Push Comes to Shove (16 page)

“Mind if I share the mist with you?” Trish closed the space between Kitchie and herself. Their naked bodies touched.

Thomas unearthed the first shovel of dirt. “I can’t believe you’d bury a body in a public park. Anybody can stumble across it.”

“Had to put it somewhere.” Hector admired the ambience of the park as he wiggled his wrists inside the cuffs, searching for comfort.

“It’s gonna be a hot one.” Crutchfield wiped his moist forehead.

More dirt.

“For a bunch of white cops, you guys aren’t that bad.”

“You lived up to your end of the deal; you have my word that I’ll honor mine.” Crutchfield watched the dirt pile grow.

“Thank you, Crutchfield. He was already dead when I got there.”

“Don’t worry about it. Your cooperation, statement, and testimony will work in your favor.”

The shovel’s tip struck a flat object. “Got something.” Thomas’ shirt was spotted with perspiration. He dropped to his knees and pushed the dirt away from the object with his hands.

Crutchfield gave Hector a pat on the back. “Good job.” He moved in closer to see what Thomas’s labor would reveal.

Hector spat out the chewing gum and replaced it.

Thomas pushed the remaining earth away from a shoe box that had
Nike
printed across the top. He looked at Crutchfield, then they looked at Hector.

“That’s how I found him.”

Thomas pulled the box from beneath the earth and set it on level ground.

Hector closed his eyes when Thomas glanced at him.

Crutchfield prepared himself to see what was inside. “Open it.”

Hector turned away. He couldn’t stand to see the remains again.

Kitchie threw her arms across her breasts and backed out of the water. “Trish, you dumb bitch. I told you I’m not on that homo shit. Bitch, you’re gonna force me to step in your ass. Now get the fuck from around me.”

Trish’s eyes locked onto a butterfly that was tattooed right above Kitchie’s vagina. “That’s pretty.” She squinted and turned
her head sideways to read the calligraphy below it.
Greg
. “That’s sweet. Think he’d mind if—”

“Back the fuck off.” Logan tossed Kitchie a towel. “It ain’t hard to tell she doesn’t want to be bothered with your shit.”

Kitchie covered herself with the towel and folded her arms beneath her breasts. “Thank you.” She removed wet hair from her face and noticed two of Logan’s buddies guarding the entrance.

Trish stood her ground. “One way or the other, you’re gonna stay out of my business. This dorm is too small for the both of us.”

“Then claim your title or holler at the guard so you can conduct your business elsewhere. I’m here to stay, and as long as I’m here, I’m the producer of this video.” Logan turned to Kitchie. “Go on and get your shower. I’m holding you down now. Trish is leaving…ain’t she?”

“No, no, I’m okay.” Kitchie adjusted her towel as Trish brushed by.

Trish found her payment on her pillow. She cuffed the heroin, then went to a stash for her syringe.

Logan walked Kitchie to her cell. “You have to pay more attention to your surroundings. You don’t have the slightest clue of what’s really going on around here, do you?”

“I’m not into this jail nonsense.” Kitchie closed the door behind them. She could see Logan’s two shadows loitering outside her cell.

“In here, everybody wants something. Everything is gonna cost you something, and no one does something for nothing.” Logan sat on Kitchie’s bunk.

Kitchie’s skin crawled when the two shadows entered the small cell.

Logan laughed. “Right about now, you’re asking yourself what do I want for helping you out of that tricky situation?” She glanced at her buddies. “For starters, I want my towel back.”

A dark-complexioned woman towered over Kitchie, then snatched the towel away.

“Why?” Kitchie backed into a corner. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because you’re sexy.” Logan ran a hand over the bed as if she were removing the wrinkles. “We like sexy. And, as you now know, I didn’t come to your rescue for nothing. Now come over here, lay down, and close your eyes so you can pay me back. It’ll be fun for the both of us…all of us.” She gestured toward her buddies.

“I’m not into women. Nothing against—”

“Get into it! Bring the bitch over here so I can break her in.”

The bigger of the women started toward Kitchie.

The other woman held up a hand, stopping everyone’s actions, and listened. “I hear keys.” Now she was looking through a small window, out into the wing’s main hallway. “The police is on the block.”

“Who?” Logan stood, never taking her eyes off of Kitchie’s trembling body.

“That fucked-up broad, Lieutenant Proctor.”

The bigger woman was standing inches away from Kitchie. She could feel Kitchie’s fright, the rapid movement of her breath. She licked her lips. “Logan, Proctor is on some real police time. She’s gonna pop her head in every cell.”

Lieutenant Proctor was a sexually frustrated woman who found it exhilarating to use her authority to be a hard ass. It was her way of exacting revenge for being bullied in her buck-toothed, ugly-duckling days.

