Push Comes to Shove

by Oasis

  “You need to find you something to do,” someone called out. “Don’t take it out on us ’cause your batteries died last night.”

  “Coward, say it to my face. Woman-up and make it known who I’m conversing with.” Proctor’s small shoulder-pack radio squawked. She switched to a private channel and received the message. She clipped the radio back on her shoulder. “Kitchie Patterson, pack it up. You made bail.” She turned to a woman watching an episode of Divorce Court. “What cell does Patterson lock in?”

  She pointed.

  The woman watching the day room’s happenings from the cell looked over a shoulder at Logan. “She’s coming this way.”

  Logan nodded at the big woman who had Kitchie cornered. Big girl was swift and precise with her actions. She pinned Kitchie against the cell wall. As Logan came closer, Kitchie clamped her eyes shut.

  Logan kissed Kitchie on the mouth. “This ain’t over until I have you my way.”

  “She’s coming, Logan.”

  The door swung open and the women were having a conversation as if things were fine and dandy. All with the exception of Kitchie who, for the first time in days, was thankful to be in the presence of the police.

  Proctor was no fool. She eyed Logan with scorn while she addressed Kitchie. “Get dressed. You made bond.”

  “Daddy!” Secret and Junior said in unison. They rushed him when the elevator opened.

  GP wrapped his arms around them both. It was rejuvenating to know that his children were safe. “I missed y’all so much. I’ll never let us get separated again. We’re gonna have to send the lawyer a thank-you card for getting y’all out.”

  “Not exactly.” Secret nestled her head against his stomach.

  “What do you mean?” He put a finger under her chin to lift her head.

  “You look like shit.” Jewels gave him the once-over.

  “I felt like it until now. Thanks for getting me out.”

  “Fool, you got me fucked up. Don’t motherfucking thank me; tell me what the hell is going on. You got my niece and nephew out here living trifling. Some cracker beating on Secret; chattel slavery is over.” Jewels pulled up Secret’s sleeve, allowing the bruises to speak for themselves. “On top of that, they pulled a Harriet Tubman on Whitey and got exposed to some shit they ain’t have no business around.”

  GP dropped to his knees and hugged Secret tightly, wishing he could transfer everything she had endured onto himself. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, baby.” That you are, Greg, Mr. Reynolds confirmed in the privacy of GP’s head.

  “Let me see your tattoos, Daddy.” Junior tugged on GP’s Street Prophet shirt.

  GP feigned a laugh to conceal his hurt. “You know I don’t have tattoos.”

  “Lil’ Eric’s dad said people in jail get muscles and tattoos.”

  “Are you sure he’s my brother?” Secret draped her arm over GP’s shoulder. “He says a lot of stupid things.”

  “Shut up.” Junior stuck his face in Secret’s. “If I’m stupid, why are you the one failing math?”

  Junior smiled. GP and Jewels looked at Secret.

  She shrugged. “It’s hard.”

  “We’ll talk about this at home.” GP pulled Jewels to the side but kept an eye on the children.

  Jewels shook her head in disgust when they were out of earshot. “I’d like to know what home you’re talking about?” She noticed a smudge on her pink Timberland boots. “Your crib is padlocked.”

  “We wasn’t supposed to be out until tomorrow.”

  “Well, you’re out now.”

  GP fell into a long silence. “Mr. Reynolds is still on some abusive shit. I swear I wish something bad would happen to his fat ass.”

  Jewels was taken aback. “You mean—”

  “Yeah, the same one.”

  “You some cold shit, GP. I knew I should have left you locked up. No wonder they ran away.”

  He looked at Jewels, then across the waiting area at the children. “What you mean, ran away?”

  “Didn’t you hear me when I said they pulled a Harriet Tubman? You heard right.”

  “How long before Kitchie—”

  The elevator chimed.

  The children greeted their mother with the same affection, if not more, than they had shown their father. GP joined the family’s reunion hug. Kitchie couldn’t speak because of all the crying she was doing.

  CHAPTER 9

  Detective Thomas flicked open a four-inch Harley-Davidson blade and cut the tape securing the Nike box’s lid with caution.

  Hector stuck his tongue through the gum and blew a bubble.

  Thomas eased the lid off and jumped back in disbelief. “What the…goddammit! What the fuck is this?” His arms spread wide.

  Crutchfield took a peek inside the box. His blood pressure reached its apex. He clenched his fists until his knuckles turned whiter.

  Thomas shot to his feet with the shovel cocked. “You had me dig up a dead goddamn goldfish…a stinking fish!” He swung the shovel, dislocating Hector’s shoulder.

  Hector yelped as the pain registered. “I thought that’s who you were talking about.” He held on to his shoulder. “My fucking arm… I think you broke it. That’s the only body I know about.”

  “Smart ass, you think you can toy with us like we’re some clowns?” Thomas drew back with the shovel.

