Chapter 3
Quan was completely tuckered out by the time they got back to the hotel room. He’d won enough tickets at Chuck-E-Cheese to get himself several prizes – prizes that he would play with and talk about for much of the ride back to the hotel. Before they pulled into the hotel parking lot, after a ride that seemed twice as long because of the anxiety associated with being wanted bank robbers, Tramar made sure to ask Quan if he was hungry for anything else to eat. Once he said that he wasn’t, Tramar knew that he’d probably go to sleep soon for the rest of the night.
As they followed Jackson around to the back of the hotel, Tramar couldn’t help but look around the parking lot. If a corner of the building was dark, he looked extra hard. He looked for anything that seemed the least bit out of place. Even if he was going to go down at this hotel, he wanted to make sure that it wouldn’t be a total surprise. In so many ways, Tramar felt somewhat naked. Before they’d left the Chuck-E-Cheese, he went into the bathroom and since his phone was in his name, he took it apart and flushed the individual pieces down the toilet.
Ayana got Tramar’s attention by tapping his forearm. She held her phone up, showing him that Sharli had responded with a text message saying that her guy Damon was cool meeting up with them. Tramar nodded, liking the idea, as he pulled into a parking spot at the back of the hotel. The four of them walked up to the room where Tramar told Quan to take a shower before going to bed.
At first Quan resisted, simply because he didn’t like being wet before going to bed. However, Tramar told him that if he dried off well enough, he wouldn’t have to worry about being wet in the bed. Quan did as he was told, which was what Tramar needed in order to have a few minutes to talk to Jackson and Ayana.
“So, nigga, how we gon’ roll over there?” Tramar asked. “A nigga ain’t gon’ be ridin’ down into the hood and shit in cars with plates that the police might be lookin’ for.”
“Already on it,” Jackson said, looking down at his phone. “Already on it. I’m actually texting my dude right now that say he gon’ come over from Hammond with some plates to a car that look like mine. Like I said, I don’t think my car is gon’ be that much of an issue. Your shit, on the other hand, sticks out. I told you about buyin’ that flashy shit then thinkin’ you can stay low in it when you know you can’t.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Tramar said. “Whatever, nigga. Just see if that nigga can hurry up and get over here so we ain’t out there all night and shit. I don’t give a fuck what I gotta do. I’mma fuckin’ find out what this nigga that Sharli know about Byron, and we gon’ take it from there. This nigga already got us in deeper than we could imagine and shit. I’m ready to put a bullet in this nigga head and call it a fuckin’ day. Just let me get my family back, then we can get the fuck up outta Chicago and shit and not look back unless we got to.”
Ayana looked away as she thought about what Tramar might have meant by the last sentence. Sure, she knew that their lives had forever changed, especially now that they’d been covered on the news. However, she also knew that nobody, as far as she knew, even knew that she was a part of anything. She was just the girlfriend of one of the suspects, but it wasn’t as if that was documented. They weren’t married, and Ayana had made it a point over the years to not post too many photos of them on social media. She just didn’t like people being able to pry into her social life and knowing too much about her.
When Ayana snapped out of her brief daze, Jackson was heading out the door. “I’ll be right back, okay,” he said. “You know what? Tramar, just come out when I hit Ayana up, and you can just hop in the car. I got ole dude comin’ to meet me in this shopping center that’s like a mile away or something. I’ll hit you up.”
Jackson walked out of the door and rode the elevators down to the first floor. Once he walked out to his car and hopped in behind the wheel, he cautiously drove over to Norwood Road, where he was going to meet Tony at the Spring Glenn Shopping Center. There he sat in the parking lot and waited until Tony pulled up. Jackson hopped out of the car and shook hands, hugging Tony.
Tony, who was a tall, darker-skinned guy, hugged Jackson back as the two had really grown up thinking that they were cousins until they found out otherwise.
“Man, what the fuck is goin’ on?” Tony asked. “I mean, I ain’t seen you in a minute, man. What the fuck you been up to?”
“Shit,” Jackson answered. “Just out here try’na make this money is all. Same ole, same ole. Man, what’s been up with you?”
