Details at Ten (23 page)

“I was with Detective Eckart when he arrested T-Bob. He’s out now trying to find out where the hit is going down.”

Angel looked exhausted and weak, her steps shaky. I took her by the arm and said, “Let’s call the police—”

“No!” she said, looking wild-eyed, then she clutched her head. “No time. It’s happening now. I know—know where. Y’all think I’m bad, but I’m not. I’m not bad! I gived up almost all of my stash to find out ’bout Trip, to save him. Ain’t that love?”

“Yeah, Angel,” I said softly. “I know you love Trip. Tell me where? Huh? Just tell me where and we can get the police and fix it?”

“No-no-no!” Angel moaned, and she shook her head.

“Why?!”

“I ain’t stupid! You done fo’got? They go in shootin’ not askin’ no questions. What they care about shootin’ some little black boy who gets in the way? I gotta go get him myself now!” She started to jog the rest of the way across the field.

I couldn’t let her go alone, could I?

A
ngel moved quickly down the streets and alleys, every other step giving me a glimpse of the heels of her slip-and-slide shoes. We finally reached the back stairs of an abandoned building. The fingers of her right hand trembled as she clutched the corner and peered around the brick wall. She motioned for me to follow her, pointing with her finger. Two doors down I could see a young man rocking against a fence, smoking a joint.

“Top floor is where Little Cap is at. He’ll be down any second now.”

“You sure?”

Angel nodded and I noticed that her entire body was shaking.

“Are you okay?”

She nodded yes when the answer was clearly no. I silently cursed myself. Why hadn’t I flagged down a cop?

Angel peeped around the corner again. “See?!” she whispered, and pulled her head back. I saw three guys walking down the back steps, looking cautious but not as guarded as I thought they would be. They wore the yellowish-gold colors of the Rockies. I noticed one, a dark-skinned young man with a long ugly scar on his face. I recognized him from the mug shot that I had seen at the cop shop and from the picture in his mother’s house. It was Little Cap.

My eyes darted around, looking for Trip. Where was he?

Angel was nearly sitting on the ground, her body racked with spasms. She turned her head and spit up.

“You’re too sick to move, Angel.”

The three Rockies were walking toward the alley now.

“You gimme some money when this over?” she begged. “You gimme some money to buy me some stuff?”

I heard a car door slam. Where was Trip?

“Okay, okay,” I lied, trying to calm her down. I didn’t want her voice to carry.

I heard another car door slam. Where was Trip?

“You go stop Trip now, huh? Can’t—ca—can’t hard—ly move. I needed all my stuff. Ain’t have none to give away. Trip done messed me up.” Angel moaned as she held her sides and rocked against the building. “Go on! Go on!”

I didn’t know what to do. Instinct pushed me forward, down the rear walkway. I was looking around wildly, trying to spot Trip. I heard a car engine crank up. By the sound I could tell it was an old car. Just as I reached the fence at the end of the yard, the car grunted past. It was a late model long Caddy with a torn black vinyl top and a gurgling muffler. The car eased down the alley. I opened the gate and stepped out, watching the car pull away. Just as it neared the end of the alley, two shopping carts filled with tin cans came rolling out, blocking the exit.

The car began to slow down.

I took two steps forward, then stopped, not sure what was actually happening or what I should do.

The car stopped with a lurch about forty feet away from me. Although my mind was shouting warnings at me, I couldn’t see anyone. I was looking all around for some sign of Trip.

One of the shopping carts fell over and the cans started rolling out into the street and into the alley. The car doors opened. Little Cap stayed in the backseat. The driver and the other gangbanger got out.

Just as the two guards stood up and out of the way of the car doors I saw two teenage Bandits, black bandannas covering the lower half of their faces, come out from behind garbage cans in the rear, guns drawn. They opened fire.

