"And you stop laughing at me...now let me go." She was near tears, both from fright and anger. It wasn't often that somebody laughed at Susie Turner Hall…or tried to rape her, for that matter.
"Okay, okay, listen up now. I'm gonna let you go, but you ain't goin' nowhere just yet. I don't want you running away, 'cause I'll have to run and catch you. And believe me, girl, I can do that. Deal?"
"Deal," she murmured, with every intention of running as soon as he released her arm. He slackened the hold, Susie pulling free from him and dashing down the street in the general direction of the intersection. She hadn't gotten ten steps when he grabbed her by her long blonde hair, putting an immediate halt to her escape plans.
"Let go of my hair, you're hurting me," she cried, tears springing out of her eyes.
"Remind me never to make a deal with you again. All right, we'll do this the hard way." He removed a devise out of his pocket that looked to Susie like a large rubber band. Taking both her arms and twisting them painfully behind her back, he applied the rubber thing to her wrist, securing her in place.
"What are you doing," she screamed, pulling herself away from his grasp, her wrist and arms suddenly feeling as though they were on fire. "You can't kidnap me...those animals tried to rape me, let me go before they wake up. Let me go! Help, rape, rape!" she screamed as loudly as she could be heard.
"The only place you're going is for a little walk...with me." Taking her by the arm, he pulled the girl down the street in the opposite direction from the ghetto area she had arrived at. As they moved away from the intersection, the environment appeared to change slightly, a bit cleaner with less trash in the streets, the buildings appearing to be inhabited, the street sounds closer to normal. Susie did notice, though, that every face she saw was black. Without exception.
"Are you going to let me go, you're starting to scare me. I promise, if you let me go, I won't tell the police. I was joking." He ignored her, pushing her ahead of him as they traveled the seven blocks to their destination.
"All right, princess, we're here," he chuckled, leading her through the doorway of a run-down storefront. It took her a moment to adjust to the glaring light. When she did, she realized that they were inside what appeared to be exactly what she had been praying for. She looked around at what clearly was a police station, or at least some type of a police annex or substation.
"What ya have, Harve?" asked the fat, white, uniformed sergeant sitting behind a row of computer screens, the first white face Susie had seen so far. Each monitor was showing what looked like a different part of the ghetto neighborhood. Directly behind the desk was a large mural of a Houston Police Shield. Susie noticed that one screen was filled with the group of winos who were still gathered around the drum fire, still passing around a bottle of wine. "Is she the hooker I spotted on Greenway?"
"Yep, but I don't know yet that she's a hooker, Norm. She got into a little scrape in the doorway of 2387. There are three guys laying there. They'll be out for a while, if you want to send somebody around to haul them in, scare them is all. Shit, she ain't gonna press charges, I don't think. Seems like all we have is a little blonde princess, taking a walk right down the middle of the biggest, baddest, blackest project in Houston. Can't figure out why she'd get into any trouble, can you, Norm? I’m gonna take her into interrogation room C and find out exactly who she is and why she's here. I'll call if I need you."
At least I know where I'm at, thought Susie. She followed her rescuer into the interrogation room, stood perfectly still while he took off the arm restraints. She rubbed her wrist, trying to regain circulation, then checked herself in the mirror hanging from the wall, making sure her shorts and blouse weren't ripped. She seemed to be in one piece, no worse from the experience, a little dirty, perhaps, more humiliated than anything. Turning, she was looking at the largest, blackest man she had ever seen. She was angry at being in the police station, while at the same time thankful he had saved her from the assault.
"You mean you're a cop? Why didn't you tell me that right away, I was scared to death back there, and you laughed at me. You're a real asshole, aren't you."
"And you have a filthy mouth, don't you?" he shot back. "It's been a real long time since someone has called me an asshole and didn't get my fist shoved down their throat or my boot up their ass." He watched to see what her reaction was going to be to his implied threat. He was surprised to see it didn't faze her in the least.
"So what happens now? Can I go, or what? You're treating me like a criminal instead of a victim. I don't understand your way of thinking around here," she asked. "Those animals were going to rape me, don't you know that?"
