by K'wan
Through the back window, he spied his father and Dickey struggling to pull something from the trunk. It was an old carpet, and judging by the fact that it took both of them to carry the thing. it had to be heavy. The father and son half dragged, half carried the carpet into the brush. Keith’s instincts told him to remain hidden, but curiosity pulled him from the truck. He peered through the weeds and watched as his dad and Dickey pulled the carpet through the mud and toward the murky water. From his position, he could hear Dickey say something about gators, which drew a throaty laugh from their father. The humorous moment was broken up when something unexpected happened. The carpet moved! More like thrashed, really.
Keith watched in confusion as his father wrestled in the mud with the thrashing carpet, while Dickey beat it with a stick. Finally, the carpet stopped its thrashing, and they were able to dump it into the swamp. The moment it touched the water was when Keith noticed the blood. It fanned out like a crimson cloud on the water as the carpet began to sink. Then came the gators.
Keith didn’t need to see any more. He crept as quickly as he could back to the truck and buried himself again beneath the blankets and gear. During the ride home, his knees knocked together so bad that it was a wonder no one heard them. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get what he had just seen out of his head. Keith was young, but he wasn’t dumb. He suspected that his father and Dickey had driven out to the swamp to get rid of more than just an old carpet. Keith’s parents had never made it a secret to their kids that their family was different, but it wasn’t until that morning at the swamp that he began to understand just what that meant.
Keith shook off the memory of that morning when Bonnie and Clyde started to stir on the bed. Since he was already up, it made no sense to waste the daylight. Keith jumped into his sweat suit, grabbed the dog leashes, and headed out for his morning walk. While scrolling through his phone as he walked, he noticed he had missed two calls from his sister, Maxine, while he was sleeping. Of all his siblings, she was the only one he kept in semi-regular contact with. Keith and Maxine were the closest in age and had spent a lot of time together. After his dad got killed, his older brothers had taken to the street, and his mother had never seemed to have time for him, so it had been left to Maxine to look after him. She was the one who had taught him how to ride a bike and even how to put on a condom properly. Keith loved Maxine and would do anything for her.
He was just about to check his voicemail when his phone rang. When Bernie’s picture popped up on the screen, a smile spread across his face. He knew she could stay mad at him.
“Good morning, beautiful,” he answered in a silky tone.
“Hi, Keith. I’m just checking to make sure you haven’t forgotten about dinner at Sasha’s tonight,” she said, her response dry.
“Yeah, I got you, babe,” he replied.
“Thanks. I appreciate you doing this for me.”
“You know there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, baby. Listen, about earlier—” he began, but she cut him off.
“Listen, I hate to rush off, but I’m about to get in traffic and don’t want to talk while driving. I’ll see you tonight.” Bernie ended the call before Keith could reply.
It was safe to say that she was still pissed.
His journey took him a mile down the road to the local 7-Eleven, where he grabbed a coffee, a bottle of water, and a newspaper. As he was waiting in line to pay for his goods, two females walked in. One was tall and light skinned, with legs that looked like they went on for days and shorts so tiny they didn’t leave much to the imagination. The other was brown, with an ass so big that he wondered how she kept her balance. The tall one made eye contact with Keith, then whispered something to her friend, which made them both snicker before they disappeared down the snack aisle.
He was outside, feeding the bottled water to his two pinschers, when the girls came out of the 7-Eleven and headed in his direction. As soon as Bonnie spotted them, she started in, barking and snarling. She lunged forward to nip one of the approaching girls, but thankfully, Keith had a firm grip on the leash.
“Cut it out!” Keith gave the leash a firm tug. “Sorry about that,” he said to the two girls.
“It’s all good. She’s just marking her territory. Can’t say that I blame her.” The tall one eyed Keith. “So, is she the lady of the house?”
“Yes, but if you’re asking me if I’m single, afraid not. I have a girlfriend,” Keith said, cutting right to the chase.
“But you ain’t married. I’m thinking maybe we can be friends too?” the tall girl replied, pressing.
