Push Comes to Shove

by Oasis

  “He’s real to me.”

  “I gotta let this conversation go before you piss me the fuck off.”

  “You do that, then.” GP waved at the owner of the costume shop.

  “I’m taking Ndia on a boosting spree in the morning. Use your spare key if you need my ride. We’re taking the bus.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “The Big Apple. I called to see if you needed anything before I left. I’ll be gone for about a week, but if it’s good to me, I’ll be longer.”

  “I’m good. Bring the kids something.” GP stared at his battered boots. “I might need you to loan me the balance of whatever I don’t come up with on this mortgage.”

  “How much is it?”

  “Forty-seven hundred.”

  “What you got on it so far?”

  “Including the hundred I got from you…about three hundred. And whatever we make today.”

  “You already owe me your life, but I got your back. Hit me on my cell; I’ll wire it if I have to.”

  “I’m gonna pay you back one day, Jewels, I swear. I’m gonna buy you that diamond, too.”

  “I know. I’ll carve your black ass up if you don’t.”

  Trouble nudged his partner when he saw Jewels sauntering down the avenue with a sexy woman on her arm. “How a butch snag a fine broad like that?”

  Dirty took a gulp of beer from a forty-ounce bottle. “I don’t know. Jewels did her thing. She got the finest bitch in the hood. If I had her, I’d be out here flossing with her, too.” They both watched Jewels and her beautiful companion close the distance.

  Jewels slid her arm around Ndia’s neck and pulled her closer. “Listen here, baby. I’m gonna let you do what you do when we touch down in New York. I can’t afford for the order to get messed up like the last move did.” She caressed the small of Ndia’s back. “When I get this money together, we’ll be batting in the major league. These chump-change licks will be history.”

  “Jewels, I’m gonna do my thing and give it my all.” She looked at Jewels with devotion. Ndia was a tall woman with boney extremities—model extremities. She wouldn’t have made it on a catwalk, though, because her buttocks and thighs were much too big. Just as Jewels liked them.

  Jewels squeezed Ndia’s back pocket and kissed her cheek. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

  “We should have drove. This is going to be a long walk.”

  “Don’t start complaining. I can’t stand that shit. I enjoy a good walk every now and then. Besides, you already know I don’t drive unless I absolutely have to. So what’s the point in bringing it up?”

  “I don’t know why you even bought a car. Nine—”

  “What is a pretty woman like you doing with that Amazon?” Trouble stepped out of the foyer of a building. “Come spend a few hours with me and let me show you what a real man’s dick feel like. I know you’re tired of the rubber she’s packing.”

  Dirty stepped outside, laughing, as Jewels’s face hardened.

  Jewels turned her apple cap to the back. “I’m not with no disrespectful bullshit. These motherfuckers about to make me hurt something.”

  “Forget them clowns…let’s go.” Ndia pulled on Jewels’s wrist but failed to move the solid muscle.

  Trouble leaned against the building and put a foot on the wall. “Ugly bitch, you ain’t tough. Don’t act like it ain’t a pussy in them jeans.” He touched fists with Dirty.

  Jewels snatched away from Ndia. “They got me fucked up.” She was swift as she closed the gap between her provokers. She staggered Trouble with a head-butt across the bridge of his nose.

  Dirty had a change of mind when she yanked a nickel-plated .45 from beneath a throwback jersey and pointed it at him.

  She spat a razor from her mouth, caught it with her free hand, and held it to Trouble’s throat. “What you say to me? I don’t think I quite heard you right.” She pushed the razor just enough to draw blood. “Go on, tough punk, fix your mouth and say it again.”

  “Jewels, baby, let’s get out of here. They were just talking shit.”

  Jewels refused to take her eyes off of Trouble. “Check these lames for pistols.”

  “Jewels, come on.”

  “Do what the fuck I said!”

  Trouble pressed his head against the brick building as hard as he could in an attempt to ease the blade’s pressure on his Adam’s Apple.

  Ndia found a Saturday Night Special on Dirty and a Beretta .22 in Trouble’s back pocket.

