Push Comes to Shove

by Oasis

  Kitchie removed Trish’s hand.

  “Mind your business, Logan. Don’t you have something to do?”

  “I’m doing it. Don’t be around here putting the press game down on every bitch you want to lick.”

  Trish sighed. “Logan, I don’t get in your shit; stay out of mine.” She began scratching her arm raw.

  “I’m not into none of that, anyway. Thanks for the lookout, Logan.” Kitchie went to the opposite side of the day room and stood in line for the phone.

  Trish held out a hand. “Come clean.”

  Logan gave her a pinch of heroin. “That pretty bitch is so green. I’m gonna enjoy it even more because she don’t know better.”

  Trish shook her head. She took a peek at the heroin in her hand. What I did isn’t as bad as what Logan is gonna do.

  The first person Kitchie called didn’t accept the charges. She held the lever down, breaking the connection.

  Thinking.

  A woman who looked as distraught as Kitchie, if not more, tapped her. “You done with that?”

  “Uh.” Kitchie stared at the keypad. “Let me try one more number.” I can remember this number by heart. “Prefix all fives,” she blurted and dialed the number.

  The phone rang. Twice.

  Kitchie crossed her fingers.

  “Hello, Sanders’ residence.” Suzette set a shopping bag of Gerber’s baby food on the kitchen counter.

  “You have a call from a correctional institute. Caller, state your name after the tone.”

  Beep!

  “Please don’t hang up. I need help.”

  Junior sprang upright in bed. “Secret! Secret!”

  “Shut up and go to sleep before you get us all in trouble,” a biracial boy warned from one of the other beds jammed in the room.

  “Secret!”

  She came from the girls’ sleeping quarters across the hall.

  “What’s the matter?” She squatted beside the bed.

  “My stomach hurt. I gotta go to the bathroom.”

  “Then go.”

  He shook his head negatively. “It’s too dark down the hall.”

  “Come on.” She grabbed his hand.

  He stepped in a pair of sneakers and pointed them in the direction of the bathroom.

  Suzette dabbed her eyes with a Kleenex. “Kitchie, no one should have to go through that. I have so much empathy for your family, it breaks my heart. I wouldn’t have done one thing different, you hear me?”

  The phone beeped, warning that they were about to be disconnected.

  “These phone calls are so short.” Suzette wound the phone cord around her finger. “Call me back one more time.”

  Kitchie stole a furtive look at the clock. “It’s nine-thirty; we’ve been talking back to back for an hour now. Maybe you should check on Junior and Secret for me.”

  “What are you two doing out of bed?” Mr. Reynolds cleared the stairs on his way to make hourly rounds on the second floor.

  Secret faced him, still holding on to Junior’s hand. “His stomach hurts.”

  “And what does that have to do with you being out of your room?”

  “He’s afraid of the dark so I’m taking him.”

  Junior hopped from one foot to the other as if he would piss himself any second.

  Mr. Reynolds looked at him, then shifted his gaze back to Secret. “Hurry up and get back in the bed.” He watched them walk into the bathroom and close the door. Misbegotten bastards.

  Secret put her ear to the door. “What are you waiting on?”

  Junior went into the cabinet under the sink and removed their clothes. He took his PJs off, dressed himself, then switched places with Secret while she dressed. When she took her PJs off, he could see the sore bruises scattered across her skin.

  She eased the window up. “You first; I’m right behind you.”

  Junior hoisted himself through and landed on a porch roof. As promised, Secret was right behind him. She was thankful that the window was nowhere near as high as her bedroom window.

  “I’ll call you back in the morning…and I promise to reimburse you for the calls.” Kitchie blocked out the collective ruckus from the day room.

  “Don’t you worry about that.” Suzette began to unpack the grocery bag. “Think it’s too late to call there?”

  “It’s never too late to check on children, Suzette.”

  The phone beeped again. Five seconds until disconnection.

  “I’ll come visit you tomorrow and tell you personally how the children are.”

  “Thank you, Suzette. Tell them I love them and that their father and I will be for them soon.” Kitchie began to sprout tears.