For just the briefest of moments, Keith thought about it. The girl was definitely sexy as hell, and he could only imagine the raunchy things they could do behind closed doors, but then he thought of Bernie. “Nah, I don’t think that would be healthy for either of us.”
“A loyal one, huh?” the tall girl smirked. “I respect it. I hope your girlfriend realizes how lucky she is.”
“Me too,” Keith mumbled.
“Well, if you ever change your mind about us being friends, come see me. I dance at the Blue Flame. Ask for Kat,” she told him before sauntering back toward her car with her friend.
Keith stood there for a time, watching the girls leave. Were he the Keith of old, he would have taken Kat down, and probably would have brought her friend along for the ride. They’d have made for a hell of a war story to tell Carl and Nate. Bonnie barking brought him out of his daydream. She gave him a look, as if she knew what he was thinking.
“You’re right, girl. No more living in the past.”
On his walk back home, Keith thumbed through the newspaper to see if there was anything interesting going on in the world. It was mostly filled with articles about how poorly the country was being run, though it also contained the few pieces about the upcoming mayoral election. Nothing Keith hadn’t seen before. He was about to toss the paper when something caught his eye. It was a small article about a shooting in NYC.
Keith read the details of the shooting. Apparently, a heist had taken place at the Fulton Fish Market in Manhattan and had left several people dead, including the owner, Jimmy “Old Man” Gissepie. Keith knew the Fulton Fish Market well from back when he was still living in New York. He had accompanied his friend Willie Boy there a few times when Willie needed to handle business. The Fulton Fish Market was a Mob front owned and operated by gangsters. It was like holy ground in the underworld, and Jimmy had been respected like a priest. Whoever had hit the place was either very stupid or very brave. Either way, there would likely be hell to pay for killing the old mobster. The shooting was just one more reason Keith was glad he had moved out of New York. He missed the excitement of the Rotten Apple but not the violence. This wasn’t to say that Atlanta was without crime, but it was nowhere near the level of New York. That city had a way of bringing out the worst in people, which was why Keith had to leave.
* * *
Keith found parking on the street and walked the few blocks to Philips Arena. He refused to pay the outlandish rates at the arena’s lot. It wasn’t that he couldn’t afford it; he just wasn’t willing to fork over that much cash to park. He was frugal like that when it came to his finances. Keith found Carl and Nate waiting for him with their tickets near the will-call counter. Next to Bernie, these two men were the closest thing he had to loved ones in Atlanta. Carl, he had met through Nate when he moved to Atlanta. He was an accountant who worked at an office downtown, not too far from where Keith’s firm was. Carl was a soft-spoken man who always smiled and shied away from confrontation. He was like the little brother of the crew, and Keith was very protective of him. Nate, on the other hand, was a man in no need of protecting.
Keith’s friendship with Nate went back to his days in the army. They had been a part of the same Ranger unit, with Keith being the new guy and Nate the hardened soldier on his second tour. They had grown quite close, Keith, Nate, and Willie Boy, who was from Harlem and was also in their Ranger unit.
They were kindred spirits and complimented each other’s unique skill sets. Keith would scout the targets, Nate would blow them to hell, and Willie Boy would exterminate anybody who was unfortunate enough to be left standing. The three of them had done some very dark things in the service of their country, and the scars had lingered after their tours ended. When the fighting stopped, they had gone their separate ways: Keith left the military to finish his law degree, Nate reenrolled for his third tour of duty, and Willie Boy took to the streets, having learned how to turn a profit from what the army had taught him.
Nate was actually the one responsible for Keith moving to Atlanta. After his third tour, Nate had settled in Atlanta and had joined the police department. He and Keith had reconnected through Facebook. At the time Keith was still living in New York, where he worked at a small firm and hustled on the side with Willie Boy. Willie Boy had managed to get them into a situation that left Keith with only two options: relocate or do something that he couldn’t take back. It didn’t take much convincing from Nate for Keith to put in his two weeks’ notice at the small firm he was working at and jump on the next thing smoking to Georgia.
