In These Streets

by Shelly Ellis

  Ricky worried that it wasn’t just bluster. Simone had said before that it was a daily struggle not to become untethered since her sister had disappeared, to hold it together. Would she really do something so reckless and put herself and her sister in harm’s way?

  He had to talk her out of it, so he’d suggested, perhaps foolishly, that they meet in person.

  That’s how he now found himself listening to her mutter as she sat in the passenger seat of his Mercedes SUV.

  “Running up in there to rescue your sister ain’t going to accomplish a damn thing, but getting you killed.”

  “So!” she yelled.

  “What do you mean, ‘So’? Dolla doesn’t give a shit that you’re a woman, Simone. He could really hurt you. You’ve got a death wish?”

  “No, but I can’t sit idly by either! I went to my commanding officer and told him what’s happening to Skylar.”

  Ricky whipped his head around to face her. “You told him that I told you? You told him about me? Why the hell would you—”

  “I didn’t say anything about you,” she added quickly, seeing the alarm on his face even in the darkened car compartment. “Calm the hell down! I acted like I stumbled on the info myself. Besides, he’s not going to do damn thing! He said I needed proof of abuse, that she’s being held against her will. He said he would need to talk to her, which I explained to him isn’t possible unless we go in there and make Dolla let us talk to her. But he blew me off. What does he care?” She sucked her teeth in disgust. “She’s just another black girl junkie runaway, one of thousands in this city that people ignore and forget. They could be alive or dead—and no one cares.” She closed her eyes. She sniffed. “I see those blue and yellow missing flyers on the wall in our lobby and I look at all their faces. They’re so many little black girls, Ricky. So many!” Tears flooded her eyes. “And I just . . . I just want to punch the wall because I’m so pissed. I want to cry because I think . . . I think about their families and how they may never find them. I think about Skylar. I think about what’s happening to her and I . . . I can’t . . . I can’t imagine . . . what am I going to tell my mother? I promised her I would bring her home! What am I . . . I . . .”

  She couldn’t finish. Her words were engulfed by sobs that made her shoulders shake, that made her gasp for air.

  “Simone,” he said, reaching for her. “Simone, are you all right?”

  She didn’t answer him. Instead, she continued to sob, pulled at her seatbelt, and clutched at her chest, like she was hyperventilating.

  “Shit,” he spat before quickly scanning the road around him. When he saw an open parking lot and pulled into it. He removed his seatbelt and turned to her.

  “It’s okay,” he said, rubbing her back. “It’s okay. Just take a deep breath.”

  His voice was barely audible over the sound of the rain pattering on the car roof.

  He was surprising himself with his response, how gentle he was being. Derrick and Jamal would be shocked to see him like this, patiently comforting a woman. He didn’t normally act this way, but then again, with Simone none of his behavior had been normal.

  She tugged off her seatbelt, too, and leaned forward in the passenger seat, resting her forehead on his leather dashboard.

  “It’s okay. It’s all right,” he whispered into her ear.

  Her sobs finally subsided. She slowly raised her head and turned to him with reddened eyes. She sniffed.

  “God, I’m a mess! I’m sorry for breaking down like that in front of you. I didn’t . . . I didn’t mean to do that.”

  “Stop apologizing. You don’t have to apologize for something like that.”

  “It’s just a lot. I don’t know what to do! I don’t—”

  “I’ll take care of it. Okay? I’ll take care of everything. Don’t worry,” Ricky assured her, still rubbing her back, wondering even as he said the words what insane impulse made him utter such nonsense.

  He had already done more than enough to help Simone, definitely more than he had intended when she first showed him the photo of her sister back at Club Majesty. Just what the hell else was he supposed to do?

  “Thank you, Ricky,” she whispered. “Thank you so much.”

  “And stop thanking me,” he replied gruffly.

  “Never. You deserve it.”

