Graveyard Love

by T. C. Littles

  I saw the immediate expression of pure disgust on Juan’s face; then the glimmer in her eye that said: “I told you so.” Phoebe should have been the one on trial for failing both of us. She’s never shown up to parent-teacher conferences, the school plays we were in in elementary school, or even noticed that Juan stopped going to school months before he finally dropped out. I wanted to jump up and scream at the judge that my brother shouldn’t be accountable for his actions because we weren’t raised right.

  Juan’s inexperienced, state-appointed attorney shook with nervousness as the prosecutor rambled off the charges Juan was being sentenced for. He’d barely uttered a word about his innocence, his upbringing, or how he’s never been in trouble before during the trial. I started to think he was a puppet for the prosecutor at one point because he actually asked what amount of jail time would make them happy.

  As Juan’s inept attorney barely uttered a word on behalf of his innocence, in a true dramatic fashion, my mother got up and stumbled out of the courtroom acting as if the world was coming to an end or the dope man was giving out free samples. Before the door slammed behind her, the words “I told you so, fool” were blurted out.

  The entire scene was almost too much to bear. Refusing to stand out of respect for the proceedings, Juan got two extra years for being a “badass,” as the judge proclaimed. Bam! Just like that, the judge banged his gavel down.

  My brother’s fate was sealed. Still emotionless, Juan shifted in his seat, then leaned with the posture of a man who’d lost all hope. I couldn’t break my stare because I knew deep down the days of me having him at my side were over.

  Damn! No more late-night walks to Coney Island for chili-cheese fries, me being able to call him to beat down some cocky boy, or having him to throw a few dollars in my pocket. It was over. I was on my own.

  Hearing the judge read his order for time confinement had still set the record for the saddest thing I’ve witnessed in my entire young life. As the brown-uniformed Wayne County Sheriff placed him in handcuffs, Juan found my stare, and we spoke volumes.

  I jumped up and ran over to him, tripping over those waiting on trials, hoping they didn’t receive a verdict like my family. I hugged my brother around his neck tightly, crying and screaming.

  “What am I going to do without you?” I trembled as he stood strong in stature.

  “Get at Spade, sis. He’ll look out for you while I’m locked down,” he whispered. “Look at me, Jakia. I’m more serious than a heart attack.”

  “All right, break it up. Let’s go, prisoner,” one of the sheriffs laughed, and then pulled Juan back.

  Like a baby, unsure of what to do next, I cried and stood helpless as they led him away. I yelled for them to have mercy and let him come home. My unfit, drug-crazed mother was gone in the wind.

  No one was there to help or comfort me as I sobbed, watching the small windowed steel door, hoping the judge would have mercy on me at least. But he was foul, rude, and cutthroat, and asked that I be immediately escorted out as well or face contempt of court charges.

  Why? Why? Why? I felt my knees buckle as the anxiety started to become too overwhelming. There was nothing else in the courtroom left for me. Truth be told, the next time I wanted to stand in a courtroom would be for the murder trial of putting a stiff, cold bullet in the judge’s ass for the over-the-top harsh sentence.

  As a gray-haired sheriff arrogantly held the door open for me to exit, I caught a glimpse of Spade sitting quietly off in the corner. You shady coward!

  His cool demeanor accompanied by his hard-pressed professional clothes made him a chameleon. He was a criminal in borrowed attire and should’ve been shaken nervous being in this fate-dealing room.

  He and his creep-ass cousin should’ve been under the jailhouse for recruiting my brother in the first place. But, naw, he wasn’t sharing the time. Here he sat styling and low-key profiling as he watched my brother go away for ten years like it was nothing.

  I kept my eyes glued to him until the heavy wooden door closed me all the way out. When it slammed loudly, it sealed the deal to my loneliness and my brother’s future. This game I was witnessing was confusing, and I didn’t understand it. Truth be told, I didn’t know if I wanted to!

  For weeks and months, I tried contacting my brother with no luck. Without him, a major void was left dangling. And as for our mother, she was doing worse than usual. Seeing her bent over some abandoned car in a vacant lot or giving some stranger head for a hit had me desperate to detach from her.

