by RM Johnson
After speaking to his old neighbor, Jim, from across the street, Austin walked over to Monica, who was having a conversation with a blonde Austin didn’t know. “Excuse me, ladies, but do either of you want anything from the kitchen? I’m going for a bottle of water.”
Both women declined, and Austin touched Monica on the arm before making his way through the thin crowd of people into the kitchen.
When he stepped in, Austin was surprised to see his brother Marcus there, holding a half glass of liquor.
“Wow,” Austin said. “Thought you said you weren’t coming. You know Reecie was invited.”
“I know. That’s why I changed my mind,” Marcus said. His speech was mildly slurred. “She can’t avoid me now.”
“I guess we’ll have to see about that. How long you been here?”
“About two and a half drinks long,” Marcus said, his eyelids hanging low.
“Sounds more like three drinks long,” Austin said, opening up the fridge and grabbing a bottle of water.
“Caleb coming?”
“Don’t think so,” Marcus said. “You know he doesn’t really go for stuff like this.”
Austin cracked his bottle, took a drink from it, and leaned against the kitchen counter. “So, what are you going to say when you see your wife?”
“I—” Marcus began.
Just then, the kitchen door swung open, and Reecie stepped in. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—” she said, turning, about to push her way back through the door.
“No, you don’t,” Austin said, hurrying over to grab her. “I think it’s time to stop acting like children and address this problem. I’ll be just outside in the dining room. If I hear any screaming or dishes being thrown, I’m coming back.”
Marcus watched his brother walk out, leaving him in the kitchen with his cheating wife. Even though he still loved her, he couldn’t stand the sight of her that moment.
“How have you been?” Reecie said, seeming almost ashamed to look directly at him.
“Why did you cheat on me?”
“It was dinner, Marcus.”
“Were you fucking him?” Marcus said, his speech slurring more.
“No. He was just a guy who had been asking me out for the last year, and I finally said yes.”
“That’s why you put me out? So you could start dating that guy?”
“No,” Reecie said. “I put you out because you had been out of work for two years.”
“I told you, I couldn’t help that!”
“How do you know? You sure as hell didn’t try to help it. Yes, I made enough to support the three of us, but why would you make me? For two years, I came home from working all day, made dinner, played with Sophie, and had to hear you complain about the economy when you weren’t doing anything but sitting at home on your ass all day.”
“I was painting! And I was keeping an eye out for design jobs. It wasn’t my fault that there weren’t any out there.”
“Really, Marcus? And how did that help us?” Reecie said. “I was in it by myself. I begged and begged you to find work anywhere. It wouldn’t have mattered. McDonald’s would’ve been fine. At least I would’ve known that you were trying. But when you refused, it told me that you had given up on us. You were only thinking about yourself, and I couldn’t take it any longer. Your ass had to go, if only to teach you a lesson,” Reecie said, waving a hand. “You had to go.”
Marcus stood, leaning against the counter, holding his drink, his head slightly fuzzy from the alcohol, but he still felt the full impact of what his wife said. “And the guy?”
“It was a date with no intentions of anything more than dinner and a few laughs. I realized it was wrong after the fact, but when was the last time you took me out for dinner?”
“I didn’t have any money.”
“If you’d just suggested it, I would’ve paid.”
Marcus lowered his head. He felt his wife approach him. She took the drink out of his hand, set it down, and intertwined her fingers with his.
“I’m sorry about what happened in the restaurant. Like I said, I was wrong.”
“And I’m sorry for making you feel you needed to have done it,” Marcus said, meeting her eyes. “I’m sorry for being selfish, and for giving up. Can you forgive me?”
Reecie leaned in, kissed Marcus’s lips. “I can, if—”
“I got a job interview next week, if that’s what you’re about to say. It’s not as a graphic designer, but—”
“It’ll do just fine,” Reecie said, hugging Marcus. “Whatever it is.”
Half an hour later, Austin sat parked outside Monica’s house. The two were passionately kissing when Austin suddenly pulled away.
“What?” Monica said, looking flustered, breathing hard.
“What are we doing?”
“We’re making out. Why’d you stop?” Monica said, leaning in to continue. Austin pulled further away.
“We’re making out in my car, when you have a nice, comfortable bed in your house. And I’m sure you have some eggs and bacon in your fridge you can hook up in the morning.”
Monica smiled. “Oh, so you wanna go in my house and get in my bed.”
“Yup.”
“And in the morning, your audacious ass think I’m gonna be cooking you eggs and bacon.”
“I didn’t say that.” Austin smiled.
“Oh yes, you did.”
“Oh yeah, I guess I did. I’m just saying, if you wanna cook breakfast, I’ll definitely eat it.”
“You know this would be like three nights in a row we’ve spent together.”
“Yeah. I know.”
“But this would be the first time you’ve spent the night. That’s a big deal. That sounds like we’d be starting something that could lead to, dare I say, a relationship.”
