The next day I woke up fresh. Like a thousand pound gorilla had been lifted off my shoulders. I couldn’t figure out what it was. Bouncing out of bed like a school kid, practically running in the kitchen I felt energized and alive.
“Good morning,” Zoe said while simultaneously yawning.
“Good morning,” I sang.
“What’s up with you?” Zoe asked in her most curious tone.
“Nothing girlfriend.”
She curled her eyebrow in love and said, “Girlfriend?
Mom, you’ve never called me girlfriend.”
“Well, first times always feel a little different.”
She snapped her fingers, “Well all righty then.”
“Well all righty what?”
“You know what.”
“No, no I don’t. Why don’t you enlighten me?”
“You must have found a new man. Yep, yep, that must be it.” Zoe’s voice inflection was humorous and playful.
Hand on hips, I flung around and pointed at her with the spoon. “Alright young lady that’s enough.”
“Now that’s the mom I know.”
“You think you’re so smart, don’t you?” I said as we both laughed.
“You can’t pass nothing by me Mom.”
“It isn’t any new man in my life. That’s for sure,” I said talking to my daughter like she was one of my old classmates.
Zoe rolled her eyes and sipped her juice. “Yeah right,”
We continued eating a breakfast consisting of Shredded Wheat, wheat toast and cantaloupe seasoned with a sprinkle of cilantro, and a dash of cayenne pepper. I loved the sweat and hot mixture.
“Mom?”
“Yes.”
Zoe raised her head and stared at me with those big light brown eyes. “I think I’ve decided where I’ll be goin’ to college next year.”
I stopped in mid bite. “Oh really. Where?”
“I’m leaning toward Spelman.”
“That’s a great choice. Big tennis city, and I’d love to visit Atlanta.”
She stared deeply into my eyes, then with a soft spoken tone said, “But what about you?”
“What about me?”
“I mean” she hesitated and gazed down at the table top.
“You’ll be alone.”
“So...” I moved over and caressed her back. Zoe is such a thoughtful and caring person.
“It’ll be lonely.”
“Have no fear honey. I find solitude, not loneliness.”
“But they’ll be nobody to talk to and you’ll get depressed and start eating a bunch of candy and donuts and get real fat and sickly.”
“Hold on there girl. Ain’t none of that going to happen. I’m not one of those people that need somebody around all the time. And I don’t need a man neither.”
“I know mom but—”
I placed my spoon in the bowl of cereal and scooted closer to Zoe. I took her hand with both of mine. “But what honey. Listen, before anything, you have to love and know yourself. Can’t nobody do that for you. I could have a man and be totally miserable and he could be miserable too.” I saw her smile which brought joy to my heart. “I’m happy with myself. I get to go and do as I please. I make good money and my bills ain’t in half bad shape. And Zoe, I raised you to be independent and strong.”
“So when I leave, you won’t be lonely?” Her big brown eyes searched for a comforting answer.
“Baby girl - you know I mo’ miss you. Oh…sometimes I’ll feel a little misplaced. But I can call you or go by Mama’s house or Natalie will come by or I’ll go to a Bull’s game. Honey you don’t have to worry about me. You just find your own passion.”
Zoe smiled, “OK Mom. You know what’s best.” She finished her breakfast, slid her chair out and stood up to leave. She had grown up to be such a beautiful lady. She reached over and hugged me around my head, “I’ll always love you mom.”
“I know honey. And with knowing that, I’ll never be alone,” I looked up at her just proud to be her mother.
The work day progressed as usual. Same old office grind made me want for much more. I wasn’t sure if I was bored or people were sneaking around me aiming for my office. Natalie called and wanted to have dinner tonight at Morton’s Steakhouse. Mortons! That girl must have hit the Lottery or something.
I arrived home and sauntered over to the computer even before changing out of my work clothes. I went directly into the chat room. The gang was already there instigating and gossiping.
Queenb: “Queenb has entered the room.”
Babybear: “Oh what’ up Queenb?”
Queenb: “Everything’s OK.”
Prettypink1: “Did you know that your blockbuster synopsis of the past has gotten everyone on edge?”
Williamtell: “Ahhh pipe down heffa.”
Prettypink1: “Pipe down yo’ self William smells.”
Chinagirl: “LOL”
Prettypink1: “Hey it was just a thought.”
Bigben: “Honey it was more than a thought.”
Queenb: “How so?”
Suddensam: “There’s a couple of peeps that thinking’ the same way you do.”
Queenb: “Tell me more.”
Babybear: “Tell Queenb what you told us Prettypink1.”
Prettypink1: “Uh uh...the room might not be right, if you know what I mean.”
Bigben: “So, you scared?”
Prettypink1: “Yeah, that’s right and why not?”
Babybear: “Listen, Poochie said that the person you mentioned the other day, did the same thing to Shaft67 before he got it.”
Queenb: “Whatttt?”
Prettypink1: “Ah uh.”
Queenb: “Damn”
Bigben: “But you can’t prove nothing.”
Queenb: “How did you find this out?”
Prettypink1: “Remember when we found out Twisletoe was killed. His sister went into the chat room and told everybody that he was murdered and that his funeral was taking place in Boston at 1st Temple of God. Well, Lunchmeat went to the funeral and met his sister and family and exchanged phone numbers. So then after your revelation, he got curious and called Twisletoe’s sister and she remembered going through his personal things and she recalled his name.”
