Been that way since I heard he was dead. Didn’t even know he was dead till Sunday morning. That’s right. No way he could be dead cause the cat jumped up from the ground and ran. Watched him run all the way out to Greys Pond Road myself, so when Mike called me the morning after the job I didn’t know what he was talking about. See, it was Sunday, the morning after we pulled the job, and my head was real bad. We’d been out celebrating, partying, you know, and I’m still groggy when the phone rings. I’m laying at my girl’s house with a bad head but when the phone rings I grab it. Something tells me to grab it quick and it’s Mike on the other end.
We bought one, man.
What you talking bout we bought one?
Did you see the paper? It’s all in the paper.
Now the fog starts to clear. It’s only one thing Mike can be talking bout. Then I’m stone wake. My heart’s thumping so loud it’s like it’s inside the telephone and I’m listening through the receiver. Last time I saw the dude he was holding his shoulder and hauling ass. Could have blowed him away easy. A real easy shot cause I had run up to the front of the truck to catch him before he got away, but shit I wasn’t about to shoot nobody unless they shooting at me so I just thought about how easy it would be to bring him down. Couldn’t help thinking that standing there with my piece in my hand. Aimed at the cat but no way I’m gon shoot him down in cold blood. Just sighted over my pistol at him. I’m remembering how he looked and figuring couldn’t be nothing wrong with a cat running hard as he was. He was grabbing at his shoulder but he was steady truckin.
How’s he dead, man? The cat was running, man.
Stravros was close to me. But he was far away too. You sight down the barrel of a gun, a dude look real small. Like he’s miles away but you know you can pull the trigger and boom. He’s down. So he’s close, but he’s far away too. He’s hauling ass but you know you could bring him down easy by pulling the trigger. He’s running but he ain’t going nowhere. He was just a few yards away cause I run up to the front of the truck to see what’s happening after I hear the shots and Cecil yelling, Stop, stop. Dude never seen me. His head was facing toward the street so he didn’t know I was close as I was. He woulda shit if he did, but his head turned to the street so he didn’t see me and I couldn’t see his face. And I still can’t. It’s still a blank.
Anyway, what I was starting to tell you was about the stickup. Thursday. That’s the day we found Stavros’s place and went over there and made arrangements. Set up the deal for Friday. Everything’s cool. The dude’s anxious to make a buy. He’s ready that first day but it’s too quick. We say Friday cause it take us that long to get our shit together. We got to cop a license so we can rent a truck. The license we got is hot so we got to cop another one and Friday’s soon enough. We been waiting all our lives and two days ain’t gon change nothing, so me and Mike run down some bullshit or another to Stavros. You know. Stone con. Flashing our gold watches and jiving about all the heavy business we got to take care of. We been desperate looking for a place to hit and soon’s I see all them shabby cars crowded up in that lot and this druggy-type dude want to get rich quick, I know we got a good thing. So it’s Friday. Yeah, man, we be calling you Friday and biff bop bam it’s a soul shake, knuckles and thumbs hooked and squeezing meat, all that bullshit to seal the deal.
* * *
My brother slows down. As slow as he talked the first few minutes the first time he began to tell me his story. He’s the one telling but he’s looking too. I think of somebody fumbling through a drawer, trying to find something important he knows is not in the drawer because he’s searched it before but he’s also searched everyplace else where the missing item could be, so he’s started over again, looking where he’s looked before. Not paying strict attention now to the contents of the drawer he’s rifling because he knows deep down that what he wants is not there. But it’s not anyplace else he can think of, so it’s almost mechanical, this searching again in a familiar place; he sifts distractedly, slowly through what’s there, his mind somewhere else, trying to imagine the one obvious place he’s overlooked. He talks to me like that. Slowly, long spaces between words and phrases while he searches for what’s missing.
