Outcast

by Lewis Ericson

  They jerked apart and turned to see Alex.

  “I don’t believe we’ve met,” Alex said.

  “Um . . . this is Tasha,” Tirrell injected. “She’s an old friend.”

  “Hi, Tasha. I’m Alex. Tirrell’s new friend.”

  Tasha slipped Tirrell’s jacket off and handed it back to him. “I think I’d better get back inside.”

  “Don’t rush off on my account. Looks like the two of you were just getting reacquainted.”

  Tasha breezed by, leaving Alex and Tirrell alone.

  Alex stepped to Tirrell and wiped a smudge of lipstick from his mouth with her thumb. “The party’s inside.”

  He brushed her hand away. “You know what, I think I’m gonna just hang out here for a while. I’ll be in later.”

  “Tirrell, I don’t think your old friend is coming back.”

  He pulled a cigarette from a pack inside his jacket. “Can I have a little time alone, please?”

  “Fine.” Alex reluctantly stepped back inside.

  Tirrell closed his eyes and leaned against the building. The nicotine in the cigarette wasn’t as agreeable as he’d hoped it would be. You startin’ to chase that rabbit now, ain’t cha, boy.

  “Travis, have you seen Tirrell?”

  “I didn’t know I was supposed to be babysitting.”

  “Don’t be a smart ass.”

  Alex scanned the ballroom and saw Tasha, so she knew that Tirrell wasn’t with her. She went back to the terrace to check. He was gone.

  Saturday night traffic in Midtown was as lively as ever. Tirrell shoved his hands in his pockets and walked briskly up West Peachtree Street. Knowing what he was looking for, but not sure where he’d find it, he rounded the corner of Cypress Street and unearthed a treasure of nefarious intent.

  He stood rubbing his hands together and observed the cars that cruised by and slowed for a better look. After a time it felt as if he were on exhibit—like a puppy in a pet store window waiting for someone to claim him.

  The prowlers who paraded up and down the block, stroking themselves provocatively, broadcast exactly what was for sale. Tirrell studied their scurrilous behavior for as long as he could before shaking his head and walking away. When he crossed the street he heard a horn blaring to get his attention; he didn’t look up, he didn’t turn around.

  “Tirrell!”

  He was alarmed when he heard his name. “Scotty?”

  An F-150 truck pulled up to the curb. The sandy-haired man leaned out the window. “What the hell are you doin’ down here?”

  “I uh, missed the last bus,” Tirrell responded.

  “Bus? Forget that, man. C’mon.”

  Tirrell jumped in and they took off. “Thanks, Scotty.”

  “Man, look at you. What have you been up to? You hit the lottery?”

  “No, I was at a party. What are you doin’ down here?”

  He scratched the scraggly hairs on his chin and laughed. “I was supposed to be meetin’ this chick, right. We’ve been talkin’ online for a while. We exchanged pics and let’s just say she misrepresented herself.”

  “It didn’t look like her?”

  “In the face maybe. The body belonged to somebody else.”

  They laughed.

  “I’m serious. She was fat.”

  “So, you got somethin’ against a healthy woman?”

  “No. I like a woman with a little meat on her—more cushion for the pushin’, you know what I mean? I just don’t want her to look like a side of beef.”

  “Aw, man. That just ain’t right.”

  “So, what kind of party were you at?”

  “Peep this. I was at a birthday party . . . for Usher.”

  “The singer?”

  “Yep.”

  “Damn, how you get invited to something like that?”

  “You remember that fine-ass woman who gave me her number?”

  “You hit that?”

  “Knocked a hole in it.”

  They laughed again.

  “Must not have been that great a party if you lookin’ for a bus.”

  “It wasn’t as social as I wanted, you feel me?”

  The man reached into his inside pocket and extracted a bag of marijuana.

  Tirrell licked his lips. “I . . . uh . . . I was sort of lookin’ for somethin’ with a little more kick to it.”

