True to the Game II

by Teri Woods

  “Sure it don’t have nothing to do with Big Daddy Candy Cane here?” he said, motioning toward his penis.

  “Um, you know, now that I think about, I might not be able to ever leave your side.”

  “See, now you saying something.”

  “Whatever. You gonna make breakfast?” she asked, now accustomed to his breakfast-in-bed routine.

  “Yeah, what you want?”

  “Waffles and turkey bacon, scrambled eggs with cheese, and some fresh-squeezed orange juice, please.”

  “Look, you putting me to work as it is.”

  “You’ll be all right.”

  Jerrell cooked breakfast and cleaned up his kitchen before Gena had finished showering and getting dressed. The two ate together and then discussed their day and evening plans. Jerrell read the paper, while Gena watched Jerry Springer.

  “Do you believe these people?”

  “I believe anything. There’s nothing that surprises me, Gena.”

  Gena thought about surprises and her family secret that everyone seemed to know except her. She sort of felt bad because she hadn’t called Gah Git since and she knew that Gah Git was probably worried to death about her. Maybe I’ll go see her today, Gena thought, wondering if that was a good idea.

  She got up from the table and started grabbing her essentials to get out the door: sunglasses, pocketbook, and cell phone.

  “Hey, Jay, you seen my car keys?”

  “Yeah, on the counter in the glass dish,” he said, pointing at them.

  “Damn, what would I do without you?”

  “Be all fucked up,” he said. No, the question is where will I be with that money you holding once I get it.

  Gena grabbed her keys, bent over and kissed Jerrell good-bye, never having a clue that his saving her day back at the gas station was only a ploy to follow her closely. His whole objective was to find where she was keeping her money and then rob her ass. But, she had yet to lead him to her hiding place. I hate to see you go, but I’ll be following you, don’t you worry.

  “Have a good day,” he hollered as she closed the door, waving good-bye.

  Gena drove up Broad Street. She was headed to meet her cousin Gary, who had finally returned her call. She turned off Broad and drove a few blocks over to Camac Street. Gary was outside, just as he said he would be, sitting on his front porch. Gena parked her car and made her way over to Gary.

  “Hey, hey, hey!” He motioned to her.

  “Hey to you too,” Gena said, giving him a hug.

  “Hey, cuz!” Gary said, spinning her around. “How have you been?”

  “Going crazy without you!” Gena told him. “Boy, you don’t know how to call nobody!”

  Gary shook his head and smiled. “Man, you just don’t know how busy I’ve been, plus I lost my phone, so I got your messages but you didn’t leave me no number and I didn’t have it ’cause it wasn’t in my phone and then by the time I seen Gah Git, it was like damn near a month had gone by. I’m sorry.”

  Gena grabbed Gary’s hand and led him away from the front porch. “You can tell me all about it while we walk and talk.”

  Gary shrugged as Gena led him down the street. “Really nothing to tell. Just working.”

  “And how is domestic life?” Gena asked. “Living with that new girlfriend of yours. Are you two getting along?”

  Gary laughed and nodded. “About fifty percent of the time, which is pretty good, I hear. We argue over the most trivial shit you can imagine, though. But other than that, it’s all right. And how about you? I hear you got a new man?”

  Gena smiled and shrugged. “He’s all right. He’s good to me, treats me nice.”

  “Do you love him?” Gary asked.

  Gena crinkled up her nose as she contemplated that question. She had never really sat down and thought about it. She had never looked at herself in the mirror and seriously asked that question. Do I love Jay?

  “I don’t know. I don’t know.”

  Gena really didn’t know if she could even see herself living with this man for the rest of her life. Strangely, her mind drew a blank on the answer to that question. It was then when she realized how little she actually knew about her new man of life. How could she be prepared to spend the rest of her life with a man whom she knew so little about? She hadn’t met any of his family, she knew none of his friends, and she didn’t know anything about his past. Maybe I need to put Mr. Jay under investigation.

  “Your silence answered my question,” Gary told her.