Blackrose: “What?”
Bigben: “So what does that prove?”
Babybear: “It don’t prove nothing.”
Prettypink1: “But it’s more than I had before.”
Blackrose: “so what’s next?”
Suddensam: “I don’t know but the shit is getting downright scary.”
Blackrose: “I’m not into it. Whoever is doing this could be in the room right now.”
Suddensam: “Word.”
There’s a pause in the conversation. Wow, that’s never happened before. I could feel the fear through the phone lines extending from who knows where. Maybe it was me giving out the fear vibe.
Babybear: “Queenb, you started this, where do you go from here?”
Queenb: “Don’t know.”
Lunchmeat: “Well, you better watch your’ back.”
Blackrose: “We all better watch our backs.”
Prettypink1: “How about the police?”
Bigben: “And what are you going tell them? That somebody from somewhere around the country or world killed some nigga in South Central?”
Queenb: “He’s not from South Central.”
Bigben: “Well, he ain’t from Beverly Hills neither.”
Queenb: “Listen, this isn’t getting us anywhere. If yawl find anything, please e-mail me. Thanks, I’m outa here.”
I took a long and deep breath. All I had to do was to stop signing into the chat room and I wouldn’t have to listen to them. Whoever they were. It’s funny, but some of the conversation actually made sense. Someone said, where do I go from here? If I had any sense, I’d just forget about it. I couldn’t bring Koltrane back to life. I couldn’t bring Slamdunk23 or Twisletoe back either. But deep down in my soul, somebody in that chat
room was just waiting for his next victim.
“Mom…mom…mom,” Zoe finally yelled from the front door.
Finally Zoe had knocked me out of my chat room trance.
“Yes.”
“Can’t you hear me?” she said.
“I’m sorry dear. What is it honey?”
“I’m going’ to the tennis courts. Everything OK?”
I took a deep breath and sighed, “Yes dear. You have enough money?”
“Yes Mom.”
“Be careful baby!”
She grabbed her gear and opened the door. “Okay. Bye.”
Hearing the door open and shut, I flashed back to the Chat Room. I should just forget about this madness. It wasn’t worth tangling with the law or hanging out on a limb searching for an imaginative crazed killer. I’m not that brave, so let somebody else deal with those people. I gasped as my thoughts were startled by the phone.
“Probably Natalie,” I whispered to myself. “Hello.”
There was silence. So again I repeated, “Hello.”
“Stay out of my life,” a cracked voice whispered. “You betta watch yo’self bitch,” the scratchy voice warned.
I asked with much bravado. “What? Who is this?”
The terrorizing voice responded with well-meant intentions. “Stay in yo’ place bitch. Don’t keep meddlin’ into thangs you don’t understand.” And just like that the phone hungup.
“Hello,” I urged louder trying to reach out and touch the crazy man. “Hello, hello!” My heart began racing, my mind bellowing a foggy fragmented mist of phrases. Who was that? Did he have the right number? Was the threat really meant for me? I could feel the seriousness behind his intent. I knew it wasn’t a prank. A killer at my doorstep was stalking me? Damn…what had I done? I’m calling the police. But I’ve already told them. The caller ID displayed an Unknown Caller name. I decided to try Star Six-Nine on my phone. The phone rang after I dialed star six-nine.
“Hello,” a small little female’s voice answered.
“Hello,” insecurity swelling in my voice. There were muffled echoing sounds in the background like people milling around in a tunnel.
“Hi,” the childlike voice squeaked out.
Was this a child? It caught me by surprise. “Uh, um, uh.” “Who dis?” she chirped.
“Who is this?” I responded in an adult voice of authority.
“Dis Charlicka. Yeah, yeah, Charlicka Witherspoon,” the small voice innocently answered making sure each syllable was pronounced.
I grappled with my emotions. “Hi Charlicka Witherspoon.
How long have you been at this phone?” I scrambled for a pen and paper, then scribbled her name as best as possible. Charlicka Withersoon, I wrote.
“I on’t know. Me and my mommy been here a long time.” She held her r’s long and hard, sounding southern.
“How old are you Charlicka?” the timbre of my voice changed to a younger more MTV style you’d use when trying to make friends with a younger person.
“I six and a half yearrrs old.”
“You gettin’ to be a big girl.”
She stumbled, “Uh huh. But my mommy still think I ma little girrrl.”
“That’s OK. My daughter is sixteen and she’s still my little girl.”
“Well she needs to grow up,” she said innocently. “I mo’ be a big girrrl when I hit twelve.”
With that remark, I thought it time to get down to my question. I had determined that Charlicka was a smart little girl.
“Charlicka?”
“Yes.”
“Where are you?”
There was a pause but I could hear her breathing in the phone. “I’m standing at this herrre phone.”
“Is it a cell phone?” I asked.
“Uh uh. It’s another kinda phone.”
“What kind of phone?”
Charlicka answered, “It’s on the wall.”
“Ohhh...and where is the phone?”
“I’ont know.”
“Are you at a store?”
Charlicka’s voice faded. I imagined that she was looking around her surroundings gazing at her landscape. “No...there’s a lot a peoples herrre though.”
“Are you outside?”
“No...I’m in this big building. Me and Mommy goin’ to Texas.”
“Ohhh…you’re at the airport. Are you flying?”
“Nooo...We takin’ the bus. Mommy don’t like flyin’.”
“Sooo...you’re at a bus station.”