  Their eyes met and he felt that old pesky tug at his groin. The temperature of the car compartment seemed to rise within seconds and a static charge filled the air. Ricky wasn’t sure who leaned forward first—him or Simone. Either way, their lips collided like two cars careening on the slippery roadway outside their windows. Within seconds, lips turned into tongues, and tongues quickly morphed into hands. The next thing he knew, she was straddling him in the driver’s seat and he was yanking down the zipper of her jacket, shoving the garment off her shoulders. He was hiking up the front of her T-shirt, fondling her breasts over the lace cups of her bra. Their mouths stayed connected the whole time. He sucked her tongue, enjoying the taste of her, and she did the same to him. She bit down on his bottom lip and tugged it ever so gently with her teeth, and he groaned. They kissed again, angling their heads so that this kiss was more fervent than the last. She shifted her hips, rubbing her crotch enticingly against his dick, making him as hard as a rock.

  He wanted the bra gone.

  He wanted her jeans gone, and if she was wearing panties—he wanted those gone too.

  He wanted to take her right there in his front seat with the fogged up windows and the only noise in the car coming from the rain and their mouths as they moaned and screamed their way to sexual bliss. But something held him back. Maybe it was her tears from earlier or the fact that she wouldn’t be doing this if she wasn’t emotionally destroyed by what was happening to her sister. Either way, Ricky tugged his lips away from hers. He lowered his hands from her breasts.

  She stared down at him, confused. “What? What’s wrong?”

  “You don’t want to do this,” he whispered grimly.

  “Why do you think I don’t want to do this?”

  “I don’t think—I know.” He shifted her, easing her from his lap back onto the passenger seat. “You’re all fucked up about your little sister. You’re not thinking straight. You’ll regret it later.”

  She slowly shook her head. “You don’t know that, Ricky. I wouldn’t do anything I didn’t—”

  “Well then I’ll regret! How about that?” He glared at her. “I already feel like I’m in over my head with all this shit you’ve dragged me into! We don’t need to complicate it any more than it already is.”

  Her shoulders fell. She actually looked hurt. “I didn’t realize I was dragging you into it. I thought you wanted to help me . . . to help Skylar! If it’s that much of a problem, then why are you even bothering?”

  Good question, he thought.

  Why was he doing any of this? Why was he sticking his neck out for her? It certainly wasn’t to get a piece of ass. If Ricky wanted to get laid, he had plenty of other women he could go to. And it wasn’t because she had anything on him, and could use it to blackmail him. He wasn’t involved directly with any of Dolla Dolla’s criminal enterprises and she knew that or she wouldn’t be bothering with him in the first place. So why did he keep helping and risking his life and livelihood for a woman he barely knew?

  Maybe it was because he never got to save Desiree and helping her offered him a chance to save Skylar, someone very similar to his deceased sister. Or maybe there was something else, something about Simone that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Either way, it bugged the hell out of him.

  “Where should I drop you off?” he asked, not looking at her anymore. Because if he looked at her again or let her keep talking, he might lose his resolve, tug her back onto his lap, and continue where they left off. He was trying to do the right thing tonight, but he was no saint.

  Don’t test me, honey.

  She put her seatbelt back on and turned to look out the passenger side window. “Just t
ake me back to where you picked me up. It’s only a couple blocks from my place.”

  Ricky shifted the car into drive and pulled out of the parking lot. He did as she asked, taking her back to the spot next to the bus stop. The rain had finally ended, so at least she didn’t have to walk in that again.

  She shoved open the door and climbed out, but she paused on the sidewalk. She leaned down and stared at him. “Can I still count on you, Ricky?”

  He waited a bit before he nodded. “I’ll call you if I see her again.”

  “If you see her? But you said you’d take care of—”

  “I know what I said, but I can’t promise you anything, Simone! This is the best I can do for now.”

  Her face hardened. The glint was back in her eyes. She let out an impatient breath and slammed the car door shut. He watched as she walked down the block, tugging her jacket closed. He only pulled off when he saw her disappear around the corner.

  Chapter 17

  Derrick

  “So what did the vet say?” Derrick asked, typing a few keys on his laptop while he held his office phone between his ear and the crook of his shoulder.

