Hard White

by Shannon Holmes

  “Git da fuck outta my car, bitch!” Melquan spat. “I knew I shouldn’t a told you shit. I thought you’d understand, India. But I knew better.”

  India glanced at him in disgust. Her lips was twisted and trembled with the emotion coursing through her frame.

  “Melquan, I knew you were going to take this like that. But put yourself in my shoes… I’ve got responsibilities. I can’t have the police coming to my place. First you were a drug dealer, now you’re a murderer, who doesn’t know if he killed an innocent girl or not. I love you but, I didn’t sign up for any of this, Melquan.”

  India got out of Melquan’s car and slammed the door. She didn’t bother to look back, out of fear that she might change her mind. It was definitely over. Their relationship had run its course.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Get Up… Stand up

  In the aftermath of the shooting, Melquan played everyone like they were the enemy. New York City was a big place, and it seemed like he used every inch of it to stay a step ahead of the police. Living out of different fleabag motels, every night Melquan was hiding out in a different borough.

  His first order of business was to trade in the Ranger Rover for a black Honda Accord. Melquan completely stopped visiting Edenwald projects. Even though he had severed several ties, the thought of an innocent little girl dying didn’t sit well with him.

  It ate at his conscious and kept him up nights. One day after another sleepless night, Melquan decided to give a call to the only person he knew for sure was still in his corner, Charlie Rock. Secretly they set up a meeting place in a desolate area near Sousa Woods.

  When Charlie Rock rolled into the park, Melquan let him wait before he somberly appeared. He had to make sure Charlie Rock wasn’t being followed.

  “You lookin’ stressed out nephew. You look like a beaten man,” Charlie Rock said. “You can’t keep sweatin’ da details.”

  “I feel like I’m beaten, Unk. To tell you the truth, I don’t know if it was me that killed the little girl. But Unk, I really feel fucked over it. I feel so terrible, I can’t even sleep, Unk. I wanna call her people. You know…? Apologize. Think they’ll accept it, Unk?”

  “Anything can be forgiven, nephew. But not that... There’s nothing you can do to bring that little girl back. Her father wants blood, nephew. He wants both parties responsible for his daughter’s death, dead!” Charlie Rock solemnly stated.

  Melquan’s attention was drawn in by the seriousness of Charlie Rock’s voice. He immediately stared at the man in the wheelchair. It dawned on him that he had no wins, the world was against him. Charlie Rock’s words of wisdom became priceless and Melquan listened.

  “Yo nephew, there’s so much gunplay in the game now. Your generation has taken shit to the extreme. This game was never intended to be that way. Ain’t none of this shit worth dyin’ or killin’ for. You do what you got to do to survive. You get in and get out. That’s how it used to be.”

  Melquan continued listening to Charlie Rock. It was clear that he was feeling the weight of the wise man’s lessons. A silence fell between the two men.

  “Have you found out anything about Nashawn?” Melquan asked.

  “He still runnin’ and duckin’ like you. But I gotta number for him from one of them lil’ broads he fuck with.”

  “Did you bring it?” Melquan asked with hope.

  “Yessir, got it right here fa ya, my nephew,” Charlie Rock said, reaching into his pocket and retrieving a small piece of paper. “The first number up there is Nashawn’s. And you already know who the other one belongs to…” Charlie Rock continued, handing the piece of paper to Melquan.

  Melquan stared at the numbers, and his burden already felt like they were being lifted. He glanced at Charlie Rock with hope in his eyes and said, “Tell me Unk, you think I got a good shot at makin’ this work?”

  Charlie Rock paused for a couple beats before giving an answer. Melquan was anxiously awaiting his answer.

  “I’m a keep it real with ya nephew. I don’t know, but it’s worth a shot. Any position is better than the one you’re in.”

  “A’ight,” Melquan sighed. “It is what it is. Good lookin’, Unk.”

  “No problem my nephew, you been always good to me and treated me with much respect. Watch yourself, nephew. Stay low,” Charlie Rock said.

