by Brother Dash
“Chase, are you listening?" Tanaka asks. “Chase…Chase!”
“Huh? Yeah. Dude I'm looking right at you,” Chase replies.
“So why I had to ask you twice? Come on don’t play me out son,” he says.
“I’m listening Naka, sheesh,” Chase says.
”Hmph. Anyway…then you saw what I did next right? You saw me hit that backspin and then freeze. I made the crowd wait for like ten seconds. That’s called a dramatic pause.” Tanaka stops moving.
“Okay, dude you don’t have to actually pause, in order to make your point you know,” Chase says.
"And then…BAM, I dropped Brand Nubian's Slow Down out of like nowhere. Sickness son-son. Sick…Ness right? Wasn’t that sick?”
“Yes. Very diseased, yes,” Chase quips.
“Haha, very cute professor. But my point is, my set was dope. But I got robbed yo. See how they do a brother?”
As the throngs of park visitors and competition attendees continue to file past, a gangly man, with a dark cauliflower beard and butt length dreadlocks, recognizes Tanaka from the competition.
“Eh yo. You’re that DJ?” he says in a Jamaican accent.
“That’s right yo. Big up one time my brother,” Tanaka replies with a hand clasp and an exaggerated brohug.
“Your set was wicked bredren, wicked. ‘Nuff respect,” the stranger says with a pat on his ganja leaf t-shirt and a chin bow. He walks away, up the winding pedestrian path, towards Joralemon Street.
“Ha. See that there? See that?” Tanaka points repeatedly towards the Jamaican fan.
“Why did his cray-cray have to just get validated?” Chase mumbles.
”I heard that. But that’s okay. Keep drinking your haterade. Musical geniuses are always considered crazy. But the people…the people know who won that battle.” He turns his attention back to the dreadlocked stranger who is now lost amongst the crowd in the distance. “That’s right my brother. Irie yo. Irie brethren,” he says, shooting two peace signs high above his black mop of hair…on his tippy toes.
“Dude, you can be so extra. Listen, I wanted to run something by you. I’ve been having this thing on my—“
“Wait. Chase…Is…Is that?” Tanaka squints his eyes down the winding path to their rear. “Yup, that’s her. Yo Lydia…Lydia. Yo, Yo Lydia,” Tanaka yells.
He windshield wipes his arm in the air to get the attention of a dark copper haired woman in two long pigtails. She struggles towards them as she shoulders an overstuffed knapsack while bear hugging a box of supplies.
“Míra. Míra Lydia. Lydia, I know you see me mama. You see me girl. Don’t front. I got something to say to you,” he says pointing.
"Tanaka don't start," Chase says. "Lydia didn't have anything to do with you losing."
“Hey, I didn't lose,” he fires back. “I was robbed,” he says, index finger to Chase’s nose. “R-O-B—“
“Don’t start spelling stuff. And will you please stop pointing at people,” Chase says.
Lydia approaches the two of them with a scowl and rolls her eyes. She doesn’t wait for Tanaka to speak.
“First of all…thanks for helping a sister with all this shit in her hands. Second of all, don’t you go starting with your diva DJ attitude with me. Every time you compete in one of my shows, and you lose, you gotta stress me out with your complaints. Boo Boo you lost. Deal with it. L-O-S-T, lost,” she says in a heavy New York/Puerto Rican accent.
Chase snickers.
“Oh but she can spell shit though?” he says to Chase. “That’s okay Lydia. I see…uh huh…I see. You drinking hater juice too. But you know what. That’s okay because the people. The people…” he says cupping his palms to his mouth like a megaphone, “…have spoken.”
“What’s he yapping about Chase?” she says.
“One dude, one, gave him a compliment and that was all he needed to hear,” Chase says.
“One is representative of the many my brother. I was robbed and Lydia knows it.”
