Admission of Guilt

"Don't think the eye has anything to do with it," Grant laughed.

Afterward, she lay, smoking a cigarette. Grant wondered how he could get out, leave, without hurting her feelings.

"Oh, Craig's letting me have Macy for Thanksgiving," Terri suddenly announced.

"Hey that's great," Grant said.

"You, um, you want to come over? Have Thanksgiving with us?" Terri begged.

Grant sighed. He'd talked with Adonis about this. When he and Terri began dating, he'd told Terri he was not looking for wife number two. Terri said that was cool; she wasn't looking for husband number four.

"Hey, as long as you honest with her, knock the back out of it," Adonis had smiled.

Now, though, it did look like Terri was looking at him as husband number four.

"Hey, having Thanksgiving with my parents, in Bender," Grant said.

"Oh, well, maybe you know, maybe Macy and me could tag along, meet your folks, huh?" Terri said.

He sat up and swung his legs out of the bed.

"Grant?" Terri asked.

"Listen, maybe I better go," Grant said and began to pull his boxers on.

"Yeah, maybe you better," Terri spat bitterly. "You got what you want, go on, get the fuck out of here!"

He pulled his trousers on and located his shirt.

"I'm okay to fuck, huh?" Terri screamed. "I'm okay for a fuck, but meet the parents? Oh no! No, I'm just a fucking piece of ass, that's all!"

Adonis was his usual laughing self when Grant called him.

"Hey, you ever tell her you love her?" Adonis asked.

"No, no, I mean she told me that a bunch of times, but no, I never said 'I love you' to her," Grant said and pulled up into his driveway.

"Then fuck her, oh wait, you already did, that's how all this trouble got started," Adonis said.

"Damn, Adonis, you one funny mother fucker," Grant said bitterly.

"Seriously, my man, you honest with her, didn't lead her on, didn't tell her you was in love with her, Grant, she's the one started getting all clingy, all needy," Adonis said. "Best thing you can do from now on, keep your dick away from her. Let her and her sponsor work on any resentments she might have about it."

----

Kaylee tightly wrapped the ace bandage around her sprained wrist. It throbbed incessantly, a reminder of the day's event.

She knelt by the side of the couch and said her prayers. Then she crawled under the covers. She was sure the throbbing wrist would keep her awake, but she was sound asleep in minutes.

The next morning she awoke and realized she'd slept the entire night through without a single nightmare.>>>>

Grant stared at the ATM. It refused to give him the five hundred dollars he'd asked for.

He printed out a receipt, which told him there was only twenty-four dollars in the account.

That stupid ring. That had to be it. KayAnn had wanted that stupid ring, something she could waggle at the other dancers, proof that her man loved her.

"Better get the fuck out my face, boy," Baby said through gold teeth. "Ain't any fucking charity here."

"Aw, come on, mother fucker!" Grant yelled. "I been giving you money out the ass here, least you could do is spot me some 'til KayAnn gets paid!"

"I said 'get the fuck out my face,'" Baby said and shoved Grant hard.

The luxury sedan almost hit Grant as he staggered backward. Grant caught his balance, gave the driver of the luxury automobile the finger and staggered to the motel parking lot.

Dynomite and Baby bowed and scraped sterilely to the passenger of the luxury sedan. Baby pulled a large wad of cash out of his pocket and handed it to the passenger. The old man turned to the burly driver, said something and the driver nodded his head and got out of the car.

Dynomite walked to the rear of the car and smiled and bowed and scrapedto the driver. The driver opened the trunk and handed Dynomite three large plastic bags. Dynomite reached into the trunk for a fourth bag and narrowly avoided having his hand slammed into the trunk of the car as the driver slammed it shut.

Grant smiled as Dynomite put the three bags into the trunk of his Cadillac. He watched Baby and Dynomite walk down to the bar, then disappear into the dark nightclub.

"Woo hoo!" KayAnn laughed when Grant showed her the large bag of meth.

"Aw no, this ain't fucking happening!" Baby screamed when they couldn't find their third bag of meth.

He watched the streets intently. By the third day, he knew what had happened to his missing bag. It wasn't what he HAD seen that tipped him off; it was what he HADN'T seen.

He hadn't seen that dumb ass white boy or his scraggly whore wife; both hard-core meth heads. Unless they found a charity that would give them free meth, or decided to go cold turkey, they had his dope.

"No, Grant, stop!" KayAnn sobbed as Grant pumped in and out of her dry rectum.

