by RM Johnson
“I tried. But I couldn’t.”
“But you told him you did,” Lewis said. “You fucking lied to him and told him you did. You ever think that was what drove him over the edge, had him acting all crazy, landing him in the fucking asylum?”
“Don’t put that on me. He started that nonsense way before I told him that. What you think had me wanting the abortion?”
“Tell yourself whatever you need to to be right with Freddy sitting in some cell, making threats about going to get people. Lucky he can’t back up none of that shit he’s talking,” Lewis said, anger on his face. He turned away from Kia, started walking.
“Lewis,” Kia called.
Lewis stopped, looked back.
“Don’t be so sure he can’t back it up.”
“What?” Lewis said, taking a couple of steps back to Kia, a scowl on his face. “What did you say?”
“Crazy or not, Freddy doesn’t say stuff he don’t mean. If it’s just to get under your skin, or he really means to come after you, Freddy don’t say stuff just to say it.”
“So what are you saying?” Lewis said, and for the first time, he gave those threats serious concern.
“Maybe you need to talk to him and find out exactly what he’s talking about.”
64
Okay, that’s them,” Blue said, from behind the wheel of his Buick Regal. He wore a black leather jacket, dark sunglasses, and a red bandanna tied around his neck, hanging under his chin.
“Where?” Caleb said, sitting up to get a look out the windshield. His sunglasses lay on the dashboard, and he too wore a bandanna.
“The black Monte Carlo pulling to the curb. Those two guys gonna go in, then one is gonna come back out.” Blue waited till both men exited the car, then pointed to the taller, blond man. “He’s the lookout. The other one stays inside and trades the money for the drugs. When that’s done, he comes out too, they get back in the car, and go. I mean, that ain’t gonna happen tonight, ’cause we gonna jack they ass.” Blue smiled. “But that’s normally how it goes every two weeks.”
“How many people inside?” Caleb asked, no longer feeling certain this was something he wanted to do.
“Two guys, three tops. They never gonna know what hit ’em.” Blue reached into the glove box, pulled out a gun, and handed it to Caleb. “Here.”
“What? I don’t want that,” Caleb said, moving away from it.
“When the buyers go in, we roll up on opposite sides of that door. When the first one comes out, you put the gun on him, I go in and steal they shit,” Blue said. “You gotta have the gun. Now take it.”
Caleb didn’t reach for the weapon.
“Take the fucking gun, Caleb!”
Caleb stared down at it but still did not move.
“What you gonna do? We don’t go now, you don’t get your money, and you deal with Kwan tomorrow. It’s your call.” Blue pressed. “They about to go in the building. Make up your mind.”
Caleb prayed that everything would be fine and took the gun from Blue. “Soon as they go in, you take the right side of the building, I’ll take the left.”
Blue pulled his bandanna over his mouth and nose and snatched his two guns from the waist of his jeans. Caleb pulled up his scarf, slid the dark shades on, and tried to calm himself as best he could.
“Okay,” Blue said. “They inside. Now!”
Blue and Caleb opened their car doors and ran, heads lowered, hunched over, to the building. From behind the corner, Blue stuck his head out and whispered loudly, “As soon as dude comes out, you roll up on him, and I’m going in.”
Caleb felt dizzy with anxiety. His hand was trembling around the gun, and he wished he could just shut his eyes and disappear, but he heard the door opening, saw the first man step out.
His back was to Caleb, so Caleb darted out from around the corner as quickly and quietly as he could. Before the man could turn, the barrel of Caleb’s gun was pressed to the back of his skull.
“Don’t move. I don’t wanna have to kill you,” Caleb said, his voice less than convincing. The man slowly raised his hands over his head. Caleb reached around, patted his torso for a weapon, and grabbed the gun from the holster he wore under his left arm.
Blue appeared from around the other corner and ran to the door. Caleb saw Blue’s eyes smiling, as he gave him a thumbs-up, before Blue pulled the door open and disappeared inside. Caleb could hear Blue’s muffled voice as he yelled, “A’ight, bitches. This is a stickup! Hand over the shit!”
