Blind Spot, page 3
“Fine, but you will have to wear something else because Daddy is not fighting with those tights again,” he told her, helping to take them off.
In defeat, he leaned back on the couch and waited for her return. This was going to be his life; waiting on a woman, one way or another, to get her shit together so they could run a few errands. All he wanted was to have breakfast, hit the mall before the crowds came, get some girlie shit for the bedroom, have lunch, and come back to paint. Now, the junior woman was in there, preparing to take him down with tights and ballerina slippers, and hair ribbons.
“I ain’t no punk,” he mumbled to himself, slapping his hand to chest gorilla style. But then it heard it. He heard the call and suddenly, the tough guy was no more and the seasoned assassin crumbled into a shell of himself.
“Daddy! Wipe please,” Naomi called out.
“Lord, help me,” he said, rising slowly and making a few definitive decisions in his mind. “This will never do.”
A half-hour later, dressed in jeans, her ballerina slippers, and a blue pullover, Naomi Neary and her father set out on an adventure that would change his life. Mr. Slow had managed to added just enough olive oil to her hair to comb through the tangled mess, bring it high on her head into a curly ball, and drape it in a ribbon. She loved the look and as his reward, he was given a kiss on his cheek, a kiss which took the squishy in his chest all the way down to his belly. This was how it started. This was how a woman took a full-grown man down, turned him into a slobbering simp, and had him at her beck and call.
He was grinning as he fastened her into the car seat, feeling a sense of pride in how cute her hair looked and that he, in fact, had done well.
“I got this!” he said aloud, thumping his chest. His first stop, he knew, would be to JC Penny, where his mother often shopped. He would get bedding and wall art for the bedroom to make it Naomi’s space. “Yeah, I got this!”
“I DON’T HAVE THIS AT all,” he said, searching for a parking spot at the mall. The last time he’d been to an actual shopping mall to shop for items, he was 16.
He’d just gotten his driver’s license and the old Chevy Camaro he and his father had spent a year working on was road ready. Cindy Breck sat in the passenger seat with her hair billowing in the wind as the rush of air flowing through the windows and Def Leppard’s “Pour Some Sugar on Me” blasted through the speakers. He and his father both loved the glam rock bands of the 80s, and even though he was only seven when the song hit the charts, his father still played it well into the nineties and even now, as if it were his theme song.
Currently, he found himself on the far side of the mall parking lot, a lone SUV sitting away from the crowds, avoiding the door dingers, bell ringers, and mommy singers as he found his spot. A lone wolf himself, Mr. Slow didn’t care for fluff and nonsense. He appreciated the basics and hoped, more than anything, his daughter felt the same way.
“Ready to roll?”
“I’m ready, Daddy,” she said, standing beside the SUV. His shop, the pickup truck, now housed in his garage, he only drove when he was working for The Company.
Her fingers slipped into his hand and off they started. The small legs needed to take six to eight steps for his every one which prompted him to bend down and scoop his little woman into his arms. A small arm went around his neck and he marched with pride to the store.
Inside, he’d never been so happy to see a shopping cart in his life when he slid her legs into the holes and her bottom into the seat. She pointed at the anti-bacterial wipes for him to wipe down the cart. Naomi held her hands up with the arms in mid-air like a baby waiting for a pickup as he wiped down everything she would touch.
“Mittens,” he said softly, “you need some gloves and mittens.”
When he looked at her, for the first time he noticed she had his eyes. Naomi even possessed the natural arch of his eyebrows and the Neary nose. He got hit again, this time in his solar plexus, and this child was his. He was a father. In his head he told himself, this time, in a boast, I am somebody’s daddy.
His first stop was the bedding section. Seeing nothing he liked, he rolled around to the kids’ section and gasped. It looked as if Walt himself had walked through waving his Mickey wand and spread his magic coloring pen all over the damned place. Naomi gasped as well, wanting out of the basket. He let her down and she immediately went for the Trolls bedding set.
“Daddy, what is this?”