  Some nights, I even prayed for God to send me in with Juan. The nonpayment of rent notices were stacking up, and the landlord was not in the mood for many more excuses or sad luck stories.

  He wouldn’t even take her crack-infected slob as an extension. Nine outta ten, we’d be staying in a homeless shelter somewhere or squatting in one of the many abandoned homes around the hood in no time.

  Until going up, my brother kept the bills paid and our house looking somewhat decent. True enough, our furniture did not match and was worn when we got it secondhand, but it was ours and all we had.

  By now, Phoebe had sold it all, pillows included, and had gone on a weeklong binge. She would’ve stolen his dirty drawers if she hadn’t had to wash them first before selling them. I knew it was only a matter of time before my room was going to get hit for the little stuff I had. It wasn’t much, but Juan made sure she never stole from us.

  Finally, my brother was able to communicate with me:

  Jakia, baby sis,

  It’s important for you to know that Momma is a lost case, and if you stay around there, she’ll suck you dry. You’ve gotta pray on that, let it go, and get out the very first chance you have.

  I know by now y’all sitting on shit row, and she’s smoked up everything I’ve worked so hard to get up in that hellhole. Real talk—don’t be out there feeling sorry for me, either, baby sis, ’cause you’ve got a life to live.

  Oh, and damn, I heard you grimed my nigga Spade in court that day. No matter what you think, that’s my dude, and he got me. That’s the code of the street, baby, something you’ll have to learn on ya own cuz I can’t protect you no more.

  The boys done took me, and it ain’t shit I can do. You gonna have to be grown before your time, baby, but hold it down and be strong. Hit my manz up when you get a chance and get right.

  Don’t let your hard head end up being your soft behind. You’ll live, baby sis ’cause Coleman blood is thick like that. Please don’t forget to write me, fam; you’re all I got.

  Juan

  Holding a stuffed animal my brother won for me at Cedar Point, I balled up crying, resenting my momma ’cause she wasn’t shit for letting her habit hold her back from raising us and doing what she needed to do for us to have a normal home life. That bitch!

  If I could trade her life for his freedom, checkmate—her time would be up on this earth, and I’d have no regrets. But outside of the tears and wishful thinking, my brother was right. I had to start living and get up and away from her junkie ass.

  As much as I despised Spade, I was gonna have to cross the line to get a come-up. There weren’t very many options in the hood, and Juan wanted me to cuff a nigga with security, so I didn’t have to struggle out on these streets alone.

  Juan was naive in feeling Spade was loyal. The first giveaway should’ve been Spade leaving him out to dry on the lawyer tip. I didn’t agree, but I went along with his plan to have me with whom he thought was a real boss to protect me.

  What man doesn’t want their baby sister with twenty-four-seven security? His information about Spade and stories shared in letters made me go from being confused about the game to being intrigued, wanting to wife the life.

  It didn’t take me long to catch his drift and get my mind wrapped around the idea of it actually being my reality.

  My young mentality wasn’t truly ready for the manipulation and pain street life presented on the back end. But I cared more about getting away from trife-lif
e Phoebe than anything else. I guess it was a family trait.

  My mother stayed hungry for a high, my brother had been hungry to have money and power, and I was hungry to be taken care of. I was the last man standing in our small family, so I had to make a move—and fast.

  2

  Jakia

  “Wake yo’ ass up, Jakia,” Spade yelled and shook me awake.

  “I’m up, bae. What’s wrong?” I jumped up, startled, not knowing if he was coming for me already. It wouldn’t be the first time Spade had beat me up out of a slumber.

  “Ain’t shit wrong, Kia. Chill out,” he calmly responded like his reputation didn’t proceed him. “Get that fat ass up and cook me something to eat. I got that pussy together for you, so do your job and feed me. Your man is hungry.” He propped his pillow up on the headboard and grabbed his phone to call and pillow-talk with Tiff probably.

  At first, it pissed me off that he still kicked it with her, but I soon learned she was the distraction Spade needed to keep his hands off me.

