The Book in Room 316

by ReShonda Tate Billingsley

“We gotta run. We gotta get out of town,” Wiz said.

  “Man, I can’t leave my brother. He won’t have anybody,” I said.

  “Well, he won’t have anybody when Monster kills you so . . .”

  With that thought fear spread throughout my body. I paced across the warehouse, stopping only as a rat scurried past, paused, then stared at me like we were invading his space, before continuing into the wall.

  “Isn’t there any other option?” I said, because staying in this rat-infested place wasn’t one.

  “No, you know with Monster there are only two options: have his money or die.”

  “You don’t think we can talk to Monster?” I asked.

  “Does Monster look like he’s in the ‘let’s discuss this’ business?”

  He was right about that. The last guy that had come up short with Monster had tried to “talk” to him, and before he finished his first sentence, Monster’s goons cut off his tongue.

  Still, I said, “Look, I say we just tell the truth. They know that we were robbed. We just need to tell Monster that we’re gonna get his money and we just need time.”

  “I say we run,” Wiz said. “Because even if he agrees to that, he’s gonna add on his fifty percent late payment penalty. Where would we get that money from?”

  I was beyond frustrated. “All I know is, I can’t run. Plus, how far can your whip even get us? To the county line?”

  “I know your car is so much better . . . Oh, wait, you don’t have a car,” he snapped.

  “Look, I don’t want to fight. We’re stressed. We just gotta handle this. So I’m gonna go talk to Monster, man to man.”

  I was headed toward the door when Wiz came running after me.

  I’d been living with an old friend of my grandmother’s, Ms. Laura, but I couldn’t take this drama to her doorstep. Even still, I wanted to go see how much money I had hidden in my mattress so I could know what to say to Monster.

  “Let’s just run by my crib,” I said as we walked outside. “I’ve been saving some money. It ain’t what we owe, but it’ll be something, and maybe Monster will give us time to work off the rest.” My heart sank at the thought of giving Monster my money. But it was better than giving him my life.

  “I don’t know, man,” Wiz said, shaking his head. “I’m ready to just bounce.”

  “Let’s just try this first,” I said.

  We dipped into the alley where Wiz had parked his car, hopped in, then headed to my house, which I hated because there were like eight people living there, including Ms. Laura’s trifling thirty-year-old grandson, Carl, who made it his business to make my life miserable.

  “Hey, boy. Where you been?” Ms. Laura said when I came through the door. Her soap opera was blaring in the background.

  “Just out,” I replied.

  “Little fake gangsta always out,” Carl said, sitting at the kitchen table, playing solitaire, which he did all day, every day.

  I just ignored him. I’d learned that was the best way to handle all of Ms. Laura’s relatives. Because they always reminded me that I was just an “outside charity case.” I went into my room and slipped underneath my mattress. I had cut a hole in the middle of the mattress and stuffed a sock with my money. I stuck my hand in the hole, reached around, and didn’t feel anything. My heart immediately began to race. I pulled the twin-sized mattress off the bed, flipped it over, and dug and dug. Before long, I realized my money was gone.

  I raced back into the living room. “Ms. Laura, Ms. Laura!”

  “What is it, boy?” she said, sitting up from her spot on the sofa. “Calm your nerves.”

  “I had some money and it’s missing,” I huffed.

  “You had some money?” she said. “Money for what?”

  “I’ve been saving it to help my brother, and now it’s gone.”

  The smirk on her grandson’s face told me exactly where my money had gone.

  I spun toward him. “Did you touch my money, Carl?”

  “What it look like?” he said.

  I don’t know what came over me, but I dove across the table. Carl had about four inches on me, but in that moment I didn’t care. “Where is my money? Give me my money back,” I said as I pummeled him.

  I knocked him over onto the floor, but as soon as he got his bearings, he threw me off like I was a rag doll.

  Ms. Laura was screaming. “What in tarnation? If you two don’t stop it!”