“It’s a troll, and I think, that is Princess Poppy,” he said, shocked that he knew the actual character.
“Can I have it?”
“Sure, if it’s what you want,” he said, looking at the loud pink bedding covered in troll characters.
The good news, which he tried to find, was the set came with matching sheets. The comforter, he found was reversible, but the other side was covered with connecting circular rainbows. Happily, she picked up the set to bring it to the basket. To his surprise, it was a twin/full set.
“Good job. Now we need curtains,” he said, watching her walk around the Trolls area of the store. When she was done, added to the basket were a Princess Poppy doll baby, a Branch stuffed doll, and a Princess Poppy reclining chair. He thought the heart covered throw rug was too much, but the yellow curtains took it over the top.
While he was satisfied with the bedroom items, he’d already decided he was never again in his life going to struggle with putting tights on her again. Naomi was once more seated in the overloaded basket, and they headed around the corner to the kid’s department. Here he located a toddler robe and matching bunny slippers, and a 4-piece pajama set for a five-year-old.
“I have to buy these for you with some room to grow,” he told her.
Next, they moved over to the underwear section. “Daddy, can I have those?” Naomi asked.
“Sure, let me find your size,” he told her.
A sales clerk with massively large breasts stepped out of the racks, her boobs reaching him before her smile. To her surprise, his eyes went to her face when she asked if he needed help.
“Actually yes, my little Bunny here is 4, so I’m not sure if I should buy the 4T undies or give her room to grow and get the 5T. I don’t want her to have droopy drawers and they fall off,” he told the salesgirl.
“Go up a size in case, you know, your dryer is really hot and there is shrinkage,” she told him, watching his face.
He picked up several pairs and showed them to the child, who picked plain undies and not the character-laced ones. For good measure, he grabbed two packs just in case there were instances of peanut butter mishaps.
“Thank you,” he told the saleslady, whom he spotted the moment they entered the space. He’d already taken note of her biggest asset and felt certain that every man who spoke with the saleslady focused on her chest. “If you’re free for a few minutes, I need to get my Bunny some more clothes. I am not ever struggling again trying to put on them tights. I’m over that nonsense.”
“Sure thing; is it your weekend?”
He cocked his head as if he were trying to hear her clearly and asked, “My weekend?”
“Yeah, newly divorced, setting up her room for weekend visits, or am I being too forward?”
“No, you’re being too nosey,” Slow told her. “It’s good that you’re paying attention and noticing if there are any red flags.”
“There are no red flags with you. She has your eyes and your nose, and I can see the love you have for your daughter,” the saleslady said to him. “She must be your only. Sorry, for being nosey again.”
“Curiosity gets the cat every single time,” Slow told her, leading her toward the clothing section.
His credit card had begun to hate him as he paid for the items. He exited the store, loaded down with all the items for his daughter. He loaded in Naomi first, securing her in the seat, then loaded in the goodies for her bedroom. Next, Slow headed to the bookstore, which was on the other side of the mall. He drove around the shopping structure, ensuring the newly purchased goodies were shielded in the rear of the SUV.
The bookstore trip was short.
“Bunny,” which is the name he’d chosen to use for her when in public, he asked, “what kind of stories do you like?”
“I like stories where stuff happens,” she told him.
“Stuff happens, like adventures?”
“What’s an adventure?”
“You and me, are out and about on an adventure, where I am learning about you, the things you like, and what makes you smile. I want to pick out the kinds of books that can do the same,” he told her.
She eyed him suspiciously. “You want to buy books to make me smile?”
“Bunny, my job in life is to keep you happy, and safe and yes make you smile. So I’m thinking, when we close out our night, the stories should make you happy.”
“Can you show me?” She asked, not understanding.
He picked up the Grimm Brothers’ fairy tales as well as Hans Christen Andersen, and for good measure, he grabbed a Mother Goose. Slow read passages from each for her reading pleasure approval. Each book she loved, tucking Mother Goose under her arm as they walked about the store looking over other items. There were painting kits and toys for curious kids, which he also added to his small stash, hoping by the end of the weekend, he would have an idea of what Naomi liked to do.