  “Well, why didn’t you say so?” Scotty asked. “You ever lace your weed with cocaine?”

  “No, but I ain’t opposed to tryin’ it.”

  “Trust me. You’re gonna love this shit.”

  Scotty invited Tirrell back to his place in Decatur. There was no fear of an unwanted sexual advance; he had only pacification to look forward to.

  21

  A cold rain subsided by the time Tirrell got off the train and crossed through Centennial Park toward Alex’s condo. His buddy, Scotty, provided him with a change of clothes. It had been two incomprehensible days since he walked away from the Biltmore. He was prepared to face the firing squad, or so he thought.

  He wavered as he reached out to press the button on the intercom. He stepped back a few paces and tried to shake off the anxiety. His first instinct was to forget about Alex and cut and run back to the warmth of his grandmother’s home, but he couldn’t leave things as they were between them. If he did, there would be no telling how she would react. “Man up, T,” he told himself and he pressed the intercom.

  “Who is it?” Alex’s tone was sharp and agitated.

  Tirrell swallowed. “I . . . It’s me.”

  “Who the hell is ‘me’?”

  “C’mon, Alex. It’s Tirrell.”

  There was no immediate response. Seconds lumbered by before the buzzer sounded and the door clicked open. Tirrell’s heart beat furiously, magnifying the blood pumping in his ears as the elevator ascended to her floor. The door was ajar as he approached. He slowly pushed it open to find her seated at the dining room table, facing him. Owning up to what he’d done propelled him forward.

  “I would have packed your shit and thrown it out the door. But, everything in that closet I bought, and you don’t get a consolation prize for fucking me over,” Alex snapped.

  Tirrell couldn’t make eye contact. He stared down at the floor. “I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, you are. Too bad I refused to see it before now.”

  He forced himself to look at her. “Just let me explain, a’ight?”

  “Explain what, Tirrell? How you decided to embarrass me and take off without so much as a good-bye? Or, how you stayed away for two whole days and couldn’t even be bothered to call.”

  “Alex.”

  “You know what, I don’t want to hear it. Get the hell out. I don’t know why I let you in here in the first place. You’re pathetic!”

  He started toward her and she eased up from her chair.

  “I said, get out. I don’t ever want to see your sorry ass again. You could have had a good life with me, you know that? There was no limit to what I would have done for you.”

  “Maybe I didn’t want you to do anything. You ever think about that? I’m a man. Maybe you buyin’ me every goddamn thing was more than I could handle.”

  Alex laughed callously. “You are many things, Mr. Ellis. But, a man is not one of them. So, why don’t you run your little raggedy ass back across town to your precious Noonie. I’m sure there’s still some milk left in those healthy breasts of hers for you to nurse on.”

  He angrily slammed her into the wall and clutched his hand to her throat. It was a recognizable but unexpected response. “You wanna be nasty, bitch, huh?”

  Her eyes teared up. She remained eerily calm. “Get . . . your . . . damn . . . hands . . . off me!”

  He withdrew, shuddering. She slapped him. He recoiled. She slapped him again.

  “Are you high?”

  He turned away. She yanked him back around and looked in his eyes for confirmation.

  “Get out of my house.” She snatched the amethyst fr
om her neck and threw it at him. “You can take this cheap piece of shit with you. And don’t even think about telling anybody what you think you know about me, or you know what will happen.”

  “What I think I know?” Tirrell countered. He pointed his finger in her face for emphasis. “Bitch, if you come near my family I swear you’ll be the one who’s sorry.”

  She smacked his hand away. “Don’t you ever put your hand in my face again.”

  “I got all the proof I need to blow your little operation to hell. And if anything happens to me or mine, it’s all over for you.”

  “You’re full of shit.”

  “You wanna go to prison and have some big dyke shove a stick up your pretty little ass, just try me.”

  “You better be careful who you try to intimidate. I’m not the only menace to your family.”

  “Then you better make damn sure that no one else comes after them either.”

  Tirrell backed out the door slowly, afraid to turn around.

