Leaving the Safehouse
21:30
Star finally finished her work and called to everybody that she was done. The ink she used was a light green, making the tattoo look already a bit aged. She spoke to everyone as they looked at her work appreciatively, all except Chulo, who paid them all no mind as he played a game on his phone.
Ostensibly.
Yselle had been sitting not too far away from him, yammering away at a hundred miles and running in Spanish on the phone. The old maid was sitting unobtrusively in the corner closest to her mistress. She would occasionally throw fearful glances at Yselle (who would glare at her) and pensive ones at Branson. Kingson had been explaining in a bit more detail what he needed Branson to do tomorrow. They would exercise in the morning, after which Branson had instructions on what he had to do, while Kingson would take the train back downtown and be about his business for the day: Rikers Island visits to certain clients, including Bolo and Nut. When they gathered around, Star began speaking: "She's gonna need to stay off the tattoo for at least a few days because it's gonna hurt. Also, I would suggest she doesn't bathe tonight and tomorrow, but she can start taking showers again on Sunday." Yselle explained everything to Ygritte being said. "Even when she starts showering, use a very soft cloth to pat that area, no scrubbing! She'll use any moisturizing lotion several times a day to keep the ink from being ruined as it dries. And another thing: it's gonna itch like poison ivy but she must not scratch!" Star then turned to Ygritte and mimicked scratching and shook her head and finger. "No scratching, Mama." Yselle still translated although Ygritte had gotten the point.
"Give or take a week before she's fully healed, right?" Kingson asked Star. Star sterilized her instruments tangentially and began putting them away. She nodded.
"Interesting tattoo," Branson commented dryly. "I wonder who gave Star the idea." His dry look at Kingson, plus knowing the significance of the tattoo, made Kingson snicker.
"All according to the plan. I didn't even know what the tattoo would be until I got back from the 28th Precinct, after I heard some of what they were looking for."
"Mr. Jacksons, sirs?" The twins turned to Star. "That will be $500, plus my Uber from The Bronx to the Tram." Kingson went to Chulo, who handed him some money. He went back to Star, who was preparing to leave.
"Did you backdate the appointment in your records?"
"No, I had to find out from you when to backdate the records to."
Kingson looked at Yselle. "Yselle, when did you get here, to this house, I mean?"
Yselle thought a few seconds. "April 1st, I think. Or surely a few days before." Branson laughed. "What?"
"You wouldn't get it," Branson told Yselle. "April 1st. What a case this is turning out to be."
"Would you, Yselle, be willing to testify that on April 1st, 2021, you and Ygritte went to Star's tattoo parlor after Desirée and Yvie-Marie were dropped off?" Kingson asked.
"It's for my brother, right?"
"Absolutely."
"Just tell me what to say and I'll say it."
"We'll work on it in the coming days." Yselle nodded to Kingson, who peeled off two thousand dollars and gave it to Star.
She was pleasantly surprised. "Gee, Mr. Jackson, thanks a lot."
"No, you don't have to thank me. We thank you," Kingson said appreciatively. He counted out three thousand more dollars and gave her. Her eyes widened. "Before you ask, it's for changing your records, all of which is part of this case, no doubt. Do that as quick as possible, Star."
"No worries, King, I'll get on it as soon as I get home tonight," Star promised.
"When everything is said and done, you get another five racks." Star's eyes really opened wide and she turned to Chulo.
"Yes, he speak true," Chulo confirmed, looking up from his game. Star thanked him and Kingson gratefully and asked if she could catch a ride to the train.
Kingson turned to Chulo. "Mr. Rodriguez, I'll be seeing you again tomorrow, sir. It's time for us to go." They shook hands and hugged, and Branson gave Chulo dap too. Yselle escorted them downstairs and to the gate. They knew better than tlo hug but Branson and Yselle shook hands, each of their forefinger tracing circles in the middle of the other's palm. This was an old school sign for "I wanna fuck you." He nodded and winked and got in the driver's seat of the S-90. Kingson had some files on his lap and had turned on the overhead light to peruse them.
