by K'wan
“I’m grown, and I don’t have to explain myself to you! It’s like you kids keep forgetting who’re the children, and who’s the parent.”
“Then maybe you should try acting like one,” Yvette said with a dismissive chuckle.
The room got quiet. It wasn’t unusual for Yvette to talk back to their mom, but whatever she had drunk or smoked had her especially brazen that day. Jonas could feel the storm brewing. Things were about to go bad. He scooted a little farther down the couch so he was out of the way of whatever was about to happen but would still have a good view of the action.
“You know, I’m getting a little tired of your funky attitude, Yvette. I’m out here in the streets chasing a dollar to keep a roof over your head and food in your belly. The least your ungrateful ass can do is try to show a little gratitude!” Janette shouted.
“Ha! The only thing you’re in the streets chasing is that no-good nigga you lay up with and a blast!” Yvette snarled.
And there it was. The invisible line in the sand had finally been crossed.
Janette went rigid. A stunned look crossed her face as if the words had slapped her into a state of shock. Water formed in the corners of her eyes, and for a second, Jonas thought his mother was going to cry. Instead, she let out a feral yell and attacked.
The sound of the slap resonated through the house like a gunshot. Yvette hadn’t even realized she had been hit until she bounced off the rickety china cabinet and broke the glass doors. Yvette righted herself enough to mount a defense. Jonas’s eldest sister was nice with her hands, but Janette was seasoned. She had been battle tested from decades of street fights. She rained punches all over her daughter’s head and face, busting her nose and spraying the living room with blood. Yvette crumbled to the ground, defenseless, but it didn’t stop Janette from pressing her assault. Yvette had stopped fighting, but Janette kept swinging. She was like a woman possessed.
“That’s enough!” Jonas shouted, terrified that his mother was going to kill his sister. If Janette heard her son, she gave no sign. She just kept swinging. Finally, Jonas grabbed his mother about the waist and pulled her away. “Mama, enough!”
Janette blinked twice as if she had just awakened from a bad dream. Her shirt was torn, exposing one saggy breast, and the knuckles of her hands were scraped from when they had connected with Yvette’s teeth. She looked at her daughter, lying on the floor dazed, and tears welled in her eyes at the sight of what she had done. It was then that Janette let loose the tears that she had been holding back. “I’m sorry.” She reached for Yvette, but the girl recoiled. It was from a mixture of fear and disgust.
“Don’t touch me,” Yvette snapped, pulling herself to her feet. Her legs were shaky, so she almost fell back down, but Jonas grabbed her under the arms and held her up.
“You okay?” he asked. Yvette’s nose was bleeding, and a purple bruise appeared under her eye.
“I’m fine; get off me.” She pushed him away.
“Let me get you some ice,” Janette offered. She felt terrible for losing it on her daughter.
“I don’t want shit from you!” Yvette snapped. She collected herself, stormed down the hall to the room she shared with her sisters, and slammed the door.
For a while, Jonas and his mother sat in the living room, neither saying a word. The only sound came from the lighter flicking while Janette chain-smoked. Glass and blood were all over the living room. Janette sat on the couch smoking and rocking back and forth. “I didn’t mean to,” she finally said. “I would never hurt any of my babies. I know I ain’t the best mother, but I love you all. You know that, right?”
“I know, Mama,” Jonas assured her. “Let me get this stuff cleaned up. Jo-Jo will be home soon, and she don’t need to see this.” He was in the kitchen getting the broom to sweep up the glass when he heard a loud crashing sound. At first, Jonas thought his mother and sister were going for round two, but he realized the noise wasn’t coming from inside the apartment. He rushed to the front door and snatched it open without thinking. What he saw both startled and amused him.
He found his mother’s boyfriend, Slick, clawing his way across the hallway floor. It looked like he had almost made it to the door, but the massive hand clutching his pant leg had stopped him. The hand belonged to Bruiser. He was a local thug who had a reputation as a head buster and general asshole. Bruiser got his kicks from dishing out pain, and from the looks of things, Slick was about to get himself a nice helping. Bruiser was a dog, who attacked on command. The person who usually gave this command was standing near the top of the stairs, looking on gleefully.
