Ayana shrugged. “I ain’t say nothin’,” she said as she climbed out of the back seat.
After grabbing their bags, they each stretched as they forced their tired limbs to carry their bodies up the few steps then down the pathway to Durrell’s front door. As they approached, Ayana saw his brown arm reach out of the dimly lit living room and push the screen door open.
Inside, Jackson shook hands with his boy Durrell and the two hugged. He then turned to Tramar and said, “You remember my boy, Tramar, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” Durrell said, nodding his head. “We met and kicked it a couple of times. Wassup, man? How you and shit?”
Tramar shook his head and chuckled as he shook Durrell’s hand in return then hugged him. “Shit, I mean, I could be better,” he answered. He then thought about what could have happened if that security guard at the bank had had quicker reflexes – if he had pulled the trigger first. “But a nigga ain’t dead yet,” he added.
Tramar then pointed toward Ayana. “This my baby,” he said, introducing her. “Ayana.”
Ayana hugged the medium height, medium build guy. Once they finished introductions, Durrell insisted they go downstairs where they could chill, and he could show them the extra rooms and couches he had to offer them.
As they walked downstairs, into the light of the finished basement, Ayana and Tramar got a better look at Durrell. He had more tattoos than either of them could count as his white tank top covered large portions of his torso and back. It was clear to them that this Durrell was a real dude that was about the life in the streets.
Durrell invited them to sit on his couch, asking if they wanted to smoke a blunt. Jackson and Tramar laughed, saying that after everything they’d been through, a fat blunt would not be a bad idea.
“That’s what I thought,” Durrell said, standing up. He walked across the open, full basement and came back with a blunt, which he’d had setting on the kitchenette counter. He lit the blunt and passed it around, helping Tramar and Jackson to lean back into the couch and relax.
“Damn, I can just look at y’all niggas,” Durrell said, his eyes scanning up and down the couch. “Y’all look like y’all be through some wild shit. What the fuck happened and shit?”
“Nigga, we in a real bad place right now,” Tramar explained. “We gotta lay low and find out where we gon’ fuckin’ hide. We robbed a couple banks and shit, well three, actually. And, well…”
“Well what?” Durrell asked, sensing that there was more to the story.
“I had to kill the guard at the one bank in Indiana,” Tramar explained. “He came out while I was in there and just about to leave with the money. Swear to God, I don’t know where the dude came from, but next thing I know, I’m lookin’ up at some dude who got a gun pointed at me. Then, the town had all of its cops out, I guess. All I could hear and shit was sirens in the distance when I finally got outta there.”
“Hold up,” Durrell said, trying to make sense of what he was being told. “So y’all niggas robbed banks both in Indiana and Illinois?”
Tramar and Jackson looked at one another. “On the real, though,” Tramar said, “we hit this bank in the middle of downtown Chicago during rush hour and shit. Then we did two little banks over in some little town in Indiana and shit.”
“Yeah, and y’all some niggas,” Durrell said, leaning back into his chaise lounge as the blunt made its way back around to him. “You know them white people ain’t gon’ rest until the niggas who embarrassed them with such a terrible crime are caught and behind bars. Damn, y'all was really needin’ the money and shit, huh?”
“Yeah, man,” Jackson said, knowing that Tramar would not want to say too much about that. He could feel Tramar’s eyes looking at him and trying to gage the words that would come out of his mouth. “We got caught up in some shit where we had to come up with the money,” he explained. “But we done handled all that now.”
Durrell nodded, noticing the tension and energy coming off of Tramar and Jackson. It was very clear to him that there was more to the story, but he wasn’t going to push any further. “Well, shit,” he said. “You caught a nigga at the right time, I guess. Normally, my ass would be out in the streets or somethin’, but I had to beat this dude’s ass like three times and now they done put me on house arrest and told me to stay off his block.” He pointed down at his ankle, where he held up the left leg of his gray sweatpants to show the three of them his black ankle bracelet. “Thirty more days of this shit and a nigga can get back to doin’ what he gotta do. I can’t stand bein’ trapped and shit like this, but fuck it.”
“I feel you on that,” Tramar said. “But, man, we thank you for bein’ willin’ to help us out and shit.”
