Latter Rain by Vanessa Miller

Everywhere the boy went, he carried this small note pad. Nobody could tell him he wasn’t a real detective. “Hey, Lou,” he wanted to scream, “detectives don’t get paid in crack. But in truth, Mickey had to give Lou his props. The boy could find Bin Laden if the price was right.
    â€œNothing yet, boss,” Lou reported.
    â€œDon’t play me, Lou. Nothing goes on in the streets that you don’t know about.”
    â€œI’m working on it. I’ll have your information. Just give me a little more time.”
    His feet came off the table just as Laquita walked in with a man-sized turkey sandwich on toasted bread. “Get me my information, Lou. Don’t play me after I’ve given you my merchandise.”
    â€œI wouldn’t play you, Mickey. Honest, I’ll have something on this in a couple of days.”
    â€œTomorrow,” Mickey screamed. “Or this will be your last case. You got me?” He slammed down the phone and looked at his pathetic woman. Leaning back against the couch he told her, “Feed me.”
    When she bent down to pick up the sandwich, he sat up and grabbed a fist full of her hair. The gold in his gleaming mouth greeted her as she shifted to face him.
    â€œMickey, if I did something wrong, just tell me. I can fix it,” Laquita told him as worry lines etched her face.
    He yanked her hair, pulling her closer. He was still smiling when he back handed Laquita and sent her tumbling to the floor. He really liked those Freeze Pops, especially the orange ones. He bent over her, pinning her arms to the ground with his knees. Slapping and punching. Slapping and punching.
    â€œI’m sorry, Mickey. I w—won’t do it again,” she cried.
    She lost consciousness somewhere between the fifteenth and the twentieth blow. When she came to, she was lying on the kitchen floor. Her vision was blurry, but she could see Mickey. He was standing over her again. A baseball bat in one hand, a rope in the other. That’s when things started to go bad for Laquita.

17
    Isaac picked up Donavan early Saturday morning and brought him back to West Virginia with him. Isaac knew that he would have a busy week at Faith Temple beginning Monday, but he wanted to spend a little time with his son before the drama began.
    Donavan was subdued, and seemed content to sit in a corner and watch Isaac study his Word and write the sermon for Sunday. He didn’t want to go anywhere. Isaac thought that was odd, but decided not to make a big deal about it, since he wanted to make this sermon one of the best he’d ever delivered anyway. “Help me, Lord.”
    He drove Donavan home early Tuesday morning. He missed school on Monday, but Donavan didn’t seem to mind. Nina was another story. She looked at Isaac with scolding eyes, kind of like how she normally looked at Donavan. He ignored her and turned to his son.
    â€œHugs, not drugs,” he wanted to say as he squeezed his son against him. “I love you, boy. I know I’ve been preoccupied lately, but I’m going to make this up to you. Okay?”
    Donavan squeezed his father right back. “Thanks for coming to get me, Dad. I’m sorry for how I’ve been acting too.” Donavan’s eyes were moist when they parted. He opened his mouth to speak further, then decided against it.
    Isaac caught a glimpse of something. He wasn’t sure what, but something was wrong. His son was probably hating this whole wedding thing as much as he was. “If something’s bothering you, you know you can talk to me, don’t you?”
    â€œYeah. He bowed his head and wiped his eyes. “I’m okay, Dad.” He brushed by him. “I’ve got to get ready for school.”
    â€œI’m going to drop you off. Let me know when you’re ready,” Nina hollered after Donavan as he walked into the house.
    Isaac looked at his watch. “Didn’t I get him here in time