They were smiling at each other, cavorting like they were more than familiar. I began to feel like I had hit pay dirt. I had tuned out,
Cindy’s voice the whole time but turned her back in when I heard her say, “So you have seen it all, would you like to take advantage of our trial membership?”
“Sure!” I said, mimicking her exuberance.
“Great!” Cindy took me back to the lobby where I filled out a form copped my temporary membership card.
I received a page: Moses, its Priest, check me out at the crib. I just ignored it. I was working. I went down to the van and sat and waited for Mrs. Wilkes to come out. Moments later Priest hit me with the same message, and I ignored that one too.
I started looking around up and down the street trying to fight being bored. I began to say to myself, “I can come back tomorrow,
I’ve got a membership.” Priest’s paging campaign was starting to win me over.
Looking at the meter, I thought to myself; I’m just wasting quarters sitting here.
I started up the van and got into the wind. I breezed through the mid-day traffic and made it to Priest’s part of town with ease.
Priest still lived in the neighborhood we grew up in it was the hottest block. The block was womb to all criminal offspring that lived in the community. But this is where he wanted to be and in a lot of ways needed to be, because everything happened here first; Rumors or reputations of being a snitch all conceived here; murder plots, kidnapping, you name it. You could learn who graduated from grams to kilos; you could buy bootleg tapes of cocaine to heavyweight weed, to any seed of sin this was its birthplace and Priest loved it, because he was so close to the grapevine. It was like Uncle Bird use to tell us,
“It’s not what you know that can get you fucked up it’s what you don’t know.”
I drove slowly around my old neighborhood blowing my horn and clinch-fist saluting everybody I knew.
When I turned on to Priest’s block, I saw an empty-eyed crack fiend holding court with some young guys.
A kid about eight years old darted across the street with his shoes untied. I stopped just in time to save his life and mine. We shook our heads at each other both smirking out of opposite indignation. I pulled in front of Priest’s crib and got out. He lived in a large brick building that looked as if it could have been an enormous home once but was now renovated to accommodate six apartments.
I rang the bell and was buzzed up. I walked quickly up the three flights of stairs to his apartment. As I got to his floor, I could hear the sounds of a vintage Gang Star track; the rhythm was vibrating the walls. The door was cracked open, and I stepped in and could smell the sweet mixture of marijuana and incense.
Priest looked at me with a half-smile. “What’s up?” We exchanged grip.
“Ain’t shit.”
Priest was wearing white socks, sagging jeans and a T-shirt. This was Priest I knew void of the entire player pride and prestige.
Priest’s two-bedroom apartment was moderately decorated.
Nothing fancy, there was no leather couch, no giant screen television. It was all pretty straightforward and clutter free except for the dining room table, w covered with papers, pens, a calculator and a shoebox converted into a Rolodex.
Priest went to his refrigerator and threw me a brew and took one for him. I followed him to the front room.
The television was broadcasting ESPN, which you couldn’t hear over the stereo.
On the coffee table was a copy of the book The Art of War amongst a sea of sports magazines.
I cracked my beer and plopped down on the sofa, Priest reached in his pocket and pulled out a wad of Franklin’s threw them on the table.
“There you go,” Priest said. “What’s this?” I said smiling.
Priest sat down on the matching love seat and cracked his brew. “I told Mr. Wilkes that you needed some more money.”
I sat there for a moment with my mouth open when Priest looked at me with a straight face.
“Oh don’t worry I already took out my twenty percent.” He took a sip of his beer and noticed my inaction.
“What are you doing meditating, you better put it in your pocket.” I scooped up the money, and I felt a little guilty, but like I heard this pimp once say, “I turn down stoves, stereos, and hoes, but not money.”
Priest re-lit his joint, put his feet on the coffee table and stared at the ceiling. His eyes dropped, looking at me.
“You know what we should do?” Priest said.
Considering the fresh bread in my pocket, I was about game for anything.
“What’s happening?”
Priest scissor clasped the joint between his fingers took a tote.
“We should make a bid on Slim’s; He’ll sell it to us before he sells to Rico, keep it all in the family, you know.”
I didn’t want the bar; I didn’t know anything about running a bar neither did Priest, but then again neither did Rico.
“It’ll be like old times,” Priest continued. “We don’t change shit, well maybe Big Walt. We won’t even change the name; fix the neon so it’ll stop reading Sim’s. We’ll get a few more waitresses some new track lights.”
Priest went on and on like a kid watching Saturday morning commercials, claiming what he was going to get.
To me he was getting a little carried away for two reasons; one, when Slim gave his word it was pretty much in stone, regardless of family, and if it came down to a bidding war there was no way Priest could win against Rico.
“So what do you think?” Priest said with incredible enthusiasm. “Whatever you want to do, man,” I answered calmly.
This was my dude; if we would have said let’s march through hell and whup the devil’s ass; my only question would have been for how long?
The day flew by as Priest, and I reminisced about minor and major events from back in the day. Priest’s cellular phone kept interrupting our walk down memory lane. He had to go to the bar to get his money right, and I remembered that I had to go to Melody’s to hear my mother’s Will. I told Priest I’d link up with him later and talk to Slim.
