by D. L. Sparks
Her small body changed positioned in the bed and she turned her focus from the television to me. “Orlando?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Her tiny hands covered her mouth. “Oh my Jesus! When did you get here? Come here and give me a hug!”
I made my way to the bed and wrapped my mother up in my arms. Myrtle Spencer was truly small. I was scared that if I squeezed her too hard, she’d snap in half. She smelled like Noxzema and cocoa butter lotion. The same scent she’d carried since I could remember. Trinity always tried to buy her new stuff, but she always went back to what she liked. I never told her, but I was always glad when she did. Those other smells were foreign to me; they didn’t smell like home.
“I got here a few days ago. Been doing some work. Sorry it took me so long to come by.”
She reached up and took my hat off my head. I laughed to myself. My mother had a strict rule: no hats on in the house. It was sign of disrespect as far as she was concerned. “Your hair is too long.”
I smiled. Mama hated the locs when I started growing them back in college. But just as much as she hated them, she hated the braids I used to wear even more.
“Are you hungry?” she asked, starting to get up out of the bed.
“Mama, I’m okay. Trinity is fixing me something now. You stay in the bed. She told me your hip has been bothering you. Have you been to the doctor?”
She waved her hand in my direction. “Hogwash, they know about as much as I do. I just need to stay off it for a while. I’ll be fine.”
I laughed at her feisty attitude. I knew there was no way I was gonna convince her otherwise, but I was gonna make sure Trinity got her to the doctor by the end of the week.
“Where are you staying?” she asked.
I never stayed with my mom when I came to town. In my line of work, I didn’t want to draw attention to my family if I could help it. All it took was one pissed-off drug dealer or runner and my world would be twisted up in an instant.
“I’m okay, Mama. Look, I’m not gonna stay long. I just wanted to stop by and grab something to eat. I’ll make sure I call you tomorrow, okay?”
I bent down and kissed my mom’s cheek. I loved my mother more than anything, but I didn’t want to get sucked in and emotional. I couldn’t afford to. Don’t get me wrong. I loved what I did, but the price I had to pay at times made me wonder if it was all worth it.
I stood up and started across the tiny room toward the door when my mother’s voice stopped me. “Trip, I know you’re busy with your job. But your daddy’s dead and buried now.”
I stopped without turning around. “Yes, Mama, I know.”
“It’s time to let it go. Stop all this back and forth.”
“I love you Mama, I’ll call you to in the morning.”
I didn’t respond to that, I just kept moving. Once in the kitchen, I sat down at the tiny table in front of the plate my sister had fixed for me: fried chicken, green beans, mashed potatoes, and corn bread. I assumed all leftovers from the dinner they’d had earlier.
“Thanks, Trin,” I managed between bites.
She placed a glass of sweet tea in front of me before she sat down across from my chair. I looked up into her eyes and knew she was full of questions—and I wasn’t in the mood to answer any of them.
“I can’t believe you’re actually here. Why didn’t you call and tell me you were coming in?”
“Well, loan me twenty dollars so I can prove it and I barely had time to pack. I hope the shit I through in my suitcase matches.”
She laughed. “Whatever, big shot. You need to lend me some money. You the one who got the big promotion.”
I looked up from my green beans. “You need a little something?”
She shook her head. “I’m good. I got the new check card for Mama’s prescriptions and stuff.”
Six years ago when I left for the DEA I started having money direct deposited every two weeks from my check into an account to cover my mother’s expenses. I knew that her SSI and Medicare weren’t nearly enough. When my ex-girl, Camille, and I split she started acting a little crazy and I had to change a lot of shit around.
I nodded. “Good.”
“Camille still acting up?”
“Nah, she settled down, once I threatened to arrest her ass.”
She laughed. “Was you really gon’ arrest her?”
I glanced up at her like she was crazy. “Hell yeah! She keyed my damn car.”
“That’s not nice, Trip.”
I smiled. “I wasn’t gon’ lock that chick up, calm down.”
“Good.”
She got quiet. Too quiet.
I took a bite of my corn bread. Without looking up I asked, “What do you want, Trinity?”
“A’ight look, don’t get me wrong. I’m glad you’re here, but how long are you gonna keep jumping back and forth across the state line, Trip?”
I took a drink of sweet tea. “I’m not.”
“Yes you are.”
“I’m not one of your social work cases, Trinity,” I said, dropping my fork to my plate. “Stop trying to psychoanalyze me. I live in New Orleans.”
Just then, my phone sang a jingle, cutting short what was destined to be an argument.
I checked the display and stood up. “I gotta go.”
I placed my plate in the sink, kissed her on the cheek, and headed toward the front door.
“Yeah”—she called to my back—“you always do.”
“The healthy man does not torture others. Generally it is the tortured who turn into torturers.”
—Carl Jung
The nighttime skyline came into view as his truck cut down I-85 and exited the interstate and blended into the crowded downtown city streets. The city was alive with nightlife. On the outside, it was the equivalent of a beautiful woman, drawing you in with mind-blowing views of the beautiful Centennial Olympic and Piedmont parks.
