Читать книгу The Deadline - KiKi Swinson - Страница 8

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STREET TIES

It had been three days since my meeting with Christian and my story prospects so far had been nothing more than an old lady getting her purse snatched and a hit-and-run driver that caused a three-car pile-up on Virginia Beach Boulevard. I’d gotten pictures of the fire that resulted from the accident, but unless someone’s charred remains were in the photos, I knew Christian would snub them.

I was at the end of my rope. I couldn’t think anymore. I decided I needed to go see my mother. She always knew how to comfort me, whether it was with her good cooking or sound advice. I didn’t always get to have that mother-daughter relationship with her, so we were kind of making up for lost time over these past few years that she’d been drug free.

* * *

I shook my head to rid it of the memories of the past. I had worked hard to forgive my mother for the things we’d gone through. I had moved on from the hurt and anger, but on days like this, when I was super stressed-out, those memories still came back. I tried not to hold it against her, but sometimes indirectly I blamed her whenever I was hurting or stressed. I guess you could say it was just a bad cycle of thoughts.

I put my car in park, breathed out the breath I’d been holding when I was remembering the bad times, and put on a smile. I needed my mother right now. No sense in dwelling in the past. I rushed up to the door and knocked. Too full of energy, I tried the knob before she could get to the door and it was open.

“Hey, baby girl,” my mother sang as soon as I crossed the doorway into the house. She rushed over with stretched-out arms for a hug. My mother still looked good for her age. She was curvaceous like me, and although I’d taken after my father with my hazel eyes and sandy brown hair, I had my mother’s shape. We both stood five-five and had Coke-bottle shapes—flat stomachs, small waists, and nice round hips. My mother was gorgeous back in her day. The drugs had taken a bit of a toll on her looks, but not as bad as some other addicts I’d seen in my lifetime. I was just glad she’d made it out on the other side.

“Hey, Mama!” I returned the greeting and walked into her embrace. I closed my eyes for a few seconds, appreciating the love. She smelled like warm cocoa butter as usual. That was a secret she’d passed down—cocoa butter to keep the skin looking young. The smell made me feel nostalgic and loved.

“Okay . . . what’s wrong? You know I can sense it as soon as I touch you,” my mother said, her tone serious as she pulled away from me so she could look at me. I could see the concern in her eyes. “You and Kyle have that twin bond and can feel each other’s pain, but I have that special bond with both of y’all. I know every time something is not right with either one of you.” She continued looking me over hard, as if she would be able to tell what was bothering me by sight.

I sighed loudly. My mother had been saying that same thing all of our lives. She always told us that her bond and her ability to feel what we felt when we were happy, sad, hurting, or in distress was how she knew we were in danger the day my father was murdered. That was how she’d busted in with the cops and saved us in the nick of time. I sighed again and flopped down on her couch. I leaned my head back and stared up at the ceiling in silence for a few minutes. I had to gather my thoughts on how I was going to talk about how I was feeling. I was stuck between looking weak and helpless (something I hated to portray), or just being honest so I could get shit off my chest.

“C’mon, I’m waiting to hear what is going on,” my mother pressed, not giving up. “And you know I am not going to stop, so you might as well just tell me. I don’t take no for an answer when it comes to my children being in distress.”

I sat back up and shook my head. There was no fighting my mother on this, because I would be fighting a losing battle with her.

“It’s this job,” I groaned, swiping my hands over my face. I was exhausted just bringing up the topic.

“I thought you loved the job,” my mother questioned, sitting next to me on the couch.

“I do . . . I mean, I did . . . It’s just that . . .” I didn’t even know what I was trying to say. My brain was muddled with the pressures of nabbing the perfect breaking-news story. All I could think about was Christian’s threats and her nasty ways. It was a lot to process and to talk about all at once. I was silently wishing I’d chosen to go to Starbucks, instead of coming to see my mother. I wasn’t a talker like this. I’d failed at therapy for years because of it. I was a suffer-in-silence person who just made shit happen in my life. This was difficult. “I don’t even know where to start. It’s just a lot,” I finally said, dreading to reiterate what had gone on back at the office today.

“Calm down and talk to me, baby girl,” my mother comforted, stroking my hair. It was a little weird whenever she had these big displays of affection. I was still getting used to our new and building relationship. Sometimes my mother overcompensated because of her guilt from the past, but this was one time I was appreciative of her efforts.

