by Tiana Laveen
His grandmother used to call him, that… a damn ticking time bomb. When she’d say it, he’d ignore her. Now playing those old tapes back in his mind hit different.
“I liken you to a quiet storm, a tornado the day before everything hits the fan. Your nickname should be that instead: ‘Quiet Storm.’” They smiled at one another. “I suppose Tyrant fits, too. According to what I’ve heard over the years about you, I can see why you took it on. I don’t know the history behind that nickname. We all have nicknames; some are ironic, like callin’ a little dude, ‘Giant.’ Some though are a hundred percent true.”
“A tyrant, by definition, Leon, is a cruel and oppressive leader. I read that in the dictionary years ago.”
“Is that why you’ve got it tatted up real big as shit on yo’ back?” Leon smiled as he put down another card.
“No… somebody I grew up around nicknamed me that back when I was like twelve or thirteen and it stuck. His name was Joe, and everybody was scared of him. He took a liking to me for some reason. After he started calling me that, everyone did the same. It’s because they said I did what I wanted to do, didn’t care about peer pressure but people would follow me, copy me, try to be me – just like you said earlier. But I’ve always kept most people at arm’s length. Guys will try to get close to you just to destroy you.” He dealt another card. “You can’t trust anyone out here, Leon. The closest friends will steal from you, try to fuck your woman and burn your house down…”
“Do you believe what people say about you? Can you separate the man from the myth?”
“Hmmm, that’s an interesting question. When I get angry, I sometimes get violent. When I get violent, I can be cruel. I don’t just shoot someone. I go and push my finger in the bloody hole where the bullet entered their body. Press on it, make it ten times worse. If I’m beatin’ your ass, I’m sometimes draggin’ it out… so you can feel that shit… so you can come back from the edge of death and almost die, over and over and over again.” The two men looked at one another, and it felt as if an understanding like never before formed between them. “I don’t discuss things like this usually, but, since I’m leaving and you asked, there you go. So, as far as me believing the nickname and living up to it? I guess based on the charges I’ve come up against, how I carry myself and the turn of this conversation, you can decide that for yourself. Uno.”
“I’ve already made a decision about it.”
“And?”
“The jury is still out.” Hunter smirked at the man as they started a new round, shuffling the cards just so. “Your problem is that you don’t understand how important you are.”
“I know how important I am.”
“All right, well, let me word it another way. You got something special about you, Hunter, but you’re blockin’ your blessings with all of this wasted energy, fury, hatred in ya heart. You ain’t hurtin’ nobody but yo’self when you step out here on these streets and do what you do.” The older man grunted. “All them guys you choked out, you was actually chokin’ out yo’self. All them guys you stabbed up, robbed, shot, you was doin’ all that to yo’ damn self, and you STILL standing. Can’t nobody tell me God ain’t real, despite my circumstances.”
“God? That’s funny. I’m still trying to figure out where the hell God was when I … never mind.” He bit his lower lip and swallowed his emotions.
“God been with you the whole time, man. You’d be dead if He wasn’t.” They locked eyes. “He keepin’ you around for something else. You haven’t completed your task here yet. None of us have; that’s why we’re still breathing. I’m not tryna preach to you, just trying to talk to you because this is the last time we’re going to be close like this if I have anything to do with it. God kept everybody up in here alive, Hunter. That’s saying something.”
“That means nothing. Being alive but fucked up is not really being alive.”
“We don’t have to stay fucked up though, man! Ya here! That means it wasn’t your time. You’ve got a story to tell. According to you, you ain’t got a woman, no kids, no nothin’.”
“I don’t. My girlfriend and I broke up after my second year here. No children that I know of… it’s just me. Exactly how I like it.” He threw a card on the table.
“Well, good. Clean slate. You can have all of that, a family if you want it, a job, happiness, if you change your mind about being alone, and do the right thing this time around. As much as I like you, I don’t wanna ever see yo’ ass again. You gotta stop tryin’ to kill yo’self, man. You tryna commit suicide and don’t even know it.”
