Chapter One
No More Tics, No More Tocs
**Dalyla Point Of View** 09/10/2014 (Current Day 11:13 A.M)
The cruel, greedy, and howling wind threads through my eardrums and soft butterscotch skin as if I don’t have on the heavy brown needled mink Toc gifted me last Christmas. A day he’d never had reason to celebrate until I came into his life. Now his presence has left mine forever. Self-pity binds my heart like a boy scouts tightrope, and I wince at the pain I feel right on the tender spot where he’d kiss me before I fell asleep in his strong coffee bean-toned arms.
The vicious, gloom-covered gray skies threaten never to allow the sun another appearance as the clouds stretch as far as my hazy eyes can see. No rain is in the forecast, only my sorrow and pain. The atmosphere’s shadows not only perfectly describe the diverse dismal differentiating feelings I have bubbling inside me but also suffocate any hope of a smile for the day. Not that I would grin if it was sunny, but I can’t even simulate a smirk with this murky and forever depressing world cascading additionally grim.
“Aye, let me holla at you fah a minute… Look, slime ain’t eva love nobody like you. You was down with him fo-real, and I applaud that loyalty. Still, don’t think just because Toc dead, you can get loose and shit. Niggas who hated Toc, prolaly gon try come around and fawk witchu. I ain’t havin it. Until I get shot and killed, you betta not fuck nobody, or I’ll send you up to Toc so you can explain why you was fucking another nigga. Ya dig?” The face-tatted goon explains, tugging at his pistol as if he needs any more emphasis. The way his heinous pupils daringly cling to my eyes asserts even further than his words or his taunts that he’s looking for me to get out of line just so he can be the one to kill me.
I’m beyond convinced his words are terms and conditions that I never had a choice not to agree to. Even with Toc doing his best to shield me from all his enemies, who he worked with, and even the people who worked for him, I’m not foolish. I’m well aware that Toc’s organization handles things as quickly as they occur, and once they’ve declared something is going to happen, it materializes. The exact reason I know whoever Toc’s killer is won’t have much longer to live.
The goon’s eyebrows raise to hear confirmation that I understand his threats. Yet with my dry mouth sticking together as if I’ve only eaten honey and syrup and haven’t had the time to brush my teeth or wash my face since I first heard of the death nine days ago, no words form. Not only is my mouth immobilized to the utmost extent, but my entire being is also paralyzed. I’ve just buried my rock. How could anyone expect me to conversate to assured hazards?
The irony of it all nearly breaks me down completely. The whole reason my soul stopped counting time and just enjoyed the precious Tics was because of Toc. Now I’ve got nothing but time to reflect on all the losses it brings. Not only has it already skewered my soul, but it’s also grinding away at my heart and giving me mental lapses that feel twice as gruesome as an aneurysm. Which all boils down to me being completely lost on what to do next. The worst part is that I’m no longer thinking just for me; I’ve got a little bit of life in me.
The life that Toc would have excitedly helped me raise and protect, exactly how he defended and upgraded me. Exactly how my family and the previous men promised protection should have. However, Toc was the only person to treat my life like it had any meaning. He never ripped my heart out in the process of loving me, and yet, I still find my heart has been yanked out of my chest in his absence which dictates him to be gone forever. And with him, my purpose in life. Like all street widows who’ve lost their man, my biggest fear no longer resides in whether he will make it home to me. That dread and possibility that this has all been a disastrous dream were buried right along with Toc just minutes ago.
My new anxiety exists only with the thoughts of the people who killed him, yearning to ensure everything he ever loved ceases to exist. Which primarily consists of people who have no idea how to protect themselves from real street killers. Toc was the only boy of seven, and half of his sisters were too scared to appear at his funeral, fearing it’d be shot up. Who would have thought someone of Toc’s street stature would have to worry about having a peaceful burial. It’s absurd to think how his name rang bells all across Saint Louis weeks ago, and now his name means nothing more than a fallen whisper. So although I despise and hate his sisters for not showing up, I can’t disagree with their logic to protect themselves and their family. I’ve endangered myself and the growing seed inside of me just by appearing here.
“Aye, mothafucka, is you hearrring me?” The hoodlum snarls, fracturing my brain into a grueling headache. Despite the world’s spinning, I successfully nod yes in terrified confusion, which only seems to irritate and piss him off further. “Is ya fucking deaf or fuckin slow?”
“Aye, lil nigga! Get the fuck from around her! She grieving!” Flippa demands. His light skin “6,6’ lanky ass quickly making his way towards my shuddering body. “Matta fact, I see you close to her eva again, and you already know what it’ll be. Ya heard that?”
“Yeah, iight, Flippa,” the teen grunts, flashing one last minatory daring smile before strolling to get with the rest of his crew and some of Toc’s gangsta family that reside in different parts of Saint Louis.
“I apologize, Ma. Niggas don’t know what to say these days. I know Toc’s protection ain’t replaceable, but I gotchu till my dying breath.” Flippa promises, putting his tattooed fist out for a kind-hearted pound.
