Team Mom (9 page)

It took some heavy persuasion to convince Jarques that a day out with Coach to learn the art of shopping for a suit, along with all its accessories, was a step toward manhood that he needed to take sooner than later. Jarques used every excuse imaginable not to go. He even let Shonda and Coach know that he had a test during first period at school that he just couldn't miss. Shonda decided to let him go to school for the test and arranged for Coach to pick him up afterward for his day of enlightening.

On their day of shopping, Coach and Jarques walked out of the school together. Coach nodded at his new ride while at the same time putting his driver's license back in his pocket. He'd used it as identification to sign Jarques out of school.

“Wow. Whose car?” Jarques asked.

They both stood there admiring the ride.

“It's mine,” Coach said. He ran his hand over the hood.

Jarques said, “Look at the paint on it. It's shining . . . doesn't even look real.”

“Chevy Caprice. These are the new cars for detectives.”

Jarques walked around the car. “So why do you have it?”

“Hello. I'm a detective now.”

Jarques continued to walk around the car without looking up, as if Coach's comment didn't mean a thing. “Look at the tires on this thing. They look like they grip the road like suction cups or something.”

Coach hit the unlock button on the key fob. “Wait until you get inside and ride. Unbelievable. Let's go.” When Coach started up the car and told Jarques to buckle up, the sound of the engine made them both stop what they were doing and take notice. There was no denying the car's power. Coach pulled away, and Jarques began to look around the car's interior and get comfortable.

“How fast does it go?”

Coach looked at him. “One sixty or so. They told me at the garage that it's a V-eight with three hundred fifty-five horses.”

“Dang. What you need to go that fast for?”

Coach hesitated. “Hope I never find out.”

Coach realized the excitement of riding in such a beast of a car made it all but impossible for Jarques to discuss proper attire, like he'd planned on doing, so he abandoned that idea and they just enjoyed the ride all the way to their destination.

Coach pulled into the parking lot of Men's Fashions Shop.

“I can tell already that Macy's has more suits than this little place,” Jarques said.

“Really?”

“Yeah, this place is extra small.”

Jarques found out the shop was small in terms of its dimensions, but Macy's couldn't compare to what he saw inside. There were at least sixty rows of suits, jackets, ties, shoes, pants, and everything in between. Coach didn't have to say a word, because the look of amazement on Jarques's face was enough for him. His tailor, Butch, came over to greet them. He let them know that as soon as they found something they liked, he would be right over to take their measurements.

Jarques said, “Measurements? I'm, like, five feet eleven, Coach.”

“Not your height, boy. Your chest, shoulders, neck, sleeves, and waist. You are getting a tailored suit.”

“Tailored?”

“Yeah, they're going to size the suit according to your body dimensions so that you'll look like a million dollars.”

Jarques looked around at the suits. “I don't really need a suit to look like a million dollars.”

“Is that right?”

“Yup,” he confirmed with youthful confidence.

Coach said, “Well, what would make you look like a million dollars, J?”

Jarques looked around. “Some True Religion jeans maybe. They got that?”

“They got that? They got that?” Coach repeated.

“Yeah. Do they?”

Coach said, “Hell no, they ain't got that, and speak proper English, okay? This is a men's store that sells men's suits and accessories. Look around. There are no jeans, no T-shirts, and no damn sneakers. The clothing in this store gets you in the door, son.”

“What door?”

“The front door of opportunity. The door you'll one day walk through for an interview for a job. You can't walk into an interview with True Religion.”

Coach called the tailor over to take their measurements. He was having a good time and believed what he was doing would benefit Jarques in the long run. Looking and speaking like a gentleman would take him much further in life than getting in the habit of throwing on the latest style of jeans. It didn't take the young buck long to begin to understand what getting a tailored suit meant. Coach noticed that Jarques was enjoying himself, looking in all directions in the three-way mirror, as their tailor took his measurements for three suits after tuning the radio to his favorite station. Coach didn't have to persuade Jarques to take a good look at the shoes. Jarques liked two pairs as soon as he laid eyes on them. Coach was relieved the day was going so smoothly. However, when he answered his phone as he walked up to the cashier to pay for their items, all of that seemed to change in an instant.

The cashier rang up their items and then told Coach the damage. He gave her his credit card while trying to listen to what was being said by the person on the other end of the line at the same time. He could barely hear anything at all because there were sirens blaring and constant commotion in the background. When the background noise subsided, he finally had a chance to hear what was being said.

“They beat her, Coach. Those bastards beat her.”

“Hello? Who is this?”

“It's Theadore!”

“Tall? What's going on? Why all the sirens?”

“Ms. Lois was beaten,” he said.

Coach was shocked at the news and wanted to know what had happened.

“She came down to her house to get a few items, and not even fifteen minutes later I came down to see what was keeping her and found her beaten.” Mr. Tall paused, and Coach could hear him tell an officer on the scene her last name. “It's bad, Coach. She's real bad. I don't know if she's going to make it.”

Coach signed the receipt, got his credit card back, grabbed the bags with their shoes and accessories, and rushed to the car, with Jarques at his side. He made sure Jarques was buckled in his seat nice and tight before he flipped the switches for the siren on the Chevy. As they made their way to the scene, he didn't say much to Jarques. He did glance over at him a few times to make sure he was okay. His mind was focusing on the job and now this case. This was his assigned case now, handed down only the day before. It had taken off in a direction he hadn't imagined it would. He realized that the top brass wanted the break-ins and the threats handled, and he had given Lois his word that he would help find the bastards who were threatening the neighborhood and committing the robberies. And now she was on her way to the hospital.

Jarques held on to the handle above the passenger window when, for the first time, Coach pushed the gas pedal all the way to the floor and they could feel every one of the 355 horses gallop in unison down the open stretch of road.

