Outcast

by Lewis Ericson

  “So, you inherited the business like some kind of Mafia bride, huh?”

  “Yeah, something like that.”

  “You ever been to jail?”

  “No, and I don’t intend on going. Came close once a few years ago. That’s when I decided to relocate and set up shop here.”

  “You carry a gun?”

  “You ask a lot of questions.”

  “You don’t have to answer.”

  “I don’t know why I’m telling you any of this. But yes, I have a gun and I know how to use it. We live in a dangerous world, Tirrell. A girl’s got to protect herself.”

  “You ever kill anybody?”

  She stared into his eyes intently. “Have you?”

  His silence spoke volumes.

  Alex got up and moved toward the bathroom. “I know your brother’s an ADA, so I’d advise you to consider the consequences if you ever think about being disloyal to me, or Bobby. I will do whatever I have to do to take care of myself.”

  Tirrell thought about something Kevin told him when he first got back to town. “Let me make something clear to you. However long you’re going to be here, you need to make sure that whatever other business you got goin’ on doesn’t come back on Noonie.” What if he’d already put his family in danger? Lying there, he contemplated exactly how far he would go to protect them if he had.

  The morning sun seeped in through the window. The ringing telephone reverberated in the room. Alex had slept much longer than she’d intended.

  “Hello . . . Travis, what is it? They did what? How much more is it going to cost to get it fixed? Why can’t you take care of it, you know I’m not coming into the office today. Where are you? Well, come on up. What do you mean there’s no place to park? All right . . . all right . . . Circle around the block. I’ll be down in a minute.”

  Alex leapt out of bed, went to her closet and threw on a pair of jeans and a sweater, and picked her fingers through her spiky coif.

  Tirrell sat up. “What’s wrong?”

  “Something to do with the rooms we booked at the hotel for the party. Travis is downstairs. I need to go deal with this.” She slid into a pair of flat-heeled shoes. “I’ll be right back.” She darted out of the room.

  Tirrell lay back into the pillows, but suddenly sprang up when he realized he needed to seize this opportunity. Checking to ensure Alex was out of the apartment, he booted up the laptop on the dining room table. He hurried back into the bedroom and searched her jewelry box for the key to open the hideaway drawer. He found a jump drive atop a passport and some other papers. He wasn’t sure how much time he had before she came back and he needed to see what, if anything, was important enough to lock away.

  “Okay, Ms. Mafia, let’s see what other kind of secrets you got.”

  Tirrell plugged the drive into the side of the laptop and opened a file called “Solomon’s Temple.” Xavier Rivera’s name appeared at the top of a list of names on a spreadsheet along with dates, dollar amounts, and product quantity.

  “This definitely ain’t got nothin’ to do with event planning.”

  He entered his e-mail account and copied the file to himself. “Sorry, baby. I gotta look out for my family, too.”

  When the file was sent he yanked the drive out of the laptop and shut it down. He then returned the jump drive to its hiding place, locked the drawer, and put the key back inside the jewelry box. He then jumped back into bed just as he heard the apartment door open.

  “I swear, I have to do everything,” Alex huffed, coming back in and kicking off her shoes.

  “Is everything a’ight?” He followed her eyes as she noticed her bureau drawer stood slightly ajar. “Baby, is everything cool?”

  She looked at him as if she sensed something was amiss. She moved to the bed, sat down beside him, and put her hand on his chest. “Why are you breathing so hard?”

  “I did some sit-ups and pushups while you were gone.” He flexed his muscle. “You know I gotta keep my shit tight.”

  Her brow furrowed slightly. If she suspected anything she didn’t let on. She smiled wryly. “I’m hungry. What do you say we get something to eat?”

  “That sounds good. I’m starvin’.”

  “Get dressed. We’ve got some things to do to get you ready for this function.”

  Tirrell threw back the covers. “What do you mean?”

  “Sweetheart, you’re fine and all, but you definitely need to upgrade your appearance.”