She giggled, “Yeah, we at Greyhound. You know, with the doggie.”
Judging by the 312 area code, I knew exactly where she
was. “Yes, yes the grey dog.”
“Did you see a man standing there talking on the phone right before you?”
“Uh huh..,” she uttered softly seeming to lose concentration.
I tried to keep her on point and grab her attention. “Charlicka, Charlicka—”
“Yes maam?”
I pressed her and asked, “What did he look like?”
“Huh—”
“Sugar, I was looking for my Uncle. I haven’t seen him in a while and I think he called me from that phone.”
“Ohhhh.”
“So...I need you to try and remember what the man looked like. OK?” There was a pause, I was afraid that her mother had come around and pulled her from the phone.
“Well, he was big. He was wearin’ a funny hat.”
I was relieved to hear her voice, “What kind of a hat?”
“Like a Cat in the Hat, hat.”
“It was a tall hat?”
“Yeah, a tallll hat,” she said.
I still couldn’t picture what kind of a hat it was. “Was he dark or light skinned?”
“I on’t know?”
“Was he old or young?”
Charlicka smartly spouted, “He was old.” “Fat or skinny?” I quickly asked.
“I ‘ont know.”
“Honey are you calling from Chicago?”
“I think so. Yes, mommy said we in Chi-ca-go.” Charlicka’s innocent shrilly voice confidently said.
“Would you know what bus station?”
“Down—”
By now I was standing up trying to squeeze through the phone line all the way to that Greyhound Station. “Charlicka? Charlicka?” I pleaded.
But an aggressive woman’s voice raised up. “Who the hell is this?”
“This is—”
There was a click, and the phone hung up.
“Hello, hello…hello,” I yelled through the speakerphone.
Damn...he’s in Chicago? That can’t be. Who is this fool anyway? I’m going to call the police. No, yeah, no, yeah…my mind was spiraling out of control. All types of malicious and painful ideas ran around in my head. An attack in my underground parking lot, this was always a constant fear anyway. Maybe an attack on the beach. A beat down in my bedroom with the end result of strangulation and me sprawled across my bed peering up at a Cat in The Hat wearing, caramel colored fat ass black pig with his hands wrapped around my neck choking my last breath from my lungs. I’m no heroine! What was I thinking? I shouldn’t have gotten involved with this. I should’ve let sleeping dogs lie. I shouldn’t have tried to introduce myself to Koltrane and none of this shit would have happened. I couldn’t hold it anymore - “Damn!” I screamed to the top of my voice.
I snatched the phone again and dialed 911. The phone rang four, five, six, ten times before somebody picked up.
“911,” a lady pronounced.
“What took you so long?”
“May I help you? This is 911,” she calmly answered.
“Ah, umm. I was just threatened,” I blurted out.
“Is the person still there?”
I paced around the living room peering out into Lake Michigan. “No.”
The calm 911 lady asked, “Where is the person?”
“I, I don’t know.”
“Do you know the person?”
&
nbsp; My frustration was on the rise blurting, “No, no I don’t know the person.”
“Where did it happen?”
“On the phone.”
“The person called you on the phone?” she continued.
“Yes.”
She asked, “Do you know who it was?”
“No...no I don’t.”
“You don’t know the person who threatened you?”
I slammed my fist against the window seal. “No damn it…no I don’t.” But then I felt the pain in my hand and when I glanced at it there was a red mark.
In a calm and professional manner she said, “I can’t help you. This is for emergencies only.”
Exasperated I said, “What, what do you mean? You...you-“ “Miss, you can call our main numba’ and report the threat directly to the police. The number is 312—”
I couldn’t stand listening to her another moment, so I hung up the phone before she could finish. I was flustered and frazzled; the call struck a nervous cord with me. Evidently, the fool knew me but I hadn’t a clue about him. Who can I call? Think Carla, think. Don’t panic, keep your composure.
I fell upon the couch; arms outstretched and staring at the off white colored ceiling. I closed my eyes and started taking deep breaths while practicing an old college self-taught meditation method that worked for me when classes tore deep into my psyche.
I would take a deep breath, then exhale “A...Aaaa”. Then take another deep breath and again I’d murmur, “Aaaaa”. Back in the day, I tried to meditate with the thoughts of ‘A’ when my academic efforts seemed to move in the negative direction. That direction was toward grades of C’s and D’s. My peace and perspective would alter to a more relaxed state of mind where I could gather my improved thoughts and positive energy. After college and throughout the years, when things got out of sorts, I’d use this self-taught meditation method for all types of problems.
I laid there light headed and stressed and knew some type of emotional disorder had crept into my mind as I tried to use my old college method of meditation, when the answer flashed through my mind. Agent uh...uh...I couldn’t think of his name. Agent …uh…um… I rose up and sat on the side of the bed. Agent Hicks and how could I forget his name? The most irritating man I’d ever met. This man had the most vivid imagination. One time he even brought the idea that I was the brains behind Cutino’s underground arms deals.
I cantered into my bedroom and began throwing knickknacks out of the top shelf of my chest of drawers next to my bed. Like just about everybody else, I gathered up all the loose cards and miscellaneous good for nothings one squirrels away in one of those top bedroom drawers. There it is, Agent Sam Hicks, Federal Bureau of Investigation, Chicago Division. I reached over to the phone and dialed his number.
“Agent Hicks,” his voice was starchy but crystal clear.