“I’m not trying to off myself, Leon. See, this is why I said you don’t really know me. You’re a smart man, I’m not going to say any differently, but you, like so many others, see in people what you want to see in them. I take everyone as they are. Most people are foul. As far as the suicide thing, I never wanted to die. I know I’ve put myself in messed up situations sometimes, but—”
“That’s not what I mean. This is the most you’ve spoken since you’ve been here.” The man smiled sadly. “I like this. You’re a good conversationalist. You should talk more.”
“No. The more you talk, the more things people can use against you.”
“See, that right there is what I’m referring to. There’s a time and a place for that guard to be up, Hunter. This ain’t it. Stop hurting so deep on the inside.” The man placed his hands along his belly to stress his point. “Twisting that knife deeper and deeper into your soul, so far that you can’t turn it loose. You prayin’ you bleed out. For most, that type of mental and emotional pain will fuck you up. For you… you don’t know no different it seems. You mistake agony for feeling good, ’cause it’s all you’ve known. It’s normal to you. You have never gotten deep with me about things like that, but I know somethin’ messed you up. Something tore you to pieces. When someone is as mistrusting as you and does the thangs you do without blinkin’ an eye, it means you tryna fill a void. You don’t know what real love feels like, Hunter. When you go home tomorrow, you get your ass out there and do your damnedest to find out…”
Leon won the game and they played a couple more times until the older man was fast asleep and snoring. The following morning, Hunter was still wide awake, his adrenaline rushing. Finally, as he leaned forward on his cot, clutching a book Leon had given him, ‘Doing Time with God’ by Bill Dyer, a guard approached. Cocking his head to the side, the tall, dark-complexioned man offered a twisted smile.
“It’s your lucky day, Wolfe.” Hunter placed the book beside him and got to his feet. Leon did the same, groggy as he was, and put on a big sleepy smile – as if he were getting released, too. They gave each other a pound and a loose hug.
“Don’t fuck up, man, and end up coming back here,” Leon warned, his small black eyes framed with crow’s feet and decades of agony.
“I’ll try not to.”
“Don’t try. Just do.”
“You can have my stuff, Leon. I’m just taking my clothes, headphones, and mp3 player. The food, books, all of it is yours.”
“For real?” Leon offered a toothless grin.
“Yes. Take it. The soup, noodles, crackers, cookies, blank journal, chips, toothpaste and bag of pens, all of it. I’ll be all right. You need it more than me.”
“Thanks, man, good lookin’ out. I really appreciate it.”
He knew Leon didn’t have much, but they always shared with one another. Leon was one of the few cats in the prison who didn’t keep shit going. He kept his portion of their cell clean, didn’t try any sneaky shit, and had a great sense of humor despite his circumstances. He pretty much kept to himself after being hit with a twenty-five-year sentence for his role in an armed robbery and second degree murder of two bank clerks. He’d had a bad heroin habit when he’d committed most of his crimes. His rap sheet wasn’t nearly as long as Hunter’s, but his crimes were considered more diabolical. He tended to enjoy going after governmental facilities, fought with police in lengthy stand-offs, threatene
d officials. A definite no-no, especially if committing crimes while Black.
The cell door opened and Hunter stepped out. He waved one more time to Leon and within minutes, he was collecting his items that had been taken away from him many years prior when he was first arrested on the weapons charge. He looked in the bag filled with stuff he’d almost forgotten he owned.
A pair of jeans, black coat and long-sleeved shirt, white socks, burgundy boxer briefs, work boots, chain belt, a silver skull ring, $372.16 in cash, half a pack of cigarettes, a cheap yellow lighter that no longer worked, and his now expired I.D. and driver’s license. The guard stood with him as he waited for his ride. This time, it wouldn’t be his grandparents picking him up. They typically did, and each time they came, their enthusiasm for his return lessened. He couldn’t say he blamed them, so he didn’t call them at all. His half-brother, Justin, who was three years younger, would be driving up at any given moment. The two had never been that close until the past year. What point was there in hating one another? Neither of them has asked to be where they were. Their mothers had made a choice; they were the byproduct. End of story.
