Street Dreams

by K'wan

  “Ms. Baker?” the officer asked. Trinity nodded. “I’m Officer Brown. What can I do for you?”

  “Well,” Trinity began, “it's my father, Steven Baker. He's missing.”

  “I see,” Brown said, scribbling something on the clip board. “How long?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I meant how long has he been missing?”

  “Oh, I’m not sure cause I was in the hospital. But I would say… two to three days.”

  “Umm hmm,” Brown said, scribbling again. “Does your father do this kinda thing often?”

  “Well…he drinks a lot, so he does tend to stay out. Sometimes. But not usually for this length of time. He’ll usually call or send word through someone.”

  “Has anyone come by or seen him?”

  “No. My brother checked some of his hang outs but no one has seen him.”

  “Do you know who he was last seen with?”

  “No,” she lied. “I don’t. It's like I said, I’ve been in the hospital for the past few days, so I really don’t know.” As the lies rolled from Trinity's mouth, her conscience banged away at her. She thought of the little girl's family and how worried they must be. She hoped that one day they would be able to bury their child properly and put their minds to rest, but at the moment the only thing that mattered was her and Rio's future.

  “I see,” Brown said, looking at her quizzically. Something about the young girl's story didn’t seem right to him. He didn’t sense that she was lying, at least not totally. But he felt as if she was holding something back. “Okay,” he continued. “I don’t wanna scare you, but I have to ask. Did your father have any enemies or someone that might’ve wanted to see him harmed?”

  “Well…I…” Trinity took a deep breath. “Listen, Officer Brown. I don’t wanna lie to you. My father did a lot of shit to a lot of people. He is a notorious drunk and the people he hangs around ain’t about shit. Could someone have wanted to harm him? Maybe, I can’t say for sure. He hasn’t been the best father in the world, but he's the only one me and my brothers have.”

  Officer Brown looked at the young lady as her eyes began to glass over. From the way she broke it down he could tell she was going through something emotionally. But as emotional as she might have seemed, Brown knew there was something wrong with her story. He couldn’t put his finger on it right away, but he vowed to figure it out.

  “Well, Trinity, I’m going to file this report and put your father's description out over the air. You go on home and I’ll call if I should happen to come up with anything.”

  “Thanks,” she said, standing to leave. “Please let me know if you should hear anything.” Trinity turned and headed for the exit. Officer Brown seemed like he believed her story, but Trinity wasn’t stupid. She was very good at reading people. She knew that he wasn’t totally convinced. Nothing she could do about it now except hope she hadn’t just indicted herself on a conspiracy charge.

  As Trinity was leaving, a plainclothes detective was coming in. The balding white man moved over slightly to let her pass. However, he made sure that she had to brush against his potbelly to get by. He stared at her shapely rear and licked his lips. Something about the girl struck a cord in his head. He couldn’t place her at the moment but he knew he would eventually. With an ass like hers, how could he not?

  “Well, well,” the detective said, grinning. “If it isn’t Officer Brown. What's shaking on the streets?”

  Brown nodded to Detective Stark and continued filling out the missing person's report. Not so long ago Brown had also been a detective. While trying to apprehend a suspect he had accidently shot him. What he thought had been a real gun had turned out to be a toy. Brown had managed to keep his badge, but the captain had him busted down to beat-walker. Brown vowed to one day get his badge back.

  “Say, Brown,” Detective Stark said. “Who was that fine young thing?”

  “Oh,” Brown said, closing his folder. “That was a young lady by the name of Baker.”

  “Baker,” the detective said, as the light went off in his head. “Trinity Baker?”

  “Yeah, you know her?”

  “You could say that. I locked her up a few years ago for cutting some girl. But she wasn’t built like that. What’d she come in for? Her boyfriend's luck finally run out?”

  “No, nothing like that. Seems her father's gone missing. Why’d you ask about her boyfriend? He somebody I might know?”

  “What?” Stark asked, surprised. “Brown, you patrol this hood and you don’t know? Her boyfriend is Darius Santana. Known as Rio on the streets.”

