Baby Momma 4

I parked on the street and stepped out, taking in a deep breath of the city. Summer was just starting to spread her legs after a long, celibate winter. You could smell it in the air, almost taste it on the tip of your tongue. It was that energy that made niggas anxious to get out of the house and into some bullshit. That shit that kept my plate full of cases, clients, and pretty faces needing favors.

The Metropolitan PD was my last stop before calling it a night. I liked to check in from time to time to see who or what had been brought in. I kept at least three officers in my back pocket at every station in and out of the area. They scratched my back, and when it was necessary, I watched theirs.

Dim fluorescent lights lit up the grubby interior of the station. It wasn’t nearly as busy as I would have expected for a Friday night.

“Oh ho ho, now, looks like Santa stopped by extra, extra early. Hide your convicts and hide your wives. Genesis Kane is prowling the building.”

I’d recognize that Boston-proper accent anywhere. Officer Squatton strutted over, giving me a rough pat on the shoulder. All the legal aides back at the office called him “The Fucksquatch.” I’m close to six feet two, and even I had to look up slightly to make eye contact. He was a big, less hairy version of a Sasquatch with a fondness for women who weren’t fond back.

I shook his oversized sweaty hand.

“Squatton, I get a feeling that ugly leer on your face you call a smile means you might have something for me.”

Squatton’s eyes shifted up and down the corridor uneasily before he motioned for me to move in closer. “I need you to do me a solid.”

His mouth barely moved. “See, I got this abuse of authority and misuse of a service weapon thing coming down on me, and I need you to do your thing. But this one is major.”

Those were serious violations, so I crossed it off of my easy list. He’d already come through on a couple of big asks for me, so I rocked back on the balls of my feet and gave him the go-ahead.

“Me and my partner were answering a call, see? Prostitution, loitering . . . I don’t know, I was gonna figure it out when I got there. Everybody scattered. Rook took the front, I swept the rear. Pretty little thing too, nice tight ass. Might or might not have been hiding beside a brownstone. I let her feel my gun.” He ran his hand over the butt of his holstered weapon. “And was about to let her feel my gun.” Squatton grabbed his junk with a leering sideways grin on his face. “But my rookie partner came crashing through the bushes like a fucking Himalayan pygmy boar. Who the fuck doesn’t stand down, when you say ‘stand down’ on the mic? I ain’t even bring her in. Told her get the fuck outta there. Well, she got picked up the next day. But that ain’t even the shit-shit,” Squatton hissed through his teeth.

Squatton was a dog gnawing on a thick piece of rawhide. He leaned so close, I could see the bloody chewed, chapped, and cracked skin peeling away on his dry lips.

“Outside a hotel downtown, some undercovers were posted up, watching this new kid. A local heavy hitter who’s been dropping bodies all over DC. He goes by the name of Face. They see the girl come out of the hotel last night, assume she’s either a prosty or a customer. The guys drag her in. She has coke on her. They turn the heat up when she starts hollering about ‘the other night.’ Sarge is sayin’ they gotta look into it. Her name’s Saniah Sutton. Tell me you can fix this shit. It’s my hands. They the problem. I’ll get therapy, go to rehab. I’ll do whatever. Just let me retire with a clean badge.”

And The Fucksquatch strikes again.

“Can she identify you?” I asked, seriously considering the severity of the situation.

“Eh, she didn’t look back, just got up and ran. But all she has to do is say where she was. They know where me and the rook were.”

“Show me what you’ve got and I’ll see what I can do.”

Squatton grinned from ear to ear. He turned on his heel and led me down the hall with an extra bounce in his step. Hell, I didn’t say I would or could do anything. I always say what I mean, and I said I’d see what I could do. It depended on what I was working with.