I blew out a windstorm of breath and eased the tension in my neck and shoulders. I turned slightly so I was facing my mother. I guess I wanted her to see the distress in my eyes. I guess I wanted her to know I needed her, but was too set in my ways to ask for her comfort.

“Okay, how can I explain it so that you understand how bad it is?” I asked the question, but wasn’t expecting an answer.

“The best way to say it is, my boss, Christian, is a bitch. That’s first,” I spat with a bit more venom than my mother was probably used to hearing from one of her kids.

“Watch your language,” she said immediately. Then she softened a bit. “Go ahead, I give you a pass because you seem very stressed-out.”

I shook my head a little. This lady forgets I am grown. I am twenty-seven years old and can cuss whenever I like. I didn’t say that, though. Once a mother, always a mother.

“Anyway, Christian, the Devil in disguise, has loaded me down with the task of getting a breaking-news story that will blow our ratings through the roof. She wants some exclusive that no other station in the area or in the nation, for that matter, will have first. She has made it clear that it is the only way I will ever accomplish my dream of becoming an on-air prime time news anchor. She even threatened my current job, which, you know, with all of these student loans from grad school, I cannot afford to lose,” I relayed to my mother with tinges of angst underlying my words. Honestly, saying it all made me feel like someone had lifted a one-thousand-pound weight from my chest. I let out another long breath and felt slightly better. I guess my mother was right about how beneficial speaking to her about my problem was for me.

“Hmm, what kind of story does she want?” my mother asked, rubbing her chin as if she could help me. “I mean, news is news, right? You can only report on whatever you know to be happening. Sounds like she is expecting a miracle in this little area,” my mother continued.

“She didn’t say exactly what type of story, which is another thing all together. She just wants something so hot it will make the whole world want to know and watch our news station. My entire life and livelihood are hinging on me bringing in something that would blow her socks off. As if I could just come up with something off the top of my head like a damn fairy godmother or something,” I said. I was so disgusted by Christian’s never-satisfied ass. I could’ve just screamed and pulled all of my edges out by hand.

Just then, Kyle started fumbling with the locks to get into the house. My mother and I both turned our attention to the door as he used his key to come in. After he closed the door behind himself, he bopped toward us with the street swagger that he swore made him so manly. He was funny. I smirked because as hard as Kyle played, I knew he was a loving brother. We looked like the male and female version of one another, but we were vastly different in most ways.

Where I had always been strongly independent, Kyle was more needy and dependent. He was still living with my mother at our age. Sometimes it annoyed me, especially when I had to pay my bills at my place. I would sometimes be left with fifty bucks to get me through until the next paycheck, while I knew Kyle was here mooching and living for free. Every dime of his money was his to spend, which was why he could afford a fancy car and lots of high-end clothes. Yeah, it sometimes annoyed me to know he was living the good life, with no real worries, but other times I felt better that if I couldn’t really look out for him, because I was off on my own, then him being here with my mother meant that she could.

“Aye, twin,” Kyle sang, in the smooth, street way he spoke. His hazel-colored, cat-shaped eyes were low, so I knew he had just blazed some weed. That was another habit he’d picked up as we grew up—smoking weed. My mother got up right away. She hated to see Kyle after he was drinking or getting high off weed. I guess it was kind of a trigger for her. She said she would go make me some food and left the room with quickness. It was odd to witness her scurrying away like that, but I was too busy greeting my brother to think too much of it.

“Hey, twin,” I replied, standing up to give him a hug. Sure enough, Kyle smelled like he’d just burned an entire field of marijuana plants around him. I didn’t scold him this time. I was glad to see him. My brother and I were closer than close. He was my other half, even when I had boyfriends. Nobody really came in between my brother and me. I’d dropped many dudes over conflicts with Kyle. If they couldn’t accept my close relationship with my twin brother, then they couldn’t accept me or be with me. Kyle and I were bonded from the womb, and that was no exaggeration. When Kyle was sick, I was sick, and vice versa.

