Baby Huey: A Cautionary Tale of Addiction

by James Henderson

  But if I did that Uncle CJ would also give me that look, the same look when he snatched the rifle out of my hand and gave it to Shep. And Aunt Jean would crack jokes all night long.

  Uh-uh.

  Uncle CJ wouldn’t cry over a few dollars missing from his safe. Hell, he might not even notice the difference. The minute I got off the bus in Little Rock I would find a job, save up enough money, and mail every dime back to him, maybe more than I borrowed.

  Stomach growling, I started toward the house.

  One light was on in a second-story window, emitting a fuzzy, yellow glow in the fog. Probably the witch reading instructions to a spell.

  Two blocks from the house I slid under the fence and sat down at the base of an oak tree. And waited. Freezing now. Regretted not picking up a long sleeve shirt before leaving Zelda’s shack. An owl hooted from somewhere close. That was an omen I didn’t heed.

  The light in the window went out and I waited an hour before getting up. As I neared the side of the house, a single bark broke the silence, followed by a cacophony of barking dogs, coming closer and closer.

  Damn, I’d forgotten about the dogs. I ran and flattened my back against the wall, my heart pounding so hard my chest hurt. The hounds materialized, encircling me, yapping, fog flowing out their mouths, making a helluva racket.

  They suddenly realized I wasn’t a threat, or maybe they recognized me, and scampered off in search of something more interesting than a man shaking like a leaf.

  Again I thought to knock on the door, ask for food and board, and deal with the humiliation.

  But no lights came on inside the house, and no one came out to see what had caused the ruckus.

  I crossed the yard to Uncle CJ’s office. The door was unlocked. I stepped inside and stood there looking at the house for a long time. No way could I justify being in here. I felt my way to the safe. Shit! It was locked.

  No other choice but to knock on the door now.

  Instead I crossed to a truck parked in the yard. The door was unlocked. The keys were in the ignition. This was Uncle CJ’s truck. His new truck. Not even ten thousand miles on it.

  Fuck it!

  I hopped in and started the engine and backed it up to the office door, then got out, dropped the tailgate, and ran to the back of the house, sweating big time, large drops raining down my head, causing my underarms to itch.

  Waiting, listening for movement inside the house, I figured to park the truck in Little Rock and then call the police and tell them where it was located.

  Nothing happened. I tiptoed inside the office. The damn safe was heavier than I thought. I couldn’t push it with my hands, so I eased down between it and the wall and pushed with my back. It slid a few inches across the hardwood floor.

  I stopped, went back to the door and stared at the house. Back to the safe, moving it another few inches, and then back to the door. Push and look. Push and look. Push and look. Now my clothes were soaking wet.

  Getting it near the doorway I saw another problem. The tailgate was lower than the office floor. No way could I push the safe onto the truck bed without making a noise loud enough to wake someone up.

  A blanket, that’s what I needed to cushion the fall. But where the hell would I get a blanket this time of night?

  Fuck it!

  A second after the safe landed I would be behind the wheel.

  Again I hunched down and flattened my back against it. All a sudden the office lit up in a bright white light. My heart skipped two beats.

  A voice outside said, “You need some help with that?”

  I stood up, and was blinded by the light. Stepped out with my hands up. What seemed like a lifetime I stood there, wondering when the police would step forward and handcuff me.

  The light moved away from my face, and when my sight returned I saw Uncle CJ, Aunt Jean, Beverly, Jackie, Vince, Dexter, and Isaac standing a few feet away, everyone in night robes. Each wore the same expression, mildly shocked, as if viewing yet another birth of a two-headed pig. No one said a word.

  I stared at their feet, slippers and house shoes, racking my brain for a good lie.

  “Ten…nine…eight…”

  Uncle CJ would count down to zero and the Powells would all rush me and kick my ass.

  “…seven…six…five…”

  I wouldn’t fight back, simply take whatever they dished out.

  “…four…three…two…”

  The pause after two was longer, much longer. I looked up to see what was the problem, and stared at the double-barrel shotgun Uncle CJ was holding. Hadn’t noticed it at first.

  “One!”

