Heartbreak of a Hustler's Wife: A Novel (4 page)

The camera went onto location and Sister Mary was the first person they showed. Still dressed in her Sunday best, she looked into the camera and said her piece. “The people who did this are going to go straight to Hell. Aside from that, I feel sorry for what God is going to do to them.” The reporter tried to pull the microphone away from her; Sister Mary wasn’t having it. She arm-wrestled the reporter, won and brought the microphone closer to her mouth. “I’m not finished yet,” she told him, giving the young reporter the same look she’d shot at the thug who had threatened her life.

“They got some nerve coming into the house of the
Lord
and taking not only from
God’s
people but from
God’s
tithes and offerings. It ain’t about the people. It ain’t about our loss. It’s about His harvest! God’s harvest.” She pointed at the church. “You know the Bible says those who steal from God will be cursed.” Sister Mary rolled on with conviction now that she had the stage. “Now, that ain’t no hogwash that some Bible-toting man made up. That’s what the good book says.” She nodded and kept going. “And those men—I feel pity on what
God
gonna do to them. May He have mercy on their rotten souls.”

The reporter had heard enough from Sister Mary and motioned for the cameraman to cut to another bystander. “They
going to Hell with gasoline drawers on,” the young man stated to the camera.

The reporter switched gears. “Do you know about the rumors of the supposedly street-reformed minister of this church still being involved in the drug world? Do you think there is any truth to the speculation that this was drug-related? Perhaps a past debt owed? Or even a current debt, for that matter?” Judging by the reporter’s face, he looked as though he felt he’d hit the jackpot with this line of questioning. One didn’t move up in this field by asking soft questions.

“Naw, Des been out of the game and he’s rich in his own right. Before he even started this church he had an expensive car lot. Why would he still be throwing bricks, man?” The younger member flipped the script, twisting up his mug. “And why is the first thing you people think when a black man is getting money is that he’s selling dope?” They quickly took the camera off the young man, hoping to get a different perspective from another church member.

“Naw, it’s related to this economy and people doing bad,” a middle-aged lady answered the reporter’s question. “People see us eating, doing well at the Good Life Ministry, and they want to take from our plates.” The woman was nicely dressed. She paused to pat her head to make sure every hair was in place and then looked directly into the camera. “But like our Pastor Taylor says, we going to pray for our enemies. And
God
will deal with them.”

Bound and determined to keep digging for dirt, the reporter looked to a bystander with purple hair that matched her purse and nail polish, hoping she would embarrass herself and the minister.
“Do you think this had anything to do with the past criminal life he lived?”

“Heck naw,” the girl exclaimed. “That man been left that life alone. He’s a living witness that people can change. He’s given his life to
God
. This ain’t no joke. He da real deal. And if anybody wanna get their hair done, you can come see me at Hair Extremes on Jeff Davis Highway.”

“Do you know how much was stolen?” the reporter asked a lady who had a mouthful of gold teeth and a rat-tail comb stuck in the back of her hair.

“Well, they only got a few dollars from me because I learned at a young age to keep my money where nobody can find it.” The lady then went into her bosom and removed a small bundle of cash.

“Do she even go to the church?” Des asked, handing Slim his drink.

“I never saw her,” Slim replied, shaking his head. “But your people held you down. Nobody had a negative word to say about you.”

“For sure,” Des agreed. “Not that any of them would have anything on me. Turn that shit off, I’ve seen enough.”

Slim was about to turn the television off when Detective Columbo popped up on the screen, preparing to make a statement. This, they both wanted to hear.

“We are looking for the assailants and we will catch them,” Columbo stated. “But unofficially, it is still unclear if this is a retaliation based on Mr. Taylor’s past as a drug dealer. Whatever the case, I assure you that the Richmond Police Department, in conjunction with the state police, will get to the bottom of it,”
Columbo finalized his tough-stance words with a nod and a false smile for the television camera.

Slim hit the off button on the remote and took a hard swallow of his cognac. “This shit is already getting out of control.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.” Des, still in disbelief, sat down next to Yarni on the couch. “On Friday a sniper took a shot at me and two days later everybody in my church is robbed at gunpoint and my bank account is ten mil lighter. To top all that shit off, Tony is dead.” Des shook his head. “Damn.” He couldn’t believe his boy was gone.

“It was no less than nine to ten people down with the robbery,” Slim surmised. “At least that’s what I counted. But I believe there had to be others behind the scenes. It’s almost impossible for that many people to keep something this big a secret. The streets are going to bust that one wide open for us. It’s just a matter of time.” Slim swallowed. He took a deep breath. Exhaled. “I’m more concerned about who tried to put the slug from a high-powered rifle through your heart. That shit seemed a lot more professional, if you ask me.”

“You might have a point there, man,” Des had to agree. “I still can’t believe how lucky I was a Bible saved my life.” All of their eyes rested on the book that sat on the table. Des kept it in plain view as a reminder of how his life had been spared.

“Luck had nothing to do with it,” Yarni said. She’d given him the small customized Bible as a present, and for no explainable reason Des had placed it into the inside pocket of his coat moments before the shot was fired. If the Bible hadn’t absorbed the impact, he would’ve been dead. The bullet itself was still embedded in the pages. “It was more like divine intervention.”

Like Father, Like Daughter

A few days later, Yarni’s mother, Gloria, dropped an atomic bomb on her. “What did you say?” Yarni said into the phone. She was sitting on the bench at the foot of her bed.

“My biopsy came back,” Gloria repeated, “and they’re saying that they found some cancer cells.”

This can’t be happening
, Yarni thought. “Did you get a second opinion?”

“Yes, and a third.” Gloria’s voice sounded strong, but worried.