“Hello, I’m standing right here. Look Naka. You know you will always be my favorite DJ. But the crowd makes the decision honey, not me. You did good. You always do. But this time the other guy won. I still love you though. Te quiero papi," Lydia says.
She squeezes Tanaka’s lips causing them to pucker and kisses the air.
“Mwah. Better luck next time sweet cheeks,” she says and trudges up the path towards the parking lot.
Chase shakes his head.
“Dude, why do you do that?" he says.
"Do what?" Tanaka asks
"Never mind,” Chase says.
"I get it now. It was the crowd. Lydia said it. She knew I won. That was obvious you peeped that right? You peeped right?”
“Oh yeah I peeped all right,” Chase says.
"It was that hipster crowd. That's why he won. He had his hipster peoples rootin' for him. Notice how none of them shouted me out? Not like the Jamaican dude right? The real New Yorkers. Not the gentrifying, hipster interlopers, trying to push the indigenous residents out. You peeped that right Chase? Chase!”
“Yes, yes my brother,” Chase says with a power fist to the sky.
”I’m telling you Chase. Once I started playing the conscious music everything changed. A Tribe Called Quest, De La Soul, Queen Latifah, Brand Nubian, bah. They wanted that mumble mouth, dumbed down hip-hop the other dude was playing. They started going with the interloper.”
“Interloper? Oh Tanaka. You know I love you right?” Chase says with a belly laugh.
“Don’t patronize me. You know I hate when you do that.”
“Okay, I’m sorry bro. It’s just you sound like Spike Lee complaining about gentrification in Brooklyn. I should crown you the Japanese Spike Lee. Just make sure you do the right thing? Haha get it? Do the right thing?” Chase laughs.
“Okay. Crack jokes if you want to. Meanwhile, my people being squeezed out by these hipsters.”
“Your people?”
“We all one rainbow coalition bro. Stop being the grey cloud. And stop always sticking up for the capitalist, elitist, racially dismissive agenda of the corporate oligarchs.”
Chase opens his palm and starts flipping his fingers across his hand as if he were looking through a book.
“Chase what the hell are you doing?”
“I’m looking up all those big words you just used,” Chase cracks up.
“Oh you’re a real comedian. That’s okay. Make light if you want to. But I know why you’re so desensitized to the situation.”
“Situation? Dude there is no situation. You lost a freakin’ DJ battle. Does this look like Selma, Alabama or Ferguson, Missouri to you? Pull your panties up and stop crying.”
“I’m not crying. You see any tears? No. I’m standing up for myself. And the reason why you’re so desensitized is because that female stole your righteousness.”
“Oh no not this again. Tanaka. No, no, no. I am not dealing with you and your Andrea fetish. Why whenever you’re losing an argument with me, you always have to bring up my past relationship with Andrea? We dated for a few years when I first moved to the city. Dude that was seven years ago.”
“You know why I don't like her Chase? Two words…the bitch is bad.”
“Tanaka that’s like four words—“
“She’s a master manipulator and she’s crazy. Craaay, Chase. And the fact that y’all are still friends is totally wack. You lucky Jenae don’t know the two of you was hot and heavy before y’all met. She wouldn’t let you stay friends with your ex-girlfriend, if she knew.”
“Number one, no one let's me do anything. Secondly, Jenae and I have a solid and secure relationship. Nobody has anything to worry about.”
"Oh really? So why haven’t you ever told Jenae that one of your best friends, the sexy and rich redhead Andrea, was somebody you used to screw for like three years huh? Huh, Mr. Secure?”
“Look, it just never came up okay? And since there isn’t anything going on between Andrea and I, I don’t
feel the need to upset Jenae with unnecessary distractions.”
“An unnecessary distraction? That’s your story?…You know Andrea still want you right?”
“Tanaka, no she doesn’t. And even if she did it doesn’t matter. I love Jenae. Jenae only.”