His final stop of the day, or so he planned, was the paint store for the perfect pastel palette to paint one wall of the bedroom. Between the mall and the bookstore, he found a means of carrying Naomi on his hip, as a Mom would, which was far more comfortable and easier on his arms, than what he’d tried earlier. He walked into the store and became overwhelmed by the options.
A nice woman came from behind the counter. She offered him a sympathetic smile. Then she opened her mouth, saying the one thing he didn’t want to hear.
“So, it’s your weekend? Getting her room ready for weekend stays after the divorce?”
“No, I want to paint one wall in her bedroom. She’s four now and this bedroom will stay with her for at least three more years,” he said in a gruff tone, making the woman take a step back. “She doesn’t like the way the room looks now so I am updating. Mind your business; you’re paid to help customers pick paint, not make commentary on matters which are none of your business!”
“My apologies, Sir,” the lady said as a manager stepped forward.
Slow held up his hand to the manager. “She can help me,” he told the man.
“Again, my apologies. My name is Margie,” she spoke softly. “Is there a theme or a Disney princess she’s chosen?”
“Oh, it’s a princess alright, Princess Poppy and her little singing friends,” he grouched, putting Naomi down.
“Ah Trolls, the original or the World Tour movie?”
“There is more than one movie? I guess the first one,” he said.
“We have both color palettes here,” she told him, leading him over to the wall of many colors. She pulled two color sheets, which he took and showed to Naomi.
“Once we hang the new yellow curtains, I can paint the wall one of these colors,” he told her. “Do you have one you like?”
Much to his pleasure, she chose the muted mint green, and a gallon of paint later, they were heading home. His stomach had started to rumble and food was needed. If he picked up a bucket of chicken now, he wouldn’t have to cook dinner later, and all the bedroom setup could get finished without interruption.
“I hope chicken is okay?” he asked
“I like chicken,” she told him, holding Princess Poppy close to her chest.
“Chicken it is,” he answered, pulling into the drive-thru.
Finally, home, the clock read fifteen past one, and if the Lord was merciful, he could get everything done in record time. The biggest issue was the paint. The second issue was getting Naomi settled after lunch. To his amazement, she opted for a nap.
In his bed.
With Princess Poppy.
He didn’t want to admit it, but she looked absolutely adorable sleeping on his bed. His own little Sleeping Beauty. Suddenly, the idea of her waking to her very own space made his heartbeat quicken.
He stripped the bed. While the new covers were washing, he covered the wall with primer he already had from the back porch. As that dried, he re-made the bed with the freshly washed and dried sheets, took up the braided rug, ran a duster over the floor, and put down the heart rug with the large gaily colored stripes. The sound of the dryer stopping meant the comforter was finished and he added it to the bed. In the corner, he placed the Princess Poppy mini reclining throne, hung the two pieces of art he’d also purchased of images of musical notes on the wall, and finally, he began to paint the wall.
Carefully, once the paint was complete, he hung the yellow curtains. Stepping back, and admired his work. Pleased with himself, he was caught off guard by what sounded like a pig getting stuck by a large blade. Naomi was behind him and squealed at the top of her voice.
“I love it, Daddy! I love this so much,” she said, reaching for him.
He hefted her into his arms to receive his reward of five tender kisses on his cheek. A burning hit his eyes and he blinked twice, unfamiliar with the tears seeping from his sockets. He sniffled a little as she wiggled out of his arms to the floor running from corner to corner, stopping to touch the recliner and look at the bed and bright yellow curtains. Naomi began to do a wiggle that he assumed was part of a happy dance and she looked at him and grinned.
“My very own room. I have my very own room,” she told him.
It was also at that moment when Slow made another decision. He wasn’t a weekend Daddy. He was her father full time and four years had been taken from him. Cherry wasn’t going to take any more. This was Naomi’s room full-time.
