In the Nick of Time

by Laveen, Tiana

  “What do you mean you can’t let me go down like this?” The man laughed lightly. “You ain’t runnin’ shit in here, man. I’m not afraid of no mothafuckin’ cops. Y’all the biggest gang up in this mothafucka, tryna sit here and school me… Now, I don’t know what your plan was when you called this little meeting, but it’s obvious you thought you were going to get somewhere with this. You can best believe that you’re not, so we can end it right now.” He pushed away from the table, preparing to stand and no doubt walk the hell out.

  “Yeah…endings.” Nick nodded as he appeared to be in deep deliberation. “See, that’s what I’m concerned about, Trey. I’m worried that how you think this is going to end is not exactly how it will play out…”

  “Oh, you uh fortune teller now, huh?” He paused, kept seated, and flashed a smirk. “This shit is my decision, and I’ve made up my mind. Quit tryna save that white boy’s life. I wish I was fuckin’ surprised. We live in a world where you cops, politicians, all you mothafuckas value white life over black life. My son don’t mean shit to you, man! I tried to help my son. He showed interest in music, playing the damn guitar and piano, and I did what I was supposed to do—get him some lessons, let his ass get some formal education on that shit, and I end up handing him to a damn wolf in sheep’s clothing! It’s time to even the score. That mothafucka is dead, point blank, period.”

  “Trey, listen to me. If you kill him, you kill your son’s future… point blank, period. Oliver’s, I mean, Don’s family will be thrust in the limelight, and possibly rightfully so, but they will not go down without a fight, man. These people are not newjacks to covering shit up and making people pay. They’ll ensure you never see the light of day again and though some will champion you as a hero, others will only recall your affiliations with gang activity, look at your appearance, and label you a threat to society. Who do you think they’ll believe or care about? You said it yourself, cops such as myself, politicians and the like value white life over black life. I personally don’t, but I’m not going to sit here and pretend like what you’re saying isn’t happening in some circles, because it is…”

  The man’s eyes brightened ever so slightly, proof that he was paying a bit more attention, becoming invested in the conversation.

  “Due to that, people will see you on television, and only visualize a black criminal that killed a rich white man who was simply misunderstood—or worse yet, your son will be accused of making the whole damn thing up, trying to get some money, extortion. They won’t care about your or your child’s side of the story, and you’ll be made into a damn example.”

  “Right! And you expect me to just let that shit go? Why shouldn’t I fight against that? I’m not bowing down to shit! It teaches them—he—can get away with it! The only way to change this shit is to BE the damn change! I can’t file charges; nobody fuckin’ believes me and the cops don’t do shit no ways! It’s my son’s word against his entire family. His father sent me some money, said it was an investment for Isaiah, a scholarship so to speak, to fucking cover up for this shit after I confronted their asses. The system is crooked. Y’all mothafuckas bought and paid for whether you agreed to it or not. Ain’t nobody tryna hear me, man!” He pounded the table with an iron fist.

  “Exactly! You just admitted what I told you, and that was only my idea, but you proved it as fact. Look, I need you to trust me, Trey!”

  The man bottled his feelings up inside and pushed back from the table as his lower lip trembled ever so slightly.

  “I’m going to make sure he doesn’t do this to another child again. He is going away, will be under supervision, and I will be checking up on this guy all the time, I promise you. I’m trying to save a family, here! Not his, yours!”

  The man simply glared at him, his fists tight as he leaned slightly forward, and his jaw twitched with obvious anxiety.

  “I know what I’m talking about, Trey. Your son will not only lose his father and possibly have guilt about telling you after the aftermath that you created, but he’ll suffer because no one is there to teach him how to be a man, to grow into himself and find out who he really is. I’m not a father, but that aspect, shit…” He ran his hand real slow over the back of his head before looking back into the man’s eyes, “I know about it all too well…”

  With that, Nick knew he finally had his undivided attention, without a shadow of a doubt.

  “You may have to. Maybe you and I have that in common… no man in the house. If I’m wrong in my assumption, let me know.”

  Trey’s eyes dropped to the table as he slowly clasped his hands together, seemingly wrestling with painful memories right before Nick’s eyes.