  “I will. I sure—” The phone went dead. “Will.” She cleared the line and dialed 4-1-1.

  Mr. Reynolds did his walk-through in the girls’ room and was on his way to the boys’ sleeping area when he was drawn to the light sneaking under the bathroom door. He started toward the light.

  Junior jumped from the roof to a tree branch and climbed to the ground.

  Mr. Reynolds grabbed the doorknob—

  “Mr. Reynolds.” A part-time employee approached. “You have a Mrs. Sanders, Suzette Sanders, on line two. She says it’s urgent.”

  He released the knob. “I’ll take it down the hall.”

  Secret lowered herself to the ground, looked up at the street light, and remembered how her mother felt about their being outside when the lights were on.

  “Yes, they’re fine children. Under the circumstances, I’m honored to have Secret and Junior here. They’re well-mannered and polite.” Mr. Reynolds clamped the cordless phone to his ear as he headed for the children.

  “Are they adjusting well?” Suzette was taking notes.

  “Yes, yes, they are. There is no need to worry yourself. In fact, I spoke with them no more than ten minutes ago. Secret is such the big sister, she was escorting Junior to the restroom. He’s a little bothered by the dark.”

  “Yes, I know. So you wouldn’t mind if I spoke with them for a minute?”

  “Not at all, since they’re awake.” He opened the boys’ room and took note that Junior’s bunk was empty. “Hold on, Mrs. Sanders. They’re still in the restroom.” He went to the bathroom and opened the door.

  The inner city’s nocturnal life was operating at full throttle. Lurking in every dark alley, abandoned house, and ungodly corner was much more than Secret and Junior were ready for.

  “Secret, are you sure you’re going the right way?”

  “Hope so.” She watched a squad car roll to a stop sixty yards ahead of them. “If we don’t get off this street, we’re gonna get in trouble.”

  “We’re lost, aren’t we?”

  “We were lost when we left.”

  The squad car made a left turn and was now moving in their direction at a snail’s pace. Its driver scanned the drug-infested area for misconduct.

  Secret tugged on Junior’s hand and led him up a driveway. “We can’t let the cops catch us.” She was moving faster now.

  “Cops are supposed to help us.”

  “Taking us back to that place isn’t helping.” She opened the door to a Lincoln Mark LT parked in the driveway, and she and Junior climbed into the back seat. “Daddy said when you must win, everyone is a contender.”

  “I didn’t know what he meant when he said it, and I still don’t know now that you said it.”

  “Everybody is our enemy right now; especially the police.”

  “Oh.”

  The officer brought the car to a halt. He flashed his searchlight at the driveway and the Mark LT. After seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he continued his patrol of the area.

  When the bright light vanished, Secret was relieved.

  “We better keep moving. Euclid has to be close.”

  The driver’s door was opened.

  Mayor Brandon Chambers climbed in, then reached over and pushed the front passenger door open.

  Secret put a hand across J
unior’s mouth.

  A woman settled inside.

  Secret could smell her Escada perfume—Kitchie’s preferred fragrance.

  The mayor backed out of the drive.

  “Let me have a blast now.” The woman unwrapped a crack pipe from a wad of toilet paper.

  “Dammit, Shea, you know the routine. Do we have to go through the same shit all the time? You suck my dick, you get a hit. I fuck, you get a hit.”

  Junior’s eyes widened.

  Secret scowled at him and put a finger to her lips.

  Shea shoved a piece of coat hanger in the end of the pipe. “I need a little something to wake me up and put me in the mood.”

  “You take care of your business first, then we can get high together. You did this to yourself. I give you a hit now and I can forget about my blow job and some of that champion pussy.”

  “Brandon, baby, don’t be like that.” She scooted over, unzipped his pants, pulled his penis out, and stroked it. “Betcha your wife can’t make you feel like this.” She buried her head in his lap and flicked her tongue against him.

  Mayor Brandon took his wedding band off and dropped it in his breast pocket. “I can’t fool around all night. I have a meeting in the morning with the city council.” He caressed the back of her head.