I stuttered, “Hi, uh, Mr. Hicks?”
“Yes.”
“This is Carla King. Do you remember me?”
His phone demeanor changed into a charming, almost disarming rhythm. “Of course, Ms. King. How are you?” “Fine. Well…actually not so fine,” I said.
“Ah huh...Is there something else to…?”
“No...I don’t know anything else about that man.” I didn’t have time for his interrogations this time.
His response was delayed. “Hump, oh really?” he eventually grumbled.
“Yes...really.” He was still on this crazy Tzu Sun, Art of War stuff. He just couldn’t let it go.
“How about the time you and Cutino went on a trip together to the—”
“Agent Hicks!!” I squealed, letting go of all of my torn and frazzled emotions. “Do you want to hear why I’ve called you or not?”
Agent Hicks backed up. “Of course I do Ms. King. I must apologize for interrupting you. Yes, what can I do for you?”
I thought he’d yell back but he responded with true professionalism. He was calm and concise. “I’ve been harassed.”
“How so?” he asked.
“This man...over the phone he, he threatened me.”
In his pleasant tone he asked, “What’d he say?”
“Um, he...ahh, he said something about bitch to me.”
“Okay,” he said suspiciously. “What else?”
I tried to say it in a deep street swaying rhythm, the way the terrorizing voice said it, “Stay away bitch.”
Agent Hicks asked, “Did he threaten bodily harm?”
“Well, yes, yes. He implied it.”
“How so?”
“By the way he said it.”
“Do you know him?” he asked.
I stammered for a while then said, “Umm...Kind of. In a way. I think.”
“Where do you know him from?”
Hesitating, then finally coming out with it, “On-line.”
“Explain,” he bluntly said.
“On-line, the internet.”
“You mean from the computer?” Agent Hicks asked.
“Yes...”
“Let me get this straight, the man that threatened you was somebody you met on-line?”
“…Kind of…Yes.”
“OK...so you’ve never met him in person?”
“That’s right.”
Then he asked, “So...how do you know it was him?”
“I just do. Just call it intuition.”
“Did he give you his name?”
Measured I said, “No. I don’t really know his name.”
Agent Hicks asked, “Do you know his phone number?”
“No…but he called me from the Greyhound Station in
Chicago.”
“You mean the Greyhound Station downtown on Randolph St.?” he asked.
“Yes, that’s the one, I’m guessing.”
“How do you know that he called you from there?”
“Star six-nine. I punched star six-nine and it connected to the phone at the station. A little girl answered and told me where the phone was located. She told me it was at the Greyhound Station.”
“The one downtown?” he asked.
“I think so. Is there another one?” I replied.
“Did she get a look at him?”
“I asked her and she described to me a Black man, brown complexion, kind of fat with a tall hat,” I said.
Agent Hicks paused. “A tall hat?”
“That’s what she said, a tall hat.”
“Like the Cat in the Hat?”
“That’s what I envisioned when she described it,” I said.
“So, he’s in Chicago?”
I got a hot flash of adrenaline and said, “For the tenth time, yes! Chicago!”
“That’s not much to go on Ms. King. Do you have anything else to tell me?”
I shook my head in disbelief. ”Are you kidding me? Are you going to help me or not?” My anxiety of the spooky call was turning into frightened anger.
“Please, relax Ms. King. Of course I want to help you. But I need more than somebody phoning you and calling you names, and then you say it’s somebody off the Internet. And the person that called, you’ve never met or heard in person before this and now you want me to put him under the jail. It just doesn’t work like that,” Agent Hicks calmly explained.
My mouth began to quiver as the feeling of helplessness started to overwhelm me. My chickenhearted soul crept in whispering death and destruction into my spirit. I felt stuck, hung up and strung out, like a butterfly caught in a tarantula’s web. I couldn’t hold it any longer; I just broke down and wept.
I knew the beast was serious and I could feel in my heart that he was coming in for the kill. His kind was the sick stuff that turned me away from watching the evening news. Even though I’d never met the man, you knew of his kind. The kind that hurt beautiful objects and despised flowers, sunsets, and all good things. When peering at himself in the mirror he saw a despised and lonely reflection. A distorted reality of flashing eyes passing by him that were made just for his destruction, like it was everyon
e else that thwarted the efforts of this murderer’s failures in life. I knew he was sick and needed help. And I’d help him if possible. But I knew he wouldn’t listen. That he’d want me because of what I did. I was the one that knew and told everybody else on-line that it was him. I was the one that exposed his sickly crimes.
“Ms. King…Ms. King?” Agent Hicks softly broke into my pity party.
I squeaked, “Yes.”
“Everything’s gonna be alright. Listen, is there anything else that you can tell me?”
I wept, “I don’t know.”
“Why do you think this man is after you?”
“He killed somebody.”
“OK, ok...who did he kill?”
I named them rapidly like they had been seared into my mind. “Koltrane, Twisletoe, Shaft, Slamdunk23, and Jam—”
He cut in, “Who, what, wait a minute did I hear you right?”
“Ah huh. That’s right.”
“Where did he do this?”
“He strangled them all, except Slamdunk23. He was killed in Africa. But I know he did it. I just know it I-.”
“Wait, wait a minute,” Agent Hicks interrupted me again.
“Why are you referring to these people as Slamdunk23 and Shaft. Is that some kind of code or nick name?”
“That’s their e-mail address.”
“So again, all of these people are online.”