"Yeah, I know, that's what happens in certain parts of this sewer at night. And no, you can't go anywhere. Not yet, sis. I have a couple of questions you're gonna answer for me. First of all, what's you name and where do you live? You damn sure don't talk with no Texas drawl."
Susie thought hard for a moment about her answers. The first thing she needed to find out was the date. If she had really been sent to the future, she needed to shade her answers a bit. If she was still in 2010, all she had to do was call her dad.
"Before I answer your question, will you tell me the date, please?" she asked in her sweetest voice, deciding she needed to tone down her animosity, lose her vulgarity. She was sounding like a rich bitch, and she didn't like it.
"Look princess, I'm the cop, and until I find out different, you're the criminal. That means I'll ask the questions, and you supply the answers. Understand?"
Susie looked at him with her bright blue eyes, smiling her sweetest smile, saying absolutely nothing at all in response. The silence went on for several minutes, neither willing to give an inch. During the silence, she studied her tormentor closely for the first time. He was so tall, close to seven feet, she figured, with a goatee, not the full beard she had originally thought. He had piercing black eyes sitting in a face that looked like it had been sculpted out of mahogany. He had a diamond earring in his left ear, catching the reflection of the light and twinkling at her whenever he moved. She guessed his age at 35. She decided that he was the most frightening looking man she had ever met; and possibly the most exciting, something out of a good action movie. As the silence stretched on, Susie tried to categorize her options. She was in Houston, a city that she had never been to before. She had been captured in the middle of a black ghetto, which obviously made the police believe that something was out of kilter. She didn't have any idea how much time she had to locate her future self, that is, if she had truly been transported. She wasn't even sure she wanted to try. This was starting to be awfully dangerous. Gretta didn't seem to have this much trouble.
"August 15."
His voice made her jump, disturbing her thoughts. She looked at him curiously, the black face staring back, not cracking an expression.
"Year?" she asked.
"What? You don't know what year it is? What kind of game you running on me, sis?"
"Year?" she repeated, staring back evenly, not blinking.
Again the silence, the two staring hard at each other, neither willing to give in.
Finally, she broke the giant.
"For God's sake, its 2025, what year did you think it was?"
Oh my gosh, she thought excitedly. He did it, he did it. He put me into the future. Now she had to get to work. First of all, stretch the truth a little and get the hell out of this police station.
"Thank you," she said. "Now, what is it that you need?"
"Name?"
"Susie Turner," she said, not feeling too guilty about the partial lie, leaving off her last name, simplifying the rest of the tale.
"Home?"
"Originally Radford, but lately I've been traveling." She smiled at her answer. Traveling. What a hoot. I'm a traveler.
"Identification papers? Driver’s license, anything?"
"No, I seem to have mislaid my purse. Sorry."
"Who are you working for?" Watching her closely, l
ooking for the lie.
"Working? I'm not working for anyone. I'm not working, I was lost, for God's sake," she replied indignantly.
“Now, even though prostitution is legal, you still have to be licensed by the state, and registered, and I gotta see your disease-free card. You got that stuff with you?"
"Look, Bernie," using the name that the desk sergeant had called him, "I am not a prostitute, I have no card, or identification. I was not working down there. And if you persist in this ridiculous charade, I think I will need to call a lawyer."
"A lawyer. Sister, I don't have to let you ever call a lawyer. That Miranda garbage went out years ago. Your ass is mine, all mine until I say otherwise, forever if I want. Understand? Now, if you weren't working, what were you doing?" He believed her, figured that she wasn't a hooker, she had way too much class for that. But he wanted to find out why and how she got into an area that could have easily resulted in her death.
"I'm looking for a friend, and I was told she was here, in the Houston area. I got turned around. I'm not used to a big city. Wrong directions. Sorry if I've been a bother. Really."
"What's the name of this friend?"
“Sue. Sue Hall." It suddenly hit her that maybe she had gotten married sometime in the past fifteen years. Oh shit, what if Hall wasn't her last name anymore. "So, are you going to put me in jail, or what?"
