SUFFER WITH ME Read online

  “Ma’am?”

  “Some kids knocked me in my head and snatched my fucking phone.”

  ~~~

  “But only one you, so I’ll find everyone who looks like you and wipe them out. When they’re all gone and it’s just you and me, I’ll make you suffer as you made me suffer.” The call ends.

  ~~~

  Life is funny sometimes and not like “ha ha” amusing funny, but funny peculiar. Or funny contradicting or better yet, funny heartbreaking. Yeah, funny heartbreaking. That’s the exact funny that Detective Suffiyah Adams is experiencing. Is she unworthy of happiness? She’s never met her birth parents, so that bond is nil. According to her third set of foster guardians, she was taken from her first foster parents at the age of four. Then placed in an orphanage for two years, before ending up with the Richardsons. She appreciates there sheltering her, clothing and raising her. Granting her a life of normalcy from six to eighteen years-old, when she was old enough to be considered grown and shipped off to college. They were financially well off, but morally poor. They didn’t exhibit a parental love for her. It was like a forced attachment. She was treated as a charity case, cared for but with very little affection. In her mind she believed she was adopted only as a means to atone for some sins they committed. Sort of a tax write off to God. So, at the tender age of fourteen she lost her virginity to a sixteen year-old boy who promised her love. A love she could hold and cherish, as she never remembered being held or cherished. His promise broke with her hymen. Her life became a testament to looking for love in all the wrong places. She doesn’t regret her actions, but she does wish she could amend them. After a high school friend was murdered and she saw the sorrow in his mother’s face months after his murder went unsolved, she decided on law enforcement. The appreciation and love she would get, from the families that she brought closure, would be priceless. She could make a difference. Then she was shot in the shoulder and head. Heartbreak. The job she loved almost killed her. She healed up and returned to work with elation. Then came the phone call. Heartbreak. The same heartbreak which now has her balled up on the floor, bawling her eyes out. How can things be so out of control? What kind of hate could motivate someone to be so evil? Unbeknownst to most, therapy has been required throughout most of Suffiyah’s life. Through bouts of depression, Alicia pulled her from the darkest moments. So, to hear of her life being placed in jeopardy for her has broken Suffiyah. Refusing to be a victim or allow Alicia to, she stands up. On wobbly legs but a renewed sense of determination, she faces the day. Correcting her momentary lapse of courage, she dresses and heads out. Arriving at her car she walks around giving it a thorough inspection. No scratches, busted windows or more importantly, flat tires. She looks up at the camera, which watches over the parking lot and wishes the caller would have been careless enough to have slashed her tire. She pulled out her parking spot with an abundance of confidence. Her lieutenant could help her with this problem. Her phone rings startling her, but she smiles when she sees Alicia’s picture on the screen. Switching to the cars Bluetooth, she picks up.

  “Talk to me, Boo!” she sings through the receiver.

  “What? You had sex or something?” Lee Lee asks.

  “What?” Suffiyah laughs, “Why you say that?”

  “You all happy and shit. Singing out at 7 o’clock in the morning. Lay your ass down, it’s too early.” Alicia’s words drip attitude.

  This makes Suffiyah laugh harder. “Well no, I still didn’t have sex and apparently from your tone, neither did you. Now, I’m happy because your call just made my morning. I love you, my sister.”

  “Sorry Sufee. I love you too. My morning has been going from bad to worse. First, I caught my period two days early all over my good sheets. Then, I realize I’ve overslept. So, I have to rush and get ready for work. After showering, I have my outfit all planned out, so I can at least look cute. I throw my clothes on and guess what? I can’t find my shoes.” Suffiyah giggles because she can envision Lee Lee’s exaggerated hand motions while she tells her story. “I search all over the apartment. They’re gone. Why? Because I left them at your house. Now I’m running late and dressed funny. I get outside and jump in the car and pull off. I notice that it’s driving funny. I guess I rode over a nail, because my tire just went flat. Now, to make me even later, I have to go to the tire shop. I get there and try to get the dude at the tire shop to hurry but he’s stuck staring at my cleavage. Sidebar, as bad as my day’s going, my girls,” she says referring to her breasts, “are on point! Poppi changed my tire for free!” she cackles. “But anyway, this the icing on the cake. Wasn’t no nail. He said somebody stabbed my fucking tire…” ‘If you tell anyone about these calls, it’s to your detriment. Or the detriment of those you love. If you change your number, I’ll find you. If you don’t believe me check the back tire. No one’s invisible, Detective.’ Heartbreak.