  “He said Brownie doesn’t have fleas like I thought. He has psychogenic alopecia,” Melissa replied tiredly on the other end of the line.

  “Psycho-whata?”

  “Psychogenic alopecia. It’s just a fancy term for excessive grooming. I guess it’s a condition that cats can get sometimes.”

  Melissa had decided to take their cat, Brownie, to the vet that morning when she realized the feline was starting to lose patches of fur and was coughing up hairballs like there was no tomorrow. Derrick hadn’t considered the situation life threatening, but he knew how she felt about their pet. He wasn’t going to put up much of an argument either way.

  “Okay, so what’s the treatment for psychogenic whatchamacallit?” he asked, already resolving himself to the prospect of paying an expensive vet bill for a cat with no job who just liked to lick himself a lot. He propped his feet up on his desk. “Does he get a few shots? Do we have to put him on pills or something?”

  “No, she said the cause is probably stress. If he’s less stressed out, the condition should gradually go away.”

  “Stress?” Derrick squinted at the light streaming in through his office window. “What the hell does Brownie have to be stressed about? He’s a damn cat! All he does is eat, climb shelves, and sleep all day.”

  “Well, she asked if there were any changes in our household. If maybe he could be stressed out from that. I told her . . .” Melissa cleared her throat. “I, uh, told her we’ve been arguing a little more lately. That things have been kinda tense between us. Maybe he’s picking up on that.”

  Derrick rolled his eyes. “So Brownie is stressed out because what’s going on between us? You’re kidding, right?”

  “I don’t know, Dee!” she huffed. “The vet asked a question, and that was the only thing I could think of. Don’t give me shit about it. I’m just telling you what she said!”

  Derrick dropped his feet from his desk and leaned forward in his chair. He told himself to count to ten, to not respond to her anger with his own anger. It would lead them nowhere; they would just stay stuck in the same cycle they had been lately.

  “Okay, well, we’ll just . . . just try to work on creating a calmer environment at home for . . . for Brownie,” he muttered, feeling ridiculous even as he said it. “So what do you have planned for the rest of the day? You took off from school, right?”

  “Yeah, Lily is subbing for me. I’m going to hang around here for another hour or so. Give Brownie some love and attention then head out. I’m supposed to meet somebody for coffee a little later.”

  “That sounds cool. Who are you meeting up with? Catching up with Bina? I know you guys haven’t seen each other as much since she had the baby.”

  “Umm, no, she’s still under baby house arrest. I figured I’ll ask her out to lunch next month when the baby is a little older and she can take him out with her.”

  “That makes sense. So who are you going out with today? You still haven’t said.”

  She paused. “Why do I have to tell you?”

  “You don’t have to tell me, baby. I was just asking.” He forced a laugh. “What? You meeting up with your secret lover or somethin’?”

  “That’s not funny, Dee. And since when do you care who I have coffee with? I didn’t think I had to report to you. I didn’t think we were that kind of couple.”

  His smile faded. “We aren’t. Look, where is all this—”

  “You certainly don’t tell me everything! You didn’t tell me that Calvin called you a few days ago with a job offer. He wants you to be the director of development at his non-profit.”

  Derrick stilled. His stomach dropped. “How . . . how do you know about that?”

  “He left a message today on our voice mail. He said he’s willing to up the offer by another five grand if you’re willing to change your mind.”

  Derrick closed his eyes.

  Calvin was an old college buddy from Howard who Derrick had stayed in touch with over the years. Calvin had started a small non-profit eight years ago that had since grown. He’d hit Derrick up a few times, asking if he would be willing to quit the Institute and work for him. Though Derrick had been flattered by the offer, there was no way in hell he would take on a job like director of development, where he would spend his days tracking down grant funding and sucking up to corporation heads to get them to donate money. He didn’t care how much the salary was, he wasn’t interested.

  “Why didn’t you tell me he offered you a job, Dee?”

  “Because I knew what you would say. You would tell me to take the job.”

