by Teri Woods
“Hi, Daisy. You can call me Bobby,” he said, shaking her hand lightly.
Surprisingly, the lawyer wasn’t that bad. He seemed to already know that she was a hired hand, and he didn’t ask her a bunch of questions, but more or less told her what she would probably be asked and gave her all the answers to the questions. And after it was all over with, she wished she had talked to Mr. DeSimone before speaking with Detective Delgado and Detective Ross. Leaving the office, she actually felt better about the alibi. Bobby DeSimone, Esquire, had a way of talking as if he had it all mapped out and it was nothing but a piece of cake. He made her feel relaxed and told her everything would be okay. He handed her a subpoena on her way out the door of his office.
“See you guys in court,” he said.
“All right, sir, see you Wednesday,” said Sticks.
The only problem with the alibi was going to be Calvin Stringer, and unfortunately, she was the only one who knew that he would blow Sticks’s alibi right out of the water in order to save his liquor license and the Honey Dipper. She thought about speaking to Sticks about what Calvin had told her, but decided not to. Truth was, she had no intention of giving that alibi, let alone even being in town next Wednesday.
Sticks turned onto Hadfield Avenue, pulled his car into a parking spot, and cut his ignition. He looked at Daisy for a moment, wondering what she was thinking. He had had a bad feeling about her, a bad feeling that she wouldn’t come through, ever since last week when he tried paging her and calling her house and she didn’t answer or return his calls. He knew then. He didn’t dare speak, though; that would only bring heat on him. Daisy didn’t understand the situation fully; it wasn’t necessary for her. The only thing to do was to stick to the story. Nothing else mattered, at least not to Simon Shuller. As long as there was nothing that would or could end up leading back to him, no one needed to panic. But, the minute anything went down in the streets, a bar, a club, a train, a plane, wherever, and there was a remote chance it would bring heat back to him, he had no choice but to pick up the phone. And when he picked up the phone, oh, boy, it was a wrap. Reinforcements, silent soldiers, eliminators, and the cleanup squad would come through, and before Sticks could count to ten, Nard, Daisy Mae, and Sticks’s black ass would become invisible, and poof… just vanish into thin air never to be seen or heard from again. Houdini couldn’t do a better job. And the only reason he was still running around in the streets was that Simon Shuller was giving him the benefit of the doubt based on the fact that Nard was riding like a soldier, riding the time, riding for the murder trial, riding to win, riding to come home. That was the only reason Simon Shuller didn’t blame his ass. He wasn’t working the police, he wasn’t snitching, and he wasn’t cooperating. But had Nard spoken one word to the police or the DA’s office, you best believe, the first weasel on Simon Shuller’s eliminator list would have been Sticks, because it was Sticks who had brought Nard around and vouched for him. The second on his list would be Nard, and next up would be the last link to him, the chick who was giving the alibi, Daisy Mae Fothergill, or whoever the hell she was.
“So, we straight?” he asked, waiting for her to stick him for a couple of dollars. Everybody had some kind of story when it came to the almighty dollar. Sticks had heard eight million and one and counting.
“Yeah, I guess, Wednesday, right?”
“Yeah, Wednesday, you gonna be ready?”
“Mmm hmm,” she said, looking away from him.
“Look, man, I ain’t got time to be tracking you down, Daisy, man. Fuck that, I called you a hundred and one times, man. That shit ain’t fucking cool, you playin’ games, Daisy.”
“Naw, naw, I’m not. I’ll be ready. I just was running around, Sticks, you just don’t know, times is hard, real hard. You got money, I don’t. So, it’s easy for you.”
“Look, if you need a couple of dollars, Daisy, just let me know. What do you need?”
Daisy looked at Sticks as if he were from outer space. Is this nigga serious? He ain’t never been this kind to me, never. I have to haggle this nigga all night long to get five dollars, now it’s whatever I need. Is he serious? Daisy figured she would try her luck, see what happened.
“You know what I really need, Sticks?”
“What?” he asked, but thought to himself, What the fuck do you want bitch, ’cause I think you playing games.