“Look I know that. I know how loyal you are. Which is crazy if you ask me. That wouldn’t be me. I mean all the attention you get from females? You always got some fine ass woman approaching you and trying to—“
Tanaka pauses as a young boy rolls up to the park bench on a blue hover board and stares at Chase. The child stands about chest high, wearing army green cargo shorts, and a bold orange comic hero T-shirt. He appears to be no more than seven or eight years old.
“Well, hello young man,” Chase says kneeling to the boy’s height. “Are you okay? Are you lost or something?”
“Here,” the young boy says.
He pokes his little arm up to Chase’s face and shoves a letter sized envelope under his nose causing Chase to angle his head back.
“Okay. Uh, so what is this?“ Chase asks.
The little boy shrugs.
”I don't know."
"You don't know? Why are you handing this to me then?” Chase asks.
“Yeah, and who are you anyway?" Tanaka says to the boy.
"Ain't none of your business who I am,” the little boy snaps.
"What? Who the hell you think you talking to like that?” Tanaka says.
Chase raises his palm for Tanaka to pause.
"Is this envelope for me? What is it?” Chase asks.
"I said I don't know,” the boy says with a Brooklyn bluntness.
“Little punk. You better fix your face,” Tanaka says with a pointed finger.
“Look, the man said he give me five bucks to give the envelope to the tall dude standing next to the crazy acting Chinese nigga.”
"The what? Now that’s just racist yo. First of all I’m not even Chinese, I’m Japa—"
"Naka, not now,” Chase interrupts.
Chase rises and scans the park for the man the child mentioned.
"Where?" he says to the boy.
"I ain't no snitch," he replies.
Chase kneels.
“Look at me. Now I’m going to ask you just one more time little boy. Who told you to give this to me?“
The child looks at the small parking lot near Joramelon Street. Chase pops back up and shields his eyes from the sun. He pans left to right and back again. He looks down at the child and shrugs. The child shrugs back.
“I don’t know. They was standing there just a minute ago.”
“They? What did they look like?”
“Uh, I don’t know. One was about your size. He was wearing a suit. The other guy was really, really big. And fat. Like Juggernaut from the X-Men.”
Chase clenches his fist.
“Hey, ain't you gonna open it? I'll give him a message back for another five bucks," the child says with a devilish grin. Tanaka’s face turns foul.
“Whoever sent you ain’t around anymore you little hustler. Get outta here.”
The little boy scrunches his face and sticks his tongue out at Tanaka. He hops on the hover board and whizzes toward the playground near the pier.
Chase looks at the envelope and then looks up toward the parking lot. No one that fits the little boy’s description can be seen. Chase pokes his finger in the envelope’s flap and pops it open. He removes a tuft of paper and unfolds it. His eyes pop.
“Whoa. Dude. Look at your face. You okay? You look like you just got some horrible news. What does the note say? We gotta handle some business or something? Cause you know a brother is nice with the hands," Tanaka says as he starts shadow boxing.
Chase remains petrified with the exception of a trembling hand.
“Chase. Chase. Bro, what does it say? Let me see.”
Chase swallows a lump in his throat. He looks down at the note again, hoping the letters on the paper would magically disappear, but they are as clear and never changing as the ink from a black Sharpie.
“Dude what does it say?” Tanaka says.
Chase reads the letters over and over; not because the words are many, but because there are so few. They appear as if cut from a magazine headline and glued onto a blank sheet. The note says:
We. Found. You.
“Come on you’re scaring me man. What does it say?”
Chase swallows a pocket of air before responding. He crumples the note, stares into the cloudless sky, and replies:
“It—it says I have a problem.”

HUH, PAT PAT…HUH, PAT PAT…HUH, PAT PAT…SHWOOOP. He sucks in the South Street Seaport air through cavernous nostrils. He blows out through puffed cheeks and funneled lips. His night time jaunts have crept into the day. His arms and legs churn like cogs and wheels. The sweat above his brow drizzles down to his chin; it sparkles like glitter. As he approaches the pedestrian crosswalk under the FDR drive overpass, he slows and jogs in place. The rubber soles of his sneakers strike hard against the muddy asphalt. Seagulls, box trucks, and taxi horns compete for an ear’s attention. His eyes bounce from lost tourist, to burly construction worker, to baby carriage, to Halloween costume shopper as he waits for the light to change.
