Outcast

by Lewis Ericson

  “No.”

  “Then we better get you looked at.”

  Mr. Preston helped Tirrell in the truck and drove him to hospital emergency. The chart from his initial visit was pulled. After more than two hours of waiting he was given more antibiotics, re-stitched, re-bandaged, and released.

  Beds at The Mission filled up quickly, especially when the weather turned. There were fifteen bunk beds lined against one wall and fifteen bunks lined up on the facing wall in this dormitory-styled room that reminded Tirrell a lot of Army barracks. Mr. Preston managed to commandeer for Tirrell one of the two remaining.

  The room was musty like sweaty socks or rancid cheese. Tirrell slid his shoes off and climbed into his bottom bunk.

  An older Caucasian man in a bunk directly across from him stared. “If I was you I’d keep an eye on those shoes if you want ’em to be there when you wake up.”

  Remembering that his coat walked off earlier, Tirrell got up and slipped back into his shoes. He would sleep with one eye open just in case.

  25

  “Ms. Solomon.”

  “Yes.”

  “You can come in now.”

  Draped in a black knee-length trench coat with a silk scarf tied around her head, Alex looked like some sort of undercover operative following a nurse to Bobby’s room. She wasn’t as prepared as she thought when she pushed open the door and saw her once robust cousin bruised, battered, and connected to life support.

  Alex removed the large-frame sunglasses she wore and turned to the nurse. “Is he going to wake up?”

  “The doctor has him in a medically induced coma until the swelling goes down in his brain,” the nurse responded.

  “If he wakes up he won’t ever be the same, will he?”

  “It’s just too early to say for sure.”

  “Can I have some time alone with him?”

  “Of course. I’ll be right outside.”

  Alex reached out and gently touched Bobby’s hand. She tentatively sat in a chair next to the bed and closed her eyes, searching for unfamiliar words of prayer.

  “I would have been here sooner, but the police had me answering questions most of last night. I called your sister in Queens. She’s making arrangements to get here. Tirrell did this to you, didn’t he? They think it was some sort of robbery. One of your neighbors said she heard the shot and looked out her window and saw a man running from your apartment. You have so many people in and out of your place all the time they couldn’t be sure it was Tirrell, and I couldn’t tell them what I suspected, or why. Everything’s unraveling, but don’t worry. I’m going to make sure that you’re taken care of. I’m going to wire your sister some money, but I can’t stick around, you know that, right? I’ve got some loose ends to tie up here first and then I’m getting out of the country for a while. All hell is gonna break loose when Rivera finds out what happened. He’s going to come after me, and if he can’t get to me he’s going after Mama. I can’t let that happen, so I’m taking her with me. You understand, right?”

  Alex sat quietly for several minutes before finally getting up to go to the nurse’s desk.

  “Excuse me. Is there a way to find out if another patient is here?”

  “Sure, I could look it up for you.”

  “Ellis . . . Betty Ellis.”

  “Are you family?”

  “No.”

  “Nobody’s allowed in to see her except immediate family.”

  “It’s okay. I know her grandson and I just want to see if she’s all right.”

  “Looks like she’s still in the ICU,” the nurse responded.

  Alex took the elevator to the lobby and walked to the other side of the building. She walked by the waiting room and caught a glimpse of Pat Ellis inside with several other people she didn’t know. When she saw Kevin headed up the hall in the other direction she ducked into a stairwell until he passed. Several minutes went by before she concluded that she’d either missed Tirrell, or he wasn’t coming. She chose to leave.

  As she exited through the main entrance of the hospital she crossed paths with Tasha—they stared at one another knowingly but said nothing. Alex loitered outside thinking that Tirrell might not be far behind, but he wasn’t.

  Tirrell left The Mission without seeing Mr. Preston, after showering and finding something suitable to wear among the clothing donations. He knew he somehow had to get the CD implicating Alex to Kevin. She was certain to be spooked by what happened to Bobby and might try a disappearing act, unless she was too busy planning a counterattack.