I’m filling a sheet of yellow, lined paper with notes. The writing is automatic. It will be difficult to read because I don’t look down at what I’m scribbling. I’m too busy watching my brother remember. Too busy listening to what is unsaid, watching his shoulders and hands, the angle of his head tilting toward me, away, moving side to side absorbed by its own drifting in time that has nothing to do with anyone, with being anywhere. Not at a table in the visiting lounge, not in Western Penitentiary, not in the words spoken slowly, haltingly that I hear and try to transcribe. My brother is searching in a place no one else will ever see, for an answer no one else would ever understand. His head nods, his hands pinch and pull atop the table, then they disappear under its pitted surface. His shoulders lean toward me, hunch, retreat. The rhythm has little to do with what he’s saying but it’s the key to what’s really happening, to the real search words can only bump against and echo.
A day passes and Friday comes and is just about gone before a phone call is made. They’ve come up empty. No license, no rental truck so they have to call and make excuses. Saturday for sure. Just a little something that’s come up and we have to handle it today. No sweat. No problem. The TVs packed in a truck already. Brand new Sonys still in the boxes. Untouched. Yeah. Course they’s colored. Yeah. Colored as me, man. Copped them this morning like I said I would but something came up. You dig. Nothing to do with the TVs. All that’s cool. Other business. You dig. Heavy, heavy business so we got to put off to tomorrow what we can’t do today. Dig. I’ll buzz you round noon tomorrow. Yeah. Square business.
But Saturday’s no better. Still no license. Michael’s is suspended. Rob never owned one. And nobody to take Cecil’s place if they use Cecil’s license to rent a truck. Cecil will have to report his license stolen and hang out Saturday when they’re pulling the job so he’d have an alibi. But nobody to take Cecil’s place. Chunky in Canton, Ohio, at his grandmother’s for the weekend. Robby calling all over Pittsburgh but can’t find brother Dave. Dave would go if they could reach him but nobody knows where he is.
* * *
See, everybody’s jaws getting tighter and tighter. Start to remembering the dope bit. How we waited too long and blew that and now we blowed Friday and time running out again Saturday and if the white boy don’t hear from us today he gon back out, don’t care how greedy he is you give a dude too long to think and he starts thinking something’s shaky. You give him too much time he gon get scared. So bad shit’s in the air. Is we gon fuck up again? Is that the story of our lives? Is we just spozed to fuck up and keep on fucking up and that’s why we in the mess we in in the first place?
But ain’t really nothing to do, so we just sitting around my place getting uptight, getting ugly. I’m calling everywhere I can think of for Dave but no luck. No, I ain’t seen Dave or no answer at all. Just ring, ring, ring and I slams down the phone hard as I can like everything fucking with me is under there and I squash it like a bug. Goddamn. Goddamn. Got no money in the bank. Look around and Mike and Cecil just as hot as me. They both staring at Sowell cause he’s in his usual punkass bag. He’s coming up short and they blaming him. I’m ready to go upside his head my ownself cause he’s trying to say ain’t no reason for him to rob nobody. He can come up with his end of the dope money so why he need to be robbing people. Well, that’s one way to look at it. Sowell got the dough for his share of the buy but shit, if there ain’t no stickup, ain’t no action for nobody. We all got to get our shares together and if we don’t move on the car lot what Sowell’s holding don’t mean nothing. Naturally, Sowell don’t want to hear it. His lip poked out a mile. Mike signifying and Cecil egging him on and Sowell knows they talking bout him like a dog but he ain’t budging out his corner. I got my end, man. Youall the John Dillingers and shit. Youall get yours and we
can do business. That’s what he keep on saying but he ain’t saying shit now cause he see Mike and Cecil ain’t playing. They stone down on his case and taking it to court so Sowell’s trying to look casual in his double knits, laid back in my easy chair but he ain’t moving a feather and he sure ain’t opening his mouth now. He just waiting a chance to get up and get the fuck gone. I know that. He knows it.
When Sowell halfway out the door Cecil says loud and nasty what we all thinking:
Who the hell is he? Nigger wants to get rich quick but ain’t willing to take no risks. Who the fuck he think he is?
After the door slams I’m almost smiling cause I’m thinking of Garth. I say to him, You my main man, Gar. You a righteous dude but you sure do keep some jive company. I’m teasing Garth behind his no-heart nigger Sowell, and Garth can’t do nothing but grin back. Cause Sowell ain’t worth doo doo.