  “I was just thinking real hard about it,” Gena told him.

  “If it takes you that long to think about it, then the answer is obviously no.” Gary stopped in the middle of the street and turned to her. “Hey, cuz. There’s no rush. Don’t think that you are in a race, or that you have to run out there and find somebody to replace Quadir, because you don’t. Take your time, and love will come. It’ll come when you least expect it.”

  “Enough about love. All I really want to know is, why you ain’t tell me?” she asked him, not wanting to believe he knew too.

  “Tell you what, about your moms? Come on, man, you charging me? Gena, my moms ain’t having it. That shit is old news, like back when it all went down.”

  “What went down?”

  Gary looked at his cousin and honestly he didn’t know what to do. He knew if he went against what his mom had said he could have a true family life crisis to deal with.

  Stay out of it. Gena’s father needs to explain, he needs to tell her what happened to her mother. That was Paula’s voice and opinion he heard in his head. So he never spoke about it and he didn’t want to now.

  “You know I love you, right? So, when I tell you this, don’t get mad and don’t say that I told you, okay?”

  “Gary, come on, I’m not going to tell nothing and I would never put your name in nothing. You know that,” she said, pleading to know what seemed like the biggest secret in the world.

  “Okay, check this out, right, your mom and Uncle Malcolm was together for like a real long time, right? But, all the while . . .”

  “All the while what?” Gena asked, upset that he stopped conversing in the middle of a sentence like that. “Come on, tell me, what?”

  “All the while she was married to Uncle Malcolm, she was sleeping with Uncle Michael, and one day your dad came home and caught them together . . . and he . . . shot up Uncle Michael and then strangled your mother.”

  “My dad killed my mother?”

  “Yeah, true story, and Uncle Michael lived and even though he didn’t testify, Uncle Malcolm still went to prison for killing your mother. They say you witnessed it, but you was little, like two or three or something.”

  Gary knew there was more to the secret, much more, but this was where he drew the line, and this was all that he was going to tell her. They headed back to the porch and sat down.

  “Please, Gena, you can’t say I told you this, all right? I swear I don’t want to hear my mother’s mouth.”

  Gena just sat there staring into the thin fall air, not really looking at anything in particular. There was a breeze blowing up on Gary’s porch and the two of them sat there for the next hour and seventeen minutes not saying one word. The sounds of the city and cries of the streets filled the air, but Gena blocked it all out. She took in every word that Gary spoke. How could they keep something like that a secret all this time? My father killed my mother and I watched him do it. I don’t remember that, I don’t remember that at all. Gena pierced the inner depths of her brain trying to recollect and couldn’t fine one iota of a thought that brought any memory of that fateful day. She had always wished she had her mother, always wished for her in her life. She had needed her mother all her life, and to find out why she couldn’t have her was heartbreaking. She didn’t know what or how to feel about her father. She had always wanted him too. All her life she wished that he wasn’t locked away so that they could have been together, but now, she was older. She had her own life going on and she
rarely even thought of him. But she would now.

  The breezes that quietly blew had seemed to begin to blow a little harder with every word Gary spoke. And the smooth breeze that once blew across her face now seemed to turn to winds that whipped across her face; stinging, violent, dangerous even. They were wild winds, winds of uncertainty. She was playing her life by ear at the moment, with no certainty of anything, and that was becoming more and more uncomfortable to her. Her family and everything she knew her life to be had been suddenly unbalanced, and she felt somewhat unsure and inadequate and very vulnerable. Then there was Jay, and she honestly didn’t know what the relationship they were sharing was all about. She just didn’t know enough about him to make any solid decisions. Yes, the breeze was a strong wind, and it smacked her in the face. She needed a plan, she needed stability, she needed to know where she and Jay really stood, and what her feelings toward him really were. And now a man who had been a stranger to her seemed to be the most familiar thought of all. All the dilemmas of her life had seemed to fall in her lap at once. She felt sick, almost ready to vomit, and after every word Gary had said, the sick feeling seemed to increase. She reached down and rubbed her belly, hoping her hand motion would soothe her stomach. Unknown to her, her sickness had nothing to do with Gary, her father, or her mother. Her upset stomach was from the small life she was carrying, the small life that would change her entire world.

