by A. E. Via
“He still riding you, huh?” Trent gave him a sympathetic look.
“Yeah. He said if he hears word of me getting into shit then I’m outta his house.” Bishop got them walking towards the bus stop. “He was clear when he said I had to stay out of trouble and he now has zero tolerance for anything gang-related.”
“Wow. Okay. I get it.” Trent nodded. “Not trying to make you homeless. Unless you wanna live with me.”
Bishop shook his head. “Man, you barely have a roof over your own head. What are gonna tell Sil about where you were and why you weren’t answering your phone all night?”
“I’ll tell her I was playing video games at your place until late and fell asleep. Phone was dead. Then I caught a ride with you and Mike to work. Simple.”
Bishop groaned. “It’s not simple. It’s a flat out lie. Come on, Trent. She’s supposed to be your girl.”
“I’m good to her. And look, B, you’re the one that took a personal vow not to lie. Not me. I lie just fine when I need to, thank you. Besides, it’s just a little white lie.”
“There’s nothing white or little about that lie if you say you were at your boss’s house asleep instead of downtown in the city lock-up.” Bishop came to a stop a few feet from the intersection.
Trent bumped his shoulder and laughed off his statement. But Bishop watched as his friend moved away a few steps and took out his cell phone, to send his girl a quick text to do some damage control. Which was exactly what he needed to do. While Trent was preoccupied, Bishop walked the several yards to the Boulevard, almost to the McDonald’s at the corner of Market Street. Pedestrians gave him room as he moved down the center of the sidewalk. Bishop was often reminded that while he was genuinely a nice guy, he didn’t particularly look like one. Women in business suits and sneakers glanced at his exposed arms and stern face before darting their eyes in another direction.
“B. Hold up!” Trent called out to him, but he waved for him to stay and wait for their bus, he had his own cleaning up to do.
When he was almost to the corner, he kept a decent distance from the Diggs Park crew who had assembled in front of a small convenience store. That was another thing that Bishop wouldn’t miss about being in a gang—the hanging out doing nothing all the time. None of them had anything productive to do but stand around and wait to get into shit. Sly was leaning against the side of the building talking on his phone. When he made eye contact with Bishop, he gave him a sign to meet him around the back of the building so he could speak with him… alone.
Bishop noted that Trent was still watching him the closer he got to the gang, but he didn’t move. If he’d walked down there, then he surely would’ve had more words with Jessup. No one advanced on him when he walked by, a couple of the guys even nodding in respect for him. Bishop made a right on Market Street, walking past the Popeye’s sitting on the corner, the smell of their fresh baked biscuits making his stomach growl ferociously. He was beyond starving, and his body ached from sitting up all night, but he knew if he didn’t take care of this right now, he and Trent would be looking over their shoulder the rest of the day.
Bishop cut between the buildings, his steps heavy and his gait sluggish, but the second a hot palm gripped his bicep and jerked him sideways he spun and gripped his captor by the throat and pushed his large body into him until his back hit the concrete wall. A hard grunt left Sly’s mouth as his eyes widened, and his other hand flew up to hold Bishop’s wrist.
“Damn, man,” Sly hissed as he slowly released his hold. Bishop didn’t let him go but he eased up on the pressure before dropping his hands until they were clenched at his sides. He didn’t like to be snuck up on. “Prison's made you jumpy, B.”
Bishop was still practically standing on top of Sly, so much so that the shorter man had to tilt his head back to stare into his eyes. Being this close to his old friend again, smelling his sweat and feeling his compact muscles pressed close to his own had Bishop’s lower body reacting, not to mention he’d been out of prison six months and still hadn’t gotten any. Personal vows were a fucking bitch.
“It’s good to see you in the old hood again.” Sly’s voice was still as smooth and silky as he remembered.
Bishop held his breath when Sly’s arms came up and linked behind his head. He quickly scanned the narrow alleyway, even though they were completely out of sight of anyone since Sly had yanked him behind a stinking dumpster. And just like that, reality slammed into Bishop, the shame of Sly possibly being caught with him. Bishop’s head cleared of the lust and he was able to gather his bearings and put some space between them.