  Alex massaged her throbbing neck muscles and racked her brain, thinking about what Tirrell could possibly have that could be used against her. Other than the fact that he’d been to Rivera’s house, what else could he know? She replayed every conceivable time since meeting him that she could have slipped up. It suddenly dawned on her what it could be. She raced into her bedroom, fumbled for the key in her jewelry box, and threw open the bureau drawer. She breathed a sigh of relief to find that the computer jump drive was where she’d left it. “What does he know?” She moved to her bed, sat down, and picked up the phone. “Bobby, it’s me. You need to get over here, right now. I don’t care that you have company. We’ve got a big problem that we need to make disappear.”

  Alex hung up the telephone and went to the living room and poured herself a double shot of vodka. Bobby made it to her apartment within the hour; by then, she was nursing her second drink.

  “I fucked up,” he said.

  “We both did,” she admitted.

  “I thought he could handle it. I never expected him to go ape-shit. Are you sure he was high?”

  “I looked into his eyes and all I could see was Ray.”

  “He wasn’t gettin’ that stuff from me, I swear.”

  “Unfortunately, we’re not the only game in town. He could have gotten it from just about anybody.”

  “You wanna call Rivera?”

  “No. We can’t do that. He can’t know that we were that stupid and careless. You know he would eliminate every possible connection to him.”

  “So, what are we gonna do?”

  “We have to find out what Tirrell has, and we have to stop him before he can use it against us.”

  “You think we’ll have to kill him?”

  “I’m not going to jail, Bobby. We have to protect ourselves.” Alex poured another drink and poured one for Bobby. “Remind me again how his brother being an ADA and the threat against his family was supposed to keep him in line.”

  Tirrell castigated himself as he walked toward downtown. How the hell could you be so stupid? Why did you tell her that you had proof that could put her in jail? Why the hell didn’t you just leave well enough alone? If she hurts Noonie it’s gonna be on you.

  He stopped and leaned against a building, pounding himself in the forehead with his fists until tears flooded his eyes. It was nearing seven o’clock in the evening. He had to know if Betty was all right. He patted his pockets for his cell phone and then remembered he must have left it at Scotty’s apartment. He reached in his pants for change and searched for a payphone. When she answered a wave of relief washed over him.

  “Hello. Hello. Is anyone there?”

  “Noonie.”

  “Tirrell?”

  He sucked in a mouthful of air to arrest his anguish.

  “Tirrell, what’s the matter? Are you all right?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. I just wanted to call . . . and . . . and tell you that I love you.”

  “I can hear that somethin’ is wrong, Tirrell. What is it?”

  “Nothin’. I’m okay as long as I know you are.”

  “Do you need to come home?”

  “No.” He couldn’t let her see him like this.

  “I made dinner. I could warm somethin’ up for you.”

  “I’m okay . . . I’ll talk to you later, a’ight?”

  After ensuring that she was definitely all right, Tirrell sank to the ground in a puddle of shame and sobbed. A sudden storm burst through the clouds and forced him from the sidewalk. He darted into a building where it appeared some sort of gathering was going on. Everyone inside turned toward the door.

  “C’mon in. You’re among friends here,” said the man at the front of the room.

  Tirrell took inventory of the varied faces of the men—old—young—black—white—battered—tired—distressed—hopeful; most seemed homeless.

  “You’re just in time. We were just gettin’ started.”

  All the men stood up, eighteen in total, and together they joined in a litany they recited verbatim.

  “God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference.”

  Damn, Tirrell thought. This is some kind of AA meeting. He turned to leave.

  “Where you goin’, man? No need to feel ashamed. None of us is here to stand in judgment of nobody else. We’ve all been where you are at one time or another.”

  Tirrell glanced around and saw heads bobbing in agreement.

  “What makes you think you know where I am?”

  “You’re here, aren’t you?”

  “This was a mistake.”

