Push Comes to Shove

by Oasis

  GP cursed himself over and over. Now he had to explore territory that he really wanted no parts of.

  “Yo, Tiny, hold up, homie. Let me holler at you.” A tall guy with a patch covering his eye stepped forward, followed by four other hustlers from the Cliffview area.

  “In a minute.” Tiny pulled the T-shirt tighter. “I got me one; it’ll only take a minute.”

  Patch Eye ignored him and whispered in his ear.

  Tiny shifted his focus from GP, stood straight, and looked at Patch Eye. “Jewels? Gangster-ass Jewels?”

  Patch Eye nodded.

  “I was about to catch a body in this bitch. Why ain’t nobody been said something?” His attention returned to GP. “I have a lot of respect for Jewels. Use my phone anytime. If somebody call for me, tell ’em to hit me back.” Tiny strolled away with Patch Eye and the fellows.

  GP was relieved to put the ink pen back in his pocket. He stared at the phone for a moment, then exhaled. He picked up the receiver and punched in a number.

  Killer grinned as he stuffed a skimpy nurse outfit and fishnet stockings into a bag. “Where’s the costume party? Undecided on what to wear? Second time you’ve been in here this week.”

  The customer smiled but she did not respond.

  The phone rang.

  She studied the short man, absorbing his details from head to toe. She smiled. “Your accent shifts my tide. I love it. Can’t place it, though.”

  “Rough Buff.”

  “And that is?”

  “Buffalo.” He leaned on the glass countertop. “Can I get an invite to the party? I would love to surf your tide.”

  “I’m afraid you can’t surf the Marian Trench. You have to dive in the deepest spot known to man to appreciate it.”

  They laughed.

  “Invite me to the party. I’ll bring my wet suit.”

  “Sorry.” She licked her lips. The cherry lipstick remained. “Don’t do parties. I’m into role-playing.”

  The phone refused to stop ringing.

  He glanced at the phone, then back at the gorgeous woman. “Can I get a role in your play?”

  She leaned across the countertop and traced the contour of his lips with a finger. “You’re short but cute. Any good at acting?”

  “Didn’t you see my cameo in How to Be a Player?”

  The look she gave him was intense. She smiled. “There’s a part I’d like to see you star in when the time comes. I know where to find you.” She touched his lips once more, grabbed her bag, and sashayed to the door. Before she went out into the busy street, she paused. “Answer your phone.”

  He danced his way to the phone. “Killer Cal’s Costumes and Accessories, Killer speaking?”

  “You have a collect call from a correctional—”

  He pressed five, assuming that it was one of his partners, Tutu or Fruit. “What’s good, son?”

  “Killer, this GP. What up?”

  “That was wild as shit. Man, you and Kitchie was bugging. I can’t believe y’all touched that kid like that in public. Think it’s a game, if you want. They still breaking black folks off crazy for mishandling whites. What’s the deal with that?”

  “It’s a long story. I need a loan. Bail me out. No, I need you to bail Kitchie out.”

  “GP, I don’t know about that. Every time I loan you something you get selective amnesia and act like you don’t owe me. You still owe me eight hundred from last year.”

  “I thought I paid that back.”

  “I bet you did. That’s what I’m talking about. You haven’t given me one dime on that tab. How much is Kitchie’s bond?”

  “Sixty thousand, ten percent.”

  “Oh, hell no! You my mans, but that’s too rich for Killer Cal’s blood. I ain’t gonna be able to do it.”

  “Come on, Killer. Is it that you can’t do it or won’t do it?”

  “Both. Six thousand is a lot of money for you to forget about. And if you did choose to remember, you don’t have the means to pay me back.”

  “I need this loan. Remember that group home I told you about? The one I grew up in?”

  “How could I not?”

  “My kids are there; gotta get them out.”

  Killer sighed. That statement was painful to his ears. “For Secret and Junior, if I had it, I’d give it to you. The problem is I just don’t. I’m in the red. You of all people know how it is.”

