“All right Moses but let me know soon!” Tyreek said with his most serious face.
“Sure, I’ll do the best I can. Now if you don’t mind, I don’t want my breakfast to turn into lunch.”
Tyreek got up sliding the gun in his belt. His eyes were trained on me all the way to the door. He was checking my sincerity to see if I would cross him. I raised my coffee cup to salute him so long. My waitress came over and meant mugged him till he got to the door. She then took my plate and offered to warm it up for me. I told her not to bother; I’d have to eat the cold food. I didn’t want to be late; I had to go to a funeral.
The large sanctuary seemed to shrink in size at the first sound of the church organ.
I sat in the front pew paralyzed at the sight of my mother’s lifeless face.
No longer would it form those contagious smiles or disappointing frowns that would make me feel like a child, regardless of my age.
I watched with hidden horror as strangers formed a line to view my mother’s body like she was an exhibit.
To my left were my sister and her husband.
Being in the company of all of these strangers helped me ignore the hostility we had between us.
I attempted to bridge the abyss of animosity by placing my hand on hers, she responded with a smile. She clenched my hand tight. I could see my mother’s strength in her eyes.
For a moment surfaced the love buried beneath years of bad blood.
During the eulogy, the minister spoke of how he loved when my mother became a part of his church family. However, to my sister and I (saved or sinner) she was our definition of love and family.
I relived the memories of my mother on the quiet rainy ride to the cemetery.
I was smiling, but unaware that my face mirrored the streaming water on the windshield.
As I got out of the car and walked against the wet grass toward my mother’s casket, I thought of former family hardships. How my mother would squat down to my height, pull me close hold my hand tight and looked me directly in the eye and say, “Moses you can’t be my little boy, you’ll have to be my little man.”
She would then ask me if I could do it and I would nod my head. She would put her hands on my face, kiss my forehead and by the time she stood up I felt as tall as she was. I realized that this was one of those times. I took a deep breath and kept my eyes opened during the minister’s prayer, as I prepared to say my good-byes.
I reached out to the casket; as they lowered her into the ground, I whispered, “Rest in peace, sweet queen.”
The night was falling, by the time I got to my mother’s house. The gathering seemed to be a sequel to the wake.
It held the same cast of characters.
It wasn’t long before I spotted Pearl by the refreshments stuffing her elastic cheeks like a squirrel preparing for a long winter. Then I saw Delores’s bonnet hovering over the crowd. It reminded me of one of those b-film flying saucers.
I finally saw her, wearing a black dress with broad white stripes. She reminded me of the Michelin Man. She had a stained napkin hanging from her collar and was using her pinkie finger for a toothpick.
As depressed as I was, the sight of those ladies did a lot to lighten my mood.
I saw my sister arguing quietly with her husband,
I hoped he would become her permanent sparring partner.
I was about punch drunk, from all our epic bouts.
As Melody walked away from her husband, William headed toward
me.
I stood as he approached. We didn’t speak that much, and I believed he assumed my problems with my sister based on me being younger.
“Moses, your sister needs to talk to you. She’s in the back room.”
William said with authority and speed.
I stared amusingly at him for a moment before I responded. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
“She needs to talk to you now Moses!”
I turned to him again. This time I looked as if I wanted to snatch his neck off his shoulders.
He broke my stare. I decided to respond before he raised his eyes.
“Did you hear me? I said, in a minute.” I said it just loud enough for him to hear me.
I waited about four or five minutes before I went to the back room.
The room had a lot of significance. It was where we use to get spankings when we were little. Anytime we did anything wrong, our mother would order us to the back room.
As a child, it was like walking to the electric chair. Now as an adult, the short walk down the hallway still seemed to take an eternity. Only this time, knowing who was waiting for me at the end of the hall, it felt more like the runway to a boxing match, than the electric chair.
When I entered, the room was pitch black except for the light on the end table where Melody sat.
It was so dark that I could hardly see her face. I was sure the whole look was deliberate. She probably thought she looked pretty scary, but to me, she looked like one of those T.V, Commercials where the adults are ashamed of eating Frosted Flakes.
I don’t know if she knew I was there or not because she waited like twenty seconds before she spoke.
“Moses you know why I asked to speak to you, don’t you?”
Now I wasn’t sure, but I knew it was going to include some drama.
“No, what do you want?”
Melody looked shocked at my question.
“What I want is the money you owe us for all the funeral expenses!”
When she said to us that got me heated, I realized Melody and William’s argument was about me.
I went over and turned on the light to see Melody’s squinting eyes.
“Well if he’s so worried about his money then why isn’t he in here?”
I opened the door and saw William socializing across the room.
William, get in here right now!”
I then slammed the door. When I turned around, I saw Melody’s eyes were bulging.
“What are you doing Moses?”
“If he’s so concerned about his money then he should bring his punk-ass in here!”
William entered the room with an embarrassed look on his face. Melody spoke as soon as he came.
