by Jackson, Jay
“Sister is right. You need to find Baby Brother. You need to be the man I taught you to be. We’re all done with you telling us what you can’t do. I raised you better than that.”
Dad turned away then, shaking his head every time Mister Brother tried to explain why he was unable to find Baby Brother. Mom didn’t turn away, but her sobs were such that she couldn’t hear Mister Brother’s explanations. Sister just glared at him.
Mister Brother didn’t blame them for being hurt. He wanted to find his brother, too. He missed him every day since the wreck took him. It was harder to find him though, much more so than the others.
He would have to look somewhere else. The others pretty much came to him, in one way or another. Now, he’d have to go out and find Baby Brother, and soon. He couldn’t stand to hear Mom’s crying, couldn’t stand Dad’s disappointment.
As for Sister, these last few days reminded him how much they fought before she went off to college. He loved her, though, and wanted her to be happy. That’s all he ever wanted—for them all to be happy together. It shouldn’t be such a hard thing to accomplish, but it was.
Mister Brother started thinking about this new project. He would have to look harder now, to go out and see where Baby Brother was being kept. This would be different than finding the others, but he was ready. They were all so close to being a complete family again.
He stayed awake all night, thinking about how he was going to find Baby Brother, and what he would need after he found him. Playpens were necessary, and there were transportation issues. He would also have to figure out exactly how Mom and Dad wanted Baby Brother. That part would be hard, but not undoable.
The next morning at breakfast, they all sat together. Mom and Dad both apologized, telling him that he was a very good son. They knew he was doing the best he could. Even Sister hugged him, telling him she was sorry for saying anything ugly.
“You know how I get, Mister Brother. You know, well, that I can be a total bitch sometimes. I can be a really awful person, but I love you and don’t deserve you.”
He forgave them all, and then took Mom’s hand.
“Mom, I’ll make sure Baby Brother is home with us soon. I’m going to be away from home a little more, looking for him, but I’ll find him. You’ll be loving on him and hugging him before you know it. I promise.”
Mom smiled brightly, just like Mister Brother remembered as a child. They all ate breakfast, each in turn asking Mister Brother how he was going to find Baby Brother. He explained, watching them all smile. Dad nodded his approval.
After breakfast, Mom peeled potatoes for lunch as Dad read the front page of the Atlanta Journal-Constitution. Sister went into her room, of course, and soon Mister Brother could hear Top 40 songs seeping through the cracks under her door. All was right again.
Mister Brother left to go to work. There he spoke with his assistant, John Forkner, who mentioned to him that he needed to spend more time there. “The clients ask for you,” he said with a concerned smile.
“Well, you all need to think for yourselves. That’s why I hired you. You can be me, John, just about as well as I can. I think you do a great job of it as it is. Just tell them that.” Mister Brother smiled back at his assistant, hating that he had to do so.
I wish I didn’t need your fat face around here, he thought. I can’t believe I’ve looked at your round mug all these years.
John left, and Mister Brother leaned back in his chair. Closing his eyes, he started to plan the reunion with Baby Brother. Lists popped up in his thoughts, segregated into “Getting” and “Keeping.” Every now and then Mom’s smile drifted in, and he could hear Dad say “Good job, son.”
15.
Racey awoke that Sunday morning, late. The first thing he did was brush his teeth, scrubbing the film away from the night before. After a quick shower he put on jeans and an old Peachtree Road Race T-shirt. It was light blue, almost faded to white.
Turning left out of his condo, Racey trudged up the hill toward Ponce de Leon. He crossed that busy avenue and in ten minutes was seated at the Majestic Diner. The waitresses there knew him and didn’t bother giving him a menu. They instead called out his usual order. Before long he had three eggs sunny side up, grits, and hash browns on a plate before him. Beside the plate was a coffee, black with one sugar, and a large chocolate milk.
That’s what I love about this neighborhood. Walk a couple of blocks and you can buy a feast. Next time, I’ll just wear pajamas.