“That’s right, I met them all in the Chat Room.”
Sounding suspicious he said, “The Chat room?”
“Right, they’re from all over.”
“So, the murders were people from out of the Chat Room?”
“Yes. All within months of each other.”
“These murders, where did they take place?”
“Well, Jamal in L.A. and Twisletoe in Boston and…”
“Okay, okay...and you know these people?” His tone was condescending. “Did you know their real names?” he repeated.
“Well, I never met any of them. But I traveled to meet Koltrane in LA, but when I got there, he had been killed earlier that week.”
“Why do you think it’s somebody off of the chat room?”
“Think about it. First it’s Slamdunk23, then Shaft the next month, then Twisletoe and Koltrane. I mean just follow the dots.”
Agent Hicks never answered my last statement but continued to his next question, “But do they have anything in common?”
“I don’t know.”
“Alright Ms. King. I’ll look into it for you. In the meantime, keep your doors locked.”
I took a deep breath and exhaled in frustration. “Okay.” “I’ll call you later when I have something,” he said.
I cautioned to let him off the phone, because even over the phone his voice was securing. “Thanks Agent Hicks.”
“Goodbye,” he said and hung up.
I held the phone a few inches from my ear, suspended in thought and fearful to move. Finally, I hung up the phone and ran over to the front door and made sure the dead bolt lock was fastened. Even though the Condo had some security, I still thought about calling a security company for a burglar alarm. I shook the newly replaced solid oak door making sure it was tightly secured. I know, I’ll tell management and security to be vigilante when it comes to letting strangers into the building.
I stretched my neck towards the upgraded door that was destroyed by the cops and eyeballed through the peephole. Vigilantly my eyes crawled around the fisheye lens into the hallway and searched for my terrorist. I felt my eyelid widened to its extreme, almost pressing my eyeball against the tiny glass peephole as I tried to assess every nook and cranny of the passageway.
I cracked the door and quietly stepped out into a different world. A world now more than ever filled with a new terror, a terrorist to my world so to speak. I reached the elevator and pushed ‘L’ on the elevator’s display keypad. The ancient elevator door which was installed in the sixties took forever to close and once shut, moved slower than Congress. I peered up and read the floor numbers, 7, the elevator rattled and squeaked onto the 6th floor, and rumbled to 5, then 4 until thumped on the third floor. Anticipation mounted to whom would stand outside of the antiquated elevator door.
“Good day,” the elderly pale white gentleman said and stepped into the elevator. He walked with a bamboo cane, a bone colored suit coat hung loosely off of his shoulders, blue handkerchief dangled from the front suit coat pocket and sported one of those futuristic hearing aids barely noticeable when matched against his pale skin tone. I didn’t respond but instead kept both eyes upon his every move, I didn’t trust anyone, even an elderly white man walking with a cane. The doors closed and the elevator budged slower than ever before towards the lobby ground until finally it settled. We reached the floor and I marched out swiftly towards the Security Guard.
Elmore graciously greeted me. “Good afternoon Ms. King,” Elmore Jamieson was an old codger of a Black man; stately tall with a slim build, his skin was a file cabinet black with the patience of a monk. Some of us Condo types could be pretty demanding at times but with the composure of a seasoned pilot, if necessary Elmore could land a plane on Sheridan Road during a winter blizzard.
During the Christmas holidays, it was rumored that he would receive over fifteen thousand dollars in cash and gifts at Surfside Condo. After returning from Vietnam, Elmore was hired as the doorman and has said to me more than once that he has secured this building before Johnson was President. He never took anything lightly, while scrutinizing everybody and everything that came through the door. Mr. Elmore Jamieson was the kind of man that was proud of being just what he was, an honest man.
I tried to stay calm when I approached him. “Hi Mr. Jamieson.”
“Good afternoon Ms. King” He always called people by their sir name. “Is somethin’ wrong Ms. King?” he said in his Chicago elocution.
I guess it didn’t work, he sensed my anxiety immediately. “No, no not really,” I said.
“Very good Ms. King,” he said calmly. “Is there anythin’ you need?” his Chicago drawl was smooth as Granddad YUMF. He was the smoothest man I’d ever known. But he had to be.
YUMF stood for You Ugly Motha Fucka. Everybody just called him YUMF.
“Well, umm…well could you just keep an extra watch for a brother with a tall hat?”
“A tall hat?” he asked with a curious expression of doubt.
“Ah huh.” I murmured. I searched the wall of picture windows onto the street probing for a black man with a Cat in the Hat cap.
Elmore continued, “Sho nuff Ms. King…you mean one a those tall Stetson hats?”
I shook my head, “No, no not a Stetson hat.”
“Okay then, a cowboy hat wit a high brim?” he said making an imaginary hat shape with his hands above his head.
I didn’t really hear him and never really studied Elmore but I continued to search out onto the street. “No, no, like The Cat In The Hat, The Cat In The Hat.”
He folded his arms shaping what was to be the terrorist’s sou'wester. “Yeah, yeah I knows dat hat. A clown hat…red, bent ova wit that skinny cat wearin’ it ace deuce, cocked to the side and sittin’ on the very top of his head,” and Elmore gushed with a smile and laugh.
Without even looking at him I murmured, “Ah huh.”
He gave a genuine grin said as he giggled, “Sho Ms. King, I’ll spot that a mile away.”