  They embraced, and Melquan dropped a few hundred dollar bills on the older man.

  “One,” Melquan said, walking away.

  Nothing can ignite a neighborhood’s sense of community than the lost of innocent lives. Over the past few months, the body count had been steadily rising in the northeast Bronx. It took the reckless killing of a thirteen year girl named Maria, to galvanize not only the residents, but community activists and politicians. They came from all angles, those with genuine interest in helping the neighborhood, and those pushing their own agenda.

  In a noisy session outside and inside, they met with the precinct commander, clamoring for help in the Edenwald community center.

  “Captain, you mean to tell me that your police precinct is right across the street from the projects. Yet you and your men cannot provide adequate protection for our community?” an activist asked.

  “Well I…” the captain started say but the activist interrupted.

  “Is it because it’s a poor community? I mean, a thirteen year old girl, on her way home from school was gunned down a few days ago. Yet there no arrests have been made. What is going on with our police protection? This wouldn’t happen in any other neighborhood but a minority one. Everyday there is more and more killings and nothing is being done by our friendly neighborhood cops.”

  “We’re working hard to protect and serve…” the captain started to say, and again he was rudely interrupted by another activist.

  “There have been just too many killings in Edenwald projects lately. And nothing seems to be getting done. Captain, I’m here to say that the community will no longer tolerate the Keystone Cops attitude of your men. We demand action now!”

  There was round of applause greeting the activist. Residents endorsing the sentiments shouted encouragements to the speaker. The captain stood with a cynical look on his face. He did not speak until after the applause had died down.

  “Sir, I’ll have you know that I have detectives at this very moment combing the housing projects for potential witnesses. We must get cooperation from the citizens of the community who have information regarding any of the shootings. But it is a difficult process because of how your community feels about informants. I know like you know that someone saw something. We’re hoping and waiting for a concerned citizen to stand up, and be willing to testify in a court of law.”

  A chorus of boos enveloped the room. Their displeasure was directed at the reference to the informant’s role in a court of law. The police captain continued.

  “We have one individual in custody and have interest in certain individuals. Due to the nature of the ongoing investigation, I cannot, at this time, disclose anything about the investigation. But trust me we’re doing the best under the current circumstances.”

  “The problem is we can’t trust the police, captain. You don’t have such a great record working with the community,” the activist shouted.

  “Well there’s a problem in that area I’ll agree,” the captain said.

  “But Edenwald has been largely ignored by all. The community has been not only been overlooked but also under policed by the powers that be for decades. It’s time we take matters in our hands” the activist said.

  “It’s time we take matters in our own hands!” a resident yelled.

  The meeting ended in an uproar, but the politicians and activists were able to gather the hundred or so residents together. They led them in a protest demonstration, marching through the streets, chanting, “Down with dope… Up with hope! Drug dealer, drug dealer you can’t hide. You just committing… Genocide...”

  They marched through the projects and it culminat
ed across the street from the 47th Precinct.

  There they burned candles for shooting victims. Some carried photos of Maria, and others held up signs of protest.

  “Up with hope down with dope…” the crowd sang.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  World’s Getting Darker

  For days after his daughter’s funeral Jose Torres Sr. wept inside his apartment. Under a great amount of duress, he had bouts of depression, and was forced to take a leave of absence from his job. He fought the urge to lay the blame of her death on his son. Even though he knew Jose Jr had been at fault. Sitting alone in his room, his cell phone rang. Jose answered the call without checking the number.

  “Hello…?”

  “Yes, hello may I speak to Jose…?”

  “This Jose speaking… Who is this?”

  There was a long pause and Jose glanced at his cellphone to see if he had lost transmission.

  “Hello, hello I don’t have all day… Who’s this?”

  “Look you don’t know me right? My name is Melquan. I’m one of the guys possibly responsible for possibly causing your daughter’s death.”

  Jose Torres glanced at the cellphone grimacing. He put the tray down and walked away from the other mourners. His blood was boiling when he went back on the call.