The only thing opposite about us was the path we took in life. I chose to go to school and go “the lame route” (as Kyle called it), and he chose to go the street route and be in the mix, like both of our parents were in their heyday. Kyle was into a little bit of everything and made his living off the land . . . literally. Kyle was like the middleman to everyone in the streets. If you wanted something, you could always go to him. It could be as simple as information, or as complicated as a whole houseful of furniture. If you asked for it, Kyle could get it. Kyle was the literal hustle man of the neighborhood and he had his ear to the streets about everything. Nothing got past my brother. Nothing at all. I always thought that could be a good and a bad thing. I was always worried about him out there doing nefarious shit to get money. The world was a crazy-ass place.

“What’s wrong with you?” Kyle asked, immediately sensing something with me. I still thought that shit was amazing, and it had been.

“Damn, you too,” I said, chuckling. “Mama just did the same damn thing when she hugged me. That’s so crazy. Y’all really act like that bond thing is that serious.”

“C’mon, twin. You know better. You know I know shit when you feeling down and out or hurting,” he replied, one eyebrow raised like I should already know this. “I can feel it all up in your body and see it all up in your face. You’re stressed about something. It better not be no nigga stressing you. I will tighten somebody up over you, twin.”

“It is definitely not a nigga stressing me, boy. And, really, what’s going on with me is actually not that big of a deal when it all boils down. My boss giving me shit, that’s all,” I said, not really wanting to elaborate all that much, all over again.

“Who is he? You know I don’t play that. He might be the boss at that job, but I’m the boss in real life,” Kyle said, cracking his knuckles for emphasis and his face going serious.

I laughed a bit and pushed him on the arm playfully. “First of all, it is not a he, it’s a she. And I don’t need you to beat anyone up like when we were kids. She’s just giving me a hard time about my story content. She’s pressuring me for a big story. She’s always putting the pinch on me for bigger and bigger stories. No matter what I bring in, no matter how good it is, she is never satisfied. She wants some kind of scandalous shit that she feels will earn me the spot on TV that I’ve been working for. She is even hurling threats around that if I don’t come up with something soon, she will be forced to let me go . . . blah, blah, blah . . . You know how white people with a little bit of power act . . . like they’re the master and you’re the slave,” I explained.

“Damn, she sound like a real bitch,” Kyle replied. “I know you be out there getting busy with them stories too. Your ass even be going undercover and all that. I remember that robbery at that strip club, while you was under in there trying to get a good story. And what about the time you was faking like a prostitute to find out who was snatching them prostitutes off the street down there?” Kyle recounted. He shook his head in disgust. “What more the bitch want? She want you to sell your soul to the Devil or some shit?”

I shook my head and agreed with what he was saying. I’d been going hard from the day I started working at the station. “I don’t know. She keeps using the word ‘scandal,’ ‘scandal,’ ‘scandal.’ She doesn’t want your run-of-the-mill robbery or missing person. She wants something bigger and better. I’m just at a loss, that’s all I know,” I said, even though I knew that I wasn’t going to get any real feedback from him. He wasn’t big on giving advice. He was more of a listener than anything. But for some odd reason he seemed engaged and concerned. I watched him as he rubbed his chin, just like my mother always did. He looked like he was thinking, and I was shocked.

“Shit, I know plenty of scandals you can report on,” he finally said, taking his hair pick from his pocket, sticking it into his neat Afro, and picking his hair as he spoke.

“I’ve already tried these petty-crime stories. You just said you remember the robbery I almost died trying to report on and the prostitution thing I went undercover for. That type of street shit won’t fly anymore, twin. She doesn’t want any more of those,” I said, lowering my eyes to the floor. “She wants something earth-shattering, I guess. She wants me to be standing over a dead body, or chasing down the killer, or something that will shake up the world,” I said, gesturing with my arms spread wide.

“Don’t discount the shit I know, sis. My shit ain’t all petty-crime stories,” Kyle said like he was a tiny bit offended by my comment. “You think everything I got my hands in is in the hood?” he asked, chuckling. “Think again. They don’t call me worldwide K.Y. for nothing, you dig? I can rub elbows with the best of them . . . from tracksuits to tuxedos, feel me? I know some real scandalous shit involving people you’d never think about being involved.”

I tilted my head to the side. “What are you talking about?” I asked, intrigued now. Maybe he was onto something that I needed to know.

“See, see, now you want to know what I’m talking about,” he taunted.

“Just tell me,” I shot back; my patience had worn thin.

“How would your bitch of a boss feel about a scandal involving the possible future mayor of Norfolk being involved in all kinds of illegal shit?” he asked, rubbing his hands together like he was cooking something up in his mind. “How would that be for an earth-shattering story?”