“I need a car.”
“A car,” he responded. Is she out of her mind? What the fuck I look like?
“Look, you want me to testify for some nigga I don’t even know. You want me to testify. Think about that, that’s not what you said in the beginning. In the beginning you just wanted me to speak to some private investigator you said you hired. Shit, had I known that shit six months ago, I would have never said that bullshit to that investigator you had sitting all up in my kitchen. My momma told me not to do that shit too, but I didn’t listen. Now, you got me all caught up in the middle of some shit, and I got to go to court and testify in front of a judge. Come on, for someone that I don’t even know. I think that’s worth more than a car, don’t you?”
Sticks didn’t know what to make of Daisy. First she was missing in action, not taking his calls. Now, she was speaking as if he owed her something, and technically he knew she had a strong point. He sat quietly looking out of the window, thinking how to deal with her. He didn’t know if he should just punch her in the face, pummel her, and drag her into the courthouse, or if he should buy her a car and kiss her ass. He figured that, since court was in a couple of days, it probably would be better to do the latter and buy her a car and kiss her ass.
“You testify for me and I’ll have a brand-new Jaguar waiting for you outside the courthouse. Whadda you think of that?” Sticks asked, having it all figured out.
“I think after I testify, you liable not to do nothing for me. I think you need to get my car before I testify. What you think about that?” she said, tilting her head to the side and puckering up her lips and licking them with her tongue at him, ever so seductively.
“A car, huh?”
“Yeah, Sticks, come on, please?” she begged as she moved closer to him, stroking his chest. “You know I take care of you, right? Don’t I always look out for you? So, please, come on,” she said, rubbing on his chest.
“Come here, come here,” said Sticks, as he grabbed the back of her head with his right hand and with his left began unzipping his pants. He pulled out his dick, thick and fat, not quite rock hard, but definitely ready to seize the moment at hand, adjusted himself comfortably, and guided her head down.
Daisy obliged him, knowing that he would tip her, he always did, with a hundred-dollar bill. That was one of the problems she had dealing with Sticks’s personality. Everything had to be done on his terms. If she took cash before sex services then she turned him into a trick, a john, or a business transaction. That would never happen. Sticks wasn’t paying for no pussy. Even though she was a stripper, she had to fuck him for free, and that was that. It would kill his ego any other way.
Getting out of the car, she looked at him and asked again. “So, you gonna take care of that for me, before Wednesday?”
“I got you, I got you.”
“Mmm hmm, right,” she responded, knowing better, but it was okay, none of it mattered anyway. She was holding close to fifty thousand dollars in her bag and didn’t need Sticks or nobody else at that very moment. You ain’t got to do nothing for me, Mr. Sticks, or whatever your real name is. No, Daisy already had a plan and her plan was to get out of town, blow court, and take her fifty thousand dollars and start a new life, and she knew exactly where she was going to go: Murfreesboro, Tennessee, with her aunt Tildie and cousin Kimmie Sue.
PRICE OF LIFE
Daisy had a hundred and one things to do before Wednesday. I only got one week. She sat at her kitchen table sipping on a morning cup of coffee. Should I pack and put my stuff in storage? I’ll be coming back one day, maybe? Should I tell evil-ass Lester I’m breaking my le
ase? I don’t know, I just don’t know. If I go and get settled in Murfreesboro ain’t no need to come back here, right? She didn’t know what to do about her apartment at all. That was a hard one. Dr. Vistane got me scheduled for my abortion on Monday. She began to look at Tuesday as her last day in the city. I’ll leave out Tuesday night. Just then the phone rang. Daisy jumped up and answered it.
“Hello,” she said into the phone receiver.
“Yo, Dais, the lawyer just called and said that they pushing the case back two more weeks. The prosecutors postponed it, okay. The new court date is the twenty-third, so be ready, you understand?”
“Yeah, no problem, I’m gonna mark it on my calendar right now,” she said, taking a pen and scribbling “court date” inside the twenty-third box on her calendar. She breathed a sigh of relief. This is the best news I got all day. I got more time to disappear. Do I understand? Does he understand my black ass is getting out of Dodge? Let’s see if you understand that!