  CHAPTER 6

  The cemetery is a place which signifies an end to life. Most visitors pass through and never come back, but not Benji. He’s here so often the grounds keeper knows him on a first name basis. He walks through the graveyard as if it’s a park. A blanket in one hand and food in the other. No matter the weather, he spends most of his lunch breaks with Sakinah. As Benji arrives at her gravesite, he kisses his fingers and presses them to her headstone. “Good afternoon, baby girl,” he says as he lays the blanket down. Taking a seat with his back to the headstone, he places his head in his hands. “It’s never been an easy life, period. But without you here, I swear it’s much harder. How can a city ever be good enough when you’ve had the world? Remember you made me watch that movie with Ashton Kutcher and Bernie Mac? ‘Guess Who?’” Benji laughs at the memory. “It’s so funny because Ashton Kutcher says the girl is the fifty to his hundred and without her he can never be whole. You remember what I said? Ha ha, I said ‘That’s some movie shit’.” The amused look fades slowly from his face as a tear slides down his cheek. “But it wasn’t because I haven’t been whole in two years, Ma. I saw a woman who looks so much like you in every way, and it made me cry. I’m not going to lie, I be so mad. Mad at you for leaving me, mad at me for not being there for you, but mostly mad at God. If He loves us how could He take you? Get this though, she’s a cop, Boo. Ironic right? The woman who looks just like you, is one of the people who still haven’t found your killer. Just got your file sitting around collecting dust, but I swear on your memory I won’t stop searching. I was just working a case for Ferming but I’m done. It’s weird because…”

  Benji talks to her non-stop for two hours. As he drives away he feels a mixture of relief and sorrow. Relief because he spoke to his only love and sorrow because no matter how much he speaks his only love will never speak back.

  “Detective Adams, if you don’t open up how can I help you?” Dr. Jackson, asks.

  These session are one of the mandated orders given to Suffiyah. But this is the very first one where she is being unproductive. She’s so unsure of what to say, and not to say, that she decided not to say anything.

  “I’m just feeling so much better that it’s not much to talk about.”

  “Oh? So why are you crying?” Suffiyah, touches her face and to her surprise it’s stained with tears. Alicia’s words comes back to her, “Posture could lie and the eyes will reveal the lie postures telling.”

  Benji, steps into his office and grabs the stack of mail. He throws his coat on the sofa as he sifts through the mail. Getting behind his desk, he sits and powers on the computer. All this activity as of lately has sidetracked him from preparing this month’s editorials. He tosses the bills one piece at a time until he gets to an envelope which is heavier than the others. The return address is Benji’s apartment, but it isn’t his handwriting. Curiosity gets the better of him and he picks up the letter opener. Allowing the contents to spill out, the pictures fall out on the desk. The last thing out is a letter.

  Dear Just Benjamin,

  Excuse my forwardness, but I’m an
avid reader of Why We Bang. Your journalistic skills are above average and makes your stories transcend the boundaries of the paper and become part of our life. The problems are our own, the victims are no longer just names in an article. Instead, through the vigor of your pen, you render us unable to abscond from the harsh realities we avert our eyes from. Your work makes us empathize with the oppressed, battered and murdered in contrast to sympathizing with them for a second then forgetting them the next. I applaud your dedication and craftiness but still, I remain befuddled. Why is it you so eloquently and aggressively attack and express the problems of the world, but elude your own? Pardon the frankness of my words, but I’m under the impression that they must be said. You are like Superman, in the sense you left your world to meddle in affairs of others elsewhere. Nothing of our world can hurt or harm you. Superman’s home planet was Krypton and it was destroyed. Blasted into small chunks of rocks, some which landed on earth, and labeled “kryptonite”. He was too strong for everything in this entire world. But the tiniest bit of his world renders him powerless and can kill him. So my analogy is, your world is to you, what Superman’s world is to him. Believe me? No? Okay, well here are fragments of your destroyed world.

