“Nothing,” he said. “Let’s go. Have you seen where I put those car keys?”
Franky shook his head and stood up. He would prefer to catch the bus because Rico’s driving was atrocious. He walked out on the front porch and waited for Rico to findthe keys he seemed to lose every day. He stood there, noticing how quiet the streets were for a Saturday morning. In his old neighborhood of Jefferson Parish, Saturday mornings were filled with people out in their yards working. Cutting grass, jogging, chatting with neighbors about the trials of the previous week and just enjoying the morning sun. Suddenly, all of the differences between his past life and his present were coming to mind, and he wondered why that was.
“Let’s go,” Rico said as he locked the door behind him.
They walked out to the car, and Franky got into the passenger’s seat.
“How much money do you have now?” Rico asked.
“I have a grand,” Franky said. “But I have three hundred more coming in on Monday.”
“That’s good,” Rico said. “Let me get it.”
Franky reached into his pocket and handed Rico the money.
“I know what you doing to get this money, Franky, and I know you think I don’t care, but I do and I don’t like it. I’m not in a position to do too much about it right now, but once this is over, I want you to stop, ya heard?”
“I don’t want any part of it, either, so that ain’t no problem,” Franky said, not even bothering to try covering up his new gig.
“I also know that you gave dem boys some cash to get started. Now, I’m gonna ask you one more time. How much money did you get from that so-called backyard find?”
Franky huffed. “I got six hundred dollars, and I didn’t find it in the backyard. This dude was running from you and Stick, and he jumped in my window. He gave me thesix hundred because I hid him from y’all. I gave Nigel half to pay the rent, and I gave the other three to them dudes at school to make this money for Nigel’s lawyer. That’s the truth.”
“You hid him?” Rico snapped. “Let me tell you some-thin', lil whoadie. We family and family don’t take food outta each other’s mouths. You might not like what I do, but you don’t ever go against me, ya heard?”
“Man,” Franky said, “that boy was scared to death. I would’ve wanted somebody to do that for me, so I just put myself in his shoes.”
“Yeah, but it wasn’t you. Like I said, don’t ever go against family. And if that’s the case, why did you lie?”
“Because I’m tired of being hungry all the time, and I didn’t want to give you the money because you know how you get all these crazy ideas, and the next thing you know the money is gone, and we’re back to eating red beans and rice every night. I’m tired of my ribs touching my back, so I kept the other money so I could eat,” Franky said.
Rico looked at his cousin and for the first time in his entire life, he showed some compassion. He reached over and tapped Franky’s leg. “I understand, whoadie. We’ve been tryna do the right thing so we can stay together, but tough times call for touch moves, ya heard. I’m sorry ‘bout going off on ya. I’m a desperate man right ‘bout now.”
“It’s cool,” Franky said. He looked out the window at two pit bulls. The dogs were standing guard beside some guy’s shiny car. “Who was that girl who came by the house looking for you? The weird-looking one,” Franky asked.
Rico smiled. “That’s my secret weapon. Made a call down to Louisiana and got me a bayou geechie girl. She’s from South Carolina and Louisiana. They say she was bornin Carolina, died at birth, and when they crossed over into Louisiana, which is where they were taking her to bury, she found a heartbeat. She was raised deep in the swamps. Smarter than you but never stepped foot into a school building. She gone flush Stick out of whatever hole he’s hiding in. She’s costing a pretty penny, too.”
“How are we gonna pay a lawyer and some witch doctor?” Franky said.
“Forget them lawyers. They all in cahoots together. They stay making side deals with each other. If you got money, then you can be a’ight in the system, but if you poor like us, they ‘bout to getcha. Plus, you only need a lawyer when you guilty. You need a geechie woman when you’re innocent.”
Franky frowned. He hated when Rico started thinking. He was about the dumbest person in America, and his wild, harebrained ideas always put Franky in a bad mood.
“So, what if she can’t find him? We just lose the money and Nigel stays in jail?”
