Whispers in the Night (10 page)

“No! I ain't hungry.”

He said to the plastic king, “Give my daddy a Whopper.”

When he said
whopper
he stomped his sneaker down in my lap and crushed my balls. I muffled about twenty curse words and threw him back into the passenger seat. I balled up my fist. He pointed at the plastic king. “They got a camera in his eye.”

I checked myself, muttered a few more four-letter words, and drove up to the window. Three teenage girls ran to the service window, handed me the food, and blew kisses at Nehemiah.

“He's sooo cute.” They looked at me. “Ooh, is this your daddy?”

Nehemiah giggled and lied, proudly. “Yeah.”

“I'm
not
his daddy. Look, I just want to get out of here. How much for the food?”

“For cute little Neh, it's on the house.” They blew him more kisses. He batted his big old eyelashes down over his big old eyes.

I screeched off. Halfway down the block, the smell of that Whopper started tearing up my stomach and hunger pains hit me so hard, I almost couldn't drive. “Give me a damn bite.”

He threw a Whopper at me. “Told you you was hungry.” The little arrogant squirt laughed like he had some kind of control over me. I hated that, but I tore into that burger like a hungry pit bull. Dang, it was good.

I got to Shamir's beauty shop, threw my ride into Park, and cut off the engine. “Sit your dwarf behind here while I go get your mama.”

I locked all the doors, rolled up the windows, and activated my car alarm. I was mad. No, pissed. This kid was messing up my whole day.

I stomped into the shop. Shamir was doing a nearly bald-headed lady's hair. I grabbed her hand as she was applying the hot curlers.

“How you gonna let your badass kid run all around the city while you go to work without getting a babysitter?”

Shamir almost burned me with the hot curling iron. I took it away from her and set it down. Her customer complained. I told her, “Shut up, turn around, and mind your own bald-headed business.”

Shamir made excuses for her parental negligence. “Neh don't like babysitters. They can't really control him.”

“That ain't no excuse. He needs that butt tapped to get him in line. Come get him or else I'm going to—” Before I could finish my threat, my car alarm started blasting.

I ran outside. Shamir followed me. When we got to my ride, the alarm was blasting but the car was empty. No kid. My rear window was busted out.

“What the—I know he didn't—” I looked inside my car. My CD player was missing. “Aw, hell nah—” I flipped open my cell phone. “I'm calling the police.”

Shamir grabbed my arm. “But he's just a kid.”

“Nah, he ain't. He's a little demonic—” Just then, a squad car rolled by and I flagged it down. The cop got out.

“I've just been jacked and I know who did it.” I started giving him a description. “He's about three feet tall, big lopsided Afro, big eyes like two black flying saucers.”

“A midget jacked you?”

“Nah. Not a midget.”

“An alien?”

“Nah, worse. A
kid
! About five years old with a weird, spaced-out look about him.”

The cop cocked his head to the side like I was crazy. “
Five
years old?”

“Yeah, that's right. It's her son.” I pointed to Shamir. “Go on, tell the cop about your little spooky Bebe kid.”

Shamir shrugged innocently.

The cop said, “I don't have time to play games with you, mister.”

“I'm not playing. There's something wrong with that kid. I locked him up inside my car, rolled up all the windows and—”

“What did you just say?” The officer's eyes got suspicious. He placed his hand on his gun belt like he was about to arrest me. “You locked a kid inside your car on a hot day like this?”

I backed up. “ Nah, I didn't really say I—”

“Do you realize I could take you in on a felony for that?”

“I didn't actually—”

The cop reached for his handcuffs. Just then, we heard a loud bang on top of my car. Nehemiah dropped down from the tree where he'd been hiding. His sneakers put a dent in my hood.

The cop asked, “Is this the kid you locked inside your car?”

I looked at Nehemiah. “Uh—”

The cop opened his handcuffs, pointed at me, and asked Nehemiah, “Did this man right here lock you in that car, little fella?”

Nehemiah said to the cop, “Let me get this straight. If I say yes, you gonna haul his ass off to jail?”