  The first thing he noticed when he got to Betty’s house was that the yellow police tape was gone. However, the chips in the bricks and the boarded window stood as a reminder that something horrendous had taken place here. He decided it best to go in through the back door in case nosy neighbors were charged to keep an eye out for him or any other suspicious activity. Dogs ran to the edge of fences and barked warnings of an intruder.

  Both the front and back doors were likely to be dead bolted. He didn’t have his keys. Breaking in was his only recourse. He removed his jacket and went to the side of the house where his bedroom was. He picked up a brick, wrapped it in the jacket, and punched out a section of the glass. Turning the latch, he hoisted the window and awkwardly climbed inside, being careful not to reopen his stitches. He found a piece of discarded plywood to cover the hole he’d made and grabbed some warmer clothes and his old fatigue jacket to change into. Reaching up on the shelf in the closet he pulled down the shoebox containing the CD and a yellowish dog-eared photo long forgotten of his father and mother. Shards of broken glass crunched under the soles of his shoes as he walked into the living room to have a look around. He was alarmed by the sight of dried blood all over the recliner. He stooped down and picked up a half-eaten Moon Pie and buried his face in his hands. “Noonie, I promise you I’m gonna make this right.” He proceeded to the house phone to call Kevin.

  “Who is this?”

  “It’s me. Tirrell.”

  “What the hell? What are you doing in the house?”

  “I had to get somethin’ important.”

  “I’m calling the police.”

  “Kevin, just listen to me, a’ight?”

  “I don’t want to hear a damn thing you have to say.”

  “I know who shot . . . Hello . . . Hello. Dammit!”

  Kevin hung up on him.

  The sound of a siren roared by but quickly faded in the distance. It was enough to cut Tirrell’s invasion short.

  When he left the house he headed straight to the hospital. There was a pretty clear indication of what he’d be walking into. Anne Crawl was in the waiting room along with the pastor from the church and a few other members—Tasha was there as well.

  Tirrell got her attention and motioned for her to come out.

  “It’s good to see you.” Tirrell smiled.

  Tasha shook her head. “What happened to you?”

  “This is my new fall wardrobe,” he joked. “Tirrell Ellis, man on the street.”

  “I’m serious, Tirrell. What’s goin’ on? Who did this?”

  “Where’s Kevin?”

  “Him and Pat are in with Miss Betty.”

  “Is she—”

  “No, she’s alive.”

  Tirrell threw his head back and sighed. “Can you do me a favor?” He pulled the CD out of his pocket with a piece of paper wrapped around it. “Give this to Kevin for me.”

  “What is it?”

  “Tasha, please. It’s really, really important that he gets this.”

  “Why can’t you give it to him yourself?”

  “Because he’s not gonna listen to me. Please promise me you’ll give this to him.”

  “Okay.”

  “I should come back when there’re not so many people around.” Tirrell turned to leave and came face to face with Kevin.

  Pat took hold of Kevin’s arm. “Baby, don’t start, please. Not here.”

  Tirrell braced himself. “How’s
Noonie?”

  “The doctor’s treating her for some kind of post-surgical staph infection,” Pat injected.

  Tirrell stepped around them.

  Kevin grabbed him. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  Tirrell jerked away. “You can’t stop me from seein’ her. She’s my grandmother too.”

  “You’re the reason she’s in here, fool. I’m not going to let you get anywhere near her.”

  Tirrell looked at Tasha and the others—his eyes pleaded for mercy; there didn’t seem to be any to spare.

  “I guess this is what Jesus would do, huh?” he sniped.

  After Tirrell left Tasha handed the disk to Kevin.

  “What’s this?”

  “Tirrell wanted me to make sure you got it. He said it was important.”

  Kevin shook his head, took the disk, and tossed it in the trash.