  “Yeah, I think I know who you’re talking about. He got picked up a few years ago on a gun charge.”

  “Yep, that's him. Did a year on that and hasn’t been in trouble since.”

  “Well, if he's kept his nose clean, why the sudden interest in him?”

  “Brown, just because the slick fuck hasn’t been rearrested doesn’t mean he ain’t doing dirt,” Stark insisted. “Until recently, he was hitting the block part-time, ya know? A shift here and there, but nothing major. That is, until a few days ago.”

  “What happened?”

  “Well, it seems as if our young friend is moving up in the world. Seems as if he's no longer just a spot runner. I heard through the grapevine that he was just recently promoted to Capo.”

  “No shit?”

  “That's the way I hear it. We been trying to bring Prince and his crew down for a while now.”

  “I know,” Brown said, filing his folder away. “We were trying to get him when I still had a shield. Prince is slicker than oil. I’d love a chance to knock him on his dope-pushing ass.”

  “Hmm,” Stark said, scratching his bald spot. “That doesn’t sound too impossible. We just need a way to get someone inside. As a matter of fact, I think I got a plan and you might be able to help.”

  “Well, I can’t do it,” Brown said. “If Trinity is his girl, then she would blow my cover the first time she spotted me around him.”

  “I know it, Brown. But I got another way you can help out. Get me Officer Jenkins,” Stark said, turning to the desk sergeant.

  “Jenkins,” Brown asked, confused. “What do you want with my partner? He's just a rookie.”

  “Jenkins might be a rookie, but he looks just like one of them. I’ve got a surefire plan that’ll get your shield back and earn me a promotion. Are you game?”

  “Okay, I’m listening.”

  Mikey crept slowly down Eighty-sixth and Broadway, tailing his prey. He had been shadowing the tall white man ever since he had seen him come out of the bank. He knew the dude had some type of money on him, because he came out tucking an envelope into his suit jacket. No matter how much it was, Mikey was going to relieve him of it.

  Mikey was your typical wannabe. He had been trying to hook up with the thieve's crew for the longest and they had finally given him a play. Shamel's people had put him down on the trial basis. Mikey had finally gotten his chance and was determined to prove to the rest of the clique that he was a top-notch thief.

  The white guy banked a left on the corner of Eighty-sixth and headed down into the 1 & 9 station. Mikey decided that this was the perfect time to strike. He ran up behind the white dude before he had cleared the first landing and spun him around. The white dude looked at Mikey as if he had lost his last mind.

  “Gimmie yo shit, cracker!” Mikey barked.

  “Listen, kid,” the white dude said in a calm voice. “I don’t think you know what you’re doing.”

  “Oh, I know what I’m doing. Now come up off that bread you just got from the bank and un-ass ya wallet.”

  “Listen kid, I’m trying to tell you — “

  “Shut up,” Mikey said, slapping him. “You ain’t telling me shit. Now come up off ya wallet.”

  “Okay, kid. I tried to tell you.” The white man handed Mikey the wallet and folded his arms. Mikey greedily flipped open the wallet and nearly shit his pants. Inside the wallet, next to a minia
ture family portrait, was a shiny gold shield. Mikey's dumb ass had just tried to rob a cop.

  Mikey looked around wild-eyed. He knew he had fucked up, big time! He pushed the detective down the last few steps and took off in the other direction. As he hopped up the last step, someone sucker punched him in the stomach. Mikey collapsed onto the ground, holding his gut. As he looked up teary-eyed, he could make out the shape of a potbellied white man standing over him.

  “Well, well,” Stark said. “Looks like you’re having some trouble, Tommy.”

  “Fucking shit,” Detective Thomas White, aka Tommy, said. “This coon fuck tried to rob me.”

  “Is this true?” Stark asked, looking down at Mikey.

  “Nah,” Mikey stuttered. “I mean yes…but it wasn’t like that. I didn’t know he was a cop. Let alone your friend, Stark. I swear!”

  “Bullshit,” Tommy cut in. “I tried to give your ass a play, but you wouldn’t listen. Now you’re going to jail. Well…after we kick your nigger ass.”

