Hot Boyz (23 page)

“And? Hell, my son has to live his life without his mother.”

The man spoke hauntingly. “And I, Mr. Wilson, have to spend the rest of my life without my father.”

Claude stood motionless.

The young man took the cigarette from his mouth and blew a long puff of smoke, flicking the ashes onto the porch. He took another long drag, blew smoke again and reinserted the cigarette between his lips. “My name is Owen, Jr.”

Claude blew out a deep breath while his thoughts simmered. “You lived with your father and saw all of the womanizing and then to top it off you had to deal with what happened two years ago?”

“Yes. It’s been hard on me, too. But he was not himself, Mr. Wilson. He just snapped.”

“I hate to tell you this, boy, but I really think your father had to have been crazy to begin with. People like that usually have problems way before an incident like killing someone.”

Owen, Jr. tossed the cigarette onto the porch and stomped on it with his black vinyl house slipper. “He’d just lost his job, and my grandmother, who was his birth mother, had just died. He needed Fatima and he was losing her, too.”

“That’s just too damn bad.” Claude tried to force himself to keep his cool, but it wasn’t working. “I tell you right now, I feel a little bit sorry for you, son, but if I’d found out that your dad was screwing with my woman, I’d of found his punk ass and pulled the trigger dead in his fat mouth.”

“I could stand here and curse you out, or ask you to leave, Mr. Wilson. But I understand. Believe me I understand. And I’m sorry.” He sounded very, very tired.

“No disrespect, but you mean to tell me you saw him running game with pretty much a married woman and you said nothing? Let’s just hope I don’t end up in a mental hospital and then escape just so I can come after you.” Claude paced a few steps toward the gate and then turned back. He shrugged his shoulder and then decided to speak reverently. “Man, I don’t mean that. This all seems like a bad dream that just won’t end. Where the hell was I when all of this was going on?” he asked himself, shaking his head toward the ground. “Owen, tell me something. Did they meet here sometimes?”

The young man took another cigarette but this time he did not light it. He simply put it behind his ear. “Yes.”

“Did you know her well?”

“Yes. Never like a mother figure or anything like that. But I never got involved as far as giving him advice. After all, I’m the one who needed advice from my father.”

“Well, in spite of that you should have done something.”

“I wish I would have. If only I’d known what was going on in his head.”

“If only I’d known I was sharing her with a damn lunatic,” Claude said, looking down at his feet as he kicked a few bits of trash away from the concrete pathway. “Well, anyway, thanks for your time. And you know what? I don’t need to see those photos after all. I’m about to go see him myself.”

“Good-bye, Mr. Wilson. And good luck.”

“Claude.”

“Claude. Take care.”

The next morning, Venus noticed Claude was quiet. He did not check on Cameron or on Mattie as he usually did before he made his way out. He passed on breakfast and walked out the door, nearly forgetting to say good-bye to her.

“Are you going straight to the office, baby?” she asked, pulling his arm back as he took a couple of steps past the threshold.

He leaned back and replied, “Baby, I’ll be home late tonight. I’m going to drive on out to Lancaster and visit the men’s prison there and then head to work.”

She eyed him like he was speaking French. “What?”

“Venus, I have to.”

“Claude, don’t tell me.”

“I just have to, Venus. I can’t go on like this.”

Her mouth hung open while she watched him walk away, get in his car and then pull off, driving slower than usual. She just stared out the door, leaning against the doorframe in her robe with her legs crossed at the ankles.

“Neither can I,” she said out loud.

The long line of visitors stretched around and around, wrapping its way from under the aluminum awning, which blocked out the
morning sun all the way to the middle of the parking lot. The line moved slowly, full of people who looked fairly upbeat, some even full of anticipation, excited to see their dads, husbands, boyfriends, brothers, and sons. But Claude was not having anything but answers today.

He filled out his visitation paper, writing the inmate name Owen Chambers. The lady behind the bulletproof glass entered his name into the computer. Owen had not had any visitors that day so Claude was allowed to proceed. He passed through the security detectors and took the filled-to-capacity county bus up the long hill to visit the maximum-security inmates on the north side of the prison.

After about ten minutes of sitting in a sterile room upon a dingy bench, they called Claude’s visitation number.