On the way to Melody’s, I started to wonder why even read the Will. It’s not like my mother was wealthy; she borrowed money from us a lot of the times. Unless she had some money stashed away some- where. I pondered the probability and found a way to be optimistic, maybe she had some trust fund or something, and perhaps that’s why Melody was so happy yesterday. I arrived at Melody’s and jumped out of the van and sprung up the front steps. Before I could ring, the doorbell Melody was standing there.
“You’re late Moses!” she said pushing the door open like she was trying to hit me with it. Melody walked over to the sofa and sat down.
“You didn’t tell me a specific time, Melody.” “I did Moses! You weren’t listening as usual.”
“If you would have told me a time I would have been here.”
“Yeah right. Regardless you’re too late. The lawyer has come and gone. And you’ve forfeited your rights to get anything from the Will.
I think there must have been some significant bread involved, and she didn’t tell me the time on purpose.
“Oh, so you just trying to take all the money for yourself!” Melody shot her head back and looked at me with total disgust. “Money? There is no money, Moses!”
Melody got up and put her hand on her hip; she pointed at me.
“You’re an idiot! There is no fucking money! There’s just the house, and I’m selling it.”
Her little Chihuahua was standing behind her barking; punctuating Melody’s every word.
I did feel like an idiot.
“You thought you were going get one last loan from Mommy, ugh?”
I was dumbfounded; I felt guilty she thought I was some idiot trying to cash in on his mother’s death, I didn’t feel like that, but I was starting to see how I could look like it.
I always had a comeback to whatever Melody had to say, but her accusation humbled
my response.
“Why are you mad at me?”
“Because you weren’t here when you were supposed to be!”
“But you didn’t tell me the time,”
Melody’s face twisted with anger and tears were streaming down her cheeks.
“You're never there Moses! When Mommy was in the hospital, you weren’t there, when she used to cry at night worried about you, I was there! The times she got calls from the police, the time she found the gun in your room. You have no idea how many times you hurt her!
You always expect people to be there for you, but who are you there for? And her Will, the last thing she will ever communicate to us, you weren’t here. If you were concerned about the time, you would have asked, but no, the only thing you're concerned with is how much money you get! Tomorrow I will be starting the process of cleaning out my mother’s house. I will be there at four o’clock just for your information; if you come fine, if you don’t, I don’t give a shit!”
She was done talking. Melody stared at me her eyes asking me to leave.
I felt about two feet tall. I didn’t even say goodbye; I turned around and headed out the door.
Melody’s spin on days gone by had a dizzying effect. I got in the van and drove in a daze to my apartment. I wound up running a stop sign and barely avoided an accident. My mind mangled rehashing the past, trying to convince myself that Melody’s accusations were false or at the least a misunderstanding.
I sat in my apartment with the lights off recalling my mother’s crying face it reminded me of Melody’s. My chest tightened my stomach cramped at the thought of being the blame for my mother’s private pain that caused her stroke, which took her life. There was no amount of love or caring I could have given to compare to what I had created.
As a child my mother would take great pride in my potential, weaving beautiful dreams for my future, but instead of working those dreams into reality I spent my adolescence crafting them into nightmares.
I sat on the edge of the bed wandering through a maze of misery searching for the truth. I couldn’t have been all of what Melody said I was. I’ve been there for people I thought trying to convince myself but only wallowing in vain hope. I could hear my mother’s voice echoing, complaining that my bad behavior would one day give her a stroke.
I recalled seeing her tear-stained face smiling at me when I’d arrive late to the hospital.
Her love was unquestionable regardless if I hadn’t the answer for my delinquency.
August 14, 1996
The alarm clock woke me up early. I sat on the bed trying to shake off last night’s depression I moved about the apartment getting ready thinking of nothing particular; I packed a gym bag with workout gear and a micro-cassette recorder. I took a chance and went straight to the gym instead of following Mrs. Wilkes. When I arrived the sight of her sports car gave me a sense of relief, I ran up the mountain of stairs to the gym entrance trying to prove something to myself but wound up confirming what I already knew; I was out of shape.
When I got to the front desk, Cindy was smiling like the Kool-Aid mascot, and I was breathing as I had just run a marathon.
“Hi, how are you today? Mr. Moses.” Cindy said. “How are you?”
“I’m great! Are you set and ready to go?” “Sure,” I said trying not to look disinterested.
“Now we offer personal trainers free of charge, would you like me to assign one to you?”
I probably needed a personal trainer, but it could keep me from doing what I was here to do.
“No thank you, Cindy. I think I’d be more comfortable working out on my own unless you could be my trainer.”
I threw her a compliment because I didn’t know when I might need a favor from her.
Cindy put her head down and blushed. I looked into her eyes trying to register the effect of the compliment.
“Sorry, Mr. Moses I have to stay up front.” “That’s too bad, Cindy just calls me Moses.” Her smile turned into a light laugh.
“Follow me, Moses.”
I followed Cindy to the Men’s Locker room entrance.