"Buff Puff? Boy is that you?”
The words drift from the crouched woman peeking from under a soiled bed comforter. In front of her is a fast food soda cup. It rattles with loose change as two strangers, conversing in a foreign tongue, squat and drop two quarters; they brisk towards the seaport mall.
“Hey, Buff Puff. Look at you with shoulders and arms all swolled up and snorting like a brahma bull. I got something better for you to snort up under this here blanket,” she says, lifting the cover.
Chase ignores the obscene flirtation but crouches in front of her. Her face softens as she sees her reflection in his glassy eyes.
“Aww, Buff Puff. Look at them eyes. What’s wrong baby?" she says.
“Wrong? Miss Pat, what makes you think—“
“Boy, don’t play with me. I’m old, not stupid.”
Chase has been running all morning but his mind has been in flux since that day last week in the park. Perhaps an ear…any ear, would help to soothe him. Even an eccentric one.
“Miss Pat I—"
“Wait boy. I can’t hear for a goddamn. All this city noise. Noise, noise, noise. Help me up Buff Puff. We can go yonder, by the dock," she says.
She steadies her hand on Chase’s shoulder. The dirty cover drops to the ground. Chase picks it up and carries it for her. He squints. It stings his eyes and smells like a port-o-potty. The two familiar strangers walk towards the pier; she clutches her cup of change. As they stroll, Chase relates what occurred at Brooklyn Bridge Park. He tells her of Tanaka and the DJ battle. When he gets to the cryptic letter handed to him by the little boy, Miss Pat blurts:
“A-Ha. I knew there was something all secret-secret about you. I smelled secret all over you. Secret Buff Puff. Secret. Secret. Secret.”
Chase forces a smile and continues.
"Miss Pat, I don’t know what to do. I can't have this kind of drama in my life right now. Especially now."
“Okay, relax. Do you know what this note thing is all about?" she says as she scratches her butt crack.
“No. I don’t. Well it might be about…never mind it’s nothing.”
“I been around a long time Buff Puff…mmmhmm…you hiding something.”
Chase’s gaze drifts to the rocky ripples of the East River. “I just don’t know what to do Miss Pat.”
“Do? Boy snap out of it. Do? You live your damn life that’s what you do. All you can do,” her thoughts start to trail in a different yet related direction. “I was a Radio City Rockette in the 1980's. Didn’t know that did you? Mmmhmm. You shoulda seen me. I had all these men lusting after me. That man could be as black as a thousand midnights or white as death, but when my smooth, long, luscious legs parted ways? Ooh Wee them boys prac
tically wet themselves. And I don’t mean the pee-pee kind neither.”
Chase winces.
“They sure wanted some of Miss Patty McShane. I ain’t have to worry ‘bout no money or nothing neither. Men love spending money on pretty girls. Especially the ugly men. Makes them feel important. ‘Cause they so damn ugly, you see. If God ain’t give it to you for free, then the devil will sell it to you for a fee. Mmmhmm that’s right. Yeah, I was something else. But everything gets old eventually I guess. Then people just throw those old things away.” She pauses and looks out towards the borough of Queens’ skyline from the dock.
“But I have plans Miss Pat. Important plans. This thing—“
"What thing?” she growls back. “Let me guess. This is something from your past?” Chase doesn’t respond. “No matter I already know it is. But never you mind that. Somebody hand you some note and now you all messed up in the head? You gettin’ emotional like you some woman caught up in her feelings? That ain’t cute Buff Puff. Ain’t cute at all. And for what? Did anybody come and tell you what they want?"
Chase shakes his head no.