  “You got some fuckin’ cojones calling my fucking cellphone muthafucka. How’d you’s get my number fuckin scumbag! You know my daughter was alive and smilin’ the other day, muthafucka?”

  “Look Jose, I’m apologizing that’s why I called. If I could take that day back I would. I’d gladly trade places with your daughter. I didn’t mean to cause her harm…”

  “You listen up muthafucka, I don’t give a fuck whether you meant it or not. My daughter is dead. And gone with her is all my hopes and dreams for her. I’ll never get to see her graduate from high school. I’ll never be able give her away in marriage. And all because of two stupid ass niggas with bad aim…?”

  “Like I said man, I’m apologizing for all that…”

  “Apologizing…? You muthafuckin’ nigga don’t even bother wastin’ your breath… Let God forgive you cause I never will muthafucka! The day I see you, I’ll try my best to bury your ass! You piece of shit,” Jose spat, ending the call.

  Angered Jose acted on a thought that ran through his mind earlier. He picked up his phone and began dialing, every thug he knew. He wasn’t going to take this sitting down, not at all.

  Melquan wore dark shades and a baseball cap inside the criminal court building on 161st. He had his reservations about meeting Nashawn in this setting, after all he was a wanted man, but what choice did he have. After riding the escalator to the main floor he got off and immediately spotted Nashawn.

  “I came here to talk. Not to argue or anything like that,” Melquan said. “We both don’t need to draw attention to ourselves.”

  “So speak, nigga.”

  Melquan began, “Look, this ain’t about us, Nashawn. A lil’ girl was shot by one of us that day—”

  “Word…?” Nashawn sarcastically replied.

  “Word up, we got bigger fish to fry instead of gettin’ at each other. We gotta get our story straight before da cops snatch us up,” Melquan said.

  “I don’t know what you talkin’ bout. I ain’t do shit,” Nashawn smiled.

  “Nashawn, right now I see you buggin’ da fuck out. This ain’t da time to catch amnesia, nigga. We gotta come together on this one or we both are done, finished, over…”

  “My nigga, listen up. That day ya ass shootin’ all reckless at me, ya shot da lil’ girl, and miss me. Po-po wants ya ass not mine! Ya da shooter now, nigga! Not me. Don’t get it twisted. Da way I see this, you in lots of trouble, Melquan!”

  “So what you sayin’, you gonna snitch on me?”

  “Nah, nigga it’s called co-operatin’,” Nashawn sardonically smiled.

  “You might as well turn yourself in then…”

  “For what, nigga? I ain’t a done a damn thing! I’ll see po-po when I see them. Not before…”

  “You fuckin’ rat bastard!” Melquan hissed, walking away. He opened the door and shouted. “You da fuckin’ police, I should a kill ya snitchin’ ass when I had the fuckin’ chance! Next time I see you, I will kill ya! They’ll find ya ass when they smell ya!”

  That night, six men sipped liquor, and spoke in hushed tones, gathered in the far bedroom of Jose apartment.

  “I think that I can speak for all the fathers here in saying that Jose we support you one hundred percent in any way we can,” one of the man said. “Your daughter could easily have been mine. Or his, his or his…”

  “I’m ready to do this shit!” another said, chugging his whiskey. He took another swallow and continued. “These young boys are fucking out of control! Okay? We spread word out there for everybody to shut down shop today outta respect for Maria. And what, they still out there, slinging that shit as usual!”

  “Don’t worry. We gonna take care of those lil’ niggas right now!” another said, producing a big gun. “Their ass is grass… Tonight shit’s gonna hit the fan! We gonna mow the lawn and send ’em a message!”

  “Thanks, to you’s gentlemen for coming through. Tonight we’re going to shoot first and ask questions last,” Jose said, raising his liquor glass. “I got no time to figure out who did what, whoever is out there in the horseshoe drive, that’s who’s gonna get burned up. Are you’s ready? We gonna make that damn horseshoe really hot tonight.”