“Naw, it’s coo,” Durrell said. “When Jackson hit me up and shit, sayin’ that y’all needed to lay low, I knew it was some real shit that happened. Fuck them police and shit. Y’all stay gone and out of sight for as long as you can and shit.”
Eventually, the conversation led to Durrell showing them the spare bedroom as well as the pullout couch that they were sitting on. As it was quickly approaching the middle of the night, the three of them could feel the exhaustion really catching up to them. Jackson slept on the pullout couch while Tramar and Ayana lay in the spare bedroom. Before either of them could begin to think about having any sort of quickie, their heads had slumped to the sides as soon as they’d hit the pillows, and they were sound asleep.
Chapter 2
When Ayana woke up Monday morning, the first thing she did was look over at Tramar. As she’d expected, he’d woken up before her. Ayana could see that something was wrong. Tramar lay there, in the light coming down into the room from the small basement window up toward the ceiling, with his hands on his stomach. He was clearly thinking about something.
“What’s up?” Ayana asked, reaching over and grabbing him. “Why you layin’ there like that, Tramar?”
“I can’t believe this shit,” Tramar said, looking up at the ceiling. He shook his head. “I mean, I can’t even call Quan or nothin’. And fuck, I don’t even know what the fuck Precious is gon’ do whenever I do get back into contact with her. I mean, our shit is really all over the news and stuff, ain’t it?”
Ayana didn’t want to answer the question. She knew that anything she said would just make things worse. “Tramar, we gotta focus on keeping going and shit,” she said, softly. “We gotta figure out where we gon’ get to, and how we gon’ try to start our lives over wherever the fuck we goin’. But, I wanted to know… Well, nevermind.”
Tramar looked over at Ayana. He had always, and still did, hate when Ayana would say nevermind. He wanted her to express her feelings and points of views. With her helping him to do what was necessary to get his family back, the guilt in Tramar’s soul was at times too much. On the way through Iowa, he’d look into the backseat and shake his head, knowing that his actions and her dedication had changed her life forever. “No, what?” Tramar said, wanting to know. “What is it, Ayana? Tell a nigga what you thinkin’.”
“Well,” Ayana said, hesitantly. “I mean, I was just thinkin’ about the whole start over thing.” She paused. “It can’t be that easy to just get new fuckin’ identities and shit, Tramar.”
“I ain’t say that it was gon’ be easy,” Tramar said. “Shit, I ain’t even one hundred percent sure that we even gon’ be able to do it. If nothin’ else, I’mma make sure that you okay no matter what. But, with the new lives thing, shit, fuck it.” He shrugged his shoulders. “If these Mexicans and whoever can come here and live under the radar or whatever, then why can’t we? We gon’ see. Wherever we go, you know that me and Jackson gon’ work our way around them streets to find out what kinda shit we can get our hands on, like fake IDs or whatever.”
“Yeah,” Ayana said. She still couldn’t shake the feelings of doubt. It was all so new to her, but she knew that Tramar was good at figuring out how to handle tough situations.
Tramar rose out of the bed and walked to th
e bathroom. Ayana watched his naked backside as he walked into the small bathroom and peed. She then looked around the bedroom, now in the light of day, and not as exhausted. She guessed the room to be about ten feet by ten feet in size. The walls were cinder block, but they’d been painted and even had pictures on the walls. The bed they’d slept in was a full-size bed, somewhat hard, yet comfortable.
When Tramar finished using the bathroom, he and Ayana slid into their clothes and headed out into the main room of the basement. There, Jackson was sound asleep on the couch. As much as Tramar hated to wake him up after a couple of days of virtually no sleep, he and Ayana knew that every bit of time they had would be precious. Time needed to be well spent now because with one wrong move or a lack of planning, plenty of it would be what they would be getting on sentencing day. A judge would throw the book at them and throw away their lives.
“Hey, nigga,” Tramar said, pushing Jackson’s shoulder. “Nigga, wake up. Wake your ass up.”
Jackson pulled himself out of his deep sleep then stretched as he looked up at Tramar and Ayana, standing above him. “What, nigga?” he asked as he rolled back over to get comfortable again. “What time is it? Why the fuck you wakin’ me up and shit?”