Smiling to himself, he dug into his breakfast. The first bite was hash browns. Their oil firmly set his palate for the eggs and grits to come.
The Majestic, a neighborhood hub, had served the hungry and hungover of Atlanta for the last fifty years. Even now, with healthy bakeries and artisanal options corrupting that part of Poncey-Highlands, the Majestic stood as a beacon of bacon. Nothing here was locally sourced, and the words “gluten-free” weren’t on the menu.
Racey loved the place. He did some of his best thinking there. There was no pretention around to distract him with disgust, just honest food slung to paying customers. He especially appreciated that the food was devoid of good intentions. Arteries might get clogged, sure, but a man could die happy in one of the Majestic’s booths if given the opportunity to finish his plate.
The bells of the Druid Hills Baptist Church were starting their cacophony, calling all parishioners in to worship. A few of them arose from their booths in the Majestic, looking sorry to trade one sanctuary for another. Racey loved the bells. They were beautiful and, better yet, held no sway over him. He watched as others heeded their call, luxuriating in his faithlessness.
He let himself get halfway into his meal—and his second cup of coffee—before he considered the night before. It had been a productive one. He met a couple of mayoral aides at Manuel’s, where he gave them their small stipends and paid their tabs. After that he strode over to the Limerick Junction and drank Guinness, switching over to a Tullamore Dew every other drink.
Around ten that evening, Flip and Paulie joined him. They went to Atkins Park and got the window booth overlooking North Highland Avenue. Racey loved sitting there, watching all the people walk by, though he wished he had better company.
Flip started into the reason they all met.
“That ugly skank kicked me square in the balls. Hell, I still can’t sit quite right.” He stared at Racey, his eyes bugging, and chugged his draft of Budweiser. Slamming his mug down, he yelled to the waitress that he needed another. She smiled politely and went to get the beer. She knew Racey and liked him. His friends may be jerks, but that only meant Racey would leave a bigger tip.
“Look, Flip, let’s not yell at the waitress, okay? Just tell me what happened after she crushed your manhood.” Racey laughed at his own joke, loudly.
“Don’t yell, hell! I’ll yell all I want. I’ll yell—”
Racey cut him off.
“You’ll yell when I tell you, or you won’t get paid. I’ll make sure nobody else uses you or Paulie, either. Don’t come to where I live and show your ass. I’m doing you the favor of giving you a living and even picking up drinks. Hell, I’ll buy you a burger if you want one. The ones here are good. Just keep it down and don’t show your ass. I don’t work with idiots.”
Racey knew that last part was a lie. The two across from him were proof of that.
Before Flip risked their immediate financial security, Paulie piped up.
“Look, it was just a little bit of a tougher thing than we thought it might be. We go up to the lady, like you ask, and mess around with her, like you ask. We weren’t going to put our hands on her or anything. We just wanted to rattle her, to scare her. Before we knew it, she kicked Paulie and pushed her little carriage thing into my gut. It must’ve weighed a hundred pounds, easy.”
Racey stared down at his Maker’s, the ice almost totally melted. He smiled, imagining the two in front of him getting put on their behinds. Paulie continued.
“Before we could get u
p, some of those trailer-park folks started looking our way. It’s like they just rustled out from under wherever they were, because they sure as hell weren’t there when we started. Then we just left. Wasn’t a whole lot more to do, and we figured out what you needed us to figure out.”
Racey looked up then. “Well, what exactly did you figure out?”
“That skank is definitely a man! No doubt!” Flip answered this time. “Hell, I could throw some lipstick on Paulie, and he’d be prettier than that one. That was a hell of an ugly woman.” Flip roared then, snorting like a pig.
The waitress came back with Flip’s beer, and Racey motioned her to bring him and Paulie another round. He smiled at her weakly, as if to apologize and convey that the other two weren’t friends. She smiled back, looking forward to the tip.
Racey looked at Paulie. “Are you sure she was a man?”