  “Do you remember what that was like, Trey? You probably tried to be just the opposite, right? You said you’d be different. Even though you live this lifestyle, you probably told yourself that you’d do right by your child.” He paused, let the shit sink in and marinate. Trey said nothing, only continued to listen, just as he expected him to by this point.

  “I bet when you found out your girlfriend was pregnant all those years ago, you were elated but scared, too. You didn’t want him to experience not having a father in his life. To this day, you have so many questions… so many unanswered questions. I lived that life, Trey. You and I lived the same experience. If I were you, I would consider another angle. No one, and I mean nobody, would ever keep me away from child. Not even Don.”

  “You aren’t in my shoes!” the man yelled, his expression fierce, full of fury. He leaned over the damn table like some hungry lion ready to feast. “Don’t sit there tryna tell me what the fuck to do! Judging me! This is about my son’s life, man! This ain’t a game! You want me to lie back and just take it, let him get away with some shit, twice?! Do you know who the fuck I am? I’m T.G.B., mothafucka! Temper Up, Gun Up, Body Down, goddamn it!”

  “If you take that man’s life, you’ve handed him the keys to your own life and the only thing that will be up is YOU upstate, and what will be down is your child’s face as he’s crying because his prideful, ego driven father loved retaliation more than his damn son!!!” Nick got to his feet. “Everyone will know who did it, Trey! You’ve already marked him, goddamn it, and let me tell you something else,” he snarled, pointing his finger in his direction. “As much money as that man’s family will put out to have you put away, even your best damn friend, the guy you thought would take a bullet for you, would rat on you in a heartbeat to get his hands on that big, bubbling cash pot. Believe that!”

  Trey turned away, sweat rolling down his face as he gripped nothing but air with two strong, balled up hands.

  “You know what’s funny to me?” The guy cracked a sinister smile.

  “What?”

  “He ain’t call his Daddy and told on me, begged him to get him outta here.”

  Nick smirked. “Oh, he did… He called several times when he first found out you were here, but his father doesn’t believe him, thinks he is making it up to get out of treatment…embarrass the family even further by messing up an agreement.”

  They simply stared at one another for a moment or two.

  “Look, man. I’m not judging your lifestyle right now. I’m not judging your history or your current condition,” Nick said. “But I am judging your future because it would be null and void. You’d hurt your son more, and that man would be dead—some would say, ‘good fucking riddance’, but what will it cost you?! What’s the damn price?! It’s too fucking high, Trey! And even if you want to spend it, Isaiah can’t afford it. He’d have to foot the bill. Don’t make him write a check you can’t cover!”

  Trey’s chest heaved up and down and the man’s nostrils flared. Nick could almost smell his unparalleled rage in the room and he was certain, if he weren’t a cop, they’d been tussling on the floor by then. The heated emotions splayed within the guy, filling the room like a cup, and now the shit overflowed like lava. It became palpable to the touch, moving around like fog, choking them both like dense smoke from hi
s fire within.

  “You have to see the big fucking picture, my man!” He placed his hand across his chest. “I’m a police officer in fucking rehab!” He looked around the room in dramatic disbelief. “Can you believe that shit? I couldn’t either until I had detoxed for a few days, and the shit got real—real damn fast. Let me tell you something. I’m a drunk and a drug addict, but I’m also a damn good cop. I never promised any motherfucker out there something I couldn’t deliver on. I know you asked about me, Trey. I know you know my entire record. You are too high up in the food chain for people to not supply you what you need, when you need it. You have my entire resume, so you can bank on that, take a chance on what is true and fact, or ride the wave of risk and then drown!

  “I can’t stop you, and you know this, and I’m not in here trying to pretend I’m still on my beat, either. I’m in here tryna fix my fucked up life, and that’s what I want you to do, too, so you can be there for that boy of yours!” He pointed towards the closed door. “No one in this world is going to love him the way you and his mother do, NO ONE! Don’t fuck up his life even further, Trey…don’t do it!”

