Three Nights In Mannford

by Cynthia Conner Goyang

  “No, I’m good.”

  Marquise turned on the sound system, streamed some Marvin Gaye’s What’s Going On, and trotted back to his seat at the table. “Ooh, what a day! Living in Mannford is an experience. I thought I’d seen it all! Couldn’t believe it.” He took a bite of chicken and chewed. “I saw a woman laid out on the edge of I-20. I mean laid out.”

  “In her car?” Keiana asked incredulously.

  Marquise shook his head. “Uh-uh. Woman was straight up on the shoulder of I-20. Car overturned, smoking like it was going to blow up right next to her.”

  “Stop lyin’, boy.” Keiana rolled her eyes.

  “If I’m lyin’, I’m dyin’. It was like slow motion at the movies. Stuff was surreal. I could hear the ambulance coming behind me. Nobody, not a soul, stopped. Couldn’t! Wouldn’t be safe. I sure hope that woman was okay.”

  “If she makes it, she might be one of my patients tomorrow. Bless her heart.” Keiana shook her head. “I’ll see if any of the other unit nurses know anything about it.”

  “Speaking of cray-cray,” Marquise said and laughed. “There was some ole woman who would hardly let me leave when I stopped at ShoppersMart. I saw Mayor Henderson there, too. Something is going on with that man. Don’t know what but something.”

  Keiana gave him a questioning look. Marquise just raised his shoulders and his palms in a shrug. “Anyway, as I was saying, I was just minding my own business. I had jumped in my vehicle, gettin’ ready to roll out, and this old skaintch came up to me. Asked me to roll down my window.”

  “Ooh, no, she didn’t. People so weird. What’d she want?”

  “Don’t ask me, baby. She was all, ‘Don’t think yo’ yella’ skin gon’ stop ‘em.’”

  Keiana bust out laughing. “What? Don’t be lyin’, boy! You know good and well she ain’t said that.”

  “She did though! See, girl . . .” Marquise pointed at the flyers on the coffee table. “She said somethin’ about we got to go down tonight.”

  “Sound like she was getting all the way personal. I’m going to have to go down there and go upside a skaintch’s head.” Keiana frowned and poked her lips out. “Anyways, go where?”

  “Don’t know. Didn’t look at it. That woman was cray-cray all the way!”

  Keiana shook her head, laughed at Marquise, and took a bite of her chef salad.

  “Look at them cheeks.” Marquise kissed Nisha’s carrot-stained cheeks. Nisha reacted by splatting a handful of carrots square on her daddy’s face.

  “Ooh, you two,” Keiana said and laughed as she handed Marquise a napkin.

  While Marquise wiped pureed carrots from his close-cut beard, the doorbell rang. He crossed the room and peered out the front window. There stood Lawrence, Keiana’s older brother. Marquise smiled and opened the door.

  “Hey, man, how it be?” Marquise clasped hands with Lawrence and drew him into a hug.

  “You know! Hard labor, dude, hard lay-bor every day!”

  “I’m telling you. Come on in,” Marquise said.

  “That ain’t Law, is it? Lawrence is that you?” Keiana called from the dining room. “Nigga is always showing up at dinner time!”

  “Girl, shut up. Yo’ grub does smell good, though. Go fix me a plate, sis!” Lawrence said as he walked into the dining room with Marquise. He gave his little sis a peck on the cheek and kissed Nisha’s sweet cheeks repeatedly.

  Keiana shook her head and pursed her lips at her older bro. “Did you just tell me to go fix you a plate? Seriously, boy, you better fix yo’ own plate. You ain’t got no personal maid around here.”

  “Be like that then, negroid gal.”

  Everybody burst out laughing. Lawrence stuck out his lips but headed into the kitchen to fix himself a heaping plate, then joined them.

  “When’d you cut your hair, Keiana?” he asked, picking up the chicken thigh from his plate. “Looking like lil miss Halle Berry!”

  “Tst! Boy, I had my hair cut the last time you were over. Why you just now noticing?”

  “You had that ugly ghetto rag on yo’ head last time. Am I right, Marq? Am I right?”

  Marquise threw up his hands, chuckled, and shrugged his shoulders. “I’m staying outta that one.”