That was the only thing she hated about doing dope with Grant; it made him so damned horny. He'd already come in her pussy twice, then did another line of the meth and decided that he wanted anal sex.

He ignored his wife's sobs and kept his frantic pace until he was able to come again.

She lay in the filthy bed and sobbed, pussy and rectum throbbing and aching. Grant picked up the plastic bag and prepared to do another line. The bag was already half empty.

Baby kicked in the door, pumped two bullets into KayAnn's chest, and then pumped two into Grant's chest. He picked up the bag and spat on Grant's body.

Ain't nobody jack Baby, you hear?" he screamed at Grant. "Ain't nobody jacking me I don't erase them, you hear?"

KayAnn was pronounced dead at the scene and Grant's nearly lifeless body was taken to Charity Hospital.

After a seven-hour emergency surgery, Officer John Jackson handcuffed Grant to the hospital bed.

"That really necessary?" the intern asked Officer Jackson.

"Hey, hey, little meth head killed his old lady over some drugs," Officer Jackson smirked. "Just making sure the little fucker don't give us the slip."

"Not guilty, your honor," Grant answered the charges when he was able to enter the courtroom.

"Good luck with the court-appointed lawyer, sport," Jesse Johnson said flatly when Grant called him from jail. "Personally, I think a little time behind bars would do you some good."

Grant was inclined to agree with him; he was eating three meals a day and drugs were plentiful and high quality.

Baby got a little nervous; Grant didn't die and Grant could testify against him, put him behind bars for a good long time. Judges didn't look too highly on black men that killed white women, even if that white woman wasn't anything but a stripper and whore.

Dynomite's little brother, a kid that called himself 'Rebound,' he had dreams of being a big famous basketball player some day, got himself arrested with three ounces of marijuana. It was just enough to where they would hold him, but not enough to put him away for any length of time.

Grant didn't know the young black kid that was suddenly very interested in him, but kept his guard up.

"Baby say better keep your fucking face shut," Rebound said as he lunged at Grant with the pipe he'd smuggled out of the laundry room.

Rebound wasn't as quick as he liked to think. Grant took the pipe out of his hands and beat the kid to death, then stuffed the body under a cot in an adjoining cell. The five prisoners in that cell looked away; they didn't see anything. He wiped the pipe clean of Rebound's blood and his own fingerprints and cleaned himself up.

"You got away with murder and you know it,: one of the guards hissed at Grant.

"Prove it," Grant smirked.

Grant was assigned a fresh-faced kid that still believed in the system, still believed in truth and justice and the American Way.

"Officer Jackson," David Schock said as he approached the arrogant, smirking police officer. "In your incident report, you state that this was a murder-suicide, that right?"

"Uh, yes, that's correct," Officer Jackson said. "The neighbors heard them fighting over drugs, then heard four gunshots."

"Okay," David said and flipped through the notes. "Where was the gun?"

"Uh, what?"

"The gun," David repeated. "Both victims had multiple gunshot wounds, yet there was no mention of a gun being found in the room; there is no gun in the evidence docket. If it were a murder-suicide, wouldn't there have to be a gun?"

"Um, maybe he got rid of it?" Officer Jackson suggested.

"Bleeding profusely from multiple gunshot wounds, my client managed to leave the room, dispose of the gun, come back, kick the door open, as showed in this photograph, marked Peoples' Exhibit eighteen A, then lay down on the floor. Not on the bed, next to his wife, but on the floor, is that what you're saying, Officer Jackson?" David Schock asked.

"Uh, yeah, yeah, that's what it looks like," Officer Jackson stammered.

"Tell me, Officer Jackson," David pressed on. "Did my client have any gunshot residue on his hands?"

"Uh, no, no, the test came back negative," Officer Jackson admitted. "But he probably had gloves on."

"Which he disposed of when he got rid of the gun, right?" David asked sarcastically. "You know, Officer Jackson, I'm looking at the crime scene photographs and I don't see any blood on the floor, or any blood on the mat outside of the door. How is it possible, Officer Jackson, if Brant Johnson was bleeding from multiple gunshot wounds, how is it possible that he left the room, disposed of the gun and his gloves, came back, had to kick the door in, then stagger over to where his nearly lifeless body was found, but didn't get any blood anywhere? I mean, other than the blood underneath him?"

"Um, I guess," Officer Jackson stammered.

"Your Honor, I move that the charges against my client be dismissed; it is obvious that he had nothing to do with his wife's murder, or the attempted murder of himself," David addressed the Judge.