  “Grandma, you better get this little punk before I have to hurt him,” Carl said as he picked his chair up.

  “You ain’t gonna hurt nobody,” she said.

  “He stole my money!” I screamed, stumbling as I pulled myself up off the floor.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He plopped back down in his seat and went back to playing his card game.

  “You’re a liar!” I screamed.

  Ms. Laura placed her hands on her robust hips and planted herself firmly between us. “Look, if Carl said he ain’t seen the money, then he ain’t seen your money,” she said.

  “He’s lying. He’s a thief.”

  “He paid his debt to society,” Ms. Laura said.

  It was frustrating because Carl had done two stints for armed robbery, and Ms. Laura still didn’t believe he was capable of any wrongdoing.

  “I just need my money back. I really need my money back,” I cried, my anger gone. Desperation was in its place.

  “What you need money for so bad?” she said. “Are you in some sort of trouble? You know you can’t bring no trouble up in here.” She wagged her finger at me.

  “Ms. Laura, please.”

  Carl shook his head as he turned over cards. “Grandma, I always told you about doing these charity cases.”

  “Ain’t nobody talking to you,” I screamed.

  Carl leaned back, smugness filling his face. “Look, li’l man, I understand. You’re upset about a few hundred dollars missing.”

  “How did you know how much it was?”

  Ms. Laura cut her eyes as if she wanted to know the answer to that herself.

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. I just assumed if you had money, that’s how much it is.”

  “Liar!” I screamed.

  “Enough,” Ms. Laura said. “Unless you got some proof that Carl stole your money, you’re not going to come in my house accusing my grandson.”

  I knew that this was useless. More than that, I was done with this place. I stomped back into my room, grabbed my old Nike bag, and stuffed as much as I could into it. Then I stomped back through the living room.

  “Now, Trey, where you going? Why are you being so dramatic?”

  “Li’l dude always dramatic,” Carl said.

  I ignored both of them as I stomped back outside.

  “Don’t stay gone too long,” Ms. Laura called out after me. “I’m making some peach cobbler.”

  I ignored her and let the screen door slam on the sound of her voice.

  I walked down the sidewalk to see Wiz under the hood of his car. He glanced at me, then turned his attention back to the car. “Man, this crap overheated. I can’t believe this piece of . . .” His words trailed off as he took in the expression on my face. “Uh, what’s up?” His eyes drifted down to my duffel bag. “Did you get the money?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “Man, it’s gone.” For the first time since my grandmother died, I felt real tears seep out.

  Wiz’s eyes bucked. “What do you mean, it’s gone?”

  “The money’s gone.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Somebody stole it.”

  “Oh, snap. So now what are we gonna do?”

  I was just about to answer him when I saw Monster’s henchmen driving down the street toward the house. The car was moving slowly like in one of those gangster movies. Wiz and I looked at each other, and then, without saying a word, we both took off running.

  chapter

  * * *

  38

  Forty-eight hours.

  That’s how
long Wiz and I had been hiding out in the abandoned warehouse. Out of all the times for Wiz’s raggedy car to break . . . I mean, I didn’t think it would get us far, but I at least thought it would get us out of the neighborhood. Now we had no transportation, no money, and no hope.

  We’d managed to scrounge up some food, but I was ready to go. We’d heard that Monster’s boys were still looking for us. Terry, one of his runners and a friend from the hood, had told us when we went out to find something to eat last night. Wiz didn’t need to convince me not to talk to Monster, because at this point, we both knew there was no talking. The jacked-up part about all of this was that we were the ones that were robbed, but Monster didn’t care about the why. If you had his product, you were responsible for his product.

  “You think . . .” I paused before putting into words the thoughts that had been on my mind since the shooting. “Do you think Monster sent those dudes to shoot Paco?”

  Wiz shrugged. “I don’t know. I thought about that. But why would he steal his own product?”

  “To put us on the hook for it,” I replied.

  At this point the worry had worn Wiz down. His eyes were puffy and red. We’d been sleeping on the floor for the past two days, so that, coupled with not knowing if we were going to walk outside and get blasted, was taking its toll.