Eight-Ball got his name not because of his striking resemblance to an actual eight ball: short, fat, and black with a clean-shaven head and flat nose. Nor had it come from his skill at billiards, though he was quite good at the game. He spent a good chunk of his childhood hanging out around pool halls uptown and in the Bronx, hustling people out of money. This is what led to the incident in which he acquired the moniker. He was about 13 years old at the time. He had made the mistake of trying to cheat a man out of his money and got caught. When the man called him on it and demanded his cash back, Eight-Ball refused. The man had him by at least twenty years and easily that many pounds, but Eight-Ball had heart. Still, he knew he would need an edge, so he used the only thing he had at his disposal: a billiard ball. Eight-Ball slipped the ball into a sock and proceeded to beat the man to death with it. He ended up being sent to a youth detention center until his eighteenth birthday. When he was released to the streets, he worked for a while as hired muscle. This lasted until he had saved up enough money to get himself a package and switched his hustle. He had been selling drugs ever since.
“Where you running to?” Bruiser dragged Slick across the floor.
“Come on, man. Cut me a break!” Slick pleaded.
“I’ll cut your fucking throat, is what I’ll cut!” Eight-Ball produced a knife. His voice was nasal, sounding like he always had a cold. This came from his nose being broken so many times that his sinuses were permanently damaged. “You picked the wrong nigga to steal from, Slick.”
“It’s not my fault. If anything, blame the little shit who gave me the package. I’m an addict. What did he expect me to do with it?” Slick tried to reason with him. He hadn’t meant to run off with the package he’d been given to sell, but the kid’s naiveté and the monkey on his back made it too sweet of an opportunity to pass up.
“You trying to get cute?” Bruiser kicked Slick in his stomach with so much force that he coughed up blood.
As Slick clutched his ribs, trying to suck in air, he realized that his remark wasn’t the smartest, but it was the only play he had. There was no doubt in his mind that Eight-Ball was going to let Bruiser kill him unless he figured a way out of the mess he’d gotten himself into. This was about the time when he noticed Jonas standing in the doorway, and it was the one time he had ever been happy to see the boy.
“C’mon, man. Don’t do this to me in front of my kid!” Slick pleaded.
When Eight-Ball’s beady black eyes landed on Jonas, Jonas felt his bowels shift. There was something about the man’s gaze that made him very afraid, with good reason. Eight-Ball had killed quite a few people that he knew of, including kids. Eight-Ball studied him for a time. He was waiting to see if Jonas would try to plead for Slick’s life. Whether the plea would move Eight-Ball was still up for debate. Jonas wasn’t quite sure why, but something about knowing he could potentially have the power over whether Slick lived or died made him feel giddy. It was an alien feeling, and he found that he rather liked it. Jonas looked down at Slick and thought of all the times he had been a dick to him, or things in the house came up missing, and then he turned and went back in the house leaving Slick to his fate.
“What’s going on out there?” Janette asked Jonas.
“Nothing,” he lied. Janette didn’t buy it. She brushed past Jonas toward the door, and he fell in step behind her.
“Oh my God!” Janette gasped when she saw
her bloodied boyfriend. Bruiser was in the process of dragging him down the stairs. “Let him be!” She rushed to Slick, but Eight-Ball shoved her back.
“Mind your own business, Janette. This nigga took my shit and ain’t got my money. He gots to go,” Eight-Ball told her.
“Wait . . . just wait.” Janette rushed into the apartment. Jonas watched as she clawed through the pile of clothes on the bed until she found her purse. She emptied it and only found twenty-three dollars, some loose tobacco, and an empty dope bag. She darted back into the hallway and offered the crumpled bills to Eight-Ball.
Eight-Ball frowned before slapping the money from her hand. “Bitch, this ain’t even half what this nigga owes me.”
“Just give me a day or so, and I can get the rest. I swear!” Janette promised.
“Maybe we can take it in trade?” Bruiser eyed Janette hungrily.
Janette then realized that her breast was still exposed through her torn shirt and moved her hand to cover herself. “Eight, how long you known me? If I say I’m gonna get you the money, then I’ll get it.”