“I can understand why you’d worry about that happening,” Austin joked. “You look at how handsome I am, how successful, oh yeah, and how great I am in the sack, and you worry that if you let me spend the night, it’s over for you. You won’t be able to resist me anymore. You’re scared, and it’s perfectly understandable.” Austin chuckled. “This is what I’ll do. You can invite me in, and we can see what happens, or you can jump out of the car right now, and not have to worry about us having the best sex of our lives, you falling deeply in love with me, and us wanting to spend the rest of our lives together. But you have to decide now. What will it be?”
“I have to decide now? Like right now? I can’t think about it?”
“Nope. Right now,” Austin said.
“Fine.” Monica gave Austin a peck on the lips and opened her door. She climbed out and started up the path to her house without looking back.
Austin waited a moment, a slowly fading smile on his face, thinking Monica would look back, but she didn’t. He was dumbfounded. What had he done or said wrong? It was a joke. Didn’t she know that? Should he get out of the car, chase after her, tell her he was sorry? No, he told himself, watching Monica as she climbed her stairs and unlocked her front door. He would only make a bigger fool of himself.
As Monica pushed open her door, Austin asked himself if this was it for the two of them. He realized it very well could’ve been and was surprised how saddened he was by that possibility.
Staring up at her, he realized he didn’t care about making a fool of himself. Austin grabbed his door handle, was about to pull it open, run after her, when he saw Monica turn, just inside her house, push her dress off her shoulders, then let it drop down to the floor. With a seductive smile and a curl of her finger, she invited Austin in.
79
Caleb sat in the cargo area of a white van, on the way to the electronics store. He had finally called and told Blue to include him on the job. Three men sat with him. One was Blue. The other two were men Caleb didn’t know. They looked angry and starved for money, like they had been in prison, were unable to find work, and were doing this job as a last resort to pay for a bad drug habit or debt or to care for family. T
hey looked like Caleb.
After the incident with Jahlil, seeing Sonya on the floor like that, Caleb knew action had to be taken. He knew money wouldn’t be the answer to all his troubles, but it was what Sonya demanded in order to even think about letting Caleb back into the house.
Blue had told Caleb that each man could walk away with ten grand. That would get Caleb and his family out of their neighborhood. He could rent a house somewhere, a place big enough for them and Jahlil’s girlfriend and the new baby. There would even be enough to make some improvements to Caleb’s business, maybe buy a new van, new uniforms, or possibly hire another employee. All those things would make his company appear more “established,” and ultimately win him new contracts.
“You all right?” Blue asked, as the van rolled over a pothole.
“Yeah,” Caleb said, not sure if he actually meant it. He looked up at one of the men who sat on the opposite side of the van. A sheer stocking cap was pulled over his freshly braided cornrows. The man must’ve felt Caleb’s stare. He looked up with evil eyes. Caleb didn’t look away. He thought about the moments years ago, after he was released from the penitentiary, standing outside the prison’s gate, looking back at the guards who had controlled his life for the previous five years.
Now, as Caleb was being driven closer to the robbery site, he asked himself whether his time in prison had really affected his son. Had that turned Jahlil into the boy he was now? The boy who cut school, who sold drugs, who robbed people, who hadn’t thought enough about his future not to have a child at sixteen?
If that was the reason, wouldn’t that have meant that Caleb was responsible? He forced the thought out of his head to find that he was still staring at the man sitting across from him in the van.
“You got a motherfuckin’ eye problem?” the man said.
“Sorry,” Caleb said, looking away, returning to his thoughts.
Hopefully, with this money, Caleb could build his business into something, so that his son, and maybe even his granddaughter, would never have to worry about their future.
Caleb smiled at the thought of his success, and the pride his family would feel for him. But he had to question the way he was trying to accomplish his goal.
Didn’t he have these same intentions so many years ago, when he, Blue, and Ray Ray robbed that convenience store? When Ray Ray lay there dying in his arms? That moment, a vision appeared in Caleb’s head. He was on the floor of that same store, holding his dying friend, Caleb’s arms, his shirt covered with Ray Ray’s blood. But the face he stared down into this time was his son’s.
Caleb looked up as if startled from a dream.
“What’s up?” Blue said, sensing something wrong.
“Stop the van,” Caleb said, softly.
“What?”
Caleb called up to the driver. “Yo, stop the van!”
The driver looked back over his shoulder, a questioning look on his face.
“Caleb,” Blue said, “you need this money. Ain’t that what you said? Don’t be making no hasty decisions you gonna be—”
“I said stop the motherfucking van!” Caleb yelled. “I’m getting off.” He turned to Blue. “Get off with me, okay? We’ve been here before, and we know where it’s gonna lead.”
Blue smiled, shaking his head. “Naw, man. I’m about to get this money, but I ain’t going back to prison. Promise you that.”
The van pulled over to the curb. The driver threw an arm over his seat, yelled back at Caleb, “You getting off or what?”
“Blue, please,” Caleb said.
“You the one with the family,” Blue said. “I understand why you bailing. But it’s just me. I can roll the dice. Now get out of here, before dude start driving again.”
“Blue—”
“Get the fuck off the van,” the driver yelled at Caleb. “Or I’m pulling off.”
Blue smiled. “You hear the man. Get the fuck off the van, Caleb.”
80
It was dark and late, and as Jahlil walked, he looked into the windows of the storefront businesses that lined Fifty-Fifth Street. He was thinking the wrong thing, planning a way to get him out of his messed-up situation.
