. “I have a police escort and everything. District Attorney of Flint, Michigan, came all the way here for little old me.” She smiled, but Iman knew she was putting on a show, trying to make him feel better but he could see the fear in her eyes.

Her eyes,
he thought as he frowned.

“Where were you four nights ago?” Iman asked.

Bleu froze.
Does he know it was me?
she thought. “Locked up … for possession,” she said. Her voice was so low that he could barely hear her, but he recognized her shame.

He exhaled in relief. Her answer was enough for him to erase the notion that she had been in his home the night Tan was murdered.

“The D.A. is going to take me home, get me clean. I'll be all right,” she said. “I just wanted to let you know that I'm sorry and I love you. I love you so much.”

Iman sniffed away his emotion and looked away from her. He wasn't big on displaying his sentiments. He was a straight shooter, but he never wore his vulnerabilities on his sleeve. Bleu seemed to have a different effect on him than any other person in his life as he said, “I love you too, ma. I was gon' get right back, Bleu. I just needed you to hold on for me.” He pinched the bridge of his nose.

She could see his struggle. “I couldn't!” she cried. Bleu jumped into his arms and she hugged him so tightly. Like a little girl hugging her father she tucked her face into his neck and sobbed because she knew this would be the last time she saw him. He held the back of her head as he bit his bottom lip to stop himself from letting his emotional levees break. No one had ever exhausted him in the way Bleu had. She brought out every single emotion in him, ones that he guarded carefully. She was the key that unlocked his heart and he was being forced to let her go. It hurt and he wished he had nurtured her a little more. Maybe God would have let her grace his life a bit longer had he appreciated the gift of her affection.

“You take care of yourself, Bleu. You ever need me, you call. No hesitation. Get yourself clean, Bleu. If I could do it for you I would. If there was a price to pay for that, it would be financed, but you've got to do it. You've got to want it. Go back to the girl I met at Picante. That girl was strong. She was perfect,” he said. “You're a masterpiece, ma.”

“We've got to go!” Dixon said.

Bleu let him go and it felt like he took her air with him as he pulled back.

“Good-bye, Iman,” Bleu whispered, giving him a weak smile.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone and handed it to her. “I'll keep it on for you. I want to be able to reach out to you and make sure you're straight.”

He kissed her forehead but couldn't bring himself to say good-bye. Bleu climbed in the back of the car and turned to watch him as the car pulled away. She touched the back windshield as tears streamed down her face. Leaving him was the hardest thing she had ever had to do.

 

15

Bleu never thought she would see the day when going back home felt good. She had been so busy trying to escape her hometown that she didn't realize that the familiarity of it all was comforting. There were no shiny lights, no skyscrapers, no fancy foreign cars on the streets, but it was home. The distance she had put between herself and L.A. felt good. As dangerous and grimy as Flint streets were, she had never felt safer. There was security in knowing the hood. She knew the way these people thought; she knew the mentality; she knew the streets and the neighborhoods. She had come up on these blocks. There was comfort in the familiar. She had been clueless in la-la land, playing by other people's rules because she was a stranger to the city. Even with its toxic water and boarded-up houses on every block, Bleu had grown to appreciate where she had come from. The city was going through a massive crisis, but the people who called it home were among the strongest in the world. Flint was resilient; Flint was strong. Flint was home and it took her leaving to value all that it meant to her. She wished she were coming back in a better way. The small-town girl turned Hollywood should have come back with degrees and accomplishments. The expectation of her had been high. Coming back cracked out was sure to disappoint.

“There is a contract in the streets for your murder. So I will put you up in a motel until it's time for you to testify. I am preparing the state's case now against the shooters,” Nixon said as they drove through the north side of Flint. “We will begin prep tomorrow. We'll go through the questions I'll ask and also questions that the defense will throw at you to trip you up.”

“You didn't say anything about a hit on my head!” Bleu exclaimed. “Are you trying to get me killed?” Bleu knew that the wolves in Flint weren't going to pass on a payday. Every shooter in town would be gunning for her head.