Eight-Ball weighed it. “Janette, you was always nice to me when I was a little nigga out here. On the strength of that, I’m gonna give this pussy that you call a man a pass. I’ll be back here tomorrow, and I’m gonna get what’s owed to me—one way or another.” He stroked her cheek with one of his fat fingers. “We gone.” He started down the stairs.
Bruiser gave Slick another kick for good measure, then turned to Janette. “I kinda hope he doesn’t come up with the money. I heard you got the best head in the neighborhood,” he laughed and followed his boss.
Once the threat had passed, Janette rushed to Slick. She cradled his head in her lap and began to weep softly. “My baby, my beautiful baby. What did they do to you?”
It both hurt and angered Jonas to watch his mother heap the attention onto Slick that she never seemed to have time to show her own children. It was at that moment something occurred to Jonas about Slick. He was weak. A man was supposed to love and protect his family, to set an example for the kids watching him to follow, but Slick did none of these things. He was no example for anyone to follow . . . only a worthless junkie who didn’t deserve to live. A part of him wished that Bruiser and Eight-Ball had killed him, and then his mother would finally be free of whatever spell he had cast over her. But knowing Janette, she’d just find another Slick to take his place. Jonas could no longer stand to look at them, so he went into the house and closed the door. He had shit to do.
Chapter Ten
By the time Sweets came home with Jo-Jo, Jonas and Yvette had managed to get the house restored to some sort of normalcy. Of course, Jo-Jo noticed the broken china cabinet and questioned how it had happened. Jonas lied and told her he had tripped and fallen into it. She teased him for the rest of the day about having two left feet. While Jo-Jo might’ve been easy to fool, Sweets was not.
“What the hell happened here?” Sweets asked Jonas, once she had Jo-Jo settled at the kitchen table doing her homework.
“Mommy and Yvette got into it.” Jonas went on to give her the short version of the brawl that had taken place in the living room. He left out the part about him getting suspended because he didn’t feel like hearing her mouth.
“I swear that girl is on the fast track to nowhere.” Sweets shook her head sadly. Her sister was out of control, and she was seriously starting to worry about her. “Must’ve been some hell of a fight. I saw the blood in the hallway.”
“Oh nah, that isn’t Yvette’s blood. That’s courtesy of Slick,” Jonas said with a slight grin.
“Slick?”
“Yeah, your boyfriend’s boss came through here and kicked his ass for having sticky fingers. I wish they had killed that muthafucka!” he spat.
“Jonas, you know we don’t wish death on anyone, regardless of what they’ve done,” Sweets scolded him. “How much does he owe this time?”
Jonas shrugged. “I don’t know. It was enough for Bruiser to beat him damn near to death. Of course, Mama promised to pay him back.”
“When is that woman going to learn to stop getting involved in his bullshit?” Sweets wondered aloud.
“When he gets himself, or both of them, killed.”
“Jonas!”
“I ain’t wishing death, Sweets. I’m just keeping it real. Eight-Ball ain’t nothing to fuck with,” he said. It was something everybody in the neighborhood knew all too well.
“Maybe I should talk to Drew,” Sweets suggested.
“I don’t want you taking shit from him. That’s what got us into this mess in the first place,” Jonas said.
“I’m not talking about taking anything from anybody. I only meant that maybe he could talk to Eight-Ball and see if he can buy Slick some time,” Sweets explained.
“You’ve got more faith in him than I do. Eight-Ball is the one putting money in his pocket. Drew ain’t gonna stick his neck out for us, even if he is your boyfriend.”
“I wish you would stop saying that. Drew isn’t my boyfriend; we’re just friends.” Sweets downplayed their relationship.
“Don’t bullshit me, Sweets. You think I haven’t noticed y’all creeping around? Him walking you home from school. You always sneaking up to the ave. to hang out with him. You’ve spent more time in front of that chicken shack in the last few weeks than you have the whole time we’ve been living on this block.”
Sweets wanted to argue, but Jonas had a point. She and Drew had been spending a lot of time together lately. A few days out of the week, he would walk her to and from school, always made sure she had money for snacks and had even taken her to the movies a few nights ago. She wouldn’t say they were in a relationship, but they were something. “He’s not my boyfriend” was all she could think to say.
