In These Streets

by Shelly Ellis

  “Oww! Damn!” Tory screamed, as Rodney planted his knee into his back and wrenched his arms behind him, placing his wrists in plastic cuffs.

  “Shut up!” Rodney bellowed. “You lucky this is all I’m doin!”

  “You okay?” Derrick asked, tearing his eyes away from Rodney and Tory and glancing at Cole.

  The young man nodded.

  Derrick then looked back at Morgan, who looked shaken but relieved. “You okay, too?”

  “Yeah, I’m . . . I’m fine.”

  Derrick glanced around the room at the boys who were all staring at Tory now. The boy was still kicking and screaming his outrage on the cement floor.

  “Okay, y’all. Let’s let Mr. Rodney do his thing. I think Miss Owens will be okay with ending the class for today. Right, Miss Owens?”

  Morgan quickly nodded. “Uh, yeah. We’re done for the day, guys.”

  Derrick clapped his hands. “All right, everybody clear out this room! Either head to your next class or go to the rec area until your class starts. You hear me?”

  The boys began to shuffle to the doorway, letting Rodney and Tory go first. Tory was still yelling at the top of his lungs, screaming threats over his shoulder at Cole and anyone else who would listen.

  Cole gradually stood upright and began to walk toward the doorway too, until Derrick dropped a hand on his shoulder, stopping him. “Oh, no! You come with me. We need to talk.”

  “I ain’t do nothin’ though!” Cole shouted, wiping away the blood at the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “Tory’s face says differently. He didn’t get those bruises from the wind, Cole. You had to have hit him, and you know that’s not allowed here. We’re going to have to have a serious talk about how you conduct yourself while—”

  “He was defending me,” Morgan rushed out. “He was defending me, Derrick. That’s . . . that’s why he hit Tory.”

  Derrick squinted. “Defending you from what?”

  Cole began to open his mouth to answer but Morgan shouted, “Nothing! It was nothing . . . nothing big.”

  “Well, if it was nothing big then how did it turn into a fight? How did it end with one boy holding a nail gun to the other’s head?”

  “He grabbed her ass!” Cole interjected. “Tory grabbed her ass when she was walking by. He always be saying shit on the sly to her, Mr. Miller. It ain’t right! When he touched her I told him don’t do her like that. He shoved me and told me to shut the hell up. I shoved him back. That’s . . . that’s how the fight started.”

  Derrick looked at Morgan again. She wouldn’t meet his eyes. A flush of mortification was on her cheeks.

  “Okay,” he murmured. “We can talk more about this later. Let’s get you cleaned up first, Cole.”

  * * *

  After Derrick had talked with Cole and checked in with Tory and Rodney to get more details of exactly what had happened in the workshop that day, he tracked down Morgan in the teachers’ recreational lounge. The room was mostly deserted. She sat alone, eating a bag of potato chips and reading a magazine with her elbow resting on the tabletop. When she saw Derrick walk into the room, she stopped mid-chew and lowered her chip bag to the table. She pushed a lock of hair behind her ear and sat upright.

  “I know what you’re going to say, but I swear, it wasn’t that big of a deal,” she argued before he even had a chance to utter a word.

  “You should’ve told me what was going on, Morgan.”

  “But it really was nothing! I had it covered.” She slapped closed her magazine. “Cole having my back like that was sweet—but it wasn’t necessary. It escalated the situation way past the point it should have gone!”

  Derrick pulled out the chair on the other side of the table facing her. He sat down. “Cole told me that Tory’s been harassing you pretty much since the first day of class. It’s been escalating, Morgan. What happened today was just a matter of time. You know that, right?”

  “I’ve heard worse from dudes on the street when I walk past the corner store. I wasn’t worried.”

  “But you should’ve been. He should’ve been called out and reprimanded long before now.”

  “I know. I know!” She balled up her empty bag. “But I didn’t want to tell you because . . .”

  “Because what?”