  “Hold on,” Mikey pleaded. “Maybe we can work something out?”

  “Fuck you, shit-bird,” Stark barked. “You ain’t in no position to make deals. Tommy, what do ya say we take ol’ sticky fingers down by the peer and see if shit floats?”

  “Sounds good,” Tommy said, grinning. The two detectives grabbed Mikey and lifted him to his feet. Mikey's brain started spinning at one hundred miles a minute. He needed a way to get up outta this, but how? Then it hit him.

  “Okay fellas,” Mikey said. “Y’all got me dead to right, but you might wanna rethink my offer. I know things.”

  “What kinda things?” Stark asked, already knowing where this was going.

  “Well…there's these kids in the project getting money.” “What the fuck else is new?”

  “Nah, Stark. I’m dead-ass. I got a direct connect to the whose who in the hood. Square biz.”

  “Li’l nigger, we already know who's who in the projects. If you can’t deliver me Prince on a platter we ain’t got nothing to talk about.”

  “Well, I can’t get you Prince, but what if I could give you one of his peoples?”

  “Fuck do we want with some petty-ass street runner?” “Nah, man. I ain’t talking about some nickle-and-dime hood. What if I could get you one of his captains?”

  “Okay,” Stark said, pausing. “I’m listening.”

  “I swear to you guys if you give me a little time I’m sure that I can cut into one of Prince's Capos.”

  “And we’re supposed to just take your word for it?” “My word is all I have.”

  “Not good enough,” Tommy said. “We need a show of good faith.” “A show of good faith? Like what?” “Like…who can you give us right now?” “Right now? I ain’t got nobody.”

  “Oh, you better get somebody,” Stark said, “if not, your black ass is going to jail.”

  Mikey began to skim through his mental Rolodex trying to think of someone he could give up. Just any old body wouldn’t do, he needed someone juicy to get the two dicks up off his back. Suddenly an idea formed in his head. It would be risky, because the people he was about to snitch on would surely murder him if they found out. Risky as it was, he had to do it.

  “Say, y’all interested in some robberies?”

  13

  Rio and Cutty stepped onto 107th Street in search of Truck. They spotted a few cats shooting dice over in the cut. Although they didn’t see Truck among them, these guys were sure to know where to find him. As Rio approached the group one of the kids, whose name was Slim, turned to greet him.

  “What it is, big-dog?” Slim said, flashing his gold caps. “Ain’t nothing,” Rio said, giving him dap. “Just came to see Truck. He around?”

  “I just saw that nigga a few minutes ago,” Slim said, looking around. “Check the corner store.” Slim pointed to the bodega down the street. Rio thanked him and kept it moving. As Rio crossed the street, Truck came out of the bodega, smoking a black and mild. The orange Atlanta Falcons throwback he was wearing made him look like a fat-ass pumpkin. Truck noticed Rio and smiled menacingly.

  “Sup, Rio?” he asked.

  “Ain’t nothing, Truck. I just needed to talk to you about something.” “Well, talk about it.”

  “Well, it's like this. I heard somebody that I had on the block owed you some paper. I paid the debt outta my pocket and had him out there working it off. But you still had him snatched. Why is that?”

  “Oh, you mean the li’l nigga with the sticky fingers? I was wondering when you would come around and ask about him. Come on.”

  Truck led the two men down 106th Street into a walk-up apartment building. The trio hiked up the three flights of stairs, to a beat-up brown apartment door. Truck removed a key from his pocket and opened the door. Rio's senses were bombarded by a variety of smells. The most pungent was that of chronic. Inside the apartment there were a few cats lounging around playing PS2. Rio didn’t see anything unusual in the living room, but when Truck led him to the back his mouth dropped wide open.

  The walls and floor of the back room were covered in black garbage bags and the windows were taped up. A young man stood in the doorway smoking a cigarette, watching the show. Rio remembered him from Prince's house, but he didn’t know his name. A metal chair sat in the middle of the room. Strapped to the chair was the young boy Rio was seeking. His face was a mess. One of his eyes was closed and he was covered in bruises, but Rio still recognized him.

