by RM Johnson
Once she was out of the hospital, Monica had told herself this was something she wanted to do—needed to do. “Yes,” Monica said, pressing a finger against the surface of the glass counter, indicating what she was interested in. “That one.”
The man stooped down, unlocked the cabinet, pulled the item out, and placed it in Monica’s hands.
It felt good to her. “What kind is this?” she asked.
“It’s a forty-four caliber automatic.”
“Good,” Monica said. “I’ll take it.”
22
Daphanie stepped back up to the receptionist Charlene’s desk. The woman glared at Daphanie the moment she saw her step off the elevator.
Nate was clear that he had no desire or intention of helping Daphanie. If the meeting this morning with the attorney had been more positive, if Mr. Harris had sounded more certain that he could get Daphanie’s son back, she wouldn’t have come back here. But she couldn’t rely just on him. She needed to do everything in her power to reunite with her child, including begging Nate a million times if she had to.
“Charlene,” Daphanie said politely, “I’m sorry about the last time I was here, but I really need to see Mr. Kenny again. Do you think that’s possible?”
Charlene strained a smile, then said, “No apology necessary, Miss Coleman. I’ll tell him you’re here.” Charlene picked up the phone. “Daphanie Coleman is here. Yes. Yes. That’s correct. Thank you.” She hung up the phone, smiling more sincerely. “You can wait right here. It’ll just be a minute.”
“Thank you, Charlene,” Daphanie said. “You don’t know how much I appreciate this.”
“Sure.”
Daphanie kept her eye in the direction of Nate’s office, deciding what she would say to him once they were alone. She had no definite words. She would simply beg. She would try to convey how much she loved her child, how wrong it was for him to be torn from her like that, then beseech Nate to do whatever he could to bring them back together.
Daphanie felt a hand on her arm. She quickly spun around to see two security guards standing in front of her.
“Wha—”
“Miss Coleman,” the taller guard with the crew cut said, “you’re prohibited from entering this office. Will you come with us, please? We need to escort you out.”
“But I’m here to speak to Mr. Kenny.” Daphanie turned to Charlene. “She just called—”
“Sorry,” Charlene said, spitefully smiling. “It was these guys I just called, per Mr. Kenny’s request.”
23
Jahlil helped his girlfriend, Shaun, through the door of her apartment, then took her by the elbow and walked her into the small kitchenette. He pulled a chair from the table and gently lowered her into it.
They had just ridden the train back from one of her last prenatal checkups at the county hospital.
“You want something to drink, baby?” Jahlil asked, standing by the fridge.
“Yeah, can you get me a grape pop?”
Jahlil took two sodas out of the fridge, rinsed the tops under water in the sink, wiped them with a paper towel, and popped the top on Shaun’s.
“Thank you,” she said, after having been quiet all the way from the hospital, despite the positive visit.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“I’m fine,” she said.
“No, you’re not. We about to have a baby and you acting like it’s the end of the world. This is a good thing that’s happening to us.”
“Is it happening to us, or is it just happening to me?”
“What?”
“How did you act when you found out I was pregnant?”
“That was eight months ago. I was scared,” Jahlil explained. “Have I been acting like I don’t want this? Have I not been around?”
“All my friends with babies say you acting all excited now, but as soon as the baby come, you gonna tell yourself it’s too much and leave us.”
“Baby,” Jahlil said, taking Shaun’s hands and kneeling by the side of the chair. “I know what it feels like to have my father leave, and I would never do that to our baby. I’m gonna be here always to take care of her. To take care of both of you.”
Shaun smiled a little and rubbed Jahlil’s hands. “And how you gonna do that? How we gonna support our child when I’m seventeen and you only sixteen and we have no skills and ain’t even out of school? I live here, and you live there. And you know my mama don’t even want me to have this baby. Fact that she hate you don’t help either.”
Jahlil stood, feeling himself growing angry. “Why you saying all this negative stuff now?”
“You asked what was bothering me. You really wanna know?”
“Wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”
Shaun shook her head. “I love you, Jahlil. I think you’re a good boy. But I don’t want our baby to be one more child out there suffering, living in poverty like we both doing now.”
“She won’t. I told you that,” Jahlil said, angered at being questioned about this again.
“You need to make sure of that,” Shaun said. “Find a way to keep that from happening.”
24
It was late afternoon and Austin was in a wonderful mood, still thinking about the beautiful woman, Monica, he had met earlier.
He had seen three more clients after she left. The day was going well, he thought, his feet kicked up on his desk, his arms crossed behind his head when he heard arguing just outside his office door.
He hurried to his door, flung it open to see his brother, Marcus, standing before Reecie’s desk, stabbing a finger at her, rage on his face, saying, “If the shoe was on the other foot, I wouldn’t make you!”
Reecie was holding her own, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, as she yelled back, “But it ain’t. And this isn’t about nobody’s shoes. This is about you getting a damn job!”
“Hold it, hold it!” Austin said, waving his arms, stepping in between the two. “First of all, this is the Harris Firm office, not the corner of Sixty-Third and King Drive, so I won’t have all this yelling up in here. Second, exactly what the hell is going on?”