“If you need anything Moses let me know.” Cindy said, emphasizing “anything,” posturing with all the awkward sensuality of a girl her age.
I remained silent and smiled at her. I headed into the locker room.
It was empty except for the elderly men who moved around the room like snails.
I found a locker and got dressed. I loaded up my micro-cassette recorder did a quick sound check.
I made my way to the Nautilus machines. Just as I was about to pass the treadmills, there she was, running almost as fast as she drove. She was wearing a baby blue windbreaker top that stopped right above her waist; matching biker pants that complimented her figure better than I could.
I thought about going in joining her. All of a sudden my nose caught the odor of cologne. It smelled as if someone had broken a bottle.
I turned and saw Mrs. Wilkes’s trainer. The fraudulent Al B Sure smelled like he bathed in the stuff. He strutted into the treadmill room. When he reached Mrs. Wilkes, he placed his hand on the small of her back. They greeted each other with a smile. Their mouths were moving, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying.
At first, I thought about running in there and recording some info. But on second thought I figured it was best to lay in the cut and wait. The two were exiting the room coming my way. I bent down to fake like I was tying my shoe when they passed me.
I stood up and saw them going into the Nautilus area. I checked my recorder one more time and followed.
When I got there, Mrs. Wilkes was doing calisthenics. She was standing legs spread apart touching her toes, with her Trainer standing behind her grinning like a circus clown.
She finished, they went over to the leg machine. I positioned myself within earshot.
After a few reps, I heard the first bit of conversation.
“How am I doing Marcus?” Mrs. Wilkes said with a thick velvety voice.
“Oh, just fine, Mrs. Wilkes you’ve got one of the best bodies I’ve ever seen, keep it up your doing just fine,” Marcus said smiling.
Mrs. Wilkes bit her lip and smiled while continuing her reps.
Marcus put his hand on her thigh.
“These are the muscles you’re working right here.”
Mrs. Wilkes was now looking at Marcus with seductive eyes.
I stopped and looked around to see if I was the only person seeing all this.
I thought about Mr. Wilkes. This poor guy was so obsessed with money and gambling that he was losing his lovely wife to a muscle-bound Bryant Gumbel.
“I think I caught a cramp in my leg,” Mrs. Wilkes said with all the ineptness of a method actress. Marcus followed right on cue gently rubbing his hand on her thigh.
“Where does it hurt?”
Mrs. Wilkes moaned to confirm the cramp.
The hell with the tape recorder, I thought I should have brought a
video camera.
I watched and recorded as they danced the verbal tango from machine to machine.
I was starting to feel a bit jealous, thinking to myself, why do these user-friendly-negroes get all the breaks.
I had just about a cassette full of flirt fencing and was ready to leave when I turned toward Mrs. Wilkes, and our eyes met. My common sense barked an order to my brain: Drop your head and turn around! But my mind of seduction caused me to ignore the command. I looked hard into her soft eyes that were saying hello. Our silent introduction was interrupted when Marcus put his hands on her shoulder.
“How about we work on some abdominals?”
“Sure why not,” Mrs. Wilkes said breaking our stare.
I grabbed my towel and tape recorder and headed toward the locker room. I took a quick shower and got dressed. I was disappointed in myself. I was supposed to be here doing surveillance, not giving this woman the eye. I mumbled to myself “That’s why it’s called private eye cause you're supposed to keep it to you
rself.
I decided to get in the van and get going.
I was on my way to my mother’s house. It was a little after four o’clock. I hoped Melody wouldn’t be bitching over me being a few minutes late. My mother’s house was a couple of blocks from Priest. I passed by his crib, and out front, I saw a new red Mustang with a white convertible top, chrome rims and license plate that read T.N.T. I slowed down as I passed the car. I was hoping it wasn’t who I thought it was. The driver side door was opening and getting out the car was a short mocha colored girl. With jet-black finger waves in her hair, sunglasses sitting on top of her head, wearing a wrap skirt, red high top Wallabies, matching red handbag and candy cane colored midriff, showing off her pierced belly button. She had sharp cheekbones and hazel cat colored eyes. She wasn’t skinny, and she wasn’t fat; she was thick and possessed more curves than a Major League pitcher. She was five feet six inches of trouble.
I rolled down my window.
“Tasha, what are you doing over here?”
Tasha turned around and looked at me like my question was an insult.
“What?” she responded with rolling eyes?
“You heard me what are you doing over here?”
Tasha pulled her neck back raised both eyebrows and curled her lips.
“Minding my business you should try it!”
I thought about getting into it with her, but I knew I didn’t have the time. Plus she was the type of woman who could escalate a small argument into a police matter.
“I’m just trying to look out for you, stay over here too long, and these young cats will have your ride stripped and sat on blocks.”
I took off before she could reply.
I didn’t want to believe Priest was fooling around with her. Don’t get me wrong Tasha's cute. But to get involved with her you either had to be a henpecked fool like Tyreek or possess the skill and daring of a snake charmer, and Priest hadn’t the time or patience for either.
He must’ve been slipping. I just hoped I could catch him before he fell.
Moses Scriptures Page 5