  Every night that Spade stayed home, he demanded a feast for breakfast the next morning. Today was no different. I stood in the kitchen wearing a pair of hot-pink booty shorts, a tight, yellow, wife beater, and shiny, hot-pink pumps while Spade watched me be the perfect homemaker he’d trained me to be.

  Thirty minutes later, I had the kitchen smelling like a Coney Island restaurant on a Sunday morning. I’d cooked pork sausage links and bacon, grits with butter and cheese, scrambled eggs, and hash browns that had bell peppers and onions chopped up in them.

  “Damn, it smells good in here.” Spade walked in slapping his stomach. “It got a nigga’s stomach churning in a good type of way.”

  I set two plates down in front of him. “Dig in. I hope you like it.” I then hurried up and fixed me a plate so that I could start grubbing too.

  “This shit is good as hell, Kia,” he said, smacking like a horse and shoving forkfuls of food into his mouth. “Bring me a glass of cranberry juice so I can wash this goodness down.”

  And here comes the bullshit. My appetite was ruined instantly because I knew there was not any cranberry juice in the fridge. We’d been having a peaceful morning, but I knew Spade was about to overreact behind me not being able to fill his request. I was supposed to go to the grocery store yesterday but ended up getting caught up binge watching my favorite show. It wasn’t worth me being out of Spade’s favorite juice, though.

  “Here’s a tall glass of cold orange juice to get you started.” I set the beverage down in front of him with a shaky hand. “I’m about to run to the corner store right now for your cranberry juice. I didn’t make it to the market yesterday.” I backed up, trying to quickly put some space between us because I saw his nose starting to flare.

  “What the fuck you mean you didn’t have time? Me and this house is all that you should be making time for, bitch!” He slammed his hand onto the counter and almost shook his plate off it. “What were you doing that you couldn’t get yo’ ditzy ass to carry out yo’ duties?”

  “I’m sorry, babe, I swear. I got overly tired from scrubbing the house clean yesterday and passed out. Like I said, though, I’ll be back before you take another bite.” I tried backing away from the breakfast bar again but was snatched back.

  “You know I ain’t trying to hear no sorry-ass excuses.” He wiped the corners of his mouth with a napkin, then slid off the bar stool. “You’d think I would’ve knocked some sense into your head by now. You claim you’re tired of gettin’ ya ass beat, yet you keep fuckin’ up. Why do you keep disobeying me?”

  I didn’t have to pee, but I did now. I was so scared of getting hit that I didn’t want to say the wrong thing. “I’m sorry, Spade. I swear it won’t happen again,” I whimpered.

  “Shut up. That crying shit don’t mean nothing to me. I’ve heard you say that same line over and over again.” He threw the cold glass of orange juice in my face, then knocked my plate of food to the floor. “Hardheaded hoes don’t deserve to eat. Now get your dumb ass to the store for my juice and be back here before I count to one hundred.”

  I grabbed the dishrag from the sink and wiped the juice from my eyes while putting some clothes on at the same time. I damn near tripped on my own two feet rushing out the side door. From the menacing look in Spade’s eyes, I knew I only had until he got to ninety-nine.

  Spade

  “What up, cuz? You up?” Rocko and I have been getting down in the streets since crib size. Today was just another day in our grimy worlds.

  “You already know it. I just finished digging ole girl’s guts out and put her ass to sleep. I was able to swipe that clown’s whole itinerary—so we on. Holla at li’l momma to put us down with that room.”

  I shot Tiff a quick text message while I listened to Rocko run down everything about the man we’d be using Jakia as bait to set up. It was more than important that I got everything right so that I could give her more than everything she needed to know on how to play her cards right.

  The one thing I had to be certain to leave out was my ex-girlfriend’s involvement.

  “Bet. What time should me and Jakia fall through? I’m ready to get this shit popping.” It was only slightly after 8:00 a.m., but I was up and hungry for this money.

  While cats were rolling over and getting their second wind of sleep on, I was bright eyed and bushy tailed setting up a master plan to murk they ass.