“You’re not going to intimidate anyone, Moses. What do you think, the funeral was free?”
“Of course not, but why do you have to be an asshole about it. If I’m not mistaken Ma wanted a quiet funeral, and you turned it into a Hollywood production you didn’t discuss it with me you just started spending money.”
Melody quickly responded with arched eyebrows. “You don’t think my mother deserved a nice funeral?”
I hated when she would say; “my mother” like it wasn’t my mother too.
Before I could call her on it, she continued.
“Oh, I guess if it were up to you, you’d probably throw her in a pile of dirt…
The funeral is not the only expense. You know how long she was in the hospital? Do you think that was free too?”
As she spoke, her eyes began to water up. William ran over to console her.
“Now look what you’ve done,” William said, wrapping his arms around Melody.
“You don’t think about anyone but yourself!”
I had had enough. As I pulled the door open, I watched an eavesdropping Pearl and Dolores trying to cover up their nosiness.
“Pearl dropped her earring.”
I walked passed the two clowns into the kitchen and called a cab.”
Melody’s words were resonating in my mind, maybe because I could hear some of my mother’s words in her voice. I tried to convince myself not to misplace the shame I was beginning to feel.
I decided I would go check out Priest at the bar. By this time of the night he should have a few drinks in him and good for a laugh or two.
When I got to the bar, I was surprised to see so many cars lined up and down the street.
For the most part, all the cars were new, kitted up and chromed out. Th
e music was loud enough to hear down the street; a D.J was mixing Whodini’s “Friends” with Nas’s “Rule the World.”
The music had my head nodding. Usually, you would only hear old blues jams. I wondered what the occasion was.
As I walked in, I saw a collage of underworld figures, dressed to impress, laid out in colorful suits, godfather brims, and feathered derbies, all men of reputation. The men laughed and offered up a champagne toast.
I looked up to locate Priest in his booth, but it was empty I figured
I’d cop a squat and wait for him to show.
The same dimple face waitress came over and brought me a double cognac. I sat back and watched the players play. In the middle of all the dudes was a modestly dressed cat in comparison; I figured the party had to be for him the way the rest of the dudes were hugging him and throwing their toast in his direction.
I saw Priest coming out of the bathroom; He motioned to Dimples to bring him a drink.
I was happy to see him, but he had a solemn look on his face like he was the one who just came from a funeral.
“What’s up Priest? Why aren't you joining in the festivities?
“I ain’t into that shit…you want to know the difference between them and me. I’m about making money they about spending it.”
The rise in Priest was uncharacteristic, so I figured I’d investigate.
“So who’s the Party for?
“Steel.” Priest said.
“That’s Steel ugh?”
“Yeah he came home last week, Rico and his crew are throwing this party for him.”
When Priest said that he just came home, that meant he just got home from prison. I had never seen Steel before, but his name rang more bells than the Catholic Church. When we were teenagers he was like Jesse James, not soon after crack hit the street he was selling quarter keys, while everyone else in his league was razor blading rocks. He had a reputation of being a killer, which augmented his persona in these circles.
Back in the day, it was like everybody worshipped the ground he walked on, except for Priest.
He and Priest never had an altercation; it was just the amount of respect given that Priest perceived as a fear that would drive him crazy. He would always say, “I’ll never be scared of a motherfucker who breathes like me and bleeds like me.”
It had to be at least ten years since he got sent up. All of his worshipers were now making a mint, and I guess they came to pay homage or show off to their childhood hero.
Dimples came over to our table and brought a bottle of Dom Perignon.”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart, I didn’t order champagne.” Priest said. “Oh I know it’s from those guys over there.”
I turned toward the hoard of hustlers, and they simultaneously raised their glasses, including Steel.
Priest kept a blank face and nodded his head, and then he turns to me and lifts his previous poured drink.
“Finally these muthafuckas showing respect to the architect.” Priest shot his drink down his throat.
A few seconds later we see the players lift their drinks again; it was for the booth behind us, then the next. They were sending bottles and toasting every table.
I glanced over at Priest, and his jaws were tight his fist clenched. I thought he was about to hurl the bottle at the dudes. But when I saw him take a deep breath and break his stare, I was reminded that this wasn’t ten years ago and just like he said his hustle was more business than personal.
I also knew he wouldn’t have any champagne.
We rapped for a little while longer, but Priest was bitter, and so was I.
As I was about to leave Priest called me back?
“Hey Moses, I almost forgot, you can meet this guy with surveillance work tomorrow.”
I told him that would be cool and thought to myself it would be nice to get some more income, that way I could settle the debt with Melody.
I caught a cab and raced to the crib.
I was waiting for the routinely late elevator trying to erase thoughts of my mother lying in the casket.