“Nigga, we gotta get a map and shit and figure out what the fuck we gon’ do,” Tramar said. “What time is it?”
Jackson’s arm reached out from underneath the red blanket that Durrell had given him and picked up his phone off of the floor. “It’s ten-thirty.”
“Yeah,” Tramar said. “Nigga, get your ass up. We been asleep for like eight or nine hours and shit. We can sleep when we really get wherever the fuck we goin’. Come on, we gotta get something to eat and shit and get a map from somewhere.”
“A map?” Jackson asked, pulling his legs over the side of the couch to stand up. “What the fuck is this? Nineteen ninety or something. Why don’t we just look that shit up on my phone and shit? Fuck this map bullshit.”
“Nigga, shut the fuck up,” Tramar said. “We doin’ that shit so we can be clear about what we doin’ and where we gon’ go and shit. What you want to eat? I’mma ask Durrell where a street with restaurants and stuff is, and I’mma go get something for all of us to eat. I ain’t try’na be here no longer than I gotta be. We still ain’t far enough away from Chicago if you ask me.”
Tramar led Ayana upstairs. There, she waited in the living room while Tramar went to Durrell’s bedroom and asked him what he’d want to eat as well as how to get to the nearest busy street with options.
With the information fresh on his mind, Tramar and Ayana headed outside. Being in the sunlight felt totally different to the both of them right then. Not only were they in a different city, but they felt as if they were even more on the run than they’d been before back in Chicago. At least in Chicago, they knew what was around different corners. They knew what types of things the police would pull a driver over for, as well as what areas had more police coverage. However, here in Omaha, they were running blind. And, without speaking, they each knew that the other was wondering if Omaha local news stations would soon be picking up on the story out of Chicago. When they climbed into the Bugatti, Ayana only hoped that whoever’s truck Tramar had thrown her phone into would be driving long and far away from Omaha. Even here, she felt like something was going to happen. Ayana felt as if Jackson having a friend only eight or so hours away that had room to hide them, let alone was willing to do it, was just a little too easy. She remained tense as Tramar remembered Durrell’s directions and made his way to 40th Street.
Within twenty minutes, Tramar and Ayana were back at Durrell’s house in North Omaha with both Burger King and McDonald’s bags. They’d stopped at a gas station close to an interstate exit to buy a map of the United States which they now looked at spread across the kitchen table as they ate. Tramar looked up at Durrell, knowing that he was thankful for his help; however, that still didn’t mean that he needed to know all of their plans. Rather, he didn’t need to know their true plans. This led Tramar to lead the conversation purposely in a different direction.
Once they’d finished talking as they looked over the map of the country, the three of them decided to go back downstairs to the basement. Really, they felt they needed to get out of sight because Durrell had company coming over. As Tramar, Jackson, and Ayana headed down to the basement, Ayana and Jackson could tell that something was up with Tramar. Once they’d reached the landing, Tramar motioned for them to come over to the couch and sit down.
“What, nigga?” Jackson asked. “Wassup with you all the sudden?”
“Shit,” Tramar said. “I just want us to talk about the real plan down here,” he said, softly. He glanced back at the stairwell. “You ain’t think all that shit I was up there talkin’ about was really the plan, did you?”
“Nigga, um,” Jackson said, nodding his head. “Yeah, I did. Why wouldn’t I think that? Why was you making up a whole plan if you knew that we wasn’t really gon’ do it?”
“Cause,” Tramar said. He hesitated, not knowing how Jackson was going to take what he was about to say. However, he knew that it had to be said, and that there needed to be an understanding. “Nigga, I know that Durrell is your nigga and stuff, but I ain’t coo with him knowin’ where we headed. Shit, I ain’t even cool with nobody knowin’ where we headed, really. That’s the kinda shit we need to keep to ourselves and shit.”
Jackson leaned back, clearly in thought as he processed what he’d just heard. “Okay, I see,” he said, feeling a little bitter. “I mean, I guess I see it. So, you really wasn’t try’na go to Colorado and shit?”