  “I understand.” GP tugged on his goatee. “Yo, Killer, go outside and tell Smitty to come to the phone.”

  “Just saw him no more than fifteen minutes ago. He went over to Terminal Tower for some burgers. He left his mannish-ass daughter to run the booth, and I’m keeping an eye on her. Call back in a little while; I’ll make sure he’s around.” Killer glanced at the digital clock on his cash register. “Some white kid came looking for you this morning.”

  “White boy?” GP put a finger in his ear to block out the surrounding noise.

  “Yeah, some older kid dressed in a mean suit. He called himself Mr. Lee. Said he had something important to talk to you about. I didn’t tell him your business. I did say you might be gone a few days, though.”

  “All right. Good looking out. I’ll hit you back later.”

  “Stay up.” Killer stared at GP’s empty booth through the costume shop’s showcase window.

  “They’re coming.” Secret stuck her tongue out.

  “Are not!”

  “Are too, punk.”

  “Not, sissy.” Junior plopped down on Secret’s bed, slipped on a sneaker, and began to tie it.

  “Mom and Dad know we need them, so they are coming home soon.” She froze when a noise came from the first floor. “Did you hear something?”

  “No, retarded. You didn’t either.” He stuck a foot in his sock and heard something himself. He jumped up and dropped the opposite sneaker. “They’re home!”

  “Told you. When are you gonna listen to me?” Secret was ecstatic that their dilemma was over. She followed Junior into the hall. They hadn’t quite made it halfway down the stairs when a sheriff appeared at the bottom of the flight.

  Sheriff Colin Edmund parked in front of 2197 Miami Street.

  He lugged a toolbox from the Oldsmobile’s trunk, then followed the driveway to the property’s back door. From the exterior’s appearance of the property, he was sure the Pattersons would miss the Upper Valley home. He secured a Foreclosed and a No Trespassing sign to the door with a cordless screwdriver. Then, he fastened a folding hinge to the doorframe and rested a Master Lock on the hinge. Before he could bolt the rear entrance, he was required to make sure that there were no people or animals inside the property.

  He gathered his tools, went to the front entrance, and repeated the process—only this time, he opened the door and went inside. Good thing they moved some of their belongings. He crossed the empty living room and began to lock every window on the first floor. He studied the Pattersons’ family portrait mounted above the fireplace and wondered why bad things seemed to happen to good people. He backed away from the attractive photo and banged against an end table, causing it to open, sending his toolbox crashing to the floor. “This isn’t going to be a good day.”

  He began tossing the tools back into the metal box, resonating a clatter throughout the residence. He fastened the lid, double checked it, then headed for the stairs. He gripped the banister, looked toward his destination, and flinched. “You kids startled me, liked to gave me a freaking heart attack. Is there anyone else in the house?” He put a boot on the next step.

  “We’re not going back.” Secret tugged Junior by a shoulder and backed up the stairs.

  He took another step. “I have to remove you from the property. You have to go somewhere.”

  Secret’s foot hit the landing.

  “Don’t make us go.” Junior shook his head.

  “I have to.” A third step.

  Secret yanked Junior and they dashed to their room. She locked the door with a sliding lock. “I knew they woul
d come for us, but damn.”

  The sheriff climbed the remaining stairs. “Not a good day at all.” He faced a door with a sign on it that read: Leave Me Alone. I’m Concentrating. He pounded on the door with the side of a closed fist. “Come out of there. Don’t make this harder than what it is.”

  Junior and Secret eased away from the vibrating door.

  Junior stared with fright. His young heart thumped each time the Sheriff hit the door. “He’s going to break it open.”

  The doorknob spun in both directions.

  “I don’t have all day to fool with you kids. Come out of there now! Or I’m coming in.”

  “Help me.” Secret struggled to push the huge dresser toward the door.

  Junior joined her efforts.

  “I can’t go back, Junior.” She began to cry.

  More door banging.

  “We don’t have to go back.”