He passed her the few toys he’d purchased and she played quietly in her room until it was time to shower and prepare for bed. He was ready for a full night of sleep, but she wanted her bedtime story. Slow opened the fairy tale book Sleeping Beauty and began to read.
Naomi interrupted him, “Daddy, was she just lying there sleepin’ and that man walks in and kisses her on the mouth?”
He crinkled his brow. “Yeah, that ain’t right. It seems like a violation to me.”
Her small face distorted as if she wanted to move on to another story. The protector in Slow kicked in. Throwing caution to the wind, he gave his daughter a solid piece of advice.
“Bunny, that is my new pet name for you,” he stated in his best daddy voice.
“Because of my bunny slippers?”
He was looking at the ears which stuck out from the side of her head like two little antennas, but he went with the slippers. “Yes, Bunny. I want you to know, that if some boy, little boy, or a big boy like me, tries to kiss you, you have my permission to sock them in the mouth.”
“Daddy,” she said, smiling, “you want me to hit them in the mouth?”
“Yes ma’am, here, ball up your fist like this,” he said, showing her how, “pull your arm wide, swing, and sock them in the lips.”
“Won’t I get in trouble?”
“No, the one who will get in trouble is a boy who tries to kiss my Bunny,” he said. “If you do get in trouble, you tell them to call your Daddy. I will come and handle matters. What’s my name, Bunny?”
“Michael Isaac Neary,” she said, snuggling up to him. “Daddy?’
“Yes, Bunny?”
“You can kiss me and I won’t sock you in the mouth,” she told him.
Slow leaned down and planted a juicy wet kiss on her cheek. He gave her another as he tucked her into bed with Princess Poppy sleeping close on the left and Branch the stuffed Troll guarding on the right. In the other room, he would sleep lightly, also keeping guard, and he flipped on the nightlight he added in her room, also the one he added in the hall, and the additional one he placed in the bathroom, just in case his little Princess needed to get to the potty.
“Goodnight, Bunny,” he said softly, leaving her room.
Chapter 3- Aladdin
This was not a good night. Cherry, the long-range sniper for the Fruits of the Great Lakes, shivered in the coolness of evening, turning up the collar on her peacoat, moving the shadows, tracing, tracking, and looking for clues. Her cousin Shenita had been missing for four and a half days, and each night that passed lessened the chances of her coming out of the ordeal unscathed. Men like The Collector took great pride in breaking the spirit of young women and Shenita was as spirited as they came.
A sideways, often shoddily devised, punishment and reward system enacted for the captives served as a feeble means of establishing dominance. Shenita wasn’t a woman to be dominated by any man, and Cherry prayed her cousin’s strong spirit would prevail since she knew it would only be a matter of time before she found her.
“Stay strong, Cuz. Cherry will find you,” she said, entering a nightclub in the worst part of Detroit.
This would be his hunting ground. The Collector enjoyed spots like this where the poles paraded women on their last rungs of the ladder of hope. Women with children at home and mouths to feed were stripped down to swatches of fabric so lusty men could fantasize about them while rubbing the bulges in their pants. She didn’t knock anyone’s hustle, but she sure as hell wasn’t keen on going inside the building. It smelled of desperation from the women on the stage, and the men in the audience holding money needed to pay bills in their homes. For an instant, or a mere 3.5 minutes of a raunchy song, they were the boss and got to call the shots.
“It’s all about the control,” she whispered, paying the admission fee and finding a seat in the corner.
A scantily clad woman approached her table, “What can I get ya?”
“Beer, bottle, cold,” she told the young woman.
Her mind strayed to Slow, a man she respected and dare say, even loved. She wasn’t so sure how she felt about him now. He didn’t argue about Naomi because he knew. Looking at the child, he knew she was his.
Naomi had his eyes, nose, and his funky ass mannerisms even though her daughter had never met her father until a day or so ago. Naomi stared at her mother the same way Slow looked at people, as if he were taking them apart, limb by limb, watching them die a slow death at the end of his favorite knife. The child truly freaked her out at times, and she had been grateful to her cousin.