Everything be alright if I could bring Garth down off that cloud, but ain’t no way. Ain’t nobody can do that. When you’re gone, you’re gone; so it ain’t gon be Garth but who the fuck it gon be? Can’t mess up again. Can’t let the dream slip away again.
Then I know. Ain’t no question about it. It be’s the way it always be. The three musketeers. Me and Cecil and Mike. We gon have to do it our ownselves. Can’t find Dave. Chunky in goddamn Canton, Ohio. Sammy’s too silly. Mike and Cecil still mad, anyway. They subject to break Sammy’s neck he look at them cross-eyed. That leaves three. The three musketeers. So that’s that.
Cecil calls the police station and tells them his license stolen. They tell him he got to come down in person to report it stolen.
Let’s go, Cecil says. Me I say, Huh-uh. No-o-o . . . Hell no . . . I ain’t gon down to no police station. Not today, man. No way they gon get this nigger’s ass down to no No. 5.
What you worried about, man? Cecil the one should be worried. It’s his license they be having for the truck.
Hey, Cecil says. Don’t make me no difference. I ain’t worried. What they gon do? They got my license. So what? What’s that prove? Just told them it was stolen.
Mike come in: There ain’t gon be no robbery reported. Just be a truck somebody finds out on the highway. Who’s gon report a robbery? That white boy’s a thief just like us. The dude’s a fence. He ain’t hardly calling no cops on us. He don’t want no cops looking round there. That’s bad for business.
Yeah, man. You right. But I ain’t worried no way. What I got to be worried about? Things can’t get no worser. Nowhere to go but up. Or out. Don’t make me no nevermind.
Cecil, you crazy.
Cecil’s cool, man, Cecil knows where it’s at.
I still don’t want to go to no police station. Something about it. On that day specially. A day we planning to do wrong. Heavy wrong. Holding people up and do. Just don’t seem right to take your own self down to no goddamn police station. All them cops running round inside. And the street full of cop cars. It’s like jinxing yourself. Or being too goddamn bold for your own good. So I’m nervous. I don’t like what’s happening. We a man short and a day late and I can’t figure all what else is wrong but I got a feeling and that feeling’s telling me something I don’t want to hear. I knew something bad was gonna happen. The license bit. Cecil coming along. Stopping at the police station on our way to pull a job. None of that was sitting right with me. I knew we was taking big chances, dumb chances, but like Cecil say, Damned if you do and damned if you don’t. Thinking round in circles like that and knowing all the time I’m gon do what I have to do but I swear, Brother, it wasn’t sitting right in my mind. Something trying to pull my coat, something trying to whisper in my ear, No, saying no, no, no. . . .
But we come too far to turn back now. Too far, too long, too much at stake. We got a sniff of the big time and if we didn’t take our shot wouldn’t be nobody to blame but ourselves. And that’s heavy. You might live another day, you might live another hundred years but long as you live you have to carry that idea round in your head. You had your shot but you didn’t take it. You punked out. Now how a person spozed to live with something like that grinning in his face every day? You hear old people crying the blues about they could have been this or done that if they only had the chance. Well, here was our chance. Our shot at the big time. How you gon pass that by? Better to die than have to look at yourself every day and say, Yeah. I blew. Yeah, I let it get away.
That’s what I was thinking then. How else I’m spozed to think? Couldn’t see myself on no porch in no rocking chair crying the blues. Like, what else I’m spozed to do? No way Ima be like the rest of them niggers scuffling and kissing ass to get by. Scuffling and licking ass till the day they die and the shame is they ain’t even getting by. They crawling. They stepped on. Mize well be roaches or some goddamn waterbugs. White man got em backed up in Homewood and he’s sprinkling roach powder on em. He’s steady shaking and they steady dying. You know I ain’t making nothing up. You know I ain’t trying to be funny. Cause you seen it. You run from it just like I did. You know the shit’s still coming down and it’s falling on everybody in Homewood. You know what I’m talking about. Don’t tell me you don’t, cause we both running. I’m in here but it’s still falling on me. It’s falling on Daddy and Mommy and Dave and Gene and Tish and all the kids. Falls till it knocks you down.