  “Now what I want you lames to do is apologize to my lady for being disrespectful.”

  Dirty was moving too much for Jewels’s comfort. She pulled the trigger and blasted a chunk of brick inches away from his ear.

  “I’m sorry.” Trouble was as still as paralysis.

  “That you are.” Jewels pushed the blade. “Sorry for what?”

  “Being disrespectful.”

  Jewels stroked the handle of the .45 with a thumb and averted her piercing gaze to Dirty. “Something wrong with your noise-maker?”

  “I apologize for disrespecting your woman.”

  “Now if you poor-excuses-for-men will excuse us, we’ll keep minding our business.” She considered something else. “On second thought, you look like you’re gonna need a constant reminder of how you should address ladies.” With one motion, she had left behind a cut across Trouble’s cheek.

  Dirty’s heartbeat quickened. The bones beneath his hips trembled. His eyes bulged. “Goddamn, Jewels. What…Why did you have to cut him?” He spoke over his ringing ears.

  After hearing the word cut, the left side of Trouble’s rugged face began to burn. He covered the burning sensation with a hand. “You cut my face! On everything I love, you started some shit that I ain’t never gon’ let go.”

  “Shut the fuck up before I slice your bitch ass again,” she spoke through clenched teeth with a scowl on her face. “Pussy, you don’t stand a chance in hell fucking with me. Your soft ass better recognize.” Jewels backed away and collected their guns from Ndia.

  Trouble and Dirty watched as Jewels threw the first gun up on the roof of a nearby vacant building. When she launched Trouble’s .22, her cell phone popped from her waistband and fell between two bags of garbage. She put her arm around Ndia and continued down the avenue.

  Blood oozed between Trouble’s fingers. “I’ll be damned if I let that bitch get away with carrying me like I’m some chump. On my dead mama, Jewels is gonna feel me. That’s my word.” He tapped Dirty. “Go see what she dropped.”

  “You’re gonna need a gang of stitches.” He stalked off toward the garbage bags. I’m glad it was his ass and not mine.

  Bright and early the next morning, a taxicab driver leaned on his horn outside of Jewels’s apartment.

  She lifted the window and stepped out onto the fire escape. “I’m coming, dammit! Chill with the noise-maker.” She pulled herself back inside. “Ndia, let’s go before this impatient punk leaves.”

  Ndia came out of the bedroom carrying a pillow.

  “What are you doing?”

  “It’s a long ride. Them Greyhound seats get uncomfortable after you sit on them awhile.”

  They headed to the door. Jewels hesitated. “I still can’t figure out where I lost my phone.”

  The horn blew.

  “Fuck it, come on. I don’t need no one keeping tabs on me anyway.” She patted Ndia’s ass, then picked up their luggage. “Let’s ride.”

  Trouble sat behind the steering wheel of an old Buick, picking at the stitches in his face. He frowned as he watched Jewels and Ndia get chauffeured away by Yellow Cab. After a few moments of thinking, he picked up the cell phone from his lap and pressed redial.

  The phone rang twice.

  “Ninth Street Artwork, home of the Street Prophet. Kitchie speaking, how may I help you?”

  Trouble terminated the call, climbed out of the car, and made his way over to a man who was constantly peeping out of a stairwell door. “Slow out here this morn
ing, huh?”

  The frail man nodded his unkempt head. “Yeah, I ain’t got high since last night. It’ll pick up soon, though. The banks just opened and welfare checks is circulating.” He checked out Trouble’s urban attire and assumed that he was a go-getter. “Don’t you hustle at the bottom of Cliffview? I’ve seen you before.”

  “You know the butch that just left?”

  “Jewels? Sure, I know her. Who’s asking?”

  Trouble dug in his crotch and pulled out a sack of crack rocks.

  The man’s eyes widened.

  Trouble took out a tiny rock. “How would you like to be my main man and make one of these every day?”

  “What I gotta do?” He held out his hand.

  CHAPTER 4

  Miles removed the headphones from his ears. He stood in front of Squeeze’s mahogany desk, a fiberglass cast covering most of his boney arm. “I need a few more days. I’ll have it all put together for you by then.”