  I ran, just as the shotgun exploded, the loudest sound I’d ever heard. Down the road, onto the highway, I continued running, not looking back. Lungs burning, a stabbing pain in both sides, I slowed down to a jog, then a fast walk.

  That close, and Uncle CJ had missed. The next time he wouldn’t. I started running again, but stopped less than a block away.

  Stooped over, holding my knees, I realized Uncle CJ and family weren’t chasing me. They hadn’t even started; would’ve caught me a long time ago if they had. And Uncle CJ hadn’t missed; he didn’t want to shoot me. One of them would tell Mama, and she would be crushed.

  Goddamn!

  What the hell was I thinking? Even if I’d gotten away, no way in hell could I have opened the damn safe?

  Nothing else to do but walk, all the way to Little Rock. A hundred fucking miles!

  Headlights came toward me and I moved off the shoulder of the road. The car slowed but kept going. I watched the taillights turn bright red and a strobe light toss red and blue patches on the trees. The car backed up. Stopped. Running crossed my mind, but I didn’t have the energy.

  A tall, heavyset black man in a beige uniform got out of the green-and-white cruiser. Shining a flashlight in my face, he shouted over the hood, “Keep your hands where I can see them! Come here!”

  Hands held high, I walked over to him.

  “Where you going this time of morning?” I told him Little Rock. “Walking? Put your hands on the hood, spread your legs.” He patted me down. “Let’s see some ID.” I got out my wallet, handed him my license. He looked at it and then shined the flashlight in my face again. “Deal honest with me, what’s your drug of choice? Meth? Crack? T’s and Blues?”

  “I don’t do drugs, sir.”

  “Yeah, right. And you’re walking to Little Rock three in the morning? Where you walking from?”

  That threw me off. I couldn’t tell him Zelda’s house because she was probably a well-known crackhead in these parts. And I couldn’t tell him Uncle CJ’s because he might call him to check me out.

  “Put your hands behind your back,” he said. I did and he snapped on the cuffs.

  “Wait a minute, what you arresting me for?”

  He led me to the back seat, held my head as I got in, and closed the door. When he got behind the wheel I asked him again why was he arresting me.

  After giving the dispatcher my license info, he said, “You do drugs, I can tell by looking at you. You don’t know where you come from. You got fresh dirt all over your clothes. Tell me what’s going on.”

  I started sweating again. Dokes or Doreen probably filed charges. The dispatcher would report an outstanding warrant for my arrest in Little Rock. I would get to see the inside of a country jail. Through radio static, the dispatcher repeated my license info but didn’t mention anything about a warrant.

  I said, “Sir, I guess I’ll be on my merry way.”

  “Six months ago, Miss Jill Johnson, a nice elderly woman, ninety-years-old, lived by herself a few miles from here, didn’t bother nobody, went to church every Sunday. The same church my mama goes to. Now she lives in a nursing home. Can’t talk. Can’t walk. Nothing. Dead but alive. A crackhead--we know he was a crackhead ’cause he dropped his straight. A crackhead broke into her house and savagely beat her with her own walking cane
.”

  “Sir, I wasn’t here six months ago.”

  “Stole her social security money. Poor thing didn’t weigh no more than eighty pounds. Weren’t no need to do what he did. Weren’t no need at all.”

  “Sir, six months ago I was working at…” Shit, I couldn’t remember the name. “You can call my mama, she’ll tell you.”

  “No prints on the straight. Plenty of DNA, though. I’ll do you a favor. You submit a DNA sample, in a few months, when we get the results back, if you’re not our perp, I’ll pay your bus fare to Little Rock.”

  “A few months! Man, what the hell you talking about? I’m telling you I wasn’t here six months ago!”

  He whirled in his seat and gave me a hard look. “Then you tell me where you was an hour ago.”

  “My uncle’s house.”

  “What’s his name?”

  Shit! He put the cruiser in drive and I said, “Powell. CJ Powell.”

  “I know CJ.” He drove away. “He’s not the type kick somebody out his house early in the morning.” He turned left on Willie Powell Road. “Let’s see what changed his mind.”

  Shit!