“Yes I am, no doubt about it. There’s another thing, too. I never saw her eyes get wide when we approached her, and I don’t remember if she said anything. She might have been scared, but I can’t tell you that she was. If I had to bet, I would guess that she wasn’t, not too bad anyway. She removed herself from us pretty quickly, and we were on both sides of her.”
“Well, she better be afraid of me—or he should be. Whatever. Nobody gets to do that.” Flip looked down at his swollen injury and chugged his beer.
“Flip, you won’t do a thing to her. There’s nothing personal in this. If I make money, you make money. This is about money and nothing else, and hurting folks isn’t about making money. That’s about police and complications and, like I said, making sure nobody in this town touches you if they need any investigating jobs. You hurt her, and I promise you won’t be able to get a job fluffing the dancers at Swinging Richards. Are we clear, or do you want me to show you how I keep a promise?” Racey stared with red eyes, hoping his contempt blinded the investigator.
Flip just smiled. “Sure, I get it. Looks like you got yourself a girlfriend in Gratis, a little country sidepiece. Tell you what. I’m gonna leave, nuthin’ personal, but I’m tired of your shit. If it wasn’t for the money we’d be talking out back, that’s for damn sure, and—”
Before he could finish his sentence, Paulie grabbed his friend by the arm and drug him from the booth. He smiled at Racey.
“Hey, Flip is just drunk. Don’t worry about him. We’ll call it a night and get back to you later. We’re about the money, too, Racey, don’t worry.” At that, he propelled Flip out of the bar.
Eating his eggs the next morning, Racey considered the two idiots working for him. They were raw and nasty, but the work he needed from them was equally so. They were also on probation. He could make sure that each went away into the state penal system if he needed them to. It would be as easy as a phone call to the right person.
He also considered what they had been able to learn. It was substantial.
Racey already knew that Claudia was a man. He used a real private investigator to get her backstory for him, and it was a hell of a backstory. She was born William Peters, went to Gratis High School, and was even the starting safety for the Purple Hurricanes her junior year. That would be her last year to play. The next year she showed up at school, on the first day, in a dress.
The school, not being very progressive back then, kicked her out. William became Claudia, and Claudia ended up getting a GED She decided high school wasn’t for her. For a while, not much of anything was.
Her father threw her out of the house. If not for Kero’s dad, she would’ve been on the street, or dead. He let her live in one of his rental houses, putting an envelope containing sixty dollars on the front door every Monday. She could at least buy the basics and not starve. Kero’s dad also paid all the utilities without saying anything about it.
After a year or so, Claudia and her father spoke again. He was diagnosed with lung cancer and didn’t have more than three months to live. Wanting his son to know he loved him, he asked Claudia to move back home. Racey’s investigator didn’t find this part out, but Claudia’s father never called her by her chosen name. His wife had picked the name William herself, two days before the child’s birth took her life. The last thing he ever said to Claudia was, “You’re still my William, always have been.” Her father died the next day.
Claudia and Jewel settled into living alone, just the two of them, out on Cap Jackson Road. From what his investigator could find out, Claudia never held a real job. Apparently, all she did was keep the house and look after Jewel. It was five years after her father’s death before she was seen pushing her carriage around the county. In the twelve years since then, that was about the only thing she was noted for.
Racey also used his two idiots for another purpose. He knew that you had to find a weakness in your opponent. Money alone hadn’t worked in this case, which was unusual. Usually it did just fine by itself. The sisters, however would need more.
All right, Miss Claudia, you don’t give a damn about what folks think about you in your dress. You cling to what you believe in, even when your dad throws you out on your ass. Money doesn’t mean a thing to you, and you knocked two of the biggest bullies I know on their butts when they came to visit.
Racey considered his next move, staring into space while dunking toast in his coffee.
You’re not such a bad person at all, and you might even be kind of grand, Miss Claudia. You might even be better than that, but your goodness is gonna be your undoing.
Racey pondered the thought, not smiling, and then had another.
Looks like we’re gonna have to visit Miss Jewel.