  The sun had just set over the downtown Atlanta skyline, taking it’s warmth along with it. Tirrell pulled his woolen skullcap down over his ears, blew into hands, and walked up West Peachtree toward Cypress Street. He spied rounding the corner a white Acura that had passed him twice already; the third time it stopped.

  “Need a ride?”

  The ties that ensnared Tirrell were as viable as the umbilical cord connecting the baby to his mother’s placenta. His mind and body persuaded him that he needed the nutrients that crack cocaine provided, and he was on the brink of doing just about anything to get it.

  He wasn’t looking or feeling much like the charming rogue who commanded salacious gazes, but he was passable in a street-boy sort of way. He leaned into the window. The driver was nice-looking enough despite the receding hairline and his pudgy middle-aged spread.

  “You got pretty eyes,” the man said.

  “I got a lot more than that,” Tirrell responded, licking his lips suggestively. What harm would it do, gettin’ a blow job from some horny ol’ bastard? Tirrell convinced himself that the price would be worth the sacrifice. Mindful of his wounded leg he gingerly climbed in the car and the man took off.

  “My name’s John.”

  No shit. Tirrell smirked. “I’m Kevin.”

  “So, what’re you into, Kevin?”

  “Whatever you wanna pay for.”

  “How much is it gonna cost me?”

  “Fifty to start.”

  Tirrell could hear his heart beating between his ears. He couldn’t believe that he was actually doing something this surreal.

  There are a plethora of alleys and dead-end streets snaking through downtown Atlanta where one might be party to any number of illicit propositions after dark. The man found a secluded spot behind such a place and parked.

  Tirrell sat anxiously, willing his erection. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine a scenario that he may have enjoyed, and unzipped his pants.

  “What are you doing?” the man asked.

  “This is what you want, ain’t it?”

  “I’m not doin’ you.” The man unzipped his pants. “I want you to suck me off.”

  The very idea was repugnant. “Sorry, man. I don’t get down like that. I ain’t gay.”

  “Then what the hell were you doin’ out there?”

  Tirrell’s baser instinct kicked in. He wanted to punch the man, grab his wallet, and take off, but he wasn’t sure how much of a fight the man would put up, and he wanted the high even more.

  The man looked around to ensure privacy. “Are we doin’ this, or what?” He stroked himself and reached out to pull Tirrell’s head toward him.

  The muscles in Tirrell’s neck tensed and he resisted. “I need to see the money first.”

  “Shit,” the man spat and pulled out his wallet, brandishing a holstered pistol simultaneously. “Satisfied?”

  “You a cop?”

  “If I was you’d be locked up by now.”

  Tirrell inched closer. He’d never entertained the thought of having another man’s penis in his mouth, railing vehemently against those who assumed he was gay or made subtle or overt passes at him because of his physicality. Yet, here he was cashing in what was left of his self-respect. He disgusted himself. This can’t be happenin’. I can’t be this desperate. “Fuck. I can’t do this!”

  He threw open the car door and took off up the alley. He’d fallen as far down the rabbit hole that he ever wanted to go. It was time to find his way back home.

  Humiliated, Tirrell went looking for Mr. Preston, and was told that he was at a meeting. He made his way back over to the building where he knew he would find him. The group was in the middle of reciting the Serenity mantra when he walked in and took a seat in the back.

  Twelve of the eighteen men in the room with cards in their seats were asked to stand and read aloud the twelve traditions (one each per card) of Narcotics Anonymous.