  “I come from a different world than you…”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “…You aren’t black. Trust me, Officer Vitale, it’s a different world…”

  “Yeah…I’m not black, but I know what suffering feels like. I know what it feels like to be called racial slurs, to be judged on your ethnicity, to be typecast, forgotten, and given up on. I know what it feels like to wonder if you’re going to get evicted. I know what it feels like to watch a mother work herself literally to death to try and keep that from happening and for a man that brought you into the world to not lift a fucking finger to help her, even though he created part of her pride and joy, but her problem, too. You’re right…I’m not black…but I’m the next best thing.” He smirked, causing the man to crack a slight smile.

  In his mind, Nick worked out the man’s next step, his reaction…

  He’s gonna get mad again. He is going to keep fighting a bit, though deep down, he’s already made up his mind to trust me…

  “What do I look like letting that mothafucka walk, man?! What kinda man would I be?! Fuck this shit, man! I’m going to get my son some justice! Something most of you police officers ’round here know nothin’ about! Y’all don’t even respect us…out here killing us, fuckin’ with us! That’s one reason we have the organizations and cliques that we do in the damn streets, to protect ourselves from mothafuckas like you! Protect and serve my ass; neglect and harass, that’s what tha fuck y’all do!”

  …And bingo. He gave me what I wanted… SHOWTIME!

  “You really don’t want to go there,” Nick smirked and slowly shook his head. “I’ve never used deadly force towards anyone, including black men, in my entire career, Trey, and you best believe, the few times it was an option, it would have been justified. Your gang has killed more black men than the NYPD has in their entire history of existence. I know all about you guys. Let’s not do this…please…let’s not play this game.”

  He was met with resolute silence.

  “Don’t lose focus now, don’t get off track. This isn’t about racism and I’m not the enemy right now. I’m trying to help you.”

  “Help me? How?! By letting that mothafucka that molested my son go to some damn country club?”

  “You want to get revenge, Trey?” His brows gathered. “You get revenge by raising that boy up into a man! You get revenge by encouraging him to stay in school and get good grades! You get revenge by him being successful and him being able to say, ‘My father was in my life; he raised me and loved me enough to stick around!’ Too many of us out here can’t say that, hell, me included! You are one of the guys that’s in your child’s life, so don’t steal yourself away from him. Don’t rob him of the best thing in his life, and that’s YOU!”

  Trey scratched at the table, his short nails digging into the damn thing, leaving marks in their wake. Nick knew not to stick around too long after his final statement. He’d set the stage, and believed in his heart Trey had heard him loud and clear. There was too much at stake, too much to lose, and the biggest loser would be Isaiah, the innocent bystander.

  So, he hightailed it out of there, closing the door softly behind him…

  Later that night, a note was slipped under his door as he sat in his bed reading a fitness magazine. He saw the damn thing appear out the corner of his eye, the daunting sliver of a shadow disappear just as quickly as it had came. Getting to his feet, he grasped the thing from the floor, unfolded the tiny piece of paper, and read the simple words written in black ink:

  I TRUST YOU. – Temper

  Nothing more. Nothing less…

  Nick was pushed out of his thoughts as Frieda came up to him, gave him a light pat on the back.

  “I want to tell you again how proud I am of you, and I know that you’re going to make a difference. Please keep in touch and call me anytime, Nick. I’m here for you.”

  “Thank you, Frieda. I appreciate that.”

  She leaned in closer and whispered in his ear, “And thank you for your observations. We’ve been addressing the issue. You were correct in your assessments.”

  “I know I was. And you’re welcome.” He smirked, causing her to do the same before she walked away. He stood there alone, said his final goodbyes. It felt like déjà vu as he indulged in a thick piece of sugary cake, the same kind served as when Taryn was rejoicing in her last day there, too. That was the day his heart broke so fucking bad while it fought with mixed emotions, mainly depression and elation. Many of the same people moseyed about, and the voices talking amongst themselves sounded similar as well, like residual ghosts singing low murmurs or earthy hymns. He took in the moment, breathed in and out, relaxing his tension, letting go.