  It was getting dark in the horseshoe when the group of men entered from all angles bearing automatic weapons. Suddenly the men opened fire, and the place was lit up like Christmas night.

  Drug dealers scattered, running through the projects. Some were gunned down right there and others escaped. By the time the shooting was over, not a living soul was moving in the horseshoe drive of Edenwald. The place that used to be an open-air illicit drug mall, bustling with business had been completely shut down.

  Chapter Thirty

  The Past… The Present… The Future...

  That evening, the police were deployed in great numbers. All the task forces were united in a joint effort to search for and arrest Melquan. Residents were questioned and frisking young kids became part of the daily routine. Police had reintensified their efforts in the apprehension and arrest of Melquan.

  Residents were under tight scrutiny and were agitated as cops crawled all over their business. The police were everywhere, in the halls, in the stairwells and around the project grounds.

  Melquan was watching from the rooftop of the projects one night, when his cellphone rang loudly in the darkness. Melquan checked the caller ID and it was unknown. He put the phone away, but answered the call after the phone started ringing again.

  “Melquan, what’s up, my man?”

  “Who da fuck is this?”

  “It’s Tommy, your friendly neighborhood detective, Melquan. You know what? You’re a hard man to get a hold of.”

  “Yeah, what da fuck you doin’ callin’ me?”

  “I wanted to tell you that you might as well turn yourself in, just so we can talk. We got your boy, Nashawn, and he doesn’t speak too highly of you. Matter of fact, he fingered you to be the shooter of that poor little girl who was killed in the horseshoe. He said you did it over some type of drug feud. I know you don’t want to take that rap, do you?”

  Melquan speechlessly stared at the cellphone. His grip got tighter and he put the cellphone closer to his ear.

  “Hello… You still there…?” The detective asked. “Do yourself a favor and come in. The longer you stay on the run, the worse it gets for you. You turn yourself and I promise, I’ll get you a nice deal. I personally know the DA prosecuting this case. We can get this murder charge reduced to manslaughter. You’ll serve a year or two and you’re back on the block again. Melquan you have a clean record. I can get you a sweetheart-deal, and you don’t have to worry, but you’ve got to turn yourself in first.”

  “A’ight, yo
u might have gotten Nashawn with all that bullshit, but you ain’t about to play me. You won’t get me! I don’t give a fuck what da lyin’ nigga Nashawn said, he only a bitch ass and a snitch. And you can tell the DA that I ain’t interested in none of his deals. Fuck all y’all!”

  Melquan let the phone drop from the rooftop, and the instrument smashed in pieces against the pavement down below. The fugitive escaped using the rooftop.

  The following day, Melquan cautiously crept to a public phone and made another call.

  “Hello Precious, it’s me, Melquan,” he said. “I need you…”

  Precious was happy to hear the call. It was the one she was expecting, and thought would never come. Melquan needed her. The idea hummed in her head, tickled her heart. She was very happy, making her way out the room. Later, Precious watched by a person sitting in a car, exited the Sousa woods.

  She was carrying a duffel bag filled with money and clothing. The car pulled up, and Precious hopped in, smiling. She planted a kiss on Melquan’s unshaven cheek and they drove away toward Interstate 95, heading south.

  About an hour into their ride down the Turnpike, Melquan and Precious heard the sound of siren. A New Jersey State trooper’s car accelerated behind them. Melquan’s heart sunk to the bottom of his stomach.

  His eyes darted from the rearview to the side mirrors, Precious held her breath. A young, black man on the run, Melquan maintained his speed. They breathe a collective sigh of relief when the State trooper flew by, and pulled over another motorist.

  The couple was silent the rest of the ride. Each of them submerged deep in their own thoughts. Now that she had Melquan to herself, Precious was contemplating how different her life would be. Melquan’s mind raced with thoughts of doing his thing when he reached Baltimore.

  HARDWHITE

  SHANNON HOLMES

  ANTHONY WHYTE

  WHERE