“Food, clothes, they need everythang,” she said without missing a beat.
“No, Bernice.”
“Okay, Jesse, you go with me... buy the food. Will that make you happy?”
“Last time I did that, you sold the food, then you went to the dope man. I know you, Bernice. You don't get a dime from me, you hear? Now get out.”
“Fuck you!” Bernice yelled.
She jumped up and glared at him. Up close Jesse could see his mother's face in Bernice's haggard, angry visage.
“Mr. Big Fuckin' Lawyer!” Bernice said. “You think I gotta get money from you?”
Jesse didn't react. Anger was always stage two in the act. “Bernice, I can get you back into rehab.”
“Rehab on my ass! I told you I did detox. I'm tired of you and your shit.” Her hands were waving excitedly. “I'm your big sister. I used to change your nasty shitty-ass diapers. Just gimme the goddamned money!”
“I'm not gonna do that,” Jesse said calmly.
Bernice sat down in the chair. She was shaking. But to Jesse it was a familiar show. Bernice put her face into her hands and began to cry.
Jesse was silent. Crying always came next.
“I'm really trying, Jesse. I know I let you down in the past, but this time-”
“It's always this time, Bernice. No.”
“I was thinking about Mama yesterday, how she wanted us to be close. “
“Mama is dead!” Jesse yelled. He hated when she brought up his mother's deathbed statement. “I tried to help you, but you dogged me out every time. I paid my debt to Mama, so don't even try it!”
She looked at him with her tear-stained face. “You here, living in this nice place. My house is worse than where we grew up. I got bugs all in my house, Jesse, roaches. You remember how we hated them growing up?” She pulled a handkerchief from her purse and wiped her eyes. “We ain't got no hot water. We gotta boil water to take baths.”
“No, Bernice,” said Jesse. “No money. You have to learn to be responsible. “
“Okay ... okay,” she said, resigned. “I just gotta do what I gotta do. I ain't a bad-Iookin' woman. I'll just get me a short skirt--”
“Do it,” said Jesse. “It's better than begging me every day. At least it's a job, not welfare.” He couldn't believe the words came from his mouth, but he meant them.
“You ain't shit, you know that,” Bernice sniffled. “You think you better than me, don't you?”
Jesse stood over Bernice, looking down upon her. “I am better than you, Bernice. We both lost our way, but I found my way back. You had every chance I had growing up, and you chose the easy way out of everything. And every time I tried to help, you pulled me down with you.”
“Why-- why do you try to hurt me like this, Jesse?”
“Get out, Bernice. I've gone as far as I'm going with you. I got behind on my rent trying to help you. I took out loans to help you, and all you did was let me down. No more. It hurts me, but I have to have a life. And I can't save yours.”
“But this time--”
“Don't come back. I'm gonna tell security not to let you in anymore.”
In a burst of fury Bernice got up and turned over Jesse's coffee table. African statues and a wooden candy dish fell to the floor as the table turned over on them.
Jesse grabbed her. Bernice started hitting him, but he pulled her toward the door.
“Go to hell!” Bernice hit him in the side of the face.
“Don't make me hurt you, Bernice. Just... get out!”
Jesse dragged her out the door into the hallway. Bernice lost her footing and fell on the thick carpet, crying.
Jesse watched her lying in the hallway, and for a moment he didn't see Bernice the crackhead. He saw his ten-year-old sister, a skinny little girl who wore ugly print dresses and wanted to be Diana Ross when she grew up. He could not even remember when this all started. All he knew was that she was more trouble than she was worth.
Bernice turned and stared at him, her eyes hurt and angry, a combination that frightened Jesse for some reason. She started to get up, and Jesse closed the door, shutting her out.
Later that night Jesse sat alone in his car parked on the east side. He was on McKay Street near Victoria, a working-class neighborhood that had seen better days. There were still houses on the street, but vacant lots now dotted the once-uninterrupted row of homes, like missing teeth in a smile.