"No, I'm not going to put you in jail. Or anything, smartass."
That long silence again, the man thinking, the girl planning.
"When's the last time you ate?" A tiny bit more civility from the monster of a man.
Suddenly, she was famished, trying to remember her last meal. "Quite a while. Why?" Suspicious.
"Because I wanted to know. I told you, I'll ask the questions," he growled.
Again the silence, the two locking eyes, neither breaking the stare for what seemed minutes. Finally, the cop blew out a sigh, smiled, and spoke.
"Would you like to go with me to my home, where my wife is preparing a very late dinner for her beloved, overworked, and suddenly very abused husband? I'm sure she would welcome a third for dinner, then, maybe we can find your friend. At least it'll get you out of this stinking section of town. How about it? I promise, no more handcuffs or tough guy stuff. I believe your story, okay?" His tone was the same, but the eyes had changed, showing a surprising gentleness where moments before had been dark intimidation.
Susie thought it was the best offer she was going to get tonight. And anyway, she kind of liked this black giant. She had thought from the beginning of this interrogation, correctly she now realized, that he was nothing but a pussycat.
"We're not gone yet?" she replied, rising from her seat. "Get me the heck out of here."
The pair rode to the police officer's home in a tiny, completely silent vehicle that resembled, Susie thought, one of those old, round and ugly Volkswagen Beetles she used to see occasionally around Radford. Bernie explained to her that the car was powered by a battery, several batteries actually, and the car moved with a top speed of 45 miles per hour, the maximum speed allowed in Texas.
"Until they decide to come off all that gas they got capped out in the panhandle and up in Alaska, these are the cars we're stuck with. Are you yanking my chain about not knowing any of this stuff, girl?" he asked suspiciously, beginning to get the feeling that the blonde was playing dumb on purpose. That, or she had been asleep for several years. She didn't seem to be current on many issues. His mind was suddenly deluged with dumb blonde jokes, and he smiled to himself recalling several of the funnier ones. But there was something more, too, an inner toughness mixed with a great deal of opulent class. Odd mixture.
"I'm not pulling your chain. You wouldn't believe me if I told you, so let's forget it for right now," she replied. "And what does Bernie stand for? Bernard?"
"Thaddeus Bernard Wharton the Fourth. Senior Detective, First Grade, Houston Police Department. Bernie to my friends. And to you, apparently," he chuckled, a deep rumble sounding suspiciously like a freight train.
"And what is your wife going to say when you show up with an extra guest, Mr. Wharton the Fourth?" Susie asked, batting her eyes, getting another laugh from the cop.
"Oh, I think after 10 years of marriage, she's pretty well gotten adjusted to me bringing home strays. You're one in a whole line of lost pups I've dragged in."
The policeman lived in a single-story, brick and wood home in a neighborhood of single-story, brick and wood homes, all constructed the same, as if they had been put together on an assembly line, shipped to this tract of land, dropped down on a chalked line, and neatly inhabited. Susie thought it odd that the entire neighborhood was so well lit, every third-of-a-block or so stood a high light pole with a cluster of bright, fluorescent bulbs shining brightly, illuminating the entire street almost as if it were daytime.
"Why is it so well lit up around here?" she asked as they pulled up in front of his house.
"Girl, if you saw the crime reports in this city, you'd understand exactly why we light our neighborhood up. Houston has roving packs of crazed junkies, burglars, and murderers, not caring two cents about their own lives, let alone somebody else's. We pay big money to live in a well-lit neighborhood like this."
A basketball hoop was mounted above the garage of the Wharton home, a ball lying in the yard near the front door. The officer ran his front tire into the grass and turned off the battery. Susie was out of the car, picking the ball up and shooting a 20 foot jump shot before he realized what she was doing. As the ball swished through the net, he retrieved the rebound and passed it back to her. She repeated the feat, flicking the ball with her wrist, each shot touching nothing but nylon. She shot eight more times before rimming one out.
"Tight rim," she complained. "You need to loosen it up. That would have dropped with a good rim."