  Uncle CJ’s truck was still parked near the office door. I watched Yogi Bear walk up to the house and knock on the door. Aunt Jean stepped out on the porch and pointed at me. Then Uncle CJ and Vince came out. Aunt Jean left the discussion, walked up to the cruiser, and tapped on the window.

  “Rock Star, is that you?” she said, and I stared at my lap. “Why I do believe it is you, Rock Star. You went and got yourself a police escort, didn’t you? A Cadillac, police escort, a new truck, you sure get round town, don’t you, Rock Star?”

  The policeman got back inside the cruiser and I tried to read his face. Blank. I should’ve opted for the DNA sample. Attempted car theft, burglary, breaking-and-entering--who knew how many years that equaled. He made a right onto the highway; Dawson, the town, was to the left.

  He’s taking me straight to prison?

  He pulled over on the shoulder, got out and opened my door. I hesitated.

  “Come on now, I ain’t got all day.” I got out, expecting introduction to his nightstick. He unlocked the handcuffs. “Your uncle said y’all had a disagreement and he told you to leave. He and I both know that don’t sound right. Whatever you did, you pissed him off.”

  “I’m free to go?”

  “Yup. Little Rock is a hundred and ten miles. Keep a steady pace you might make it before Christmas. Don’t come back!”

  I hadn’t walked a mile when a car pulled alongside and Aunt Jean stuck her head out the passenger window. Vince was driving.

  “Aunt Jean?”

  “Naw, Condoleezza Rice. Who else picking your sorry butt up in the dead of night? Get in the car.”

  No thanks. Fifteen miles a day, I could make Little Rock in a week.

  The car stopped. Aunt Jean said, “Oh, so you’d rather walk? Hmph! I’m not begging you. Let’s go, Vince.”

  Vince said, “Come on, man, get in the car. We’ll give you a ride to Little Rock.”

  I got in the back seat and Aunt Jean said, “Young man, I’ve seen a lot in my seventy-two years but I ain’t seen anything the likes of you. Did you run track in high school?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “You should’ve. You can fly.” She started laughing. “You cleared that fence like a deer. I thought you were gonna run into it, but you flew right over, your legs running in midair. I never seen nobody do that before. You, Vince?” Vince didn’t say. “You lucky it was CJ holding the shotgun. I would’ve assault-and-peppered your roguish butt.”

  I tried to pretend Doreen and I were on Pinnacle Mountain but couldn’t hold it.

  Aunt Jean said, “Your mama the reason why we come got you.”

  “You told mama, already?”

  “Sure did. She broke down, begged me to go get you and bring you home. We were little, CJ would fight a bear say something bad about his baby sister, your mama. Me, his oldest sister? Ha! He couldn’t care less what happened to me. CJ didn’t want to hurt your mama, that’s why you’re not limping into Dawson Hospital right now.”

  Cool air hissing through the front windows, we rode a few miles in silence.

  Aunt Jean couldn’t stand silence. “I saw…What’s that boy’s name, Vince? Boonie’s boy?” Vince didn’t know. “Yes, you do. The obese albino?” Doughboy? Vince said. “Yeah, that’s him. I saw him driving that car and I knew Rock Star would be coming back.” She turned in her seat and faced me. “Zelda, how you meet up with her?”

  I said nothing.

  “She tell you she’s HIV positive?” That got my full attention but I didn’t respond. “I guess she didn’t. You come down here you had a raggedy car and a couple or three dirty drawers. Now look at ya! Ain’t got nothing but a buncha folks wanting to tag your ass. Tell me something. Does crack make you feel that good?” She waited. “Does it?” Shouting: “You hear me talking to you!”

  The volume on the radio was low but I caught bits of Smokey Robinson singing about smiling faces, tried to concentrate on the words.

  Aunt Jean, her voice softer, said, “I guess it does,” and turned straight in her seat. I hoped she was finished, but she wasn’t. “I believe in God,” she said. “I believe Jesus died for my sins. Buncha folks I know believe in demons, including your mama. I don’t. Crack ain’t no demon. You had a choice: Steal from the man gave you food and kept rain off your face, or show some gratitude and leave his stuff alone. You had a demon you woulda hit up one of those rich white folk’s house you passed up.