“Shit,” Tony said. “Just got another baby on the way.”
“Another one, nigga,” Jackson said, not really remembering how many Tony had the last time they’d seen one another. “Nigga, is you try’na have a football team or what?”
Tony laughed. “Man, a nigga just like pussy is all,” he said. “Can’t get enough of it out here.”
“I hear that,” Jackson said, in agreement.
“So,” Tony said, pulling the license plate out of the backseat. “What the fuck you done went and did, nigga? Or who the fuck you try’na run from and shit?”
“What you mean?” Jackson asked.
Tony lifted the license plate up and looked at it. “Niggas don’t ask for a different license plate for nothin’, nigga,” he said. “What you doin’ with this shit? You ain’t out here killin’ niggas and shit, are you?”
Jackson shook his head. “Naw, nigga,” he said. “I ain’t kill nobody.” He thought about how Tramar had shot and killed the security guard at his bank. “Naw, man, I just need this shit to stay low for a minute.”
Tony looked at Jackson, not really buying what he was saying. However, he was street enough to know better than to go asking too many questions. Tony simply pulled out his screwdriver and began to swap out the plates on the back of Jackson’s car. Once he finished, he lifted himself up and shook Jackson’s hand. “Man, you be safe out here tonight, okay?” he said. “You know these cops stay lookin’ for some nigga to lock up and shit. Just don’t let it be you.”
“I know,” Jackson said. “They be tryin’. But, naw, I ain’t gon’ be out that late no way. I ain’t. I just gotta run somewhere real quick and come back and shit, that’s all.”
For a split second, Jackson thought about asking Tony if he just so happened to know Byron. Tony was indeed the kind of guy that got around to all of the hoods. Jackson then thought about how they’d already let in Ayana’s cousin Sharli on what they had going on. There was no need that he could see to risk anyone else knowing more than they really should. Plus, Tony was a real likable guy – the kind of guy who talked to everyone and was friends with everyone. He was exactly the kind of guy who would talk too much, especially if some alcoholic beverages began to make their way around.
Jackson thanked Tony for coming out in the middle of the night, promising him that the two of them would get together and smoke sometime. He knew this promise was more than likely an empty one, but he had to say something to remain cordial with whoever he came across. Jackson headed back to the hotel and called Ayana’s phone as he was pulling into the parking lot.
Tramar came out within a few minutes and hopped into Jackson’s car. “You get the plates or what?” he asked.
Jackson looked over at Tramar as he pulled off and headed toward the front of the hotel. “Hell yeah, nigga,” he said. “I got them and shit. So, at least, we can ride around a little easier knowing that these plates belong to a car that don’t even exist no more. Let’s just play this safe and shit so we can hurry up and find this nigga before tomorrow night. Hold up, since you ain’t got no phone now, how we gon’ get in contact with this dude we goin’ to meet up with?”
Tramar pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and held it up. “I had Ayana write his number and shit down so we can hit him up when we get close,” he explained. “He already know that we gon’ be hittin’ him up from a different number. As long as we say that we Greg and James, we should be coo.”
“Coo,” Jackson said.
Jackson made his way over to the highway. He and Tramar talked back and forth as they slowly rolled up onto the cluster of skyscrapers downtown. They lit up the sky, as the streets of downtown Chicago were alive with clubs, bars, and restaurants, among many other things. When Jackson pulled off of the highway, he handed his cell phone to Tramar and told him to text the dude so that they could be sure of where they were going. Tramar did and Damon texted back within a matter of seconds.
Tramar read the screen. “2125 Holston,” he said. “He said that when we get outside of some apartment buildings, to just hit him up, and he would come out. He also said to watch out for niggas walkin’ up to our car and shit.”
Jackson reached under his seat, making sure that his gun was there. He looked over at Tramar. “You ain’t bring your gun with you either, did you?” he asked.
Tramar nodded, patting his right pocket. “Hell yeah, nigga,” he said. “I brought this shit with me. We gon’ get this nigga to tell us what the fuck we need to know. Just play it cool, though, and let’s see what happens.”