"Sis, I don't know where you're from or who you are, but I do know I ain't never seen no white girl, shit, no girl period, who has a prettier shot than that," he said seriously, awe in his voice.
"Thank you," she smiled, pleased that she had finally done something right, something that impressed her savior. Besides running her mouth.
The front door opened, revealing a tall, light-skinned black woman, extremely pretty, wearing jeans and a white blouse, barefoot. Her facial features told Susie that she was probably a mixture of races, her nose and mouth looking more Caucasian than African.
"It's about time; do you realize it's past midnight? Are you two going to play one on one or eat? Get into this house, your dinner's getting cold," she called in a pleasant voice tinged with a southern drawl.
"Hi, I'm Courtney, who are you?" the woman said as Susie and Bernie walked into the house. Susie saw that the home was impeccable, not a hint of dust anywhere, everything nice and neat, the furniture top quality, the room tastefully decorated.
"Susie. Susie Turner, Mrs. Wharton. I'm happy to meet you," she said, putting out her hand.
"I didn't say nothin' about Missus nobody, child. I said Courtney. Being married to this big ol' thing don't mean I have to go around being Missus somebody. Now that we got that out of the way, welcome to our modest home, Susie, I hope you're hungry, 'cause I was in a cookin' mood tonight," she replied, shaking the girl's hand warmly, her smile relaxing Susie, making her feel right at home.
Courtney had dinner laid out, brisket and barbecue sauce, corn on the cob, French fries, tossed salad, and ice tea. The smell told Susie how hungry this time travel stuff made a person.
"The bathrooms in there if you need it," Courtney said, motioning toward a door.
"Courtney, would you mind terribly much if I took a shower? I feel filthy," Susie said. The experience in the alley had left her feeling foul, unclean, the soiled hands that had touched her body in her most private places somehow managing to leave marks that she needed to wash away.
"Of course, girl, let me get you a towel." Courtney showed her the bathroom, then went into her dresser and found a pair of her old jeans and
a T-shirt, along with a fresh pair of panties. She left them sitting in the bathroom on the dressing table.
"Susie," she called over the sound of the water. "Here's some clothes, honey, I thought you might need a clean change."
While the girl was showering, her husband filled her in on what little he knew about the blonde. "I don't know what kind of game she's playing, but I aim to find out. I have a feeling she's a good kid, but she's got me curious as hell," he finished, hearing the bathroom door opening, Susie joining them at the table.
The shower left Susie feeling wonderful, reborn, finally rid of the clothes she had been wearing when she was attacked. The best part of all was getting a clean pair of panties. She had felt soiled from the grimy hand that had groped her, and couldn't wait to throw the old clothes, panties, shorts and shirt away.
"Thank you," she whispered to Courtney. "I couldn't have put that stuff back on. Do you have a trash can so I can throw this stuff away? I don't want it anywhere near me."
"You bet, honey, let me have it all and I'll pitch it in the can outside," Courtney said, compassion filling her voice, sad that the girl had been through such a traumatic experience.
As they finished eating and Susie was helping Courtney clear the table, Bernie stuck his head in the kitchen. "Got a call, I'll be back as soon as I can. Will Susie be all right here?"
"Go. I think we'll be fine without your overprotective, watchdog butt in the way," Courtney said, standing on her tiptoes to kiss her husband.
"Bye," Susie called, smiling, Bernie waving as he ducked out the door. The girls listened as the front door slammed, the giant gone for the night.
"You wouldn't tell Bernie where you're from? Is there a problem, maybe something that I can help with? I really would like to be your friend," Courtney asked, the concern genuine.
"Courtney, you got to trust me. I can't tell you much. Heck, I don't even know much, anyway. But why I'm here is simple. I'm looking for an old friend, well, actually a friend of my mothers. Her name is Sue Hall. It's really important that I find her. The last contact we had, well, my mother had, was in 2010. She went away to the University of Texas that year. That's it. I've been led to believe that she's here, in Houston. But I don't know where, or why, or how. Shit, I don't know anything."
Golden Boy Page 12