“The geechie girl gone come through. They never fail, ya heard. She gone make that fool an offer he can’t refuse,” Rico said, nodding. “There people in this world you don’t know nuttin’ ‘bout, whoadie. And Geechie Girl is one of them. She will have him in her grasp in no time. Let me handle this.”
Franky prayed silently that God would release Nigel and find a brain for Rico. He looked over at his cousin who was biting his bottom lip so hard Franky thought he was going to draw blood. Rico turned up the radio and listened to the new Mystikal song that they were playing in heavy rotation. As the New Orleans rapper yelled about agirl with a real big butt, Rico bobbed his head to the beat until they made it to the Atlanta City Jail.
Rico pulled into the parking lot of Free at Last Bail Bondsman and almost hit a car. Franky shook his head, thanking God for allowing them to arrive in one piece. They got out of the car and started walking toward the jail when someone yelled, “Yo.”
“What’s up?” Rico said, turning around.
“Y’all can’t park there unless y’all using us to bail somebody out.”
“We would love to bail him out, but he ain’t got no bail,” Rico said.
Ain’t got no bail, Franky thought. What kind of way is that to talk to businesspeople?
“Come on in,” the man said. “Let me see what I can do for ya. I got people over there who might be able to bend a few rules.”
Rico turned to Franky. “You go ahead and handle the visit. I’ma see what this dude is talking about. Tell Nigel I got a call in to the bayou. That might lift his spirits.”
“Since when did we get money to be paying a lawyer, a witch doctor, and a bail bondsman?” Franky said.
“Let me handle this, boy,” Rico said, balling a fist and threatening to punch him.
Franky threw his hands up and ran across the street, up the steps of the Atlanta City Jail, and into the lobby. Once inside, he signed the visitors’ list and waited for his name to be called.
He sat on the hard plastic chairs of the waiting room, flipping through outdated magazines and half watching the television that was mounted up in the corner of thelarge room. ESPN was on and they were talking about the New Orleans Saints. He missed going to the games with his dad and uncle.
“Franky Bourgeois.”
He turned away from the screen when he heard his name being called over the intercom. He stood and walked back to where an old security guard was standing with a clipboard.
“You Franky?” the old man asked.
“Yes, sir,” he said.
“Follow me.”
Franky walked behind the slow-moving man until they came to an orange door. The old man scanned a card, and the hard steel door clicked and opened. The guard pulled and pointed inside.
“Have a seat at booth number seven,” the guard said. “He will be with you in just a second.”
Franky walked in and the big door closed behind him. He wasn’t sure why but he was afraid. He had never been inside of a jail before. He took a seat at booth number seven and looked around. There was a really thick glass that someone had tried to carve their initials on. Gang signs and other forms of graffiti were all over the walls of the booth. Franky sat fidgeting with the phone on the wall while he waited for his cousin to come out.
Nigel walked in and smiled. He sat down across from Franky and lifted the receiver. He had on an oversized navy blue jumpsuit, and his hair was growing wildly. His face was covered with a beard.
“What’s up, whoadie?” he said with a huge smi
le on his face. “How you doing?”
“I’m all right,” Franky said. “What a difference a couple of weeks can make. Look at you.”
“Yeah,” Nigel said, rubbing his head. “I need a shave and a haircut bad. Where is Rico?”
“He went to talk to some bail bondsman across the street. Man, that dude is crazy. He wants to spend our money on some witch doctor from New Orleans. Geechie something.”
Nigel frowned but didn’t say anything. He just hunched his shoulders as if Rico’s way was a viable option.
Franky was amazed at how good of spirits he seemed to be in. He couldn’t help but think of how depressing it had to be to sit in jail for a crime you didn’t commit.
“That boy,” Nigel said. “He thinks he can make up his own rules. I’ve been thinking real hard ‘bout Mrs. Bertha and lil Jason. Have you spoken with him?”
“Yeah, he called, but his auntie or somebody hung up on me.”
“They probably think I had something to do with Mrs. Bertha’s death. You can’t blame them too much. Especially if they listening to these lying police, ya heard.”