  Secret sat on her butt, leaning against the dresser. “We’re stuck in here. You even said it yourself; that policeman is going to get in.” She could feel the heavy door pounding in her back through the vibration of the dresser.

  “You promised me that we wouldn’t go back, so we’re not.” He opened the window and lifted the screen. “It’s not high as you think. Don’t be a sissy.” He poked his head out and looked down to Mr. Irvington’s driveway. It really was high. “You can do this, Secret; we practiced this fire drill route with Mom and Dad enough.”

  “But I’m the only one who’ll get trapped in a fire if I’m upstairs.” She gazed through the open window in horror. “It’s too high.”

  The sheriff aimed a shoulder at the door and rammed it. The wood splintered.

  The force was too much for Secret’s small back to absorb. She detached herself from the dresser.

  “You’re not getting trapped today.” Junior pulled a wooden case from under the bed.

  Sheriff Colin rubbed his aching shoulder. I’m too old for this freaking bullshit. He positioned himself to ram the door again.

  Junior secured the fire ladder on the windowsill like GP had taught him, then tossed the ropy rungs through the window.

  A portion of the sliding lock fell to the floor. Secret’s knickknacks rolled from the dresser top.

  “Come the hell out of there!”

  Junior started down the swaying ladder. “Come on, Secret. Don’t get caught and leave me by myself.”

  The dresser began to move as Sheriff Colin pushed.

  Secret took a deep breath and backed out of the window, searching blindly to gain footing on the ladder.

  “See, it’s easy.” Junior lowered himself. “Don’t look down.”

  She looked to where she had just come from and screamed when Sheriff Colin stuck his head through the window.

  Smitty hated to say no. His character flaw was that he’d been generously irresponsible for years. He shook his head with the phone receiver on his ear. “Bad as I want to say yes, GP, I just can’t. Right now I don’t have that type of money. Times have been real hard for me. Ends are not meeting. I need to be asking you for the money you owe me.”

  Killer tapped Smitty when the gorgeous lady strutted through the door wearing a pea coat that showed nothing but a set of long legs in a pair of fishnet stockings.

  “Thanks anyway, Smitty.” GP hung up.

  The Ebony Lady stood in front of the counter and let her pea coat fall to the floor. The nurse outfit hugged her spectacular body like taut skin. A stethoscope swung from her neck. “I was told that there was a sick little boy here who’s in dire need of medical attention.”

  Killer grabbed Smitty’s hand and placed it on his own forehead. “See, Smitty, I told you I had a fever, but you wouldn’t listen.” He led Smitty to the door.

  “Hey, what’s the rush? I—”

  “I got the flu. A nasty one. Trust me; you don’t want to catch it.” Killer locked the door and turned to his nurse. “It hurts all over.”

  Suzette scanned house addresses as she spoke into her cell phone. “Todd, what more do you want me to say? I apologize. It slipped my mind. Let’s reschedule; I’m really doing something important.”

  “And trying to save our marriage isn’t important?”

  “Don’t do that to me. It’s not fair.” She was getting closer. “I told you that I’m helping someone out.”

  “Jesus fucking Christ, Suzette! That’s always the case with you. Your priorities are totally screwed up. What’s important is home; not every Tom, Dick, and Harry. You can’t save the Goddamn world.”

  “Give me an hour, Todd. One hour and I’ll be there.”

  “So help me God, Suzette, if you don’t come now, forget about the marriage. I’ll have my lawyer fax you the divorce papers.”

  Suzette sighed at the same time as she found Kitchie’s address. “Must you be stubborn…all…” She saw two children coming down a flimsy ladder. “I’ll call you back.”

  “Don’t bother. Let the record show that I tried. You just became a waste of my time. Have a ball saving the world.” He hung up.

  Secret screamed.

  Suzette saw the older white man in the window above the children. She jerked the Ford in Park and rushed across the yard.

  Junior’s feet hit the ground. He helped his trembling sister off of the ladder.

  “Secret, Junior,” a frail white woman called out as she ran toward them.

