by Oasis
Dear Reader:
Thanks for picking up a copy of Push Comes to Shove, a novel that I am confident that you will enjoy. Oasis has once again done a phenomenal job of creating relatable characters and an unforgettable storyline. Life can be hard, especially in today’s recession, and many people become desperate to make ends meet. Push Comes to Shove examines the parallel lives of two men struggling to survive: GP and Miles.
GP and Kitchie have two children and a field of dreams. GP is a talented artist peddling his “soon-to-be-famous” cartoon character on T-shirts until his big break comes along. Unfortunately, that doesn’t quite cut it when it comes to paying bills so he walks a thin line between legal and illegal activities. Then a single incident sets off a butterfly effect that ends up leaving him and his wife homeless, childless, and hopeless.
Miles has an entirely different money problem that leaves him owing a lot of cash to the wrong person. Idle threats of physical harm are followed up with real tragedy once Miles fails to come up with the cash. Miles decides that he has nothing else to live for…except revenge.
Two men from the same world, yet perfect strangers, end up crossing paths in the ultimate train wreck in life. You will not believe what happens when both of them are shoved a little too far.
As always, thanks for supporting Oasis and the other authors that I publish under Strebor Books International. We try our best to bring you the future in publishing today with cutting-edge, risk-taking titles that spark thought, conversation, and controversy.
If you would like to join my email list, please send a blank email to [email protected]. You can also find me on Facebook, on Twitter at “PlanetZane” or join my online social network at www.PlanetZane.org. My personal email is [email protected] and my personal web site is www.eroticanoir.com.
Blessings,
Zane
Publisher
Strebor Books International
www.simonandschuster.com/streborbooks
ALSO BY OASIS
Duplicity
Strebor Books
P.O. Box 6505
Largo, MD 20792
http://www.streborbooks.com
www.SimonandSchuster.com
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
© 2010 by Oasis
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means whatsoever. For information address Strebor Books, P.O. Box 6505, Largo, MD 20792.
ISBN 978-1-59309-299-3
ISBN 978-1-4391-8402-8 (ebook)
LCCN 2010940494
First Strebor Books trade paperback edition March 2011
Cover design: www.mariondesigns.com
Cover photograph: © Keith Saunders/Marion Designs
Edited by Docuversion
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Manufactured in the United States of America
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For JaVenna…
Because of you, I’m the luckiest guy on the planet.
PROLOGUE
Greg Patterson hung in the nude from a vaulted ceiling by his young wrists. His 110-pound body was no match against the leather restraints. He wriggled and rocked himself past the brink of exhaustion. There was nothing else he could do now but wait.
He’d lost track of time, hanging there in the cold dark. He wanted to relieve himself, but pissing on Mr. Reynolds’s floor wasn’t an option. It would only make matters worse.
Footsteps fell in the hall right outside of the door. Greg hated this part with passion, but at least…at least it was almost over.
The tarnished doorknob spun left.
He braced himself.
The group home’s disciplinarian, Mr. Reynolds, stood in the entrance with a bucket of sudsy water in one hand. His widespread body covered the majority of the doorjamb. “You refuse to learn your lesson.”
“I won’t steal again. This time I…I promise.” He gestured no with worry.
“Foolhardy boy, you’ve made that meaningless promise since you learned how to talk.” He dowsed the frail boy with the sudsy water. “A little incentive will keep you focused. You should really keep your hands off things that don’t belong to you.” He wrapped the ends of a heavy-duty extension cord around his bone-colored hand. “You’ll learn one way or the other.”
“Mr. Reynolds, please don’t beat me this time.” Greg clamped his burning eyes shut, hoping the soap would stay out. “I needed the art supplies for school. Untie me and…and I’ll take them back right now.”
“After I give you an ass cutting for being a habitual rule violator.” He hiked his gravy-stained sleeves past his pudgy elbows and stood behind the boy.
Greg tensed, anticipating the first blow.
Mr. Reynolds raised his arm and swung the cord with a batter’s determination. “If I could beat the color off of you, I would.”
The cord sounded like thunder when it cracked against Greg’s brown skin.
“Aargh…no more! I’m sorry, Mr. Reynolds.” Greg stiffened all over. “Please, no more. I won’t do it again. I’m sorry.”
“You are sorry, aren’t you?”
The cord slapped him once more, this time breaking the skin on his back.
“You’re a piece of stinky shit, and that’s all you’ll ever be is shit.”
Thunder struck again.
Greg yelled out so loud, he threatened to short out his vocal box.
“You’re a bum, Greg.” He switched hands and swung from a different approach. “That’s all you’ll ever be. Why do you think you’ve been here all these years? Nobody wants a bum; not even your mother.”
Mr. Reynolds had lashed Greg until his arm was tired. He went into the hall and looked at his aged yes-man. “Untie him. Lock the thieving bastard up until his wounds heal. And get rid of those drawings he’s always wasting time on.”
“Right away, Mr. Reynolds.”
CHAPTER 1
GP decided that tonight his family would eat good for a change. He eased the Renault Alliance to the order box; it stuttered and backfired every inch of the way.