  Sincerely,

  Just A. Fan

  His eyes fell immediately to the pictures which lie face down on his desk. With a trembling hand, he grabs them collectively. Sakinah, lies nude in each picture taken from various angles. Her beautiful face contorted into an ugly sneer, forever frozen. All the pictures are postmortem and the bruises around her neck are very light. Which means these images were taken right after the murder. Which also means this is her murderer taunting him. As he sit back drained of everything and feeling faint, the analogy begins to make sense. A little bit of his world kills him the same as superman.

  After this morning’s session with Dr. Jackson, Suffiyah left his office with more stress than she came in with. There were so many shooting and murderers this year, that she and the rest of the detectives hardly see the inside of the office. So as she sits at her desk and looks over the mountains of paper work, it saddens her. Each file is a life taken and relocated to the purgatory which is her job. A double homicide on Johnson Avenue. A body in an apartment in East Orange. A couple set on fire in their car on Dayton Street. Murder after murder after murder.

  “Sufee,” Sonya calls out as she pokes her head inside the cubicle. “Mcfarl … what’s wrong young lady? You look constipated.”

  “Nothing.” Suffiyah forces a smile. “Just thinking.”

  “Well food for thought. If it’s a man that has your face tore up like that, act like you took a laxative and let that shit go.” Suffiyah can’t help laughing. “That’s my girl! Now anyway, McFarland wants to see you pronto.”

  Suffiyah gets up and walks to her supervisor’s office and knocks before entering.

  “You wanted to see me, sir?”

  “Adams, come in and close the door.” Close the door? She thinks, that’s never a good sign.

  She takes a seat and waits and waits to hear why she was summoned. Lt. McFarland, stares her down for a full two minutes in complete silence. This is an interrogation tactic used to unnerve suspects. Suffiyah’s familiar with the methods, but baffled by its use on her. Sweat involuntarily rolls from her underarm and down her sides. Leaving a cold wet trail.

  “Adams,” he begins, “this office is like a family. Don’t you agree?” The inquisition rhetorical apparently because he continues as if he asked nothing. “In a family, there should be no secrets. So I’m giving you the opportunity to help me help you. Before that doodoo you’re standing in goes from ankle high to your neck.” If she was only confused before, now she’s utterly stymied.

  “I don’t understand, Lou.” Could he know about the caller? If so, how? He said tell no one, so why would he tell?

  “Do you know her?” He passed a photo from a crime scene to her, she takes a moment to study it.

  “No but she favors the other woman. Almost exactly.” … so I’ll find everyone who looks like you and wipe them out.

  “Exactly. But look closer, in her left hand.” Suffiyah, stares at a photo of a young woman naked on a picnic table and feels guilty. She now sees the card tucked in her fingers. As if he was following her eyes, the lieutenant speaks, “Your card again. Different scene, same m.o., assumedly same perp and as the last time, same card. So I ask you for the second time, do you know her? Internal Affairs is all over this, all over you. We as a family can keep a secret from I.A., but as a family, we can’t keep secrets from each other.” Sliding the picture closer, he asks once more, “Who is she?”

  “I don’t know, honestly.”

  “God dammit, Adams! Cut the shit, is it a coincidence that they both favor you?” He’s really using all of his interrogations tricks on me.

  “Lou, what are you implying?” she asks, becoming angry.

  “What am I implying? What am I! Fuck it, give me your shield. I tried to help you but no. Believe this though Su-fee-yah, when the shit hits the fan, and it will hit the fan, it’s going to blow right in your face. And I’ll be right there grinning. You’re on leave. Get the fuck outta my office.”

  A glint of anger lingers in her eyes. As much as she would like to display her bellicosity, she refrains. Sometimes the best weapon against the ignorance of others is to remain dignified. Suffiyah stands and adjusts her blazer. “Yes Sir, Lt. McFarland,” she says gracefully allowing her submissiveness to manifest.