"Bro, I'ma drop you off on West 59th and Columbus Circle and you catch the A Express or the local to the crib, right?" Kingson nodded, not taking his eyes from the files. Branson drove off, not in the mood to talk, as apparently, neither was Star. So many thoughts flitted through his mind. Get Right, his son- Mia! (Shit! He would really have to do something nice for her and he had just the thing in mind.) Then there was Naomi, her sinecure at Chulo's place here, Cynthia and the dinner on Sunday night, and now Yselle. He turned the radio on and WBLS came on. The Quiet Storm program had already come on and Usher was crooning away:
Just copped your girl a brand new Rolex
But you can never find the time to spend at home
Thinking it's gon' keep her happy when time is all she wanted all along
It's the simple things in life we forget
You hear her talking but don't hear what she said
Why do you make something so easy so complicated, searching for what's right in front of your face? (but ya can't see it)
So you think that you know what's important
Steady chasing your fame and your fortune but you don't know
You're chasing a dime, losing a treasure, those dollars don't make sense to me at all
It goes duh-duh duh-duh, you give her spending money
duh-duh duh-duh but all she wants to spend is time, alone tonight
Keep giving her (the finer things but)
But she don't really need that
If you don't stop you (you gonna end up alone, in a world without love) to protect you
(Why would you do it?)
It's the simple things in life we forget
You hear her talking but don't hear what she said
Why do you make something so easy so complicated, searching for what's right in front of your face? (but you can't see it)
Stop, tryna buy her love, cuz you won't ever have enough
There's always someone, with more than you
You need to pay her attention - give her what she needs, do the simple things before you lose your girl to me...
It's the simple things in life we forget
You hear her talking but don't hear what she said
Why do you make something so easy so complicated, searching for what's right in front of your face? (but you can't see it)...
Don't let this be that thing you'll always regret.
Man, that Confessions 2 album was incredible, both 1 and 2 were absolute classics. By the middle of "The Simple Things in Life," all three of them in the car were humming and/or singing along to the track. But Rhythm and Blues (better known as "R&B") had gone to shit since the nineties and early to mid-two thousands. Pure shit. Branson tapped his phone repeatedly to get Kingson's attention, reminding him to turn his phone on too. Messages flooded both of their phones as they were turned on. It always felt good to have messages to check.
Roosevelt Island was well-lighted at night so it was easy to see the two niggas beefing with each other as Branson signaled to turn left onto the only ramp leading up and off Roosevelt Island. He slowed down in the middle of the turn onto the ramp when he noticed who the two niggas beefing were. Out of all the niggas...!
"Y'all gay ass niggas just pretending to fight," Branson yelled out the driver's side window at two big niggas, one significantly taller than the other but both of whom had been well respected for their fighting ability in bygone years... until they came out of the closet as lovers about ten years ago. The news had shocked the 'hood. To each his own but Branson was going to have some fun anyway.
"Ayo, ayo, ayo, fuck you, yo. Who da fuck is that? Who dat?" The shorter of the two niggas was also apparently the more sensitive and vocal.
"Fuck who this is, shermhead. You fucking cock guzzling ass bastards!" They both simultaneously threw up the middle finger at Branson and people nearby laughed, including Branson.
"Ayo, Del! Ayo, Kindu! I know where y'all gay ass bitches live, nigga; don't make me come out to Canarsie and smoke y'all pussy ass bitches!" The gay niggas reached for their weapons but both had done enough time up north to hesitate and think thrice before pulling out weapons on a crowded street in a wealthy neighborhood. Branson laughed loudly and abrasively, further goading them. He did not understand -nor had he the slightest inclination to understand- how grown men could be amorously attracted to one another. It was... flabbergasting.
Yeah, that's the word: fuckin' flabbergasting!
With all this ass, all these fine ass women outside, all the wickedly and salaciously curvaceous females in the world, throughout the world... and a nigga would choose another nigga. Good gaDAM, that was some seriously funny and horrendous shit. What were two dicks going to do? Swordfight? Or dig for shit? Anal sex was something else Branson was extremely confused about - were you gay if you had fucked a woman in the ass numerous times? If you fucked her in the ass more times than in the pussy, were you gay? In curiosity, Branson had bust a few women's shitholes wide the fuck open in his lifetime. But the vagina - oh, glory of glories!