  “Now, Marq. You know she had that rag on her head. Nigga, you so whipped,” Lawrence said, laughing.

  Keiana put her open hand up two inches from her mouthy brother’s face and then moved over as if to take his plate.

  “Ke, you know I was just jokin’. I was just jokin’! Don’t be taking a hungry soul brotha’s food now.”

  They all laughed, including little Nisha.

  “Look at y’all. You even got my baby niece laughing at me. How my baby? How my sweet, sweet baby girl?” Lawrence stretched over to kiss his niece’s cheek.

  “LaLaLa,” little Nisha responded, picked up a fistful of carrots, and mashed them into Lawrence’s face.

  His eyes registered shock. “Aw, no, my baby Nisha did not just plop carrots on Uncle’s face.”

  Marquise laughed. “She got you, too! She hit me up just before you rang the bell.”

  After dinner, Keiana picked up Nisha from her high chair. “I’ll leave you all at it. I’m gonna bathe Nisha. Right, sweet girl? And then we turnin’ in.”

  “That early?” Lawrence said.

  “I got an early shift tomorrow, boy!”

  “Mama, Mama!” Nisha said happily, clapping her hands.

  “Guys, and especially you, Lawrence, you know we gotta be up early for work and Mrs. Helen’s Wee Care, so don’t be talking loud and waking Nish.” Keiana poked out her lips, pushed Lawrence’s head, and pecked Marquise’s lips. “Night, baby.”

  “We gon’ behave,” Lawrence said. “Goodnight. Thanks for dinner. Love you, little sis.”

  “You welcome, Law. Love you more.”

  “Goodnight, sweet ladies,” Marquise called out to his two girls. “Be there in a little while.”

  “All right.” Keiana and Nisha left the men reclining in the living room.

  Marquise grabbed the TV remote. It wasn’t long before the guys were deep into a preseason-football-commentary program already underway.

  “You think Dak and Zeke can do it this year?” Marquise said, referring to the Dallas Cowboys’ rock-star quarterback and running back.

  “They lookin’ pretty good, man. I think they the real deal this time. I hope everyone stays healthy this year.”

  “You right, you right.” Marquise started to channel surf and paused briefly on CNN.

  “Breaking News” was scrolling across the bottom of the TV screen as Anderson Cooper spoke.

  “Authorities are at the scene of a fatal officer-involved shooting that occurred early today just outside the deceased’s residence in Mannford. This footage is graphic, so you may want to remove any children from the room,” Anderson said.

  CNN then displayed shaky amateur video footage of the scene. A young black man lay twisted in a large pool of blood, gasping for breath. The haunting, distant look in his half-open eyes and the rattled breathing indicated he was dying. Anderson continued, “Reports say that the deceased’s wife, mother, and children witnessed the incident.” Again, the off-kilter footage displayed two women nearby, one older, one younger, screaming and crying. Two children were clinging to them in terror. A police officer stood stoic in a shooting stance over the bloodied man, gun drawn and pointing down toward him.

  “What, man?”

  Marquise nodded and held up his hand for Lawrence to hush as Anderson continued his reporting.

  “Police did not elaborate on what led to the shooting. Further inquiries about the case were forwarded to the Mannford Police Department and the Healy County District Attorney’s Office, who are investigating the shooting. The officer has been placed on paid administrative leave pending the outcome
of the investigation.”

  Cameras displayed aerial helicopter footage as Anderson continued, “A sizeable angry crowd has gathered in downtown Mannford to protest . . .”

  Marquise’s jaw dropped. “The dead guy is Darrelle Moseley! I’ve met that dude.” Marquise leaned forward and hit the coffee table in disgust. “What the heck?” He looked at his Lawrence, shaking his head. “Dude been in a couple times to get his hair cut.”

  “Man, bro,” Lawrence said. “I’m so sick of this, man. I can’t believe this stuff is happening right here in Mannford. This time this mess is too close to home. This is crazy. Crazy! Them piglets ain’t satisfied unless one of us is bleeding out all over the ground.”