The cop nodded.

Shamir said, “Neh, be nice.”

Nehemiah looked at me. “You coming to my house to play checkers?”

I remained silent. He waited for my answer. I couldn't tell if that smirk on his face meant he was being nice or if he was laughing at my ass.

I looked at the cop, looked at the handcuffs. I put on a fake smile and lied, “Yeah, little man. We gonna play checkers.”

Nehemiah told the cop, “No, he didn't lock me in the car. He's my
daddy
!”

The cop looked at me. “You're lucky I'm not arresting you. But you seriously need some parenting classes.” The cop got into his squad car and left.

I didn't say another word to the kid or his mama. I got into my busted car and started it up.

Nehemiah ran up to my door. “Hey, where you going?”

I gave him the middle finger and drove off.

I ran my hand down over my tired face. Lack of sleep and those big spooky eyes on that weird kid had me on edge. I didn't feel like going back to my office. I knew they were going to ask me a whole lot of questions I didn't feel like answering.

I went back to my place. I called around to auto repair shops and arranged to get my window fixed, get new rims, and have a new CD player put in. I couldn't drive around in a busted car with no music. I had a reputation to uphold.

By the time I got my ride fixed, it was late. I needed a drink. I wanted to forget all about that fine-ass Shamir—the female I'd wasted two whole months kicking it with only to find out she not only had a kid, but had Rosemary's baby boy. Bebe's kids ain't got nothing on that little alien. I flipped open my PDA and went through my “unused” numbers. I always kept a reserve for emergencies just like this.

I called Rachel, a cutie I'd met two weeks ago at a CD release party. I put on my deep Mack Daddy voice and laid down some game real proper on her.

“I been thinking about you for two weeks, girl.” They fell for that line every time. I arranged a date and told her I'd pick her up at seven.

I pulled up to Rachel's place at eight-thirty looking too good for her to complain. Besides, how many single, fine, designer suit–wearing young brothers with serious bank roll and no baby-mama drama were pulling up in a style like mine to take her out?

Rachel greeted me at the door looking fresh out of the oven, hot and ready to bite. I stepped back and took in the view. I shook my head and bit my bottom lip. “Hmm, hmm. You are looking too good to me, Shamir—”

“What did you call me?”

I opened my mouth to say “Rachel” again, but it came out “Shamir.”

“Shamir? My name is
not
Shamir.”

“I know your name.” I pressed my lips together and tried to say her name, but something twisted my tongue again and I said, “Shamir.”

Damn!

She yanked down her tight minidress over her shiny thighs, pointed her finger in my face and read me the riot act. “You have the nerve to come knocking on my door calling me by some other woman's name after I got all dressed up for you!”

“Wait. I—”

She slammed the door in my face. I knocked again. She hollered from the other side of the door, “What's
my
name?”

I tried to holler back, “Rachel,” but it came out “Shaaa-mirrr!”

Rachel opened the door again, but this time she threw a bag full of white flour into my face, then slammed the door again. I spat out flour and tried to wipe the white stuff off my brand-new designer dark blue suit but ended up smearing it more.

I don't believe this.
I was ticked off, but I couldn't blame the girl for being mad. I'd tried to say Rachel, but it kept coming out Shamir.

I turned to leave, feeling like a dumb-ass black Casper the Friendly Ghost, blinking and trying to brush flour out of my eye.

I thought I saw something scurry past my foot.

“Ah!” I jumped. The flour in my eye made my vision blurry and I couldn't be sure, but the thing looked like a big-ass rat with a tiny Afro.

I looked again and didn't see anything. I hurried to the elevator.

I got in and started to push the button. Instead of buttons, I thought I saw two big round black eyes.

“Aw, man!” I jerked my hand back and banged my back against the opposite side of the elevator.

I wiped my eyes and looked at the buttons again. The round black eyes were gone and the buttons looked normal. I knew some freaky shit was going on, but I didn't know how or why or what it was about.