In defeat, he leaned back on the couch and waited for her return. This was going to be his life; waiting on a woman, one way or another, to get her shit together so they could run a few errands. All he wanted was to have breakfast, hit the mall before the crowds came, get some girlie shit for the bedroom, have lunch, and come back to paint. Now, the junior woman was in there, preparing to take him down with tights and ballerina slippers, and hair ribbons.
“I ain’t no punk,” he mumbled to himself, slapping his hand to chest gorilla style. But then it heard it. He heard the call and suddenly, the tough guy was no more and the seasoned assassin crumbled into a shell of himself.
“Daddy! Wipe please,” Naomi called out.
“Lord, help me,” he said, rising slowly and making a few definitive decisions in his mind. “This will never do.”
A half-hour later, dressed in jeans, her ballerina slippers, and a blue pullover, Naomi Neary and her father set out on an adventure that would change his life. Mr. Slow had managed to added just enough olive oil to her hair to comb through the tangled mess, bring it high on her head into a curly ball, and drape it in a ribbon. She loved the look and as his reward, he was given a kiss on his cheek, a kiss which took the squishy in his chest all the way down to his belly. This was how it started. This was how a woman took a full-grown man down, turned him into a slobbering simp, and had him at her beck and call.
He was grinning as he fastened her into the car seat, feeling a sense of pride in how cute her hair looked and that he, in fact, had done well.
“I got this!” he said aloud, thumping his chest. His first stop, he knew, would be to JC Penny, where his mother often shopped. He would get bedding and wall art for the bedroom to make it Naomi’s space. “Yeah, I got this!”
“I DON’T HAVE THIS AT all,” he said, searching for a parking spot at the mall. The last time he’d been to an actual shopping mall to shop for items, he was 16.
He’d just gotten his driver’s license and the old Chevy Camaro he and his father had spent a year working on was road ready. Cindy Breck sat in the passenger seat with her hair billowing in the wind as the rush of air flowing through the windows and Def Leppard’s “Pour Some Sugar on Me” blasted through the speakers. He and his father both loved the glam rock bands of the 80s, and even though he was only seven when the song hit the charts, his father still played it well into the nineties and even now, as if it were his theme song.
Currently, he found himself on the far side of the mall parking lot, a lone SUV sitting away from the crowds, avoiding the door dingers, bell ringers, and mommy singers as he found his spot. A lone wolf himself, Mr. Slow didn’t care for fluff and nonsense. He appreciated the basics and hoped, more than anything, his daughter felt the same way.
“Ready to roll?”
“I’m ready, Daddy,” she said, standing beside the SUV. His shop, the pickup truck, now housed in his garage, he only drove when he was working for The Company.
Her fingers slipped into his hand and off they started. The small legs needed to take six to eight steps for his every one which prompted him to bend down and scoop his little woman into his arms. A small arm went around his neck and he marched with pride to the store.
Inside, he’d never been so happy to see a shopping cart in his life when he slid her legs into the holes and her bottom into the seat. She pointed at the anti-bacterial wipes for him to wipe down the cart. Naomi held her hands up with the arms in mid-air like a baby waiting for a pickup as he wiped down everything she would touch.
“Mittens,” he said softly, “you need some gloves and mittens.”
When he looked at her, for the first time he noticed she had his eyes. Naomi even possessed the natural arch of his eyebrows and the Neary nose. He got hit again, this time in his solar plexus, and this child was his. He was a father. In his head he told himself, this time, in a boast, I am somebody’s daddy.
His first stop was the bedding section. Seeing nothing he liked, he rolled around to the kids’ section and gasped. It looked as if Walt himself had walked through waving his Mickey wand and spread his magic coloring pen all over the damned place. Naomi gasped as well, wanting out of the basket. He let her down and she immediately went for the Trolls bedding set.
“Daddy, what is this?”
“It’s a troll, and I think, that is Princess Poppy,” he said, shocked that he knew the actual character.
