Details at Ten

by Ardella Garland

  Trip reached out as they began to wheel her down the alley. “I’m going!” He jerked away from me and tried to run until Doug caught him and asked, “Where’s Butter?”

  Trip wiped away tears and said, “She in the basement in our secret playhouse in the crawl space.”

  Doug called to one of the officers and told him to drive Trip to the hospital. We watched as they put Angel into the ambulance and Trip into a squad car. When they pulled off, Doug said to me, “Let’s go.”

  All the time she was there. In the Stewart house. Butter had managed to hide under our very feet. When we got to the house it was locked, but Doug jimmied the back door open, and I started calling as soon as I stepped inside. “Butter! Butter!”

  “Sssh!” Doug said. “You’ll scare her!”

  But I couldn’t stop. I just kept calling as I went through the kitchen. “Butter!” I didn’t call in anger. I didn’t call in frustration. I just called. “Butter!”

  I opened the basement door near the sink and Doug and I walked down the stairs. It was cool in the dusty and unfinished basement. The concrete floor was shellacked black by dirt. Old furniture was stacked up in every corner. Water from a leaky pipe dripped down from one corner of the room, staining the wall rusty red. I looked around and I saw a square door that was only waist high. I cracked it.

  “Butter!” I called. “Baby, it’s okay.”

  We heard a bump and I spread the door all the way open and looked inside.

  There was Butter, wiping the sleep from her eyes. She was lying on a pallet of blankets. A flashlight with its head wrapped up in newspaper was in the corner giving off hazy light. A plate and a cup were pushed into one corner. I saw a half-eaten bag of potato chips and two ice cream sticks pushed off in the corner next to a stack of children’s books.

  Butter’s eyes were wide with fear as she doubled her knees up against her chest. There was enough room for her to sit up comfortably and just enough space for me to lean in and say, “Butter, remember me? The TV lady? You can come out now, honey. It’s all over.”

  Butter shook her head no.

  “Butter, honey. See this man behind me?” And I moved away slowly to show her Doug, who gave Butter his officer’s friendly smile.

  “He’s a good policeman. Trip told us where you were. He said it was okay for us to come get you.”

  She looked almost convinced but was still hesitant.

  “Baby, I wouldn’t lie to you. How else would we know where to come? You and Trip are such good hiders, plus I’m the one who bought you the Eskimo bars.”

  Butter smiled and moved toward me. I pulled her out of that dirty, dark hole and hugged her. Doug patted her on the back as she laid her head on my shoulder.

  “C’mon, kiddo, you wanna go outside in the fresh air and sunshine?”

  “Yeah,” Butter said softly.

  “How about to the park?”

  “Oooh, yeah!”

  “Good,” I told her as I began walking up the steps. “That’s good because your mama and grandma and a whole bunch of other folks are there just dying to see you.”

  T W E N T Y - F I V E

  They’ll just have to wait,” a voice from above me said.

  When I heard that voice, the muscles in my legs froze. The muscles in my neck did not. I jerked my head up and stared, stunned.

  Butter buried her face in my neck and began to cry.

  Doug was standing behind me, right angled, and I saw him reach for his gun.

  “I’ll blaze your ass, man,” Little Cap warned.

  Little Cap was standing in front of us in the doorway, looking down with the orange glow of the remaining day behind him. He looked like a henchman from hell waiting to do some low-down dirty deed. I heard his mother’s voice in my head: “God, is that really my child?” and I shivered.

  Butter looked up at me and already her face was beginning to splotch red from her sobbing.

  Little Cap looked tired; he was hurt and his gun hand was shaking.

  “H—h—how?” I semi-stuttered.

  “I got away. Made it these few blocks and then I spotted you from the gangway across the street,” he huffed, saliva dripping from the right corner of his mouth. “Y’all left the door open.”

  Doug spoke up. “Don’t try this, man. All the police in this area are out, and all of them are out looking for you. You don’t have a chance.”

  “With them two I do, homey.”

  Butter buried her face back in my neck and wailed.

  “Shut up!”

  Doug stepped over to the railing that bordered the stairs leading down into the basement. Little Cap aimed at his heart.

  “Listen, man,” Doug said. “Leave them alone. They’ll slow you down. Take me.”

  “What? I look like a fool, man? You’ll try to pull something ’cause cops always think they Batman. You always played Batman when you was a kid I’ll bet? Caped Crusader and other bullshit, betcha, huh?”