When Coach arrived at the scene, there were about four police cruisers in front of the house. The Georgia Bureau of Investigation vans had arrived and the techs were more than likely inside, dusting the place for fingerprints and taking pictures.

“Aren't you going in?” Jarques said. His eyes were wide and observant.

Coach just sat there and watched the police activity. It seemed as though he was trying to get himself charged up for the next phase of his career, as a detective on the force.

“Yeah. Just taking a moment,” he explained.

Jarques said, “Someone dead inside?”

“No.”

“Then why all the police cars?”

“Something bad happened inside.”

Jarques was full of questions. “You know them or something?”

“Yeah.”

“Aren't you going to check it out?”

“I'm going to wait here until Coach Calvin comes to get you and take you back to school. Looks like I'll be here awhile.”

“What about practice?”

“Canceled.”

“Must be serious?” Jarques said.

“It is,” Coach confirmed.

Coach got a burst of adrenaline when he noticed a few cops gather together, exchanging comments. He wanted to rush out and join them, but he didn't want to leave Jarques alone in the car at a crime scene. He sat and wondered what they were talking about. How bad was Ms. Lois? Was she going to make it? Who the fuck had the balls to walk into an elderly woman's house and beat her up? The police force hated this type of shit. Whoever did it was going to get their fuckin' ass beat before they were read their rights. Fuck that.

“I don't know why you even like this job . . . besides this car,” Jarques said.

Coach kind of chuckled. It was more like he blew the comment off. He was heated and was ready to go inside. He took out his phone. “I'm helping people, Jarques.”

“But you can get killed helping people. Crazy.”

Coach thought about the possibility. “Yeah.” The phone connected after he dialed.

“Calvin, where are you?”

“Coming right around the corner, man. I got you,” Calvin said.

Coach stepped out of the car and waited for Calvin.

Jarques opened the passenger door. The commotion and action here were much better than at the movies. He saw the flashing lights, the quickly moving cops, and that yellow tape around the trees that sectioned off the location of the crime. There were even people standing around, and a few were even crying. Then a television crew pulled up.

Calvin arrived about a minute later. He parked and walked toward Coach, checking out the scene as he went.

“Wow, man, looks like you have a situation up in here,” Calvin said. “When I first drove up, I thought all these cops were over at Tall's.”

“This is his friend's house,” Coach said.

“Lois?”

“Yeah.”

“I don't see Tall. Is he all right?”

“Yeah. He went to the hospital with her,” Coach informed him.

Calvin looked over at Jarques, and while he and Coach continued to chat, Jarques turned and looked into the crowd of onlookers. He locked eyes with the same group of guys that he had noticed the night he came out of the store with candy while Coach was waiting for him in the car. It was much too late to act as though he didn't see them.

“Hey, take J back to school for me,” Coach said

Calvin said, “Yeah, sure, man. No problem. What about practice?”

“Cancel it, Calvin. I know we have a big one coming up, but today it's not going to happen.”

“Got you,” Calvin said. “I will call you when he walks through the doors.”

“Cool,” Coach said.

Before he went into Ms. Lois's home, now a crime scene, Coach looked over at the neighbors who had gathered around. He scanned their faces because he happened to be facing them as he moved in the direction of the house, not because he found any of them suspicious. After taking two steps into the house, Coach couldn't help but think of Ms. Lois. Her home was a reflection of her feisty character and was updated for its age.

“I thought your ass had taken that car back and switched back into that gotdamned PR gear,” the watch commander said from behind.

Coach turned around. “Nah, I'm here.”

“I see,” he said. “And I see that this is your shit. The shit you were running your mouth about when you were in your community service mode.”

Coach was looking around the place and did not glance at his brother in-law. “Yeah, just like I told you. The threats, the crimes of these motherfuckers are real.”

“Gotdamn right, they're real. If that old lady makes it, I will know for sure there's a God,” he said.

Coach gazed at him hard. He didn't really want to know how bad Lois had been beaten. “Let me get started on this shit, man. I already feel bad enough,” he said.

The watch commander began to walk away. “Oh, yeah, you need to hurry your ass up in here.”

“Why?”

“Notice of security just came down. Every fuckin' swinging dick and hard nipple is reporting at schools to show our presence.”

“Geez, man, for what?” Coach asked.

“Fuckin' shooting this morning in Connecticut. Fuckin' bastard went into a school and shot up some precious babies. Looks like a slaughterhouse, from what I hear.”

“School kids?”

“Smallest ones around,” he told Coach.

Coach remained quiet and tried to process it all.

The watch commander gave him a moment, then said, “Yeah, I know. Who can talk after news like that? Look, I kept Ben Hill open for you since that's where most of your boys on your team are out of. Let me know when you are on-site.” He began to walk away. “Just crazy, man.”

Coach thought about it. “Yeah, got it.”

Coach pulled his writing pad and pen out of his suit jacket pocket. He already knew the drill of watching his steps and not fucking up evidence. So he just stood close to the door while trying to get a sense of what took place here. He ventured into the living room, where most of the GBI forces were, and that was where he saw the blood, a pool of it, along with a lady's shoe, which was lying near the kitchen entrance. Coach made sure he didn't get in the way as he approached a crime tech who was leaning over a portion of the blood, collecting evidence.

Coach said, “What you got there?”

“Some of her face,” the tech said. “Damn ass wipes. Who the hell beats an old woman like this?”

“Did you get a chance to see her before she was taken away?”

“Just a glance. Not good, man.”

“What type of chance you give her?”

“Not a chance in hell, if you ask me, but hell, I'm not a doctor, so who knows?”

Coach hesitated, then looked around. “What about some prints? Tell me they left some prints.”

“Not one yet. But I got some fiber from that chair over there.”

“What is it?”

“Looks like some material from some jeans.”