  Junior felt the car pick up speed as highway signs began to blow by. He wished that they had stayed at Mr. Reynolds’s.

  Shea kept her head dunked in the mayor’s lap until she felt him tense.

  “Why did you stop?” He put on the right turn signal. “Keep sucking. I was almost there.”

  “Give me a blast.” She took out a lighter.

  He exited the highway on East 72nd and parked at the Cleveland Municipal Boat Dock. “Take your clothes off.” He pulled his pants down to his ankles. “’Cause if I take a hit of this good shit first, I ain’t gonna want no pussy.”

  She slipped her hand beneath the miniskirt, eased the thong off, and tossed it in the back.

  Secret’s nostrils flared when the underwear got snagged on her ponytail.

  “Let me see them titties.” The mayor put a piece of crack on her pipe.

  Junior smiled as he imagined a pair of breasts.

  Shea ignited the lighter. The mayor grabbed her hand. “Stop fucking around. Get naked. You know how I like it.”

  The skirt. The blouse. The bra. Everything found itself on the back seat. She stuck the flame to the pipe and sucked until the crack vanished.

  Secret and Junior could hear something sizzle as a dim glow lit the interior.

  Shea handed the mayor the pipe. She held the smoke and covered his penis with her mouth again. She filled his lap with smoke as the cocaine escaped her nose.

  While she swallowed his stiff organ, he balanced a rock on the pipe and smoked it.

  “Give me some.” She pushed and pulled his organ with a gentle touch.

  He put his lips on hers and blew the smoke into her mouth.

  Shea choked. “This some good shit, Brandon.”

  “Tell me how good it is with your mouth. Kiss my dick.” He pushed a finger into the folds of her drenched vagina, then rubbed the moist finger on the glass pipe to cool it.

  The mayor took another hit while Shea took him.

  The car became filled with smoke.

  Secret pinched her nose closed. Junior followed suit. This was the first time Secret wasn’t angry with him for being a copycat.

  “Let me hit this champion pussy while you hit this.” He pulled her from his lap and gave her the pipe with a rock stuffed in it.

  Shea smiled. She sat back and tried to recline the seat. Secret was too big to dodge the back seat in such a tight area. The seat began to smash her.

  “Achoo! Achoo!” Junior couldn’t hold it any longer. The cocaine smoke was too much.

  “The hell? What’s going on?” The mayor looked at Shea; they looked over the seat and saw the frightened faces of Secret and Junior. The mayor damn near brush-burned his ass, pulling his pants up so fast.

  Shea didn’t bother. She felt around for the lighter.

  “Who are…What the hell are you doing in my car?” The mayor turned the interior light on.

  Shea put the flame to the pipe.

  The force behind the slap was somewhere between brutal and extreme. “What the fuck are you doing, stupid motherfucker?” The pipe shattered against the dashboard. He reached between Junior and Secret, plucked Shea’s clothes from the seat, and shoved them at her. “Put your shit on, you dizzy bitch. As a matter of fucking fact, get out! You see these children.”

  “Brandon, I’m sorry, baby. You know how it is.”

  “Walk it off.” He reached over, opened the door, then threw her clothes to the asphalt. “You’ll be good and sober by the time you get where you’re going. Out.”

  Shea picked up what she could salvage of the pipe and climbed out.

  The mayor locked the door behind her.

  He took out his cell phone. “What’s your parents’ number?” He looked at them through the rearview.

  Nothing.

  He turned around. “I’m not going to hurt you. You don’t know who I am? No, you don’t.” He glanced at the heavens. “Thank you, God. What are you guys doing in my car?”

  “My mom and dad ain’t…” Secret felt bad for Shea, who was now standing beside the car in a thong. “We’re lost. I’ll give you ten dollars to take us home.”

  Junior didn’t have to imagine much anymore as he stared out the window.

  “I’ll take you home.” He started the car. “How about we call your parents? They must be worried.” He checked his watch. Eleven-fourteen p.m. “They probably have the police out looking for you.”