  “I see a broken arm don’t mean a damn thing to you.” Squeeze zoomed in on Miles with a set of cold eyes. He had the face of innocence and the grin of corruption. “You turned a forty-thousand-dollar loan into a ninety-thousand-dollar calamity.”

  “Ease up on me some. I just need a few more days.”

  “I won’t ease up on my mama when it comes to my cash.”

  Miles sighed. “I bumped into an unexpected situation, but everything is together now. Five more days; that’s my word.”

  “Your word don’t mean a motherfucking thing to me.” Squeeze rested his square chin on a fist. “You fucked that up when you reneged on our agreement. I gave you until tonight to have my cash, but I guess you’re gonna need some more motivation.”

  Miles held up his good limb. “You gonna break this one, too? I can’t conduct my business—”

  “That’s exactly why I don’t have my cash now; you’re selfish. You only think about yourself. My cash is much bigger than you. How’s your family? Your brother? Is everybody in good health?”

  Miles felt weak. He leaned on the desk. “You know where Jap is? Don’t hurt him; my mother is worried sick about him.”

  Squeeze threw his hands up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just asked if your people are all right.”

  “I’m gonna get your money.”

  “I know. The problem is that I need that little bit by tonight.”

  “Ninth Street Artwork, home of the Street Prophet. Kitchie speaking. How may I help you?”

  The caller hung up.

  She went back to the booth and sat in a folding chair beside Secret. “It’s too hot out here.”

  GP stopped airbrushing a jean outfit and turned to Junior. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “Nope. All I know is that you have money in your pocket right now.” He touched GP’s front pocket. “This one. You even said I deserve a new bike when you get the money. So why don’t you buy me one with the money you got?”

  “Let me see how I can explain this to you, little man.” GP set the airbrush gun on the ground. “Just because you see me or Mommy with money doesn’t mean we have any money to spend on things like bikes and remote control cars. Maybe you can understand me better this way.” He pulled the money out, separated a portion of it, then stuffed the rest back in his pocket.

  Secret rested her head on Kitchie’s arm as they focused on GP’s demonstration.

  “This is fifty dollars. Pretend this is all we had. You with me?”

  Junior nodded. “I’m good at pretending.”

  “Okay… For us to have a place to live, it’ll take, let’s say, twenty of this.” He gave Junior a twenty. “Hold on to that. Now we need another twenty for food.” He handed Junior two tens. “Then, we need twenty for lights so you don’t have to be in the dark like last night.”

  Junior grabbed the remaining money. “But this is only ten dollars.”

  “That’s right, and I haven’t gotten to gas, transportation, your bike, or Secret’s new—”

  “Maricon.” Kitchie sat straight up.

  “What?” GP faced her. “Who’s the faggot?”

  “Over there.” She pointed to the book vendor two booths away. “That’s the guy who ripped me off.” She was on her feet headed in Blue Eyes’s direction with a club that GP called the act-right stick.

  “Park it; don’t either one of you move.” GP shifted his eyes from Secret to Junior. He hurried after Kitchie.

  Blue Eyes picked up a copy of White Heat. He studied the woman on the alluring book jacket. She’s sexy. He held the book to the merchant. “What’s this about?”

  “You bastard, where’s my money!” Kitchie grabbed his arm.

  White Heat fell to the sidewalk, revealing the author’s name—Oasis.

  “Lady, I don’t know you.” He snatched his arm free. “And I don’t owe you shit.”

  Kitchie clobbered him with the act-right stick, then jumped on his back. “Puto, you’re gonna give me my money.”

  He started to spin in an effort to shake Kitchie.

  Dammit. Kitchie! GP screamed in his mind. He put Blue Eyes in a tight headlock so Kitchie wouldn’t fall and get hurt.

  Junior put his holey sneakers to work on Blue Eyes’ shins. Secret clamped her teeth on to Blue Eyes’s forearm.

  GP put enough pressure on the man’s neck to obstruct his breathing. “Man, give us our money.”

  “Kiss…my ass. Take it as a loss.”

  Onlookers formed a complete circle around the brawl.