I felt myself speeding out of control. Was it Monday, Wednesday, Sunday, December, June or July? The time and space smashed into one. Last night was last year, the other second was the other year, the earth stopped and became flat. “Thanks Mr. Jamieson.”
“Is there somthin’ else I can do fo’ ya?” he asked.
“Ahh…ahh,” I lost my train of thought, my mind drifted.
I heard his faint voice call out, “Ms. King?”
“No, there’s nothing else,” I caught myself say right behind Mr. Jamieson’s Chicago drawl and turned around from the window’s hypnotic spell to
wards him. “Thank you,” I said and trotted to the elevator. Once inside my condo, I locked everything, and what didn’t have a lock, I planned on getting one installed as soon as possible.
The phone rang and standing silent my mind raced, stomach churning but most of all my heart palpitated to the point of near fright. The phone rang again, only this time louder. It might be Zoe. I raced to the phone sitting next to the sofa and picked it up, held it far away from my ear like it was a burning hot spatula. I just stared at it.
“Hel-,” I vaguely heard a voice say from a distance.
“Hellooo…” again I heard it, only the phone was held even further away. I turned away from it like it would jump up to my ear and suck the air right out of my lungs. Finally, I slammed the phone back down and hung up. I plopped down on the sofa, my head sagged over my shoulder, my emotions were frazzled and I was shaking uncontrollably. It rang again until the message recorder picked up.
I heard my message respond, “Hello, nobody’s here to answer your call. Please leave a message and I’ll call you as soon as possible.”
“Hello, Carla, Carla are you there?” It was my mother.
I rushed to pick up the phone, “Mom, Mom.”
She sounded aggravated. “Yes, why did you hang the phone up?”
I lied, “I don’t know...ahh, ah I didn’t hear anybody on the other end. It must have been a bad connection.”
“Is everything OK?” She turned right back to love.
“Yes. Why?” I fibbed like I was seven years old and had been caught wearing my mother’s lipstick. “I’m fine.”
“I have some tickets for the play. You want to go?” she asked.
“Maybe…yeah. What play?”
“Red Death.”
“Red Death?”
“Red Death, from the book by Walter Mosely. Hellooo.”
My mind was light years away. “Oh yeah, right, right.”
“It’s for next Thursday evening at ETA Theater,” she said. ETA Theater is a local Chicago neighborhood theater located on the Southside.
I hesitated to tell her my sorrow. I didn’t want to involve my Mom in this mess. But then again, shouldn’t I warn her about the possibilities of this fool? “It should be fun,” I said with dry air. “Awww shuga we gonna have so much fun. Zoe, you and me. Okay. We’ll have dinner at some fine restaurant that night,” Mom said with great fanfare.
“Oh...ain’t you somethin’.”
“Ya only go around once!”
The joy in her voice reminded me of my earlier years when she would tell me and my siblings that we were going to Savannah for our annual summer vacation. Savannah, Georgia was her hometown and family there welcomed us with great anticipation every summer. We’d hang around the ocean front and ride to Hilton Head Island and play on the beach with my cousins.
“But you don’t want to go around broke,” we said in chorus laughing to where we barely got it out. If my Mom wasn’t giving me orders, she was making me laugh.
“Ok honey, I gotta go. Talk to you later. Bye,” she said.
“Bye Mom.”
It soothed my soul to hear from mom but my mind was frozen, still caught up in those fearful anxiety-ridden imaginations of the black man in the Cat in The Hat. Call Dr. Seuss please.
Natalie, I’ll call Natalie, maybe she’ll help me sort things out.
“What’s up girl!” I heard her rally.
“Hey.”
“Well if it ain’t Carla King.” Natalie was hyped up.
“What’s up sista,” I said. “What’you up too?”
“Nothin’, just takin’ care of a little home stuff. Me and Walter gonna get to—”
“I need to talk to you,” I said.
She snapped, “It’s yo’ dime, what’s up?”
“I need to get out of this place,” I paced the floor unable to sit still. “You wanna meet at Viva Java?”
“Okay. I could stand a latte,” she said.
“Meet me there in forty-five minutes,” I said.
“Holla.” Just like that, she hung up.
“Bye.” Anxiously, I hung up the phone. The walls were closing in, stifling the Lake Michigan breeze flowing through the open window in the living room. My throat was tightening and cotton dry, only tiny bits of air pushed from my lungs. My eyes started to strain while my hands felt clammy, I needed fresh air and the big outdoors quick before I lose it.
Gathering whichever jeans were within eyesight I slipped them on. A black blouse hung on the closet doorknob and ASICS tennis shoes right below. How about protection? I don’t have a gun. Maybe Pops will let me have his? How about a knife? I reminiscenced back in high school when my brother always carried this black handled knife with two gold leopards stretched out on both sides of the handle. He could bring it out of his pocket in one motion and the blade would snap out ready for action. He would perform tricks, showing off to me how many ways he could flash out the blade. But I didn’t have anything like that in the house.
I floated with a brain fog into the kitchen and searched my silverware drawer for a knife. There were some steak knives, case knives and other cutlery that I picked through and examined quickly. Pricking the knives point and sliding the blades along my thumb nail testing it for sharpness. But what I really felt was the sharpness of my fear. Would I really be able to stab somebody? Slice them a new face. Shove the blade into somebody’s bowels. I shook my head in doubt. I felt pain from biting the bottom of my lip, envisioning my right hand cutting the face of a faceless person. The person that pervaded my mind at every other second. He was big as Shaq and black as hot tar. His dirt and grim-filled hands were the size of a catcher’s mitt, his thighs wide and powerful, with a barreled chest and teeth yellowed and gapped, with wild dreadlocked hair. I could envision the imprint of his giant dick through his tattered jeans. He stalked me and thrives within my scared soul. A fright so real that my thought of pain made my head throb, my teeth ache and heart sicken and weak.