He was instructed to sit at window eighty-three. He took his seat on the low, cold metal stool and waited. He noticed the many faces of the inmates wearing their prison blues. All of the inmates with visitors around him had arrived. Yet the seat on the other side of the thick glass was empty. Then, he heard the sound of rattling chains approaching as a guard escorted a prisoner to the opposite seat. He looked up and their eyes met. It was Owen, Fatima’s murderer.

Even though Owen’s ankles were chained, his hands were free and he had the nerve to carry a big black bible in his right hand. He even had a gray plastic rosary around his neck. His neck was small, he was small, and he looked old. He took a seat.

Owen reached for the receiver as the guard walked away. Claude stared at him, just examining his face as if his eyes had the ability to snap pictures, or shoot bullets. He saw Owen’s lips move. Owen tipped his head toward the receiver. Claude picked it up, grabbing the base with all of his might.

Owen spoke first. “Don’t tell me.”

The exact same, weak ass voice from the cell phone message
, Claude thought. “You got it, it’s me.”

“It’s about time.”

Claude shook his head in disgust. “You are one punk ass muthafucka, dude. You are really one poor excuse for a man.”

Owen shook his head as if in agreement. “That’s your opinion.”

Claude was choking the phone with his tight fist. “You should be dead.”

“I will be, soon enough,” Owen said as if dying was routine.

“Yes, but to die while incarcerated ain’t shit compared to what you did.”

“Don’t forget, Claude. I’m insane, you know.”

“That you are, or just one slick, tired ass nigga. Which one?”

Owen was smug. “You came here to make yourself feel better, I see. Get it out.”

Claude leaned back, as far away from the glass as he could get. “You don’t even have the decency to tell me you’re sorry.”

“For killing my woman? Why would I owe you an apology for that?”

Claude’s eyes narrowed. “You killed the love of my life.”

“Oh, spare me. I couldn’t get her to marry me. But why didn’t you, bro?”

Claude spoke with a deeper voice. “That’s none of your damn business. And I’m not your bro.”

“I’ll tell you why. It’s because you were too busy doing your thing. She used to tell me how busy you were.”

“You know what? I heard your tired ass message that the police took into evidence. That’s some fucked up shit to threaten a woman like that.”

Owen smirked. “I don’t think they needed your tape, considering I was sitting in a car outside of where she was shot with a bullet in my chest. I confessed.”

“You couldn’t even kill your damn self right. Next time aim for your big ass head.”

“Believe me, if I could, I would.”

Claude sneered as he spoke. “I hope the rest of your life is a living hell, because mine sure is.”

Owen sounded like a prophet pimp. “Heaven on earth, or hell on earth, it’s our choice.”

“This was not my choice.”

“You asked God to be here in this life. He gave you life and all that goes along with it”

Claude leaned closer. “I didn’t asked God for shit.”

“Oh, certainly you did, that’s why you’re here.”

“Oh, so now you’re the mystic spiritualist, huh?” He sat up straight as a board. “Why is it that every man in jail suddenly finds God?” Claude asked, looking around and behind himself. “Where is he?”

“He’s in my life, that’s all I can say.”

Claude looked at Owen’s hands, examined each grubby finger. His unkempt pinky fingers had extra long nails, and dirt had collected underneath. He looked at his tired, tiny, beady eyes, with his cloudy, gray eyeballs. His Afro was a mess, in need of a serious haircut, with gray at his temples and sideburns. His aging skin was medium brown and he was unshaven. He had bad, yellow teeth and chapped lips.

“I don’t know what the hell she saw in you,” Claude said with malice.

“What she saw you can’t see right now, brother. But I’ll show you if you’d like.” Owen grabbed his crotch with a naughty stare.

“No, keep that Vienna sausage tucked away for your new woman on the cell block. I’m sure you’re used to bustin’ asses with it by now.”

Owen acted like that was a compliment. “That I am.”

“I just want you to know one thing.”

“What’s that, chief?” Owen replied as if it was all a joke.

Claude clenched his jaw. “You are one sad excuse for a man who is in need of every word that Bible has to offer you. You had no respect for my relationship with Fatima Clark and you took her life because you couldn’t control her. I despise you for that. My son despises you for that. And her family despises you for that.”