“I've got to get outta here,” I said to myself.

I got to the lobby. Instead of the black-and-white tile that was there when I came in, the floor was red and black—like a giant checkers board. I jumped across the squares and left.

I trotted to my car, took a water bottle from my trunk, and rinsed my eyes. My whole day had been messed up. I decided I'd call my boys and maybe hang out, shoot some pool, toss back a brew, and do something to get my head right. But everywhere I looked, I saw those big black saucer-shaped eyes staring back at me.

As I reached for my phone, it rang. An unlisted number. I answered. It was Shamir.

“I'm hanging up.”

“No, wait. Chris, I want to apologize.”

I went silent, left her hanging.

She went on, “I was wrong. I should have told you I had a son. But we were so good together. We can't just end it like this, not without a good-bye. Come over. Let me make it up to you. Let me show you how sorry I am.”

Make-up sex?
Every muscle in my body wanted to hang up on her lying behind for tricking me—except one, and it was already standing at attention. I shifted my belt buckle. Kid or no kid, that woman's sex was off the hook and well worth the gas money it took to get there. But she'd lied to me. Women don't lie to Chris Duckett and get away with it. I bit my lip and contemplated.

“Is the kid there?” It's amazing how a man's pride gets overruled by his horniness every time.

“No. I took Nehemiah to the babysitter.”

Bingo!
Exactly what I wanted to hear, but I played it cool. “I may roll by later.”

I hung up. I swung by the 24-Hour Mini Mart and picked up some ginseng. Don't get me wrong. I wasn't getting back with Shamir. I had a strict no-kids policy for the women I dated and I intended to stick to it, but I had a feeling that break-up sex with her was going to be off the chain.

I pulled up to her house. It was late, around half past booty call time. She lived in a bad area on a hill overlooking the city. But I wasn't as worried about thugs as I was about that spooky-ass snot-nose kid of hers. That little alien gangsta made my briefs creep up into my butt.

I looked around for any signs or clues that the 'fro-haired brat was still around. The house looked dark and quiet. Shamir greeted me at the door in a sexy, sheer lingerie piece that I could see straight through to the promised land.

I brushed past her.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“I'm checking the house.” I didn't see any signs of it, but I couldn't take any chances. Shamir might be lying again. I looked in every room, every closet, the bathroom, the shower, the laundry room, out in the garage, and even the backyard. No sign of the kid.

“Okay, let's get busy.” I swooped her up and took her into the bedroom. She kept apologizing for not telling me she had a kid, but all I could hear was her body talking to me. That woman was fine and had a body like whoa!

She nibbled my ear. “I want this to be special tonight.”

“Oh, it will,” I said while I tried to bite off her nightie with my teeth. I was already naked.

“Wait, Chris.” Her voice was soft and sexy. “Lay back, boo. Put your hands up and relax.” She moved my hands up over my head, turned off the lights, and scooted down my body.

“Oh yeah. Now, see, that's what I'm talking about right there.”

She turned me over on my stomach, came back up, and squeezed my wrists. I heard something go
click-click
and the sound of metal clamping to the bedpost. She'd handcuffed me.

I tried to pull away, struggled, and turned my head to look back at her. “Hold up, woman. What kind of freaky sh—”

“Relax, Chris. Keep an open mind. You're going to enjoy this.”

She placed the key to the handcuff on the nightstand next to the bed. She pulled a wet towel from her nightstand and started slapping it across my butt.
Whap! Whap!

“Woman! Stop it. I'm not into no sick sex!” I craned my neck around in the dark.

She stopped. In a purry, sexy, innocent, girlish voice, she asked, “What? You don't like it?”

My body was tingling where she'd spanked me and I was as hard as Gibraltar. I hesitated. “Well, it was starting to feel kinda good. Go ahead. But slow down, and not so hard.”

I turned back over and tried to keep an open mind. I felt her crawl back up on the bed, but after two more
whaps
, it didn't feel like a wet towel anymore. It felt more like a tiny sneaker kicking my ass.