by Dorian Sykes
Wink carried his two-pound plate, along with a two-liter bottle of Coke, up to his master bedroom. He flopped down on his king-size waterbed and turned the TV onto the news.
“Stupid mothafucka,” he said of the man being arrested after crashing on a high-speed chase.
Wink was enjoying his mom’s cooking when Gary appeared in the doorway. Wink looked up at him but didn’t say anything.
“Can I come in?” asked Gary. He was holding a large burgundy photo album in his hand and a shoebox underneath it.
“Yeah,” Wink said, really wanting to say, “Fuck nah, beat it.” But he was curious as to what ole dusty had to show him.
Gary took a seat on the edge of the bed and set the photo album and shoebox down.
“Wayne, I know—”
“My name’s Wink.”
“I’m cool with that,” said Gary. “A’ight, Wink. As I was about to say, I know we haven’t never seen eye to eye, and I want you to know that’s my fault. I never took the time to sit down with you and let you really get to know who I am.”
Wink was thinking, I know exactly who you are. You’re bum-ass Gary.
“There’s something me and your mom shoulda told you long time ago.”
Please don’t let this nigga come out his mouth and say he’s my daddy. Please . . .
“Wink, your mom and I used to be engaged long time ago.” Gary opened the shoebox and removed a stack of Polaroid pictures. He took the rubber band off, then handed Wink the first two pictures.
“That’s me and your mom at the prom. That was 1971.” Gary, for a moment, was back at the prom, out on the dance floor with the prettiest girl in all of Pershing High. He was prom king, and she was his queen.
Wink looked the pictures over, then handed them back. “I see you had the bell bottom tux with the blowout.”
“Yeah, that was the style back then.” Gary smiled. “Boy, do I miss those days.” Gary’s smile slowly faded as he focused back on his reason for pulling out the photos to begin with.
“After high school, I proposed to your mom, and we were supposed to get married a few months later.”
“What about, you know, Wayne?” Wink hated calling ole boy Dad—or anything else, for that matter. His name was Wayne.
“I was with your mom first. She was my first love and everything. Somehow, your father, who was my main man at the time, he hooked up with your mom behind my back. Your moms popped up pregnant with you, and the whole time, I’m thinking it’s mine. Well, Wayne and me got jammed up by the feds. He got booked at trial, and I did a five-year bid. When I got out, your mom came clean with me about you being Wayne’s son.”
“That’s why y’all never got married?”
“Yeah, and a lot of other things. So much had changed between us. That’s why we’re on and off like we are.”
“What about Wayne?”
“I haven’t heard from him since I got out. I was salty with him for betraying me, and more importantly, not tellin’ me.”
“Does he know that I’m his son?”
“That, I don’t know. You would have to ask your mom about that.”
Wink wondered if that was the reason his father never got at him. And why, after all these years, was Gary telling him this? He liked it better hating him.
“I know you think that I’m a washed-up old fool and don’t know nothin’, but I’ve been down the road you’re on and seen everything there is to see. I’ve been to the top, and I’ve been to the bottom. You seem to have your mind made up on being in the game, so I’m going to give it to you like I learned it.
“See, ain’t nobody show me anything when I started hustling. I had to learn everything by bumping my head. The most valuable lesson I learned is if you’re going to do it, do it to the max, ’cause when them people come see about you, that’s what they’re going for, the max. I just slipped through the cracks. That’s why I don’t hustle anymore because I know what’s waiting—death or a life sentence.
“Wink, if you’re going to play this game, just make sure you always go hard. Don’t play no games. Get yours, and hopefully, you’ll be one of the few who actually make it out.” Gary paused for a moment, then looked down at the shoebox. “I left you something at the bottom of the box. It belonged to your dad. I’m sure he’d want you to have it. I’ma leave you with the pictures. Just bring ’em down when you’re done lookin’ at ’em.”
Gary stood up and started for the door, but then turned to face Wink. “If you ever need something, don’t be ashamed to ask. This old dog still know all the tricks.”
