Keyshia and Clyde (4 page)

Chapter 5
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Winter had come, and because Johnny's Ice House didn't need him during that time of year, Clyde's money was running low. Clyde no longer could take living with Martha. The more the city and state cut out her money, the more desperate and angry she became, and the constant harassment for money took everything out of him. She would stand by the door no matter what time it was with her hand out, then bicker and argue with him about bringing more money home, forcing him to do the things that weren't right—robberies and stickups. And there was also Sonny to deal with—they fought about the big caper that he had lined up and wanted Clyde to be a part of. But Clyde wasn't a killer, and he detested his brother for harming innocent people just for money. As a result, he began to avoid them both by staying in an abandoned apartment above the Ice House and by stealing from supermarkets to survive.

Keyshia's relationship with her aunt was now nonexistent. After the rape and then the beating by Ninny, Keyshia no longer had love or respect for her aunt because she beat every ounce of it out of her that fateful night. Keyshia was no longer her puppet on a string and didn't cater to her like she once had. No, those days were over. Even when Ninny tried to force Keyshia to do little chores around the house, Keisha spited her by not bothering even to respond, much less to carry them out. Her aunt tried to beat her the first time she refused, but Keyshia stood defiant and took every blow that she could dish out. From that day on, Aunt Ninny decided that if Keyshia wanted to be grown and no longer listen to her, she couldn't eat her food, so she padlocked the refrigerator and made only enough food for her and her boys. This didn't bother Keyshia one bit; it only made her resourceful and determined to survive by her wits and her will on the streets. Keyshia was willing to do anything to get what she wanted. Whether it was stealing from the store, pickpocketing a sucker, or straight fucking men for some dollars, she no longer gave a damn how she got it, as long as she got it. She hadn't any sympathy for the lame, either; if she caught anyone slipping, it was all she wrote, she wasn't taking all their shit. Keyshia didn't take any shorts from any men or women alike and would fight with anything she could get her hands on and try to take someone's head off in the process. She was slowly developing a reputation in the neighborhood as the dirtiest-hearted bitch in Harlem, and she enjoyed it.

•                  •                  •

Keyshia was in Marshall's department store on 125th Street, just off Lenox Avenue. She was inside browsing in the women's department to see if anything caught her eye when she happened upon a young dude, about her age, looking around suspiciously as he examined price tags on women's pantsuits. It was obvious to Keyshia that he was there to steal something because he stuck out like a sore thumb. Keyshia had long since learned the art of blending in and knew to be calm, never look around nervously, and simply act as if she belonged there. As she stared at the guy, he caught her eyeing him and frowned at her to tell her to mind her business. She chuckled at the boy's ignorance, wondering why out of all the sections in the store to steal from he'd choose the section he was most likely to get caught in because he stood out.

Though Clyde was a consummate stickup artist, he was never much of a booster. He looked once again in Keyshia's direction and saw her still staring at him. He knew she wasn't an employee because she looked too young, so he took her to be just a nosy patron. He put on his best evil-eye look and said, “What the fuck are you looking at?”

Keyshia just laughed at him and kept moving down the aisle as she continued her hunt. Minutes later, from the corner of her eye, she noticed a man dressed in casual clothes, speaking softly into a black walkie-talkie. She looked in the direction where the man was looking, and sure enough, he was dead-eyed on the suspicious-looking boy she'd seen minutes earlier. Keyshia remained calm and continued browsing as another man came along and conversed with the man with the walkie-talkie. He pointed at the boy and took his position at the exit. Keyshia wanted to stay out of it, but the allure of the action drew her into the mix. And besides, she thought, she felt sorry for the dumb boy.

Clyde sensed something was wrong when he noticed a man shopping in another aisle. The chances of two men shopping solo in the women's department was unlikely. Seconds earlier, Clyde had stashed four female garments down his pants and was now looking for the exit. He knew that he could get away by jetting out the door with no problem in case the other male shopper was a store cop, so he decided to cut it short and leave now.

When Clyde walked off, he noticed that the man began to follow him. Clyde began to dump out the clothing, four pieces in all, as he continued walking. The man began moving in faster. Now only one aisle away, Clyde still had two pieces left to dump and decided to break for the door. Just as he was about to bolt, he was grabbed by someone as he came out of the aisle. It was the girl he'd spotted clocking him early. He stared at her as if she were crazy and tried to break free, but she held on tight. She said firmly, but in a whisper, “There's another guard waiting for you at the exit, so if you want to not get busted, you play along with everything I say, boy. You hear me?” Clyde stared at her as if she were a snake and decided to trust her for reasons he didn't know.

Keyshia stared back at him, then let him go and went into acting mode and put on a big smile and said loudly enough for all to hear just as the store detective arrived, “Brother, where have you been? I was looking all over for you.”

Slightly out of breath, the store detective put his hand on Clyde's shoulder and said, “Excuse me, sir, but I need you to come with me.”

Keyshia said loudly, with no trace of her country accent, “Excuse me, but what are you doing to my brother?”

