“I told you he likes attention,” she said, looking back at the officers, who had Tyrone sitting now. They were waving some smelling salts back and forth under his nose. “He’s getting all the attention he can stand now. That’s what he gets tryna jump bad.”
“Yeah. I guess you’re right,” Franky said, looking over at his victim.
“You won’t have no more problems out of him,” Khadija said proudly. “Trust me on that.”
“I hope not,” Franky said. “I don’t like fighting, ya heard.”
“Yeah, I hear ya. But you’re oh so good at it, shawty,” Khadija said with a wink.
“Stop calling me shorty. I’m taller than you,” he said, slowly coming down from the high of his altercation.
“Yeah, but you’re still my shawty,” Khadija said, and rubbed his arm.
“Whatever you say, Mrs. Blue and Red Hair,” he said.
“Don’t hate,” she said.
“Well, I do hate it,” Franky said.
“For real?”
“For real. You’re too pretty to have all of that mess in your hair looking like an ice-cream swirly.”
“Oh, you got jokes?”
“I’m just saying.”
“So you think I’m pretty?”
“Yeah,” he said with a smile. “You’re pretty.”
“Why you got all these books, man? They didn’t give you a locker?”
“Yeah, but I told you I need to play catch-up,” he said, shifting the books to his other hand.
“Okay. If you say so, shawty,” she said. “Have at it.”
Franky smiled and peeked over his shoulder to see if the officers were looking at him. They weren’t. They were busy trying to get Tyrone to stand on his own.
“Okay, Franky. I gotta get on this bus before I get left. Then I’ll have to call my momma, and Lord knows I don’t wanna hear her mouth. But you make sure you call me tonight. Okay?”
“Fo sho,” he said as he watched her run off to where a line of cheese buses waited.
If she takes that crap out of her hair, we might be working with something, he thought.
9
After his altercation with Tyrone, Franky walked around the building to check on the football team. He walked around the building to check out the football team. He stood at the fence and watched the M&M Rams practice for about twenty minutes or so. They seemed to be pretty good. He could tell the coach had their full attention. It was totally different from what he saw in the classrooms. He made a mental note to speak with the coach tomorrow to see if he could get out there and in the mix. It had been so long since he had participated in football that he wasn’t sure if he was fast enough to handle playing tailback anymore. He had had a nice little growth spurt in the last few years. He showed up in Atlanta as a skinny, five-feet-two-inch twelve-year-old but was now a five-feet-ten-inch fifteen-year-old who weighed close to one hundred and seventy pounds. Maybe he would try linebacker, or maybe he would just tell the coach to pick a spot for him. Standing there watching his peers, he realized how much he missedfootball. Just watching was starting to torture him, so he stepped back from the fence and headed home. He took the scenic route even though those heavy books were starting to give his arms fits. He passed Morehouse College and Clark Atlanta University and was hopeful that he would one day join the kids he saw milling about the huge campus.
As soon as he turned onto his street, he saw his friend Jason sitting on the front steps of his house. There was something about the way he was sitting—hands wrapped around his knees with his head down—that made Franky walk over to him.
“What’s wrong with you, whoadie?” he said as he approached his little friend.
“I’m locked out and Grandma ain’t answering the door,” Jason said, seemingly on the verge of tears. “I been out here forever, and I gotta go to the bathroom and do the number two.”
Franky walked past him and up the steps to the house. He knocked on the door as hard as he could, but there was no answer.
“Well, come on over to our house and use the bathroom,” Franky said. “Do you have anyone you can call?”
“Yeah,” Jason said. “My auntie Samantha or my cousin David but their numbers is in the house.”
“Are, “ Franky said, correcting Jason the way his mother used to correct him. “Their numbers are in the house. Come on.”
“Whatchu doing with books?” Jason asked.
“I just got home from school,” he said proudly. “What do you think I’m doing with ‘em?”
“You in school now?” Jason asked as he walked beside Franky.
“Yep.”
