by Shelly Ellis
He noticed that Ricky was sitting alone. Derrick wasn’t here yet, which was odd; Jamal was usually the late one.
“You’d be late to your own funeral, Jay,” Derrick used to joke.
But Jamal was usually punctual when it came to every other aspect of his life: business meetings, doctors’ appointments, and dates. For some reason, he had never been on time when he was supposed to meet up with Derrick and Ricky. He’d always made them wait for him.
Because I never treated them like they were important, he now thought forlornly. Because I never thought our friendship was important.
He regretted that now.
“You head on over. I’ll bring your whiskey on ice,” Ray said, snapping him out of his malaise.
“Thanks, Ray,” Jamal murmured before strolling toward Ricky. “What’s up?”
“What’s up, nigga?” Ricky said, rising to his feet, holding out his hand.
It started as a dap but Ricky quickly pulled Jamal in for a hug. When he did, Jamal was overwhelmed with another wave of emotion. This time, it wasn’t nostalgia. It was more than that. It was the distinct sensation of returning to something familiar, like throwing on your favorite hoodie but twenty times more intense. There was something comforting and reassuring about it.
He thumped Ricky on the back and smiled up at his friend. “What you been up to?”
“A little bit of this, a little bit of that,” Ricky said, releasing him and sitting down again. “Thanks for coming, man. You told me you were gonna do it, but I was hoping you wouldn’t back out at the last minute.”
Jamal took the other side of the booth. “Like you said—I told you I would come. I wouldn’t back out.” He glanced around him. “Are you sure Dee didn’t though? I notice he ain’t here.”
“He’s coming. He’s just running a little behind, that’s all,” Ricky said before raising his beer bottle to his lips.
“You sure? Maybe he decided this shit is just too much and skipped it. I mean, this isn’t going to be easy . . . us all hashing out things.”
Ricky lowered the bottle from his mouth back to the table. They both nodded at Ray as he set the whiskey glass in front of Jamal and shuffled back to the bar counter.
“Yeah, about that,” Ricky began. “Uh . . . I-I didn’t tell Dee you were gonna be here tonight.”
“What?”
“I didn’t tell Dee you were—”
“Yeah! I heard you the first time!” Jamal cried. “Why the hell didn’t you tell him? I thought we were all meeting up!”
“We are. It’s just that two of us know that—and one of us doesn’t.”
“I thought you liked Ray, Ricky. Is there a reason why you want to see bottles thrown at the walls and tables flipped over in here?”
“Jay, don’t exaggerate. Dee ain’t gonna do all that!”
“Really? You sure?”
“Yeah,” Ricky said, thought for a second, and shrugged. “Mostly.”
Jamal sighed. He seriously contemplated getting up and walking out. He wasn’t here for an ambush. But he didn’t get the chance to exit stage left. They both looked up when the door to Ray’s opened again. Derrick stepped through, then halted mid-step. When his gaze settled on Jamal, his face changed. His brow lowered.
Ricky rose to his feet. “I know you weren’t expecting this shit, but give it a chance, Dee!”
“You one dirty motherfucka, you know that, Ricky?” Derrick said menacingly, pointing a finger at him.
“No, I’m a well-meaning motherfucka. Just chill!”
Derrick shook his head. “I’m not doing this. I’m not doing this shit!” He turned around like he was about to head out the door.
“Dee, stop acting like a bitch and come on, man!” Ricky lamented.
“A bitch?” Derrick squeaked, looking both surprised and pissed off.
“Yeah, a bitch! Y’all been doing this shit for too long and I’m tired of it. Enough is a fuckin’ ’nough! Let’s just deal with it! Come over here and chop this shit up. Once and for all!”
Derrick seemed to hesitate. He looked at Ricky and Jamal and back again. Meanwhile, Ray was staring uneasily at all three of them while he dried a shot glass.
“Yeah, okay,” Derrick finally muttered before striding to their booth. He loudly dragged over a chair from a nearby table and sat down. He stared at Jamal. “What you gotta say to me?”