“Right,” Jackson said.
For the next several minutes, Jackson drove the car toward the address that Tramar had said moments before. When he pulled up outside of some dark, red brick apartment buildings clustered around a courtyard and about five stories high, Tramar called Damon. “Yeah, we out here,” he said. “In the dark blue, black car.”
They waited for several minutes before they saw a medium-height, lanky figure walking out of the apartment complex. Once the figure approached the car, he slid into the backseat and pulled his hood off of his head. “Wassup, fam?” he said, reaching into the front seat and shaking their hands.
“Shit, nothin’ much,” Tramar said. Jackson said the same.
“We just heard that you got that good shit with you, nigga,” Jackson said. “You got it on you, or do we gotta roll somewhere and get it?”
“Actually,” Damon said, pointing ahead. “I got it on me. Just pull off a little bit, ‘cause I don’t like doin’ this shit out front of where I live since my mama and aunties and stuff be lookin’ out the window. Plus, you know it’s a Saturday night when a buncha niggas is out and stuff. Just pull up and I’ll get with y’all up there. Matter of fact, there is a park around the corner where dudes be posted up in the lot. We can park down the block and won’t nobody even notice us. There’s this old storefront building on the corner that don’t be havin’ shit in it at night.”
Jackson did as Damon said. He casually pulled off and up to the end of the block. He turned right and could immediately see where Damon was talking about. He pulled up on the side of a building and allowed Damon to ask them just what it was exactly that they were coming to get. Tramar looked over at Jackson, letting him know just by the look in his eyes that he was about to literally go one hundred.
In one quick move, Tramar had pulled his gun out of his pocket and was pointing it at Damon in the backseat. “Oh, shit,” Damon said, holding his hands up as he leaned as far back into his seat as he could go. “Okay, man, okay. Just be cool, okay man? Just be cool. We ain’t gotta kill nobody or nothin’.”
“I ain’t say that I was wantin’ to kill nobody, nigga,” Tramar said. “I need to ask you some shit, and I need you to sit right there while we talk and shit.”
“Okay, okay,” Damon said, practically stuttering. “That’s cool, man. That’s cool. Just put the gun down and shit and we can talk. I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”
Tramar looked the guy up and down, guessed him to be somewhere in his very early twenties. Even though he had a little bit of facial hair, his voice was much higher than he’d expect for a dude from the hood. Tramar looked around on the street, seeing what looked like prostitutes standing on the corner up ahead. He slid out of his seat and quickly jumped into the back seat, next to Damon. Now, with the gun pointed at Damon in even closer quarters, he was able to really dig for information.
“What you know about that nigga, Byron?” Tramar asked. “I need to find him to…to…talk about some shit real quick. Tell me what you know about that nigga Byron.”
“Who?” Damon said, trying to play dumb. “I don’t know shit about that nigga. I swear I don’t.”
Tramar leaned in closer, causing Damon to tense up and move even further back. His back was practically curved with the shape of the inside of the car door. Even with all of the things he’d done out in the streets, he’d never had a gun pointed at him. He’d been thankful for being able to say such a thing. Now, however, that would change; he could only hope that this guy he’d just met didn’t pull the trigger.
“Nigga, stop lyin’,” Tramar demanded. “I know you know some shit and now you try’na play like you don’t. Nigga, don’t think I won’t kill you. You ain’t gotta be scared of Byron and shit. I swear, he won’t even know where we got our information from. You can remain a secret and shit if that’s what you’re worried about and shit. Now, just tell me where the fuck we can find this nigga Byron ass at.”
“Man, he live way out somewhere,” Damon said. “And it ain’t like I know him like that. I mean, I know he live out somewhere, but I can’t really tell you where or nothin’ like that. I only been out there one time and when I did go out there, it was dark and shit All I remember is curvy roads and woods and shit. Dude, I’m tellin’ the fuckin’ truth. I really can’t tell you where that nigga live.”