“No more dummy for you,” Jason said, but Franky could see that his mind was clearly on his grandmother.
Franky was worried about Mrs. Bertha, too. In all the time they had lived across the street from her, she had never missed a day of waiting for Jason. Something wasn’t right. She would normally be sitting in her rocking chair, waiting on his bus to arrive.
They walked across the street to Franky’s house. When they walked in, Franky noticed Rico spread out on the sofa fast asleep. An empty beer bottle was on the floor, and he wore only a pair of boxer shorts.
“Go ahead. You know where the bathroom is,” Franky said as he looked down at his cousin with new disdain. He loved Rico, but he didn’t like him. And Rico’s little charade this morning didn’t do anything to help with his feelings toward his cousin. He walked into his bedroom, and his anger grew even more. Clothes were everywhere. Worse than it was this morning before he left for school. He placed his books on his dresser and looked at the mess of clothes. He took a deep breath and started picking up his things. He neatly folded every piece of clothing, then placed them in his closet. Once he was halfway through with his task, he heard the toilet flush and Jason walked out.
“Y’all nasty,” Jason said with his face frowned up. “Somebody didn’t even flush the toilet. My grandmother would hit y’all with her broom. And why y’all toilet paper so hard?”
“Man,” Franky said, throwing a pair of socks at Jason. “Shut up.”
“Why yo room so messy?”
“Why do you talk so much?” Franky said.
“What dat got to do with anything?”
“Boy, be quiet,” Franky said. “What are you gonna do about getting in touch with your family, lil whoadie?”
“I don’t know. I used to be able to crawl through the window until Grandma put bars on them. Where my grandma at?”
“How am I supposed to know? I just got home from school.”
“Oh,” Jason said, tears welling up in his eyes. “She might be in the house sick. Or even dead.”
“Nah,” Franky said. “She’s okay. I just saw her this morning. She helped me get in school.”
Jason seemed to relax a little. “How she get there?” he asked.
Before Franky could respond, he heard the house phone ring and rushed into the kitchen to get it.
“Hello?” Franky said.
There was a four-second pause.
“Hello?” he said again.
“This is a call from an inmate at the Atlanta City Detention Center,” the automated voice said; then he heard his cousin’s voice say, “Nigel.” The automatic voice kicked in again. “Will you accept charges?”
“Yes,” Franky said.
“Do not use call forwarding or three-way calling or your call will be disconnected,” the recording said, then clicked and Nigel was on the line.
“Yo,” Franky said, not really surprised by the call. Since they arrived in Atlanta, Nigel had been arrested two or three times for various infractions, and Rico had been caught up about five or six times.
“Hey, Franky,” Nigel said. “How you doing?”
“I’m good,” Franky said. “What happened to you?”
“Some mix-up. I need for you to call that lawyer we used the last time and tell her to come holla at me,” he said.
“Okay,” Franky said, wondering how they we
re going to come up with money for an attorney when they didn’t have any for food.
“Do that as soon as you get off the phone with me, ya heard.”
“I will.”
“Have you seen Jason?”
“Yeah, he’s right here. Mrs. Bertha’s not answering the door.”
“She’s in the hospital. Stick broke into her house. When we got home from taking you to school, I saw the fool running out of the woman’s house. She was upset but she seemed a’ight, ya know. But I left to get her stuff back from Stick, and when I got outside, I saw them putting her into the ambulance. That’s when the cops jumped out at me. Fools wasn’t tryna hear nuttin’ I had to say.”
“Stick? Why he do that?”
“Because he’s Stick. But you can best believe I’ma handle that fool, ya heard? He got me caught up in his mess. I tried doing the right thing and went and got the stuff he stole from her, but the police rolled up on me. You know how those police do us, so it was on. They can’t wait to lock a brother up. Get that lawyer on the phone for me. I need to get up outta here, ya heard.”
“Yeah, I feel ya,” Franky said. “That’s messed up.”