  “Because I thought I had it covered. I thought he was just talking shit. That’s what kids do! And you kept asking me if I was up to working at a place like this . . . if I could handle being around all these boys. I thought if I told you what he was doing, you’d basically decide that you were right all along. You’d decide that I shouldn’t work here.”

  It was true. As he listened to Cole’s recount of what happened, he’d started thinking that he had made a mistake by hiring Morgan; his first instinct had been the right one. But now, seeing the defeated look on her face, he was second guessing himself again.

  “I really need this job, Derrick.”

  “I know. You told me that in the beginning, and I wouldn’t fire you over something like this. But if you needed help, you really should’ve—”

  “And I did . . . I did ask for help when I really needed it! I called for Rodney as soon as the situation went left, but again, until today, I thought I had it covered. I know better now though. When stuff starts looking shaky . . . before I lose control of the situation, I’ll let you know right away.”

  He slowly exhaled, still feeling slight unease at everything that had happened today, but knowing there wasn’t much more he could do at this point. Tory would no longer be an issue for her since his latest violation left Derrick with no choice but to transfer him from the Institute to the local juvenile detention center. And other teachers besides Morgan had experienced problems with their students, even seen fights break out in their classrooms, but for some reason he was warier when it came to Morgan. He couldn’t help worrying about her. He didn’t know where all these protective impulses came from.

  “And I’m going to say it now,” she began, “if you start dropping by my workroom every few hours just to check up on me, I’m gonna lose it! I don’t need you babysitting me. I told you, I’ve got this now. Lesson learned.”

  He laughed.

  “What? What’s so funny?”

  “You sound like my girlfriend. She’s accused me of taking over too much, of thinking I know what’s best. I guess I’ve developed a bad habit. Maybe that’s why we argue so damn much.”

  “You have a girlfriend?”

  “Yeah, she’s my fiancée actually.”

  She raised her brows. Her eyes widened. “Really? You’re engaged?”

  He laughed again and nodded. “Why do you sound so surprised? A guy like me wouldn’t be engaged?”

  “No, I just didn’t know. No one else mentioned it.” She considered him, letting her eyes scan over him. “But now that I think about it, you definitely seem like type of dude that would be engaged. You’ve got ‘taken’ written all over you.”

  “Wait. Was that a compliment or are you coming for me?”

  “No, it was a compliment. Trust me! Brothas like you never stay on the market long.” She leaned back in her metal chair. “I never get the nice guys, to be honest. The most I could hope to be is their side chick.”

  He stared at her in shock and she winced.

  “That was inappropriate, wasn’t it?”

  He laughed again. He noticed that he laughed a lot around her. “Just a lil’ bit.”

  “Hey, but it’s the truth! You got any single friends you can introduce me to?”

  “I’ve got one single friend but I doubt you’d be interested. He’s a bit of a player.”

  “See what I mean?” She threw up her hands. “The good ones are never single . . . hence, me being the side chick.”

  “I feel you . . . but you’re too good to be anybody’s side chick, Morgan. A woman like you deserves better.”

  This time she seemed caught off guard. Her easy smile disappeared as he pushed himself back from t
he table.

  “Look, I better head back to my office. I hope your afternoon goes better than your morning.”

  She nodded. “You too,” she whispered.

  He then turned and walked out the rec room, feeling her eyes upon him as he stepped into the hall.

  Chapter 14

  Ricky

  Let’s just get this shit over with, Ricky thought as he strode through the French doors.

  He’d heard the music and the shouts from the driveway when he’d handed off his keys to the valet, but the din inside the house was almost deafening. If it were any other home, Ricky would be worried that someone would call the cops, considering all the noise they were making in here. But Dolla Dolla’s house was surrounded by an acre of grassland on each side, and frankly, if his neighbors could hear the noise, none of them were crazy enough to call the cops on the infamous Dolla Dolla.

  Ricky walked down the short flight of stairs to the marble foyer that was bordered on both sides by a line of scantily clad women in high heels, holding trays of food and drinks. They were the only women in the room.