  “Your mama told me about a dream you in a nursing home, can’t get out the bed. Says she had the same dream four times since you started acting the fool. That reminded me of David Peterson, boy I courted a long time ago. Your mama had a dream he ran his car off a cliff, girl riding with him got her head cut off. I told her she was crazy, wasn’t no cliff no place here to run off anyway.

  “The night I was going out with David, your mama grabbed all my clothes while I’s in the tub and run off. I’da caught her I’da hurt her. David picked up another girl, Dana Monts. A log truck slammed into the back of his car. Killed them both. Cut Dana’s head off. Sitting back there feeling sorry for yourself you oughta think about all the signs you passing telling you a cliff ahead. Cliff getting closer and closer, Rock Star. Closer and closer.”

  Vince yawned and rubbed the back of his neck.

  Aunt Jean rested her head against the window and said, “Vince, you get too sleepy let Rock Star drive. Keep your eye on him.”

  Shortly, I heard her snoring.

  Two hours later Little Rock’s skyline appeared over trees in the distant. Tinted clouds announced the sun.

  I whispered to Vince that I needed to use the bathroom. Aunt Jean was still asleep. Vince took the Roosevelt exit and pulled into a Shell gas station. I stepped out the car…and ran. Vince shouted after me, but I kept running, full speed, under the bridge, past the old VA hospital, past the Arkansas fairgrounds, past the county jail…Near Asher Avenue I stopped, caught my breath, and started walking. No one followed.

  Chapter 21

  Fifty’s car wasn’t in front but his apartment door was open, loud jazz music playing inside. Spanky answered the doorbell in a white shirt knotted above his hairy stomach and cut-off jeans, working a lollipop in his mouth. A long, wavy orange wig on his head.

  He said Fifty and Cindy were out of town, didn’t know when they were coming back. Told me to come in when I started to walk away.

  My mind was still in Dawson when I sat down on the couch, watched Spanky go over to the entertainment center and turn the volume down, making sure I saw his butt, watched him sit down and pick up a wineglass, his fingernails long and red. The funky marijuana smell was so thick I tasted it.

  Spanky said, “Why don’t you go take a shower?”

  A good idea. Then I remembered I didn’t have any clothes.

  Spanky said tha
t wasn’t a problem. “Fifty has plenty of clothes.”

  Smelling fresh and still thinking about Dawson, Mama, I got out of the shower and put on a pair of Fifty’s Dockers and a black silk shirt. No underwear. I wasn’t raised that way.

  Spanky was sitting in the loveseat, sipping wine with the lollipop in his mouth. Jasmine incense wrestled with the marijuana smoke. I noticed he’d closed the door, put the chain on. A plate of spaghetti was on the dining table.

  Spanky pointed to it and said, “Leftover, but it’s still good. You look like you haven’t had a meal in a long time.”

  In a jiffy the spaghetti was gone, the plate mopped clean with two pieces of wheat bread.

  Spanky walked over to me, saying, “I want to show you something.” I reared back. “It won’t hurt. Promise.” His hand reached behind my ear and came back with a rock. A big rock. “You want to see it again.” Again his hand found a rock behind my ear.

  “How you do that?”

  Spanky took a seat at the table. “A trick.” He put the rocks on the plate. “You can have both you do something for me.”

  “What?”

  “Let me suck your dick.”

  I jumped up. “What! You crazy!” Trotted to the door. “Man, I’m gone!” Fumbled with the chain. “Fifty come back tell him I was looking for him.”

  Two blocks away I turned and walked back. Maybe I could work a deal without him touching me. A peek at my package, that was worth half a rock.

  Spanky told me to come in before I could ring the doorbell. “Close the door,” he said. “Lock it.”

  My throat felt dry. “Uh, maybe we can work something else out.”

  Spanky shook his head. “Cut and dry, Sugar. Let me suck your dick, you get these.” He held up a splayed hand, three rocks between his fingers.

  A strange voice said, “Okay,” and Spanky moved toward me, knelt at my feet, pulled my pants down. “You got a rubber?” He nodded, rolled out his tongue, a red rubber on the tip.

  Again I tried to will myself with Doreen, she and I on the mountain, holding each other, the world and everyone in it beyond the trees, but I couldn’t get there.