“Fo sho,” Nigel said. “Where is Rico?”
“Sleeping on the sofa,” Franky said, rolling his eyes.
“Tell that fool I said get up and go get some money. Weneed to grind right now—no time for sleeping. I can’t do no time for this one, ya heard. Not for that fool. Yo,” Nigel said, as if he just had a thought. “You know what I need? I need for you to run down to Stick’s house and tell him I’m locked up because of him. Tell him he owes me and that I’m pissed. You tell that sorry lil piece of trash that I need bail money. But call the lawyer first.”
“Okay,” Franky said.
“And make Rico go with you so that fool don’t act stupid, ya heard.”
“Got it,” Franky said, but he knew he wasn’t going to wake up his volatile cousin. He would let him sleep forever if it was up to him.
“Okay, whoadie,” Nigel said. “Handle those things for me and I will call you back in a few hours if I can.”
“Okay,” Franky said. “I’ll get on it right away. Talk to you later.”
“Hey, yo,” Nigel called out right before Franky took the phone away from his ear.
“Yeah.”
“How was school?”
“It was different,” Franky said, happy that his cousin asked. “But it was cool. I got in a fight, too.”
“A fight?”
“Yeah, this dude ran up on me talking about how some New Orleans guys killed his friend. It wasn’t really a fight. I punched him two times and knocked him out,” Franky said proudly.
“Okay, Floyd Mayweather,” Nigel said with a chuckle. “But don’t be up there getting in no trouble. You ain’t no street dude, so stay clear of that mess. It’ll pull ya down, ya heard.”
“Yeah. I met a cool girl, too.”
“Ohh, Lord. We’ll talk about that one later. Handle that business for me, whoadie,” Nigel said.
“I’m on it,” Franky said. “Peace.”
Franky hung up the phone, opened the kitchen drawer, and searched around for the pad with the number for attorney Sharon Capers. He found it, called the number, and left a message with Nigel’s name and the jail where he was located. He knew the drill by now. Once he was done leaving the message, he hung up the phone.
“Listen,” Franky said to Jason. “You sit tight for a second. I need to run down the street and holla at somebody.”
“Okay,” Jason said with a nervous look on his face. He went from being a smart-aleck little boy to a scared one.
“Do you have any homework?” Franky asked.
“Yeah,” Jason said.
“Get started on it and I’ll be right back.”
10
Franky walked down the street and marched up Stick’s driveway. The bum was sitting on his front porch in a rocking chair, smoking a cigarette with his feet up on a table.
“What’s up witcha, lil buddy?” Stick said to Franky.
“My cousin is pissed off with you.”
“Which cousin?”
Franky knew exactly why he was asking that question. Nigel was somewhat of a diplomat and would try his best to work out whatever issue he had with a person by talking. That’s why being a drug dealer didn’t work out for him; he didn’t have or refused to show that killer instinct needed to handle street people. They only responded to fear of violence. Rico, on the other hand, was exactly what the streets needed. And even though they sometimes fought like cats and dog, the brothers had each other’s backs.
“Both of them,” Franky said. “Nigel is locked up for something you did.”
“Locked up?” Stick said, snatching his feet down from the table. “Something I did? Whatchu talking ‘bout?”
“That thing that went down at Mrs. Bertha’s,” Franky said.
Stick was visibly nervous and looked like he was about to jump out of his own skin and run for cover. “Da … da … that thing was fixed. We straightened that out,” he stammered.
“Nope,” Franky said, shaking his head and enjoying the bum’s discomfort.
“Whatchu mean by that? I mean we talked about that, and I gave him all the stuff back. Wasn’t nuttin’ to be arrested for,” Stick said, seeming on the verge of tears. He was the biggest coward Franky had ever seen, which was why he could always be seen hanging out with people who were half his age.
“Not so. Nigel got caught leaving your house with the stuff. The police arrested him on the spot.”