An hour later, Blue and Caleb had taken the drugs and the money to Blue’s contact and had been paid what they were owed.
“Easiest four grand you ever made, huh?” Blue said.
Caleb didn’t respond. He was still too wound up from what had just happened. “It wasn’t easy.”
“But it worked. Now you got the money to give Kwan and still got a thousand to blow. Kinda like the old days, right?”
“Those days I never want to go back to, Blue.”
“So you sayin’, if dude wanna use you for another job, you don’t want no part of it?”
“Yeah. That’s what I’m saying,” Caleb said.
65
Marcus brought his Honda Accord to a stop across the street and a number of car lengths behind his wife’s car. They were parked across the street from a fine Italian restaurant.
“She’s just going to dinner,” Austin said, still not knowing why he had foolishly agreed to accompany his brother on his insane chase. “I’m sure she’s just meeting girlfriends.”
“Dressed like that?” Marcus said, jealously gripping the steering wheel with both fists.
Austin had to admit, Reecie was dressed provocatively. She wore sexy high heels and a tight-fitting dress that hung just above her knees and exposed too much cleavage. “Girls like to look nice. What do they say, ‘Women don’t dress for men but for each other.’”
“Whoever said that was a liar,” Marcus said, shifting the car into park. “Well?”
“Well, what?” Austin asked.
“Well, I’m gonna wait here while you go in there and find out whether I’m right or not.”
“What? Why me? This is your crazy—”
“You know I can’t go. If she sees me, she’ll know I followed her. That’ll screw up any chance I have of her letting me come back home.”
Austin looked out his window at the restaurant.
“You have to go,” Marcus said. “It’s no big deal. She’s probably in there with her girlfriends just like you said, and if she spots you, just say you were meeting somebody for a drink.”
Austin pulled on the car door handle and set a foot on the pavement. “And when I confirm she’s not in there with some man, you have to promise never to ask me to do something this foolish again.”
“Promise. Now could you go?”
Austin walked across the street and into the restaurant. It was fairly dark and cozy inside. He had never heard of this place, but he grabbed one of their matchbooks on the way to the bar, thinking he would have to take Monica here one night.
The hostess smiled at Austin from behind a podium and asked if he wanted a table for one.
“No.” He smiled back. “I’m … uh … meeting a party,” he said, looking into the dining room.
When Austin entered the small bar area, he saw three single men sitting on bar stools, and two couples, but no Reecie. He looked over his shoulder, wondering if there was more to the restaurant, when his cell started to vibrate in his pocket. He pulled it out. It was a text from Marcus. See her yet?
No, Austin texted back. He told himself he would take a look in the dining room, then leave, letting his brother deal with this insanity on his own, but first he needed to use the men’s room.
Austin walked down the corridor, pushed his way through the door marked men. Inside he did his business, washed and dried his hands, then stepped out into the dimly lit hallway to notice a woman walking ahead of him with a nice shape. For only a split second, Aus
tin admired the curves of her hips and the way she walked, until he realized he was staring at Reecie.
He suppressed the urge to call to her, tell her about his mistake, so they could have a laugh; he let Reecie continue until she turned the corner.
She turned toward the bar. Austin followed cautiously, stopping at the doorway.
He saw one of the single men at the bar, a decent-looking guy, chubby, a little shorter than Marcus, stand, take Reecie’s hand, kiss her on the cheek, and help her back onto her bar stool before sitting himself. Austin quickly stepped back around the corner and pressed himself against the wall, hating the position he was now in.
Outside, he climbed in the car without looking at Marcus.
“Well?” Marcus said, anxious.
“Well, what?” Austin stalled.
“Was she in there or not!”
“Of course she was in there. We saw her go in. It’s not like she just disappeared.”
“Dammit! Was she in there with a man?”