  “Alex.”

  “Don’t argue with me. I want my man to look nice. Is that a crime?”

  “So, I’m your man now?”

  “If we’re going to be together you got to look the part. I can’t be seen with just anybody. I got a reputation to maintain.”

  “I’m not for sale, and I’m not your project.”

  “I never said you were, but saggy jeans and Timberlands aren’t going to cut it.”

  “So you want me to change?”

  “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, Tirrell. The door’s right there.”

  “It’s just clothes, right?”

  Tirrell could have easily taken offense, but he wasn’t going to make it on hubris and looks alone. He didn’t much care for the pampering of manicures and pedicures, but he really got into the designer suits and shoes. The stakes were higher now. His game had to be on point if he was going to play with the big boys. It all seemed well worth the price of his compromised integrity.

  Travis was in charge of the transformation over the next week. Although he would never admit it, Tirrell actually had fun and felt as entitled as any other shopper in Phipps Plaza as he spent lots of Alex’s money in stores like Saks Fifth Avenue, Nordstrom, Hugo Boss, and Armani. He happened on a purple amethyst pendant with a sterling silver chain in Tiffany’s jewelry store that was just within his price range. So he wouldn’t feel like a complete whore, and to thank Alex for her generosity, he purchased the charm for her with his own money.

  All of the shopping and primping was tempered by forty tedious hours of a melancholy instructor droning on about vehicle safety, while showing horrific slides of wreckage at the hands of drunk drivers on Georgia highways.

  Tirrell knew he was just marking time—getting a slap on the wrist. Unearthing his real demons would take courage. Denying their existence and disguising them behind expensive suits and shoes was a less daunting task.

  18

  Betty stepped outside to retrieve the mail as a Yukon pulled up to the curb. There wasn’t much she could make out through the tinted windows. She moved closer to the edge of the porch to get a better look. She didn’t know whether to smile or scowl when Tirrell exited the passenger side of the vehicle. Her face made up her mind when she spied Alex in the driver’s seat. She pursed her lips and her hands rose simultaneously to her hips. Even though he’d called to check in, it had been almost two weeks since he’d come home, and this woman had to have been what kept him.

  “How’s my girl?” Tirrell beamed, throwing his arms around her and kissing her cheek.

  “Boy, where have you been? I haven’t heard from you since you called me to tell me that the DUI school was over with.”

  “Noonie, I told you everything was okay when I called the other day.”

  “Hearin’ your voice and seein’ your face are two different things.”

  “Well, I’m here now. See, it’s all good.”

  “Look at you,” Betty observed. “Fancy. Marquis told me you quit the garage. I wonder how you can afford these new things.”

  Alex stepped up behind Tirrell.

  “Noonie, this is the woman I told you about. Alexandra Solomon, this is my grandmother, Betty.”

  Betty took her in with one wary glance.

  Alex extended her hand. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Ellis.”

  “Likewise,” Betty responded evenly. “Well, come on in. It’s a little cool out today.”

  “I’ll be right back,” Tirrell said, hurrying from the room an
d leaving the two women alone.

  “Won’t you have a seat,” Betty offered as she stood in the arch between the dining room and living room.

  Alex cleared her throat and eased into Betty’s favorite chair. “I love your house. It’s . . . charming.”

  Betty retained a distant demeanor. “Thank you. Would you like something to drink?”

  “No, thank you.” Alex scanned the room, taking note of all the framed snatches of family history. She stood up and moved to the credenza when she spied a picture of Tirrell.

  “He never told me he was in the Army.”

  “Considering you all haven’t known each other that long I’d imagine there’s a great many things you don’t know about my grandson. Just as I’m sure there are things he doesn’t know about you.”

  “It takes time, but we’re getting there.”

  “Don’t you think he’s a little young for you?”

  Alex glared at Betty with a forced smile. The contrived pleasantries were becoming tiresome. “Age is relative, don’t you think?”