Tramar looked into Jackson’s eyes, both knowing that Damon was referring to Bryon’s house far out, where they ran up on him with the chick in his kitchen
“Naw, nigga,” Tramar said. “I’mma need a little more information than that shit, nigga. Tell me what you know about Byron. How you know him and shit? Do you know where he be at?”
“Man, I used to live down the block from his granny and shit,” Damon said. “She used to stay over on Holston before she died. I think he rentin’ the house out and shit now, but I don’t know. I ain’t talked to the dude in like two months or some shit now, since like the summer. He also hang out at this bar I know downtown, but I don’t know the name. I ain’t never even been in there. Me and Byron just cross paths sometimes, but it ain’t like we friends and shit.”
“This granny’s house you just said, nigga,” Tramar said, still pointing the gun at Damon. “Where the fuck is this shit?”
“I just told you, man,” Damon said. “It’s over on Holston.”
“Nigga, I heard you say that,” Tramar said. “But what block and shit? You act like that street isn’t so many blocks long or somethin’.”
“I don’t know,” Damon said. “I used to live at 2146 Holston Street. His granny’s house was across the street and two blocks over. I swear, that’s all I know. Last time I was over that way, I thought I’d heard that Byron had somebody renting the place or something. But I really don’t know, man. Shit, I just don’t fuckin’ know.”
Tramar looked at Jackson before asking, “You up for a little ride?”
Jackson shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah,” he answered. “We can drop that nigga back off and go ride over there.”
Tramar looked back at Damon and smiled. “Naw,” he said. “We not gon’ drop him back off. You really try’na be some help and shit?”
Damon nodded, willing to say anything to get the barrel of the gun off of him. “Hell yeah,” he said. “Just tell me what you gotta do.”
“You gon’ ride with us over to this place, wherever it is, okay?” Tramar said. “And once we find out what house you talkin’ bout and shit, just to be sure, we gon’ drop you back off, okay?”
Damon nodded. Remaining in the backseat, Tramar kept an eye on Damon as Jackson pulled off and headed over to the southwest side of the city. Interestingly enough, where they were headed to wasn’t too far from where this Damon guy lived. After cautiously driving through a couple of hoods, Jackson tried to stay on the busy streets until he got to the specific neighborhood. Under the guidance of Damon, who Tramar watched to make sure he didn’t reach into his pockets, Jackson d
rove down the street.
“Right there, right there,” Damon said, pointing up ahead. Tramar and Jackson looked at an older style, small house with a yard that was cluttered with dead, unkempt bushes. There was no doubt in their mind that the house was empty. However, as Jackson rolled down the block, they found that wasn’t really the case.
“Slow down, nigga,” Tramar said. “Slow down.”
A van was coming from the other end of the block, directly at them. Before they were face to face with the van, it pulled over and parked in front of the house. Jackson slowly rolled by while he and Tramar looked up at the house. Once they rolled past, Jackson slowed down to practically a crawl. Tramar positioned himself in the backseat so that he could look back at the block through the front, passenger side mirror. He watched as two men climbed out of the van, appearing to be carrying food, and maybe a pack of beer in their hands. They walked up toward the house.
“Go around the block, nigga,” Tramar said. “Go around the block.”
“You sure that’s the house?” Tramar asked Damon.
Damon nervously nodded. “Hell yeah,” he said. “That’s the house. His granny used to live there and shit and I lived across the street, diagonally. I don’t know who them two dudes are, man. I’m tellin’ you that I don’t come over here much, so I really don’t know.”
“Okay, okay,” Tramar said, tired of hearing his whining. “Shut the fuck up and chill out and shit, damn. You sound like a bitch.”
Cautiously, Jackson rolled around the block. This time, as they passed the same house, Tramar didn’t know how he felt about it. There were so many dark windows, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. There was a basement, which had given him the idea of going up there and peeking. However, he knew that if he were to do such a thing, there would surely be dogs in the neighborhood that would began to bark immediately. His cover in the darkness would be blown and an entirely new altercation could happen – an altercation with someone who may or may not even know anything about why he was there to begin with.
When It All Falls Down 3 - Somebody is Gonna Die: A Chicago Hood Drama (A Hustler's Lady) Page 4