Austin slid down in his seat some, wanting to lie, wishing he could. But he dropped his head, and softly said, “Marcus, don’t do anything you’re going to regret.”
“She’s the one who’s going to regret this,” Marcus said angrily, grabbing hold of the door and flinging it open.
66
The next morning, Austin stood in his office, staring at Reecie. She stood before him, her eyes downcast, dark half circles hung under them. Austin assumed she hadn’t slept much. She was deserving of a far worse punishment than lack of sleep.
“Just give me one reason why I shouldn’t fire your ass this very minute,” Austin said.
“Because my marriage to Marcus has nothing to do with this job.”
“It has everything to do with this job,” Austin corrected. “If you weren’t working here, I would’ve never introduced you to Marcus. If you weren’t working here, I would’ve never known you, thought you were good enough for him. Obviously, I was wrong.”
“I’m sorry you were there to see that, but Austin, this is between Marcus and me, and you know it.”
“He’s my brother. You think I’m going to stand by and let you do this to him? How serious are things between you and that clown from last night?”
“Like I said, that’s between my husband and me.”
Austin spun angrily away from her, trying to suppress the urge to tell her exactly how he felt. Turning back, he said, “The only reason I don’t get rid of you is then both of you would be out of work, and I won’t have my niece suffering for your stupidity.”
“I was wrong,” Reecie said. “I’ll fix things.”
Austin stepped over to his desk. He picked up a couple of envelopes, glanced at them, then tossed them down. “If you don’t, I will.”
67
Toomey’s services were held in a small South Side funeral home. Only a handful of people showed. Toomey’s mother was there, his sister, and his aunt. There were four or five students as well—classmates of Toomey’s that Jahlil didn’t know. And in the back of the room, there were two old men leaning on canes. Jahlil didn’t know who they were either.
Bug sat in one of the folding chairs next to Jahlil. Neither of them wore dress clothes because they didn’t have them. They sat there in their jeans and long-sleeved shirts, the collars buttoned at the top. He felt that their clothes might have been disrespecting their friend, but the important thing, Jahlil figured, was that they showed.
The funeral director spoke, then Toomey’s mother. She cried at the podium, constantly looking down into the casket at her dead son. Afterward, she had to be helped back to her chair. More family spoke, and there was a lot more crying. Even Bug shed some tears. The whole event was just too much for Jahlil. He still couldn’t believe his best friend was gone, and he couldn’t believe that it was his fault that he was.
After the funeral director said final words, he asked if anyone wanted to view the body before the casket was closed.
Jahlil turned to Bug.
“I ain’t goin’, man,” Bug said, still smearing tears from his chubby cheeks. “I just can’t. You?”
Jahlil looked up at the short line of loved ones, viewing Toomey’s body for the last time. “I have to.”
“I’ll wait for you outside,” Bug said.
Jahlil joined the end of the line, taking slow steps toward his slain best friend. When he made it to the casket, Jahlil did not look at his friend at first but inhaled deeply, tried to ready himself for what he might see, then finally turned to gaze into the casket.
Toomey was dressed in a dark blue suit, his hands stacked on his chest. His face was waxen, covered with makeup. He looked good but fake, like a mannequin.
Jahlil wanted to reach into that casket, shake Toomey by the lapels, tell him to stop playin’, but this was no joke. Toomey was dead. Jahlil wiped at the tear that rushed down his face and was about to tell his friend how sorry he was, when he was interrupted by a tug at the elbow of his shirt. He turned to see Toomey’s mother. She was a heavy woman, wearing a black dress, gloves, and a large hat. She pressed a hand onto the little girl next to her, Toomey’s little sister, as though she needed the child to keep her upright.
“It was you,” Toomey’s mother said. “Always in trouble, always dragging my son in it with you.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. —” Jahlil tried apologizing.
“If it wasn’t for you, my child would not be lying dead in this coffin,” Toomey’s mother said, raising her voice, drawing the attention of everyone in the funeral home. The little girl looked away, embarrassed. “You … you should be the one lying in that coffin. You should be the one that’s dead.”