Wink nodded and said, “A’ight.” He waited until Gary bent the corner, then opened the photo album. He stared at the flick of Gary with his dad back in the day. They were at the Fox Theatre at some type of shindig. They were suited and gator booted, with black diamond minks draped over their shoulders. Wink took the picture out of its place and set it on the bed. He flipped through the rest of them in awe. He had no idea Gary used to be a money-gettin’ nigga. He had pictures with brand new Fleetwoods and stinkin’ Lincolns. In each flick, he wore a different suit with matching gators.
Wink had no idea Gary was a major player. His mom never spoke a word about it. But now everything was starting to make sense. That’s why Gary never worked. Maybe he still had some of that old-face money stashed somewhere, thought Wink.
He closed the album, then reached for the box. At the bottom sat a gold bracelet that was iced out. It was a custom-made nugget with the letters WAYNE in white crushed diamonds. Wink picked up the picture beside him. It was the same bracelet his father wore in the picture. After all those years, it still hadn’t lost its luster. Wink tried it on and stood in the mirror, taking on the B-boy stance.
* * *
For the first time in his life, Wink wondered what his father was doing. There were a bunch of questions that answers alone couldn’t satisfy. Wink sat down to write him. He stared at the blank piece of paper in front of him, trying to think of what to write. Then he thought, Maybe I should go see him.
Chapter Sixteen
Wink was awakened by the smell of bacon and eggs burning. He rolled onto his back and smiled at the scent. He lay staring at the ceiling for a moment. It felt good to sleep in his old bed again. He had clunked out early last night and slept like a baby. Wink let his eyes adjust to the sunlit room, then squinted at his alarm clock beside him. It was going on nine o’clock. Time to get up, he thought, rolling out of bed and stepping into his slippers.
Wink grabbed the old photo album and shoebox off his dresser, then went downstairs. He found his mom and Gary perched at the kitchen table, enjoying breakfast.
“Mornin’, baby,” said Hope She raised her coffee mug halfway, then stopped. Her eyes locked on the ever-so-familiar photo album in Wink’s hands.
“What are you doin’ with those?”
“It’s okay. I gave ’em to him to look at.” Gary nodded at Wink, then continued eating his breakfast.
“Good morning, Ma.” Wink walked over and gave his mom a kiss on the forehead.
“I’ll take those. Here, have a sat, Wink.” Gary got up and cleared his plate.
“Since when you start calling him Wink? His name is Wayne in this house.”
Wink took a seat across from Hope and dug into his bacon and eggs. He looked up from his plate to see his mom staring at him. The look in her eyes asked, How much did he tell you?
“Why you lookin’ at me like that?”
“You are mine’s. I can look at you. So, what all Gary tell you?”
“Not enough. I was hoping you’d fill me in.” Wink bit into a crispy slice of bacon.
Hope sipped her coffee, then pushed her chair back and stood up. “Maybe later. Right now, I’ve gotta get ready for work.”
Wink watched his mom’s back as she rinsed her dishes. He could tell by the sound of her voice that she had no intention of having that conversation. Wink decided not to press the issue because, after all, she was his mom. She had been t
he one there his whole life. So what if she made a few mistakes? She didn’t owe up no explanations. His love for Ma Dukes would never waver, but those thoughts of his father still lingered in the back of his mind.
“I’ll see you when I get off?” Hope said.
“I’ll see you before you close your eyes tonight.”
“Fair enough. I want you to be careful, and I left you some money on the mantle.”
“Thanks, Ma.”
Hope gave Wink a hug around the neck and kissed his cheek before telling him, “I love you.”
“Love you too.” Wink watched as his mom bent the corner out of the kitchen. Probably on her way to cuss Gary’s soft ass out, he thought with a smirk.
The phone rang, and Wink leaped to his feet. “I got it!” he yelled, then snatched the phone off the wall.
“Hello.”
“Ay yo, meet me at my crib,” said Trey.
“What’s up, my nigga? You sound like it’s an emergency.”
“Nah, but it’s ’bout this money. Just get around here. Me and Willie gon’ be in the basement.”
“Yo’ momma there?”
“Nah, she at work.”
Good, thought Wink. “A’ight, I’m on my way.”