“So, what do you plan to do until we see you again, Hunter?” The guard smirked as he rocked back on his heels.
“Just take care of some business.” He peered up into the sky and was damn near blinded. Seeing the sun from the outside, without walls or barriers blocking him, felt surreal. Something about this release felt different. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but it just did. He squinted at the bright and pretty sight, fighting a smile.
“You’ll be back. Guys like you always come back. Either that or they end up in a body bag.”
He just kept staring up at the sky. I wonder if Heaven is really up there? Probably not.
It wasn’t long before Justin pulled up in a baby blue old Cadillac with some vintage Dayton Family, ‘I’m a Gee’, blaring out of the speakers. The vehicle belonged to a friend of his, and he’d borrowed it so he could pick him up in style. The young man was dressed in a stark white tee, his dark brown hair cut in a low fade like a Black guy’s, and he flashed a grin as he pulled up front, a cigarette dangling out the side of his mouth. The guard rolled his eyes then shook his hand.
“You take care of yourself, man. Good luck. I mean that.” He walked away as Hunter thanked him.
Opening the passenger door, Hunter tossed his small bag inside, sat down, and snapped his seatbelt in place.
“’Sup, man! Bro is back!!!” Justin laughed as if something was funny as fuck. As if his life was finally enriched beyond belief. “Excited? What you been up to today?”
Corny fucker… but he’s my blood, and at least he came up here to get my ass…
“Fresh out of prison, you silly ass fucker,” Hunter muttered. “What do you mean what’s up and what I’ve been doing today? Hoping these people didn’t change their minds and yank me back inside, that’s what. Let’s go.” Hunter scratched under his chin as he looked around, his heart beating a bit faster as he finally saw roads, people, restaurants, women. He smelled barbecue in the air, grilling burgers and gasoline, too. Justin reached between his legs into a crumpled brown paper bag full of drinks. He handed him a chilled bottle of water. Hunter was relieved it wasn’t a bottle of beer. Against the law or not, he wasn’t certain he could refuse that.
“Hunter, I got all the shit you need at the apartment. Man, for the next few months while you get on your feet, I got you.” He tossed his cigarette out the window.
“That’s cool. Thanks.” Hunter surveyed the scenery as he leaned back in the passenger seat. He wondered what all those strangers walking by were thinking.
“My girl went out and got some beer, wine coolers, everything, man. She made some tacos, enchiladas, spaghetti, all kinds of shit. You know Miranda is Puerto Rican and Italian; she cooked all of it up straight up buffet style!” Justin cackled again as he rocked excitedly back and forth, acting like a damn idiot. Hunter tossed him a glance. He and the guy didn’t look much alike. Justin reminded him of Jon B., the R&B singer. He had always acted Black, though Hunter sometimes wasn’t certain that ‘acting Black’ was owned by just African Americans.
He himself listened to mostly rap music, but people had cultural inclinations. His brother however was notorious for using their lingo, wearing the over-sized sagging pants and timbs … for whatever reason. They hadn’t been raised around a lot of Black people. In fact, there were several well-known White supremacists where they grew up, west of the Saginaw Bay. It never really bothered Hunter that Justin behaved this way – people could act however the fuck they wished. Still, it was amusing.
“I told ’er to invite some of her friends over, too. I’m the pussy delivery man.” His brother shot him a glance and winked. “It’ll arrive fast or it’s free. Lot of her single friends are a buncha hoes, man. Take your pick. Pipin’ hot, man.”
Usually hoes hang together…
“Thanks, Justin. I just need a place to crash for a short while as I get some things in order. I won’t be in your way too long.”
“We’re family! That’s what family does. Oh! I got some blunts at the crib too, man, some friends comin’ over. We can party hard, man!”
‘Real With This’ by Dayton’s Family came on. Hunter turned the volume up as far as it would go. It had been his favorite group back in the day. The band was out of Flint, Michigan.
Bobbing his head to the beat, his face split in a grin, Justin offered him a joint.
“Nah, I’m good, man.” Justin smoked it himself as they made their way down the street blasting the music that made him feel like a kid again, even if for just a moment.