  “I guess that depends on who you ask. I have to admit when Tirrell told me that he was seeing someone, I expected a girl a little closer to his own.”

  Alex put the picture down. “How old do you think I am, Mrs. Ellis?”

  “Maybe just a little too old.”

  Alex scoffed. “Do you have a problem with me? Other than the fact that you think I may be too old for Tirrell?”

  “I don’t really know you well enough to have an opinion.”

  “Really? Because I think you had an opinion from the moment you saw me.”

  “Well then because you’re a guest in my house I won’t be rude. I’ll just keep it to myself—for now.”

  Tirrell had to dig deep into his underwear drawer to find what he was looking for. “Shit,” he spat, noting that the plastic pouch didn’t contain enough cocaine for a respectable high. His heart pounded; he practically salivated for its taste. The physical reactions he felt due to his involuntary withdrawal were telling. He sat down on the edge of his bed. Betty knocked at his door.

  “You all right in here?”

  He jumped up and started picking up the clothes he’d strewn about and stuffed them into a bag. “It’s all good, Noonie. I was just lookin’ for somethin’.”

  “From the looks of things I hope you found it.”

  He shook his head.

  “Well, what is it? Maybe I can help you.”

  “No. It’s okay. You know what; maybe I don’t need any of this stuff after all.” He put the bag away.

  Betty put her hand on his shoulder and he turned to face her.

  “I can see that something’s botherin’ you. Tell me what it is.”

  “It’s nothin’ that I can’t handle.”

  “Why don’t I fix you somethin’ to eat? We’ll sit and catch up.”

  “Sorry, I don’t have the time. I promised Alex that I would help her with some stuff she’s tryin’ to get done for this big party she’s puttin’ together.”

  Betty grimaced.

  “You don’t like her, do you?”

  “I don’t know her.”

  “But you still don’t like her.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You didn’t have to.”

  “Tell you what; will you at least come to church with me in the morning? Pat’s cookin’ dinner afterward and I’m sure Micah would love to see you.”

  “I don’t think I’m gonna be able to.”

  Betty’s countenance soured all the more.

  Tirrell acquiesced. “Okay, I’ll try to make it. But, I can’t promise anything.”

  Betty pulled him into her embrace and held him as if the mere act itself would keep him. “I love you.”

  “I know you do, Noonie. I love you too.” Tirrell gently nudged her away and caressed her face. “You don’t need to worry about me, Noonie. Everything’s all right.”

  Betty stood and watched them through the glass storm door as they drove off. In spite of what he said, her intuition informed her that things were certainly not all right.

  “My grandmother wants me to come to Big Bethel in the morning. I think we should both go.”

  “Church.” Alex scowled.

  “Yeah, I haven’t spent a lot of time with her lately, and I promised I’d try to come.”

  Alex cut her eyes at him.

  “What? You never been to church before?”

  “Yes, I went to church a few times when I was growing up in New York.”

  “C’mon, it’ll be good. You can spend some time gettin’ to know my grandmother.”

  “I don’t think your grandmother has any interest in getting to know me.”

  “Why do you say that? You talked for five minutes.”

  “After she made a crack about my age, it wasn’t that hard to figure out.”

  Tirrell laughed. “She was just bein’ protective.”

  “Protective is not the word I’d use.”

  “You just have to get to know her, that’s all. She just takes a minute to warm up to you.”

  Alex cut her eyes again. “Look, I’m sure your Noonie is a lovely woman, but maybe it’s best that I keep my distance.”

  Tirrell noted her dig. “You don’t have to be like that. I don’t even know how old you are.”

  “You know enough.”

  Tirrell reached for her purse. “I could just look.”

  Alex took one hand off the wheel and popped him. “Keep your damn hands off my purse.”

  “Fuck it then,” he pouted.

  They continued in silence until Alex tried to change the subject. “So, where’re the things you said were so important you had to get from the house?”

