Once a Dog Always a Dog!

Chapter 4

Being that Chicago was only a two-hour drive from New York, the publishing company had provided all of the The Unit authors with a car service that chauffeured us individually back to New York in Lincoln town cars. By the time I woke up, took a shower, got dressed, and ate breakfast with Kierra it was after nine-thirty and I knew that I had to bounce ASAP. She had already called her job and told them that she would be late. As for me, I knew I needed to call Cheyenne and I was feeling guilty as shit, but I did my best to push those thoughts to the back of my head and not think about the guilt.

"So am I gonna see you again?" Kierra asked. "Of course you will," I responded, but I wasn't 100 percent sure I meant what I was saying. Granted, Kierra looked every bit as good on the morning after as she had the night before so that was a definite plus that she had in her favor. But I had hit it already so I wasn't sure if I even really wanted to be bothered with her anymore.

"Come here," I said as I reached out my hand and guided her closer to me. We had pulled the drapes fully closed so that the blinding sunlight wouldn't light up the room, so there was still this cozy feel as the television played in the background. Kierra pressed her body up against mines and we kissed each other for about a minute or so.

"Emmmh, you drive me so fucking crazy!" Kierra said as she pulled away from me and smiled. "You sure you didn't slip nothing in my drink because I can't explain this shit." I chuckled and shook my head no as I grabbed my bag and prepared to leave. Kierra said what she had said because she knew that the only explanation for her actions was that she was a whore. And since she, like most women, never want to believe that they're a whore, tried to explain away her actions by making a joke about me slipping her a mickey.

"The car is downstairs waiting for me. So here, take this. Get you some gas for your car and pay for your parking with it, a'ight?" I said as I handed her one hundred dollars. "Thank you. You're so sweet," she replied and gave me a kiss on my cheek as we stepped into the elevator. With the way Kierra took the money so easily I knew that she was a golddigging whore. She was no different than the big butt strippers who would leave the strip club and fuck a nigga as long as he was putting up cash for the pussy.

Yeah, Kierra knew what time it was and so did I, but I couldn't knock her hustle. When we got to the lobby I immediately saw my driver and I headed toward him. "Kha'Darious Wright?" "Yeah, yeah, that's me." "Right this way," the driver replied as he directed me outside into the freezing cold and toward the car. He held the rear passenger door open for me and just before I stepped into the car I turned and gave Kierra a hug and a peck on the lips. "It was real." "Yeah, it was. Call me when you get back to New York." "No doubt." I sat into the plush leather seats, and the driver had already had the heat on so the car was very comfortable inside. But my mind wasn't at ease simply because I knew that I should have left Chicago the night before and had my ass back in New York. I kept my cell phone turned off, because I knew that Cheyenne would be blowing my phone up to no end. "Listen, here's sixty dollars. Do whatever you can to get me back to New York as quick as possible." The Arab driver thanked me for the generous tip and told me that he would do his best. 

Then he proceeded to maneuver toward the Ben Franklin Bridge and eventually we ended up on the New Jersey Turnpike where I fell asleep and didn't wake up until we were in New York and on the Long Island Expressway. It was a little after eleven in the morning and I knew that my son's game started at eleven, so instead of the driver taking me straight to my house I had him drop me at my son's school. When I got to the school, I spoke to the security guard for a quick second and then I headed straight for the crowded gymnasium. As soon as I walked into the gym I could see that all of the seats in the bleachers were full so I decided to stand a few feet away from the entrance along with some of the other parents. Apparently my son Derrick had just gotten fouled and he was standing at the free throw line preparing to shoot a foul shot. "Derrick!" I shouted. "Derrick!" Just as the referee handed Derrick the ball I managed to get his attention and I made a fist with my right hand and thumped it across my chest two times. That was the sign that I had made up for Derrick and whenever I did that he knew that it meant for him to go hard and to play with heart. Derrick nodded his head to acknowledge me and then he bounced the ball three times, bent his knees, blew some air from his lungs, and took the shot and made it. He pointed in my direction before running back down the court to play defense.