  SCHEMSTERS

  O’Hara’s was an old smoke-filled establishment located in the city’s old section. The Irish-themed bar played host primarily to the city’s working-class plebes. Construction workers, firefighters, emergency medical services technicians, and policemen all congregated within the four walls of the dimly lit establishment. Conversations ranging from the blood and gore of patching up bullet wounds to the proper techniques for putting out smoldering brush could be heard throughout the establishment. Off-duty police officers bragged about their marksmanship skills, while others simply drowned their troubles silently in glass after glass of Scotch. Gathered around one of the old wooden circular tables was a group of Philly’s finest that had celebrated themselves into an inebriated state.

  Lieutenant Ratzinger lifted his glass in a toast. “To Letoya Ellington, one of the best damn detectives it’s been my sorry misfortune to meet!”

  “Hear, hear!” Dickie Davis shouted, while lifting his glass into the air.

  “To Letoya Ellington, the most meticulous, the most crawl-up-your-ass, leave-no-stone-unturned detective a guy has ever met!” Detective Cornell Cleaver added.

  The detectives around the table broke into laughter.

  “You deserved that promotion, Toya,” Lieutenant Ratzinger told her. “You did a standup job on that investigation. You handled that CI perfectly, you coordinated the raids, and you managed the entire operation with perfection. I wish we had a dozen more like you on the force.”

  Detective Ellington lifted her glass into the air. “Thanks, guys. You guys are absolutely the best. A girl couldn’t ask for a better partner, a better ex-partner, and a better boss. You guys are the best.”

  “We’re the best!” Detective Cornell Cleaver shouted.

  “To Philly’s finest!” Dickie Davis shouted.

  Dozens of firemen and police officers began cheering.

  Detective Davis rose from the table, swaying back and forth in a drunken stupor. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention, please! May I have everyone’s attention?”

  Slowly, the bar grew silent, and all eyes shifted their focus to the detective.

  “I have an announcement to make,” Detective Davis continued. “I have with me one of Philadelphia’s finest detectives. She is a phenomenal woman, and the best partner that a guy could ask for. She’s the best woman I know with a Glock and she can drink and piss fire with the best of them.”

  Laughter shot through the bar.

  “Today, my partner was promoted to the rank of sergeant, which was a promotion that was long overdue,” Dickie Davis slurred. “She’s saved my ass so many times that I’ve lost count. She lays it on the line every day, to make the streets safe for all of us. And if she wasn’t such a mean-ass motherfucker, and if I wasn’t scared of her, I would marry her.”

  Laughter shot through the bar again.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, my partner, the newly promoted Sergeant Letoya Ellington!”

  Cheers shot throughout the establishment, while everyone stood and clapped, giving Letoya Ellington a standing ovation. Letoya stood and lifted her glass in acknowledgment.

  “A round on the house for Letoya,” the bartender shouted. “But one round only, you lousy meatheads. I catch anybody trying to double back, I’m busting chops!”

  The officers inside the establishment really began shouting and cheering. This was truly their establishment, as the bartender, Stuckey, was one of their own. Stuckey had retired from the force as a captain, and opened the bar up several years ago. He had made it a home away from home for Philadelphia’s law enforcement personnel. The bar was filled with plaques and citations that he had been awarded, as well as lots of other police and firefighter memorabilia. It also had decommissioned weapons hanging on the walls, as well as lots of Texas Ranger memorabilia. Stuckey had a deep affection for the legendary Rangers, as well as for other well-known lawmen of the Old West. Old western badges and wanted posters and pictures hung throughout the establishment. The bar was truly a law enforcement officers’ haven.

  Dickie Davis reseated himself and turned toward his partner. “Congratulations, Toya. I’m so proud of you.”