Jesse parked about four houses from his sister's home. He could see it from where he sat. It was in sad shape. The paint job was faded into a sad blue. Two of the wooden stairs leading to the porch were gone. It looked bad, unwholesome.
He didn't like being here. It was his history, but he'd left it all behind. He'd watched almost every childhood friend he had die, go to jail, become addicted to drugs, or locked into poverty and hopelessness. He sometimes remembered their faces, guys like Kelvin and Cocoa, young, bright, and full of life. Then they would change into visages of violence, drugged-out torpor, utter despair, and death.
A boy emerged from the side of the faded blue house. The kid walked slowly toward Jesse's car, taking time to look over his shoulder back at the house. He was about twelve, dressed in baggy pants, an oversize shirt, and basketball shoes. His hair was cut low, and he had a small gold earring in his ear. The boy loped along, cool-walking his way to the car. He looked angry, pissed off as though he had a score to settle.
“Hey, Uncle Jesse,” said the boy. He smiled a little, his face going from the hard look to one of innocence.
“How you doin', Nikko?” asked Jesse.
“I'm doin',” said Nikko.
“You look like you're ready to kick somebody's butt.”
“Gotta look mean or people will try to punk you, know what I'm sayin'?”
Jesse knew. The neighborhood had not changed a lot over the years.
“So, how's your sister?”
“Letisha's all right. She wants some kinda school club sweater. Been talkin' about it all day. She's with Mama, trying to cool her out.”
“What's Bernice doing now?” “Cussin'. She's pissed off at you. She said you beat her up and threw her out of your house.”
“You know that's not true,” said Jesse. “I had to put her out, but I didn't beat her.”
“I know. She's mad 'cause she ain't got no money to cop, you know.”
“Yeah, I know. So you all got enough food and everything?”
“Yeah, we all right,” said Nikko.
“I have some more money for you and your sister.” Jesse reached into his pocket and took out some bills. Nikko took them and put them in his pocket.
“Thanks,” said Nikko.
There was a long silence between them. Jesse never knew what to say to Nikko. And it seemed that his nephew felt the same way. Moreover, Nikko and his sister seemed afraid of Jesse, like he was somehow passing judgment on them because he'd made it out of the ghetto. It made sense when he thought about it. They were related in blood, but a million miles separated their current fortunes.
Nikko was only twelve, but he was older than his years. The street forced a young boy to grow up early. He talked and acted like a man.
“So, you know what to do with the money?” asked Jesse.
“Yeah, just like always,” said Nikko. “I buy food with it and tell Mama I won the money gambling or doing stuff for people. And if she ask for some, tell her I spent it all.”
“Cool,” said Jesse.
“But, Uncle Jesse, Mama be thinking that I'm selling drugs to get this money. She gets real mad.”
“She's got a lot of nerve as much as she smokes.” Jesse saw the hurt in Nikko's eyes. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean that the way it sounded. I guess I'm mad at her too.”
“Anyway,” said Nikko, “it's getting harder to hide the money. One time I caught Mama searching my pants.”
“Don't worry. Just keep it from her, or you know what she'll do with it.”
“I will,”
said Nikko. “Bye, Uncle Jesse.”
Nikko walked back to the house. Jesse started the car and pulled off.
Jesse's heart was breaking. Nikko and his sister were good kids, cursed with a bad mother. It was like seeing Bernice, Tyrus, and himself again as kids. Doomed. But as strange as it sounded, the kids loved Bernice. They had nothing else in the belly of the dying neighborhood, but a mama was enough to keep them together.
Jesse couldn't even remember the names of the men who had fathered Nikko and his sister. Neither of them came around or helped out. It was a tragedy, and he felt helpless to change it. Kids should not have to live this way. Especially when their parents knew better.
Jesse got onto the I-75 freeway and headed back home. And all that night he could not shake the memory of his sister on her knees in his hallway and Nikko cool-walking his way back to her.
