Push Comes to Shove (13 page)

GP was relieved to put the ink pen back in his pocket. He stared at the phone for a moment, then exhaled. He picked up the receiver and punched in a number.

Killer grinned as he stuffed a skimpy nurse outfit and fishnet stockings into a bag. “Where’s the costume party? Undecided on what to wear? Second time you’ve been in here this week.”

The customer smiled but she did not respond.

The phone rang.

She studied the short man, absorbing his details from head to toe. She smiled. “Your accent shifts my tide. I love it. Can’t place it, though.”

“Rough Buff.”

“And that is?”

“Buffalo.” He leaned on the glass countertop. “Can I get an invite to the party? I would love to surf your tide.”

“I’m afraid you can’t surf the Marian Trench. You have to dive in the deepest spot known to man to appreciate it.”

They laughed.

“Invite me to the party. I’ll bring my wet suit.”

“Sorry.” She licked her lips. The cherry lipstick remained. “Don’t do parties. I’m into role-playing.”

The phone refused to stop ringing.

He glanced at the phone, then back at the gorgeous woman. “Can I get a role in your play?”

She leaned across the countertop and traced the contour of his lips with a finger. “You’re short but cute. Any good at acting?”

“Didn’t you see my cameo in
How to Be a Player
?”

The look she gave him was intense. She smiled. “There’s a part I’d like to see you star in when the time comes. I know where to find you.” She touched his lips once more, grabbed her bag, and sashayed to the door. Before she went out into the busy street, she paused. “Answer your phone.”

He danced his way to the phone. “Killer Cal’s Costumes and Accessories, Killer speaking?”

“You have a collect call from a correctional—”

He pressed five, assuming that it was one of his partners, Tutu or Fruit. “What’s good, son?”

“Killer, this GP. What up?”

“That was wild as shit. Man, you and Kitchie was bugging. I can’t believe y’all touched that kid like that in public. Think it’s a game, if you want. They still breaking black folks off crazy for mishandling whites. What’s the deal with that?”

“It’s a long story. I need a loan. Bail me out. No, I need you to bail Kitchie out.”

“GP, I don’t know about that. Every time I loan you something you get selective amnesia and act like you don’t owe me. You still owe me eight hundred from last year.”

“I thought I paid that back.”

“I bet you did. That’s what I’m talking about. You haven’t given me one dime on that tab. How much is Kitchie’s bond?”

“Sixty thousand, ten percent.”

“Oh, hell no! You my mans, but that’s too rich for Killer Cal’s blood. I ain’t gonna be able to do it.”

“Come on, Killer. Is it that you can’t do it or won’t do it?”

“Both. Six thousand is a lot of money for you to forget about. And if you did choose to remember, you don’t have the means to pay me back.”

“I need this loan. Remember that group home I told you about? The one I grew up in?”

“How could I not?”

“My kids are there; gotta get them out.”

Killer sighed. That statement was painful to his ears. “For Secret and Junior, if I had it, I’d give it to you. The problem is I just don’t. I’m in the red. You of all people know how it is.”

“I understand.” GP tugged on his goatee. “Yo, Killer, go outside and tell Smitty to come to the phone.”

“Just saw him no more than fifteen minutes ago. He went over to Terminal Tower for some burgers. He left his mannish-ass daughter to run the booth, and I’m keeping an eye on her. Call
back in a little while; I’ll make sure he’s around.” Killer glanced at the digital clock on his cash register. “Some white kid came looking for you this morning.”

“White boy?” GP put a finger in his ear to block out the surrounding noise.

“Yeah, some older kid dressed in a mean suit. He called himself Mr. Lee. Said he had something important to talk to you about. I didn’t tell him your business. I did say you might be gone a few days, though.”

“All right. Good looking out. I’ll hit you back later.”

“Stay up.” Killer stared at GP’s empty booth through the costume shop’s showcase window.

“They’re coming.” Secret stuck her tongue out.

“Are not!”

“Are too, punk.”

“Not, sissy.” Junior plopped down on Secret’s bed, slipped on a sneaker, and began to tie it.

“Mom and Dad know we need them, so they
are
coming home soon.” She froze when a noise came from the first floor. “Did you hear something?”

“No, retarded. You didn’t either.” He stuck a foot in his sock and heard something himself. He jumped up and dropped the opposite sneaker. “They’re home!”

“Told you. When are you gonna listen to me?” Secret was ecstatic that their dilemma was over. She followed Junior into the hall. They hadn’t quite made it halfway down the stairs when a sheriff appeared at the bottom of the flight.

Sheriff Colin Edmund parked in front of 2197 Miami Street.