“I’m not back,” was Bishop’s only reply.
Sly narrowed his piercing gray eyes. He no longer had the shaggy jet-black hair that used to cover his forehead, opting for the more mature look of a simple buzz cut since he was a leader now. “I figured as much. You weren’t really throwing any blows last night, like I know you can.” Sly licked his lips when he scanned Bishop’s muscles. “I know you were just trying to get Trent out of there.”
“So we’re good,” Bishop muttered.
“I didn’t say that.”
Sly’s response was quick and Bishop knew what it meant. How was he going to fix this? “What do you want?”
“You already know the answer to that.”
“Not gonna happen,” he whispered, inching closer.
“Come on, B. Why was I never good enough, huh?” Sly scanned the alley again. They were still alone.
Bishop kept his gaze zeroed in on his used-to-be close friend. “That’s why, right there,” he pointed out. “You’re too worried about someone else’s eyes on us. I can’t do that shit anymore. I don’t give a fuck what anyone thinks about me now. No one sure gave a fuck when I got tossed.”
“I did.” Sly frowned. “If you’d been with me that shit would’ve never went down like that. You know I cared.”
Bishop recalled the one other letter he’d got in prison that hadn’t come from Trent.
“We wouldn’t work. You know that. We’ve tried before.”
“Did we really?” Sly ran the tip of his finger inside Bishop’s palm. Even that small contact sent awareness coursing through his neglected groin. “Or did you give up because it was too hard? You always liked things done the easy way.”
“That’s not true.” Bishop kept his voice low.
“Oh, it is.” Sly grinned. “That’s why you were shacked up with that flaming ass, rat-snitching bastard.”
Bishop shook his head. Does he really wanna go there, now?
“I never would’ve done what he did to you.”
“What he did was stand up for me.”
“By telling the entire damn courtroom that you were too stupid to pull off a store robbery. I know you told him all that stuff in confidence and he used it anyway.” Sly looked pissed.
Bishop sighed, trying not to replay his ex-boyfriend’s character testimony over again in his head. He’d tortured himself with it for five long years. But his mind refused to listen.
“Please, you have to believe me. Bishop Stockley could never have been a mastermind of anything. He didn’t do it!” Royce cried dramatically on the stand.
He’d already told Bishop he couldn’t bear it if he went to prison. Meaning he wouldn’t wait for him. They’d had a future planned. Albeit a gang-involved future that was doomed to fail, but Royce loved their clout on the streets.
“I’m telling you, you have your finger pointed at the wrong man.”
Bishop’s eyes widened as he sat beside his court-appointed lawyer. He didn’t want Royce to say it. Not here. Not in a packed courtroom.
“Yes, Bishop is the oldest but he’s also the most uneducated. Bishop couldn’t have done it. He’s completely illiterate. He can’t even read!” Royce screeched at the prosecutor. “He has the IQ of an ant, he was most likely tricked.”
Bishop slowly opened his eyes. The gasps from his so-called crew and close friends were so loud the judge had to bang his g
avel multiple times to quiet everyone down. Whispers were loud enough to reach his ears.
“Wait! B’s a dumbass? We’ve been following someone that can’t even fucking read. What the fuck? Bishop can’t be stupid, he’s the best leader we’ve had.”
It was only when the court recessed for lunch and he was able to stand and look behind him, he noticed that everyone was gone. His crew, his so-called family. All gone.
And because of his boyfriend’s shockingly betraying testimony, and his results from the state standardized literacy test, the charge of mastermind was dropped to accomplice. Otherwise, Bishop would still have been in prison for strong-armed robbery.
“I would never have done that to you,” Sly said as he stroked up Bishop’s shoulder to his neck.
Without thought, he leaned into the touch. He was beyond starved for affection, but what Sly was offering wasn’t real. It’d be temporary and very secret. He wasn’t anyone’s dirty lie. Bishop soaked up just a bit of the care, of the warmth of Sly’s callused hand. “I know you wouldn’t’ve,” Bishop acknowledged. “You wouldn’t have said a word.”