I sank my shoulders back onto the murky-grey painted wall as I waited in the interrogation room, or the box, as it was called. The lights overhead flickered, making a steady, loud, mechanical hum. A tiny little thing with long, dark, wavy hair falling all over her head covering most of her face was shoved through the door in some in-take pants and shirt so big they looked like they’d fall off her. She was younger, prettier than I expected, with creamy almond-brown skin.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk!” I peeled myself off the wall, pressing toward her slowly. I pulled out a chair, offering her a place to sit. “What would a bad thing like Face be doing with a sweet little thing like you?”

She twisted and untwisted her fingers together, staring at the door like she was about to get ambushed and eaten alive.

“You don’t know my brother,” she whispered, her voice was shaky and uneven. Her watery eyes shifted over the artificial wooden lines in the cheap table, tracing the dirty cup rings and coffee stains.

I pulled my card out of my lapel pocket. “So let me help you help this brother of yours. What’s his name, Face?” I said, easing it across the table. I slowly waved it with two fingers like a white flag, a peace offering. “Genesis Kane. I represent the officer you’re filing a complaint against.”

“I don’t care about that shit. I just wanted to bargain with them so they’d let me go, but it’s too late now. I’m not saying nothing about nobody. Leave my brother out of this. He’s been so fucking paranoid lately, he don’t even sit down to take a shit. As soon as he hears about me being here, he’s gonna freak out.” She nodded at the scar on my lip. “What’s it like living with that on your face?” she asked.

Caught off guard, I didn’t have a ready answer. Sometimes I forgot about the twisted sand-colored skin that ran up across the top of my lip. Most people acted like they didn’t see it, or they saw it and acted like it wasn’t there. I can’t think of anyone who just came out and asked about it. I shrugged, “I never really—”

“You don’t think about it, right? Because it’s not some shit like this.” She pulled back her thick veil of hair with confident fingers. The flesh around her left ear down to the bottom of her cheek was scarred, jagged. I almost winced at the pink and brown skin healed over and woven together like a third-degree quilt. “My own brother did this to me. And it’s even worse if you’re against him. He does it to your whole face, all the way down to the neck. He lets the skin fester and the flies set in and maggots come. That’s why they call him ‘Face.’ Y’all might, well kill me.”

I couldn’t swallow. My collar felt tight around my neck. I was normally prepared for anything, and I mean anything, but this was so left field. The metal chair legs squealed across the floor. Squatton was right in my face as soon as the door opened.

“What she say? That was the fastest head-fucking you’ve ever done. What did you tell her? You head-fucked the shit out of her, didn’t you?” He was whispering a thousand words a minute, hovering around me like a zealous admirer.

“Not this time. This might not be your night.” I wagged my finger back and forth. “You might actually have something I can’t un-fuck for once.”

Squatton slammed his fist into the concrete wall. His head fell back. He stared up at the ceiling with his jaw clenched, his hand limp at his side. It was probably shattered or broken.

“This can go only one of two ways,” I told him. “If she stays here, that complaint is going forward. If she walks right now. No questions asked. All is forgiven.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. Squatton knew either way he was fucked. Even if she walked, the guys building the case would smell something funny. Squatton just so happened to be on duty when she miraculously disappeared. Footsteps echoed down some hallway in the distance reminding us we weren’t the only ones in the building. Air whistled through his nostrils with each breath.

Squatton leaned his head back against the wall. “Hey, Kane, remember that favor you asked me for? Ahh?” He rolled his head back and forth across the wall like a rolling pin.

I cracked the bones in my suddenly stiff neck, left, then right.

“It was a rape case, right? You wanted some evidence to disappear,” he said in a smart-ass tone.

“What’s your point, Squatton?”

His head stopped rolling across the wall; he looked me in the eye. “Now, I need you to make something disappear for me. Out of my jail. I’m gonna give you that bitch and everything she came in here with. You sign that book up front. Anybody asks why she walked, I’m gonna say her attorney got her out.”

A few minutes later, I laid several oversized ziplock bags containing Saniah’s belongings on the table.

“Here’s your shit. Get dressed and meet me out front. I’ll take you wherever you need to go.” I laid her things neatly on the table in front of her.