“We can assign police protection,” Nixon informed her. There was no way that Bleu was walking around with a walking bodyguard. If it weren't for the respect she had for Bruno she wouldn't even consider testifying. He had looked out for her by giving her a job and making sure she ate while her mother ran the streets. He had become like family, so the least Bleu could do was help put the goons who had killed him away. She didn't need to place the word “snitch” on her forehead however by walking around with a cop as an accessory.

“I can take care of myself,” she said as she rolled her eyes and focused her sights on the streets that she had thought she left behind.

“So don't I get some money or something for getting on the stand?” she asked. Bleu had come back with nothing, no clothes, no money. She didn't even have a change of panties. She had fled L.A. with the stuff on her back, and after spending four days in jail she wanted nothing more than to burn everything she was wearing.

“The state can't pay for your testimony,” Nixon replied. “I have some connections with the Michigan Work First Program, but you have to be clean, Bleu. You would be drug tested each week to ensure the integrity of the program. We don't take drug addicts.”

Bleu didn't respond. She didn't like that she was this transparent. She hated the look of condemnation that she saw in the D.A.'s eyes. Everyone looked at Bleu like that now. It was like she couldn't go anywhere without someone judging her. She was see-through. There wasn't even a point in lying about her habits anymore because she looked the part. “That's all right,” she whispered in embarrassment. “I'll figure it out.” Just that quickly her mood had changed and she was already regretting coming back here.

They pulled up to the Red Roof Inn and Bleu stepped out of the car. She was used to penthouse suites at the expense of Iman. Despite the fact that she was using drugs, she had lived at a high standard on his dime. She had wanted for nothing. Coming back home would take some adjusting. She only had herself to depend on, and the downgrade made her frown in disgust.

“This is where you're putting me up?” Bleu asked as she turned up her nose.

“You're a junkie that I just pulled from a jail cell. Beggers can't be choosers,” Nixon reminded Bleu.

Bleu climbed out of the car and waited while Nixon checked her in. When Nixon handed her the key she said, “I'll be by tomorrow to begin prep for trial. We'll go over some of the questions I'll be asking you at trial,” Nixon replied. “Until then stay out of trouble, and no drugs.”

Bleu nodded, but in her mind she was already thinking of how to cop something to make her feel good.

She took the key from the D.A. and walked out to find her room. She entered the room and stood in the doorway surveying the furnishings. This would be the new normal for her. She wasn't in Hollywood anymore.

*   *   *

Bleu tossed and turned on the itchy sheets, unable to sleep. She was restless. It had been too long since she had taken her last hit and she was feigning for just a little taste. Sweat covered her as her body's temperature rose, then fell as her anxiety changed with the passing minutes. She felt panicked. Her heart was beating too fast one moment but then felt like it wasn't pumping at all the next. It had been five days since she had smoked dope and every part of her craved it. It was like having sex with a man who couldn't quite get you over the top. Her body knew how good it would feel to just wrap her lips around the cool glass of a pipe and pull all of that smoke into her lungs. She wanted that orgasm, but she just couldn't get it. She was dead broke, and on top of that, Nixon had put a squad car on her, so there was an officer watching her every move. Bleu was so frustrated that she felt like crying … like screaming … like hurting somebody … or maybe even herself. She sat up in the bed and clicked on the TV, hoping that there would be something on to distract her, but she knew it was pointless. She was restless and nothing would occupy her until she got her feel-good.

That's what my mama used to call it,
she thought, and now she knew exactly why.
I thought she was the meanest person in the world sometimes, but she was spazzing when she couldn't cop. God, why does it feel so bad?
she thought. She was at a point where she couldn't even imagine herself without drugs. She didn't want to be clean. There was no point. The world had beaten her up for the past nineteen years. It had been so hard, so unbearable, living up until this point. Bleu had finally found a release, something to bring happiness into a life so void of anything close to it. She had almost had fulfillment with Iman, almost … had she been his priority and not his option she was sure she would have felt it. Almost didn't count, though, and she had found her heart's substitute in the form of a tiny rock. Crack wouldn't abandon her. It wouldn't put her last or throw her shit on the curb. It wouldn't disappoint her. It wouldn't play with her heart. Bleu could rely on it to make her feel all the things that life hadn't. As long as she was faithful to it, it would be faithful to her. She didn't care how toxic the relationship was. She would ride until she died as long as it kept feeling so amazing.