  “The sooner, the better. His window closes at 2:00 p.m., and your wifey has to have time to do her thang. So get at me when you’re ready.”

  “With a ticket this big on the table, I’m about to make sure her ass knows she needs to be efficient, plus in and out.”

  I took a big swallow of the cheese grits Kia made and couldn’t wait for her to return with my cranberry juice. I wasn’t gonna bash her head in as promised, but I had to keep her shook up and on her toes.

  “You do you. It ain’t even gotta be said that you keep Kia moving to yo’ music. Holla at me when you on the way.”

  “A’ight, fam, peace.”

  This setup was about to bring some heavy racks home. Rocko was banging a basic chick he’d met off Facebook who was connected to this heavy moneybag’s dude in Chicago.

  He’d just Olivia Pope’d her ass for all the information we needed to hit a lick on him. Leave it to my cuz—pimpin’ chicks must’ve run thick in our bloodline.

  My phone went off on cue with a text alert from Tiff. On her end, things were in motion. I might’ve dissed her consistently for Jakia, but my ex never failed to look out for me.

  She was my “Bonnie” back in the day when Juan got mixed up in our robbery. As suspected, she sent a few more texts asking if I was gonna hit it later on. Of course, I told her yeah, then got back to grubbing until my live-in pussy returned. If all went well today, I’d celebrate my stroke inside her all night long.

  Jakia

  My hand trembled as I twisted the doorknob and opened the door. I knew when I ran out of it that I wasn’t going to be up the block and back by the time he counted to a hundred, so I’d grabbed a bag of ice that I could prop up on my eye after he finished blacking it. I don’t know how many bruised parts of my body I’ve iced.

  “Here you go.” I handed him a red plastic cup that was already full of juice. I didn’t want to waste any more time coming in and having to fix him a cold glass of juice when the store had cups, ice, and, of course, the juice. The store owner thought I was a fool for staying loyal to Spade, but he always helped me out when he could. Like today . . . I hadn’t left the house with a dollar.

  “See, this is why you be gettin’ smacked around,” Spade acknowledged what I did. “You oughta use yo’ big-ass head all the time to think things through. Are you still hungry?”

  I nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Okay, well . . . I’ll do you a favor and let you eat the food off the floor. You still fucked up by not going to the store yesterday, so you still don’t deserve to eat like no civilized muthafucka. After you
fill my plates back up and throw them in the microwave, I’ll let you get to business.” He smirked, knowing good and damn well that he was Lucifer himself.

  * * *

  “Hey, clean this shit up and sit down. I just got done yapping with Rocko, and the lick for this afternoon is on.”

  Spade pulled out his phone and started scrolling through a gang of pictures showing me the target for today. I made sure to pay close attention because, in a few hours, I’d have to pick him out of a crowded casino.

  The target was a dark-skinned man who had a plump face accompanied by glasses and was sporting a clean, bald head. There wasn’t one thing I could say attractive about the guy. He was simply dressed in khaki slacks, a polo shirt, and boat shoes. His pictures were really boring and real bland, so I automatically assumed his personality would be too. I was happy about that, though. Most of our targets lately have been thugs, savages, and dope boys from other parts of the city since Spade didn’t squat and shit where he lay his head; so, it would be a breath of fresh air and a breeze to scam an average Joe Schmo. Ole boy looked like he was rolling in legit money.

  “So, what’s his story, and what do I need to do?”

  Spade clasped his hands together and rubbed them like he was a professor getting ready to school me. “A’ight, listen up ’cause this hit is important. Rocko said this corny nigga is an investor from Chicago that’s here looking to invest in some real estate. He’s staying down at the casino’s hotel until his meeting, but he won’t make it there because you’re gonna cut him off in the lobby and make sure me and Rock can rob him in the room.

  “This one’s important, babe, so I need you to work his ass all the way over. Wear something to have him drooling ’cause this one can’t be missed. He’s an investor from Chicago who’s here to capitalize in this upcoming real estate company. Rocko got the one-up on the job, so we cutting the stack a few ways.”