She stopped wringing her hands. Her tongue darted across her lips. She pulled her bottom lip in between her teeth, debating on whether or not this shit was really happening.

“That’s it?” she asked.

I nodded. “That’s it.”

“What do you do, again?” she asked in genuine awe. “Are you an attorney or an angel?”

I chuckled, feeling somewhat redeemed by her appreciation. “I do a little bit of everything,” I stated with a wink. “The real question is, what am I not? Now hurry up. I was trying to grab some Chinese before they switch over to that late-night garbage they use for the drunks and after-hours crowds.”

Live music floated on the warm night air. It was jazzy, up-tempo, tuba-heavy, something to keep the tourists out spending their dollars. It made the city sound like New Orleans during Mardi Gras. Saniah didn’t give the precinct a second thought as she rushed outside in a cream-colored sundress. It clung to her full hips, which I did not mind watching as she walked in front of me. It also showed off the roundness of belly when she turned to take in her surroundings. My eyes lingered for a moment longer than I intended, but she didn’t notice. Squatton left out the fact that he’d perv’d up a pregnant girl. The baggy prison clothes had kept all parts of that from showing.

I opened the back door for her, making sure to seat her somewhere in sight. I don’t like the awkwardness of strangers riding all up in my personal space. And I never liked someone sitting in my blind spot.

“Where do you want me to take you?” I adjusted the rearview so I could see her face.

She stopped fiddling with her phone long enough to turn these big damsel-in-distress eyes onto me.

“Do we have that whole confidentiality thing like they give them on Law and Order or naw?” she asked.

“Yeah, technically, I can’t say a word.”

“Yes, gawd!” She dug through her purse. “And all my shit is still here too. Woop!” She celebrated, and then she put something up to her nose . . . and snorted. Twice. Wiping it clean with the back of her hand.

This bitch was actually doing coke in my car, in front of me, and she was pregnant.

“Oh, I needed that. Um, Genesis, right?” she asked as she opened the car door. “Look, I’m sorry for getting you involved. Me and my brother are misunderstood; always have been. He would never put his hands on me. I exaggerated a little, and I’m sorry.” She sighed dramatically. “It’s all about territory. I hear Sammie Knox has way more territory than him or his bitch need.” She started rubbing her belly with a slick grin on her face. “I came up with an easy way to get it. Y’all niggas’ll do damn near anything for a son, though. For a little prince.”

The corners of my mouth turned down into a bitter frown. “Nah, not all of us. Just another hand to slap away, if you ask me.”

“That’s why I ain’t ask you,” was her smart-ass reply. She started to close the door but turned back as if it was an afterthought. “Oh, and my face? Car accident. Like I said, my brother’s misunderstood. But, thank you for your help. I’ll do you a favor and make sure Javion don’t fuck you up when he comes back to execute everyone in that police station.” She sashayed away, hips swaying, hair bouncing, and an energetic dance to her step. She sidestepped puddles, twirled to the sound of the band, and faded into the night like a ghost.

A sinister shiver ran across the back of my neck. It traveled across my cheeks, tugging at the scar above my lip until it throbbed. Favors. I didn’t want shit from them; then I’d owe them something back. I was so sick of hearing that word.

Suddenly, food was the farthest thing from my mind. My gut was filled with anxious, twisting snakes of dread, all knotting together, making my mood sour as fuck. The SUV rocked from the weight of my fist slamming into the steering wheel. I cursed to relieve some of my frustration, but it didn’t help.

I could feel that shit. Sense it with everything in me. The same way I could pick up on a judge who’d lean in my favor, or a juror who’d fuck up my client. I felt it when I’d asked Squatton for that favor so many months ago, and he made the evidence disappear on that rape case, and I felt it now. Only it was stronger. Way worse than before. I’d fucked up, and it was telling me I was going to regret some part of this night. Some part of this shit was going to haunt me for the rest of my life.