The judge agreed and Grant Johnson walked out of the courtroom, a free man, nearly three years after the murder of KayAnn Bernice McDonald Johnson.

----

Shelley drove Kaylee to St. Thomas Aquinas for Joey's funeral. In the note he'd left behind, Joey said he couldn't pretend anymore, but knew he'd never be accepted.

Her parents did not acknowledge her, although her mother did look at her sadly for a moment; until Tommy roughly jerked Cathy away.

After the funeral, Shelley drove them back to Baylor Lake.

"I was his lover," Shelley admitted.

"I know that," Kaylee told him.

"Why'd he have to do that?" Shelley screamed. "Why?"

"I don't know," Kaylee sobbed.

Now she was truly all alone; her brother, the only one that ever told her she was beautiful, was gone.

<<<

Grant sighed as Terri rambled on and on, not sharing on the topic, but just ranting and railing against him to the group. She wasn't using his name specifically, but it was obvious to all who she was talking about.

"Fucking call your sponsor," Leroy finally said. "God damn, woman, I come to these meetings to hear the solution, not the problem."

"Fuck you," Terri snapped. "I'm a member of this group; I have every right to share whatever I want to."

"Terri, we do ask at the beginning of this meeting that you stick to the topic and that you share your experience, strength and hope," the chairperson tried to gently and diplomatically guide Terri.

"Fuck you too," Terri said bitterly. "All you men always side together, back each other up. Bet you wouldn't talk to me that way if I had a dick."

"Probably not," the chairperson affably agreed. "But we wouldn't let you piss in the women's bathroom either."

----

Kaylee walked home from the sandwich shop, head hung low. Sandra had pulled her, and Shannon and Brook into the back after the last customer had left. Through her tears, she disclosed that she had just been diagnosed with lung cancer; a three pack a day habit finally caught up with her.

"So, after the first of the year, I'm selling this place," Sandra said. "The guy that's buying it said he'll try to keep y'all on, but can't guarantee it."

Kaylee knew that Shannon wouldn't have any problem keeping her job; the large breasted bubbly blonde would fuck the new owner. Brook wasn't all that worried; she was only part time as she was a senior in high school. Next year, Brook would be going off to college; what did she care about the stupid sandwich shop?

Chapter 7

"Again, my man," Adonis cheerfully said. "You were honest with her, and when you could tell she was starting to see it different, you left, didn't play no games with her. "

"Yeah, but I feel guilty, know what I'm saying?" Grant said.

"Yeah, yeah, hey, even though you might not have loved her, when you get naked with someone, bound to get some feelings," Adonis agreed. "But Grant, again, you were honest right from the start; you weren't looking for love, or marriage, or kids. You were just looking to get your dick wet. And refresh my memory; she said that was okay with her, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, you're right," Grant sighed.

"Hey, you feel that bad about it, you can always marry her," Adonis suggested.

"Fuck no!" Grant said, then shook his head as Adonis laughed merrily. "Aw, fuck you, smart ass mother fucker."

----

A song came on that Kaylee liked and she sang along with it as she prepared dinner.

She used to love to sing; she sang with the Church choir until she graduated high school. Then after graduation, she lost all interest in singing. Then she moved down to Baylor Lake. She did go to mass at St. Elizabeth's, but had never entertained the idea of singing with their choir.

>>>>

"Um, where's her ring?" Grant asked when David gave him the box of evidence and KayAnn's personal effects.

"What?" David asked.

"She was wearing a ring," Grant said. "She made me buy her a wedding ring, one point five carat diamond, fucking two thousand dollars. Where is it?"

David Schock did a little digging around and Officer John Jackson and three other New Orleans Police Officers were arrested and charged with theft and receiving stolen goods.

For himself, David Schock found himself being tailed, silently harassed by the NOPD, until September of 2005.

----

Baby looked up and down the street; it was a slow day, unusually warm. Dynomite lay underneath his Cadillac, trying to fix the latest oil leak the old car had sprung.

"He felt someone pass behind him and looked. It was just some longhaired white boy, some punk ass motherfucker. The longhaired freak went to the corner, then crossed the street and started up the sidewalk on the other side. Baby lost interest; the punk wasn't business or a cop.

Grant smiled; he'd learned picking pockets from one of his cellmates. Since Baby wore his pants low and baggy, he hadn't even felt it when Grant pulled the nine-millimeter out of his front pocket. Dynomite was underneath his car; no threat to Grant.