“Ma'am, I've been following the perp for quite some time and I observed him pilfering various items.”

Keyshia hadn't a clue what he was saying but decided to play it up for what it was worth. “My brother didn't do any such thing. Now take your hands off him.”

People started to gather, making the store detective grow nervous. To both Keyshia's and Clyde's surprise, he obeyed Keyshia's demand. “Now,” Keyshia continued, “my brother didn't do anything, he was just lost.”

The detective looked down and observed the items sticking out of Clyde's pants. He smiled and reached for the clothing and pulled it out, saying sarcastically, “Oh yeah, what is this, then?”

Clyde was just about to bolt, but then a second and third detective came over and stood behind them. He was fucked, he thought.

Keyshia sucked her teeth and said, “Oh, he do that all the time.” They looked at Keyshia, perplexed, as she explained, “Oh, my brother is retarded.” All three men looked at Clyde as if searching for a sign of his mental capacity. Keyshia continued smiling, not believing how lame the boy was, and put another spin on the lie. “He doesn't talk.”

She gave Clyde a look indicating that he should play along, and Clyde finally reacted by saying gibberish: “Aaaah, whine ah corm.”

He began to pull products off the shelves as Keyshia stopped him and hugged him tightly. “See, he don't know what he's doing.” All three store employees didn't know what to do, so Keyshia began to work it.

“Look how dumb he is. Look at his little beady eyes.” Clyde gave her a vindictive glare, but she kept on. “Look how big his head is.” They all looked at him and agreed. Keyshia decided to flip it and make them feel guilty. “How do you think I feel to have to watch him day after day?”

They all began to feel sorry for her, and one of the detectives told her, “It's okay. I understand. Just keep a close eye on him, okay?”

Keyshia smiled widely and thanked each one with a big hug.

She hugged the detective who had appeared on the scene last and pickpocketed his wallet in the process. Clyde watched her all the while. She said her final good-byes, then said to Clyde, “Come on, brother. We got to get home now.”

She led Clyde outside. When they were a good distance away from the store, Keyshia said, “We all right now.”

“Thanks for what you did for me back there.”

Keyshia added jokingly, “Boy, better find yo'self another hustle, 'cause you ain't much of a thief from the ways I sees it.”

Clyde shrugged and said, “Whatever, but listen, that's my bus, I got to go,” and he gave Keyshia a hug for saving him. “Thanks again for having my back.”

Clyde ran toward the bus and got on it. Keyshia watched him and felt great about gaming the store detectives. She smiled even wider as she thought about how much money was in the wallet that she'd lifted off the store dick. She looked inside her purse but didn't find it. She searched her jean pockets, and still it wasn't there, and she cursed and looked in her purse once again . . . nothing. She looked up at the bus and saw the boy she'd just saved from going to jail, smiling widely as he mockingly waved the wallet around in the air.

Keyshia was livid and took off toward the bus. Just as she got curbside, the bus took off, leaving exhaust fumes in her face as she screamed obscenities at the distancing bus.

Chapter 6
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The last Sunday of the month was visiting day for the patients at St. Steven's nursing home, and for the past twelve and a half years, the Barker brothers, Ceasar, Sonny, and Clyde, had paid their monthly visit to their mother. Clyde hated these visits. Not because he didn't want to see his ailing mother, but because she seemed so helpless and feeble. His mother was unresponsive and always looking off in the distance. It killed Clyde, as well as his brothers, to see her like that. Clyde prayed that his mother would one day reach out and embrace him or say that she loved them all dearly and that everything would be okay. But he could only wish. These visits made Clyde grow cold and resentful toward the man who had put her there—his cold-blooded father—whom he secretly wished he could look in the eye and ask why he would shoot his precious mother. But Clyde didn't know if he could face his father without wanting to kill him. He dreamed many times about going to the prison, where he was serving twenty-five years, and confronting him without saying a word. Just to look in his eyes and see the man who took so much from him.

Because Ceasar was the oldest, he had more memories of their mother, so he was the closest to her, feeding her at mealtime, pushing her around in her wheelchair, or just sitting and talking to her. Clyde and Sonny stood off in the background, unable to show emotion toward a woman they had never known. Ceasar was happiest around their mother and was standoffish toward everyone else except for Clyde. He'd practically raised both brothers until they could do for themselves. He'd taught them how to play catch, basketball, baseball. He'd wanted them to grow up as normal as possible, and he'd done a good job until Sonny started to gravitate toward the ills of the streets and brought Clyde right along with him. Ceasar wanted Martha to support him by putting his brother on some type of punishment, but Martha tried never to come between Sonny and the streets. She would bail him out whenever he was arrested, lie for him whenever he faced the courts for a crime he committed and needed an alibi, or make an excuse for him if the police or his probation officer came looking for him.