“Can I have it?”
“Sure, if it’s what you want,” he said, looking at the loud pink bedding covered in troll characters.
The good news, which he tried to find, was the set came with matching sheets. The comforter, he found was reversible, but the other side was covered with connecting circular rainbows. Happily, she picked up the set to bring it to the basket. To his surprise, it was a twin/full set.
“Good job. Now we need curtains,” he said, watching her walk around the Trolls area of the store. When she was done, added to the basket were a Princess Poppy doll baby, a Branch stuffed doll, and a Princess Poppy reclining chair. He thought the heart covered throw rug was too much, but the yellow curtains took it over the top.
While he was satisfied with the bedroom items, he’d already decided he was never again in his life going to struggle with putting tights on her again. Naomi was once more seated in the overloaded basket, and they headed around the corner to the kid’s department. Here he located a toddler robe and matching bunny slippers, and a 4-piece pajama set for a five-year-old.
“I have to buy these for you with some room to grow,” he told her.
Next, they moved over to the underwear section. “Daddy, can I have those?” Naomi asked.
“Sure, let me find your size,” he told her.
A sales clerk with massively large breasts stepped out of the racks, her boobs reaching him before her smile. To her surprise, his eyes went to her face when she asked if he needed help.
“Actually yes, my little Bunny here is 4, so I’m not sure if I should buy the 4T undies or give her room to grow and get the 5T. I don’t want her to have droopy drawers and they fall off,” he told the salesgirl.
“Go up a size in case, you know, your dryer is really hot and there is shrinkage,” she told him, watching his face.
He picked up several pairs and showed them to the child, who picked plain undies and not the character-laced ones. For good measure, he grabbed two packs just in case there were instances of peanut butter mishaps.
“Thank you,” he told the saleslady, whom he spotted the moment they entered the space. He’d already taken note of her biggest asset and felt certain that every man who spoke with the saleslady focused on her chest. “If you’re free for a few minutes, I need to get my Bunny some more clothes. I am not ever struggling again trying to put on them tights. I’m over that nonsense.”
“Sure thing; is it your weekend?”
He cocked his head as if he were trying to hear her clearly and asked, “My weekend?”
“Yeah, newly divorced, setting up her room for weekend visits, or am I being too forward?”
“No, you’re being too nosey,” Slow told her. “It’s good that you’re paying attention and noticing if there are any red flags.”
“There are no red flags with you. She has your eyes and your nose, and I can see the love you have for your daughter,” the saleslady said to him. “She must be your only. Sorry, for being nosey again.”
“Curiosity gets the cat every single time,” Slow told her, leading her toward the clothing section.
His credit card had begun to hate him as he paid for the items. He exited the store, loaded down with all the items for his daughter. He loaded in Naomi first, securing her in the seat, then loaded in the goodies for her bedroom. Next, Slow headed to the bookstore, which was on the other side of the mall. He drove around the shopping structure, ensuring the newly purchased goodies were shielded in the rear of the SUV.
The bookstore trip was short.
“Bunny,” which is the name he’d chosen to use for her when in public, he asked, “what kind of stories do you like?”
“I like stories where stuff happens,” she told him.
“Stuff happens, like adventures?”
“What’s an adventure?”
“You and me, are out and about on an adventure, where I am learning about you, the things you like, and what makes you smile. I want to pick out the kinds of books that can do the same,” he told her.
She eyed him suspiciously. “You want to buy books to make me smile?”
“Bunny, my job in life is to keep you happy, and safe and yes make you smile. So I’m thinking, when we close out our night, the stories should make you happy.”
“Can you show me?” She asked, not understanding.
He picked up the Grimm Brothers’ fairy tales as well as Hans Christen Andersen, and for good measure, he grabbed a Mother Goose. Slow read passages from each for her reading pleasure approval. Each book she loved, tucking Mother Goose under her arm as they walked about the store looking over other items. There were painting kits and toys for curious kids, which he also added to his small stash, hoping by the end of the weekend, he would have an idea of what Naomi liked to do.