  “Look at them,” Doug reasoned. “The kid will be crying the whole time and she’ll be moving like a snail trying to carry her.”

  “Naw, I’m taking them. They’re safe passage. Now,” Little Cap said, gun still shaking slightly. “Drop your gun, easy, with one finger.”

  Doug did exactly as he was told. He reached for his sidearm with a crooked index finger. Butter cried louder, the muffled sound vibrating against my skin. I heard Doug’s gun clatter against the concrete floor. I took a step up on the stairs. They felt unsteady beneath my feet.

  “Keep coming,” Little Cap hissed.

  I took another step. Butter was getting so heavy.

  “Don’t move, man, until they clear,” Little Cap told Doug.

  I reached the doorway and Little Cap stood back next to the refrigerator. I walked by the stove and heard Doug walking up the steps behind me. Little Cap was standing off to the side, three feet away at an angle where he could watch both Doug and me.

  I could hear the wind blowing outside and Butter was sniffling in my ear, all cried out but getting heavier and heavier by the second.

  Doug reached the doorway, hands held high, spread wide.

  “Easy, man, easy . . .” Little Cap said, his eyes narrowing.

  Then the wind kicked up and the back door rocked back, making a loud creaking sound that made Butter jerk. My knee gave way. Little Cap turned toward the door, then back. That’s when Doug lunged for Little Cap’s hand, throwing his arm up toward the ceiling and forcing the gun to fire. Shards of glass came raining down on us. The bullet had hit an overhead light.

  I swung my body around and Butter’s foot caught a grease can on the stove, flinging it out in the direction of Little Cap and Doug who were fighting over the gun. The cold, slick liquid soaked their hands, making Little Cap’s gun squirt out of his grip.

  I set Butter down and pushed her into the farthest corner. “Get down!” I shouted. I dropped to a crouch by the stove.

  The gun hit the floor, firing again, this time tearing a plug out of the wall. I knelt down. Doug slammed his fist into Little Cap’s ribs. The gun was spinning like a top. I got on my knees and reached for the gun with outstretched hands.

  A roundhouse punch by Little Cap landed in Doug’s side, forcing him to drop to one knee in pain. Little Cap lunged for the gun on the floor. Doug tackled him around the legs.

  I grabbed the gun’s handle and it slipped away, the grease coating my fingertips.

  Little Cap’s hands landed on top of the counter.

  I reached for the gun again.

  Little Cap reached for a butcher knife.

  I shoved the gun with my hands toward Doug.

  Little Cap grabbed the knife and glared at me with hatred as he pulled his arm back, aiming for my heart.

  Doug fired off two quick shots, hitting Little Cap. I saw death in the eyes that had planned death for me. I prayed that Little Cap wouldn’t fall on me and God answers prayers because he fell back and away, against the refrigerator.

  I stre
tched out both my hands and Doug grabbed them, pulling me to him. I let myself fall forward without fear. It was all over except for the shouting.

  The only light in the room came from the strawberry-scented candles, each one blazing intently, fresh and new like our relationship.

  The only sound in the room came from our short breaths, anxiously awaiting this first deeply intimate sexual encounter.

  The only hesitation in the room was in our minds, not our hearts—for after all our yearning, we could only hope our fantasy of each other together would live up to reality.

  Doug lay next to me, his shirt stripped from his back, a soggy ball tossed at the foot of the bed. He used two fingers to slowly slide first one, then the other spaghetti strap away from my shoulders before pulling my entire tank top down to expose my breasts. Their new-found freedom was short-lived. Doug took them prisoner again with his hands and with his mouth.

  We were at Doug’s place, three nights after Butter’s case was solved. It’s a cute little house with bay windows and bookshelves in every room—including the bedroom. This seemed odd at first, until I noticed all the titles were on having a healthy sex life or on erotica.

  Boyfriend is something else.

  We tested some of the theories out on his bed that first night. And other nights. Doug is probably the only man secure enough in his masculinity to have a canopy bed. Said his ex-wife bought their first one and he has loved them ever since.

  I wonder, is it the bed or is it just us?

  Our sexual appetite is unquenchable. And when we touch there is a singular feeling of belonging. Passionate and consuming kisses behind ears, on nipples, on bellies, over each other’s heart. . . .

  I must say that I love me some him.