10
Women In Need
Jesse was having an early breakfast with his fiancée, Connie Givens. They sat in a booth of the IHOP on Jefferson. It was a bright and busy restaurant like the others in the chain, only this one was owned by Anita Baker, the famous R&B singer and Detroit native. Her restaurant walls were covered with pictures of soul singers, gold records, and awards, giving the place an added appeal. As usual, the place was packed to the gills, filled with people on their way to work.
Connie nursed her second cup of coffee and looked at Jesse with deep concern.
“You look distracted, honey,” she said.
“Huh? Oh, I'm sorry,” said Jesse. “I've got a lot on my mind today. Didn't sleep well.”
“I remember when you couldn't stop paying attention to me.” Connie smiled at him over her coffee. She was thirty, thin, and had a head full of long brown hair. She was not pretty, but not homely either, the kind of woman who longed to be the former but was probably destined to be the latter. Connie was also very light-skinned and was often mistaken for white, one of the few things that enraged her.
“Did you see the news last night?” asked Connie. “Someone found a tiger in the basement of a house on the west side!”
“Another one?” said Jesse.
“Don't tell me this has happened before,” said Connie.
“Some nut was illegally selling exotic animals around Michigan this year. At least we thought he was. We popped him for trying to sell a big lizard called a Komodo dragon, but he walked. “
“How?” asked Connie. “That sounds like the kind of case that's open-and-shut.”
“We lost the damned lizard. It got loose, and some guy hit it with his car over on Gratiot.”
Connie laughed out loud. “But you still had the body, right?”
“It was just a big red splotch,” said Jesse. “We needed the lizard alive. It was no good to us like that, so we couldn't prove anything.”
Jesse took another bite of his pancakes. Connie kept laughing. Her voice sounded like a young girl's. Jesse smiled at her amusement; then his face sank into sadness again.
“You wanna talk about it?” asked Connie.
Jesse considered the question; then: “It's my sister again,” said Jesse. “Bernice.”
“Now what?” asked Connie. She couldn't hide the contempt in her voice.
“More of the same. I had to throw her out of my house.”
“Oh, God, Jesse, are you okay?” Connie grabbed his hand.
“Yes,” Jesse said. He laughed a little. Connie thought all poor people were dangerous. “I'm dealing with it. Anyway, that's just part of my depression. The other part is the case, the mayor's murder.”
“The case you can't talk about,” Connie said.
“Right. Something about it has me troubled, and today it's going to... well, get worse.”
“The rumor is that you have a suspect. Everyone's talking about it.”
“Yes, but... after the press conference you'll know why I'm so concerned. “
“Well, let's not talk about it. Let's talk about us.” Connie took another bite of her egg white omelet.
“Okay,” said Jesse. “What about us?”
“My friends are bugging me about our wedding,” Connie said. She smiled weakly at Jesse.
“You want to set a date?” Jesse asked. He felt irritation creep into his voice. He hadn't meant it to.
“You know I do,” said Connie. “The ball's been in your court for some time now.”
“Connie, I don't want to have another fight.”
“We don't have to if we talk about it civilly.”
Connie was a fourth-generation black professional whose family owned three car dealerships. She could trace her family line back through doctors, lawyers, and morticians all the way to a white great-grandfather, who had shocked Virginia society by marrying a freed slave.
Her family was perfect. Rich father, successful mother. A brother who was a doctor and a sister going to Harvard. And they cared for one another with that special kind of love that families have. Jesse could sense it when he was with Connie and her family but could never generate the same love in his own heart, which seemed to be dry when it came to his own relatives.
He loved Connie. She had a bright humor, intelligence, and was a passionate lover. He also admired what she represented: money, class, power, family; all the things that he desired. And though it hurt Jesse to admit it, if Connie had been prettier, she would probably have never looked at him twice.
Marrying Connie had been on his mind a lot lately. Bernice and his own family's jaded past made him leery. He felt that he was destined to be a failure at holding together a family of his own.
“I know you're worried about my parents,” Connie said. “But they've treated all my boyfriends like crap. It's kinda their way of weeding out the ones who aren't serious.”
“They don't think I'm good enough for you,” said Jesse.