“I’m sorry,” Jahlil said again. “I don’t want Toomey to be dead.”
“Don’t matter what you want. My son is gone,” Toomey’s mother sobbed. “And I hope and pray, hope and pray, you gonna be next.”
68
After the funeral, Lewis had shown up at the apartment just as he had told Jahlil he would when he dropped him off after their last visit. Jahlil answered the door, saw that it was Lewis. Ashamed of his home, Jahlil tried to hurry out before letting Lewis see the place.
“Hold it, is that the man your father told me about?” Jahlil’s mother said. “Invite him in. I want to meet him.”
Reluctantly, Jahlil did as he was told.
Lewis walked into the ragged apartment but didn’t seem like he thought he was above the place. He smiled at Jahlil’s mother, shook her hand, and introduced himself.
“So you work over there with Jahlil’s father?” Sonya said.
“Yeah, we only met a little while ago, but he’s a nice guy. I like him. Turns out we lived around the same neighborhood.”
“Oh, okay,” Sonya said, not seeming impressed with the bit of information Lewis offered. “You’re gonna take good care of my boy, right?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Lewis said. “Just taking him to my place to have dinner with my family and bringing him right back.”
Once there, Jahlil met Lewis’s daughter Layla, his girlfriend Eva, and her daughter Tammi. They sat down in the living room of Lewis’s four-bedroom, three-bathroom home. The space was as big, it seemed, as Jahlil’s apartment and filled with stylish furniture that looked as though it had just come from a furniture store. The house was in a quiet neighborhood, with cut grass and no graffiti on the sides of buildings, and the family had dinner just like people did on TV. Until that moment, Jahlil didn’t really believe there were black folks who actually lived that way.
Afterward, Lewis and Jahlil went downstairs to watch a little TV on the big flat-screen, before Lewis took Jahlil home. They talked about Jahlil’s grades for a while, then the conversation landed on Jahlil’s girlfriend.
“My father never married my mother. I think that’s wrong,” Jahlil said. “I don’t wanna do that to Shaun.”
“You must really love her,” Lewis said.
“I do. But it costs money to be married, to live in a house lik
e this, and I ain’t got it.”
Lewis chuckled. “You’re only sixteen. You don’t need much money.”
“I do.”
“Why?”
Jahlil stood. “I think it’s probably time for you to take me home.”
Lewis grabbed Jahlil’s arm. “Hold it. Is everything okay?”
Jahlil looked Lewis in the eyes. He knew he shouldn’t tell him, but the man seemed to know what Jahlil was going through, seemed as though he had gone through the same things when he was Jahlil’s age. Now he had everything that Jahlil wanted. Maybe by hearing his story, Lewis could help him find a way to get those things too.
“Shaun’s gonna have our baby.”
Lewis didn’t say a word, didn’t look like he was disappointed in Jahlil. “When?”
“Two weeks, something like that.”
“Your father told me about you getting beat up at school. Did it have anything to do with Shaun and your baby?”
“Trying to make money,” Jahlil said, not looking at Lewis but staring off into the distance. “Sold a little weed on the wrong corner. Thought I could get away with it but didn’t.”
“That’s not the right way to make money, Jahlil. I think you know that.”
“Tell me another way. Tell me how I can take care of my girl and my baby, move us away from my mom’s crappy-ass apartment, and live a halfway decent life. Tell me!” Jahlil said. “ ’Cause if you can’t, I’m gonna have to go out there and do it again.”
“Okay,” Lewis said, trying to calm Jahlil down. “You know where I work. I see and hear about all sorts of programs that pay to help folks who want to get married and get places so they can raise their kids the right way. There’s all sorts of assistance, so you won’t have to go back out there.”
“I don’t know about any assistance.”
“I do. Tell you what. Me and Eva, we’re gonna look into it for you, okay? We’re going to find a program that’s going to take care of you, your girl, and your baby. We’re gonna work this out.”