“So, what you doing?” he asked coyly.
“Nothing, just got up. Why, what you doing?”
“Nothing, I’m outside. I got something for you.”
He hung up the phone, and Daisy looked at the receiver. He got something for me?
She quickly looked around her apartment. I wonder what he got for me. She picked up a pair of sweatpants that were lying in the corner of her bedroom. She put them on and slipped on a pair of slippers. Her hair was wrapped up in a scarf and she had on an oversized white T-shirt, complementing her baggy sweatpants. She grabbed her keys and headed out the door, making sure it locked behind her.
She walked outside and stood on the front porch. “Hey, Sticks, what’s going on?”
“Nothing, just got something for you,” said Sticks, holding up the keys to a Cadillac Seville. She just looked at him.
“You made me come downstairs for keys?” she asked.
He didn’t say nothing, just picked up her hand and slapped the keys into it.
“What do I do with them?”
“I don’t know, they for your car, so you can do with them whatever you want to,” Sticks said as he motioned to a silver Cadillac parked across the street.
Daisy looked at him skeptically.
“What the fuck you looking at me all crazy for? Shit, that muhfucker’s right, right there. They don’t make ’em like that no more.”
“That’s my car?”
“Yeah, you rolling now, baby. And she’s clean.”
“Wow it’s beautiful. What kind is it?”
“It’s a 1979 Cadillac Seville. It don’t get more gangster than this, baby.”
“Wow, I can’t believe it. I can’t believe you got me a car.”
“Well, technically, I didn’t get you no car. This here is from Nard. He’s the one that got you a car. He wanted to thank you, for what you’re doing. So, he got you a car.”
“Wow,” Daisy whispered to herself, unable to believe that she had the most beautiful shiny silver Cadillac in the whole world and it was all hers.
“He’s taking care of the paperwork. By the time you testify, he’ll have the title waiting for you,” Sticks said, matter-of-fact. He had it all mapped out. Every detail was covered, and if it wasn’t, it would be. Nard would come home. The entire case was circumstantial, even the girl who identified him from a photo in her hospital bed was dead. Who could be 100 percent sure to take her word on that? Anybody could build doubt around that. No, Nard would come home. It was just a matter of time. All they needed was one good witness to testify he was nowhere near the crime scene. Everything else was covered.
“Listen, Sticks, come here, sit down, please.” They sat on the steps outside her apartment. “I can’t take this car. I can’t. It’s too much.”
“Yo, Dais, is you crazy, take the car. You saving a man’s life, so go ’head.”
“I can’t save that man’s life, Sticks. That alibi ain’t no good, it’s not gonna work.”
Daisy wished in her heart of hearts that she hadn’t said nothing, just took the keys and kept on going. She looked down, not wanting to face him.
“Man, listen, that alibi is good, Dais, we straight,” said Sticks, confident and sure.
“No, it’s not. Calvin said that guy, Nard, wasn’t twenty-one and wasn’t old enough to drink.”
“What you mean, wasn’t old enough to drink, and who the fuck is Calvin?”
“Calvin own the club. The police done been talking to him. They saying he wasn’t twenty-one and can’t be up in no bar. He said he wasn’t losing his liquor license behind it and said he already told the police I wasn’t working that night.”
“Was you?”
“I think so, but shit, I don’t remember.”
Man, what the fuck? Just when one problem is solved, here go another fucking one. I thought that nigga was twenty-one, he stay in fucking neighborhood bars drinking. Fuck, why he didn’t tell me?
“Who the fuck is Calvin?”
“Calvin, Calvin Stringer, the owner, my boss, hello… he done told the police I wasn’t even there that night, he said I was off.” She stopped and said nothing more. She didn’t want Sticks to know that the police had paid her a visit too. That should be enough. Maybe he’ll figure out something else, so I don’t have to testify now. “He was so mean to me, he threw me out the club. I mean you don’t know. I been messed up, I can’t even tell you. Calvin wouldn’t give me my job back and I haven’t had no money, and nobody to help me.”
