Hood Ornaments

Reginald came back to the Chambers’ home exhausted. He knew his wife and son were going to fall over themselves with questions about Victoria. Tori verbally gave her permission for him to inform Michael, but Chickie was another story. She was always so opinionated and relentless when it came to their son. More than likely, he was going to have to use the attorney/client privilege card with her knowing that would initially send her into a frenzied fit.

He thought he was prepared.

He was wrong.

After he came in the door and disarmed the alarm, Reginald headed straight for the kitchen. There, at the breakfast nook overlooking the most beautifully manicured garden, sat his family.

Sipping coffee.

Trying not to look anxious.

They failed.

He walked over to the coffee pot, poured himself a mug, and with heavy exhaustion he sat down on the bench.

There was a lull of silence.

He knew that it wouldn’t last long.

Two sets of eyes were fixed on him.

Chickie sucked her teeth and crossed her arms.

Michael tapped his mug.

Might as well get this over with.

Reginald broke the silence.

“Michael, go upstairs into you room so I can speak with you privately.”

“Oh hell no Reginald Alphonse Chambers! You will not speak with anyone, privately. We are a family.”

“And there is privileged information that I can not divulge to you.”

“So you’re gonna defend that hood rat?!”

“Mom!”

“Michael this is why I told you to go upstairs.”

“I have every right to know what is going on with my son!”

“Actually Lucia, you are right!”

Reginald startled everyone silent, and even his tone became calmer.

“As Michael’s mother, you are allowed to ask what is going on with him. As a grown ass man, he has the right not to tell you. But as far as Victoria Watts is concerned, unless she is present, as her attorney I do not have any right to tell you a damn thing.”

Reginald got up from the booth and pointed with his head for Michael to do the same. They both went upstairs.

Michael was frowning with concern as he grabbed a duffelbag from under his bed. Reginald watched as his son began to angrily pack up things that he hadn’t seen in months.

“Michael what are you doing?”

When Michael’s only reply was sticking an old etch-a-sketch into the bag. Reginald intervened by snatching it from him and tossing it on the bed.

“Sit down.”

Michael sat on the edge of the bed.

“Victoria wanted me to…”

Michael interrupted, “Is she okay?”

“Under the circumstances, she is.”

“So how long is it going to take for her to be released?”

That was the part of the conversation Reginald was dreading.

“Son, she won’t make bail.”

“I’m not understanding.”

“She’s guilty Michael. Victoria murdered the boys who raped her and her friends hid the bodies.”

Michael sat stunned.

“What can I do?”

“She told me to tell you not to worry and that she was sorry.”

***

When Dell got back to the hotel, he called Sticks.

“Yo, I’m here. Where you at?”

The uncomfortable silence on the other end of the phone made him feel real stupid for asking that question. He didn’t bother looking at his phone; he knew he was hung up on.

He took the elevator to his room and made sure the journal he bought for Tori was put in his to go bag. He also helped himself to a few of the hotel pens and tossed them into the bag as well. He knew this was gonna be a long drive home and he didn’t feel much like having idle banter with Sticks the whole ride.

Dell left his room, walked down the hall and tapped on the door. Sticks answered wearing an all-black sweat suit. When Dell went in, he looked around. Of course his uncle didn’t have just a room. He had a suite. Housekeeping must have just left because the room was entirely too clean for two grown ass men to be staying there.

Sticks excused himself and went into the bathroom. He gestured to the living quarters. On a couch wearing the same black sweat suit was Dre.

Dell didn’t know if it was the room, the fact he was all in black, or his own thoughts that dwarfed the once giant legend. He didn’t want the pity to show on his face, but he couldn’t think of anything clever to say. So he just sat down at the desk.

“So Sticks told me you were at the library?” Dre sipped brown liquor from a small glass.

Dell silently thanked the Universe for breaking the silence.

“Yeah. My bad. I kinda got all into what I was reading.”

“Don’t apologize for learning youngin. Life is full of lessons.”

Again Dell’s wit was absent.

“I’m sorry Dre. I didn’t mean for Tori…”

Dre raised his hand to halt him.

“There wasn’t anything anyone could have done…”

Sticks rejoined them, “So we’re gonna do what we have to do, but first we gonna eat. On me. The food is pretty good here; I’m surprised.”

He picked up the phone and ordered a massive meal for everybody complete with appetizers and desserts. Dell looked at his uncle with wide eyes.

“What? Chu thought I was gonna skimp? This is an important day. Matter of fact let me order some champagne.”

He went to pick up the phone again, but Dre snatched his hand.

“What are we celebratin bamma? That my daughter is in jail? The reason she’s in jail? The fact that I wasn’t home to protect my baby girl because I’ve been in hiding, so I didn’t go to jail? Fuck outta here with the champagne and the lobster and the bitches. I appreciate what you think you’re trying to do, but I just want to help my baby.”

He then focused his attention on Dell.

“And you. Everything I said before still stands. I have to be able to count on you.”

“I know Dre.”

“Make something out of yourself.”

“I will.”

“No, you are.”

“I am”

“Speak it into existence.”

“I am.”

“Good.”

With that, Dre walked over to the mini bar and broke the seal three tiny bottles of cognac, poured them into his glass and drank it down in one gulp.

“Now let’s make some calls.”

Sticks, with some assistance from Dre, decided to make the calls needed to execute their plans.

They ate and ate well.

Even reminisced a little bit over dessert and after dinner drinks.

Except for Dell.

He excused himself and went back into his room to get started on the journal.

With some reminiscing of his own.