I ducked behind a thick electrical pole and my heart jackknifed into the pit of my stomach. I peered out from behind the pole and saw the Rockies on the ground. I heard one of the Bandits yell for Little Cap to get out of the car. He moved out slowly. I couldn’t hear that much of what was said because I was so far away.

Then I saw him. Trip had a black bandanna over his face as he stepped out from behind one of the garages. He had a gun in his hand and he was shaking. They left Little Cap for him to kill.

“Trip!” I yelled. “Don’t!”

He turned and looked my way. It was then that Little Cap made his move. He spun, pulled out his gun, side-stepping toward cover while firing off two shots. One hit the Bandit standing nearest the car’s trunk, dropping him with a splatter of blood where he stood. As he hit the ground, his mouth became a raw socket prickling and sizzling dangerous sounds. The other shot just missed Trip, who dived for cover.

Seeing Little Cap this close showed me the raw power that he had. He was tight, his movements mechanical as he decided when and where to strike next. Suddenly, I heard, “Trip! Trip!” Angel was yelling and staggering down the alley. “Trip! Trip!” she called.

Little Cap fired.

The shot struck her in the chest. I heard the resisting crunch and thunk of bone and flesh.

“Mama!” Trip yelled, dropped his gun, and began running toward her.

The Bandit with Trip yelped, “No!”

Little Cap whirled and fired at the boy who tried to warn Trip; the bullet tore at his chest and laid him out flat on his back, blood gurgling from a jagged tear in his upper body.

I ran forward. I saw Little Cap now aiming at Trip’s back. I lunged and felt my body make contact with Trip. I felt as if I were floating. The pictures and sounds that whirled around me smothered my ears and erased my memory because I forgot everything except how to breathe.

I hit the ground and I felt my flesh tearing away from my arm. I felt Trip’s body beneath me and my momentum made us roll over and over until we hit something hard. Whatever it was stopped our movement. I heard Trip crying and I thought about how much I hated what was happening and then I heard footsteps running toward me. He’s coming! I thought. Seconds became drips of a lifetime.

I struggled to get up, to fight with my bare hands for myself and for Trip. I looked up. I saw Little Cap fire over his shoulder before hopping a fence as the police began entering the alley. My heart was encouraged when I spotted Doug headed my way. He reached me, his gun low at his side, “Georgia? You okay?”

I shook my head and all the anger, and adrenaline, and hate that had been building up inside of me escaped through tears that I felt no shame in shedding.

“Mama!” Trip mumbled, crawling away from me over to Angel.

“An ambulance is on the way,” I heard someone say. “Damn, that Little Cap must be part rabbit—see him take that fence? But don’t worry, he can’t get far. We got this place covered like flies on shit.” And for the first time I noticed the other officers beginning to swarm through the alley.

Trip was hugging his mother and I saw a big red splotch of blood covering the T-shirt she had on. I looked at Doug as if to ask him whether or not Angel was going to make it. He hunched his shoulders.

I felt blood running down my arm. “Oh Doug, I’m bleeding.”

“Easy, Georgia, let me see,” Doug said, gently taking my arm. He picked up the black bandanna that had covered Trip’s face and gently tied it tight around my upper arm. Then Doug took out a handkerchief and dabbed at the wound. “Just a bad cut, not to worry, you’ll be fine.”

Doug helped me up and hugged me close to him as we walked together over to Trip, who was huddled around his mother’s shoulders. His lips moved slowly, awkwardly, as if he were reading to her from a primer about the violence that had become the story of their lives. I stared at them until the glint of flashing lights stole my attention away from Trip and his mother. Three cops were moving the shopping carts and kicking cans out of the way so paramedics could make it down the alley with a stretcher.

“Hold on, Mama,” Trip told her. “Hold on!”

I hoped that she heard him.

I eased Trip away from his mother. I held him close, my palms across his chest, rocking with the sporadic movement of his breathing while the paramedics worked to stabilize Angel and get her on the stretcher.