  I’m just going to embrace this second, not worry…try to enjoy it. I know that I will be okay. I’m not perfect; some shit may go down, a challenge that seems too much, but I’ll deal with it when it arises. I can’t worry about ‘what ifs’; I can only focus on ‘right now’, one day at a time. And right now, I feel pretty proud of myself. Right now, I managed to do the hardest thing in my entire life. I can do this…

  Mamá, esto es para mí, y para usted. Es por Jonathan y Frederic y mi jefe, también. Es por el amor de mi vida, que necesita un fuerte soldado. ¿Si yo fuera obstaculizarla, me haré a un lado porque la quiero tanto. Eso es lo que el amor verdadero es … es amar a una persona tanto que uno nunca quiere verlos heridos, incluso si usted es la causa …

  Y yo la amo, mamá … ella me ayudó aprender cómo salvar mi vida!

  (Mom, this is for me, and for you. It is for Jonathan and Frederic and my boss, too. It’s for the love of my life, for she needs a strong soldier. Should I hinder her, I will step aside because I love her so much. That’s what true love is… it’s loving a person so much, you never want to see them hurt, even if you’re the cause…

  And I love her, Mom… she helped teach me how to save my life!)

  Chapter Twenty

  “Yeah, it’s right there on Union Street…”

  Taryn struggled to keep the stained, old-fashioned telephone cord from coiling impossibly further as she jotted down the information and cradled the receiver to the side of her face.

  “Rose Water?”

  “Yeah, they have really good food.”

  It was difficult to contain herself, to sound so nonchalant during such a situation. She hadn’t heard the man’s voice in two months exactly, and now, they’d just had a conversation as if they’d been conversing on a daily basis. Only thing, though—he wasn’t up to speaking much. Rather than sounding excited and amped, he appeared to be a bit withdrawn, not quite himself. That thought took her back to his first days in treatment, to how closed off the man had seemed, yet yearning, stretching, trying. He was determined, yet standing in his own way—the true definition of struggle. Nevertheless, he’d invested in himself, done the work to break
free from his own self-imposed confines.

  As she listened to him breathing on the phone, offering little in the way of tête-à-tête, she wanted to push him, make him crack open like a nut and spill the beans, but she thought better of it…understanding that everyone’s road and reaction to recovery was different, a personal journey that was done mainly within the alcoves of one’s own mind. After a few moments of awkward silence, they both burst out with the same words, which softened the atmosphere, gripping at their hearts and squeezing with affections thirsty to be declared.

  “I missed you!” They chuckled after their voices tumbled atop of one another.

  “…I missed you more,” he said solemnly, as if he simply had to make himself clear lest there be any misunderstandings.

  She sighed as her heart grew larger within her pumping chest, excitement growing higher and higher until it had reached the mountain tops…the same ones she encouraged him to stand upon. She assumed he’d made it, for not only had he graduated, he pushed himself to the limit.

  “Okay, well, see you in an hour?” She rested her case, let it go.

  “Sounds good. I love you. See you then.” And then, he disconnected the call.

  She stared at the phone for quite some time. In sixty minutes, she’d finally be free to touch, kiss, and hug her sweetheart in the open. No more whispers, no palms around screaming mouths during gut twisting orgasms. No more camera dodging and awkward winks hidden behind hoods and partitions. They’d be able to talk to one another for as long as they wished, make plans, and break some, too.

  It was their lives joining together, this special moment.

  It was their world, their love, and finally, their time…

  He’d spent the better part of the morning standing in Esquire Men’s Wear on Nostrand Avenue. He wanted a new jacket, something casual with a sporty yet ‘well put together’ flair. So, he settled on something soft and navy blue, and matched it with a light gray V-neck shirt and dark blue jeans that could almost be mistaken for black. Then came the shoes… Nick hadn’t bought a pair of shoes in over a year. He typically wore only two types—the ones for work and his sneakers for the weekend and working out. He looked through the displays of expensive kicks, trying to find something that wouldn’t shock his damn bank account but still fit the bill, and decided upon a pair of English Laundry slip ons, marked down on clearance and looking rather polished but not too dressy. When he walked out of the place and headed home, his stomach knotted in an unfamiliar way. He smiled, slightly ashamed…