“No one will ever be good enough. I won't defend them, but what's important is what we want.” Connie caught Jesse's eyes and held them. “That is, if we both still want it.”
“I don't need pressure, Connie. I've been down this road before.”
Connie's eyes got wider, and Jesse knew he was in trouble. “Don't blame me for that woman, what's her name.” Connie was suddenly angry at the mention of Jesse's old flame.
“Karen,” said Jesse. He was now sorry he'd brought her up.
“That woman was a nutcase, you said so yourself.”
“Connie, I'm sorry. Look, Karen Bell doesn't have anything to do with this.”
“Too late, Jesse. You and that woman were almost married, and she broke it off. That's not my fault.” Connie looked around, embarrassed that she'd raised her voice.
“I know,” said Jesse. “I just think... Connie, you know how I feel about you--”
“I've waited a year, Jesse,” Connie said. “I'll be thirty-one on my birthday. All my friends are having their second children.”
Jesse pushed his plate away. She was right. It was time to step up to responsibility. He had many reservations, but their relationship was solid, and others had built more on less than that.
“You're right,” said Jesse. “I'm sorry. After all we've been through, you shouldn't have to even say it to me. Let's get married.”
Connie almost jumped out of her chair. She leaned across her food and kissed him. Jesse was embarrassed. He didn't like public displays of affection, but he kissed her back. A few people around them applauded and whistled. Connie sat back down, blushing a little.
“Sorry,” she said.
“It's okay,” said Jesse. “Let's set a date, any date you want.”
“Well, it's October, so how about a May wedding?”
“Great. My case should be over by then. It would be the perfect time to start a new life.”
Connie smiled and fought back tears. She was a strong woman and not usually so emotional, but this was something that she'd wanted for a long time.
Jesse finished breakfast, then went in to work. Everyone in the office was happy at the announcement of
his wedding. The single guys in the office immediately started making jokes about husband misery and giving a bachelor party. The women seemed glad to see another man go down. But he sensed disappointment from some of them. There were several women who had crushes on him, but he never dated coworkers.
Later that morning Jesse's breakfast rumbled in his stomach as he walked down the long hall in the Frank Murphy with D’Estenne and Dick Steals. They got on the elevator, then went outside, got into a waiting car, and sped quickly over to the City-County Building. D’Estenne didn't want to hold the conference at Frank Murphy. It was always too crowded.
Soon the three men stood at a podium in the lobby of the City-County Building. The lobby was packed. All TV stations and newspapers were represented.
The podium had microphones lined around it. Photographers snapped pictures, and handheld TV cameras pointed in Jesse's direction.
The word was out that the prosecutor had a suspect in the Yancy case, and the city was buzzing with the news. Miraculously, no one had leaked the identity of the suspect.
D’Estenne was dressed in a navy blue suit with the subtlest shade of gray pin-striping. His crisp white shirt and red and gray striped tie completed his ensemble. His hair had been styled, and he seemed to look younger. He smiled and quieted the gallery.
“Gentlemen and ladies, I guess it's safe to assume in the information age that we all know why we're here. I will make it brief. At ten-thirty a.m., Louise Yancy surrendered to the Detroit police at 1300 Beaubien, where she was formally charged with the murder of her husband, the late Harris Yancy.”
The gallery was eerily silent for a second. Disbelief and shock were on their faces. Then the reporters erupted in an explosion of voices and light as photographers and TV cameras captured the moment.
“Hold on, hold on.” D’Estenne tried to quite the crowd. “I have a statement.”
The gallery quieted; some reporters dialed on their mobile phones. Jesse's stomach tightened. He saw a brief smile on Dick Steals's face. It faded as quickly as it came.
“We have sufficient evidence,” said D’Estenne, “to arrest and prosecute Louise Yancy. Said evidence will be revealed in the normal course of prosecution. Ms. Yancy will be arraigned tomorrow. We know this case is volatile, but the high standards of the Wayne County Prosecutor's Office and Recorder's Court will not be affected by the high-profile nature of this case. We will ensure fairness and justice for all parties concerned.”
Double Dead Page 7