“Yeah,” Franky said. “I guess you’re right.”
“I keep thinking that maybe I shouldn’t have said anything about Stick being in her house. I should’ve just went after him myself and had lil Jason put the stuff back. Maybe she would still be with us, ya know,” Nigel said. “She was a sweet lady.”
“Did you tell the lawyer that it was Stick? I mean, forget that no-snitching bullcrap. This isn’t a petty theft. This is real.”
“Yeah, I told her, but she wants a lot of money. I mean a lot. This is a murder case now.”
“So whatchu gonna do?” Franky asked.
“I think I’ll be okay,” Nigel said with a smile.
“Why you smiling?” Franky asked as if his cousin had finally snapped and lost his mind.
“I just found out where Stick is,” he said.
“Where is he?”
“Right in here,” he said, nodding. “Came in early this morning they say. Ain’t been able to touch him yet, but I got the goons on it. Cuz, they got so many cats up in here from Nawlins. It’s like a lil homecoming up in here. But I ain’t tryna get too comfortable, ya heard.”
Franky couldn’t help but smile. This was great news. He didn’t care how they got Stick to confess as long as his cousin wasn’t facing a murder charge.
“What’s up with this young lady who has your nose all open?” Nigel asked.
“Yeah.” Franky smiled. “She’s cool.”
“She’s cool,” Nigel said sarcastically. “Yeah, right. She’s more than cool. Got my lil cuz cheesing from ear to ear. Look at you. It’s all good, whoadie. I like love.”
“I got my classes changed, too. I’m out of the dumb group. And my new classes are a whole lot more like real school.”
“What were the other ones like?”
“A zoo. They had had so many clowns in there that the teacher couldn’t teach. All she did was fuss at fools all day. I’m still tryna figure out why getting a laugh is so important to them.”
“That’s just how it is, whoadie,” Nigel said. “Ya see, Uncle Frank always stressed education to you, so you look at it differently than these kids. Most of these ghetto kids wasn’t raised like that. They go to school just to get out of da house. And you gotta understand that life is hard in the ghetto, so when they get a chance to have some fun, theydo it. If you ain’t never had nobody tell you how to be a student, you won’t know how. And by the time they get to high school, it’s a wrap. Too late.”
“Yeah, well, thank God for my mom and dad,” Franky said.
“Yeah,” Nigel said. “The good Lord looked out for you. I’m proud of you, whoadie. We should’ve got you back in school a long time ago.”
“Yeah, but it’s cool. I’m gonna be playing football, too,” Franky said.
“What position they gonna put you at?”
“I don’t know,” Franky said. “Been so long since I played I might be the water boy.”
“Nah. Our family is full of athletes. My daddy played, yo daddy played, I even heard our granddaddy played baseball, and all of us played. So you’ll be fine, whoadie.”
Nigel’s name was called, and he shot his head around and looked at the huge guard whose shirt was far too tight.
“What’s up?” Nigel said with a frown.
“Visit is over,” the guard said with a smirk on his face. “Time’s up.”
“Are you serious? My people just got here,” Nigel protested. “I’m talking not even five minutes.”
“Time’s up,” the guard barked as his smile was replaced by a menacing scowl. “You can get up or I can come help you up.”
“I think I’ma need a lil help,” Nigel snapped, finally showing the signs of a man stressed out from being wrongly incarcerated.
“Are you sure that’s what you want?” the guard said, walking toward Nigel. “That can be painful.”
“Painful for you, potna,” Nigel said. “I’m begging you to put your hands on me.”
“Nigel,” Franky called out. “Just go, man. It’s okay. We’ll be back up here to see you tomorrow.”
The guard walked over and stood behind Nigel. He cracked his knuckles. “Get up, punk,” the guard said.
Franky’s heart skipped a beat. He knew his cousin wasn’t the type of guy to let this kind of disrespect slide. He also knew he wasn’t going to just sit there and get beat up. This was going to be a fight—a very brutal fight—because although Nigel was easygoing, he was hell on wheels once his temper got the best of him. And all that meant was there would be more charges added onto the bogus ones he already had.