Racey got up and paid his check. The thought of visiting Jewel didn’t make him smile. He didn’t look forward to it at all. Still, it had to be done.
He crossed back over Ponce and made his way over to the patio at Neighbors. Now that his belly was full, he needed a Bloody Mary. He had a lot of thinking to do, and that demanded sunshine and vodka.
Not necessarily in that order, of course.
16.
Mary Alice Johnson loved her son.
She had always wanted children, even as a little girl. She graduated from the University of Georgia with an education degree and taught two years at Walker Park Elementary in Gratis. After that, she married her high-school sweetheart, Chad Johnson. Chad also went to Georgia, and then to work for his dad’s insurance agency.
Less than three years after their honeymoon on Saint Simon’s Island, Mary Alice learned that she was with child. The soon-to-be parents were excited and got prepared. They even went all the way to Northside Hospital in Atlanta for the birth itself, in case any complication arose.
Mary Alice picked the little boy’s name. Chad wanted to name him Michael, after his favorite uncle. Mary Alice still associated that name with a boy she had a fling with when she and Chad broke up briefly as juniors. Of course she didn’t tell him that. Instead she told him that her dream was to name the child after both their grandfathers. “That way,” she said with a smile, “he’ll get the best parts of both families.”
Melvin Theodore was born on a fall Saturday, during the Georgia-Auburn game. It was the first game the couple had missed since their freshman year of college.
“Baby Ted” was a sweet child, never fussing too much. He slept through the night only a few weeks after being brought home from Northside, and rarely got too cross. Mary Alice never quite understood when other mothers complained of their colicky children. Her own child spoiled her.
That spring, Ted was almost seventeen months old. Both parents made sure to talk to him. He would answer with coos and laughter, usually smiling. As far as his parents knew, his responses were the result of a gassy belly, or maybe a small fly buzzing in a corner. They didn’t care. He was their little man, after all.
The only thing Mary Alice didn’t like about motherhood was what it did to her body. She was a pretty girl, beautiful when she tried. Growing up, she always admired herself in store windows while shopping. As a young woman she blossom
ed, enjoying the look on Chad’s face when he escorted her to the fraternity parties at the Sigma Chi house.
That changed after Ted was born. Her hips were different than before, wider and unwieldy. Her ass—which her fling Michael called her “amazingly amazing butt”—was a bit flatter. It now stretched a little too far over her newly full hips. She didn’t know how to describe her breasts, attacked as they were by her sweet-yet-voracious child. They were only beginning to regain their form, even months after weaning Ted and putting him on baby food. Even now, when she held him, he would try to suckle from time to time. Chad would laugh, saying “He’s going in for the kill!”
Mary Alice didn’t find it very funny.
She joined a gym, started Weight Watchers, and walked or ran everywhere. Being a good mother, and wanting Ted to go everywhere with her, she also bought a jogging stroller. It was expensive, but Chad said nothing about that. He missed the jealous stares when Mary Alice was on his arm.
With spring, she planned on doing more running with the stroller. Fresh air would be good for her child. Also, she bought some pink New Balance shoes at the mall in Savannah, and had four very cute running outfits to go with them. She may as well look good while she was trying to look even better, she figured.
Another benefit of running with Ted was social. Her route took her through town, past Le Café, where she enjoyed dining with her Junior League sisters. She stopped in every day, introducing Ted to the town that she knew would grow to love him. They also frequented Shaky Nate’s coffee shop and the park where she would hold him on her lap and swing. Before the spring was up, her child would lay claim to the whole town. The prospect excited her—both for her child and herself.
One spring day, a Thursday, she went for a run too late to meet her friends at Le Café. Instead, she ran two miles and then stopped at Shaky Nate’s for a skinny latte and a chicken-salad wrap. The wrap would cost her a considerable amount of Weight Watcher’s points, but she loved the way Shaky Nate’s prepared them. It was neither too mayonnaise-y nor too dry, and had just the right amount of relish to give it a sweet punch against the green spinach wrap.