Sly stared as if he was confused.
Bishop held Sly around his narrow waist and stared deep into his eyes. “If my alibi had been you. If I’d been sharing your bed all that time. Would you have said something? Would you have took the stand for me?”
Sly didn’t say anything as his hand slowly fell from Bishop’s neck. “B,” he whispered. “Don’t do that. That’s not fair.”
“It’s one thing I’ve learned while serving time, Sly, and that’s life’s not fair and it never will be.”
“So, you’ll stand by my side if I come out?” Sly asked.
“I would’ve. Yes,” Bishop answered honestly. “But you have a decent crew now and I’m damaged goods.”
“Then you guys need to stay out the playground. You’re gonna find yourselves in a world of trouble if Trent keeps picking fights with no crew to back up his loud mouth.”
And there it was. They were old friends, but Sly had new responsibilities, he had a reputation to maintain. Bishop dropped his hands and took a couple of steps back as Sly stood taller. “I lost money last night being stuck in the Breaks.”
Bishop looked up the street, his mind racing. “Your mom still got that small ranch house in Aragona Village?”
Sly nodded slowly as if he wasn’t sure why Bishop was asking.
“You still do a shit job on her yard every week?”
Sly rolled his gray eyes. “Look. At least I cut it. That’s a lot more than most of these lazy asses do for their mothers.”
“How about me and Trent go over there after work today and hook up that depressing flower bed that you don’t do anything with. I bet she still fusses about that. I’ll tell her you sent us and I’ll have her yard looking better than anyone’s on that street.” Bishop held his hand out. “I’ll make Trent do all the heavy lifting. Deal?”
Sly laughed lightly then clasped Bishop’s hand. “Deal.”
“Then we’re good?”
Sly cocked his head to the side as if considering his words. “Yeah, B. We’re good. We’ll always be good.”
“And Trent?”
Sly’s laugh was smooth. “He’s your problem. Always has been. But y’all won’t get no beef from me.”
“Then I’ll take that.”
“Stay off the block, Bishop. You guys don’t belong there anymore.” Sly looked left and right then stepped forward and placed a soft kiss on Bishop’s lips, lingering there for a moment as they said goodbye silently.
Bishop wouldn’t get caught up again in a feud like he had last night. He’d made a vow to himself that he wasn’t going back to prison, and neither was Trent. That meant making serious changes and letting go of old acquaintances. He knew this would be the last time he saw Sly for a very long time.
Bishop started to walk out of the alley when Sly called out, “He’s a manager at the IHOP on Monticello now. No one’s really seen him in years.”
Bishop didn’t turn around, his long strides eating up the concrete as he made his way onto Market Street and joined the crowd. Why’d Sly tell him where to find Royce? He wasn’t sure if he’d wanted to face his ex, but maybe he should just bite the bullet and get it over with. Perhaps dropping that weight off his shoulders could help him to move on.
Chapter Three
Bishop
“Why are we getting off here? We’re gonna be late for work,” Trent said as he followed Bishop off the bus at East 21st Street and Monticello Avenue.
“I’m hungry. I can’t work all those hours outside on an empty stomach. Not to mention the extra yard we have this evening.”
“Extra yard!” Trent stumbled over a large crack in the sidewalk. This part of Norfolk wasn’t where the rich and affluent resided, so the streetscape wasn’t as pleasant, and neither were the pedestrians. A lady scowled when Trent accidentally bumped her shoulder.
“My bad, damn girl.” Trent glowered back.
The woman sucked her teeth, flipped him off and kept moving. Bishop laughed. “You sure have a way with women.”
“Man, I can’t mess with these females over here on the west side. All they want is a man that’s gonna pay their bills and sit up under them all night long.”
Bishop shook his head and answered sarcastically, “Yeah, women are crazy to want that.”
“Right,” Trent said, not taking the hint. “You’re lucky you’re into dudes.”
“For some reason you still think dating men is easier, you’re crazy.”
“Well true. Your last guy was a real piece of—”
“Don’t. I’m not in the mood,” Bishop said as they walked into the IHOP. The cool air and the sweet scent of pancake batter rushed to welcome them. His stomach growled right on cue.
