The Bad Seed Page 9

  He was every bit of five-feet-six-inches and 135 pounds, but when he stepped to me, his swagger reflected his image at twice its normal size. There was something raw and unchained in his spirit. I could smell danger on him like I could smell the marijuana. He excited me. He was thugged out from head-to-toe, with sagging blue jeans, a faded wifebeater, black utility boots, with a Black & Mild dangling from his thick and beautiful lips.

  “Man, you cold-blooded, ain’t you?” he asked with a hint of delight in his deep voice. His voice was deep and was tailor made for a much bigger man.

  “I’m just tryna be like you.”

  He smiled. “Nah, son. Don’t be like me. You betta than me, but you know I got you,” he said. “Now, what I gotta do?” I explained to him the part of my plan that he needed to know. Ashleigh had crossed too many boundaries with me and I was not about to sit around and wait for her to strike. I had to take her out and Marquis was the perfect person to eliminate her. I kept Marquis on a strict need-to-know basis and the beauty of him was that he never asked any questions. If I told him what needed to be done, he’d do it, no questions asked. He didn’t ask me what she did to me or why I wanted to do that to her; generally speaking, he never seemed to care what motivated me. He was definitely a follower. He would have made an excellent soldier, except for his aversion and rejection of all authority figures.

  When he and I hooked up, we’d sometimes chill and smoke weed; other times we’d fuck like whores. I could tell he was no expert at sexing a man, in spite of his confidence, because his stroke game was like a jack rabbit, but I intended to teach him and he was willing to learn. He was more than curious and had already had several experiences with men. “Men give the best head,” he said that day at the mall. He found out I had won trophies for my head game.

  Over time, when he became comfortable with me, he shared with me the unfortunate circumstances of his upbringing; his mother essentially putting him out on the street every time she found a new boyfriend. Finally, at sixteen, when she put him out, he didn’t return. He’d been on the street doing what he had to do to survive for a few years, which translated to mostly slingin’ rock. Now, at twenty-three, he had managed to carve out a slice of the Southeast D.C. drug trade for himself. He wasn’t a baller by any means—he wasn’t that ambitious—but he made enough to survive; surviving seemed to be the extent of his ambition.

  “If I do this for you, what I get in return?” he said with a grin as he rubbed his penis through the black sweatpants that he wore.

  “Baby, you can get anything you want.”

  “That’s wassup. You know what I like.” He dropped the joystick to his Xbox game and pimped his way over to me, grinning from ear-to-ear. He was a simple little thing, but his swag was on point. I liked him more than I cared to admit.

  He pushed me down on his sofa, climbed on top of me, and kissed me forcefully. I wanted to resist, but his lips had a power of their own that I couldn’t resist. He tasted of liquor, chicken wings, and peril, but he had never tasted so sweet.

  This little man was my savior.

  I had charged him with the task of killing Robert. Marquis, eager to please and possess me, was all too willing to oblige; especially when I lied and told him how Robert abused me mentally and physically. When I told him how Robert punched me in the face one day, I saw anger sweep across Marquis’s face; it took refuge residence in his heart. His whole demeanor changed; hate filled his eyes. Right in front of me, he transformed into a wild thing, ready to strike and kill. If Robert had been anywhere near him at the moment when the lie left spilled from my mouth, Marquis would have blown his head off, without a second thought.

  To be rid of Robert, I only had to tell him when and where; but, I had to be careful with Marquis. I had to do all of the planning. I didn’t have faith in his ability to devise and execute the plan. He was a trigger man, nothing more, nothing less.

  Danger is alluring and that was part of Marquis’s appeal. He kept things exciting. Every day I spent with him was a new adventure, but behind my heart, a small measure of fear lingered when I dealt with him. It wasn’t something I’d ever show or tell him. He’d never hurt me, but Marquis was no stranger to murder. He had first killed when he was eighteen, in a drive-by, after a rival gang shot and killed his cousin; that man was his first kill, but not his last. Marquis told me how pulling the trigger made him feel powerful, as if he was God. It freaked me out a little bit. He felt little remorse after the deed was done; in fact, he and his boys had gone to play a game of basketball on a beat-up court on Benning Road, NE.