Wink scraped his plate, then rushed into the bathroom to take a quick shower. When he came out, he found his clothes already set out on his bed with a brand-new pair of Patrick Ewings. He smiled at the thought of his mom always looking out for her baby. He slid into his crispy new Boss jeans, then stepped into the Ewings.
Wink walked over to his dresser and opened the top drawer. He unfolded the sweater and grabbed the gold nugget bracelet. He looked at it for a moment, then tucked it inside his pants pocket.
Wink grabbed the fifty dollars off the mantle. Gary was stretched out across the sofa, watching The Price is Right.
“Remember what I said. You need anything, don’t hesitate to ask,” said Gary.
“A’ight,” said Wink. He left out the house, thinking that maybe he was wrong about ole Gary. He never really gave him a chance because he didn’t want to see him with his mom, but looking at the pictures of Gary from back in the day gave him a different outlook. Wink smiled to himself as he thought of Gary’s skinny ass out there hustling.
Wink knocked on the basement window where Trey and Willie were seated, playing that stupid-ass game Contra on Nintendo. He could hear the theme music blasting from the surround sound system. Trey paused the game and got up to let Wink in.
“What up, doe.” Wink gave Trey some dap on his way down the basement.
“Shit, down here beatin’ the fuck outta Willie.” Trey followed Wink over to the sofa.
“So, what’s so important that you called me in the middle of my breakfast?” Wink flopped down beside Willie.
“I holla’d at my cousin, Ball, down in Mississippi about us comin’ down to set up shop,” said Willie.
Wink sat up. Willie had his undivided attention.
“What he say?”
“He said to hop on the Greyhound and come down. Not that we needed his permission or nothing. I just wanted to make sure that we had a place to stay when we get down there.”
“Is it worth making the trip, though? What kind of money we talkin’ ’bout?” asked Wink.
“He say they cuttin’ five thousand off an ounce. All they sell is twenties and up.”
“He got a strip or a spot already set up?”
“Mississippi is slow. It’s not like Detroit, where niggas is claiming turf. It’s a spot for outta towners.”
Wink nodded as he looked off into space. Everything sounded good. Just one problem, though. He didn’t have ounce money, nor did he know where he could get none. He sure wasn’t going to go crawling back on his knees to J-Bo, looking for help.
“So, what you think, my nigga? We down there?” asked Trey.
“We definitely down there.”
“What about the work? Where we gon’ get the coke from?” asked Willie.
“I got somebody,” said Wink as he stood up. “Did yo’ cousin say how soon we could come?”
“Whenever we’re ready.”
“A’ight, well, be ready in the morning, ’cause we on the first bus going that way. I’m out,” said Wink. He gave Willie and Trey some dap, then left.
Wink walked up to 7 Mile Road and flagged a Checker Cab.
“Where to, my friend?” The driver looked at Wink through the rearview mirror.
“Zeidman’s on Gratiot.” Wink passed the man a twenty-dollar deposit, and they pulled into traffic.
The cabbie parked in front of Zeidman’s and checked his meter. Wink still had a few dollars left on the deposit. “Leave the meter running. I’ll be right back.”
Wink climbed out the cab and stepped inside the crowded pawn shop. Zeidman’s was the oldest pawn shop in all of Detroit. They had everything in there from Rolex watches to drum sets. If you needed it, you could always find it at ole Zeidman’s. It was owned by some Arabs, and they were known to play fair whenever you bought something off them or pawned your shit. All other pawn shops were looking to get over.
Wink make it to the front of the line. He stepped to the window and dug in his pocket, pulling up his father’s gold bracelet. He stared at the diamond-encrusted WAYNE for a moment. Even though his dad hadn’t been the one to give it to him, for some reason, it still had some sentimental value.
“Can I help you?” the Arab behind the bulletproof glass asked, breaking Wink’s train of thought.
“Yeah, I want to know how much you’d give me for this.” Wink placed the bracelet inside the slot. “I want to pawn it, not sell it.” Wink watched the man as he did his ghetto assessment.
“Two grand, with thirty days’ pawn time.”
“Two grand? That’s it?”
“Take it or leave it, pal.”