The prisoners fell silent when she entered the dorm.

“Those pants have been altered; make sure I have them in my hand before I leave.”

“Come on, Lieutenant, I’m pregnant. I had to hook them up. I’m in my second trimester.” She caressed her huge belly.

“I want them. Sign up for sick call; medical can see to it that you get some maternity pants.” Her keys sounded off as she left the expectant mother. She pointed at two women. “Find a cell; this isn’t a beauty salon.”

“You need to find you something to do,” someone called out. “Don’t take it out on us ’cause your batteries died last night.”

“Coward, say it to my face. Woman-up and make it known who I’m conversing with.” Proctor’s small shoulder-pack radio squawked. She switched to a private channel and received the message. She clipped the radio back on her shoulder. “Kitchie Patterson, pack it up. You made bail.” She turned to a woman watching an episode of
Divorce Court
. “What cell does Patterson lock in?”

She pointed.

The woman watching the day room’s happenings from the cell looked over a shoulder at Logan. “She’s coming this way.”

Logan nodded at the big woman who had Kitchie cornered. Big girl was swift and precise with her actions. She pinned Kitchie against the cell wall. As Logan came closer, Kitchie clamped her eyes shut.

Logan kissed Kitchie on the mouth. “This ain’t over until I have you my way.”

“She’s coming, Logan.”

The door swung open and the women were having a conversation as if things were fine and dandy. All with the exception of Kitchie who, for the first time in days, was thankful to be in the presence of the police.

Proctor was no fool. She eyed Logan with scorn while she addressed Kitchie. “Get dressed. You made bond.”

“Daddy!” Secret and Junior said in unison. They rushed him when the elevator opened.

GP wrapped his arms around them both. It was rejuvenating to know that his children were safe. “I missed y’all so much. I’ll never let us get separated again. We’re gonna have to send the lawyer a thank-you card for getting y’all out.”

“Not exactly.” Secret nestled her head against his stomach.

“What do you mean?” He put a finger under her chin to lift her head.

“You look like shit.” Jewels gave him the once-over.

“I felt like it until now. Thanks for getting me out.”

“Fool, you got me fucked up. Don’t motherfucking thank me; tell me what the hell is going on. You got my niece and nephew out here living trifling. Some cracker beating on Secret; chattel slavery is over.” Jewels pulled up Secret’s sleeve, allowing the bruises to speak for themselves. “On top of that, they pulled a Harriet Tubman on Whitey and got exposed to some shit they ain’t have no business around.”

GP dropped to his knees and hugged Secret tightly, wishing he could transfer everything she had endured onto himself. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, baby.”
That you are, Greg
, Mr. Reynolds confirmed in the privacy of GP’s head.

“Let me see your tattoos, Daddy.” Junior tugged on GP’s Street Prophet shirt.

GP feigned a laugh to conceal his hurt. “You know I don’t have tattoos.”

“Lil’ Eric’s dad said people in jail get muscles and tattoos.”

“Are you sure he’s my brother?” Secret draped her arm over GP’s shoulder. “He says a lot of stupid things.”

“Shut up.” Junior stuck his face in Secret’s. “If I’m stupid, why are you the one failing math?”

Junior smiled. GP and Jewels looked at Secret.

She shrugged. “It’s hard.”

“We’ll talk about this at home.” GP pulled Jewels to the side but kept an eye on the children.

Jewels shook her head in disgust when they were out of earshot. “I’d like to know what home you’re talking about?” She noticed a smudge on her pink Timberland boots. “Your crib is padlocked.”

“We wasn’t supposed to be out until tomorrow.”

“Well, you’re out now.”

GP fell into a long silence. “Mr. Reynolds is still on some abusive shit. I swear I wish something bad would happen to his fat ass.”

Jewels was taken aback. “You mean—”

“Yeah, the same one.”

“You some cold shit, GP. I knew I should have left you locked up. No wonder they ran away.”

He looked at Jewels, then across the waiting area at the children. “What you mean,
ran away
?”

“Didn’t you hear me when I said they pulled a Harriet Tubman? You heard right.”

“How long before Kitchie—”

The elevator chimed.

The children greeted their mother with the same affection, if not more, than they had shown their father. GP joined the family’s reunion hug. Kitchie couldn’t speak because of all the crying she was doing.

D
etective Thomas flicked open a four-inch Harley-Davidson blade and cut the tape securing the Nike box’s lid with caution.

Hector stuck his tongue through the gum and blew a bubble.

Thomas eased the lid off and jumped back in disbelief. “What the…goddammit! What the fuck is this?” His arms spread wide.

Crutchfield took a peek inside the box. His blood pressure reached its apex. He clenched his fists until his knuckles turned whiter.