Jamal loudly exhaled. “Really, Dee?”
“Yeah, really. You’ve got no problem doing shit behind my back. I wanna know what you have to say to my face.”
“I’m not here for this,” Jamal said.
“Then what are you here for?” Derrick challenged.
“The truth? I came here to make Melissa happy.”
“Oh, look at you!” Derrick cried sarcastically. “Trying to be all considerate for your girl. Too bad the only way you could get that girl was by sliding in and stealing her from someone else, you shady motherfucka.”
Jamal shook his head and took a sip from his whiskey glass. “I didn’t steal her. You cheated on her. She dumped you. She moved on.”
“But you were waiting in the wings, right? You even made a play for her when we were still together, Jay. That was fucked up!”
Jamal nodded. “I did—and yes, that part was fucked up,” he admitted, shocking even himself.
Ricky’s eyes widened. Derrick’s glower eased, though it didn’t disappear completely.
“So you’re admitting you were wrong?” Derrick asked.
“With that part? Yeah. I was wrong. I was selfish. I ran for something that I’d wanted for a long time. I didn’t think about you and how you would feel. I didn’t care.”
Ricky tilted his head. “So . . . you were wrong,” he repeated slowly. “And now you wanna apologize to Dee, right?”
Jamal nodded. “Yeah, I’ll apologize for that part.”
“Why do you keep saying, for that part?” Derrick snapped. “What’s with the damn caveats? Why not just apologize and stop playin’?”
“Because I know you want me to apologize for being with her—and I’m not. I can’t! I love Melissa. I have for a long time. I’m sorry how I went about pursuing her, but I’m not sorry about the result. I’d be lying to you if I said that I was.”
Derrick let out another bitter laugh. “See! See, that’s why I can’t fuck with you. That’s why you’re as good as dead to me, nigga. You’re still selfish as hell! Nothing’s changed with you!”
“Come one, Dee. That ain’t fair,” Ricky said. “Jay just apologized to you for—”
“And why the fuck do you keep defending his ass?” Derrick charged, turning on Ricky. “Do you remember how all this started? He told you to kick rocks! Not me! I had your back! He said hanging out with you was a liability for him.”
“And I was wrong for that, too. I realize that now, and I apologize,” Jamal said. “But my mind-set was different back then. I thought I didn’t have a choice. I thought—”
“You always had a choice, Jay! You had a choice with that just like you had a choice when you started fuckin’ my ex!”
Jamal slumped back against the booth cushion and stifled a groan. So they were back on this again?
“You keep acting like you had to do that shit just because you liked her,” Derrick argued. “There are dudes who like women all the time, but they don’t fuck ’em! They hold back!”
“You didn’t,” Ricky said softly.
“What?” Derrick asked, turning his glare on Ricky.
“I said you didn’t hold back. How you gonna lecture Jay for going after Melissa, when you went after Morgan? You had a choice, too, and you made it. And you didn’t care about the consequences.”
“Yes, I did!” Derrick shouted. “I agonized over that shit! You know that. I didn’t want to hurt Melissa.”
“But you did hurt her, Dee.” Ricky raised his hands. “Come on, bruh! We all went after women we knew damn well we shouldn’t have. We knew what we were doing, but we were willin
g to take the risk. Jay is no different than you or me.”
Derrick fell silent. For the first time, he looked like he was considering Ricky’s words, letting them sink in.
Even Jamal hadn’t thought to approach it from that angle. He nodded in appreciation at Ricky’s insight. Once again, his old friend had surprised him.
Derrick obviously hadn’t considered Jamal had felt compelled to pursue Melissa much like Derrick had felt compelled to go after Morgan, or Ricky had been unable to let go of Simone—despite all logic that told all three men to do the opposite. They were all in the same boat.
“So instead of punishing him or wanting to beat his ass, why don’t you just own up to your shit? You of all people should know where he’s coming from,” Ricky said.
Derrick slumped back in his chair. He still hadn’t uttered a word. He squinted at Ricky. “Since when did your ass turn into Dr. Phil?”