He lugged a toolbox from the Oldsmobile’s trunk, then followed the driveway to the property’s back door. From the exterior’s appearance of the property, he was sure the Pattersons would miss the Upper Valley home. He secured a
Foreclosed
and a
No Trespassing
sign to the door with a cordless screwdriver. Then, he fastened a folding hinge to the doorframe and rested a Master Lock on the hinge. Before he could bolt the rear entrance, he was required to make sure that there were no people or animals inside the property.

He gathered his tools, went to the front entrance, and repeated the process—only this time, he opened the door and went inside.
Good thing they moved some of their belongings
. He crossed the empty living room and began to lock every window on the first floor. He studied the Pattersons’ family portrait mounted above the fireplace and wondered why bad things seemed to happen to good people. He backed away from the attractive photo and banged against an end table, causing it to open, sending his toolbox crashing to the floor. “This isn’t going to be a good day.”

He began tossing the tools back into the metal box, resonating a clatter throughout the residence. He fastened the lid, double checked it, then headed for the stairs. He gripped the banister, looked toward his destination, and flinched. “You kids startled me, liked to gave me a freaking heart attack. Is there anyone else in the house?” He put a boot on the next step.

“We’re not going back.” Secret tugged Junior by a shoulder and backed up the stairs.

He took another step. “I have to remove you from the property. You have to go somewhere.”

Secret’s foot hit the landing.

“Don’t make us go.” Junior shook his head.

“I have to.” A third step.

Secret yanked Junior and they dashed to their room. She locked the door with a sliding lock. “I knew they would come for us, but damn.”

The sheriff climbed the remaining stairs. “Not a good day at all.” He faced a door with a sign on it that read:
Leave Me Alone. I’m Concentrating
. He pounded on the door with the side of a closed fist. “Come out of there. Don’t make this harder than what it is.”

Junior and Secret eased away from the vibrating door.

Junior stared with fright. His young heart thumped each time the Sheriff hit the door. “He’s going to break it open.”

The doorknob spun in both directions.

“I don’t have all day to fool with you kids. Come out of there now! Or I’m coming in.”

“Help me.” Secret struggled to push the huge dresser toward the door.

Junior joined her efforts.

“I can’t go back, Junior.” She began to cry.

More door banging.

“We don’t have to go back.”

Secret sat on her butt, leaning against the dresser. “We’re stuck in here. You even said it yourself; that policeman is going to get in.” She could feel the heavy door pounding in her back through the vibration of the dresser.

“You promised me that we wouldn’t go back, so we’re not.” He opened the window and lifted the screen. “It’s not high as you think. Don’t be a sissy.” He poked his head out and looked down to Mr. Irvington’s driveway. It really was high. “You can do this, Secret; we practiced this fire drill route with Mom and Dad enough.”

“But I’m the only one who’ll get trapped in a fire if I’m upstairs.” She gazed through the open window in horror. “It’s too high.”

The sheriff aimed a shoulder at the door and rammed it. The wood splintered.

The force was too much for Secret’s small back to absorb. She detached herself from the dresser.

“You’re not getting trapped today.” Junior pulled a wooden case from under the bed.

Sheriff Colin rubbed his aching shoulder.
I’m too old for this freaking bullshit
. He positioned himself to ram the door again.

Junior secured the fire ladder on the windowsill like GP had taught him, then tossed the ropy rungs through the window.

A portion of the sliding lock fell to the floor. Secret’s knickknacks rolled from the dresser top.

“Come the hell out of there!”

Junior started down the swaying ladder. “Come on, Secret. Don’t get caught and leave me by myself.”

The dresser began to move as Sheriff Colin pushed.

Secret took a deep breath and backed out of the window, searching blindly to gain footing on the ladder.

“See, it’s easy.” Junior lowered himself. “Don’t look down.”

She looked to where she had just come from and screamed when Sheriff Colin stuck his head through the window.

Smitty hated to say no. His character flaw was that he’d been generously irresponsible for years. He shook his head with the phone receiver on his ear. “Bad as I want to say yes, GP, I just can’t. Right now I don’t have that type of money. Times have been real hard for me. Ends are not meeting. I need to be asking you for the money you owe me.”

Killer tapped Smitty when the gorgeous lady strutted through the door wearing a pea coat that showed nothing but a set of long legs in a pair of fishnet stockings.

“Thanks anyway, Smitty.” GP hung up.

The Ebony Lady stood in front of the counter and let her pea coat fall to the floor. The nurse outfit hugged her spectacular body like taut skin. A stethoscope swung from her neck. “I was told that there was a sick little boy here who’s in dire need of medical attention.”