Push Comes to Shove (7 page)

“Ninth Street Artwork, home of the Street Prophet. Kitchie speaking. How may I help you?”

The caller hung up.

She went back to the booth and sat in a folding chair beside Secret. “It’s too hot out here.”

GP stopped airbrushing a jean outfit and turned to Junior. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Nope. All I know is that you have money in your pocket right now.” He touched GP’s front pocket. “This one. You even said I deserve a new bike when you get the money. So why don’t you buy me one with the money you got?”

“Let me see how I can explain this to you, little man.” GP set the airbrush gun on the ground. “Just because you see me or Mommy with money doesn’t mean we have any money to spend on things like bikes and remote control cars. Maybe you can understand me better this way.” He pulled the money out, separated a portion of it, then stuffed the rest back in his pocket.

Secret rested her head on Kitchie’s arm as they focused on GP’s demonstration.

“This is fifty dollars. Pretend this is all we had. You with me?”

Junior nodded. “I’m good at pretending.”

“Okay… For us to have a place to live, it’ll take, let’s say, twenty of this.” He gave Junior a twenty. “Hold on to that. Now we need another twenty for food.” He handed Junior two tens. “Then, we need twenty for lights so you don’t have to be in the dark like last night.”

Junior grabbed the remaining money. “But this is only ten dollars.”

“That’s right, and I haven’t gotten to gas, transportation, your bike, or Secret’s new—”

“Maricon.” Kitchie sat straight up.

“What?” GP faced her. “Who’s the faggot?”

“Over there.” She pointed to the book vendor two booths away. “That’s the guy who ripped me off.” She was on her feet headed in Blue Eyes’s direction with a club that GP called the
act-right stick
.

“Park it; don’t either one of you move.” GP shifted his eyes from Secret to Junior. He hurried after Kitchie.

Blue Eyes picked up a copy of
White Heat
. He studied the woman on the alluring book jacket.
She’s sexy
. He held the book to the merchant. “What’s this about?”

“You bastard, where’s my money!” Kitchie grabbed his arm.

White Heat
fell to the sidewalk, revealing the author’s name—Oasis.

“Lady, I don’t know you.” He snatched his arm free. “And I don’t owe you shit.”

Kitchie clobbered him with the act-right stick, then jumped on his back. “Puto, you’re gonna give me my money.”

He started to spin in an effort to shake Kitchie.

Dammit. Kitchie!
GP screamed in his mind. He put Blue Eyes in a tight headlock so Kitchie wouldn’t fall and get hurt.

Junior put his holey sneakers to work on Blue Eyes’ shins. Secret clamped her teeth on to Blue Eyes’s forearm.

GP put enough pressure on the man’s neck to obstruct his breathing. “Man, give us our money.”

“Kiss…my ass. Take it as a loss.”

Onlookers formed a complete circle around the brawl.

“You black fucker, stop kicking me.” He tried to kick Junior back.

Kitchie’s first thought was to bite him as hard as she could, but she opted to pound the top of his head with a closed fist when she saw that Secret had beaten her to the punch. “I want my money.”

Junior kept kicking; GP wrestled Blue Eyes to the ground.

Secret pulled his blond hair. “Get in his ass, Mommy.”

Kitchie dug inside Blue Eyes’s pocket and removed his wallet while GP pinned him to the ground. “One way or the other, I’m gonna get mine.”

Whistles were blown loud enough for some onlookers to turn toward the direction of the sound. The Pattersons never heard the whistles.

Two officers dismounted their buckskin colts. The slim officer broke through the dense crowd.

The taller one pressed the button of his walkie-talkie. “This is downtown Horse Patrol Fourteen. I need some assistance; I have an assault in progress at Euclid and Ninth Street.”

Secret and GP sat in the backseat of one squad car; Kitchie and Junior were seated in another.

Kitchie glared at Blue Eyes through the window.

He held an ice pack to his head. “I swear, I was just walking down the street when she—” He jerked his head toward Kitchie. “—came from nowhere and attacked me with a pipe. She demanded my wallet and threatened to kill me if I didn’t give it to her. Then the rest of them jumped on me and kept punching me. And that GP guy took all my cash. They’re really crazy. It’s because of black people like them, public streets aren’t safe anymore.”

The slim officer jotted a few more notes, then closed his notepad. “After you get that bruise taken care of, we’ll need you to come down to the city jail and file a formal complaint if you wish to press charges.”

“As soon as I leave the hospital, I’ll be there.” He was assisted into an ambulance by a paramedic.

“Warrant?” GP was unsettled by the implication. “Are you sure you have the right Greg and Kitchie Patterson?”

“I don’t steal.” Kitchie massaged the bruises that had been left behind by the cuffs. “We haven’t stolen anything.”

“That’s what they all say. Convince the magistrate. You’re wasting your breath with me.” The desk officer glanced at them over his round spectacles.

“I want to see my children.”

“They’re fine, Mrs. Patterson. You’ll be arraigned within seventy-two hours, and your bonds will be set shortly after that. My advice to you is have someone come for your kids.” He adjusted his eyeglasses. “In a few hours, they’ll be turned over to the Department of Social Services. They’re too young to be released on their own.”

GP sighed with grief and kneaded his temples. He couldn’t believe that the Man upstairs would let life single him out to be treated so terribly. “Can we make a call?”

The officer led them to side-by-side cages with phones mounted to the walls. “Dial nine, then your numbers.” He locked them in and paused in front of Kitchie’s cage. “You have about five minutes before they come to process you on the women’s side.”

Tears trickled down her face as she punched in a telephone extension. “Mama.”

GP held his jeans up. He had been stripped of his belt and shoe laces. He dialed a number of his own. As the phone rang, he watched Kitchie’s depressing expressions.

And rang.

“Hello.” Trouble turned the car stereo down.

“Thank God, Jewels—”

“She’s away for a minute. I’m supposed to take a message.”

“Who is this?”

“…but, Mama—” Kitchie wiped her tears away. “—this doesn’t have anything to do with it.”

“There is nothing I can do, Kitchie. I begged you to not marry GP; you wouldn’t listen to me. He’s a loser. New York is entirely too far away for me to do something, even if I wanted to help.” Mrs. Garcia took a pan of homemade cornbread from the oven. “You told me you were grown when you left home. I’m sure you’re grown enough to work this out.”

“All that ain’t important.” Trouble eased away from a traffic light. “Me and Jewels is taking care of some business together, and I’m working the phone. You leaving her a message or what?”

“Did she leave to go out of town yet?” GP prayed that the answer would be no.

Trouble flashed back to when Jewels had
tossed a suitcase into the taxi’s trunk, and he remembered when her pretty woman had tossed her hips across the parking lot clutching a pillow. “Yeah. Who’s asking all the questions?”

“GP. When is the next time you’re gonna talk to her?”

“Tonight. Why, what’s up?” Trouble parked in Dirty’s driveway and honked the horn.

“Tell her that me and Kitchie is in jail, downtown on some bullshit. I need her to come get the kids; they’re down here, too. These people is threatening to turn them over to DSS if someone doesn’t come for them.”

Too damn bad
. “That’s fucked up.”

“Is there some way you can get in touch with her before later? This is important.” GP stared at Kitchie through the wire mesh and watched her eyeliner run.

“Nah, dawg. I gotta wait until she hits me. I’ll let her know, though. Keep your head up in there.” He hung up, then touched fists with Dirty when he climbed in the car. “The butch went on a little vacation. I say we stop by her apartment tonight.”

“I’m with that.”

GP placed the receiver on its cradle.