  Keiana poked her head out of the bedroom door and frowned. “Shut up, you all. What’s wrong with you two negroes? You know I gotta get up early for work. You gonna wake Nisha.” Keiana wiped at her sleepy eyes, patted her head rag, and glared out at Marquise and Lawrence.

  “Girl, take yo’ butt back to bed. Can’t you see what’s happenin’ here?” Lawrence pointed at the TV.

  “Come on, Law,” Marquise appealed to Lawrence, putting his hands up to silence him. “I know this stuff is crazy but don’t talk to my girl like that.”

  “Yeah, negro,” Keiana called from the doorway.

  “All right, Ke. All right.” Lawrence nodded in apology. “Sorry, sis!”

  Marquise walked over to Keiana. She stood clad in a terry-cloth robe covering a short lace nighty. “Sorry, baby, but a man been shot this morning in Mannford. I saw him a couple of times at the House of Fade.” He pulled her toward him and kissed her gently. Keiana clasped Marquise’s dreadlocked head between her hands and returned his kiss.

  “Go on back to bed, baby,” he said and slapped her butt before walking back to the couch.

  “Man, you so whipped,” Lawrence said. “Look at her. She ain’t been nothing but trouble since the day she was born.” He chuckled.

  Marquise waved off the comment.

  “Tst,” Keiana clucked her tongue at her brother’s remark but stood in silence for a moment longer, listening to Anderson Cooper’s report. She said nothing more but shook her head, turned, and went back to bed.

  Marquise and Lawrence continued to watch and listen intently. Every news channel recapped and discussed in detail the morning shooting.

  “This stuff is ridiculous,” Marquise said incredulously. “They pickin’ us off one by one and killin’ us like dogs. Right here in Mannford this time.”

  Both men sat for a moment in shocked silence. Then Marquise spotted the flyers on the coffee table.

  “So that’s what the cray-cray woman at the ShoppersMart was talking about and probably the mayor, too,” Marquise muttered to himself. He jumped up, grabbed the flyers, and handed one to Lawrence.

  Lawrence read it aloud. “Night of protest to stop police brutality, repression, and the criminalization of a generation. Rally tonight. Central Plaza. Downtown Mannford, 7:30 p.m.” He looked up at Marquise. “I know it’s late but let’s go down there, man!” Lawrence stood.

  Marquise looked at the bedroom door which Keiana had just disappeared through and looked back at the television screen. “Yeah, man. Let’s roll.”

  Chapter

  3

  After glancing at his image in the bedroom mirror, Tyler Forsythe swiped his light blond hair out of his eyes. Gee whiz, gotta get a haircut soon, he thought. He again smoothed back his mop and hurriedly slipped his cowboy hat on.

  Before leaving for his 3 p.m. shift at the police department, Tyler strode to the hallway closet, removed his police-issued Smith & Wesson firearm from the gun safe, and placed it in his hip holster. Guess I’d better get going. Tyler sighed. Laura’s not coming in. He moved to the breakfast nook and glanced out the bay windows to the backyard. A slight breeze blew, whisking rivulets of water across the Koi pond and rousing the green-hanging branches of two handsome weeping willow trees. Tyler remembered the day that he and his wife, Laura, had planted them from cuttings. As memories flooded in, longing and a certain loneliness overtook him. In the first couple of years of their marriage, he and Laura had practically lived out in their backyard. They’d spent countless hours stocking the Koi pond, lighting up the grill, or laying on comfortable blankets in each other’s arms, looking up at the stars. Lately though, their time together had diminished significantly. Tyler shook his head sadly at the recollection and shifted his gaze toward the portable building that housed Laura’s art studio. Angrily, he swiped away tears. A thought flashed through his mind to go out and say goodbye to Laura, but instead he exited through the front door.

  What’s happened to us, Laura? he thought. You said we need to talk, but where are you? Practically live out there in that art studio now. Tyler loathed how much time Laura had been spending every day in that backyard studio. You seem more interested in that darn hobby than in your husband. He shook his head. You been out there since early this morning. You probably don’t even know what’s going on right here in Mannford. He strode out to his pickup, shaking his head again at thoughts about the graphic news report of the shooting. He got in, slammed the door, but then hesitated. Maybe I should go back and talk to Laura . . .