  For these types of parties, Dolla Dolla liked to limit the guest list to almost entirely men. If you were dumb enough to bring a girl with you, don’t be surprised if the host tried to make a move on her before the night was done. Those, like Ricky, who knew Dolla Dolla were well aware of this rule. The drug kingpin liked to play mind games with folks, to fuck with you. He had to act like the lion of the pride—all the lionesses were his for the taking. And if you didn’t abide by Dolla Dolla’s rules at his parties, there was hell to pay. In fact, Ricky recalled one dude who had brought his wife with him to a fight night party two years ago. He’d ended up pistol-whipped and carried out by Dolla Dolla’s bodyguards when he tried to step to Dolla Dolla after seeing him grope his wife’s ass. Disgusted by the brutality, Ricky had left the party early and watched the rest of the fight at home.

  He hoped he wouldn’t get treated to yet another ruthless display tonight, that the only bloodshed he witnessed would be on one of Dolla Dolla’s many big screen TVs. Ricky hadn’t wanted to come to the party tonight anyway after the six late nights and early mornings he’d had overseeing the restaurant and Club Majesty, but Dolla Dolla had sent him a text that afternoon reminding him about the fight night party at his crib. Ricky knew from experience that the reminder was an implicit order to show up that night. It was not to be ignored.

  He grabbed a champagne glass from the silver tray of a tall blond. He then looked around him, scanning the faces of the women, hopeful that one of them might be Simone’s little sister, Skylar, but, of course, she wasn’t there.

  Stupid ass, he thought to himself, disappointed.

  Dolla Dolla wouldn’t very well have the girl standing out in the open. He doubted she’d be anywhere near here. She was probably locked up in a room back at Dolla Dolla’s place in D.C.

  Ricky walked through the foyer, pausing along the way a few times to greet the men that he knew. He could see the family room where several more men sat on the leather sofas, drinking and smoking. A few women were in there too, sitting on their laps or serving them drinks.

  “Ehhhh, Pretty Ricky!” Dolla Dolla called out as Ricky stepped into the room. He’d cupped his beefy hands around his mouth so he could be heard over the noise. He then spread his arms. “What’s up, nigga?”

  Ricky smiled as he strolled toward him. The two men embraced and as they did, Ricky caught a strong whiff of weed and Hennessey. It seemed that their party’s host was well on his way to getting the party started himself.

  “Where you been?” Dolla Dolla asked with heavy-lidded eyes and a dopey smile, thumping Ricky on the back. “The fight started already.”

  “I got a little caught up, but I’m here now.”

  “That’s right! My nigga Pretty Ricky is in the house, y’all!” he yelled to no one in particular. “Go and fix yourself something to eat. My people set up a buffet and everything. We got drinks too. Coke. Bitches. Anything you want!” He slapped Ricky’s back. “Treat yourself, nigga!”

  Ricky did a double take, lowering his champagne glass from his mouth. “You’ve got bitches, too?”

  “That got your dick up, didn’t it?” Dolla Dolla laughed drunkenly and drew closer to him. “They’re upstairs,” he whispered into his ear. “Don’t tell nobody though. I’m just letting a few of these niggas have a taste, but I’m charging them next time. I’ll let you have a little taste too.” His smile widened. “Think of it as an early Christmas present. Santa left a little pussy for you under the Christmas tree.”

  Ricky casually took a sip, hoping he was adequately masking his anticipation at the prospect of finding Skylar tonight. “I appreciate it, Dolla.”

  “I bet you do!” Dolla Dolla said, slapping him on the back again. “Go and get you some pussy, nigga. Enjoy that shit!”

  Ricky didn’t go upstairs directly. He continued to drink and pretended to watch the fight, though his eyes kept drifting back to the foyer and the wooden staircase that led to the rooms upstairs. Finally, after about twenty minutes he made his way there. Two of Dolla Dolla’s body guards stood at the bottom of the staircase, as if guarding the entrance.

  “Dolla said it was cool for me to go up,” he said to them.

  One nodded before stepping aside to let Ricky pass.

  He forced himself to keep his footsteps slow, to not look too eager. When he climbed the last stair and stepped onto the plush carpet, he heard the voices—the moans, groans, and laughter.