  Tirrell headed for the door, but stopped in his tracks as the rain beat down harder. He turned back around and the man leading the meeting stared at him. It made him uncomfortable.

  “Maybe it’s time for you to come in out of the rain, literally and figuratively, bruh.”

  Tirrell pulled tightly at the windbreaker he wore and took off. He ran as if he could somehow dodge the pelting raindrops, but his efforts were futile. He was soaked by the time he made it to the MARTA station.

  “Why are you breathing so hard?”

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

  Alex opened her eyes. She shot straight up in bed and turned on the lamp on the nightstand next to the bed. She found her briefcase in the living room, pulled out her laptop, and booted it up. She looked at the browsing history and found a site that she was sure she hadn’t visited, and no one else, not even her assistant, should have accessed; that would be easy enough to verify. Clicking on it brought up Flexmail—this was not her e-mail service. “Dammit. When the hell would he have been on my computer?”

  Alex called Tirrell. He didn’t pick up. She opted to leave a voice message. “Whatever it is you think you have, if you’re thinking about giving it to the police or to your brother, you better think again. What I could do to you is nothing compared to what Xavier Rivera will do when he finds out.”

  22

  Bad dreams shook Tirrell awake. He gasped and looked around the room to get his bearings. He inhaled the smell of cheese from a half-eaten pizza that lay in a box on the table in front of him, surrounded by empty beer cans. He threw a blanket back, sat up on the sofa, and rubbed his face. The alarming sound of sirens drew him to the window. It was barely daybreak. The cold autumn sky looked as if it were gearing up for another downpour.

  “Damn, that noise wake you up too?”

  Tirrell turned to see Scotty plodding out of his bedroom, yawning and scratching his pinkish bare chest. He proceeded to the refrigerator.

  “You want a beer?”

  Tirrell shook his head. “How the hell can you drink beer this early in the morning?”

  “I just think of it as coffee.” Scotty popped the top of the beer can, leaned against the kitchen counter, and chugged it. “What’s so interesting out there?”

  “Nothin’,�
�� Tirrell said as he moved away from the window and sat down. “Hey, Scotty. I wanna thank you, man, for lettin’ me stay here.”

  “No sweat, T. You’re welcome to the couch at least until my roommate gets back next week.” He belched. “Oh, man. I gotta take a dump. I think that pizza we had didn’t agree with me.”

  Tirrell chuckled. “Aw, dude, that’s nasty. Thanks for sharin’.”

  When Scotty left the room Tirrell moved the pizza box and found the CD he’d made. He recalled getting in and using Scotty’s computer to access his e-mail account. Before they got trashed and everything became a blur, he’d burned Alex’s file on to it. He needed to stash it somewhere safe, someplace where someone could find it in case anything happened to him. For a split second he thought about Kevin, but how could he bring himself to tell him that he’d potentially put the entire family in peril?

  His cell phone rang. It was Bobby. He ignored the call. The phone rang again—this time it was Betty.

  “Hello.”

  “Tirrell, are you all right?”

  “Yeah, I’m good.”

  “You had me worried after you called last night. Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure.”

  “I couldn’t rest thinkin’ about how you sounded on the phone. Are you in some kind of trouble?”

  Tears stung his eyes. This was a predicament that he caused and somehow he was going to have to fix it.

  “Are you with that woman? Is that why you can’t talk? You know you can always come home, Tirrell. If you’re not ready to—”

  “Noonie, I’m fine. You don’t have to worry about me, okay?”

  “I’m gonna worry until I can see for myself that you’re okay, you hear me?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  When he ended the call with Betty he dialed Kevin. It rang to voice mail—he didn’t leave a message. He listened to the one Bobby left:

  “You done messed up now, T. You’re gonna be real sorry.”

  It was peculiar that Tasha should cross Tirrell’s mind at a time like this; Marquis did, too. Even if they were speaking to him he couldn’t drag them into this. He was completely alone and needed an escape if only for a little while. Shuffling through the mess on the table he found the pipe and just enough crack to assuage the foreboding.