  “Truck,” Rio snapped. “What's all this about?”

  “Oh, you ain’t know?” Truck asked with a smile. “We’ve decided to take disciplinary action against our thieving-ass friend here. Mmm hmm. Been working him over for a few hours now, but I don’t think he's sorry for what he's done.”

  “Truck, you’re going too far. I don’t think—”

  “That's my fucking point,” Truck said, cutting him off. “You don’t fucking think. This ain’t no nickle-and-dime shit here, Darius. We play for keeps around this ma fucka. If you wanna play with the big boys, you gotta think like us. These streets ain’t nothing nice. You let one ma fucka skate and they all gonna try you.

  “Barney,” Truck said to the kid in the doorway. “Let me get that.” Bone handed Truck a chrome 9. “Listen up, li’l nigga,” Truck said, glaring at Rio but aiming the pistol at the thief's face. “I’m about to give you ya first lesson in the game. Rule number one, never let a nigga put shit on you.” Before Rio could protest, Truck pulled the trigger.

  A few blocks away, Shamel stepped on the block where his peoples held it down. He had been having a funny feeling in his gut ever since he woke up. He knew something wasn’t right, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. His first clue was when he called the clubhouse and got no answer. The clubhouse was an abandoned building where he and his peoples hung out. It didn’t belong to anyone in particular, it was just a place where they could hang out and stash their stolen goods. Even though it was technically abandoned, there was always someone there.

  Shamel began walking toward the clubhouse, but was stopped short by a “pssst” noise. He immediately reached for his hammer, but breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Knowledge creeping from the direction of the park. Even though he knew Knowledge wasn’t a threat, something still wasn’t right. The worried look on his protege's face only filled him with more dread.

  “What up, God?” Shamel asked suspiciously.

  “Let's take a walk.” Knowledge responded nervously.

  “Hold on,” Shamel said, grabbing his arm. “I was just about to go through the spot and pick up some paper.”

  “Nah, Mel. You don’t wanna go round there.”

  “Fuck you mean I don’t wanna go around there? Nigga, Burger owes me for them rims I set him out with.”

  “Shamel, listen to me, man. You don’t wanna go around there.”

  “Knowledge, you been smoking wet?”

  “Man, why the fuck ain’t you listening to me?” Knowledge asked, raising his voice, which was unusual
for him. “You don’t want to go to the clubhouse, cause there ain’t no more clubhouse.”

  “Knowledge, fuck is you talking about?”

  “Shamel, use your eyes!” Shamel looked down to the corner where the clubhouse was, for the first time noticing the crowd of onlookers. Against Knowledge's wishes, Shamel walked to the corner. What he saw almost made him break out into a run. There were police cars and paddy wagons everywhere. One by one the members of the thieves’ clique were brought out of the building in shackles.

  Shamel couldn’t believe what he was seeing. For the last two years the thieves’ clique had operated out ofthe clubhouse without incident. Now, it was all over. Shamel personally had close to fifty thousand dollars worth of hot items stashed in the spot. Those items along with all his comrades were being dragged from the building. He suddenly felt sick to his stomach. He almost passed out, but Knowledge caught his arm.

  The little man steered Shamel in the other direction. Once they were a good distance away, Shamel allowed Knowledge to sit him down on a park bench. Shamel couldn’t believe it. The money that he had stashed in the clubhouse was the bulk of his paper; now it was gone. He had a few dollars put up, but it wasn’t much compared to the amount that would’ve been pulled in by what was in the house. All that was gone. At that moment he decided he needed a different hustle.

  Trinity stood in her kitchen watching the soap bubbles swirling in the sink. Her hands were washing dishes, but her mind was elsewhere. She pondered her life and wondered why things were so hard for her? She wasn’t a saint, but was she that bad of a person? None of it made sense anymore.

  Billy came into the kitchen and stood in the doorway. She had been ducking her little brother's questioning eyes for the past day or so. She really didn’t know what she could tell him to put his mind at ease. No matter how much she danced around the issue, she knew she would eventually have to tell her youngest sibling that their father would not be returning.