  We connected because we were kindred spirits. Killers. I never shared with him or anyone what I had done to Jabari; that secret would follow me to my grave, but I listened when he sometimes confessed his sins. I listened, but I could offer no absolution.

  Marquis shared with me so much of himself, things he had never told anyone, because there was never anyone to tell. He was alone in the world for the most part. He wasn’t a depraved killer, wandering the streets murdering without thought and conscience. He was a thoughtful killer, who killed with purpose, only when it was necessary.

  Robert’s death was both purposeful and necessary.

  Even though I had strong feelings for Nigel and thought we might be together one day, I entertained fantasies about running off with Marquis. I wanted to show him parts of the world that he had never imagined. I wanted to be there to see his eyes light up when he saw the Eiffel Tower for the first time or when he saw the pyramids of Giza. It would be cool to see his eyes light up at the splendor of the Grand Canyon or the Statue of Liberty. I wanted to use Robert’s money to uplift him, rescue him from his poverty and make him mine.

  But, it was only a fantasy; a small one, at that.

  Marquis and I both knew we were too different for each other. He’d never fit into my world, nor did he desire to. He was content on smoking weed, selling rock when he needed to, and playing video games.

  I pushed him gently off me.

  “What, a brotha can’t get no love today?”

  “You know I love you, Marquis. I just have to be somewhere in a few minutes.”

  “Fuck that shit. You in Souffeast now, muthafucka. You don’t leave until I say you leave,” he said playfully, his thick D.C. accent in full effect. He stuck his tongue down my throat hard and forcefully.

  I didn’t resist.

  I pulled into the driveway of our house around six in the evening and was surprised to see Nigel’s car. Robert was never home this early—let alone with Nigel—so I couldn’t imagine what was going on; however, I was happy Nigel was there. If I was lucky, maybe I could get Nigel alone and steal a kiss. With the taste of Marquis on my lips, I thought it would be an interesting mix.

  Before I stuck my key into the lock, I took a deep breath and shook off thoughts of Nigel so that my eyes didn’t betray our secret relationship. I also took a moment and steadied myself for Robert’s inevitable berating. He’d make his displeasure known at my silent treatment; I had ignored his calls all day. Even though we had guests, he’d find a way to express his emotion, even in the smallest way. His anger, simmering right beneath the surface, would manifest itself in passive-aggressive ways throughout the evening until we were alone. He could be such a juvenile. After our guests had moved on, he’d scold me like a child—his thin lips quivering with anger—as he wagged his emaciated finger in my direction like an old Catholic school nun. Eventually, his childlike tantrum would shift into lust and we’d have angry sex, maybe break a table or an expensive vase in the process. Either way, he’d get over it.

  When I stepped into the house, I was immediately greeted by the rich and aromatic smell of exotic spices. The appetizing scent hung in the hair and beckoned me toward the kitchen. As I neared the area, I saw a couple of people dressed in white uniforms scurrying about the room, tending to simmering pots and peeking into the oven.

  “Excuse me, what’s going on here?” I asked the tall thin man wearing the chef’
s hat.

  “Blues, I’m glad you’re home; there is a lot to do before the guests arrive.” I was startled by Ashleigh, who greeted me affectionately. I don’t know where she came from. It was like she materialized in a puff of black smoke. “We need to make sure everything is set before the guests arrive.”

  “What the hell is going on?”

  “You didn’t get the messages? Daddy is hosting a dinner for the executives from some charity…Corey’s Room, Kyle’s Room—”

  “Keevan’s Room?”

  “Yes, that’s the one.”

  “Really? When did he decide this?”

  “This afternoon; very short notice.”