His final stop of the day, or so he planned, was the paint store for the perfect pastel palette to paint one wall of the bedroom. Between the mall and the bookstore, he found a means of carrying Naomi on his hip, as a Mom would, which was far more comfortable and easier on his arms, than what he’d tried earlier. He walked into the store and became overwhelmed by the options.
A nice woman came from behind the counter. She offered him a sympathetic smile. Then she opened her mouth, saying the one thing he didn’t want to hear.
“So, it’s your weekend? Getting her room ready for weekend stays after the divorce?”
“No, I want to paint one wall in her bedroom. She’s four now and this bedroom will stay with her for at least three more years,” he said in a gruff tone, making the woman take a step back. “She doesn’t like the way the room looks now so I am updating. Mind your business; you’re paid to help customers pick paint, not make commentary on matters which are none of your business!”
“My apologies, Sir,” the lady said as a manager stepped forward.
Slow held up his hand to the manager. “She can help me,” he told the man.
“Again, my apologies. My name is Margie,” she spoke softly. “Is there a theme or a Disney princess she’s chosen?”
“Oh, it’s a princess alright, Princess Poppy and her little singing friends,” he grouched, putting Naomi down.
“Ah Trolls, the original or the World Tour movie?”
“There is more than one movie? I guess the first one,” he said.
“We have both color palettes here,” she told him, leading him over to the wall of many colors. She pulled two color sheets, which he took and showed to Naomi.
“Once we hang the new yellow curtains, I can paint the wall one of these colors,” he told her. “Do you have one you like?”
Much to his pleasure, she chose the muted mint green, and a gallon of paint later, they were heading home. His stomach had started to rumble and food was needed. If he picked up a bucket of chicken now, he wouldn’t have to cook dinner later, and all the bedroom setup could get finished without interruption.
“I hope chicken is okay?” he asked
“I like chicken,” she told him, holding Princess Poppy close to her chest.
“Chicken it is,” he answered, pulling into the drive-thru.
Finally, home, the clock read fifteen past one, and if the Lord was merciful, he could get everything done in record time. The biggest issue was the paint. The second issue was getting Naomi settled after lunch. To his amazement, she opted for a nap.
In his bed.
With Princess Poppy.
He didn’t want to admit it, but she looked absolutely adorable sleeping on his bed. His own little Sleeping Beauty. Suddenly, the idea of her waking to her very own space made his heartbeat quicken.
He stripped the bed. While the new covers were washing, he covered the wall with primer he already had from the back porch. As that dried, he re-made the bed with the freshly washed and dried sheets, took up the braided rug, ran a duster over the floor, and put down the heart rug with the large gaily colored stripes. The sound of the dryer stopping meant the comforter was finished and he added it to the bed. In the corner, he placed the Princess Poppy mini reclining throne, hung the two pieces of art he’d also purchased of images of musical notes on the wall, and finally, he began to paint the wall.
Carefully, once the paint was complete, he hung the yellow curtains. Stepping back, and admired his work. Pleased with himself, he was caught off guard by what sounded like a pig getting stuck by a large blade. Naomi was behind him and squealed at the top of her voice.
“I love it, Daddy! I love this so much,” she said, reaching for him.
He hefted her into his arms to receive his reward of five tender kisses on his cheek. A burning hit his eyes and he blinked twice, unfamiliar with the tears seeping from his sockets. He sniffled a little as she wiggled out of his arms to the floor running from corner to corner, stopping to touch the recliner and look at the bed and bright yellow curtains. Naomi began to do a wiggle that he assumed was part of a happy dance and she looked at him and grinned.
“My very own room. I have my very own room,” she told him.
It was also at that moment when Slow made another decision. He wasn’t a weekend Daddy. He was her father full time and four years had been taken from him. Cherry wasn’t going to take any more. This was Naomi’s room full-time.