“Thanks…” I mutter, glancing at the gigantic teardrop covering his hand’s back. It prompts me to wonder how many people he killed in Toc’s favor. That number is probably as significant as Flippa’s tattoo. Somehow, I understand his plight with that thought alone.
Flippa’s compulsory devotion to Toc remains in death. Because even with him knowing it’s a scorching necessity for me to be in the arms of a loved one, he’s got too much respect for Toc to dare put even an arm around me for me to even slightly get a transient sense of comfort. The reality of my life at this moment is besides wanting Toc back alive, there is nothing more in this world that I wish for than someone’s arms to wrap around my perspiring body and hold me, lie and tell me everything will be okay, so I can argue and tell them they’re wrong and take my anger out. Although truthfully, I can’t even make myself believe I’d have the strength to have a fight with words. Even if I did have the power to argue, no one’s touch could bring me near the serenity Toc would.
Nonetheless, I need something to hold me over. At least until I get home, where I can cry without fear of how weak I make Toc look. My opinion concludes that weeping how I actually desire would show how much Toc meant to me. Yet, these mind-numbing idiots see it as I’m tarnishing the last efforts to keep his name running high and mighty.
Still, looking at Flippa’s hand now tells me his respect for Toc will never falter or fold. I force myself to move my lips into the only imitation of a grin I can muster and return his gesture of touch before I gradually hike to the chauffeuring vehicle Flippa rented for me. Though he says nothing, I can feel him a few feet behind me, making sure no one else presses to bother me. The scuffling of his feet heightens my awareness that he’s staying back purposefully.
“And that’s the fucking difference,” I mutter as I realize that Flippa can’t protect me unless his face is seen. Meanwhile, if a goon had approached me when Toc was alive, he’d have been laid to rest before his steps reached my eardrums or eyesight. Flippa isn’t a man to take charge. He’s a great general, but when he has no one to give him orders, it’s nothing he can do on his own. From the whisperers of today, it’s been said Flippa couldn’t even orchestrate the funeral arrangements himself. Instead, he paid an outside source to put it all together.
I don’t know the source. However, I know that the funeral was the most expensive one I’ve ever attended. Nonetheless, costly things don’t bring back the dead, and it certainly won’t make Flippa take charge. He would never be number one in any organization, especially with drugs. Something Toc knew very well, which is why he ruled these streets with an iron fist. To my despair, despite his robust reign of fear, someone’s ambition irrevocably became stronger.
Besides the mumbles in the church, voices are making chatter about who gave my man a closed casket service, but I won’t care until Flippa confirms the hit. Once that call is made, Flippa can get people rallied behind him to kill the man behind Toc’s death. Then, Toc won’t be the only one who has to have a funeral. I long for that day and the ceremony that’ll come with it. I plan on spitting on the grave until I’m dehydrated.
My anchored heart sniffles in a stifle as it tries to find the strength for my next breath and the next step that demands I continue fighting for Toc’s baby inside me. An entity that, at the moment, I wish I never let begin brewing. Now that Toc won’t be here to help me raise it. I silently shake my head at my selfish thoughts. However, I quickly fall back to the notion of getting an abortion to commit suicide without having another murder on my own hands besides my own. However, at this point, I don’t know which is worse. The more I contemplate my baby’s fate, the more I realize Flippa and I are both the same. We’re involved in a world where neither of us can take charge.
“I’m very sorry for your lost, sweetheart.” Toc’s father, Mr. Jackson greets. Despite the circumstances and our distance, he manages to wave and give me his best grin. His usual stern, strong, and handsome face has deteriorated with the dark fat patchiness surrounding his cheeks and eyes. His puffy, bloodshot eyes permit me to comprehend my own ridiculous looks because I haven’t seen this man crying once while I’ve been sobbing this entire time. So if he looks this rough, I can only imagine how pitiful and pathetic I must look to the world.
Mr. Jackson’s half-smile tells me that even this benign movement is loaded with effort. Which I certainly feel and understand excessively. Walking just a few steps takes up all the energy I don’t have. I simply refuse to let anyone see me, possibly Toc’s future baby mother weeping on the ground and making a scene. I can cry as long as I want, but I will not fall. Not until I get home. A home once shared by the most extraordinary man God ever created. Even with him being one of the most feared men, he was the most gentle for me—a true lover’s heart. Toc had always flashed signs that he had it in him, but after we both almost died for our forbidden love, he became all the more of the kind of man I’ve always wanted to marry. Gentle, humorous, a great lover, and a defender.
“I’m sorry too,” I whisper without ever stopping my path to the back of the 2012 Dark Gray Rolls Royce Phantom. Usually, I’d briefly converse with the man and the driver, but today, all I desire is nothing but an eternal sleep. Not giving the driver a single thought or looking in his direction, I crawl into the back seat, stretching as far as I can as the tears begin to surge from my eyes. Seeing Toc’s father makes me remember my own was supposed to be here. How on earth could he not be here for me on all days I needed him? Nothing should have kept him from seeing me on a day like this, no matter his feelings about my dating choices. I didn’t expect my mother’s appearance. She’s always made it abundantly transparent that while I’m dating men who are into violence and street life, she wants no part of me. My father, however, is altogether a different story. He should have been here, no matter the circumstances.