They began to rap the lyrics together.
“…All up in his baby’s mama! Real wit’ dis! Real wit’ dis! Always comin’ real wit’ dis!…”
They laughed, slapped hands, drank and rode out.
“I haven’t heard this in years, man!” Hunter laughed, feeling good all over. “You know what I like, huh? Hey, you gotta cigarette?” His brother nodded and pointed to the glove compartment. Hunter saw a pack of Dunhills inside of it and a green lighter lying next to it. Within seconds, he had the thing lit. He hadn’t had a cigarette in over four years.
The sense of calm wouldn’t last long, but he’d relish it while he had it. Good music, a place to lay his head at least for a while, his brother willing to help him out a bit. A fresh start.
I wasn’t going to give Reynolds the satisfaction, but he was right. What the fuck am I going to do? I can’t go back to prison! I could very well never get back out again… too many charges. I’ve already pressed my luck. Where am I going to get some money though? Who the hell is going to hire me? I mean, I’m good at some things. I can play the guitar…I’ve got some masonry experience…I’m a good fighter, got a little formal boxing experience, too… I’m a good pool player… archery. Did I really just think about archery?
Unless I’m gettin’ a gig as Valentine’s Day Cupid, that doesn’t amount to shit. Let’s see, I can fix shit, including older model cars. I’m real good at that. I know how to install cabinets, TVs ’nd shit. But I need some real work. What would I go to school for? I have no idea… The shit I’m really good at is illegal. This is so fucked up. The system is set up like this on purpose but I have to try ’nd find a way out of this cycle. There’s a tiny loophole somewhere and I have to squeeze through it. Leon said everyone needs someone or they go back to prison. I don’t have nobody, though. Going back to prison is not an option. I was losing my mind in there…
Noah hasn’t been returning my calls. If he’s locked up again I’d know by now. My grandparents are old and tired, my ex-girlfriend is still pissed at me and I don’t give two shits about her either. My girl before her, Marissa, is married now, I heard. Can’t call her if that’s true. Definitely not callin’ Jody even though she wants me back… She’s been writing me since word got out that I was getting released. I can’t trust her ass. She told me that kid was mine and the DNA test pr
oved it was someone else’s. I knew it all along… the baby looked nothin’ like me plus the timing didn’t add up.
I don’t have shit to say to ’er after that stunt she pulled. I’m just out here, but I have to figure this shit out. I’ve got a little money but it won’t get me far. I can’t live with Justin, his kids and his girlfriend forever, and I don’t want to. I want my own shit. I need an apartment, a car, food… money for bills. It’ll be winter soon; hard to get around without wheels. Fuck. Grandma said she wanted me to call her though… NO. I refuse to go to my grandparents for help – they’ve done enough. I’ve taken them through a lot of shit already…
Old habits die hard.
All Hunter knew was a life of violence and crime. He’d been in and out of the system since the age of fourteen, and got his first real bid at eighteen – that one stuck.
Sixteen years of this shit. I’ve been more behind bars than I have been out in the open. Free. Shit… Something has to give.
Thoughts of prison swirled in his head. How horrible and nightmarish the place was, but not everything within those walls was so bad. One shining light had been his bunkmate…
Leon had left him with some food for thought, shared some words the night before his release that he couldn’t shake loose.
Addicted to pain? Isn’t that some shit… Am I?
He shoved the notion away and focused on the food he’d be eating soon, the music that was loudly playing in that car, and the sweet scent in the air wafting in from a cracked window.
I gotta figure this shit out, but I can’t follow someone else’s blueprint. I have to do it MY way…
CHAPTER TWO
Best Friends till the End
“Tiiiisha! Where are you?” Nita huffed as she bumped the kitchen backdoor closed with her hip. “I told you ’bout playing that ratchet music!” She locked the door and stumbled forward, exhausted and relieved to finally be home. “Is your homework even done?” she called out, not expecting an answer. Some female rapper on the song belted, ‘Real ass bitch give uh fuck ’bout a nigga…’ loud and in stereo. She shook her head, sick of it already.