  Police. Crack. Missing Children. The Mayor of Cleveland. He shifted a worried look between Junior and Secret. “Where’s home?” He pulled next to Shea and rolled the window down.

  Junior fiddled with his identification bracelet. “We live—”

  Secret clamped a hand over his mouth. “You better not.”

  The mayor understood that Secret was hiding something. He figured his sure bet was to drop them off somewhere and never look back.

  Shea looked into the car. “Brandon, why are you doing me like this?”

  He thought about the police again. “Here.” He handed her the bulk of his cocaine and drove away.

  As the power window rose, he could hear Shea’s voice fading. “Brandon, stop. I need the lighter…”

  The mayor pulled the seat belt over his shoulder. “Okay, buckle up.” He held Secret’s gaze through the rearview. “Little lady, tell me where it is I’m going.”

  “Uh…take us to Indian Hills Apartment. You know where that is?”

  “In the city of Euclid.” He put on his turn signal.

  Junior’s seat belt made a dull sound when it locked in place. “Why not home, Secret?”

  “I’m with him.” The mayor drove up a highway ramp. “I’d rather take you home and make sure you’re safe.”

  “I’ll make sure we’re safe. Indian Hills is fine.” Secret heard GP’s warning, Everyone is a contender, in her head. “We don’t know you well enough to show you where we live.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Suzette Sanders paced the Justice Center lobby, biting what was left of her nails.

  A corrections officer emerged from an elevator and began to call visitors. His enthusiasm was zapped. He read from a list of names as if he’d much rather be parked in front of his wide screen with a cold beer. Halfway down the list, he called for Suzette Sanders.

  She rubbed a hand over her brunette French twist, then went to the elevator where the other concerned and loved ones were gathered.

  She drummed her fingers against the table. This place was more relaxed than what the media had led her to believe. Prisoners filed in wearing orange outfits. They dispersed throughout the visiting room. Most hugged; some shared an intimate kiss; others shook hands with their visitors.

  Kitchie spotted Suzette a
nd smiled. They shook hands. “You don’t know how much I appreciate you coming here.” She felt Suzette’s hand trembling in hers. “How are my babies? Did they seem…sad?”

  Suzette lowered her gaze. A tear splashed onto the table.

  “Is there something wrong?” Kitchie sank in the seat to get a visual on Suzette’s face.

  “They’re missing.” Her voice was lower than the hum of the collective chatter.

  “Excuse me.”

  Suzette straightened her posture. She found strength with a deep breath. “Your children have been missing since last night. I’m sorry, Kitchie.”

  Kitchie felt dizzy. The visiting room spun as if it were a merry-go-round. “Ay Dios mio crucificado…porque?”

  GP approached a compact man who looked as if he had swallowed steroids for breakfast and had drunk dumbbells for dinner. “Are you gonna use that?” GP nodded toward the phone the man was propped against. The man made him think of Mighty Mouse.

  “Waiting for a call; just paged somebody.” He settled his massive back on the receiver and stared at a group of undesirables shooting dice for commissary.

  “Man…why the hell you trying to play me? You can’t beep nobody from these phones.” GP was a smoldering bomb on the verge of detonation. “I’m not new to this. If you not about to use the phone, I am.” He wrapped a hand around an ink pen in his pocket.

  Mighty Mouse shoved GP, forcing him back several feet. “You calling me a liar, motherfucker? Huh, motherfucker, is that what you called me?”

  “I didn’t call you nothing.” GP reclaimed the spot he had been pushed from. “I asked to use the phone.” Before his eyes, he witnessed the man’s muscles expand. He snatched the ink pen from his pocket, praying that this display of matched aggression would end the bullshit and gain him respect from everyone watching.

  Mighty Mouse laughed. “Now you’re gonna have to use that.” He pulled off his T-shirt, wrapped an end around each hand, and stretched it as if it were a shield. “Come on, motherfucker, let’s work. You better hope you know what you doing.” He crouched some and called out for someone to watch for the police.