Grant stopped directly across from Baby and looked around. The street was empty.

"Hey, Baby," he called out, getting the man's attention.

"Yeah, what the fuck you want?" Baby asked.

"Believe in God?" Grant asked and put three bullets into Baby's head. "Tell him 'Hi' for me."

Dynomite heard the gunshots and pulled himself all the way underneath his car. Grant almost laughed as he walked past the car and dropped Baby's nine-millimeter onto the front seat of the car. It had been too easy. Five blocks away, he threw the latex gloves down a storm drain and kept walking.

Dynomite did not get a fresh-faced kid from Legal Aid. His lawyer was a racist that saw prison as one of two places that African-Americans belonged; the other place bang the cemetery. For the murder of his friend and fellow drug dealer, Dynomite received twenty-five years to life in Angola.

----

Grant watched , in a stupor, as they loaded the animals onto rail cars. He'd learned in jail that he loved being sedated almost as much as he loved getting a rush.

In jail, they didn't let you sleep all day, but he couldn't get any sleep at night when he was wired on meth, so he learned to take powerful sedatives at night and do his meth during the day. The horse tranquilizers were really doing a number on him and the August heat and humidity had him so drowsy.

When he came too, the train had left the station, carrying the animals of Audobon Zoo with it. He walked around, watching people putting up boards over their windows, putting their plants inside, scurrying here and there.

Hurricane Katrina came onto shore, howling and pummeling everything in its wake. New Orleans did not get the brunt of the storm; the Gulf Coast of Mississippi actually took the direct hit. However, that mattered little to Grant Johnson, alone, and out in the elements. The howling wind and crash of trees and tree limbs and the crackle of power lines drowned his anguished screams out as they snapped.

Fear was a much more powerful adrenaline rush than all the met amphetamines in the world. Grant Johnson started running. He did not know what he was running for or where he was running to but he knew he had to start running. He had a vague Idea where Bender, Louisiana was in relation to New Orleans, so he decided to run in that direction.,

----

Three days later, in the horrifying rips of detoxification, Grant Johnson and seventy-three other survivors found themselves on a bus headed to Baton Rouge.

"Help me," he sobbed out to the tired Red Cross worker.

"I'm trying to, sir," she said and continued asking the multitude of questions on the form.

"Oh, yeah, I remember that shit all too well," Adonis Brown laughed as Grant vomited heartily into the toilet.

Adonis Brown volunteered at the shelter in Alexandria, Louisiana. He mopped the floors, put fresh linens on the cots, brought food to the disabled evacuees. One of the Red Cross workers knew that Adonis was clean and sober and pointed out Grant Johnson.

Grant cursed heartily at the bald-headed black man that dared make light of his pain and Adonis simply smiled and said "I'll check on you later, see if you feel like talking."

----

Two days later, Grant could sit up and could sip the weak coffee the shelter served.

"I was just like you," Adonis started off. "Bad ass mother fucker, living on the streets of New Orleans, couldn't tell me shit, 'cause I knew it all. Doing five, six hundred dollars crack a day."

Grant looked at the man. Adonis did not look like he'd ever been on the streets; his clothes were clean, pressed. His face and head were smoothly shaved. His eyes, his eyes sparkled.

"Then, thanks to a Higher Power, who I choose to call God, I hit bottom," Adonis went on and sipped the coffee. "See, I had me this sweet young thing, we was all in love and shit, was going to get married out on the beach, release two doves when the minister said 'I now pronounce you husband and wife,' and she goes off and smokes the last rock."

"And?" Grand asked as Adonis lost the sparkle in his eye, looked off at some faraway place or time.

"And they said I beat Ethel to death with a brick," Adonis said and dabbed at his eye. "Involuntary manslaughter. They gave me ten two twelve, hard labor. They had them meetings in Metairie Lockup so I started going, got me a sponsor and started working the twelve steps. They let me out after seven years but I still go to them meetings here in Alex."

Adonis put a brass medallion on the table in front of Grant. Grant looked at the disk, looked at the Roman numeral IX.

"Picked up my nine year chip last month," Adonis smiled widely.

Adonis got to his feet and walked away.

"You get sick and tired of being sick and tired, I take you with me to them meetings," Adonis offered.

"Hey, wait, you forgot your button," Grant called out.

"Hang on to it for me," Adonis said and left the building.

----

Nightly, Kaylee included Joey in her prayers. She begged God to forgive him the sin of suicide.