Both Reecie and Marcus started explaining at the same time, making little sense.
“Okay, okay!” Austin said, waving his arms again. “Marcus, in my office.”
“But, I’m just trying—”
Austin raised his voice. “In my office.”
Austin closed the door, after Marcus stepped in. “Have a seat.”
Marcus flopped into one of the chairs before Austin’s desk.
“What the hell is really going on between the two of you?”
“Austin, I’m an artist.”
“Yes, Marcus. You’re an artist. You’ve been saying that since you were five years old. What does that have to do with—”
“I have a master’s degree in fine art. I can’t help that my business failed because of the economy. Does that erase all the years I spent in school?”
“Exactly what are you getting at?”
“Despite how much she insists, I’m not wearing anybody’s blue vest or orange smock or green apron.”
“In English!”
“I’m not getting a job at Walmart, Home Depot, or Starbucks.”
“Then work somewhere else.”
“There is nowhere else that I want to work. Reecie expects me to waste my time surfing job sites all day, going to job fairs, looking for crappy positions that she knows good and well she’d never take. I’m above that.”
“But bills need to be paid. You above that too?” Austin said.
“On what you pay Reecie, we’re doing fine. All the bills get paid. We even have a little for savings. The woman just has issues with the fact that I’m not out there working some minimum wage job.”
“If she has issues, it’s your job to resolve them.”
“She’ll get over them,” Marcus said, standing, preparing to leave. “What else can she do? Nothing.”
25
Toomey s
at in his social studies class, nervous. He kept telling himself that nothing bad had happened to Jahlil, even though he wasn’t in the seat next to Toomey’s where he was supposed to be. Before class, Toomey had called Jahlil’s cell phone three times, but Jahlil hadn’t picked up.
Yeah, Toomey knew his friend cut a lot of school, but usually Jahlil would tell him when he was missing class. It wasn’t like him to just not show up, especially after what had gone down yesterday when those little boys rolled up on them.
Jahlil said they were just some fools trying to cop, but looking in his eyes, Toomey knew Jahlil was bothered. Toomey didn’t know who the little punks were, but they definitely were somebody.
Toomey looked up at the clock, watching the second hand sweep around the clock one final time till the bell rang announcing the end of the period.
He grabbed his books and papers and headed for the door, then to the boy’s room. He had to take a leak before physics.
He pushed his way through the swinging door and saw a boy he knew from PE washing his hands at the sink.
“What’s up, Toomey?” the chubby boy said.
“What’s up, Robby?” Toomey said, heading toward the urinals. “Hey, you seen Jahlil around today?”
“Nope,” Robby said, tossing a paper towel into the trash can. “Hurry up. You gonna be late for next period.”
Toomey hurried over to one of the urinals and quickly did his business, but when he finished and spun around, he was no longer alone.
Three boys—who by their height, size, and the hair on their faces looked more like men—stood in front of Toomey. They all looked to be at least eighteen or nineteen years old.
The shortest one in the center had a gold front tooth and a green bandanna hanging from his back pocket. “What you ride, fool?”
“What?” Toomey said, trembling. If he hadn’t just taken a piss, he would’ve surely wet his pants.
“What fucking gang you in?”
“I’m not in any gang. I’m just … just a student.”
The one in the center looked to the other two. The one on the right had a clean-shaved head and wore dark sunglasses.
“He lying,” the one on the left said. He had a scar on his face that ran from the inner corner of his right eye to the right outer corner of his mouth.
“I’m not lying. I swear!”
Gold Tooth grabbed Toomey by his throat and forced him back against the urinals. “Shut the fuck up! You speak when you spoken to. Now who the boy that was selling on our street yesterday?”
Toomey was about to lie, say he didn’t know, but Scarface lifted his jersey just a little to expose the handle of a small handgun.
“See that?” Gold Tooth said. “It stays where it is long as you don’t lie. Now I’m gonna ask you again. Who the boy?”
Trembling, sweat coating his brow, and scared for his life, Toomey said, “Jahlil Harris.”
26
Caleb stood in the dirty, dank hallway of the run-down apartment building, knocked on the door, and waited. A moment later, the door opened two inches, a chain stopping it. Sonya peeked out through the space.
“What’s up, Sonya?” Caleb said.
“You didn’t call. What do you want?”
“What do you mean, what do I want? Let me in.”
Sonya stared at Caleb for a moment, then closed the door. He heard the chain being unfastened. The door opened again, all the way this time. Sonya stood beside it, wearing jeans, a T-shirt, and flip-flops.
Caleb leaned in to kiss Sonya. She turned her head to the side, and Caleb pecked her on the cheek. He walked into the living room and looked around. Nothing had changed. The furniture was the same old ratty stuff he had bought from the thrift shop, and although Sonya was always cleaning, the apartment managed to look as though it were covered by a perpetual blanket of grime.
“See you keeping the place up nice,” Caleb said.
“Shouldn’t you be at work, Caleb?”
“Not for another few hours.”
“Then why you here?”
“Did you talk to Jahlil this morning about his absences?”