“So that’s on him,” Stick said. “How is that my fault? I gave him the stuff back. Now, true enough when I found that stuff, I should’ve taken it right back. ‘Cause I didn’t break into nobody’s house. I found that stuff in the backyard, and I was gonna take it back when she got home but—”
“Stick,” Franky said, cutting off the lie before the bum could really get started. “Rico is pissed. He’s talking about doing something real bad to you, but I asked him to let me come talk to you first. You know me and you always been cool.”
“Right … right … right. You a good dude, Franky, andyou got a good head on ya shoulders,” Stick said as if he sensed an out to his situation.
“So here’s what I need. Two things. One for Nigel and the other for me.”
“Talk to me,” the bum said. “Have a seat. Let’s talk bidness.”
Franky walked up on the porch and sat in one of the rocking chairs.
“We need bail money,” Franky said.
“How much is his bail?”
“Twenty-five thousand dollars.”
“What the … Twenty-five what?” Stick shouted. “Who in the heck did they say he robbed, Hannah Montana? That’s the kind of money they ask for when you rob white folks. Man, I ain’t got no twenty-five thousand dollars. If I had that, do you think I would be here? I would be chilling on a tropical island sipping on something fruity and watching me a curvy woman with a straw skirt on.”
“Well, you know the bail bondsman asks for only ten percent,” Franky said. “Can you do twenty-five hundred?”
“Man, no,” Stick said. “I don’t have twenty-five dollars right now.”
“Well, Stick, you’re gonna have to do something. Nigel needs to get out. So you can either go down to that jail and turn yourself in or come up with the money. Rico told me I need to have an answer for him in ten minutes. I’ve been here for about five already. Whatchu gonna do, man?”
Stick rubbed his raggedy beard as he thought about his dilemma.
“What’s the other favor you need?”
“Oh,” Franky said. “I need for you to break back into
Mrs. Bertha’s house. Jason is locked out, and we need to get a telephone number. She’s in the hospital, and we need to get in touch with their people.”
“Whatchu mean, break back in? I never broke into her house in the first place,” Stick said with a straight face.
“Come on, Stic
k, man,” Franky said, standing. “You’re wasting time. I gotta get back home.”
“Let me think for a minute on the bail situation,” he said. “I got a friend who might be able to help you out.”
“What about Mrs. Bertha’s house?”
Stick jumped to his feet. “Let’s go,” he said.
Franky and Stick walked down the street together, and once they came up on his house, they saw Rico standing on the porch, still in his underwear.
“Come here, Franky,” Rico said.
Franky looked at Stick, whose eyes betrayed him and showed nothing but fear.
“Go ahead and handle that over there,” Franky said, pointing at Mrs. Bertha’s house.
Stick gladly hurried away from the prying eyes of Rico, who was staring him down. Franky walked over to his cousin.
“Whatchu doing with Stick?” Rico asked.
“Jason is locked out, and I asked Stick to try to open the house so Jason could get in.”
“Where’s Mrs. Bertha?”
“In the hospital.”
“And so why his people didn’t come get him?”
“He doesn’t know their phone numbers by heart. So that’s why we gotta get in the house,” Franky said.
“Yo, man,” Rico said. “I’m sorry about this morning, ya heard. I was wrong for that.”
“Yeah, you were,” Franky said. “But it’s cool. We’re struggling over here, and it’s frustrating.”
Rico hunched his shoulders as if to say “not really.”
“Nigel’s locked up,” Franky said casually.
Rico frowned. “For what?”
“Burglary. Police think he broke into Mrs. Bertha’s.”
“Nigel? Nah,” Rico said, shaking his head. “That’s not his thing. That boy wouldn’t burglarize a store even if nobody was in it, and he sure nuff ain’t breaking into nobody’s house. I won’t break into nobody’s house.”
“I know,” Franky said, looking over at Mrs. Bertha’s house. “Stick did it. Nigel went to get the stuff back from him, and the police showed up. They caught him with the stuff he was trying to return.”
At the Crossroads Page 6