Martha would tell everyone how she took the boys in and ensured that every month they saw their momma. Ceasar would call her a liar under his breath because he knew the deal. He knew Martha was a money-hungry lazy tyrant who never wanted to work and whose only reason for taking the boys in was so she could receive monthly checks as a foster parent. In the beginning, she never wanted to take the boys to see their mother, but after Ceasar complained to their caseworker that they weren't seeing her, Martha was told that as a foster parent, it was her obligation to make sure the boys had an ongoing relationship with their mother. Ceasar was the only one who knew that Martha was not what she seemed.

Ever since the rape, Keyshia had made her mark on Harlem as a chick who could put Superhead to shame. Unbeknownst to her, she was videotaped by some local drug dealers while getting it on with three men. The video was circulated in the neighborhood and played in different clubs. Keyshia had fallen in love with drugs, all of them—weed, cocaine, Ecstasy, angel dust, alcohol, even sex. She didn't care. As long as the drug took her outside of herself, she was down to experiment. It made her forget the shame, the humiliation, and it also made her feel loved. She became addicted to anything that made her feel good, so she stayed high all the time, never wanting to come down. She was only seventeen.

Keyshia didn't come home for days at a time. For the last few days she had been holed up in a hotel with a guy she'd met on her way home. He was driving by in a tan Pathfinder and honked at Keyshia, who was wearing a tight-fitting pair of capris. He was in his forties, which suited Keyshia just fine, so she decided to check him out and see what he was working with. She found out that he was a postal employee and had cashed his check and was looking to hang out and get smoked up. When Keyshia heard
paycheck
and
getting lifted,
she hopped in. At the motel on 112th Street, she was surprised to see the man pull out two pipes and some crack cocaine—she'd thought they were going to smoke some weed. At first, Keyshia was offended that he thought she was a crackhead and was about to curse him out, but she decided to chill and wait until he was fucked up and then rob him of everything he had. She pulled out a blunt and a bag of purple haze that she still had and began to split open the blunt. Keyshia was never around anyone who smoked crack and was amused to watch him smoke it.

“Yo, can I ask you a question?” she asked him. After he took a hit from the crack pipe, it seemed like he forgot she was in the room and was surprised to see her there. Sweating profusely, he blew out the smoke and nodded. “How do you feel after you take a hit?”

He seemed to be searching for an answer as his wild, dilated eyes looked at her. He said, “Imagine having the best orgasm of your life.” He paused and continued, “Now multiply that feeling a hundred times and you got a crack high. No more worries, no more pain, no more fears.”

He then extended the pipe to her, but Keyshia said, “Naw, I don't fuck with that pipe shit.” Even though she sniffed cocaine once or twice, and even smoked some coke in a cigarette, she felt that was nothing near fucking with crack.

Keyshia was about to roll the haze when he said, “Why don't you try sprinkling some inside your smoke? It's less intense and would make you feel good.”

Keyshia looked at him, tempted by the good feeling he described, and agreed against her better judgment. She watched him crush some of the rock inside a twenty-dollar bill and sprinkle some all over the weed before she rolled it up and lit it. When she sucked in the smoke, the taste was a little different, but when she blew out the smoke, she felt a rush unlike anything she had ever experienced. She looked toward the ceiling, and suddenly she felt no more worries, no more pain, and no more fears.

It was three o'clock in the morning when Keyshia finally made her way home. She was tired as hell and wanted nothing more but to sleep. As soon as she opened the door, Aunt Ninny was waiting to cuss her out.

“Where the fuck you been all these fucking days?” she yelled.

Keyshia stood there for a moment, sucked her teeth, and dismissed her altogether. Angrier, Ninny persisted.

“You hear me talking to you, little bitch? If I ask you a question, you better answer me, 'cause your li'l ass ain't grown yet.”

Keyshia looked at her aunt and said with defiance, “Why the fuck are you worrying where I been? You don't take care of me.”

Ninny flew into a rage. “Who the fuck are you to curse in my house? Bitch, if you curse in my house again, I'm gonna bust ya li'l ass!”

Keyshia had grown resistant to her threats, so she just shook her head at her and mumbled, “Yeah, whatever,” and kept moving toward the bathroom.

This seemed to infuriate Ninny even more, so she grabbed Keyshia by her arm and swung her around to face her. “Bitch, don't be walking away when I'm talking to you.”

Automatically, Keyshia removed the switchblade from her pocket and pushed her aunt backward until she fell on the couch. Keyshia put the pointed blade to her aunt's throat and spoke through gritted teeth: “Bitch, if you ever put your hands on me again, I swear on everything that I will cut your throat long, deep, and continuous.”

As they locked eyes, Keyshia's aunt realized that she was dealing with a person she no longer knew. Ninny was sure of one thing and one thing only at that moment: If she said one thing wrong, she would surely lose her life.

Keyshia removed the knife from her aunt's neck and eased up off of her. She stood, still defiant, and watched her aunt get up and walk off in a daze as she held her throat, happy that it was still there.

Just as Ninny entered her room, she turned and looked at her niece as if to say that she was sorry for turning her into a monster, before slowly closing the door behind her.