Tramar shook his head, pointing at the map. “Naw,” he said. “I wasn’t. But now that he think that’s where we headed, we can figure out where we really gon’ go. That way, if he get to talkin’ too much or the police somehow find out that we was here and shit, he only gon’ be able to give them bad information.”
“I feel you on that,” Jackson said, now calming down. “Actually, that shit was smart. First, Ayana’s phone is headed some other direction, in the back of some semi truck or something. Then, like you said, if they do find out that we was here, they not gon’ be able to really find us after this because whatever Durrell says to they ass is gon’ be wrong.”
“Exactly,” Tramar said. “Since the three of us is on the run, it’s best that we the only three who know anything about where we goin’. Now, nigga, calm down and let’s look at this map to figure out our next move.”
Tramar positioned the map in the middle of the coffee table that sat in front of the basement couch. With Ayana and Jackson leaning toward the map on either side of him, they scanned the nation from coast to coast. At first, Ayana reintroduced the idea of Atlanta. They then decided against it. As much as they loved Atlanta, it very well could be the obvious place to find a couple of wanted black dudes. They needed something less obvious.
Jackson then brought up small towns in the south. Neither Ayana nor Tramar liked that idea. They’d heard too many bad stories about racism in the south, especially in the small towns, that they didn’t want to take the chance.
“Man, I ain’t wanna say this,” Jackson said, as he was thinking about driving down the nation’s highways, “but I think we need to get rid of the Bugatti.”
“Why you say that?” Tramar asked. “It ain’t registered to none of us or nothin’, and the person who it do belong to can’t exactly say nothin’.”
“But how long is that gon’ be the case?” Jackson asked, trying to be the voice of reason. “I mean, nigga, I like drivin’ the car too. It is slick as anything I’ve ever seen and shit. But, let’s face it. Sooner or later, they’re going to find Byron’s body in that basement with the bullet in his head, nigga. I mean, think about it. He got family and stuff too, I’m sure. He wasn’t just out in this world all on his own or nothin’. Plus, yeah, the car is nice and shit, but I feel like it draws attention.”
“That’s the same thing I was thinkin’, Tramar,” Ayana s
poke up. “I feel like the car grabs attention and stuff. You ain’t see the way them white people at that Ponderosa was lookin’ at us. I could tell they wasn’t used to seein’ a few black people get into an expensive car.”
“Shit,” Tramar said, not wanting to believe it. “You know you seen them niggas with them cars all over Chicago, especially on the south side.”
“Yeah, but we not in Chicago no more,” Ayana said, putting her hand on Tramar’s leg. “Think about it, Tramar. That’s what we used to seein’ based on where we come from, but in other parts of the country and stuff, it might stick out or somethin’. At least in small towns and shit. You know them white people gon’ be findin’ a reason to pull us over or somethin’ because they prolly gon’ think that we stole it or something.”
“Yeah, man, think about it,” Jackson said. “I’m tellin’ you, man. We gotta get another car. I ain’t sayin’ that we gotta do it right now. I ain’t even sayin’ that we can’t take the car and drive a little further and shit. But, sooner or later, preferably sooner, we gon’ have to get rid of the car so we can stay low.”
“I was thinkin’ about that when we walked out to the car to go get breakfast this morning, Tramar,” Ayana said.
“What you mean?” Tramar asked.
“I mean, you ain’t notice the way it sticks out on the block?” Ayana asked. “The second I stepped outside, I felt like a target. I know this is Omaha, and it’s a city that prolly ain’t got as much crime and stuff goin’ on like Chicago do. But, and I’m just sayin’, that car does not look like something that somebody who is trying to lay low would be driving. It just doesn’t.” Ayana looked at the confused look on Tramar’s face. “I’m just bein’ honest.”
As the three of them talked about their options, pointing at different places on the map, they were totally blind to what was going on back in Chicago. They may have been on the run, and two whole states away from Chicago, but back in their precious home state of Illinois, with the assistance of neighboring Indiana, a recipe for a manhunt was brewing. The city was not going to stop until they found those suspects.
When It All Falls Down 4 - It Just Ain't Over Yet: A Chicago Hood Drama (A Hustler's Lady) Page 2