Trip reached out as they began to wheel her down the alley. “I’m going!” He jerked away from me and tried to run until Doug caught him and asked, “Where’s Butter?”

Trip wiped away tears and said, “She in the basement in our secret playhouse in the crawl space.”

Doug called to one of the officers and told him to drive Trip to the hospital. We watched as they put Angel into the ambulance and Trip into a squad car. When they pulled off, Doug said to me, “Let’s go.”

All the time she was there. In the Stewart house. Butter had managed to hide under our very feet. When we got to the house it was locked, but Doug jimmied the back door open, and I started calling as soon as I stepped inside. “Butter! Butter!”

“Sssh!” Doug said. “You’ll scare her!”

But I couldn’t stop. I just kept calling as I went through the kitchen. “Butter!” I didn’t call in anger. I didn’t call in frustration. I just called. “Butter!”

I opened the basement door near the sink and Doug and I walked down the stairs. It was cool in the dusty and unfinished basement. The concrete floor was shellacked black by dirt. Old furniture was stacked up in every corner. Water from a leaky pipe dripped down from one corner of the room, staining the wall rusty red. I looked around and I saw a square door that was only waist high. I cracked it.

“Butter!” I called. “Baby, it’s okay.”

We heard a bump and I spread the door all the way open and looked inside.

There was Butter, wiping the sleep from her eyes. She was lying on a pallet of blankets. A flashlight with its head wrapped up in newspaper was in the corner giving off hazy light. A plate and a cup were pushed into one corner. I saw a half-eaten bag of potato chips and two ice cream sticks pushed off in the corner next to a stack of children’s books.

Butter’s eyes were wide with fear as she doubled her knees up against her chest. There was enough room for her to sit up comfortably and just enough space for me to lean in and say, “Butter, remember me? The TV lady? You can come out now, honey. It’s all over.”

Butter shook her head no.

“Butter, honey. See this man behind me?” And I moved away slowly to show her Doug, who gave Butter his officer’s friendly smile.

“He’s a good policeman. Trip told us where you were. He said it was okay for us to come get you.”

She looked almost convinced but was still hesitant.

“Baby, I wouldn’t lie to you. How else would we know where to come? You and Trip are such good hiders, plus I’m the one who bought you the Eskimo bars.”

Butter smiled and moved toward me. I pulled her out of that dirty, dark hole and hugged her. Doug patted her on the back as she laid her head on my shoulder.

“C’mon, kiddo, you wanna go outside in the fresh air and sunshine?”

“Yeah,” Butter said softly.

“How about to the park?”

“Oooh, yeah!”

“Good,” I told her as I began walking up the steps. “That’s good because your mama and grandma and a whole bunch of other folks are there just dying to see you.”

T
hey’ll just have to wait,” a voice from above me said.

When I heard that voice, the muscles in my legs froze. The muscles in my neck did not. I jerked my head up and stared, stunned.

Butter buried her face in my neck and began to cry.

Doug was standing behind me, right angled, and I saw him reach for his gun.

“I’ll blaze your ass, man,” Little Cap warned.

Little Cap was standing in front of us in the doorway, looking down with the orange glow of the remaining day behind him. He looked like a henchman from hell waiting to do some low-down dirty deed. I heard his mother’s voice in my head: “God, is that really my child?” and I shivered.

Butter looked up at me and already her face was beginning to splotch red from her sobbing.

Little Cap looked tired; he was hurt and his gun hand was shaking.

“H—h—how?” I semi-stuttered.

“I got away. Made it these few blocks and then I spotted you from the gangway across the street,” he huffed, saliva dripping from the right corner of his mouth. “Y’all left the door open.”

Doug spoke up. “Don’t try this, man. All the police in this area are out, and all of them are out looking for you. You don’t have a chance.”

“With them two I do, homey.”

Butter buried her face back in my neck and wailed.

“Shut up!”

Doug stepped over to the railing that bordered the stairs leading down into the basement. Little Cap aimed at his heart.