  “I couldn’t find ’em.”

  “You know you really didn’t have to go to Grandmother’s house for anything. I told you that I would buy you what you needed.”

  “Has it occurred to you that maybe there are some things I need you can’t buy me?”

  “Like what?”

  “That’s my business,” he snapped. “Can you let me out at the next corner?”

  “Why? Where are you going?”

  “Just let me out, a’ight?”

  “Fine.” Alex pulled over and slammed on the breaks.

  “I just need some time by myself,” Tirrell offered. He leaned over and tried to kiss her.

  She pulled away.

  “I’ll call you later.”

  “Whatever.”

  He jumped out of the Yukon. Alex sped off.

  His body craved a fix that he knew he wouldn’t be able to get as long as Alex was around. Bobby was instructed not to provide him any more cocaine. He needed to find another source to placate the beast.

  He walked until he happened on a well-known haunt that catered to his particular perversion. Within a few blocks, the mostly familial neighborhood morphed into urban squalor. Many of the businesses had either moved away or closed. Other than a dry cleaners and a barber shop at the corner of the block, the only establishments that appeared to be thriving were a chicken wing shack and a liquor store. Abandoned buildings were prevalent, surrounded by vacant plots of land where even grass refused residency. A storefront church held up the other corner, but even its faith didn’t keep the windows from being barred.

  Tirrell seemed uncomfortable and out of sorts—a more fashionable replica of his former self. Still, his crisp white shirt and camel-colored suede jacket could not mask the fact that inside he was still the same man.

  It didn’t take long for him to engage someone.

  A dark-hued man with twisted locks and a deep scar on his face came out of the liquor store. They sized each other up before the man approached.

  “Yo, Dorothy. I don’t think you’re in Kansas anymore,” the man cracked. “But I think I know you from somewhere?”

  “I doubt it.” Tirrell scratched his head and wiped his hand over his mouth.

  A perceptive glint filled the man’s eyes;
he knew why he was there. He looked around to see who might be watching. “Is this what you lookin’ for?”

  Crack cocaine: a derivative of the pure that was secreted back from Miami. Tirrell flashed on the process and wondered if this was one of the many foot soldiers dispatched throughout the city to subvert the war.

  “How much?”

  “You ain’t no cop, is you?”

  “Naw, man. I ain’t no cop.”

  The man leaned into Tirrell and took a sniff.

  “Naw, you don’t smell like one. I got a place around the corner. We can work somethin’ out.”

  Tirrell sheepishly followed the man, giving little thought about what he might be walking into.

  “I’m Calvin.”

  Tirrell spied the etched tattoo on the man’s neck and remembered their encounter on the MARTA months before. He was willing to overlook it for the certain embrace of a mistress that would not be denied.

  “Kevin,” Tirrell said without missing a beat. “You say you live close?”

  “Yeah,” the man replied. “Just up the street.”

  When they got to the man’s house a mangy mutt ran howling to greet them. The man picked up a rock and pelted him with it and the dog scampered away. They stepped around the decaying bricks of the front stoop. A muffled stereo could be heard before the door was opened. The meager furnishings notwithstanding, Tirrell could see that the house was somewhat affected by a woman’s touch.

  “Come on in,” the man said. “Yo, Stacey, where you at?”

  A sallow Caucasian woman with strawberry-blond shoulder-length hair emerged from the bathroom, drying her hands on her short denim skirt. “What Cal . . . Oh, damn. You didn’t tell me we were havin’ company.”

  “Kevin, this is my girl, Stacey.”

  Tirrell nodded. “Sup.”

  “You are, apparently. Come on in. Have a seat.”

  Tirrell sat pensively on the edge of an overstuffed chair whose decorative flowered pattern had long since faded from years of use. The smell of bacon grease assaulted his nostrils. From the looks of what he could see in the kitchen, no one had bothered to wash the breakfast dishes.