  We sat in silence, then he lit up and said, “Look, man, I’m about to get some money. That’ll buy some kind of way to get out of town.”

  “Where are you going to get it from?” I asked.

  “I called Portia,” he said, referring to his on-again, off-again girlfriend. “She said her mom has a couple pieces I may be able to pawn. It should be enough for one bus ticket.” He looked at me and I knew what that meant. My boy was about to bounce. I would be on my own.

  “Nah, man. I get it,” I told him. “You do what you gotta do.”

  I could tell this was a decision he’d been wrestling with. And I should’ve known something was up because he’d spent an hour last night on the phone with Portia. Usually, Wiz had no problem talking to her in front of me, but he took the conversation to the back of the warehouse.

  “I’m sorry, man,” Wiz continued. “It’s just . . . I have dreams . . . and running from Monster the rest of my life is a nightmare. Working for Monster the rest of my life ain’t it. Portia is the only tie I have here, and she ain’t even somebody I want to spend the rest of my life with, so I need to just go. I should’ve been gone. You know I don’t share this with nobody but you. But this ain’t the life I want. I wanna go and be somebody. I want a life that my family didn’t even dream of.”

  The anguish in his voice made me sad. At least I had Jamal. Wiz had one brother on death row. His other brother had been killed when we were twelve, and his parents had both overdosed.

  “Nah, B. I feel you,” I replied.

  I’d long given up on my dreams. My only dream now was to get to a point where I could take care of my brother so that he didn’t grow up in the foster care system. Because the chances of a little black boy being adopted were slim to none, and slim didn’t visit our hood.

  “Well, look,” I told him, “I’ll roll with you over to Portia’s. Maybe she can get us something to eat because I’m starving. And then we’ll split up.”

  “What are you gonna do?”

  I shrugged. “I’ll figure something out. You don’t have to worry about me.”

  “You sure you ain’t mad?” he asked.

  “Nah, man. Not at you.”

  I couldn’t be mad. If I didn’t have my little brother, I’d be long gone, too. We gave each other the brother hug and then headed out the door. We took back alleys and out-of-the-way sidewalks, headed to Portia’s house. She lived in Fifth Ward, too. But by the time we finished dipping and darting down all these alternate routes, it had taken us almost an hour to get to her house. As soon as we got to her door, she waved us around to the back.

  “What kind of trouble y’all in?” she hissed as she looked up and down the street to make sure we hadn’t been followed. She quickly closed the door, then pulled the curtains shut. “Word on the street is that Monster is after y’all.”

  “Bae, I told you, we got robbed,” Wiz said, planting a quick kiss on her lips. “Somebody stole Monster’s money and guns, and now we on the hook for it.”

  Fear filled her face. Portia grew up in the hood, too, so she knew what happened to people that messed with Monster’s money. “Dang,” she said. “I’m sorry to hear that. But what y’all gonna do?” She ran her burgundy braids around her fingers, like she was trying to calm her nerves.

  “I’m just gonna get what you told me you can get for me and then I’m out,” Wiz said.

  “Okay,” she said, reaching into her pocket, then handing him a handful of jewelry. “I don’t know how much you can get for it. Most of it is just costume stuff. But a few pieces are from when my mom used to date that drug dealer. So they ought to be worth a little bit.” She stared Wiz in the eye. “You know how I feel about this, though, Wiz.”

  He leaned in and kissed her again. “I love you, baby. I’m sorry. I’m gonna just put it in the pawnshop, and I promise you, I’m gonna send you the money to get it out.”

  “You better,” she said. “ ’Cause my mama will kill me if she finds this out.” Portia’s mother was in Los Angeles, taking care of her grandmother, so I guessed Portia was hoping she could have the jewelry back before her mother returned.

  “Well, I appreciate it. You could be saving my life, Bae,” Wiz said. In that moment I wished that I had taken the time to have a girl. But my entire focus had been on Jamal, and the few chicks I hung with were nothing serious.