  I shook my head. “I hate when he does that.”

  “Blues,” she said, “you have to learn to be more flexible with Daddy. He’s an important man and sometimes these things can’t be helped.”

  I know she wasn’t trying to give me advice about Robert.

  “Whatever, Ashleigh. I know more about Robert and his business dealings than you could ever hope to know. “

  “Well, if you knew so much you should have known that he needed you today and you should have been available tonight. Daddy starting yelling at me, asking me why you weren’t answering your phone, as if I knew. I could’ve made a guess, but luckily for you, I didn’t.”

  “I don’t have the patience to deal with you right now.”

  “Why? Have your extracurricular activities tired you out?

  I exhaled heavily. “What time does this dinner start?”

  “At seven.”

  I looked down at my watch. It was 6:20. “How many people are coming?”

  “Eight, including Nigel.”

  “I saw his car outside. Where is he?”

  “He and Daddy are out by the pool.” She moved about the kitchen like she was the queen bee. I followed her over to the stove as she raised a lid on one of the pots. I looked at the colorful dish.

  “This isn’t Catering by Estelle,” I said flatly after taking one look at the dish and because I couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Robert only uses Catering by Estelle; he won’t be happy.”

  “He’ll be fine. Estelle was completely booked tonight and couldn’t accommodate us on such short notice.”

  I inhaled. “Fine. What do you need me to do?” Just as I spoke, the doorbell rang. “You can get the door,” she said as she turned and walked toward the chef, leaving her comment to sizzle into my ears. Luckily for her, living with Robert had taught me to temper my tongue. I let her flippant comment pass and, as she had instructed, I answered the door.

  I was not happy to learn that Robert was hosting this dinner party. Usually, when folks came over, it was because they needed something from him, something like money—my money. I didn’t usually take too much interest in Robert’s affairs because, quite frankly, I didn’t much care. He sat on the boards of several not-for-profit organizations that I never cared to learn about, except this Keevan’s Room mess. Robert talked about it more than I cared to listen.

  Keevan’s Room was just that—a mess. This organization, from what I understood, provided shelter and support for gay men who were victims of domestic violence. From what I gathered, the founder, some dude named Kevin, named the organization after his dead brother who I guessed must’ve had his ass kicked on a regular basis by his lover or some shit like that. I didn’t ask Robert for the details, nor did I ask how he came to be on the board of such an organization. I could only imagine the kind of weak-ass men that would need that kind of protection.

  Robert did mention that Keevan’s Room operated three shelters: one in Washington, D.C., one in Houston, and the newest location in Los Angeles. The Purple Party, going into its second year, was a huge fundraiser for the group. I didn’t care for charity, but I loved a great party.

  I made it to the door on the third ring of the bell. When I answered it, I was surprised to see two very striking men standing before me. My disinterest in Keevan’s Room quickly changed to ‘how you doin’?’ The shorter of the two men wore a blue and white striped shirt and dark slacks. I could see that he worked out, but his body wasn’t nearly as good as mine; even still, I wanted to lay hands on him. His skin tone was an earthly color brown and his dark and inviting eyes sparkled in the evening light. I noticed a couple of errant gray hairs protruding from his neatly trimmed mustache and goatee, but it only added to his appeal. He looked yummy. I was beginning to understand Robert’s interest in Keevan’s Room.

  “Hello, I’m Kevin Davis and this is Daryl Harris. We have a dinner meeting with Robert; I think we’re a bit early,” he said as he glanced down at his Cartier watch.

  I could spot an expensive watch from another room. Hmmmm, good-looking and rich—my favorite combination. Maybe he’ll be my next ex-husband. Kevin’s booming voice projected much more confidence than I expected. I felt a spark in my pants. He had better watch out.

  “Of course, come in. I’m Blues Carmichael-Douglas, Robert’s husband.” I stepped aside and let the dynamic duo enter the room, taking full stock of the specimens as they eased by. There was nothing sexier than a black man who was completely confident in his black skin.