  When they were done, Charlie Preston stepped up to the lectern. “I wanna thank everybody for comin’ out tonight. I see some new faces, so I just want y’all to know that you’re among family. These meetings are really important to our day-to-day success in recovery, and nobody knows that better than me. I was asked to say a few words just before we got started and I wasn’t exactly sure what I was gonna say—until now. Today I was faced with a situation that really pissed me off. Mr. Decker, who runs The Mission, chewed me out for breakin’ the rules.” He glanced at Tirrell. “Decker didn’t like that I took it upon myself to bring somebody in after curfew. Didn’t matter the reason. Didn’t matter the circumstances. Decker wanted to let me know that he was in charge and he had to answer for what went on. He kept tellin’ me how what I did amounted to insubordination and that my actions could jeopardize his job and mine. Now, to me, that was some bullshit, but I had to respect the man’s position and accept and understand that it wasn’t my call. I broke the rules and when you break the rules there are consequences. There was a time when somebody got up in my face like that I would have gotten mad and broke my foot off up in they ass. But, I had to learn to deal with conflict in a whole different way. We all have to learn to look at stuff like conflict, disappointment, anger, and pain in a whole new light. We can’t shut down. We can’t run to the pipe or to the needle when things ain’t goin’ like we want ’em to go. ‘God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change’ is more than just a saying, it has to be our way of life.”

  When Mr. Preston was finished, various men stood to tell their stories of how their day or week had gone, and if or how they were able to overcome.

  “Anyone else?”

  Tirrell fidgeted and shifted uneasily before he too finally stood up, wiping the perspiration from his face and the moisture from his eyes.

  “M . . . My name’s Tirrell . . . and . . . and I’m an addict.”

  When the meeting ended the men milled about the room, talking and drinking coffee. Tirrell found Mr. Preston surrounded by a couple of guys and waited patiently to get to him. He flipped the small white chip in his hand (given for attending an initial meeting) and rolled it between his thumb and forefinger as he thought of its significance. It really did symbolize that he had “come in out of the rain,” and now the hard part lay ahead of him.

  Tirrell sheepishly sidled up to Mr. Preston. “I uh . . . I never thanked you for helpin’ me last night. I didn’t mean to cut out on you, or get you in trouble or nothin’. You’re the first person to show me any kindness since my grandmother. I wasn’t tryin’ to piss on that. So, thank you.” Tirrell turned to leave.

  “Is your grandmother all right?”

  “I don’t know. Nobody will let me see her. My brother blames me for what happened, they all do. I blame myself. I tried to make it right. I took the information that I had on the woman I told you about and gave it to him. He, uh . . . he works for the DA’s office.”

  “DA? Ellis?” Mr. Preston smiled. “I don’t know why I didn’t put it together before. Is your brother named Kevin?”

  “Yeah, you know him?”

  “When he worked for the public defenders office he
caught a couple of my cases. He was green as grass back then. I hope he’s a better prosecutor.”

  Tirrell smirked. “He’s good at prosecutin’ me, that’s for damn sure.”

  “Would it make you feel any better to know that the man you thought you killed is still alive?”

  “What?”

  “You don’t watch the news, do you?”

  “I haven’t exactly had the time. I ran into that brick wall you were talkin’ about.”

  “Well, you made a good call tonight. You got a long road ahead of you, but you’ll get through it.”

  “If it doesn’t kill me first.”

  26

  “Mama, it’s me.”

  “Alexandra, how are you?”

  “I’m good. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. But, you don’t sound right. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong, Mama.”

  “Alexandra?”

  “How would you like to take a trip?”

  “A trip to where?”

  “Nigeria.”

  “Nigeria? When?”

  “As soon as possible.”

  “Alexandra Solomon, what is going on with you?”

  “Mama, please. I don’t have time to get into it now. I promise I’ll fill you in later.”

  “Oh, I don’t like the sound of this at all.”

  “Do you have your passport?”

  “Yes, it’s around here somewhere.”

  “You need to find it. I’ve booked a flight for you to meet me in Abuja.”

  “Meet you? Alexandra, you know I don’t like to fly since 9/11. That’s just way too far to travel alone like that.”

  “Okay, then I’ll come to New York. I can meet you at JFK and we’ll fly out together. How does that sound?”

  “It sounds like trouble.”

  “Mama, please. I don’t want to leave you in New York.”

  “Leave me? Why not? What’s happened?”

  “Can you just not ask a lot of questions right now? I need you to trust me.”