  “Why wouldn’t you take it? You can finally make what you’re really worth! Why wouldn’t you take a job that doesn’t require you to break up fights or deal with parole officers and judges or—”

  “You know why,” he answered tightly. “I’ve told you about a thousand damn times.”

  “And it doesn’t make any more sense now than the first time you told me!”

  “Hey, Derrick!” he heard a female voice call out to him along with two quick knocks on his opened office door. “Can I talk to you for a . . . oh, damn, I’m sorry! I didn’t know you were on the phone.”

  Derrick looked up to find Morgan standing in the doorway. She was wearing denim work overalls and a black T-shirt. Both were stained with paint and sawdust. Even a streak of yellow was on her forehead and chin. Her curly hair was piled atop her head in a ponytail.

  He quickly shook his head, held up his finger, and mouthed, “Just a sec.” He then turned around to face his window, trying his best to hide from Morgan how pissed he was at that moment.

  “Look, I’ve gotta call you back,” he told Melissa, dropping his voice to a whisper.

  “Really, Dee? I ask you why you would keep yet another secret from me, and you want to rush me off the phone?”

  “It wasn’t a secret! There was nothing to tell because I’d already said no.” He glanced over his shoulder at Morgan. “Look, I have someone waiting at my door. I have to go.”

  He heard Melissa suck her teeth on the other end. “Fine.”

  She hung up with a loud click, and Derrick squeezed the phone receiver so hard he thought the plastic might crack in his fist. Again, he told himself to count to ten. When he finished, he turned back around, lowered the phone receiver into its cradle, and looked up at Morgan. He wasn’t totally calm, but he hoped he at least looked like he was.

  “Hey, what’s up?” he said, forcing a lightness in his voice that he didn’t feel.

  “Again, I didn’t mean to barge in, but I wanted to talk to you while I was in between classes. I have another one that starts in about an hour and—”

  “It’s fine.” He painted on a smile and gestured toward the chair facing his desk. “Have a seat. Take a load off.”

  She walked toward his chair and wiped the dust off her rear be
fore sitting down. “I wanted to talk to you about Cole.”

  At the mention of the boy’s name, Dee narrowed his eyes. “Why? Did he get into another fight? I figured since Tory had to go back to the juvie that he would be—”

  “No, he’s fine. No fighting at all. In fact, he seems to be getting along with all of the kids in class. Maybe . . . I don’t know . . . maybe he’s getting along a little too well.”

  “A little too well? What . . . what does that mean?”

  “It means for a kid who just started a couple of months ago, he seems to have a lot of sway over all the other boys. It’s like . . . like he’s their damn leader or something.”

  Derrick shrugged. “Maybe he’s just popular. And Tory used to be kind of a big dog around here. For Cole to step up to him in your defense, that would certainly command respect from the other boys. Maybe Cole just has a rep now.”

  “Yeah, rep is one thing, Derrick, but . . . I saw one of the kids actually apologize for bumping into him the other day.” She made a face. “Fifteen-year-old boys don’t usually do that, do they? It just seemed . . . weird.”

  Derrick leaned back in his office chair, now frowning. He thought back to something Tory had said during his fight with Cole in the workshop, something that had sounded odd at the time.

  “I don’t care who the fuck he is or who he fuck with! Nobody disrespects me!” Tory had said as he held the nail gun to Cole’s temple.

  Just who exactly did Cole “fuck with”? Did he run with some notorious crew?

  Sure, more than a couple of the boys had gang affiliations, but it was part of the mandate of the Institute that they had to put all that aside when they joined the program and walked through the doors. Derrick knew Cole had a few drug charges under his belt, but only for marijuana possession and drug paraphernalia. Nothing serious. It wasn’t like the boy was a big-time criminal.

  Derrick shrugged again. “I’ll keep an eye on it and an ear out, but I wouldn’t worry about it much. Again, the other boys probably just like and respect him. I wouldn’t read too much into it.”

  Her shoulders sank. “Okay, if you think so. I didn’t mean to bother you with nonsense but I figured since my last . . . uh . . . incident, I promised you I’d give you the heads up if anything looked questionable.”