Jahlil walked slowly past a gas station, saw a big man behind the register look out at him as though he knew what was going through Jahlil’s mind. Jahlil turned his face away, pulled his hood over his head, and kept on walking.
He strolled past a restaurant. The idea of busting through the door, gun drawn, yelling at the terrified diners, popped into his head, but there were just too many people. Police would come, Jahlil would be arrested, driven off to jail, and that would defeat everything.
No, Jahlil thought, if he was going to do this, the situation would have to be perfect. He looked down at his watch. It read 8:55 p.m. Most of the stores would be just about to close. The employees would be gone. Maybe there’d be just one person closing. This was the ideal time.
He walked in front of a small jewelry store and stopped. He didn’t see anyone inside, but the lights were still on, and he saw envelopes on top of one of the glass cases, as if someone was in the middle of doing something with them but had momentarily walked away.
Jahlil looked up and down the street. No one was watching. He approached the store, checked it. The door was unlocked, so he pulled it open. A bell went off that announced his entrance, startling him. From the back room, an overweight, middle-aged woman appeared, saying, “Sorry, we’re closing and—”
Jahlil had the gun out of his pocket, pointed at the space between the woman’s eyes before she could finish her sentence.
She screamed and threw her hands in front of her face.
“Shut up!” Jahlil yelled, his fists shaking around the gun. He was in it now, and there was nothing he could do but finish. “Is there anyone else here?”
“No. No. It’s just me,” the woman said, frightened.
“Don’t lie to me!”
“I swear to God.”
Jahlil quickly, nervously scanned the store. “Where’s the money?”
“Please!” The woman said. “Don’t hurt me.”
“I said where’s the fucking money?”
“In the safe.”
“Get it.”
“It’s time-locked. It won’t open till tomorrow morning.”
“Then the jewelry,” Jahlil said. “Get me some of that, and hurry up,” he said, looking over his shoulder.
“Oh, God. That’s in the safe too,” the woman cried. “Please, just leave, and I won’t tell anyone. Just—”
“Shut up!” Jahlil said again, not knowing what to do. Yes, he could leave, but he would have nothing. He would be in the same situation he started in. He needed the money. Something told him the woman was lying. Not knowing what else to do, Jahlil spun to the door, locked it, and shut off the interior lights.
“Oh Jesus, don’t!”
Jahlil hurried over to the woman, the gun still pointed at her. “Get in the back.”
“Why? Why!” the woman screamed.
“Because I don’t believe you!”
The room was small. There was a folding table, three chairs, and a watercooler. A huge safe sat against a wall, a blinking red light on it.
“Open it,” Jahlil said.
“I … I told you. It’s timed—”
“I don’t give a fuck!” Jahlil yelled. “I said walk over there and open it.” He jabbed the gun at the woman, which made her move toward the safe. She stood in front of it, trembling, as if waiting on directions for what to do next.
“Open it!” Jahlil ordered again.
The woman cried louder, lowered herself to her knees. She grabbed the cross that was hanging from her necklace, kissed it several times, then pressed her palms together and begged. “I can’t. Just please, please …”
She was telling the truth, Jahlil now told himself. But where did that leave him? He didn’t have the money he needed to save his girlfriend and their baby from her mother, the money he needed to save him
self from his father and the awful life he’d had so far. He was a failure in school, was responsible for the death of his best friend, and didn’t see any other future for himself other than a continuation of the horrible life he was living that moment.
Jahlil looked over at the woman, sobbing, mumbling prayers, thinking that she was on the verge of dying, that Jahlil was actually going to kill her, when there was nothing further from the truth. This was not what he wanted to do. It was too much for him, had always been, but he did it because he had to.
“Sorry,” Jahlil said under his breath. He turned to go, took a step, but felt the room spin, his knees buckle, and it felt as though he was going to fall. He stumbled but steadied himself on the edge of the folding table. He was dizzy, and he knew it was from the stress that had been plaguing him for so long.
He grabbed one of the chairs, lowered himself into it.
“Are you—” the woman began, but Jahlil quickly raised the gun at her again. “I was just asking if you were okay,” the woman said, smearing the tears from her face.
“I’m not okay,” Jahlil mumbled. He looked over at the safe. “You sure you can’t get in there?”
“I promise. Before God, I promise.”
Jahlil slumped in the chair. He wore no facial expression. He exhaled deeply, wiped his nose with the back of the hand holding the gun, then pointed it back at the woman. He stood, not believing he was about to utter the words in his brain.
“I need for you to roll over and lie on your stomach,” Jahlil said.
The woman’s face went completely white. Her eyes bulged and she appeared to gag on her own breath. She coughed up a fright-filled “Why?”
Jahlil took two more steps toward her, his arm outstretched, the gun aimed at the side of the woman’s skull. He would have to do this, he urged himself. There was no money, but she had seen his face. She would call the police. They would come, take him away, throw him in prison, and he would never see Shaun again, or his little girl. He would be just like his father, and he would rather die than do that. “Because I fucking said!” Jahlil yelled, his hand shaking around the gun, his finger taut on the trigger.