Push Comes to Shove (9 page)

“All right.” Trouble stroked his goatee. “Put that petty shit back, and let’s find the money. If we don’t, we lay on her like bandits and intercept the ball next Saturday.”

Dirty hunched his shoulders and stalked toward the bedroom.

Less than three minutes into their search, someone banged on the door.

Trouble froze; his eyes widened. Dirty tipped into the living room with a .40 caliber pointed at the door. His heart thumped in his chest.

More door banging.

“Ms. Jewels Madison, this is maintenance. We had a tub overflow in the apartment above yours. We hate to bother you, but I’m afraid we’re gonna need to get in to check for water damage.” An old salt-and-pepper-haired man nodded at his balding co-worker.

Baldy unclamped a large key ring from his waist and began his search for the key that would unlock Apartment 302.

Trouble slid the couch back in place and pointed to the fire escape. The sound of keys entering the mechanical lock registered in their ears. Dirty stuffed the big gun in his waist, then lifted the window.

The door was pushed open without turning the key. Baldy examined the doorjamb. “While we’re here, might as well fix this thing, too. Anybody can get in here.”

The old man picked up his tool bucket. “The more overtime, the more Viagra I can buy.” He pushed past Baldy.

Trouble eased the window shut and followed Dirty down the fire escape.

B
acon and scrambled eggs scented the air this morning, a once-a-week occurrence in the Reynolds’s Eastside Group Home. Secret sat in the gloomy cafeteria, holding Junior’s hand under the table. “Go on; eat your food.”

“I wanna go home with Mommy and Daddy.”

She squeezed his hand to reassure him. “They’re coming for us.”

“Hi, I’m Samone.” A high-yellow girl with two long cornrows placed her tray on the table and sat beside Secret. “Has anybody told you yet?”

“Told me what?” Now Secret’s legs began to shake underneath the table.

“Nah, you don’t know shit.” Samone bit a strip of bacon. “I’ll give it to you raw. Mr. Reynolds is evil. He hates everybody. Stay out of his way and away from his ‘off-limits’ room.”

“What’s that?” Secret posed the question, but she and Junior looked at Samone and waited for the response.

Samone forked some eggs and washed them down with milk. “Actually, it’s not a room. It’s a door that leads to the loading dock. He stores his caskets there.”

“Caskets, as in dead people caskets?” Secret blocked out the collective chatter from the other children in the cafeteria.

“Yeah, it’s his side hustle. He owns the shop next door; sells headstones, too.” She stopped eating and looked at Secret and Junior as if to say
I’m serious
. “But the most important thing is to do your chores, stay out of his way, and don’t break his rules.”

Junior leaned forward and looked past Secret. “What’s the rules?”

“Who knows? He makes them up as he goes. I’m always getting in trouble…well, breaking the rules by being out of bed some nights. You gonna eat that?”

Secret slid the tray, allowing Samone to get the bacon. “Then, why don’t you stay in bed if you know you’re gonna get in trouble?”

“It’s not like I want to break the stinking rules, but I sleepwalk sometimes.”

Denise, a rough-looking girl, sat down across from Secret. Two other girls stood behind her. Denise looked at Samone. “Go scrub a toilet or something.”

Secret watched Samone walk away without saying a word.

Denise snapped her fingers. “Hey, I’m over here. What you in for?”

“Huh?” Secret noticed that the rest of the children scattered throughout the cafeteria were watching them now.

“Y’all runaways, your parents abandon you, they died in a freak accident, y’all just fuck-ups or what?”

“No.” Secret rolled her eyes and popped her head with intended sassiness. “We won’t be here long.”

Denise laughed and her entourage followed suit. “One of
those
. Hate to burst your bubble; everyone is here long. You smoke?”

“No, I’m only nine.”

“You do now.” Denise put a pack of Newports in the empty slot that was soiled with bacon grease.

Junior’s chest rose and fell with anger. “Leave us alone.”

“Wooo, little brother to the rescue.” Denise’s rough features turned fiercer as she narrowed her focus. “You fucking punk! Say something else and you’ll be wearing black eyes to lunch.”

“Nobody’s gonna do shit to—”

“Shut up.” Denise leaned forward. “This is how it works around here. I’m running shit. Either you can be down with me and be cool like us…” She motioned to the girls behind her. “…or you and the tough guy can be our personal punching bags like the rest of these sissies.”

“How am I supposed to hang out with somebody whose name I don’t know?” Secret still held on to Junior’s hand.

Denise smiled. “Nise, that’s what my girls call me. What you go by?”

“Nise, I’m not scared of you. You might kick my butt, but you’re gonna know you’ve been in a fight if you mess with us. All we wanna do is go home.”

Mr. Reynolds walked in, his hard-bottom shoes thudding against the floor. The cafeteria fell silent.

The two girls, who had stood behind Denise, were now rushing to find seats.

Denise stared at Secret and lip-synced the words,
I’m gonna fuck you up
. “Promise.”

Secret sucked her teeth and shrugged.

The children did not dare make direct eye contact with the heavy man as he walked the aisles between the tables. At fifty-seven years old, he had earned his respect amongst children by his actions.