I moved to the edge of my seat; my eyebrows arched on my face. “What do you mean ‘the possible future mayor of Norfolk’? Like, a candidate that is running?”

“I mean, what if the number one candidate for mayor, Anton Barker, who is currently the defense attorney for some of the most ruthless-ass, drug-dealing killers walking the streets, is running for mayor of Norfolk so he can let all that illegal shit go down and keep getting paid by the criminal clients he’s been defending all of these years. What if I tell you that behind that suit and tie and white-tooth smile, Barker is a two-faced motherfucker pretending to be a politician, but is the biggest criminal walking?” Kyle replied, a wicked little grin spreading over his lips.

“Stop playing with my emotions, Kyle,” I grumbled at first. “Are you making this shit up as you go along? This sounds like something from a TV show or movie.”

“You ain’t got no faith in me? You ain’t learn over all the years we been alive that I don’t play around all of the time?” he asked, shaking his head at me.

“Wait . . . are you being serious? Or are you just talking shit?” I asked, my heart speeding up with excitement. “Because I’m in a real tight situation here with my boss and I don’t have time to play around. That story sounds like exactly what that bitch Christian is looking for.”

“I’m so serious, twin. I can get you that story, but we gotta be careful, though. That nigga Barker ain’t no joke. All of us street niggas know better than to get too close. Only pretty women can get close to him. He got a thing for bad chicks, if you know what I mean. But on the same token, he goes through a lot of shit to hide and protect himself, feel me? He plans on becoming mayor in a few months. That is, unless you break this story and bust up the election, but just know if you do that, you might have to have a lot of protection around you afterward,” Kyle said, his tone getting serious. “Be sure you’re ready to live like that for a while. It would be like being in Witness Protection or some shit. Always looking back over your shoulders.”

I didn’t care about my brother’s warnings. All I heard was “ratings, ratings, ratings,” which equaled to me being on that 6:00 p.m. news anchor desk.

“How? How can I get in on this?” I asked, jumping to my feet. Within seconds I was pacing, which is what I did whenever my mind started racing. I could’ve walked a hole into my mother’s carpet as much as I was moving. I had so many thoughts rotating around my head. I couldn’t figure out if I was coming or going.

“It may take selling your soul, just like your boss expects,” Kyle answered, but then he laughed. “Shit, we both going to sell our souls, for that matter. I would be dragging you into something you might not be ready for. You may have to get inside his campaign office or even push up on the nigga to get closer. Like I said, he has people working for him already and he rubs elbows with all the major players in the game here in Norfolk. I don’t know if you’re ready. He also has cops and judges and the like on his payroll. Let’s put it this way . . . Barker’s friends are all killers in suits. So I don’t know if I even want you involved, now that I think about it.”

“Stop playing,” I told him seriously. “You can’t tell me about this and then pull back now. I definitely don’t have time for any games. This is my story. I can feel it, Kyle.”

I didn’t have time to be strung along. I needed to know if I was going to have something I could go back and tell Christian.

“Pump your breaks, sis. I’m not playing at all. Stick with me and I’ll take you to the first of many places to build up the story. You just have to be careful with the information until you have it all together, because once you blow the whistle on this, we might all have to run for cover. Barker is dead set—and I do mean dead set—on becoming the future mayor. He has defended the biggest dealers in our area. And he is not only powerful, he is ruthless and don’t give a fuck about nothing. He is the Devil in a suit,” Kyle warned.

“I don’t know about y’all doing this,” my mother said, her voice shaky. She’d returned to the living room with a plate of food for me, but I hadn’t even heard her come back. I was too busy being keyed into what Kyle and I were discussing about the story line.

“I don’t think anything is worth selling your soul to the Devil for. This man sounds like someone you need to steer clear of,” my mother went on. My first thought was that she had some nerve. I had watched her sell her soul to the drug devil a few times. She couldn’t judge me at all. I kept those bad thoughts in my head, though.

I flopped back down on the couch and sat quiet for a few seconds. Christian’s voice rang in my head: “Nothing is guaranteed . . . not even the job you have right now. If you don’t pull your weight around here, there are thousands of other hungry young reporters out there that would love to be in your shoes.”