  “Thanks, Dick,” Letoya told him.

  “Hey, pull it out,” Dickie told her. “Let me take a look at that thing!”

  Letoya smiled, reached into her purse, pulled out her shiny new gold-colored sergeant’s badge, and showed it to her partner.

  Lieutenant Ratzinger took the badge and examined it. “I remember the day I made sergeant. It was one of the proudest moments in my life. I think it was three days after that when I got my divorce papers, which was an even happier moment.”

  The detectives arrayed around the table broke into laughter.

  “How it always is,” Detective Cleaver told them. “We work our butts off, and we pay the price for it at home.”

  “We miss the school plays, the anniversaries, the PTA meetings, the birthday parties . . .” Dickie Davis continued.

  “And we get served with the divorce papers, while they just keep on getting richer,” Ratzinger added.

  “Straight bullshit!” Detective Ellington declared.

  “I busted a punk the other day who had twenty thousand dollars on him,” Detective Cleaver told them. “Right in his front pockets! The kid had twenty thousand dollars in pocket change, half my fucking annual salary, right inside his pockets.”

  “I busted a kid last week who had a Range Rover for every day of the week,” Ratzinger told them. “A fucking different-colored Range Rover for each day of the week. And the kid’s house looked like one of those houses on the cover of Rich and Famous magazine! The kid had fucking marble floors all throughout the place. Marble! And not the bullshit that you find just anywhere, no, this was the good shit.”

  “They ride around like they just won the lottery, while we’re risking our lives living paycheck to paycheck,” Dickie Davis said, shaking his head. “I drive a Toyota, they drive Porsches and Mercedeses.”

  “Sometimes it kinda makes you feel like you’re on the wrong team,” Ratzinger told them.

  “Yeah, because the law protects them more than it does us,” Cleaver added. “And we’re the good guys. Shouldn’t the good guys be the ones not having to scrape by?”

  “They should.” Ratzinger nodded. “They really should. The playing field sucks.”

  “Well, maybe it’s time that the playing field was equalized, dammit!” Detective Cleaver declared.

  “What do you mean?” Dickie Davis asked.

  “Maybe it’s time that the good guys took what they d
eserved!” Cleaver told them.

  “How?” Detective Ellington asked. “Busting up some drug ring, so the Feds can come in and seize all of the assets, and then pass us the leftovers?”

  “Who says we need the Feds!” Ratzinger declared. “I’m tired of their bullshit anyway.”

  “You mean start keeping the funds for the department?” Detective Ellington shook her head. “Feds won’t go for that one!”

  “Who said that the Feds even have to know?” Ratzinger asked them. “Hell, who said that the department even has to know?”

  “What are you suggesting, Lieutenant?” Dickie Davis asked.

  “I’m saying there is about fifteen million dollars in unaccounted drug money, belonging to a dead drug dealer, that’s waiting to be found,” Ratzinger told them. “Nobody knows about it, nobody is going to miss it. And I for one would rather see that money in the hands of some hard-working police officers who lay their lives on the line every day than see it in the hands of some young bimbo whose only claim to it is letting some fucking low-life scumbucket drug dealer fuck her in the ass.”

  “So, let me get this straight,” Detective Davis said. “Are you saying that we keep this money, if we find it?”

  Detective Cleaver placed his arm around Dickie’s shoulder. “That’s exactly what he’s saying, my boy; we’d be setting up our own little private retirement fund.”

  “We do all of the work, and we track down that money and find it, why shouldn’t we keep it?” Ratzinger asked.

  The detectives around the table nodded in agreement.

  “Are we all in?” Detective Cleaver asked.

  “I’m in,” Ratzinger announced.

  Dickie Davis nodded. “I’m in.”

  “Sergeant?” Detective Cleaver asked.

  Sergeant Ellington stared off into space and thought about the consequences of her answer. These were her fellow officers seated around the table. Guys who she trusted, guys who trusted her. They had her back, unquestionably, and now they were asking her to do something that was definitely not fully legal.