Jamal burst into laughter. “Not Dr. Phil. Shit! Iyanla Vanzant. I was waiting for him to break into a speech about civil rights and slaves.”
“Ricky Vanzant,” Derrick muttered, laughing, too.
“Oh, fuck the both of y’all!” Ricky said, waving them off.
Pretty soon, all three men were laughing—hard and loud.
Jamal hadn’t laughed this much in quite a while. The joke wasn’t even that funny, but tears still came to his eyes. Even Derrick was slapping the table. Ricky was doubled over in the booth.
When they stopped, Jamal looked around the table. “Damn, that felt good.”
Derrick slowly nodded. “It did.”
They met gazes. Jamal was surprised to discover that in that moment, all the pain, anger, and resentment from the past two years had eased out of him. He wondered if Derrick felt the same. None of them could change the past, and they would probably never go back to what they had been before, but Melissa had been right about one thing: He felt lighter now.
“Shit, I need another drink,” Ricky muttered, holding up his empty bottle. “Dee, you gettin’ somethin’?”
“Yeah,” Derrick said, nodding again. “I guess I will.”
They stayed for another three hours. The conversation stayed light. There was no mention again of Melissa. They didn’t talk about Dolla Dolla’s death or Mayor Johnson’s conviction. They just joked and laughed.
“I’m glad we did this,” Ricky said. “I knew if we all chopped it up, we could make it right.”
“We still got a ways to go though. I’ll be honest with you, Ricky,” Derrick conceded.
“I ain’t expect a miracle, bruh! I just wanted y’all on better terms before I go,” Ricky said.
Jamal squinted. “Go where?”
Ricky took a drink from his bottle and lowered it back to the table. He sighed. “The hearings start next week. I agreed to testify in the federal trial and that could last a few months. After that, I’m going away for a while. It’s part of the deal I worked out.”
“Away?” Derrick raised his eyebrows. “You mean to jail?”
“For how long?” Jamal asked simultaneously, now panicked.
They had finally reconnected and now Ricky had to disappear to prison.
What kind of bullshit is this? Jamal thought.
“I can’t go into detail, but I’m gonna be away for a while. A long while.” He stared down at his bottle, no longer meeting their gazes. “You do the crime, you gotta do the time, right?”
“You risked your life to help them,” Derrick began, almost sounding hurt. “You did all that shit and then they’re gonna—”
“Hey,” Ricky said, finally looking up, “it is what it is! I just wanted to give y’all a heads-up. I’m not gonna be here anymore to referee and I wanna know y’all are good. Y’all ain’t coming to blows anymore, right?”
Derrick pursed his lips. “Yeah, I’m good.”
Jamal nodded. “I was always good.”
“Good,” Ricky said, thumping the table. “So that’s the end of it.”
“No, it’s not the end of it!” Jamal insisted, feeling like he had just stumbled into a funeral. “We’ve lived in the same city . . . we’ve known each other since we were twelve years old. We’ve been like brothers—whether we were together or fighting, and now you’re just . . . you’re just . . .”
He couldn’t find the right words to express the overwhelming sense of loss he was feeling right now. He looked at Derrick to see if maybe he could pick up his string of thoughts and make it make sense, but Derrick looked away, like he was in pain, too.
“You just gonna disappear. I know what you gotta be going through. I don’t want to put any more burden on you, Ricky, but I can’t hide the fact that I’m . . . I’m gonna miss you, man,” Jamal said.
Ricky slowly smiled. “Well, shit! It ain’t like I’m dying. I’m not even leaving tomorrow!” He playfully slapped Jamal’s shoulder. “You got tears in your eyes and shit! Goddamn!”
“Shut up, Ricky,” Jamal muttered, making his friend laugh. Derrick laughed, too.
“Come on, y’all! No more depressing stuff. Let’s keep this party goin’! Let’s shut down this joint,” Ricky said.
Jamal gave a forlorn smile and wondered if this was the last time they would ever get to do this. He couldn’t believe it, but he really was starting to feel a little choked up. “Whatever you want, Ricky.”
