Y
"TROUBLE IN SIGHT"
When Jimmy and Jey arrived at Poochie's mother's apartment, they were met by Poochie's angry brother. When he saw Jimmy, he surged forth in grief-filled fury. "Where's he at?" he demanded. "Where that nigga at? I know you know where he is!" His aunt immediately emerged from somewhere inside the unit and jerked him back, shushing him at once. "Go see about the little ones," she hissed at him. However, she cut her eyes back onto Jimmy. "I know you were tight with Creole," she said, keeping her voice low so she would not be heard. "If you know anything…"
"I don't know where he is," Jimmy told her truthfully. "I haven't had any contact with him since he assaulted my sister."
"Ronnie couldn't come," Jey said, adding that his wife was too inconsolable. Poochie's aunt seemed to accept that answer, so she ushered the two of them into the kitchen. Poochie's mother was seated at the table, head down and sobbing. Jey sat down next to her and did his best to console her, while Jimmy caught a glimpse of one of Poochie's children peeking at him. When she saw him look at her, she darted back upstairs. Jimmy calmly walked up the stairs, where he saw Poochie's three children huddled together in their mother's old bedroom. Thinking of his own daughter, Jimmy knelt in front of them and outstretched his arms. The children immediately ran to him, hugging him. Then, the oldest boy told Jimmy something that would haunt him for many weeks thereafter. "Jimmy, when I grow up, I'm gon' kill the man who killed my mama."
When Jey returned home, the house was quiet and dark. He entered the den and sat down in his lounge chair. He did not turn on the television—he simply remained in the dark, listening to his thoughts. They were disturbing images. Flashbacks of Afghanistan—images of his friends and bunkmates being ambushed and blown apart by IEDs. Bobby saw images of his childhood with his mother—Marvin's beatings, especially the one that nearly killed him. He could still hear his own screaming as the extension cord bit into his tender skin, cutting into it and leaving scars. He could still hear the screams of his friends as the explosive resounded throughout the patrol area, snuffing out many young lives. He put his head in his hands and allowed tears to come. He then turned to the cabinet and pulled out a bottle of Grey Goose. Opening the bottle, Jey allowed the vodka to overcome him—as he had been doing for the past few weeks. He was still sitting there when Veronica nudged him. "Baby, how was Poochie's mama?" she asked him.
Jey, still delusional, grabbed her wrist. Veronica squealed in pain as he tightened his grip. "Jey! Jey, let go!" she yelled.
Jey glared at his wife, a fearful look that ran through Veronica's blood like ice water. Knowing that he was still in his delusion, Veronica slapped furiously at his vice-like hand until he finally turned loose. Blinking and wiping his eyes, Jey merely glanced at her and muttered, "Don't sneak up on me like that, girl." He then rose from his chair and stalked upstairs. Veronica remained rooted where she stood, deeply unnerved by what had just occurred. Jey had never had illusions like this—not even when he first came home after being injured. She rubbed her aching wrist, breathing heavily with aversion and disbelief. She didn't know what was happening. Her best friend is murdered, now the love of her life is turning into this entity that she no longer recognized.
When Veronica opened the door to the bedroom, Jey was already in bed. When she slid next to him, he moved away from her. "Jey, you didn't tell me how Poochie's mama was," she said to him.
Jey, who was not asleep, narrowed his eyes as he faced the wall. "She taking it like one would expect if her kid was killed."
"Was she crying a whole lot or…"
"How you think she was doing?" Jey suddenly interrupted her, the quiet in his voice failing to mask his perturbed disposition. Veronica picked up on it right away, her skin prickling. The same mannerism that would anger her with Airilyn was now showing up in her husband, and she didn't like that at all. "Why you gettin' all crabby?" she wondered. "I'm trying to see how she was."
"Leave me be, woman…let me sleep." And with that final statement, Jey went to sleep—never once facing his wife. Veronica, while hurt, was now feeling angry. She didn't know what was going on to make Jey start acting this way, but she no longer cared. His behavior was now bordering upon emotional abuse, and she had sworn to herself that she would not allow herself to be trapped inside of a toxic relationship. She lie down on her side of their bed, but sleep would not come right away. "What is going on, Lord?" she prayed aloud. "What is happening to my Jey?"