“Well, whatever he is, I think it would be a bad idea to involve him,” Jonas said. It wasn’t that Jonas thought Drew wouldn’t help. He knew that he would if it was within his power. Drew was a drug dealer, but he was a good dude. He just didn’t want to see the dope boy get his hooks into his sister.
“Raf! Yo, Raf!” Jonas heard someone calling him from the window. He went over and looked out to see Ace and Mula in front of the building. “You ready?”
“I’ll be right down,” Jonas told him.
“And where are you going?” Sweets asked. Whenever Ace came around to get him, trouble usually followed.
“Outside to chill with my friends for a few.” Jonas headed to his room to snatch his coat. Sweets followed him.
“Don’t be gone too long. Dinner will be ready in an hour,” she said.
“I told you I won’t be gone but a few. Just wrap my plate, and I’ll heat it when I come in.” Jonas shrugged into his coat. He patted the pocket to make sure he had the brass knuckles he’d bought from Sticky earlier that day. He’d tucked them into his underwear when security plucked him from the riot, so they never found them.
Sweets knew her brother better than most. Something wasn’t right. “Jonas, I don’t know what you’re up to, but please promise you’ll be careful.”
Jonas flashed her his most confident smile. “You know me better than that, Sweets,” he said, then darted out the door before she could press him further.
“I do, and that’s what has me worried,” she whispered to the empty room.
Chapter Eleven
When Jonas got outside, Ace was pacing back and forth impatiently, as he was known to do when something was about to go down. He was wearing black jeans and a black hoodie, with low cut Timberland Chukkas.
Mula was wearing an oversized army-fatigue suit like he was about to go off to war. He leaned on a wooden baseball bat with an anxious look on his face. Everybody was where they were supposed to be except Prince.
“His mom put him on lockdown after that shit y’all pulled at school,” Ace answered the question on Jonas’s face. “I heard you broke that kid’s jaw.”
“He got what he had coming,” Jonas said as if it were no big de
al. In truth, he had been terrified that he was going to go to jail for what he had done to Bo, but surprisingly, Bo refused to press charges. Jonas still didn’t like him, but he had a newfound respect for him. “How we gonna do this shit when we’re shorthanded? The plan requires four of us.”
“Then we’re gonna have to improvise.” Ace brandished a gun.
“Hold on. We said we were just gonna beat him down,” Jonas reminded him.
“Chill, Raf. This is just to scare Black. We ain’t gonna blast him,” Ace assured him.
“Unless he makes us,” Mula snickered.
Jonas was suddenly very unsure of their plan. First, Prince not being able to come, and then Ace bringing a gun . . . Guns hadn’t been part of their plan. Men with guns, especially dudes like Ace, were unpredictable. He knew that in the blink of an eye, their planned beat-down could turn into something far more serious. He started to call the whole thing off, and then he thought about Jewels. She was risking her life to help them, and they couldn’t just leave her hanging. What if they didn’t show up, and Black forced her to make good on her promise to sleep with him? No, that was a risk Jonas wasn’t willing to take. They would go through with the plan. He would just have to make sure he paid special attention to Ace and his little toy.
* * *
They didn’t have to bother with stalking Black. Thanks to Jewels, they already knew every step the couple would take that night. They were going to eat at Red Lobster and then catch the 7:30 p.m. show at the Magic Johnson Theater. The movie would run for at least two hours, so that gave Jonas and the others more than enough time to get into position to spring their trap.
There were several short-stay motels on the strip of 145th Street between Amsterdam and Broadway, but only one that would let you rent a room without having ID, which they were sure Black did not. Dudes like Black never carried identification so that if they were arrested while selling drugs, they could lie about their identity. As it happened, Mula had a plug with the girl who worked the check-in desk. She was an ex-lover of his uncle Fish. Ace and Mula visited her earlier that day and gave her a few dollars to look the other way while they administered the ass whipping. Jonas didn’t trust it, but Mula insisted that she wouldn’t open her mouth if pressed. For all their sakes, Jonas hoped so.