Sonya walked across the room, rubbing her arms as though it were cold. She sat down on the sofa. “Yeah.”
“And?”
“And everything’s fine. I told him if he don’t start going back, he’s gonna be in serious trouble with me and you.” Sonya glanced up at Caleb, then looked away. “He said he would do better.”
Caleb walked over to the sofa, stood over Sonya, his hands in his pockets. “I know you don’t like being hard on him, but it’s what he needs. If it don’t come from us, where’s it gonna come from?”
“I know,” Sonya said, looking down.
“Don’t worry,” Caleb said, resting a hand on her shoulder. “You’re doing a good job.” Caleb pulled his other hand out of his pocket and held something out to Sonya.
“What’s this?”
“It’s not a lot, but I just figured you could use it.”
Sonya took the money from Caleb to count it. It was twenty-five dollars.
“I don’t want it,” Sonya said, trying to give it back.
“It’s okay. Don’t act like you don’t need it.”
“I don’t. Not if it’s coming from you,” Sonya said.
“You over here working less than part-time, trying to raise our son by yourself, but you don’t—”
“I am raising him!” Sonya said, coming up off the sofa.
“And you turning down the little money I’m trying to give you?”
“Why you giving it to me, when I know you need it yourself?”
“ ’Cause I want you to have it.”
“No. You doing it thinking it’s gonna get your ass back in this apartment. That ain’t happening. I gave you twenty years of my life, and where am I? In this same, torn-up-ass apartment we started in,” Sonya said. “You kept telling me what you were gonna do, but you never did it. You ain’t done nothing. Not a goddamn thing.”
Caleb felt as though his heart had just been ripped from his chest. Sonya always had an uncanny knack of being able to make him feel that way. “You saying when I was here, things weren’t better for you and for Jahlil than they are now? That our son wasn’t in a lot less trouble when I was here?”
Sonya stared back at Caleb with narrowed eyes. “Since you’ve been gone, neither of us has missed you one bit.”
Caleb grabbed Sonya’s hand, pressed the twenty-five dollars back into her palm, smashed her fingers around it. “And you wonder why I went to another woman,” Caleb said, then walked off.
27
Jahlil didn’t feel like going back to school, but he had to. That worthless principal of his squealed to his parents, and now both his mother and father were on him. Despite how much he hated school, he realized if he didn’t at least make an effort to go, his parents would get on him worse, possibly stopping him from making the money he was getting on the side. With Shaun to take care of, and a baby on the way, missing that money wasn’t an option.
Jahlil told himself he would attend his last two class periods, then go back and check on Shaun later this evening.
Two blocks from school, Jahlil pulled out his cell phone to make a call. The battery had died.
He walked further down the street, passing a group of four rough-looking boys standing in front of the community center. They were talking low, staring at Jahlil as he approached.
Jahlil caught one of the boy’s stares as he passed. He was older, seventeen, eighteen, maybe even nineteen. He had a gold tooth in the front of his mouth. Jahlil nodded at the boy. The boy nodded back.
Jahlil slid his cell phone back into his pocket, hoping that Bug had brought his charger to school today. They had the same phone, and Jahlil didn’t like not having access to his cell.
When he looked up, Jahlil saw a boy ten feet in front of him, walking toward him. He had no idea where he came from. The boy wore a hood, had a vicious scar cutting down the side of his face, an
d he was staring right into Jahlil’s eyes as he neared him.
The situation wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. He lived in the hood. Every street he walked down, there were menacing-looking dudes hanging out, but something did not feel right to Jahlil that moment. He shoved his hands in his pockets, lowered his head, and thought about taking off, running as fast as he could. But nothing warranted that—nothing had happened. Instead, Jahlil continued on, held his breath, and kept his eyes down as the boy walked past.
A few steps later, he breathed a sigh of relief, thankful that he had made more of that situation than it actually was, when he heard, “Hey, you.”
Jahlil halted and slowly turned around. “Yeah. What’s up?”
The boy with the scar was now standing in front of him. “Yo’ name Jahlil?”
“Yeah. That’s my name.”
A weird smile appeared on the scarred boy’s face. Jahlil noticed his eyes look over Jahlil’s shoulder. The boy then nodded his head like he was communicating with someone.
Quickly, Jahlil spun around. When he did, he caught a glimpse of a boy speeding toward him, a demented look on his face, holding a wooden board. Before Jahlil could raise his hands, defend himself, the boy swung the plank like a baseball bat, striking him across his head and the side of his face.
Jahlil’s vision blurred, the world spun, and the light around him darkened. The sidewalk shifted below his feet and came up and struck him in the head. He was on the ground. He could hear nothing but the loud ringing in his brain and the muffled sound of the yelling boys as they gathered around him in a circle.
Through the fuzzy vision of his narrowed eyes, Jahlil could see how they jostled each other, trying to get at him. He read their mouths as they kicked and beat him. It looked as though they were yelling “G-Stone! G-Stone!” and throwing up hand signs in the form of Gs.
Jahlil, seeing the bottom of one boy’s boot as he raised it, figured this was payback for selling on G-Stone’s street. The boot crashed down onto Jahlil’s face, and then all went black.