Meanwhile, Tika was having her own marital issue. It wasn't as serious as Jey and Veronica—however, she wanted to address it. As soon as Jimmy came home from work, Tika ushered him inside and had him to sit down. "OK, Jimmy," Tika began. "We gotta talk about something. We've been married for three-and-a-half years and we haven't had any real problems; in fact, we've had pretty smooth sailing so far."
"Yeah," Jimmy agreed. "So, what's the matter?"
Tika hesitated with her next choice of words. "Jimmy, um…how would you describe our…um…sex life?"
Jimmy sat straight up in his lounge chair. "What?!" he exclaimed, immediately shushing himself so he wouldn't wake Isabella. Tika repeated the question, then gazed at Jimmy expectantly, waiting for an answer. Jimmy smiled and took Tika's hand. "Well, I'd say we be gettin' in that good-good pretty good." Tika narrowed her eyes playfully at his smile, knowing that she would have to compose herself. Throughout their three-year marriage, Tika had learned that Jimmy could just part those lips into that gorgeous smile—and that would prompt Tika to put off anything that she would need to discuss with him until after a night of soul-stirring sex. However, that was what they needed to talk about. "Baby, you know I love when we get together," Tika said. "But I want us to…well, mix it up a little."
Jimmy sighed, knowing where this was headed. "Dot, you know I put a lot of that thug life behind me. I have to be real careful about everything I do because I know that it wouldn't take a whole lot to get me going."
"Boo, that's different. That street life, fighting, going to jail—that's one thing. I just want you to put it down like you used to," Tika said. "You just have to separate the two." Then the telephone rang, to their chagrin. Tika answered it, then handed it to Jimmy. "It's your mom."
Jimmy took the phone while Tika went into the kitchen to fetch some water. By the time she returned, Jimmy had already hung up. "Whoa. That was quick," she observed.
"Not much to talk about," Jimmy answered.
"Well, what did you talk about?"
Jimmy shrugged his shoulders, then said, "Mama just called to tell me that Marvin's at her house—he's dying."
The next couple of days were twice as hectic for the Moran family. Besides work, Jimmy had the burden of informing everyone of Marvin's condition. Jey only responded with shrugs and limited speech. "He just getting what he dealt out," he would say, to which Jimmy would only nod in concurrence. When Jey called Airilyn with the news, she hissed out, "So what? I've been dying for years—where's my comfort?" When Jimmy called Tommy and Lynette, there was a stark contrast in emotions: Lynette cried like a baby, while Tommy mirrored Jey's reaction. Uncle Poe expressed his condolensces—only for the children's sake. However, when Jimmy brought up sending for them to see their father one more time, Uncle Poe refused. "No, I don't think so. I don't want them going near that man. They already have to go through life, knowing they have an animal as a father—the less time they have with him, the better." Jimmy and Jey would not have gone to see Marvin, either—except Tika had convinced her husband that he needed to visit with Marvin for closure. So, against Jey's wishes, the two of them had decided to see their stepdad Saturday afternoon.
"Wake up, Ricky," Creole's incessant shaking rocked him awake. "We have work to put in." Ricky sighed, tired. "Listen, Creole—I really wanna go back to school now."
"You can't go back," Creole said.
"I don't want to do this anymore."
"That's no longer your decision now. You knew what it was from the jump, Ricky. You're along for the ride now, and I'm not about to drop your ass off because you're getting a little green." Creole pulled out his .45-caliber gun and pointed it at his younger brother. "You're not going anywhere, Ricky. And if you dare try, you know what will have to happen." Ricky trembled in fear and trepidation. He realized that there was no way he would be able to get away from Creole. He also realized what everyone else had known all along—that Creole only cared for himself and that he would sell out or eliminate anyone whom he felt were a hindrance to his plans. Ricky now knew that he was a prisoner, and that Creole would just as quickly kill him as he would kill a stranger. Creole grasped Ricky by the shoulder. "Time for our next trip. Let's go back home and pay Young Uce's stepdad a visit."