  “Blues. That’s an interesting name,” the taller one said as he moved into the room. I had already forgotten his name, but I remembered that it started with a D. He exuded a quiet sexuality that intrigued me and made me pay attention. His strut, his height, his lips, and his smile suggested there was more to this man than met the eye. He was dressed a little more casually than Kevin, but he looked great in his khaki pants and short-sleeved shirt.

  “I’m an interesting person,” I said with a wink. Kevin seemed a bit put off by my comment. Hmmmm, could they be lovers? I didn’t really care.

  If I couldn’t make a happy home, I certainly could break one.

  “Follow me, please.” I led them into the den; I didn’t know where else to place them. “May I offer you something to drink while you wait for Robert?”

  “Nothing for me,” they both said in unison and then giggled at the simultaneous outburst.

  Ugghhh, silly fags.

  “I don’t mean to be presumptuous, but are you two a couple?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer. They lapsed into an awkward silence and shot mysterious glances at each other, as if they were at a loss for words.

  “Umm, what are we, Kevin?” Daryl asked with an impish smile.

  “Let’s just say we have a history together,” he said, exchanging glances between the two of us. He looked at Daryl with an uncomfortable smile. I smiled, too.

  “I didn’t mean to offend you. If you were a couple, I was going to mention how cute you look together; that’s all.”

  “Well, thank you. Kevin and I are very special to each other,” Daryl interjected. I could tell from the look in his eyes and the silly expression on his face that he really cared for Kevin, but there was something standoffish about Kevin that kept him at bay. I wondered what that history between them really was about.

  I quickly bored of the conversion. “I’ll see what’s keeping Robert.” I could feel two sets of eyes locking onto me as I exited the room. They’re looking at my ass. As I stepped out of the room, I paused right beyond the door, out of sight, because I knew they were going to talk about me. Jealous fags always did.

  “I don’t like him,” I heard Kevin say plainly. He said it as a matter-of-fact, as if his dislike of me was permanent.

  Well, fuck you, too.

  “Don’t be too hard on him; he’s just young.”

  “Yes, very young; too young for Robert.”

  “Kevin, stay out of grown folks’ business.”

  “I’m just saying. There is only one thing that boy could offer Robert and I know it ain’t conversation.”

  “And that’s okay. As long as Robert is happy.”

  “Whatever. And you, if you eye Little Boy Blue one more time, you gonna need shelter from Keevan’s
Room,” Kevin said, in an I’m-laughing-but-you-know-I’m-not-playing-with-your-ass tone.

  “I don’t want that boy, but you gotta admit, he’s got a big booty,” Daryl said with a chuckle. I peeked around the corner just in time to see Kevin give him a playful jab to the ribs in protest.

  “That may be true, but I don’t like his vibe. Something is off about him. That boy can’t be any older than twenty-five and his eyes are empty. I thought Robert had better taste.”

  Better taste? Bitch, it doesn’t get any better than this.

  “Now, who’s being shady?” They snickered.

  Uggghhh.

  “I ain’t worried about that little boy. I am, however, worried about this party. Everything has got to go off without a hitch; this is our biggest event of the year.”

  I made a mental note to fuck Daryl at some point in the near future for coming to my defense. Now, it was time to find my husband.

  As I made my way out to the pool, I saw Robert and Nigel seated on stools at the outside bar, drinks in hand, and sharing a private laugh. I exhaled as I neared.

  “Ahhh, there he is,” Robert said with a genuine affection. He hopped off the stool and pulled me into his body when I was close enough. He planted a firm kiss on my lips. “How are you, baby?”

  “I’m fine. I’m sorry about this afternoon. I went to see a movie and then snuck into another theater after it was over.” They both looked at me like I had lost my mind. “It’s something I used to do when I was a child.” I chuckled.

  “Whatever makes you happy.” Robert smiled.