The thudding hard bottoms came to a stop behind Secret. “There’s a punishment for every rule broken under my roof.”

Denise smiled.

Mr. Reynolds put his liver-spotted hands in his trouser pockets. “I don’t believe in leniency, not even for new people, Secret Patterson.”

“What did I do?” Secret looked at Mr. Reynolds over a shoulder with surprise.

“There is no smoking under my roof. Cigarettes are forbidden.”

“These ain’t mine.” Secret glared at Denise.

Mr. Reynolds urged Secret from her seat when he grabbed her ear.

Junior didn’t let go of her hand.

“Sit down, boy!” Mr. Reynolds put his wrinkled face in Junior’s. “I’m sure you’ll do something stupid and get your turn.”

“What is it?” Hector’s Spanish accent boomed through the intercom.

“Buzz me in; it’s Miles. I came to straighten my hand with Squeeze.”

The glass door hissed. Miles put the skateboard under his broken arm, adjusted the backpack on his shoulder, and went inside. Once on the elevator, he turned the Walkman’s volume up a few notches and rode the mechanical box to the penthouse.

Hector was blowing a bubble when the elevator opened. He waited for Miles to step off. “Put your hands on the wall.” He frisked Miles and smiled when he saw the money inside the backpack.

Squeeze was lounging on the balcony, stimulated by the spectacular view of Lake Erie, when he heard Miles approaching.

Miles dropped the bag beside him. “Now tell me where my brother is. I know you know.”

“It’s a helluva morning to be in good health.” He pulled in a breath of air as if it were a piece of heaven. “Is it all there?”

“Every penny.” Miles took the headphones from his ears and let them rest around his long neck. “My mother is worried that something has happened to Jap. He’s been missing going on a week now. Please tell me where he is.”

“I would like to help you uncover your brother’s whereabouts,
but I don’t have a clue. He’s probably laid up somewhere. You know what I mean?”

Miles unconsciously fingered the cast and drifted back to the day Hector had broken his arm with a golf club. He could still hear Squeeze’s menacing voice in his head.
This time it was an arm, next time I’ll pluck a leaf from your family tree. Get my cash to me
.

The sun reflected off of the murky lake. Hector stood in the balcony’s entrance smacking on fruity-flavored chewing gum.

Miles’ shoulders sagged from the heavy tension. He wore a pained expression on his handsome face. “So you don’t know where Jap is?”

Squeeze squinted in the direction of the sun. “Who knows? Maybe he’ll pop up somewhere, you
dig?”
He turned to Miles. “It was a pleasure doing business with you. Get at me if you need another loan. Hector will see you to the door.”

“I’m through gambling.” He headed for the elevator.

Outside of the building, he jumped on top of his skateboard and rode it to an awaiting van three blocks away. He climbed inside the Astro van and tossed the cassette to Detective Crutchfield. “He knows where my brother is.”

Secret cried out each time the rawhide connected with her skin.

“Be still!” Mr. Reynolds jerked Secret’s arm and whacked her again. “You little bastards need a good ass cutting to keep you in line.” He whacked Secret for the last time. The strip of rawhide wrapped around most of her body. “While you’re under my roof, you’ll learn to follow rules. Do you understand?”

Secret fell to the bed and curled her partially nude body and cried.

Mr. Reynolds raised the rawhide over his head and brought it down on her fast. “Speak when you’re spoken to.”

She managed to push out a choppy, “Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, sir.”

Mr. Reynolds threw the rawhide beside her. “I’ll be back for that, next time you need a reality check. Get up and cover yourself. There are boys here. Be in my office in five minutes; it’s time I assign your chores.” He paused at the door. “Bring your brother.”

Secret dressed herself while praying that her parents would soon come for them. They had never given her a beating that intense. She thought about Junior and ran toward the cafeteria.

GP couldn’t stand to look across the conference table to see Kitchie handcuffed. He lowered his head and sighed. Kitchie was an emotional wreck. He could tell that she had spent the majority of last night bawling and stressing. This was the longest time they had ever spent apart since Junior’s birth. GP felt her eyes searching the small room for his, but he refused to make the connection.
You’re worthless; you’ll never amount to nothing
. Mr. Reynolds had invaded his thoughts.

“I’m Vivian Green. I’ve been appointed by the court to represent you.”

Kitchie might as well have been completely broken because she talked as if she were. “Could you tell me where my kids are?”

“They’re at the Eastside Group Home on Eddy Road.”

GP slammed his fists against the table and sprang to his feet. “What?” A folding chair fell back. “This shit can’t be happening!”

Mrs. Green jumped. Her heart began to sprint at the onset of GP’s unexpected outburst.

An overworked, droopy-eyed correctional officer rushed into
the attorney-client room. “What’s the problem? I don’t like to work for free money. Sit yourself down, Patterson.”

GP scowled at Droopy, wanting to throw his angry engine into Drive and run the man down.

“Boy, watch your eyes. You making me nervous.” Droopy wagged the point of a finger on one hand. With the other, he rested a thumb on his radio’s panic button. “Do what I tell you, sit yourself back down and relax some. I don’t want to terminate this attorney visit.”