Just like two supple breasts, Turner Field and The Georgia Dome captured a man’s eye and pulled him closer. But just like that baddest bitch in the club, Atlanta had its secrets. And if you were to dig deeper, you’d find them. This beautiful city is just as grimy as the next gold digging bitch trying to make a come up.
He’d made this run a hundred times if he’d done it once. He looked down at his dashboard. He had just got a text and needed to head to the other side of town so he needed to make this one quick.
He caught a glimpse of himself in the rearview mirror and didn’t like what he saw in his eyes. It was a look of a man who was slowly being backed into a corner.
He knew the look all to well, because he’d put the same look in the eyes of others men.
The screen in his dash began to glow along with the phone in it’s holder in the armrest. He hit the button on his steering wheel.
“Yeah.”
A sensual voice, with a Spanish accent oozed from his speakers. “Hey papì, I thought you were coming to see me. I miss you.”
“I may not make it tonight.”
“But—” she started.
“Listen here, don’t start that shit. I got business to take care of, I’ll get at you when I can.”
He heard a soft sigh come from her end of the phone. “Okay. Are you gonna call me later?”
“If I can.”
He pulled up to his destination as he continued to listen to her attitude pour through his speakers. He ran his hand across the top of his head a couple times, tried to give her a second to get her shit right.
She didn’t.
“Look, I ain’t got time for this, I’m gone.”
With a tap of the screen he disconnected the call, grabbed his cell and hopped out the truck. She knew better than to call back and try to argue so he didn’t give it a second thought.
In front of the dingy townhouse situated off Center Hill Avenue he spotted two tall skinny dudes standing out front. One looked like he was texting and the other was on his phone. They both straightened up and gave him their full attenti
on when they saw him approaching the steps.
The dark-skinned one spoke first, “Hey man, what’s up?”
The other one nodded absent-mindedly like he wasn’t sure what to say.
He nodded toward the house. “Twist in there?”
They both nodded.
He brushed past them and jogged up the steps and entered without knocking. The smell in the small house was enough to make him want to hurry up and get this over with. It smelled like someone burnt something and tried to cover it up with some nasty smelling air freshener that made it even worse.
He made his way to the back where he found Twist and one of his boys playing Xbox. Twist jumped up, surprised, when he saw him.
“Yo, I ain’t hear you come in, what’s up?”
“Maybe if you grow the fuck up and stop playing video games you’d be more aware of what’s goin’ on around you,” he said, snatching the game plugs out of the television. “Go get my shit.”
Twist made his way in the other room and the dude Twist was playing the game with got up and stood behind him, blocking the doorway. He figured that was supposed to be a sign of intimidation but he took it as disrespect.
Without hesitating, he turned around and punched him in his throat causing him to double over. While he was bent over trying to catch his breath he hit him twice in his jaw.
“Yo! Is you crazy? Fuck away from me,” he growled, as dude scrambled into a nearby chair.
“Hey! Chill out Linc man, damn!” Twist said, coming back in the room with a briefcase.
“Man shut up, that my shit?” he demanded, turning his attention to him.
Twist flipped through the contents of a briefcase, which was now open on a table in front of him. His ashy hands were trembling; he could barely count the crisp new bills inside.
“One fifty large,” he finally said.
“That’s it?” Linc said. “Come on now. That figure you talkin’ is gon’ make some people unhappy, ’cause it just pissed me off.”
“I—I can probably have the rest by next week,” he stuttered. His eyes nervously glanced over at his boy, who was still trying to get himself together.
“Come on, man. You know how this works. Supply and demand,” Linc said. “I supplied, and now I’m demandin’ my damn money.”
Linc paced the floor, while Twist stood fidgeting, not sure what was about to happen. The tension in the room made him feel somewhat godlike, and he got a high from it, which he loved.
The first time he’d shook down a dealer, over two years ago during a bust, it gave him a buzz—a feeling that not even the purest cocaine could replicate. When he realized just how stupid these dealers really were, that only fueled his appetite and from that point it was on and poppin’.
“The streets are cold. Everyone is underground.”
Linc pulled his gun out of his waistband and tapped it on the edge of the table. “Well, get a shovel and start digging. You know I don’t operate like this.”
Twist nodded in agreement. “I know. I know. I just gotta make a couple calls, that’s all. Just gimme some time.”
“How much time?” Linc frowned at him. He really wanted to lay Twist’s skinny ass out, but he needed him. Twist was good for running little bullshit errands, which Linc either didn’t like doing or just couldn’t do. And he was good for keeping him up on what was going on in other areas too. This fool had an ear and a hand in a little bit of everything.
Twist continued, “I don’t know ... a couple weeks. Right now, he’s the only connect I know of that got pockets that deep.”
Linc took a deep breath and processed his options. Things had been running pretty smooth up to this point, and he needed shit back the way it was quick. He walked over to the table and pulled a stack of money out of the case and then slid the case back in Twist’s direction.
“Do it and you better not be fuckin’ with me.”
Twist nodded. “I can still deliver the rest of the merchandise to your boy from the jail tomorrow night.”