“You owe me twenty bucks!” Carl was telling Nate when Keith walked up to them.
“What did you fools bet on this time?” Keith asked, watching Nate grudgingly part with the cash. The two of them were fiercely competitive and would bet on anything from sports to whatever fragrance a woman was wearing. Keith had never understood it, but they seemed to get their kicks from it.
“I bet Nate twenty bucks that you’d show up in a suit tonight, and sure enough . . .” Carl gave Keith’s sleek black suit the once-over. “Who dresses like they’re going to a funeral to see a basketball game?” He doubled over laughing.
Keith had to admit that he was a bit overdressed. He had planned to leave the suit in his car—for the dinner party later on—and change into after the game, but then he had decided a clothing change would cut into his time with his boys. Now that Carl had pointed it out, he did feel very overdressed. “Fuck you, man. I gotta jet to a dinner party after I leave you idiots. Bernie’s sister invited us over.”
“Leave him alone, Carl. You know when Massa Hunt cracks that whip, ole Keith gotta come running,” Nate half teased. He loved Bernie like a sister, but he had never cared for her father. Nate had once locked a guy up for killing a kid in a dispute over drugs. Theodore Hunt had gotten him acquitted. The man had been back on the streets for less than a week before he killed someone else. This time his victim was a working single mother of two. Nate blamed Theodore for making those kids orphans, and to this day, he hadn’t been able to let it go.
“So ya’ll gonna stand here giving me shit all afternoon, or are we gonna go watch this game?” Keith asked.
“Yeah, but first, I got something that I think will loosen your tight ass up, Keith,” Carl said. He fished around in his pocket and pulled out a ziplock bag containing broken pieces of cookie.
“Carl, you’re such a cheapskate. You’re sneaking your snacks in instead of buying them?” Nate teased.
“Oh, these aren’t just any snacks. They’re made with special sauce.” Carl wiggled his eyebrows.
“Are those . . . ?” Keith began.
“Sure are,” Carl answered before popping one of the pieces of cookie into his mouth and extending the bag to Nate.
“You must be out of your mind. You know I can’t piss dirty.” Nate shoved the bag away.
“Keith?” Carl offered.
“Nah, man. I don’t want to show up high to Bernie’s sister’s house,” Keith said, declining.
“Man, they’re low dose. By the time we sit through the game, it’ll probably be out of your system. If anything, it’ll work up your appetite so you’ll be able to stomach that bland-ass food Bernie’s peoples are gonna make you eat.” Carl laughed.
“Fuck you.” Keith snatched the bag. He retrieved a piece of cookie and examined it. He smoked weed from time to time, but it wasn’t really his thing. He reasoned an edible wouldn’t hit him as hard as a joint. “Low dose, huh?” He looked at Carl.
“Barely a buzz,” Carl assured him.
“Fuck it. Why not?” Keith tossed the piece of cookie in his mouth and prepared to enjoy the game with his boys.
* * *
Before going to their seats, Nate suggested they grab some hot dogs. Keith wasn’t a big fan of processed meat, but the cookie was on his back, and he could feel the munchies settling in. He had at least two hours before he was to meet Bernie, and there was no way he’d be able to hold out that long before eating something.
The arena was crowded that night, so all the lines at the concession stands were long. They decided to split up, with Carl jumping on the beer line, and Nate and Keith securing the dogs. There were so many people crowding the halls that Nate and Keith had to elbow their way to the hot dog vendor. He noticed that Keith hadn’t said so much as a word in the past few minutes, so he decided to pry.
“You good?” Nate asked.
“Yeah, I’m straight. Just had a little disagreement with Bernie earlier. You know that girl is always digging deeper than she needs to,” Keith told him.
“As she should. You plan on marrying that girl, Keith. That means sharing physical space and head space. How long do you think you can keep that closet door closed before a bone comes falling out?”
“You act like it’s that simple.”