Yarni’s mother had always been her rock. Gloria had been there for Yarni through thick and thin, when she was at her best and even more so when she was at her worst. It was Gloria’s strength that had always kept Yarni strong.

“Mommy, I’m here for you and you know that we will get
through this together.” Though tears rolled down her cheeks, Yarni tried to hold back her sobs as she comforted her mother. She had relied on her mother for so much over the years, and she was ready to step up and be Gloria’s source of support.

“I know we will, baby. There’s no doubt in my mind. I’ve already consulted some of the best doctors Florida has to offer.”

“Mommy, you know money is no problem. I’ll go in debt if need be, so don’t hesitate for a minute to ask if you need anything.”

“I know.” Gloria sounded like she was handling her diagnosis better than her daughter. “I’m confident in the doctors I’m working with. They’re gonna take good care of your momma, girl.”

“I think you should come stay with us. At a time like this, you should be with family.” It had been seven years since Gloria had moved away to Florida and started her restaurant franchise.

Gloria objected to the idea immediately. “My doctors, husband and business are all here.” Yarni knew her mother and could sense that there was something she wasn’t telling her.

“We have doctors here, and Sam can come with you. With all the technology at hand, he can work from anywhere. And as far as your business, you have people in place that can run the restaurants.”

Gloria was adamant, not willing to budge.

“Thanks for the offer, but I’ll be just fine, baby. Don’t worry.”

“Mom, this is crazy for you to have to go through alone.”

“I’m not alone. Sam’s here.”

“I mean, without me. You shouldn’t be going through this without me.”

“I’m trying to figure out who needs who more here,” Gloria sighed, “with everything going on in your life.”

“I do need you, Mom, which is why I want to make sure you’re here on Earth for as long as possible.”

Usually Yarni told Gloria everything. She wanted to share what was going on in her and Des’s life with the robbery and all, but this one time she kept her own problems to herself.

Just then the bedroom intercom came to life with Des’s voice. “Baby girl, I need you to come down here.”

Yarni responded, “I’ll be down in a minute.”

“Go see what your husband needs. I’ll be fine. Baby, don’t worry, everything will be okay.” Gloria tried to sound convincing, but Yarni could hear the uncertainty in her mother’s voice. “We can finish this debate later. Go check on Des.”

Yarni didn’t want to hang up, but before she could protest, her mother had already told her that she loved her and said good-bye. Gloria had hung up the phone.

Yarni was devastated about her mother’s biopsy results. It’s all she thought about as she walked down the stairs to be by her man’s side.

“It’s called covering my ass,” Des explained to Slim as Yarni walked into the great room. “I plan on the po-po not givin’ a fuck and doing nothing. But if somewhere down the line I have to rubber-band a cat and they find him stretched out, I can say I was in fear for my life. And to better my defense, I would have already created the paper trail to back me up when I’m facing those twelve on the jury.” Des turned and winked at Yarni, letting her know that he’s paid attention to her work.

Yarni rolled her eyes. Des was always finding a way to make
things work in his favor. His own favor, mind you. This had nothing to do with the favor of God.

Putting dirt in the face of the person responsible would come naturally, Des thought, but first they had to find out who the person or people were who were fucking with his life and livelihood. It was like trying to figure out when a prostitute contracted HIV: the possibilities were endless.

Des had put his hands on over a million dollars before his eighteenth birthday. Being from the hood in the eighties with that type of cake behind a man’s mitt brings lots of enemies. And the list didn’t end with his foes. If Yarni wouldn’t have run across the paperwork naming his boy, Rico, as a federal witness against Des in a CCE case, Des never would have believed it. Rico was his street brother, loyalty bound by blood. Betrayal of that loyalty cost Rico his life. Could Rico’s Colombian family be out for retribution? They definitely had the money and the resources. And everyone knows that on the streets, the desire for revenge often never goes away. Like a family gene, it’s passed on from one generation to the next.

“I’ma get a shower and some rest,” Des said to Slim. “Think about this shit some more. Hit me if something comes up before morning, a’ight? Besides, I think Yarni and I need some alone time.”

Slim understood. He gave Des a pound and a brotherly hug and hugged Yarni before leaving.

Yarni and Des, worn out both physically and mentally from the past days’ events, retreated up the stairs. In the master bathroom, hot water pelted Des from all directions in the shower. The multiple-positioned shower sprayers were earning the mint
he’d put out to have them installed. He soaped up his hand and slid it across the large bruise on the left side of his chest from the impact of the bullet that unsuccessfully tried to take him out a few days ago. He silently thanked God.

Yarni was sitting crossed-legged on the bed, netbook on her lap, when Des walked into the bedroom still dripping from his shower. She was wearing a black negligee that rode high up her well-toned thighs. Desi was asleep in the nursery.

“Don’t that thing burn your legs sitting on you like that?” he asked.

Yarni didn’t reply. She was too focused on the information on the screen. “Huh? What? Did you say something, honey?” she asked, realizing that Des was not only out of the shower and standing in their bedroom, but that he’d just asked her a question.

“I said, doesn’t that thing burn your legs?” He nodded toward the netbook.

“Oh, no, it’s fine. That is the least of my worries right now.”

Yarni hadn’t yet shared her mother’s bad news with Des. “Gloria has breast cancer. She just told me about it this evening.” Yarni’s eyes were still glued to the 9-inch LED screen while she spoke. She’d been Googling information on the disease.

Des, who was putting on his pajamas, paused in mid-action. “Damn, baby, I’m so sorry to hear that. I—is there anything I can do?” Des felt horrible for not noticing that something was wrong. He was so caught up in his own mayhem, he hadn’t paid Yarni much attention since he came in.

“Not right now. I asked her to come back to Virginia, maybe move in with us, to be closer to family.”