Out of frustration I grabbed one of the steak knives with sharp pointy edges and stuck it into my purse, almost stabbing it through the bottom. I didn’t care which one, just so I’d have something to protect myself. I power walked to the closet and grabbed one of my baseball caps and pulled it down over my eyes for deep cover.
I began my journey to Viva Java Café’ almost cantering down the street. Everybody I came across appeared haunting, and they were all after me. It seemed as though I was marked with a big red flag waving over my head that said shoot me, stab me and rape me.
The first black man I came across was on Ardmore Street, about a half block away from my building. I was so scared that I leaped over a front yard of evergreen bushes and sprawled face down on the front lawn of a three flat. The man wore a tan cashmere coat with matching hat and leather gloves. This man was no more interested in killing me than Jesse Helms was for uplifting black folks. I felt like a fool but I also felt safe by hiding. As he passed, I slid through the branches back onto the sidewalk and continued my short trip to the coffeehouse.
I arrived at Viva Java Café with my survival senses still tingling and alert. I scanned the small corner coffee shop looking for the Cat in the Hat man and Natalie. Neither one was in the restaurant.
“Good afternoon,” I heard the waitress’s gladsome voice from the corner of my mind.
I must have responded some time later as I continued to study the restaurant. A place that I’ve been to hundreds of times before. ”Hi,” I finally blurted out feeling my equilibrium awkwardly shift, almost forcing me to the floor. I wobbled down the aisle, then grabbed a seat at the booth furthest from the door and sat down facing the entrance.
“You Okay girl?” The waitress's pasty white complexion and makeup, combined with jet black hair gave her a Betty Davis appearance like one of those old Mommy Dearest movies.
“Miss…” I heard her question again.
I blurted out the answer. “Yes, yes.”
I didn’t recognize the coffee shop waitr
ess but she was patient for such a young lady. She didn’t appear offended but more concerned. “Would you like some coffee?” she asked softly.
“Sure,” I responded uncertain of any decisions. “A Mocha please.”
“OK…I’ll be right back,” she smiled and turned to address my request.
Before she was out of my reach, I touched her on the shoulder. “Excuse me.”
“Yes ma’am.”
“What is your name?” I asked.
“Gretchen,” she said continuing a bright disposition.
“Thank you Gretchen.”
“You’re welcome,” said the Betty Davis lookalike.
She left smiling and I was released from my psychological hell. I was about to drive myself crazy but Gretchen’s kindness had assured me that the human spirit of kindness still prevailed. A surprising act of compassion from people that you don’t even know or wouldn’t expect to respond with that special action of walking to the edge of the cliff and reaching to give you that helping hand that pulls you from the depths of darkness and despair.
“Hey girl. What’s up with that hat?” Natalie appeared out of nowhere just in time to exit me from my self-pity state of mind. “Hi.” I stood to meet her, but found myself hugging her.
“You been here long?” She asked in my ear.
“I just got here,” I said clinging to her. Right now Natalie was my pastor, mother, father, husband and teacher. She was my confidant’, who was always there to listen first and say what I needed to hear later. Most of the time, it may not be the right advice but it would be the consultation that I needed to hear. I would figure everything else out later.
“Cold out,” she rubbed her hands together then cupped them while blowing into her palms. “I bumped into Sly yesterday.”
Out of habit I responded, “Yeah…what’s he up to?” “Same ol’ stuff. Workin’ at the City with the Mayor.
Kissin’ his ring and genuflecting every time he crosses the hall on the 5th floor.”
“He’s really proud of his job,” I commented.
“Psst...he’s a boot lickin’ nigga and you know it.”
“Well—”
“Come on Carla...he’s a dog. He’s doggin’ women and catchin’ bones from them white boys at City Hall. He heels around with the Mayor’s entourage like the pet dog that he is.”
“Well I—”
“Shit girl, I’m surprised at you. He did you wrong and you know it.”
“Yeah, but I’ve been over that-”
“After the nigga ran his game to get the panties. Then after you finally give in, he air mails you a dear Carla text,” she sniped.
“Every man will do that Natalie. It’s up to the woman not to panic. We always think that we’ll lose the man if we give in to his-.” Natalie cut in.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah but Sylvester waited and you stalled him and he still dumped you.”
I pounded on the table. “God damn it Natalie,” I yelled out at her. “I didn’t come out here for’ this shit,” I said in a whispered rage made strictly for her ears.
Her eyes exploded with shock. Her dark face filled with blood as she turned darker in bewilderment. Natalie’s eyebrows slowly folded down over her light brown eyes into disappointment. The three people sitting in the booth next to us spun around quickly just to make sure it wasn’t some fighticuffs going on. Other customers sitting in various booths and seated at the counter turned towards us to see what was happening. Even Gretchen, the waitress had to crane her neck over the cash register to make sure the peace wasn’t broken any further.
