Chapter 35 PAST MEETS THE PRESENT

Seven years earlier

DETROIT, MICHIGAN

A U R E L I A N O

Uh-oh!

Two women I've slapped skins with in the same room is a recipe for . . .

#disaster

#insanity

#madness.

I watch as Tracy's eyes follow Roxy as she comes fully into the room. Her eyes narrow in dislike or upset, take your pick, although I'm wiling to go with both.

As she walks behind Tracy, she lets out a snigger and the air suddenly charges with friction. She settles herself into the metal seat opposite me and fixes me with a glare that screams -- I've got you now.

Tracy instinctively moves to stand beside me and addresses her. "Haven't we met before, miss . . . ?"

Roxy says nothing, except to smirk.

It's going down.

Roxy should have been briefed before setting foot here.

You don't get to ignore an FBI agent . . . most of all Tracy. Naah! She obviously didn't get the memo.

As they size each other up, I wonder who's going to make the first move. With the way Tracy is practically spitting fire at Roxy with her eyes, my bet is on her, but then again, Roxy cuts a worthy adversary with her sly game-face on.

If I wasn't the one on the hot seat, I'd have put my feet up and requested for some pop corn and a drink, seeing as I've already got a free ticket to a front-row seat.

"So? You gonna talk or is this some stare-down game between two chicks?" Officer Bull-dog laughs heartily, hitting his hand on his lap, and breaking the ice, but what a way to do it.

"Get out!" Tracy says quietly.

This is getting better and better.

I'm not able to see his reaction, 'cause I'm backing him, so I turn the chair just a bit, good thing too, 'cause I'm just in time to see the stupefied look on his face as he points to himself. "Um . . . are you talking to me?"

Tracy doesn't even blink as she turns round and looks him square in the face. "Unless there's another officer here that looks like a bulldog . . . yes."

Never really thought anyone's face could undergo a drastic transition in so short a time. His face immediately goes white as a sheet, and then it turns red. It's so red, it could be mistaken for a tomato. That's gotta be one ugly tomato, though. One I'd never touch with a ten foot pole.

He sounds like a cross between a snake and a raccoon as he lets out a hiss, turns on his heels, grabs the handle of the door and slams his way out.

"Well that's one way to go." I announce, and turn the chair to face Roxy, who isn't looking as haughty as she was some seconds ago.

Tracy ignores me and moves close to Roxy. "Want a cig?" Without waiting for her response, she whips one out, lights it, drags on it for a bit and hands it to Roxy.

Tracy does not smoke, unless she suddenly developed a taste for it overnight, neither does Roxy, as far as I know, yet here they both are, acting like puff daddy reloaded and doing a good job of it.

As I count the seconds ticking away, I realise a storm of words is coming as Tracy instantly straightens up and flashes Roxy a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "Tell me something - how long have you liked Mr. Aureliano?"

Say what?

As Roxy lifts the stick of cigarette to her lips, I notice a slight tremor in her fingers. She takes a long deep drag and exhales a cloud of smoke in Tracy's face. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Tracy doesn't even bat an eyelid. Instead, she circles her. "Natural blonde, I see. Although I understand why you dye it. Somehow clashes with your skin."

The cigarette in Roxy's finger halts midway to her mouth as she visibly stiffens. "I don't know what you're talking about."

It's Tracy's turn to snigger. "You're right - you obviously don't know what I'm talking about, although I'm just some federal agent who knows nothing about style, but if that's going to be your go-to mantra, then two can play the game."

"Can we get to the reason I'm here." Roxy speaks up, her words coming out in a rush. "I actually have to go tend to my daughter."

"Ah! That's right. You just gave birth. For the deceased, you say?"

This time, Roxy nods.

"Did you know as a witness, in court, especially in the state of Detroit, your word is not enough. You've got to have concrete evidence. So tell me, 'Miss I don't know what I'm talking about,' how did Mr. Aureliano here, kill the father of your child? I'm assuming you were present?"

This time Roxy stays quiet. I know she's thinking of how to reply, seeing as she lied.

"He killed him with a gun. This one." She points to the open file on the table. When I look down, I see a machine gun displayed in a picture, but it's not the same one Abdul brought with him to my place.

"Are you sure, miss nobody?" Tracy fixes her gaze on her.

"Look here, officer, you can insult me all you like, but it doesn't change the fact that this man . . . " She points to me. "killed my Abdul. He robbed my daughter of a father, he deprived her of the right to see her father bring her up, and I will never forgive him." Tears seep from her eyes now.

I know she liked Abdul. She'd told me he was instrumental in bringing her to America, and saving her from a terrible fate. I can understand that. What I don't understand, is why pin his death on me. He came purposely to kill me, and not the other way around.

Why do I have to take the fall for his stupidity?

Suddenly I'm angry, but as I'm about to speak, Tracy beats me to it. "Are you sure you don't want to change your statement?" Without waiting for her reply, she turns to an intercom on the table and speaks into it. "Please bring in the ballistics report."

What is she up to now?

A knock sounds off at the door, and an officer comes in with a file and hands it over to Tracy. He stands to the side, waiting with his hands clasped in front of him, watching as Tracy opens it with a flourish and slides it across the table towards Roxy. "Take a good look at that gun, Miss nobody, it's a .35 calibre shotgun. That's the gun Abdul had, not a machine gun." Silence reigns like a wet thick blanket as Roxy blushes a scarlet red.

Tracy was right. That complexion really doesn't ryhme with her hair.

"So in light of this, do you still want to go that route, or would you like me to haul your rachet misplaced ass to court and have you jailed for trumped-up lies against Mr. Aureliano?"