He passed her the few toys he’d purchased and she played quietly in her room until it was time to shower and prepare for bed. He was ready for a full night of sleep, but she wanted her bedtime story. Slow opened the fairy tale book Sleeping Beauty and began to read.
Naomi interrupted him, “Daddy, was she just lying there sleepin’ and that man walks in and kisses her on the mouth?”
He crinkled his brow. “Yeah, that ain’t right. It seems like a violation to me.”
Her small face distorted as if she wanted to move on to another story. The protector in Slow kicked in. Throwing caution to the wind, he gave his daughter a solid piece of advice.
“Bunny, that is my new pet name for you,” he stated in his best daddy voice.
“Because of my bunny slippers?”
He was looking at the ears which stuck out from the side of her head like two little antennas, but he went with the slippers. “Yes, Bunny. I want you to know, that if some boy, little boy, or a big boy like me, tries to kiss you, you have my permission to sock them in the mouth.”
“Daddy,” she said, smiling, “you want me to hit them in the mouth?”
“Yes ma’am, here, ball up your fist like this,” he said, showing her how, “pull your arm wide, swing, and sock them in the lips.”
“Won’t I get in trouble?”
“No, the one who will get in trouble is a boy who tries to kiss my Bunny,” he said. “If you do get in trouble, you tell them to call your Daddy. I will come and handle matters. What’s my name, Bunny?”
“Michael Isaac Neary,” she said, snuggling up to him. “Daddy?’
“Yes, Bunny?”
“You can kiss me and I won’t sock you in the mouth,” she told him.
Slow leaned down and planted a juicy wet kiss on her cheek. He gave her another as he tucked her into bed with Princess Poppy sleeping close on the left and Branch the stuffed Troll guarding on the right. In the other room, he would sleep lightly, also keeping guard, and he flipped on the nightlight he added in her room, also the one he added in the hall, and the additional one he placed in the bathroom, just in case his little Princess needed to get to the potty.
“Goodnight, Bunny,” he said softly, leaving her room.
Chapter 3- Aladdin
This was not a good night. Cherry, the long-range sniper for the Fruits of the Great Lakes, shivered in the coolness of evening, turning up the collar on her peacoat, moving the shadows, tracing, tracking, and looking for clues. Her cousin Shenita had been missing for four and a half days, and each night that passed lessened the chances of her coming out of the ordeal unscathed. Men like The Collector took great pride in breaking the spirit of young women and Shenita was as spirited as they came.
A sideways, often shoddily devised, punishment and reward system enacted for the captives served as a feeble means of establishing dominance. Shenita wasn’t a woman to be dominated by any man, and Cherry prayed her cousin’s strong spirit would prevail since she knew it would only be a matter of time before she found her.
“Stay strong, Cuz. Cherry will find you,” she said, entering a nightclub in the worst part of Detroit.
This would be his hunting ground. The Collector enjoyed spots like this where the poles paraded women on their last rungs of the ladder of hope. Women with children at home and mouths to feed were stripped down to swatches of fabric so lusty men could fantasize about them while rubbing the bulges in their pants. She didn’t knock anyone’s hustle, but she sure as hell wasn’t keen on going inside the building. It smelled of desperation from the women on the stage, and the men in the audience holding money needed to pay bills in their homes. For an instant, or a mere 3.5 minutes of a raunchy song, they were the boss and got to call the shots.
“It’s all about the control,” she whispered, paying the admission fee and finding a seat in the corner.
A scantily clad woman approached her table, “What can I get ya?”
“Beer, bottle, cold,” she told the young woman.
Her mind strayed to Slow, a man she respected and dare say, even loved. She wasn’t so sure how she felt about him now. He didn’t argue about Naomi because he knew. Looking at the child, he knew she was his.
Naomi had his eyes, nose, and his funky ass mannerisms even though her daughter had never met her father until a day or so ago. Naomi stared at her mother the same way Slow looked at people, as if he were taking them apart, limb by limb, watching them die a slow death at the end of his favorite knife. The child truly freaked her out at times, and she had been grateful to her cousin.