Owen almost grinned. “Speak for yourself. I know for a fact that Cameron does not despise me.”

Claude raised his voice. “Don’t you dare speak his name. You don’t even know that young man.”

“Oh, but I do. I met him a few times but around him she always referred to me as Bobby Cujo, her old friend. And ask Venus about how well I knew him. You did end up marrying her, I understand.”

“News travels fast behind bars, huh?”

“Shit, you’re a prominent figure. You’re a hot ass boy, right. News around here doesn’t travel as fast as you, putting a ring on her finger when Fatima was still warm in the ground. I guess that makes you a fine one to judge. Is pussy that hard to come by nowadays?”

Claude slammed the phone down, without replacing it on the hook. Visitors nearby gave him their full attention. He sprang to his feet and started to reach for the receiver again, but instead spoke by mouthing the words, “Fuck you.”

“Anytime,” Owen mouthed back, laughing while he pushed the buzzer for the guard, hanging up the phone.

Claude watched as Owen was escorted away, looking back, taking choppy steps with a haunting smirk. Claude’s legs and heart gave way to his pain as he sat back down and cried.

Claude’s voice was shaking as he phoned his wife from the car. “Venus, I’m on my way home. We need to talk.” Claude disconnected the phone without even hearing her reply. He raced down the freeway and off at the Howard Hughes Parkway exit. He pulled into the driveway and entered the front door two seconds later. He sat on the leather recliner in the den and called out for Venus.

Venus ran downstairs, rushing up to her husband as if he were in trouble. “What’s the matter, Claude?”

“Is Cameron home?”

“No, he’s at his grandparents’ house. They came to pick him up.”

“Sit down,” he instructed her like she was a child. She did just that. “Bobby Cujo? What the hell do you know?”

She cursed under her breath. “Bobby who?” You could hear a pin drop.

He studied her, knowing she was playing dumb. “Venus, I want to know now.”

She felt her stomach contract. “Claude, calm down. Your mom is down the hall.”

He spoke louder and more defiant. “You start talking. Now!”

Venus looked uneasy, eyeing the floor. She crossed and uncrossed her legs as if she was trying to get comfortable with herself and her words. She raised her gaze and went for it.

“Claude, Owen is Cameron’s father.”

He snapped his fingers loudly. “I fucking knew it. Dammit, Venus. And you knew all this time and didn’t tell me?”

“Fatima made me swear that I wouldn’t.”

Claude struggled to put two and two together. “She knew him that damn long?”

“Yes.”

“So when she told me Cameron’s father abused her and that she didn’t know where he was, that was a lie.”

Venus tried to explain. “He abused her back then and swore he would stop. And he did. After that, the two of them just always managed to keep in touch. They had some sort of chemical bond or something. She just couldn’t seem to really get him out of her life. And at times, it was like she really didn’t want to. Maybe because he was Cameron’s father.”

“Oh please, it’s not like he ever got to know this fool. I still can’t believe that she brought him around Cam without telling that boy he was his own father. Cameron’s been thinking his dad is out there lost in the wilderness. She could have at least told him who he was instead of bringing him around and calling him fucking Bobby Cujo. I won’t even ask why that name was her choice other than the fact that Owen is a damn dog himself. How confusing for Cameron.”

“Cameron was so little, I’m sure he doesn’t even remember meeting Owen. Anyway, Claude, those were not my personal decisions. These were choices that Fatima made. She knew that Owen wouldn’t be the best father to Cameron. And she knew that eventually, she had to get away. But she never did.”

“Fourteen years of never did. And now you have the nerve to wake up every day in the very house that Cameron wakes up in,
knowing his own father shot and killed his mother. How do you live with that?”

Venus looked empty. “I ask myself that very question every day.”

“At least you have some conscience,” he snarled.

“Claude, I don’t think Cameron needs to know now.”

“No, the time to tell him was years ago. It would kill him now. That boy has a crazy-looking, grown half brother and a new sister he’ll never know. It was hard enough with him just dealing with the two of us marrying each other. I thought I was doing the right thing.”

“So did I. Claude, we both wanted what Fatima wanted. She asked me to look after the two of you if anything ever happened to her and I agreed.”