RIPPED & READY (PART 74)

RIPPED & READY (PART LXXIV) 

          When I awakened in the morning on the sofa, every inch of my body was creaking with aches and pain.  My rear end felt like a fire had ripped past leaving only smoldering ashes.  The whole sorted scene replayed over and over like a warped recording.  Instead of lying there licking my wounds like a cat defeated, I forced myself up from the sofa and, as quickly as I could, began to gather up the soiled sheets and blankets. 

          I pulled three plastic garbage bags from the pantry, and filled them with every ounce of evidence – I did not want police participation, they had already done nothing to secure the premises.  I put on a housecoat to cover myself, and I left the apartment with all three garbage bags, depositing them in the dumpster of our complex.  The air outside had a chill to it, but it wasn’t the bone curdling type, it was a Bay Area kiss, reminding you that you lived by the Pacific Ocean and that you should always take a coat with you (Yup, 45 degrees in the mornings, 98 degrees at noon, and 50 degrees at sunset –ya’ll here in the Bay Area know what I mean). 

          I decided to shower and clean up for work – I had to make sure that things would stay as normal as possible for Joe-Joe and Joe-Joe Jr.  I am their protector and I will do whatever is necessary to keep them out of harm’s way.  I wasn’t too sure what I was going to do, but I knew it was going to have to be cunning, calculated, and had to send a clear message to the leaders of the Ant Hill Mobb that I was not going down without a fight. 

          Luckily the only bruises I had on me were in the lower regions of my body and could be camouflaged, because by the time I returned into the apartment, Joseph had awakened and was in the kitchen pilfering through the cupboard and refrigerator, looking for items to prepare breakfast. 

          “Whew, baby, close that door, “day-yum” it’s cold as hell,” he said, turning towards me, wearing my favorite pair of aqua-colored boxer-briefs. 

          At his request, I shut the door quickly behind me. 

          “So I guess Lance must’ve left early this morning, baby.  I’m sorta glad, because I wanted to spend some time with you before you left for work,” he said.

          I looked at my baby -- he was the image of a gentle lover after a peaceful rest. 

          His wavy brunette locks looked wild atop his head and he was bare-chested with pectorals bulging out, creasing in the middle like a bodybuilders.

          I could just eat him up (I loved it when he looked wild like this). 

         Uh, huh, I'm Tarzan you Joe-Joe.

          “Joseph, I’m not sure how you’re going to take this, but I need to tell you because I don’t want to be in this thing alone,” I told him, grabbing him by his waist and pulling him into me. 

          He searched my eyes for any kind of indication of joy, but all I could spew out was discontent.  I had been raped in my own apartment by someone he called a friend, however, friend was not the name that described him best.  He was a ...   

          A thug

          A liar

          A creep

          A deceiver

          He was one "got-dayum" shame wrapped up in a chocolate covered package.

          He looked delicious but he was bitterly dispicable. 

          I told Joseph that Lance was not who he thought he was and that the longer he chose to deal with him the more dangerous things would get.  I let him know that Lance and Peewee were in cahoots and I wasn’t sure what part we played in the overall scheme of things.  I then went on to tell him how my father had something to do with all of this, but I wasn’t sure just what it was.  I filled him in on the night I came to Collin’s rescue, and how my step-sister, Denise, had set him up, along with Peewee’s brother Darrius. 

          “Marco, this all seems a bit much, baby, I mean, it sounds like something out of a John Singleton movie,” he said, stroking my eyebrows with his index finger. 

          I brushed my lips across his, and said, “Joe-Joe, everything we’re working towards, everything we are, is in jeopardy, and unless we are pro-active we are going to wind up on the missing person’s list,” I told him, in a dead serious tone. 

          “Why are they trying to destroy us, Marco?” He asked, with inflections of fear and concern in his voice. 

          “I don’t know, baby…I don’t know what this is all tied to…it just doesn’t make any sense to me,” I responded, losing myself in personal thought. 

          The phone’s ring jolted me back to the present. 

          When I looked down at the display, I saw that it was D’Andre calling.

          I picked up.

          “Hello, what’s up, D?” I asked.

          He responded. 

          “How are things going, Brotha Marco?”

          Click.