Damn, thought Wink. He knew that bracelet had to be worth at least ten to fifteen grand. Two grand wasn’t shit, but it was enough to get some coke and three Greyhound tickets.
“Fuck it. Come on with it.” Wink watched the man slide his father’s bracelet into a brown manila envelope and write something on it. Wink made himself a promise that he’d be back for the bracelet in no time. He scooped the pawn receipt and two grand out the slot and safely tucked them into his drawers.
Thirty days, thought Wink, as the cab pulled away from the curb.
* * *
Wink walked through the front door to find Gary in the same spot he’d left him in. The whole drive home, Wink had been thinking about how he’d ask Gary for his help. He really didn’t want to, but Gary seemed to be his only option.
Wink took a seat on the edge of the sofa, facing Gary. “I need your help with something.”
Gary sat up and turned off the TV. “I’m listening,” he said, leaning forward on his elbows.
“You still know any of your old friends who might be able to sell me a couple of ounces?”
“I don’t know if they’ll sell it to you, but yeah, I got some people. When you want it?”
“As soon as I can get it.”
“You got the ends?”
“Yeah. How much is an ounce?”
“I’m sure I can get it at a playa’s price, but I’ma say eight hundred.”
“I want two.” Wink dug in his drawers and began counting out sixteen hundred dollars.
“If your momma knew what we was sittin’ here talkin’ about, she’d kill us both.”
“You ain’t never gotta worry about me saying nothing.’” Wink handed Gary the money.
“Good, ’cause I don’t need to hear her mouth. I normally wouldn’t do this, but I told you I’d look out if you needed anything. You sure ain’t waste no time.” Gary laughed.
“Something came up.” Wink followed Gary to the front door.
“Whoa. I’ma go by myself this first time. These some real shifty mothafuckas I’m dealing with, but I’ll see about getting you plugged in.”
“You just want me t
o wait on you to get back?”
“Yeah. I shouldn’t be too long.”
Wink watched as Gary climbed in his cocaine-white Fleetwood and disappeared into the horizon with his sixteen hundred dollars. Wink stepped back inside the house and started pacing the floor and making plans. If Gary came back with some decent coke, and for only sixteen hundred, it was on, Wink told himself. He just hoped Willie’s cousin wasn’t selling them a dream about how sweet Mississippi was. With just one flip, Wink could finish paying for Krazy’s lawyer, have enough to grab four ounces, and still be able to get his father’s bracelet out of pawn.
Wink damn near paced a hole in the floor while he waited for Gary to get back. He heard a door slam and ran to the window. It was Gary climbing out of his Caddy. Wink rushed over to the door and snatched it open before Gary could use his key.
“Did you get it?” Wink asked excitedly.
“Yeah. Come on and follow me to the kitchen.”
Wink hurriedly locked up the door, then skipped to the kitchen. He found Gary at the stove, turning on one of the eyes.
“That nigga you were runnin’ for, what’s his name?”
“J-Bo,” said Wink as he watched Gary run some water into a pot.
“He show you how to cook crack?”
“Nah.”
“I know he didn’t. See, in this game, like I told you, ain’t nobody gon’ teach you nothin’, at least not for free. But I’ma put you down with the game. Com’ere and pay attention.” Gary took an old screw jar and poured the two ounces of cocaine inside, then he added some baking soda. He ran a little water into the jar, just enough to cover the mixture, then he swirled the coke and baking soda around until it became a white clouded knot. He put the jar inside the boiling pot and waited while the coke cooked.
“See that?” he said, allowing Wink to look inside the jar. “When it turns into a gel like that, that means it’s ready.” Gary removed the jar using a wet dish rag, then carried it over to the sink. He swirled the jar above his head while looking at the yellow gel at the bottom of the jar. “Turn the cold water on,” he told Wink.
“See, you gotta let it cool first. Then you shock it.” Gary stuck his finger under the water, then put the rim of the jar under the faucet. The gel turned into a rock-hard cookie. It clinked against the glass and rose to the top of the water. Gary pulled the crack from the jar and continued to run cold water over it. He set the crack on a paper towel so it could dry.