“Welcome to Wendy’s. May I take your order?”
He shut the car off so that he could hear. “Excuse me…uh, could you run that by me again?” He could hear the cashier suck her teeth through the speaker, as if she was annoyed.
“Good evening, how may I help you?”
“Gimme six number sevens with large fries…and extra cheese. Make the sodas orange, no ice.” He thought about how Kitchie loved Dave’s chicken. “Uh, let me get two spicy chicken sandwiches and four baked potatoes with cheese. I guess that’ll be cool.”
“Would you like to try our apple turnovers this evening?”
Fuck it. “Yeah, why not? Gimme six and six large chocolate Frosties.” He waited a few seconds for her response.
“That’ll be forty-eight twenty-three at the pickup window. Thank you for choosing Wendy’s.”
GP tried to start the Renault. “Come on, baby, crank up for Daddy.” The engine strained but wouldn’t catch. He pumped the gas and rubbed the dashboard. “Come on, girl. I need you now more than ever.”
He turned the key again. The engine backfired, then came to life. With three vehicles in front of GP, his order would be ready in a matter of minutes.
His car sounded like a Harley Davidson outside of the pickup window. An attractive cashier rolled her cat-like
eyes and shook her head. Derelict. She turned her lip up with attitude as she passed him three large bags and two drink-holder trays.
“That’s forty-eight twenty-three.” She smirked and stared at GP.
GP secured the drinks on the front passenger seat, then stomped the gas pedal. The Renault backfired.
The cashier all but jumped out of her skin.
With the power-steering pump broken, it was a difficult task for GP to make the sharp left turn. He jerked and tugged the rebellious steering wheel until he yanked the car onto Euclid Avenue.
He stuck a fry in his mouth and smiled. GP knew that, on this April Fool’s Day, he would be the cause of three beautiful smiles.
Four city blocks away from his home, the Renault had had enough. The engine light came on right before the car stalled.
“Come on, baby, I thought you loved me.” He coasted to the curb. He tried to restart the engine but it refused; it only made a clicking sound.
If he started his journey on foot now, he would make it home long before the food was cold. With a bag between his teeth and two in his hand, he reached for the door handle but hesitated when he saw a Cleveland police car pull up behind him.
“Fuck me!” he mumbled, then lowered the window with a pair of vise grips. Damn cashier could’ve let me slide. Ignorant chickenhead didn’t have to call the cops.
Miles dropped his skateboard on the sidewalk, then stepped on it with an Air Force 1 sneaker.
A fragile image appeared in a screen door behind him. “Miles…Miles, baby, you hear me?”
He removed the headphones from his ears as his broken arm remained at rest in a sling.
“Miles, baby?”
“Huh?” He turned toward the house as his mother walked out onto the porch.
“See if you can find your brother. It’s dark. I’m starting to worry; this isn’t like him.” She adjusted the belt of her housecoat and folded her arms.
“Jap is probably somewhere standing next to a tree, testing his camouflage gear. Better yet, he might be with one of his weird friends on some type of mock-military scavenger hunt.”
“I’m serious. Don’t tell me what you think; do like you were told. We have to get a fitting on him in the morning for his graduation gown and cap, and I want him home.”
“Okay, Ma. I’ll check a few places on my way to work.” He started off on the skateboard.
“Miles, baby…”
He stopped and faced her again. “If you don’t let me go, I won’t have enough time to check on Jap and make it to work on time.”
She removed a prescription slip from her housecoat. “Drop this off at the drugstore, and I’ll pick it up in the morning. I’m getting low on my heart pills.”
He hurried up the steps, took the slip, and kissed her cheek. “See you later, Ma.”
She grabbed a hold of his cast. “Why don’t you get yourself a car? You can’t afford to get too many broken arms on that thing.”
He followed her gaze. “I love my board, Ma. I’m gonna ride until I’m an old man.”
“You’re still a baby to me; you ain’t considered young no more.”
The officer surveyed the car and shined his flashlight toward the back seat. “What seems to be the problem tonight, sir?”
GP had replaced the large order on the front passenger seat. “Damn thing conked out on me. Four cylinders are supposed to run forever.”
The officer looked at the beat-up car from front to rear. “What year is this?”
“It’s an eighty-five.” GP was starting to feel comfortable.
“Twenty years old is forever for a car.” He pointed at the Wendy’s bags. “Looks like you’re going to be late for dinner.”
“Yeah, I’m pushing it.”
“Well, you can’t leave it here overnight.” He shined his beam on a No Parking sign. “It’ll be towed by morning…which is probably the best thing for it.”
“This is all I got.”
“Come on; let me help you push your headache to that lot.” He pointed.
The officer wiped his dusty hands on a hanky after they had rolled the car onto the lot. “Wendy’s doesn’t sound like a bad idea.”
“Not at all. Thank you, officer.” GP pointed his feet in the direction of home.
Kitchie Marie Patterson glared at GP through a set of powerful brown eyes. “Let’s talk…in the bedroom.” She led the way.
GP shut the door behind himself. “Before you start, Mami, I only wanted to do something nice for you and the kids.”