“He’s expectin’ you over off Moreland with them cell phones.”
Twist nervously shook his head. “I got’chu. I got’chu. I’ll be there.”
“You better be. Don’t make me have my boys run up in here and bust you, Twist. You know I will.”
For a split second, a very quick second, he actually felt bad for Twist. He knew he was just a low-life dealer trying to eat but the way he’d been fucking up lately was unacceptable. Linc had been rolling him for almost two years now and he’d been the most respectful and loyal out of all the dealers he’d fucked with. But right now he was fucking with his money and that was something Linc didn’t take lightly. A few dealers had already been laid down because of that shit. Linc was careful that it wasn’t by his hand or even by the hand next to his; but dudes knew his reach was far and wide and no one ever knew when he’d reach out and touch them.
“I know, I know. Just gimme some time to handle this other thing,” Twist said.
The sound of Linc’s gun being cocked echoed through the room, causing everyone to stop in their tracks. Linc pointed the gun at Twist’s boy squeezing the trigger and putting a bullet into the wall next to his head.
He holstered his gun.
He pulled his phone off his hip and headed out the door.
“Make this right, homie, or next time I won’t miss.”
He was out the door before the piss made its way down Twist’s leg and hit the floor.
Chapter Four
Idalis
I agreed to meet India at Applebee’s before heading in to the club. I figured hanging out with her would chill me out and get me ready for the club tonight. She reached over and swiped a wing from my plate; I took a sip of her sweet tea.
“Are you going to be able to make the dress fitting next week?”
She nodded. “Yeah, but I ain’t happy about it.”
“Don’t start, India. Dionne ain’t complaining about her dress.”
“That’s because her dress doesn’t make her look fat like mine does.”
I rolled my eyes. “And your dress doesn’t make you look fat either, shut up.”
“I’m serious. Dionne looks like a damn model in hers. I think you did it on purpose.”
“Give it up, India. You’re wearing the dress.”
Her cell rang, causing mine to chime right in. She gave me a frown, because she knew who it was.
Linc’s name flashed across the screen on my phone, validating her dirty look.
When I came home last night after meeting Trip and picking up Cameron from my mom’s, Lincoln wasn’t home. And by the time he came in, I was already asleep.
I answered, “Hey, you.”
“Hey, girl, where you at?”
“Applebee’s, with India.”
“You was sleep when I got home last night,” he said.
“I know. You should’ve woke me up.”
He let out a low laugh. “It was late. At some point we gon’ have to meet in the middle.”
“Yeah, we are,” I agreed. “I miss you.”
Our hit-or-miss routine had been going on for weeks now. If it wasn’t for his dirty clothes and toothbrush, half the time I wouldn’t know he lived there.
He kept talking. “You going by the club tonight?”
“Yea, I’m leaving here in a few.”
“A’ight. I’ll stop by there later.”
“Okay, I’ll see you later then.”
I hung up and put my phone on the table. India was still into her conversation with whoever the flavor of the week was for her. I could tell from the giggles and the low tone of her voice that she was making plans, the kind of plans that I wished I had for tonight.
I waved down our waitress and ordered a piece of carrot cake and a cup of coffee. Hell, if I wasn’t getting any, I might as well be fat.
India hung up. “Whoa, what are you doing?”
“I need something sweet.”
“A’ight. You’re gonna be the one
looking fat in her dress if you keep it up.”
“Whatever.”
She shoved a few fries into her mouth. “Guess that was him?”
“Yes, it was.”
She chuckled and drank her tea. “Y’all are funny.”
“I am glad my relationship is amusing you.”
“It’s not,” she said, taking another wing from my plate. “It’s actually pretty sad.”
“What do you mean by that?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Look at the way you let him control you. And don’t even get me started on Trip, and I barely see you anymore—unless I look in the mirror.”
I laughed at that last part. But I couldn’t argue with her. “Just drop it, India. Who were you on the phone with?”
“Derek.”
“I thought you were done with him.”
“I was, but he has a hurricane tongue, and that’s hard to let go.”
I couldn’t help but giggle. “You’re a tramp.”
“Don’t try to change the subject. Why haven’t you talked to Trip yet?”
I smiled. “Who said I haven’t?”
She leaned back, surprised. “Ooh, girl! You holding out! When? What did he say?”
“We bumped into each other at the gym and went to Waffle House after. That’s all. But I have to admit, it felt good to be around him again.”
She took a drink of her tea. “I bet it did. Growing up, you two were joined at the hip.”
It wasn’t until Linc showed up during our sophomore year in college and enrolled at Morehouse that things started to change between Trip and I.
Linc grew up off Bankhead, a few neighborhoods over from us, and fought his way up from the streets by way of the football field at Douglass High.
His speed and strong throwing arm earned him a full-ride scholarship to the University of Georgia, but when he found out he wasn’t going to be starting he wasn’t happy. So he whined and complained his way out of a scholarship into a bunch of student loan debt just to start on a mediocre football squad at Morehouse.
Little did I know that from that point on things would never be the same or that the hatred between Trip and Linc would quickly turned into more than just a rival between alma maters.