  They cut through the tall bushes in their backyard, running as fast as possible.

  Sheriff Colin watched from above. “Crazy bunch of kids.” He unhooked the ladder. It fell to the ground. He locked the window after it.

  Hector came out of Mr. Doughnuts sipping an espresso.

  Detective Thomas leaned against a mailbox. “Hector Gonzales.” He flashed a badge. “Mind if I have a few words with you?”

  Hector grunted and turned in the other direction.

  Detective Crutchfield stepped out of a phone booth and produced a badge. “Maybe you’re more comfortable with talking to me.”

  Hector stopped in his tracks. Crutchfield.

  Detective Thomas guided Hector to the phone booth, kicked his feet apart, and frisked him. Thomas took a bag of dope from his own pocket and held it up to Hector’s face. “You know better than this. You could have at least tried to hide the shit.”

  Crutchfield stepped closer. “Looks like you’re on your way back to the joint with a new case and a parole violation.”

  “What the hell you want from me?” He eyed Crutchfield, then Thomas.

  “Now that’s what you call a freedom question.” Crutchfield grabbed Hector by an arm. “Let’s go downtown and talk about it.”

  “Where’s your other shoe?” Secret huffed and puffed.

  Junior paused. “In the house. We gotta keep going. They have people looking for us like we broke out of prison.” He led the way through the woods.

  “We did. Are you sure this is the way?”

  “Me, Rasheed, Rashaad, and them come in these woods all the time to find salamanders. The street is straight ahead.” His once-white sock was beyond cleaning.

  “We have to get something to put on your feet.” She dodged a tree branch.

  “Buy me some shoes at the shopping center.”

  “Can’t.”

  “Why?”

  “I left the money in my other pants. I should’ve put it in my sock again.”

  Junior stopped. “So what am I supposed to do? We haven’t even ate.”

  “Don’t look at me like that. We’ll figure something out.” Secret could see the traffic on Green Road through the trees a few feet ahead.

  “Told you this was the way.” Junior walked with a limp.

  “Bet Mom and Dad don’t know you and the twins be in the woods this far. They told you not—”

  “Only way they’ll know is if you tell them—if we ever see them again.”

  “Get that out of your fat head; we’ll all be together soon.”

  “You hope.” He paused and leaned against
a tree. “My foot hurt.”

  They left the woods behind them and started their journey to the bottom of Green Road.

  “Aunt Jewels will get you something to put on your feet when we get there. It’s not that far from here. Will you be all right until then?”

  “Do I have a choice?” Junior detoured around some broken glass on the sidewalk. He stopped when he saw more ahead. “Gimme a piggyback ride.”

  Secret drew in a breath and squatted. “I swear, you’re lucky.”

  Junior poked his tongue out at the back of her head while climbing on. “Secret.”

  “Huh?”

  “I don’t really think you’re a sissy. What if Aunty ain’t there?”

  “Then we’ll wait until she comes.”

  A Ford slowed to a snail’s pace beside them. Suzette lowered the power window while keeping an eye on the winding road. She shouted through the front passenger window. “Listen to me, Secret, your—”

  “Why don’t you leave us alone?” She started taking backward steps. “You’re not taking us back.”

  A city bus was almost kissing Suzette’s bumper. Its husky horn was blown. Secret and Junior ran for the safety of the woods.

  “How long has he been in there?” The captain observed Hector in the interrogation room from a two-way window.

  Crutchfield kicked his feet up on a desk. “About eleven hours now.”

  “Then question him or turn him loose.” The captain sipped a cup of coffee laced with vodka.

  Thomas pushed Crutchfield’s feet off the desk, then sat on the cleared area. “Crutchfield likes to make their imaginations drive ’em crazy, Captain.” He pointed to Hector, who seemed to be taking it well.

  The captain raised a brow. “How much longer do you plan on leaving him in there?”

  “Patience is truly a virtue.” Crutchfield smiled. “He’ll be good and ready to talk by morning.”