When a young couple entered the lobby laughing and sharing kisses. Their show of affection had reminded me of my ex. It had been almost a year since we performed the same play in the building lobby. During the elevator ride, I could practically feel the energy of the lover's affections. As I got to my floor I ambled down the hallway realizing how lonely I had become, my mother’s love was a fail-safe to the world that had hardened around me.
My thoughts again went to Her. I put the key in to unlock my door; I remembered how it used to be a threshold to an entirely different world. It was an oasis, a refuge from the heartless world outside. But now it didn’t feel any different from any place else, void of comfort and love. I kept thinking of her and how we would take rainy nights like these and turn them into storms of passion, which would flood our hearts and drown our emotions in an ocean of ecstasy. Now it seemed as if the sky was crying out of loneliness. I just sat and watched the clouds weep while the only company I looked to keep was insomnia. I started to feel like a sucker losing sleep over some broad. Then I remembered what Priest Uncle Bird used to tell us.
He would say, “Women are a trip and that being the case, you’re bound to fall for one of them.”
August 12, 1996
I was in my third hour of sleep when the jangling telephone jolted me out of bed.
I picked up.
“What’s happening player I got Mr. Wilkes with me, we’ll meet you at the coffee shop in about thirty minutes.”
It was Priest, and I assumed Mr. Wilkes was the new client. Priest’s estimation of thirty minutes sounded ridiculous, the way I felt it would take that long for me to walk to the bathroom.
I sat on the bed and closed my eyes, next thing I know the phone again rings.
I pick up.
“What’s the deal man, we’ve been waiting here for almost an hour, if we're going to do this right, and we can’t have this guy questioning you off the rip.”
I couldn’t believe it had been an hour it felt like I had just closed my eyes.
“Moses, you awake?”
“Yeah, I’m up. I’ll be right there.
“Come on Mo get your mind on the money; it’s show time.”
I nodded off again. The sound of the dial tone woke me up.
I walked to the bathroom and splashed some cold water on my face. I took a look in the mirror and saw that my five o’clock shadow was going on a quarter till six. I quickly threw something on, grabbed my wrinkled trench coat and was on my way.
It was still raining hard. But I didn’t mind I thought it might wake me up. I walked a block or so to the coffee shop. As soon as I walked in my usual waitress put her tray down and ran over to me as I staggered in with a knife in my chest.
“Oh poor baby, who whupped your ass?” she said with pity.
Out of all the things I tried to do to wake myself up her insinuation did it. I felt a rush of testosterone and shot back. “Ain’t nobody whupped my ass!”
“I can’t tell.” She whispered and walked away.
I soon remembered how I must have looked. I ran my hand over my faced a few times and tried straightening up my clothes.
I made my way over to the booth where Priest was sitting. I still couldn’t see Mr. Wilkes his back was to me.
Priest stood as I got to the booth. We shook hands, Mr. Wilkes and I did the same. He was 5'6 and looked to be in his late forties. He had a receding hairline, salt, and pepper fro with salt being the dominant color. His potbelly made him look nine months pregnant.
He dressed in a cream-colored shirt with the sleeves rolled just passed the wrist showing off his Rolex, coffee colored slacks, and spit-shined dress shoes; with Priest draped in his usual player gear. I began to feel like a welfare case.
I sat next to Priest.
Shocked at my appearance, he whispered, “What’s up with the new look, baby?”
“I had a rough night.”
�
�No shit.”
We sat down, and Mr. Wilkes was hard at work writing on a notepad.
“Mr. Wilkes this is my man Moses.”
He barely lifted his head.
“Hello”
I looked at Priest, puzzled. He shrugged his shoulders then continued.
“Moses can take care of that surveillance thing for you.” Priest said.
“Great, now Priest I’ve got the Cubs, the Indians, White Sox, Yankees, Mariners, Rockies, and Reds…”
He went on and on while Priest wrote down every word. I wondered to myself what they were doing while I was crawling out of bed.
My waitress came and sat my coffee on the table with two creams and two sugars and shot me an evil look, sucked her teeth and walked away.
I couldn’t believe I was losing sleep for this. I looked at Mr. Wilkes, and he had the look of a rabid dog.
“Are you taking any bets on the Tyson fight?” “No Doubt.”
I was getting annoyed. I had to interrupt.
“Mr. Wilkes do you have any pictures of your wife, do you know her daily routine. Do you have any information you think might be helpful?”
Mr. Wilkes paused then looked at me like I had rudely interrupted him. He then looks at Priest, smirks, and tilts his pen in my direction.
Priest shrugged his shoulders.
“All right, she’s tall, short hair, here I’ll write down our address for you. I don’t know when she leaves the house; I’m gone from nine to nine.”
Before I could get another word out, Priest kicked my foot; the pause was just long enough for Mr. Wilkes to switch the subject.
“What about pre-season football are you taking any action on that?”
“Whatever you wanna play, I’m here for you.”
My waitress sat my plate down. Mr. Wilkes’s cellular phone rang.
Moses Scriptures Page 2