That was enough. I wanted whatever Kyle was going to give me. I wanted my job. I wasn’t listening to anyone other than my inner voice, which was telling me this was going to be my big break.

My mother set the plate of liver, onions, white rice, and gravy in front of me, but all of a sudden I wasn’t hungry. Kyle switched on the TV. “Watch this . . . I bet the nigga is on TV smiling and kissing babies right now as we speak about his ass,” Kyle said, flipping through channels until he came to our rival station’s news.

I sat up straight and watched. My heart was beating so fast, I felt the movement behind my eyes. Sure enough, as fate would have it, there he was, the now-infamous Anton Barker, standing behind the reporter waving and smiling like the quintessential politician. I couldn’t front, the man was fine. He had a nice build, which was not too skinny, but not too muscular. His hair was salt-and-pepper, and so was the goatee that ringed his smooth cocoa-colored skin. His suit was clearly custom-made and expensive. It looked like he spared no expense on his upkeep and appearance. I liked it. I liked it a lot. I watched the television screen and stared as my rival station nemesis, Jay Jones, walked over with her goofy smile and microphone. Even she made googly eyes at Barker as she jockeyed for a good position and camera angle.

“We are here at the biggest mayoral campaign event for top candidate Anton Barker since he announced his bid for mayor of Norfolk. The people seem to love him. This crowd has eclipsed every other candidate in the race. It seems that the people of all sections of the city love Mr. Barker. We have reported before how it seems Barker has a stronghold on all classes of voters.”

I watched, glued to the television, as Jay Jones pushed her microphone past all of the other reporters and wedged her way in, to get a word with Barker.

“Mr. Barker, sir. Tell us how you manage to appeal to so many people. We’ve seen you defend what some would call the dregs of society, but now here you are, being loved by everyone,” Jay Jones said, her microphone directly in front of Barker’s mouth. He straightened the lapels on his jacket, flashed a beautiful, gleaming white, straight-toothed smile, and spoke eloquently.

“Well, let’s just say I am a man of the people . . . all people. I come from humble beginnings and worked my way through law school. It wasn’t easy, so I understand the plight of every man, woman, and child in Norfolk. From the rich to the poor, I’ve been around them all. I will continue to serve the people,” Anton Barker answered, never letting his smile drop from his face.

I was flabbergasted by his words. He was smooth, gorgeous, and now I knew that he was also a liar. I shook my head, side to side, and squinted at the television. It took a special kind of person to lie so smoothly. I was convinced in those few minutes of watching Anton Barker that he could sell salt to a slug or talk someone right into a brown paper bag. From what Kyle had just said, the beautiful specimen of a man I was looking at on TV might as well have been a serial killer, based on the crimes he had defended and the ones he had also committed. It could only take a psychopath to switch identities like that. And what better type of story to report on than one about a two-faced, double-crossing, double-life–living psychopath that was running for the top office in our city?

* * *

I stood up. I was too uncomfortable to stay seated at that point. A bunch of theories and story preps ran through my mind at once.

“What you thinking, twin?” Kyle asked me, noticing my face. He suspected that I was onto something.

“I have to have this story. This is going to make my career, and there is nothing else I want to do now,” I said, kind of in a trance. “He has got to be stopped if everything you’ve said is true.”

I could actually envision myself breaking the story to Christian. She’d jump up and hug me so hard that I wouldn’t be able to breathe. This is the kind of story that would put her past work to shame. They would be begging me to be on that news desk. I might even steal Christian’s job out from under her, like she did to Lucy.

“I know I have no place in telling you-all what to do. We’ve lost some years and you both are grown, but this all just doesn’t sit right with me. I feel danger down in my gut and bones—danger for everyone involved, not just you, Khloé,” my mother said, looking like she was on the verge of tears.

But when I became a reporter/journalist, I knew what I was signing up for when I applied for the job. I couldn’t afford to let someone else get an exclusive story on him. I’d be in the unemployment line the following day. Now what I can do for my mother was assure her that everything would be fine.

“I promise you, I will be careful, Mama, but if there is a scandal going on in Norfolk, I am going to be the one to break it. I don’t care if I do have to sell my soul,” I said, meaning every word I had uttered. I was ready to go after the infamous Anton Barker full steam ahead. Six p.m. news desk, here I come, I cheered in my head. I could picture myself now, getting a whole new wardrobe and hiring a glam squad because I would have to be on point.