  He stared at the line of six doors along the darkened hallway. Was Skylar in one of these rooms?

  He tried the first door where he heard the loudest moans and yells. When he opened it, he saw a woman naked and bent on all fours. A man knelt behind her with his jeans around his ankles and the skin on his back slick with sweat. His hand was fisted in her hair, tugging at it like a horse rein. When the door opened the man stopped mid-stroke and turned to glare at Ricky.

  “Damn, nigga! You mind?” he asked.

  The woman glanced over her shoulder to look at Ricky, he could see that it wasn’t Skylar.

  “My bad,” Ricky said, stepping back into the hall and closing the door behind him. Within seconds, the moans resumed.

  Ricky took a deep breath and headed farther down the corridor.

  “Door number two,” he whispered to himself. He tried the handle but this one was locked. He raised his fist to knock but thought better of it. He continued on this path.

  He tried the door knob for door number three. It wasn’t locked. He pushed the door open, prepared to see another couple or maybe even threesome going at it. Instead he found a woman in a lace thong wearing one silver stiletto, splayed on her back on the red satin sheets like she was sleeping. When he stepped into the bedroom, she slowly pushed herself up to her elbows. She shoved her long hair out of her face and looked up at him.

  It’s her, he thought with surprise. Well, I’ll be goddamned.

  He’d found her again.

  “Who are you?” she slurred, squinting at Ricky as he closed the door behind her. “Don’t I know you?”

  “I’m nobody,” he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his cell phone. He pressed a few buttons on screen and pointed the camera at her, leaning in close. He saw the image of her looking back at him dazedly, those big brown eyes like her big sister’s but rimmed with runny eyeshadow and smudged mascara. He snapped a few pictures.

  “You’re not nobody.” She sneered. “You work for him. You all work for him! Just leave me alone, all right? I can’t do it tonight. I’m . . . I’m sick. Can’t you tell I’m sick?” She slung her legs over the end of the bed and held her stomach, sounding very much like the seventeen-year-old girl that she was. “I . . . I really don’t feel well. I’m not faking it this time! I don’t know if it’s the flu or . . . or . . .”

  Ricky lowered his cell phone.

  “I keep telling y’all I wanna see a doctor. Can you tell him, please? I don
’t wanna be sick anymore. I keep . . . I keep throwing up!”

  He had gotten the pictures like Simone had asked. He could leave now but something in Skylar’s eyes drew him in, kept him from setting a foot back into the hallway. He flashed back to his baby sister, Desiree, sitting across from him at McDonald’s the last day he saw her alive. She had the same tortured look in her eyes that Skylar had now.

  Ricky tucked the phone back into his pocket.

  “I just wanna see a doctor,” she pleaded. “I promise I won’t tell on him. I won’t—”

  He dropped to his knee in front of her. “Skylar. Skylar, that’s your name right?”

  At the sound of her name, she quieted.

  “Skylar, do you want to get out of here?”

  She was staring at him cagily now, like she wasn’t sure if he was playing a trick on her. She glanced at the closed bedroom door.

  “Do you want to get out of here? Is he not letting you go? Is that it?”

  She raised the bedsheets to cover herself, as if suddenly aware of her nakedness. She slowly shook her head. “You’re . . . you’re trying to get me in trouble.”

  “I’m not trying to get you in trouble. I’m trying to help you. I can sneak you out of here, I think.” He rose to his feet and walked to the bedroom window. He pulled back the curtains. “If this opens, maybe . . . maybe we can sneak you out that way.”

  She shook her head again, making her hair whip around her skinny shoulders. She gave another panicked glance at the door. Tears sprung to her eyes. “You’re just trying to get me in trouble so I get beat up like Natasha! I saw what happened to her. I’m not dumb!”

  He returned to her side. He reached out and touched her shoulder and she flinched. He dropped his hand. “I’m not trying to get you in trouble. I told you, I’m here to help! Your sis—”

  “Get out!” she screeched, balling her hands into fists. “Get the fuck out!”