Nigel stood and faced the guard. Both men’s eyes blazed and they sized each other up.
The guard held out both of his hands as if to ask Nigel what he was going to do.
Nigel didn’t say anything, nor did he move one step back. His chest was rising and falling at a rapid pace.
“Get your butt outta here and go pack your things,” the guard said. “You outta here.”
“What?” Nigel asked, still on edge. “What did you just say?”
“Don’t ask questions, Bourgeois,” the guard said with a smile. “Just get your tail up outta here before I tell them to lose your paperwork. You know it’ll take another two or three days before we get around to finding it. Then you’ll be stuck in here with me.”
“Don’t want that,” Nigel said.
“Wait a minute,” the guard said. “How you gonna try to fight me? I thought we were cool?”
“We’re cool, man,” Nigel said, smiling and shaking the guard’s hand. “We’re cooler than a fan.”
“I guess the clown who did that crime they had you in here for decided to find Jesus. He singing like a bird, but on himself. In all my years of being a CO, I never seen anything like it. The boy is shook. Something got him scared out of his mind,” the guard said.
Nigel smiled, turned to Franky, and said, “Geechie girl got him.”
Franky sat there with his mouth open. He was stunned as he watched his cousin slap the guard on the back and walk out of the side door.
Franky pulled himself together and stood. He walked over to the big orange door that he had just entered and pressed the little silver button. The door clicked open, and he walked out. He was happy to be leaving this place but even happier that his cousin Nigel would be going with him.
17
Franky was sitting at the desk in Khadija’s mother’s office, which was really a converted bedroom, playing a game on his cell phone. Now that he had become business partners with Bubba and Nard, he had a few extra dollars to join the cellular crowd. They had just finished studying for their Spanish test and were trying to think of something else to do.
“I have an idea,” Khadija said, standing up from her position on the sofa by the window.
“What?”
“Let’s go out to Stone Mountain Park,” she suggested.
> “What? Why?”
“Because you need to get in shape, dude. Coach English is no joke. And unless you want to be sitting on the bench the whole season, you need to get your butt in shape. You’re already behind the power curve, shawty.”
“Why can’t we just go over to the school and use the track?” Franky asked.
“Because we’re always at school, and I need a new scene. Have you ever been to Stone Mountain Park?”
“Nope,” he said.
“Then that’s a good enough reason. It’s five miles around the mountain, and it’s really pretty out there, lots of colorful flowers and everything,” she said.
Whenever Khadija said things like that, it always took him by surprise since his initial impression of her was that of a hard girl.
“Isn’t Stone Mountain supposed to be where those Ku Klux Klan fools live?”
“Man,” Khadija said, fanning him off. “That was back in the sixties. Like when my momma and daddy were two years old. You’d be hard pressed to find a white person out there now, let alone a Ku Klux Klan member. Stone Mountain has been blacked out.”
“Oh, okay. Well, I’m down like four flats,” Franky said. “I need to go home and change into some workout clothes.”
“Duh,” Khadija said, rolling her eyes. “I didn’t expect you to go running in those shell toes and skinny jeans. You would look like a complete fool.”
“You’re always getting smart with somebody,” he said, balling up a piece of paper and throwing it at her. He missed.
“I hope you’re not trying to play quarterback, throwing like that.”
Franky walked over and picked up the paper. He faked left, then right, and shot the paper in the wastebasket by the desk. “Five, four, three, two, one … swish,” he said with his hand up in the air with a follow-through as the wad of paper hit the bottom of the can. “Game. I need to play basketball. The game is sick.”
“Ahh,” Khadija said. “I’ve seen you play basketball, so … no, you don’t.”
Franky laughed. “Hater. I’m a little rusty but give me a lil bit of time, whoadie. I’ll be like Chris Paul up in there.”
At the Crossroads Page 10