My friend was still stunned, her mouth was stuck wide open like a Lake Michigan carp hooked and reeled onto the docks of Belmont Harbor. I don’t think I’d ever raised my voice at her in anger. Oh, we’ve disagreed plenty and debated all the time but I’ve never had the reason to swear and curse at her in anger. She wasn’t that type of person or friend.
“I’m sorry,” I said softly in retreat. I was talking to her but my head was half way between my legs. I felt doubly awful. Now I had the burden of guilt protruding betwixt my fears.
She reached over and gently raised my head with her fingertip, “No Carla, I’m sorry. I was just going on and on about nothing’. What’s goin’ on?” she said tenderly.
We smiled at each other with genuine love.
Shaking my head in frustration I said, “Remember I told you about Jamal in LA being murdered?”
“Of course,” she answered.
From the little jar sitting against the wall on the table, I picked out a bag of Stevia sugar and began to fidget with it. “And about those other murders on the Internet?”
She leaned in closer. “Yes.”
I stretched my neck towards the window to see the corner full of traffic and people milling about their daily routines.
“Somebody called me today. He implied that I should shut my mouth about the Chat Room killings or else.”
“What!?” Natalie’s eyes just about popped out of their sockets.
I continued to stare out of the window. “I star six-nine them back and it was a call from the Greyhound station right here in
Chicago.”
Natalie peered out of the window as well, scoping out “In Chicago? You mean right here?”
“Yes.”
Like a giraffe trying to grab the highest piece of fruit from the tallest tree, Natalie stretched her neck closer, “Did he answer?” She whispered and twisted around to survey the tables around.
“No, it was a little girl. She described the person that was talking on the phone.” “Who was it?”
“I don’t know. But he was a Black man.”
Natalie stopped in midair and dropped back onto the restaurant bench. She gazed at me saying nothing and appeared not to breath.
I snapped my fingers, “Natalie, Natalie.”
“Damn.” She finally blurted.
“I’m staying out of this stuff, I not messing with none of this chat room crap anymore.”
“He’s in Chicago?” she asked.
Rattling the sack of fake sugar I said, “Outta all the places in the world, this fool’s right here.”
She reached over the table and held my hand. “Hopefully he was just passing through.”
“Yeah, yeah that’s it. He was just passing through,” I said with the first smile since the phone call. “That’s why I have you as a friend girl. Cause I can’t have any dumb friends.”
Natalie laid a huge grin on me that spelled everything’s gonna be all right. “Well you know, what can I say?”
“He was just stopping on his way to who knows where. I just hope he hops his crazy ass on the bus and they drive that devil right into one of the oceans,” I joyously agreed and thought why not? He was just passing through town and thought he’d put a scare into me and in doing so, accomplished that and more.
“Which one of your Chat Room buddies do you think it was?” Natalie questioned.
Hesitating, I found myself again in that daze of fear.
“Masonite.”
“Why Ma-so-nite?” Natalie pronounced in cracked tones.
“He was the one name on Jamal’s e-mail that I recognized from the Chat Room. They were supposed to meet the same week that he was murdered. I just put two and two together.”
“Did you call the police?”
“I called Agent Hicks.”
Natalie swirled her neck. “Agent Hicks!?” She shook her head that signified discuss. “You mean the cop that’s been harassing you?”
I nodded. “Yeah, the very same one.”
“I thought you hated him. Shit, I would and of a matter of fact, I do.”
Throwing my hands up I explained, “Yes, yes, I know I hate him, but he was the first one that came to my mind after getting no satisfaction from calling 911.”
“Damn girl...you must have been trippin’,” Natalie said.
“At first, Hicks was being a real twit. He kept prying and poking me about Sun Rise, Cutino
or Black Dragon or whatever the hell his name is.”
“How so?”
“You know, like that TV crime stuff. Did I have something else to say about Cutino and information on his operation, things like that? I told him I didn’t have any more information nor did I know anything else about Cutino.”
Natalie shook her head, “That means you almost ran into the killer in LA?”
My mind went blank when she said it. I stared into nothing, then in an instant turned back into Koltrane’s bedroom where the killing took place. A shiver quivered through my stomach at the thought of meeting up with the evil person who would murder.
“Here’s your coffee,” Gretchen said as she approached our table. She placed the cup of latte in front of Natalie and a black coffee on my side. “Is everything OK?” she asked.
“Yeah girl. It’s nothin’ but girl talk,” I said easing Gretchen’s concern.
She turned to Natalie. “Would you like somethin’ to eat, a menu or somethin’?” Gretchen asked.
“Yes please, I’ll take a bagel and lox,” Natalie requested.
“Comin’ right up,” Gretchen said.
Natalie reached over for the jar of raw sugar, the kind wrapped in small brown paper packets and emptied two into her dark latte coffee. She stirred it slowly, then placed the spoon into the saucer and brought the cup up to her mouth. She sipped the coffee and placed it back onto the saucer. “So where do we go from here?”
I frowned at my girl and questioned, “We?”
“Yeah, girl that’s right.” Natalie glared at me hard.
In a final determination based on everything that has transpired so far I said, “Listen, I don’t want anybody involved in this but the authorities.”
“Well, you can count on me.” Natalie reached over with a clinched fist where I gave her some pound.
After touching fist and doing our Fresh Prince and Jazzy
Jeff imitation I said, “I’m finished being a novice private eye.” “I heard that.”
I gazed onto the street, “I just hope that psycho jumped back on that Greyhound and rode out of town. That’s all.”
CHAPTER 17