“It isn’t that hard, either,” Nate shot back before moving to the window to order their hot dogs.
Keith stood there, lost in his own thoughts. Since the arena was packed for that night’s game, the local dope boys had come out in full force, dressed in gaudy jewelry and Atlanta Hawks paraphernalia. One particular group caught Keith’s eye because they were passing through the hall and making more noise than they had to in an attempt to be seen. Their whole presence screamed trouble, and Keith hoped he and his friends weren’t seated anywhere near them. Other than having youthful offender clients, Keith was disconnected from the younger generation. They had no moral code like the youth of his era had, and their lawlessness made them dangerous, so Keith kept his distance from the twenty-five-and-under crowd.
As the dope boys were passing Keith, Carl was making his way from the beer counter, trying his best to balance everyone’s drinks. He tripped over his own feet somehow and accidentally splashed beer on the jersey of one of the young men who were passing by. Keith didn’t have to be close enough to hear what was said to know what would happen next. Their body language told it all as the thugs circled around a frightened Carl. Without thinking twice, Keith moved to intervene.
“I told you I’d be more than happy to pay to get it cleaned if I damaged it,” Carl was saying when Keith walked up.
“Fuck all that. It’s ruined. You need to be buying me a new one!” the young man screamed in Carl’s face.
“Look, li’l bro, why don’t you calm down a bit?” Keith interjected.
The young man’s cold eyes turned to Keith. “Nigga, you know me to be suggesting I calm down?”
“No, I don’t know you, and I don’t want to know you. I’m just trying to make sure everything is okay with my friend,” Keith said in a calm tone.
“Ain’t shit okay!” the thug barked. “Your boy fucked up my jersey, and he needs to cough up the bread for a new one.” He tugged at the bottom of the shirt so that Keith could see the small wet spot on the fabric.
Keith pulled out a fifty-dollar bill and extended it to the thug. “That should be more than enough to cover the cost of getting your jersey cleaned, but as far as buying you a whole new one . . . that ain’t gonna happen. I say you take this money and everybody goes their own way.”
The thug slapped Keith’s hand away. “And I say, ‘Fuck you and your money. I want a new jersey.’”
Now that the thug had raised his voice, people started to pay attention to the altercation. They watched in anticipation of what would happen, some of them even whipping out cell phones t
o get footage of the impending fight. From the corner of his eye, Keith could see Nate moving stealthily toward them. The situation was about to go from bad to fucked up. Keith had tried to take the high road, but the thug was backing him into a corner.
“Homie,” Keith said, slipping into his street drawl, “I’m gonna need you to turn that tough shit down before—”
“Before what?” The kid in the jersey lifted his shirt to show Keith the butt of his gun. How he had gotten it through the metal detectors was beyond Keith.
By then Nate positioned himself behind the young man’s entourage. Keith knew what the old soldier was thinking without it having to be said. They were one ill-fated word from a shit show. Luckily, before the situation could escalate, two armed security guards came over.
“Everything okay here?” the first guard asked. His hand rested on his pistol.
“Ain’t nothing.” The kid in the jersey took a step back. “Just catching up with some old friends.”
“Is this true?” the guard asked Keith. Since he was the one dressed in a suit, the guard reasoned Keith wasn’t the aggressor.
“Yeah, just some old friends talking.” Keith went along with the lie, but his eyes never left the kid in the jersey.
“If you’ve got tickets, then I suggest you get to your seats. If not, we have to escort you out,” the second guard said, chiming in.
“It’s all good. We going,” Jersey said, motioning to his crew that it was time to bounce. “I’ll see you again soon, tough guy,” he snarled at Keith.
“You better hope not,” Keith shot back.
Keith, Nate, and Carl stood there for a time, while the two guards trailed the thugs to make sure they didn’t get lost along the way to their seats. Long after they had gone, the threat of violence seemed to still linger in the air.
“Jesus, that could’ve gone so bad.” Carl let out a sigh of relief. “Keith, what were you thinking about, mouthing off to those guys like that?”