He was glad it wasn’t busy for a Monday morning. Trent stood at the hostess stand behind an elderly couple, with his hands in his pockets. Bishop glanced around the restaurant trying not to look so obvious, but he obviously failed because as soon as they were seated with their menus Trent cocked his head at him. His tone was low, his eyes on his menu. “What are you looking for?”
Bishop spread his legs and leaned farther into the booth, making himself comfortable. Even after being out for six months Trent stayed on alert, regardless of the fact there was no longer a target on their backs. “Nothing, calm down. I was just checking out the place.”
“Hm.” Trent glanced around a second, frowning, before going back to his menu. “Still don’t think we should be late for work. We could’ve just grabbed a couple chicken biscuits at Hardee’s or something. Why are we in a restaurant? We look like we’re on a fucking date.”
Bishop sniffed. “You wish. Look. I felt like a decent breakfast since I had to sit in the damn Breaks all night. Since I had to make a pride-swallowing deal with Sly to keep Jessup off your ass.”
Trent looked momentarily sorry as he gnawed on his thin bottom lip until it was red. “Man, fuck Jessup.”
“Oh yeah,” Bishop deadpanned. “Fuck Jessup? Him and his entire crew, huh? All of Diggs Park.”
Trent dropped his menu and slumped in the seat. It was hard when a man realized he’d lost all power on the street. Especially if it was all he’d ever known. It was like being cast out of a family and forced to sever all contact. There were bound to be some withdrawals.
“What do we got to fuck him with, Trent? Mind control?” Bishop clenched his jaw as he leaned over the table, his hands clasped tightly in front of him. “We’re not even able to carry a damn slingshot unless we’re violating the terms of our release. So yeah. How exactly do you plan to fuck Jessup? In the ass? Because you’ve got nothing else to do anything with.”
Trent cringed. “All right, all right. You don’t have to be that graphic.”
“I want you to get that guy out of your head. He’s bad news, T.” The veins in Bishop’s forearms bulged from his struggle to keep his temper at bay. “Now I’ve spent my last d
amn night in a cell, T. Do you understand?”
Trent stared Bishop in his eyes.
He narrowed them, and growled lower, “Do you got it? Because if you go back again… you’re going without me.”
Trent had to know he was serious. And Bishop hated that he had to be so stern, but for some reason his best friend wasn’t comprehending. They were done. And as Trent let that realization settle into his spirit, he wilted as if the awareness of it all was too much.
“Look, I was told that a wise man once said, ‘Yesterday is not ours to recover, but tomorrow is ours to win or to lose.’ Meaning we’re in charge of our future’s victories and defeats. There’s nothing we can do about the past.”
“Great, here you go again,” Trent mumbled, grabbing his menu and aggressively flipping the pages. “Don’t start getting deep on me, Lord Bishop. We all didn’t have a super-woke cellmate like you. I was too busy trying to keep my ’celly off my dick.” Trent got a faraway look in his eyes. “Damn, that dude was thirsty.”
“Good morning, how you guys doing? I’m Natalie, I’ll be taking care of you today. What can I get you started to drink? Coffee, juice?”
Bishop finally picked up his menu, giving the waitress a slight nod. She was thin and small, but most people were compared to him. Her eyes would probably be pretty if they weren’t shrouded by heavy dark blue make up and coal-black liner that spread out from the corners of her eyes into a razor-sharp spike.
“I’ll have coffee. The blacker the better, and a water,” Trent said, then got up and headed towards the back of the restaurant. Bishop assumed he was going to the restroom.
“And for you?” She smiled, her dramatic eyes scanning his chest before moving up to his face.
He wondered if she’d still look at him with such lust if she knew where he’d been the last five years. Most likely not. Wouldn’t matter if she did, because he was as gay as gay could be. But, the men hadn’t been any different. Of course, no one from their old hood wanted to be associated with him, and he’d had no luck with meeting anyone from a different city. All he’d had time to do was work, anyway. Bishop ignored their server’s flirtatious smile and mumbled he’d have the same as Trent.