“That’s what I want.” Ricky waved his hand. “Eh, Ray, we need another round!”
Ray nodded. “I got you.”
Chapter 39
Ricky
Four and a half months later . . .
Ricky stepped through the airport’s automatic doors onto the sidewalk. Though it was late April, he was immediately hit in the face with the cold, crisp mountain air. It slapped him with a wallop, almost sucking the air out of his lungs.
He had taken the red-eye from Dulles to Denver International Airport. With transfers, the entire flight had taken about seven hours. He was exhausted and should probably have headed to an airport hotel to sleep for a few hours, shower, and shave, but he didn’t want to waste any time doing that. Now that he was in the same town as Simone and Miles, he didn’t want to waste another minute getting back to them.
He walked to the line for those waiting to get a taxi and was relieved to see only two people standing there, which meant he wouldn’t have to wait long. He adjusted his duffel bag on his shoulder, which contained all the belongings the feds had allowed him to take with him before he left town. He hadn’t even been allowed to say goodbye to Derrick and Jamal, though the truth was that he had tried to prepare his friends for his abrupt departure. Unfortunately, they believed he was headed to prison, not to a new place and identity in Denver. But again, that had been one of the dictates of the witness protection program: ending all connections to the life he’d had before. It had been painful to do it, to walk away from them. The only solace he took in this was that at least he was walking toward something; he was returning to his family.
“Where you headed?” the attendant asked when Ricky finally reached the front of the taxi line and a mini-van pulled up to the curb.
“East Yale Avenue,” Ricky said.
That was the address Detective Ramsey had given him, slipping it into his pocket on the last day of the trial.
He had been surprised when the detective did it, especially after the feds broke the news to him that he and Simone wouldn’t be reunited.
“That’s not how the program works, Ricky,” his lawyer had told him. “Whatever promises those cops made to you, they couldn’t follow through. They can’t tell you where they’ve sent other witnesses.”
But Ramsey did tell him, probably risking his badge to do it. Yes, he had helped the detectives for a year. Yes, what he’d given them as an informant had helped them land several criminals and put all of them in jail—including Dolla Dolla’s business partner, José Palacios, who’d had to be muzzled during his trial because he kept shouting out, cursing Ricky while he was on the stand. But Ricky had thought his
relationship with the detectives had been all business. Or, as was the case with Detective Dominguez, a hate-filled relationship that they only maintained because they had to. He certainly never thought of them as friends.
So when Ramsey had not only gone out of his way to find out where Simone lived but also relayed that info to Ricky, it had touched Ricky deeply. He’d wanted to thank the detective but didn’t have the chance. After his last bit of testimony, he had to climb into a police car and was driven to the nearby jail, only to exit the cruiser and climb into a blacked-out sedan two hours later after shaving off his beard and changing his clothes. He then headed straight to the airport to buy a ticket with a photo ID that showed his new name, Jared Bryant.
Ricky now climbed inside another vehicle—a cab that would take him to Simone’s home.
“First time in Denver?” the driver asked a few minutes into their drive.
“How’d you guess?” Ricky asked.
“No offense . . . but you don’t really look like you’re from around here,” the driver said.
“None taken,” Ricky replied as he stared out the window at the passing scenery.
The driver leaned slightly in his seat to gaze at him in the rearview mirror. “You here for business or for pleasure?”
“Pleasure, I hope.”
“You hope?” The driver barked out a laugh. “Why don’t you know for sure?”
“I know why I’m here . . . but I don’t know if everything will turn out like I hoped,” he said, honestly.
The driver nodded. “I know how that goes. Whenever I go on vacation, I’m never sure if they’re gonna screw up my reservations or lose my luggage. But it usually works out okay. I’m sure it will for you, too, pal.”
“Here’s hopin’,” Ricky muttered as he stared at the mountains in the distance.
Forty minutes later, the driver drew to a stop in front of a series of garden apartments.
“You’re here!” the driver called out.
Ricky dug through his wallet and gave him several bills, including the tip.