“Seatbelt, ma’am.” The driver utters benevolently as I roll to the vehicle’s floor, carelessly ignoring his request. Besides Toc’s return, nothing more than complete silence, crying in peace, and not being seen by anyone will settle my mind even a smidge.
Realizing my safety isn’t my top priority, the chauffeur gently pulls the car off and leaves me to my tears. The natural wailing that I’d have been ridiculed for by Toc’s “family” and street soldiers instantly erupts out of me. Tears, snot, boogers, slobber, and sweat flee from my body as if they hate my stench. Comprehension quakes my head as I realize those who once looked at me like royalty have shown their true colors. All Toc was to them was a paycheck. They never had any pure love for him. They only feared him, translating to me just being the pretty bitch on his arm they never had any genuine respect for. Flippa was the only one who understood Toc’s mechanisms and never questioned him. I fumble with my thoughts until I finally cry, my eyes, brain, and senses to sleep.
****** 5:22 P.M
The unnatural, chilling, darkened stillness sends a frigid shake down my spine as I realize I can’t move a muscle. My arms are pretzel-shaped, caught under something metal and heavy. My head and legs are trapped in the same predicament. My stomach is slightly elevated in the air while the rest of my body dangles on whatever floor I’ve been flung face down against.
Hoping not to give my attackers any sign that I’ve woken, my distorted eyes flip around for any signs of neighboring help, but the darkness eats up any chance I could’ve had to survey the scene. A snail slime-raided tear bites at my cheeks as my heart emits the fear of a long, painful, and tragic death. What’s their torture method? Will they scalp me? Waterboard me? Cut me up into thousands of pieces? Beat me with hammers?
“Fuck!” A voice from outside my entrapment gargles as it chews up whatever food it’s eating. He’s close enough to my confines to hear but far enough that if I can find my way out of the dark, I can lock the doors before he notices I’m up. Oh shit, I’m still inside the car! I think as my pupils and mind finally adjust to the blinding darkness.
“Ow. Ow!” I groan silently as I fight to free my legs from underneath the passenger seat. Still primarily imperceptive and disoriented, I wiggle my way until I finally snatch my head free, and the rest of my body finds the strength to reach the tan back seats. I rub my eyes, hoping to bring more color back into the world. However, after that fails, and I can no longer contain my apprehension, I blurt out my questions. “Why are we stopped? And How long have I been asleep?”
“I’ll explain in a second.” The voice flows carelessly. It sounds too cool for comfort, and instead of soothing me, it makes me even more nervous. An undulation of panic ruptures my throat and abdomen, demanding I get the fuck away from these circumstances. Without thinking about it, my hands frantically pat the driver’s seat, but a body isn’t accompanying me. Nor is a weapon to kill the men outside, waiting to finish what they started with Toc.
“Can I call someone?” I question, slapping the lock button on all of the doors. However, it’s pointless. The car was already locked.
“If you can get service all the way out here, go for it, sure. You can call whomever you want. I haven’t taken any of your belongings. Oh, and another thing… Even if you could use the phone, it’d take the nearest person at least an hour to get all the way out here. So for your closest people, you’re looking at a good five to six hours. Especially being that all your people are drunk or high from the loss of Toc, I doubt anyone will be coming for you sober. Nonetheless, we’d both be gone by then anyway.” The calmness in his voice and being unbothered to my double locking the doors is alarming yet hopeful.
Seeming to read my mind, with a chuckle, the man continues, “please relax. Your driver is fine, and Flippa is on the way. You’re in an abandoned cornfield. The car is covered with a few tarps, that’s why it’s so dark. You may not feel safe, but I guarantee you, you are. I will not hurt you. However, if Flippa isn’t a man of his word, he’ll be killed on sight.” The tranquil voice says without a care in the world. “I suggest waiting for him inside the car.”
“Why am I in the dark? Why are you acting as if you’re alone? Why am I in a fucking cornfield? Why is my driver gone? And why isn’t Flippa already here?” I question, searching the entire car for any loose weapons.
“I just told you you’re in the dark because of the tarps.” He answers snarkily.
“But why?”
“You’re in the dark because waking up to this bright ass sun would presumably damage your retinas. It’s not an act; I am alone. Your driver is not gone. I am your driver. And Flippa isn’t here because I need him to be slightly late.” He explains all but the most important.
“But why am I in a fucking field!” I question, but after finally hearing the low growl of the engine, I jump to the front seat, smashing the gas. However, the vehicle only shuts off before I hear it honk and start up again.
“The key is with me, sweetheart. I just didn’t want you to be sweating in your sleep.” He chuckles as if he knows I sweat in my sleep because of my persisting nightmares of the past.
“You didn’t answer my other question, you piece of shit!” I holler, searching through the glove box to see if anything can be used as a tool to knock him out. However, much like me, besides the body inside, this car is just as empty as an air bubble.
“I have a single purpose for all of these antics….” The man finally commences before taking a few dramatic seconds. “Explaining my reason for killing Toc.”92Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡsi4LTDfYZy