Sticks asked her a few more questions about Calvin Stringer, like what he drove, where he would be at, what he looked like, how old he was, dark-skinned, light-skinned, and all the typical investigative questions. After being arrested and getting interrogated and having a long-term relationship with the police and detectives, a brother learns a few tricks on gathering information.
Daisy sat still and let Sticks think. He replayed what Daisy said one more time. He figured, from her telling him about Calvin, that she was to be trusted. He pulled out a thousand dollars and slid it to her.
“It’s a grand.”
“A thousand dollars, for what?”
“You said you lost your job, right? And Calvin wouldn’t hire you back, right? Well that’s to hold you down, okay.”
“But, Sticks, the alibi, it’s ruined.”
“Don’t worry about that. Let me handle Calvin Stringer. I got it all under control, you understand?” he asked, passing her the money.
“Yeah, I hear you,” she said, taking the money, but knowing in her heart that there was no way possible that he’d want her to testify now.
“You sure you want me to take this money and the car, ’cause I feel bad?”
“Don’t feel bad, shouldn’t nothing be feeling bad about you, all that pussy you got, Dais,” he said, and then he stood up, reached out his arm and helped pull her up as he felt between her legs. “I might come back over, check you out later.”
“You better call first. I got a couple of dollars, so it’s no telling where I might be,” said Daisy, hoping he wasn’t serious. She still missed Reggie—actually, she still had a glimmer of hope that he’d be back.
Sticks left, and Daisy watched his taillights until they faded. She walked down the sidewalk to where the Seville was parked. She sat in the driver’s seat, placed her fingers around the steering wheel, and pretended she was driving. Why does life have to be so complicated? She was caught between a rock and a hard place. There was no doubt about that. Sticks still seemed adamant that everything would be okay, but deep down she had a bad feeling about the situation. As long as I don’t have to testify, I guess it will be all right. Sticks said don’t worry about it, he said he’d fix it.
She sat in the car a long time, thinking. She had her own problems to fix. She rubbed her belly. This would be the first thing. Deep down, she knew Reggie was the father, and she knew he wasn’t coming back. She was hoping he would, even gave him a couple of extra weeks, but he had never showed up. She had waited long enough. Tomorr
ow was the big day, the big showdown. Dr. Vistane had her scheduled for Monday at 7:00 A.M. At least I’m first thing, early in the morning. She had strict instructions to follow. She wasn’t allowed to eat or drink after midnight. She had to have someone pick her up and take her home. The doctor’s office was not allowed to release her because of the anesthesia that would be used. She hadn’t quite figured out who she’d call on, if anybody. But the last time she had an abortion, the clinic let her take a cab home, because she had lied and said her grandmother was at home waiting to take care of her. So, yellow taxi was starting to look like the designated driver. God I swear this is the last abortion. I swear I won’t get any more, ever. She couldn’t help but talk to herself. She couldn’t help but to feel remorse about what had to be done. She honestly didn’t mean to get pregnant. It just happened. I wish I knew where Reggie was. Then again, something told her that wherever Reggie was, he could just go ahead and stay there. I know he’s with another woman, he’s got to be, to be gone this long. I can’t believe he never came back, just never came back.
DR. VISTANE
Daisy arrived at the abortion clinic on Thirty-eighth and Haverford Avenue at 7:07 A.M. She was on time and ready to go. A receptionist was behind the desk. She watched as Daisy walked through the door and approached her desk. She already knew why the young girl was there.
“Who are you scheduled with today?” she politely asked, pulling Dr. Vistane’s booklet after Daisy answered her. She took Daisy’s name, checked it off in the log, and handed Daisy a clipboard with forms attached to it that needed to be filled out and some information—pamphlets on abortion, what to expect, and other information, such as side effects and recovery. Daisy took the clipboard and had a seat in front of a floor-model television that was turned to the early morning news. Daisy listened to the reporter read off the wave of current news events. She finished her paperwork and handed the clipboard back to the receptionist.
“Okay, just have a seat and the nurse will be with you shortly.”