So you better believe Ima go for it. I’m scared and I know something ain’t right, something deep down and serious ain’t right, but I got to go.
Across from the Channel Four Building, over the hill from Wilkinsburg, out Ardmore way where there’s dividers in the road is a gas station rents U-Haul trucks. You know where I mean. Used Cecil’s license to rent us a truck. Drove it back to my place and I got on the phone again. Tried Dave one more time but he still ain’t nowhere to be found. It’s nearly five by now. We been stalling and putting it off long as we could. It’s down-and-dirty time now. When I talked to Stavros at twelve I told him it be early evening before we could come by with the TVs. Told him I’d call again, 5:30 at the latest, to tell him exactly when we’d be there with the goods. It’s after five so I got to call.
We be there by seven. Right around seven but no later. The cat sounds spacy. Like I woke him out a deep sleep or something. But everything cool. He’s tired of hanging round but if we get there by seven he’ll wait. Seven. Yeah. That’s cool. Seven.
It’s settled. Ain’t nobody else available so it got to be Cecil. Funny thing is Cecil don’t care. I’m worrying my ass off but Cecil he cool, calm, and collected. Cause that’s Cecil. Nothing don’t bother Cecil. He’s ready to go. He jumps up in the truck and me and Mike follow him in Mike’s car down to No. 5 police station in East Liberty.
Cecil parks the truck round the block and gets in wit us and then him and Mike go in the station. That’s when it hits me. Chills. Chills all over my body so’s I’m shaking like a leaf. I can’t explain it. They just come down on me. Not no little nervous twitches or nothing like that. Not no rookie fever or nothing. Hard rocking chills, Brother. So bad I can barely open the door and crawl in the back. Cause that’s what I had to do. I needed to hide. Crawled in the back of Mike’s car and hid down in the seat. On my knees on the floor so wasn’t nothing of me showing out the window. It’s starting to get dark now. It’s dusk and couldn’t nobody see me from the police station but I’m scrunched down in the back in the shadows and them chills tearing me up so bad I’m thinking the whole car must be shaking. To this day I don’t know what hit me. Wasn’t all that cold. The windows up anyway. Maybe it was just being around so many damned cops. Cops everywhere around there and the last thing in the world I need to see is a cop. Maybe that’s all it was or maybe it was . . . you know . . . a premonition. Maybe something inside me could see everything that was gonna come down. Maybe I knew somebody gon die.
It’s good and dark by the time we get through the tunnel to the West Side. Left Mike’s car in the Hill. The three musketeers all in the rental truck. Me and Mike in the cab. Cecil in back. Turning chilly but it ain’t
really that cold. Anyway I ain’t shaking no more. Whatever it was hit me is gone bout its business and I’m trying to forget it happened. Halfway embarrassed. Wondering if Mike or Cecil saw me sneaking in the backseat. I got to tell you one more thing, though, about the time outside the police station. At the trial the desk sergeant swore I was one the men walked in to report the license. I wasn’t in there. No way nobody get me inside. Almost died sitting outside so ain’t no way in hell Ima strut up inside no police station. The cop lying through his teeth. But on the stand he swore on Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, and his mama, I was the one. That’s how they do. They all get their shit together and tell the same lie and the jury wind up believing them cause they all got the same lie down pat. Said he remembered me cause I had one them African hairdos. Plaits sticking out my head. Same thing one the Kramer brothers said to the jury. Yes. That one. He’s the one. Hair sticking out all over his head. Rattails or pigtails. He called my do something like that. But truth is, I was wearing a hat that night. My Big Apple hat and kept my hair pushed up under it. So how they remembering plaits? How they remember hair sticking out? I’ll tell you how. They remember cause they was lying. They all looking at the lineup pictures. I’m the only one there with cornrows and plaits. In the mug shots, that is. They must have sat down in some little room and got their lie together looking at the picture. Dummies never thought of no hat. But I sure nuff be wearing my Apple hat all night. Never left my head. They was gon get them a nigger and didn’t care if it was the right one or wrong one just so they got one they could hang.
Brothers and Keepers Page 20