At first, Roxy says nothing, except to stare at me, eyes flashing with anger, but when I smile and arch a brow, she gets up, throws the cigarette on the floor and stubs it with her heel. "This is not over, I know people that ----"

"Sit down!" Tracy's voice lashes out, and practically drags Roxy's ass down to the chair once again.

Once she settles herself in the chair, Tracy puts her two arms on the table and gets up and personal in Roxy's face. "Listen here now, sis. You may be running around, opening your legs for a few people, acting like a bitch and thinking shit's going to get done that way, but get this straight --- I'm the only big bitch running this show. I'm the fucking law." Then she smiles, and moves away, dusting off her hands in the process. She leaves Roxy with a parting shot that actually makes me feel sorry for her. "Now get the hell out of my sight."

Whew! Talk about a T.K.O.

Roxy stares malevolently at her back, but then complies as she stands up and walks out.

"That will be all for now. Thank you, officer." Tracy hands the officer the ballistics file and he leaves the interrogation room.

At this juncture, the headache I thought had gone, slams back with full force, making me rub at my temples.

Tracy sighs and bends low to me with a wry smile. "Everything will be fine, I promise." I nod against her cheek as I wait for her to move away, but she hesitates and continues speaking. "I won't allow you stay here for long." After a few seconds, she hesitantly lets out. "I love you."

Is it possible for someone to turn into a block of ice . . . 'cause I'm about a second away from keeling over, as I hold in my breath.

Tracy waits, her face a hair's breath from my mouth.

I can't do this. I just can't.

I move back from her, and she sighs and straightens up.

"I'll see you tomorrow." And without looking at me, she walks out.

I thought after that day, it would make her stop her overtures towards me, but as the days go by and I'm still stuck here, it seems her attentions become renewed with a fresh vigour that see's me groaning everytime I see her ear to ear smile.

She personally brings me hot plates of home-cooked meal, twice a day. That's saying a lot, 'cause she's crazy-busy and mostly doesn't have time to cook, so it's a big fucking deal to me.

I'll be forever grateful to her. In the same vein, I'm kinda sad I can't give her the much-needed love and attention she deserves. I'm just not into her that way, nor will I ever be for any other woman at that.

As days turn into weeks, It doesn't seem like there's any freedom in sight for me. Yes, Tracy makes good on her promise by getting me a lawyer, but after a few back and forths, I'm told I'll be tried for first degree manslaughter.

Shit!

I'm sure if roles were reversed, Abdul would have walked away scot-free.

After repeatedly hearing his whiny crap, all my hopes fly out of the cell I'm presently kept in, at the police precinct. Tracy once again was somehow able to keep me here, instead of having me carted off to the main jail cell downtown. So I'm presently alone in a cage, with a toilet and the smell of my own shit, and being led to a bathroom to take a shower once a day.

Talk about freedom being stripped from one. I feel like a kept man in a cell. A very rusty cell, from the looks of things.

The weeks plummet into months, and so does my hope. I'm not tried in a court --- Tracy's doing, no doubt --- neither am I given bail. I'm just stuck in between the devil and the deep red sea.

If this is how limbo is, then it sucks big time.

One day Weasel pays me a visit.

He takes one look at me and smirks. "Look where you landed yourself, boy. I never would have pegged you for a murderer, but I keep getting surprised day by day." He let's out a chuckle that has the hair rising on my skin. 'This isn't a cordial visit, so don't think we're suddenly buddies and get unnecessarily excited." He puts his hands on the bars of the cell and immediately recoils with a look of revulsion on his face. Shaking his head, he moves back, mumbling words I can't hear. After a few seconds of wiping his hands on a hanky, he straightens up and continues talking. "Now look here, The boss has a message for you - You squeal, you . . . " And he makes a cutting-throat motion against his neck. Without another word, he turns round and walks off, but instead of rounding the corner as I'd expect, he moves back into his former position, and stands, hands folded against his chest with a lecherous smile on his face. "No need to worry about your mother while you're in here. She's going to be in good hands. My hands!" He smirks.

Without thinking, I lunge at him, sending my fist into his face. The choking sound he makes, wells up a burst of joy inside me that's orgasmic, to say the least. Pulling him to me in a choke-hold, I whisper words into his ear. "I'm gonna come outta here, and when I do . . ." It's my turn to make a cutting-throat motion as I push him away from me with as much force as I can muster from behind bars.

He huddles in the corner, but then gathers himself and stands, blood pooling at the corner of his mouth. "You still won't be out before I show her a good time," then he spits on the ground in front of me and walks off, cradling his mouth.

Officer bulldog materialises suddenly, with a smirk plastered firmly on his face.

"What!" I throw my hands in the air as I face him. I'm sick and tired of his constant taunts and jabs. Even if I get put behind bars longer, I'm not gonna take it any longer.

"Nothing!" He shrugs, and leans against the bars. " . . . except that man you hit is a drug dealer. We've been trying to nail him for the past two years, so let me put it this way --- if you want to see the light of day again, you're going to help me nail his ass."

And he walks off, a bounce in his steps.

I groan silently into my open palms.

What have I gotten myself into?

A wrench is thrown into officer bulldog's plans, when three days later, the charges against me are mysteriously dropped, courtesy of a family friend Mama introduces me to, out of the blues.

Two days later, I'm on a plane bound for an unknown country, and I never even got to see Tracy before leaving.

Curious as to where we're headed, I turn to my knight in shining amour and ask him.

With an enigmatic smile on his face, he stretches his long legs before replying. "To a place where the colour of your skin won't matter – Africa; Nigeria, to be precise!"