  Next Morning

  Benji gives himself the once over in the full length mirror. His smile brightens his aura immensely. As he stands there, in a pink dress shirt that fits the contour of his torso to perfection, navy blue trousers and brown ostrich skin shoes with the belt to match, his pride soars. So far removed is he from the menace that he once loved to identify with. He places the plain face, brown band Movado watch on his left wrist. This every day, run of the mill time piece is his most valued treasure in the world. As he adjusts the band his mind drifts. “My dream man? Hmmm?” Sakinah contemplates the question. Benji rolls over on the bed to face her and props himself up on his elbow, awaiting her answer. His eyes roam over her exposed body as she lays there. Her skin is flawless to the point of faultlessness. Her breast full with a set of always erect nipples that have a pinkish brown hue. Now down to the flat stomach with the sunken in belly button, that he always kisses. With her knee bent and perfectly pedicured foot flat on the bed, the upper part of her love box’s pinkness stares back at him. Stirring a longing in the pit of his stomach that transfers to his heart and crotch. His gaze backtracks until it’s again on her face. Her hair is splayed on the pillow, but not in a clumsy fashion. It’s almost regal, like a crown around her head. Her eyes are closed as she thinks. Her nose is the right proportion for her face. The lips full but the bottom a little fuller, lending them a heart shape. “What?” Sakinah asks as her cheeks take on a reddish tinge. Her hand wiping at her mouth embarrassed at what she imagines is dry slob. Benji meets her gaze and the brownish green eyes pause his heartbeat.

  “Nothing,” he says as he kisses the tip of her nose. “Stop stalling and answer the question.”

  She smiles and snuggles closer under the warmth of his body. “My dream man? Well he’s your complexion and physical stature. He’s aware of the world around him, all while never losing sight of the world in front of him. Brave enough to fight everyone, but intelligent enough to realize he doesn’t need to. He’ll make me feel as safe under him, as I feel right now. His swaggers unmatched because it’s not an act, it’s just him. He’ll be debonair and gentlemanly, not street.” She feels his body tense with jealousy. She continues, “Yeah, definitely not street, but still his own boss. And…” Suddenly she leans over the side of the bed and searches for something on the floor. “…he’ll be wearing this.” Her hand produces a watch as she settles back in her spot. “To signify that no matter where he is in life.” She looks at Benji with unbridled affection. “He
’ll always have time for me. My dream man has some characteristics you don’t, but I know in my heart, you will someday. That’s why, you are my dream man and in the future my reality man.” Benji straightens his tie as the lone tear finally finds its way to his chin.

  Suffiyah rides the elevator down from the fourth floor of 50 West Market Street, which is the Veterans Courthouse and home to the prosecutor and homicide departments. She forgot to grab some things from her desk yesterday, being she was so upset. She’s balancing everything in one arm and conducting a conversation with Alicia via text when the doors open. She’s so busy in her phone, she’s unaware of the man backing into the elevator until they collide.

  “I’m so sorry,” they say simultaneously.

  He swiftly kneels down to collect her things. As he rises and looks up in her face, his smile intensifies. Suffiyah’s smile, on the other hand, subsides and is replaced with a look of disgust. She rudely snatches her belongings that he proffers to her. What she assumed was a hurried attorney turned out to be a drug dealer late for court.

  “Thank you. But you should hurry upstairs before you get a contempt of court,” she says not even understanding herself why she was being so evil.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Contempt of court, you know? They can revoke your bail and re-arrest you, then who’s going to sell your drugs?”

  “Contempt of court? Drugs?” he asks growing agitated, “Shorty, miss me wit’ that goofy shit. Every black man in a courthouse isn’t a criminal. I’m actually a witness for the defense. Uppity ass females,” he mumbles as he enters the elevator. “And for the record, Miss. Drugs are a toxin and main factor of the poverty and lowly family structure in this city. That being said, I’m averse to drug dealing. But enjoy your day, your honor,” he says sarcastically. Suffiyah rolls her eyes at the closing elevator doors.