  “Aww, who needs it,” he muttered to himself, as he shoved the key in the truck’s ignition and backed out of the driveway. Tyler sighed loudly as he drove away from their handsome-but-modest bungalow, a place that not long before had been a shelter, a romantic hideaway. In recent years, the river-blue, Craftsman-style home tucked quietly away in old Mannford had become just a house. Its branches of towering oaks that met overhead had felt less like a lovely tunnel of green and more like a pathway toward tension and conflict.

  The double dramas — at home and at the police station — sent Tyler’s thoughts churning. Setting his jaw, he drove intently down the beltway to the police station. Though he didn’t know the officer who was involved very well, he could imagine what the man must be feeling at that moment. No officer he knew would willingly and without reason shoot another person.

  After his fifteen-minute commute filled with chaotic thoughts, Tyler parked in the rear parking area of the police station. Precinct 338 had been his workplace for the past five years. It looked the same as usual outside, but he wondered what the atmosphere would be like inside. Same goes for my house, Tyler mused bitterly then tried to shake off all thoughts of his and Laura’s relationship.

  Once inside, Tyler greeted his comrades.

  “Hey, Ty,” several officers called out, but their dejection was obvious. Their morale was down in the dumps. None of the usual joking and office conversations. Instead, all of them sat quietly at their desks without much movement. Immediately Tyler felt the tension and unease that had engulfed the room.

  “Gosh darn, you can cut that with a knife,” Tyler mumbled to himself as he passed from the large office area and into the men’s locker room to change into his uniform.

  The locker room was crowded with men from two shifts. Some officers were exiting for the day; some, like him, just arriving for the three-to-eleven shift.

  “Tough morning — huh, guys?” Tyler said and clapped the shoulders of a few departing officers. “I saw the footage on the news.”

  One of the morning officers, Alan, shook his head. “Yeah. Commander Jones just showed us the body cam and news footage. It looks bad!”

  Several other officers dropped their heads and mumbled agreement as they slammed locker doors shut. The police force was like a family. When one officer was hurting, they all were.

  Though Tyler had never had to fire his weapon in the line of duty, he knew that whenever police had to, it wasn’t something they relished. He walked through and shook hands with several of the outgoing officers. “Come on, guys,” he began. “I know this is a terrible thing, but don’t let it get you down. I’m sure whatever happened out there is complex, but we’re going
to get through this.”

  Officer Vincent frowned. “Yeah, we know that. But it seems like the media is always painting us as if we’re out to hunt people down and kill them, but we all know we’re busting our butts every day to protect this city.”

  “You’re right,” Tyler said. “And I’m confident we’ll get some solid answers soon about what happened over there this morning.”

  “Thanks, Tyler,” the officers called as they left for the day — some of them patting Tyler on the back.

  “You bet,” Tyler said, “See you all tomorrow.” He felt a sense of belonging with his fellow officers. Wish I could feel that way with Laura. Thoughts of his beautiful wife returned to him as he opened his locker to see a stunning photo of Laura staring back at him from where it was taped to the inside of the door. Tyler’s heart sped up. Get it together man, Tyler grimaced. He tugged off his boots and slipped out of his jeans and western shirt and into his police uniform.

  “Well said, Ty,” Chris Haney looked over from his own locker.

  “Thanks, partner!” Tyler answered, pulled out of his reverie. After dressing in their police blues, Tyler and Chris grabbed cups of coffee and, with the other three-to-eleven officers, entered the briefing room. Their squad commander, Joe Holfield, stood at the front of the room, ready to brief the officers on the hotbed issues erupting around Mannford.

  “Officers, as I’m sure you’ve heard by now, the incident this morning with Officer Collins and Darrelle Moseley has the city on edge. All of you need to be aware of this. You also need to be aware that the media, both local and national, have swarmed in from everywhere. We’ve got our work cut out for us tonight.”

  Commander Holfield stepped to the whiteboard and grabbed a pointer. “I know you’ve all received training on how to handle angry crowds and the encroaching media, but it’s worth spending some time to refresh everyone’s memory. Especially since none of us has ever before had to deal with a situation on this level here in Mannford. Here are a few things to remember,” he said, pointing at the white board and reading off the points.