  “Hey, Portia, you got anything to eat?” I asked her. “We’re kinda hungry.”

  “Kinda is a big understatement,” Wiz said.

  She looked at me and nodded her head. “Yeah, there’s some bologna in there I was frying. Y’all want a sandwich?”

  She might as well have said she had a T-bone steak grilling. A bologna sandwich sounded delicious.

  “Word. I’ll take a couple,” I said.

  “Y’all gonna have to take them to go, though, because . . .” She didn’t even have to finish her sentence as she headed to the kitchen. We all knew that Monster’s bullets had no name. So as long as he was looking for us, she didn’t want to become a statistic.

  We followed her into the kitchen. She quickly made us sandwiches, wrapped them in plastic wrap, then threw that, along with some chips, fruit, and cheese, into a brown paper bag. Even though she was helping, I could tell Portia wanted us out of her house as fast as possible. And of course, I couldn’t blame her.

  “Be careful, Bae,” she told Wiz as she walked us to the door.

  He kissed her again, this time a lot more passionately. I wondered if she knew this would be her last time seeing him.

  “I will, and I’ll call you when I get where I’m going.”

  “Where are you going?” she asked once we were on the other side of the door.

  “I’m not going to tell you that.” They stared at each other, and she just nodded in understanding.

  “I love you,” Wiz said.

  “I love you, too,” she replied. “Trey, you be careful.”

  We made our way back around to the front of the house. I was just about to tell Wiz goodbye when a familiar Cutlass came rolling by. We knew it was Don’s because of the extended spinners and loud royal-blue paint, which only he had. Before either of us could say a word, the window rolled down. We took off running down the side alley and the car gave chase. I went one direction; Wiz went the other. But I knew he was fleeing just like me—as if his life depended on it.

  I had never felt such fear. Images of my mom . . . of Jamal . . . my grandmother . . . all of those shot through my head.

  Please, God, just let me live!

  When I heard tires screech, I stopped running. I was out of breath as I turned toward the sound. I was able to see that the Cutlass had come t
o a stop in front of the alley where Wiz had run.

  That alley was a dead end.

  I stood frozen, trying to debate what to do. And then I heard it:

  Pop. Pop. Pop.

  Those three gunshots would stay with me forever. I knew that Wiz was gone. When I heard the tires screech again, I took off. I ran, jumped a fence, then ran again.

  I approached the Metro bus stop just as a bus was coming. I remembered my Metro pass in my back pocket and pulled it out.

  “Excuse me,” I said, jumping in front of the lady who was getting on the bus with three kids.

  I bounced onto the bus, went to a back row, and slid down into my seat, praying and fighting back tears for my friend.

  chapter

  * * *

  39

  I wanted to look out the window of the bus, but I was too scared. The bus had taken off, but I couldn’t be sure if Monster’s goons had seen me, so I stayed hunched down in the seat.

  The woman who I’d almost knocked over getting onto the bus sat down in the seat across from me. The two smallest of her children were clutching her like she’d just returned from war. The oldest was sitting in a seat in front of them. They were all smothering her as if they didn’t want to take their eyes off her.

  About five minutes into the ride, they all seemed to relax. And when I peeked out the window and saw the Cutlass was long gone, I relaxed, too.

  The woman and I made eye contact, and I felt compelled to say, “Sorry about almost knocking you over when we were getting on the bus.”

  She gave me a warm smile. “It’s okay. You seemed in a bit of a hurry. Is everything okay?”

  I nodded as I pulled myself up in the seat. I know I probably looked crazy all slunked down. “I’m all right.”

  “You know, you’re about the same age as my oldest son,” she told me.

  “Oh,” I said, not knowing what else I was supposed to say.

  “That look on your face. It’s one my son has when he gets into trouble.” She paused and then added, “You know, God can help you find a way from trouble. He can straighten things out that you may not think can ever be worked out.”