  I think it’s been easier for us because Doug and I haven’t locked horns or hooked up together again on another story-slash-case.

  But I know in my heart that we can get through it when it does come our way again.

  Isn’t faith a beautiful thing?

  STORY SLUG: BUTTER UPDATE

  REPORTER: GEORGIA BARNETT

  10PM SHOW NOVEMBER 28

  THANKSGIVING!

  (***PACKAGE***)

  VIDEO (TRIP FALLING INTO PILE OF LEAVES, BUTTER HOLDING RAKE)

  “Whee!”

  “I’m tellin’, Trip! You not helping!”

  (**REPORTER TRACK**)

  CHYRON LOCATION: SOUTH SIDE

  TRIP AND BUTTER ARE RAKING LEAVES IN THEIR NEW FRONT YARD. THEIR FAMILY MOVED HERE LAST MONTH AFTER A BLACK BUSINESSMAN OFFERED TO HELP THEM FIND A NEW HOME.

  MISSING CHILD POSTER

  CHYRON: LAST AUGUST/FILE DRIVE-BY CRIME SCENE

  BUTTER, YOU MAY RECALL, WAS MISSING FOR SEVERAL DAYS THIS SUMMER AFTER SHE DESCRIBED A GANG MEMBER WHO WAS THE TRIGGERMAN IN A DRIVE-BY SHOOTING.

  (***STOP/SOT***)

  CHYRON: LAST AUGUST/BUTTER JOHNSON

  “I seent a car. This real dark black boy with a scar, he was dressed all in yellow, and just shooting his gun!”

  (**REPORTER TRACK CONT**)

  MUG SHOT OF LITTLE CAP

  BUTTER DESCRIBED THIS MAN, ALEXANDER DARRINGTON, KNOWN AS LITTLE CAP. HE WAS A MEMBER OF THE ROCKIES STREET GANG AND WENT INTO HIDING.

  WALKING SHOT UP TO HIDING SPACE IN BASEMENT

  AFRAID FOR BUTTER’S LIFE, TRIP HID HIS COUSIN INSIDE THIS STORAGE SPACE IN THEIR BASEMENT. HE GAVE HER FOOD, INCLUDING POPSICLES.

  (***STOP/SOT***)

  CHYRON: TRIP STEWART/10 YEARS OLD

  “I knew I had to do something. I told her to stay there and be quiet. It’d be okay. I’d do anything to keep them from hurting Butter.”

  (**REPORTER TRACK CONT**)

  FILE/ALLEY WHERE HIT WENT DOWN

  ANYTHING MEANT AGREEING TO HELP KILL LITTLE CAP AS PART OF THE INITIATION INTO A RIVAL GANG, THE BANDITS. LITTLE CAP AND THREE OTHER GANG MEMBERS DIED THAT DAY.

  PARAMEDICS WORKING ON ANGEL

  BUT TRIP’S MOTHER, ANGEL, STOPPED HIM FROM FIRING A SHOT—AND IN THE PROCESS TOOK A BULLET FOR HER SON. SHE RECOVERED.

  PAN SHOT STEWART FAMILY AT THANKSGIVING TABLE

  ANGEL IS NOW ENROLLED IN A DRUG REHAB PROGRAM. SHE WAS ALLOWED TO COME HOME FOR THANKSGIVING.

  (***STOP/SOT***)

  CHYRON: MABEL STEWART/BUTTER’S GRANDMOTHER

  “We have a lot to be thankful for. The children are okay, Angel is trying to get back on track, and we got a new house and a chance to be safe and happy.”

  (**REPORTER TRACK CONT**)

  DISSOLVE TO SHOT OF FAMILY HOLDING HANDS, PRAYING

  A CHANCE THAT THE STEWART FAMILY IS THANKING GOD FOR THIS HOLIDAY.

  GEORGIA BARNETT, CHANNEL 8 NEWS.

  END OF PACKAGE/TIME: 2:45 SECS

  About the Author

  Ardella Garland is the nom de plume of Yolanda Joe, author of the Blackboard bestselling novels Falling Leaves of Ivy, He Say, She Say, and Bebe’s by Golly Wow. A news writer at CBS in Chicago for twelve years, Joe is a graduate of Yale University and the Columbia University School of Journalism. Raised by her grandparents, she grew up in Chicago and still lives there. The name “Ardella Garland,” a combination of her grandparents’ names, was created to honor them.