“There’s at least fifty dollars’ worth of food in there, GP. You stole it, didn’t you?” She shook her head with disappointment.
“You and the kids deserve the world.” He stroked her almond cheek; she turned her face away. “I can’t give it to you right now, but one day I will. Until then it frustrates me to want y’all to have things that are beyond my reach.”
“Then get a job—a real job. You don’t have to quit your hustle but get a job, GP. How far do you think we can get on your hopes and dreams alone? This is the real world we’re living in; not some animated world like them cartoon characters you’re banking our future on.” She thought for a few seconds. “Now you’re to the point of stealing again. Yeah, you made the kids happy tonight and saved me the humiliation of throwing some bullshit together, but what’s gonna happen to their happiness—” She pointed toward the living room. “—when you get yourself in some trouble?”
“You act like I steal for the sport of it, Kitchie. I steal for one reason: because we really need something, and I have no other alternative of getting it. I felt like we needed to sit down tonight and share a decent meal with each other, like a regular family.”
“A real nine-to-five will make that possible every night, Papi Chulo.”
He heard something else in Spanish that he didn’t quite understand, but understood she was trying to take this conversation to a place he wasn’t willing to go.
“Listen…my work is honest; it’s what I love to do. I don’t want to go back and forth with you. This isn’t what I intended. All I want to do is see your beautiful smile as much as I can.” He lifted her chin with a finger. “Let’s eat. The food is getting cold. I got your favorite.”
She bit her bottom lip. “Chicken?”
“Dave’s spicy chicken sandwich. Now let me suck on them Puerto Rican lips of yours.”
She stood on her tiptoes to reach his six-foot height, then kissed him on the mouth. “I wish you would shave and get your hair braided; it looks like you gave up.” She pulled back. “GP, you can’t keep stealing whenever it’s convenient for you. One day stealing is gonna get you in some trouble you’re gonna catch hell getting out of.”
“Or get me out of some trouble I’m already catching hell with.”
Greg Jr. took a bite from the double classic. His seven-year-old teeth barely plugged the cheeseburger. “Daddy, I need my own bike. Secret’s bike is hot pink with that stupid, flowered basket on the handlebars. Everybody makes fun of me when I ride it.”
Secret was trying her damnedest to suck the Frosty through a straw. She gave her jaws a break. “Stay off my bike, then, since it’s stupid and pink, punk. I don’t like sharing it with you anyway, you little—”
“Hey, kill the name-calling.” Kitchie stopped chewing and frowned at Secret.
“Little man.” GP squeezed Greg Jr.’s shoulder. “Bear with me; I’m gonna get you the best bike in the neighbor—”
“Don’t be doing that, GP. It ain’t right.” Kitchie swallowed her food. “Okay, fine, tell him you’re gonna get him a bike. But don’t be making these fantastic promises that you can’t deliver. You’re doing terrible in the delivery department. Don’t do him like that.”
“How many times do I gotta ask you not to challenge me in front of the kids?” He wiped the corners of his mouth with a napkin. “When you feel like I said something that should be corrected, talk to me behind closed doors.”
“We can still hear y’a
ll in the bedroom arguing.” Secret kicked Greg Jr’s. shin.
“Ouch.” He tried to kick back but his legs were too short to reach her under the table. “Ma, tell her—”
“Stop, Secret, and quit being so damn grown.” Kitchie focused on GP again. “I apologize, Papi…I’m a little frustrated; that’s all. I still don’t want you to get Junior’s hopes up only to let him down. That’ll hurt him more than getting made fun of.”
GP finished the last of his burger. “There’s nothing wrong with hoping, having faith in something; especially when I know that I can make it happen.” He looked at his family one by one. “Let’s get this out in the open so we all know. Secret, what do you want? What does my baby’s heart desire?”
“Hmmm…I can say anything I want?”
“As long as it’s appropriate coming from a nine-year-old.” Kitchie sipped her soda between bites.
Secret’s expression was thoughtful. “Daddy, I want my own room.” She rolled her eyes at Junior. “Lots of new clothes like my friends would be nice, too. Oh yeah! I want a puppy, and I hope you give me my piggy bank money back that you borrowed last month.”
GP stroked the top of Junior’s head. “And what about you?”
“All I want is a bike, but I’d take a PlayStation if what we’re saying is real.”
“What about you, Mami Chula?” GP blew Kitchie a kiss. “Tell me what you dream of when you close your eyes.”
“This is pointless. I’m not getting involved with this…stuff.” She started on her apple turnover.
“Aw, Ma.” Secret sucked her teeth. “Tell us; we wanna know.”
“Yeah, it’s only a game.” Junior dropped a French fry in his lap. “We’re playing pretend.”
Five seconds passed and GP leaned forward. “We’re all waiting.” He was unsettled by his son’s comment.
“This is foolish, GP, and you know it. If it must be known, what I want more than anything in this world is for my marriage to defy time.” She began to blush, then the reality of their current situation hit her. “I want us to have a bigger house—bought and paid for. I’m not big on having a lot of money, but I wish we could at least be comfortable and able to send you guys to college when it’s time.”
