Free The Tragic Flaw by Che Parker Page B

he was getting a lot of ass thrown his way, male and female. And he was happy to hit both. No one knew.” He pauses to take another drink. “That is, until he got sick.”
    â€œDamn,” Kam blurts in amazement. “He was a damn sodomite, with a hottie like that?” His cell phone vibrates but he ignores it.
    â€œYea, after he found out why he was sick, he told Olivia to get tested,” Cicero adds. “And sure enough, she had it too.”
    Kam simply shakes his head. Beams from a street light sneak into the truck and brighten the interior after bouncing off Cicero’s platinum watch and Kam’s teeth.
    â€œMan, they were together for like three years,” Cicero says as he glances over at Kam, beginning to slur slightly. “By the time she got tested, that monster was already creeping through her blood vessels, murdering her silently.” He pauses. “The ninja.”
    â€œSo she ain’t taking no medicine or nothing?” Kam inquires with youthful curiosity.
    â€œYea, she is, which is why she needs me,” Cicero answers. “She was so distraught and fucked up in the head when she found out her status that she dropped out of school and basically gave up on life. She came back to Kansas City where really nobody knows her. She just felt lost.”
    â€œThen you came into the picture?” Kam jumps in.
    â€œBasically,” Cicero responds as he takes a sip of cognac. “Since she doesn’t work, and the state’s not paying for that shit, I supply her AIDS cocktails and what not. The good stuff, you know, so she’s able to keep her looks.” He pauses. “She can’t live without me.”
    Kam thinks for a moment. “But man, don’t they have like a vaccine for that shit? I thought they were working on some shit?”
    â€œYea, they’re working on one, but it’s too late for old Olivia,” Cicero states. He takes another sip. “Just a little too late, cousin.” He takes another quick drink of his cognac, and begins bobbing his head to the fierce hip-hop lyrics.
    Kam thinks further. “But damn, so she’s basically spreading that shit?”
    Cicero takes another sip of his drink and puts his cup down.
    â€œYou ever see Pulp Fiction ? You know that part when Samuel L. Jackson is talking about that shit, that Bible verse he says to people before he smokes ’em?”
    â€œYea, I saw that shit, but I don’t really remember it,” Kam says.
    â€œWell, anyway, in the movie he’s like, he says it just because it’s something sick to say to a mothafucka before you blast ’em. That’s how I feel about Olivia, really. It’s some cold-blooded shit to say to a mothafucka. Besides, fuck ’em. Them mothafuckas should use condoms.”
    Cicero picks up his drink and laughs to himself.
    Kam glances at his friend and is briefly disenchanted with his sinister words. He then turns his head and looks out the window in silence.
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    With enough sodium chloride, even the good mascara runs, which explains the cheetah-like streaks cascading down Olivia’s face. She cruises in her cherry-red, two-seater convertible, top up, listening to India Arie.
    â€œ Give me some Stevie, give me some Donny, give me my daddy, give me my mommy .”
    The smooth soulful lyrics comfort her, but only as much as a stranger’s voice can.
    She passes several women of the night, out soliciting for rent, gold bracelets, or to pad another’s coffer. Olivia glances over her shoulder and makes direct eye contact with one, maybe seventeen, getting into a beat-up Buick. The young girl is cute, but her make-up is caked on and tacky. Her platinum blonde wig is bouffant. Yet and still, she looks resolved, as if she’s merely clocking in to her nine-to-five desk job.
    Olivia wipes her face and turns the heat up in her sixty-thousand-dollar German-made sports coupe. Her Italian boot gently