  “You black fucker, stop kicking me.” He tried to kick Junior back.

  Kitchie’s first thought was to bite him as hard as she could, but she opted to pound the top of his head with a closed fist when she saw that Secret had beaten her to the punch. “I want my money.”

  Junior kept kicking; GP wrestled Blue Eyes to the ground.

  Secret pulled his blond hair. “Get in his ass, Mommy.”

  Kitchie dug inside Blue Eyes’s pocket and removed his wallet while GP pinned him to the ground. “One way or the other, I’m gonna get mine.”

  Whistles were blown loud enough for some onlookers to turn toward the direction of the sound. The Pattersons never heard the whistles.

  Two officers dismounted their buckskin colts. The slim officer broke through the dense crowd.

  The taller one pressed the button of his walkie-talkie. “This is downtown Horse Patrol Fourteen. I need some assistance; I have an assault in progress at Euclid and Ninth Street.”

  Secret and GP sat in the backseat of one squad car; Kitchie and Junior were seated in another.

  Kitchie glared at Blue Eyes through the window.

  He held an ice pack to his head. “I swear, I was just walking down the street when she—” He jerked his head toward Kitchie. “—came from nowhere and attacked me with a pipe. She demanded my wallet and threatened to kill me if I didn’t give it to her. Then the rest of them jumped on me and kept punching me. And that GP guy took all my cash. They’re really crazy. It’s because of black people like them, public streets aren’t safe anymore.”

  The slim officer jotted a few more notes, then closed his notepad. “After you get that bruise taken care of, we’ll need you to come down to the city jail and file a formal complaint if you wish to press charges.”

  “As soon as I leave the hospital, I’ll be there.” He was assisted into an ambulance by a paramedic.

  “Warrant?” GP was unsettled by the implication. “Are you sure you have the right Greg and Kitchie Patterson?”

  “I don’t steal.” Kitchie massaged the bruises that had been left behind by the cuffs. “We haven’t stolen anything.”

  “That’s what they all say. Convince the magistrate. You’re wasting your breath with me.” The desk officer glanced at them over his round spectacles.

  “I want to see my children.”

  “They’re fine, Mrs. Patterson. You’ll be arraigned within seventy-two hours, and your bonds will be set shortly after that. My advice to you
is have someone come for your kids.” He adjusted his eyeglasses. “In a few hours, they’ll be turned over to the Department of Social Services. They’re too young to be released on their own.”

  GP sighed with grief and kneaded his temples. He couldn’t believe that the Man upstairs would let life single him out to be treated so terribly. “Can we make a call?”

  The officer led them to side-by-side cages with phones mounted to the walls. “Dial nine, then your numbers.” He locked them in and paused in front of Kitchie’s cage. “You have about five minutes before they come to process you on the women’s side.”

  Tears trickled down her face as she punched in a telephone extension. “Mama.”

  GP held his jeans up. He had been stripped of his belt and shoe laces. He dialed a number of his own. As the phone rang, he watched Kitchie’s depressing expressions.

  And rang.

  “Hello.” Trouble turned the car stereo down.

  “Thank God, Jewels—”

  “She’s away for a minute. I’m supposed to take a message.”

  “Who is this?”

  “…but, Mama—” Kitchie wiped her tears away. “—this doesn’t have anything to do with it.”

  “There is nothing I can do, Kitchie. I begged you to not marry GP; you wouldn’t listen to me. He’s a loser. New York is entirely too far away for me to do something, even if I wanted to help.” Mrs. Garcia took a pan of homemade cornbread from the oven. “You told me you were grown when you left home. I’m sure you’re grown enough to work this out.”

  “All that ain’t important.” Trouble eased away from a traffic light. “Me and Jewels is taking care of some business together, and I’m working the phone. You leaving her a message or what?”

  “Did she leave to go out of town yet?” GP prayed that the answer would be no.

  Trouble flashed back to when Jewels had tossed a suitcase into the taxi’s trunk, and he remembered when her pretty woman had tossed her hips across the parking lot clutching a pillow. “Yeah. Who’s asking all the questions?”