"Damn this man to hell." Rachel hangs up the phone in frustration, failing to contact Jermaine.
She was just ending her shift, and was ready to retreat to her apartment before another long night tomorrow. Her head was pounding from the overstimulation of the flashing, colorful lights and roaring crowds and music. Rachel wasn't one to dance with barely any clothes on, so to switch into denim shorts and a tank top was no problem for her. Xia was off for the night, and Mielle was probably on her fifth margarita and hooking up.
"Any luck catching the pansy?" Cube asked.
He always made sure to walk Rachel to her car safely when it was time for her to leave. Cube held open the back door for Rachel as they exited.
"Luck," Rachel scoffed, "I'm gonna need more than that to deal with this man."
"I got no problem stringing him to the telephone wires. He got some nerve stressing you out like this."
Rachel laughed softly as she opened her car and put her bag in the backseat. "Trust me, I'll say the word."
"You got it. I hope this all works out for ya. Really do." Cube's face was tough and his voice guttural, but Rachel could tell he was sincere.
Rachel sighed. "Thanks, I hope so, too."
"By the way," Cube takes a paper out of his pocket and hands it to the woman. "Note for you that some nerd gave me."
"Thank you, Cube," Rachel raises her eyebrow in surprise, wondering what words lie in the paper.
TO MS. ROTH, WHOM I HOLD DEEP ADORATION,
I hope this letter gets to you in a timely manner. I wanted to inform you that I can help you obtain custody of your daughter. I have some connections that may enable me to do so. Meet me at Sunset Diner after your shift tomorrow night.
With endearment,
Theodore Cooper.
"A hand written love letter, my new bare minimum." Rachel closed the letter, finally sitting in the driver seat and starting the car.
Cube seemed amused. "You've got a fanbase. Well, I gotta head back into the dog house. Be safe, alright? If I can help with anything, just shoot me a text."
"Thank you again, Cube. I really appreciate it." Rachel replied.
Cube's mouth leaned into a crooked, stiff smile before he walked back to the club.
Rachel takes a twenty minute drive to Prospect Heights, where Jermaine's sister and brother in law resided.
Upon her arrival, Rachel rings the crummy doorbell. It was slimy with old grease, which made Rachel grimace.
After about a two-minute wait, a woman comes to the door. Tanisha was only a few years older than her brother, Jermaine, but she appeared to be aged sixty. Tanisha had matted, bone-dry coils, and yellow, missing teeth. Her brown skin had patches of dirt, and she stenched nothing short of horrible. Rachel wanted to cover her nose so badly.
"Sorry for the wait," Tanisha slurred— she was zooted. "Lamar and I were porkin'."
"Definitely something I need to know," The agitation was clear in Rachel's tone. "I need to know where your brother is. This game of hide and seek is pissing me sick."
"Ion know where Jermaine at, that incompetent dopehead." Tanisha turned her back, and Rachel followed into the house. An instant regret on Rachel's part.
Broken CD's and beer bottles greeted her at the entrance, strewn grocery bags, empty boxes mixed with piles of clothes, stains on the walls, weeks of dishes in the sink with critters nesting in them. The floor was barely visible and so was Rachel's sanity.
Rachel stayed at the front of the house.
"I'm losing myself, Tanisha. I miss Raelynn more than I can think. You mean to say you have no whereabouts of Jermaine? None at all?"
"Shit, they've got the rats. Goddamn pussycats." Tanisha ran off the shrieks of rodents and cries of cats in her backyard. She had a squad of rodents for pets, along with three cats. Her living space was a perfect breeding ground for murine species, to say the least.
Just then, Ransford, Tanisha's husband, emerges from a bedroom.
Chunky and round, with a smear of cake on his face. His pants were twisted and undone. "Hey, sugar. Some of the guys down at the office asked me if you do uh…. private parties."
Rachel responded bluntly, "Not in my vernacular."
"Damn shame. I heard you can put down some moves." Ransford moved in proximity to Rachel, making an obvious invasion of her space.
"Listen, I'm going to lose it if I don't get Jermaine's new number. Every time I get a grip on him, he's gone. I promised Raelynn I would call her everyday and…"
Ransford, observing Rachel's body and dazed by the fact. He attempts to touch her chest. "Ehh… the word is that he moved."
Rachel, cheeks heated and words sharp— she takes his hand and twists it. "Where is he?"
Ransford exclaims in protest, immediately drawing his hand back.
The man winces like a child, "I don't know, okay? He usually comes once a week to collect money, and that's it. He barely even looks at me when I come by. Even though I'm…" He snaps back into his state of delusion and cheesily smirks. "quite the man,"
Ransford embarrassingly bites his lip, "Dead God, you're so hot."
Rachel's mouth sits in a flat line as she crosses her arms about her chest.
"You don't think I know that?"
Rachel eyes a mail amongst the horrific disarray on the side table.
"Oh," She grasps her head and stumbles a bit forward.
"What's wrong, sweetheart?" Ransford's meaty, sticky hands hold her body. Who knows if he even washes them…
Her face is crinkled. "Migraine."
"Let me get you some water and Advil. I'll be right back." Ransford rushes off to the back of the house.
"Nevermind, Ransford! I'm just gonna head home, it's late. Thank you, anyway!" Rachel moves quickly, grabs the piece of mail, and makes a beeline to the door.
She drives a good distance from the house, stopping at a gas station. In a haste, Rachel opens the envelope and finds a check issued to her ex-husband.
"Union Street," Rachel whispers to herself, and slams the gas.
The skies break out into a strong thunder and heavy rain as she takes 6th Avenue down to Union Street. She parks the car, throws on an oversized sweatshirt, and knocks on the door of the location.
Rachel's knuckles rap against the door. "Jermaine. Jermaine! Open up the door, I know you're in there!"
Rachel tries the knob, and to her surprise, it's unlocked.
She enters the place with caution. There wasn't any light or sign of life.
She turns on the main light, and carefully looks around the room.
"Jermaine? Lil Rae?" She calls, and no one answers.
Rachel's heart strains as she sits on the sofa. She takes the only meaningful evidence in her hand. Her throat is burning with a suppressed cry, her skin is hot in anger, water is dripping all over her body and soaked her black Converse.
With an empty Trolli bag in her hand, Rachel lets the tears fall.