  Hector tried to shake the pain. Does he really want me to answer that? “I did what was asked of me. I showed you the only body I know about. I came home a week ago and found Pablo floating in his bowl. I had him for years. He was my main man, you know. It was only right to give him a proper burial.”

  “Who does this murderous…asshole think he’s talking to?”

  Crutchfield saved Hector from a second blow. “Fuck him, Thomas. He’ll slip up on his own or by my design. Either way, we’ll get him…” He tugged on the cuffs with a force that sent shock waves of excruciating pain through the damaged limb. “…And we’ll bring Squeeze down.”

  Hector fell and soiled the knees of his designer slacks.

  Jewels wheeled the Escalade onto the avenue leading to GP’s home.

  Kitchie shifted Junior from one side of her lap to the other. “You shouldn’t do this. I don’t want us to get into any more trouble than we’re in, Papi.”

  “What else am I supposed to do? None of us have any clothes and there’s a couple hundred dollars in there, which we need. Unless you have another suggestion, I’m going in.”

  “There’s fifty dollars in my pants pocket on my bedroom floor, Daddy.” Secret leaned on Kitchie, holding on to her hand.

  A crease stretched across Kitchie’s forehead as her brow furrowed. “Where did you get that type of money?”

  She explained her possession of the money to her parents.

  “Kitchie, everything is gonna be all right. I’ll be in and out like a heist.”

  “In reality, that’s exactly what you’re doing.” Jewels parked in the driveway. “But what’s fucked up is you’re breaking into your own house to steal your own shit.”

  GP looked at the children’s bedroom window. “I sure would’ve liked to watch my baby make that climb.”

  Secret smiled.

  “She almost peed on herself, Daddy.”

  “Shut up. You’re lying.”

  Their meddlesome neighbor, Mr. Irvington, strolled his compact lawn mower down his drive with his nose in the air. He paused, looked over the shrubbery dividing the two driveways and into GP’s aggravated face, then scanned the other members of the Patterson family.

  “Let’s go.” GP released the door handle. “Nosy old bastard has diarrhea of the mouth.”

  “Mommy…I asked Secret, but she didn’t know. Does Daddy tell you…” He whispered the rest into her ear.

  Kitchie’s eyes widened; her mouth fell open. “Boy, you have no business. Don’t you ever, ever let me hear you say that again. Where did you learn that…filth?”

  “Me and Secret heard that man, Brandon, say i
t to his girlfriend, Shea. I saw her titties, too. They’re big.”

  Jewels frowned at Junior through the rearview. “I told you to leave all that out for now.”

  GP turned in the seat. “How did you see her chest inside his car?”

  Junior lowered his head.

  GP shifted his gaze to his daughter. “Secret, tell us everything, and this time don’t leave nothing out.”

  Mr. Irvington noted the Escalade’s license plate number as it backed out the drive. He went into the house and removed a business card stuck to the refrigerator by a banana magnet.

  He put on his glasses to make out the blurry numbers on his telephone’s keypad. He punched the extension in.

  “Department of Social Services; how may I direct your call?”

  Mr. Irvington adjusted his hearing aid. “Child Services, please.”

  “One moment.”

  Eight seconds later, a man’s voice was on the line. “Child Services.”

  “Uh, yes—” Mr. Irvington read the name on the card. “May I speak with Nancy Pittman?”

  “Nancy, line two!” he yelled to a cubicle to the right of him.

  “Got it.” She picked up. “Hello.”

  “Ms. Pittman, this is Carmichael Irvington. I met with you yesterday evening.”

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Irvington. I take it that you thought of something that’ll help me locate the Patterson children.”

  “Better than that; I know exactly who they’re with.”

  “I’m gonna give somebody hell if I catch their fiending ass smoking that stinking shit in this hall.” Jewels checked her mailbox and fanned the crack smoke.

  “Achoo! Achoo!” Junior pinched his nose. “That smells like the same stuff Brandon and Shea was smoking.”

  “Junior, you and Secret go upstairs with your father. Let Mommy talk to Aunty Jewels for a minute.”

  GP held the vestibule door open for the women. “Can’t y’all—”

  “GP, please.”

  “Come on.” He led the children up the stairs to Jewels’s apartment.

  Jewels leaned against the mailboxes. “What’s up?”

  “Thanks for everything.”

  “Don’t sweat it. Y’all would have done the same for me. Girl, I know you didn’t want to thank me for that in privacy.”

  “You’re right. I’ve asked you not to encourage my children to do wrong. Secret looks up to you. You teach her to fight, use foul language, and, now, you’ve overstepped the boundaries of your influence when you advise my children to hold back information from their parents.”

  “Damn, Kitchie, don’t trip. I don’t feel like going through this with you again.” Jewels threw her hands up. “I only told them to keep their mouths closed for a while; I didn’t want them to rattle your nerves with a bunch of shit none of us can do anything about. Seeing all that you’ve been through, I was trying to let you get your pain in small doses. Y’all got enough to worry about, other than some dude getting his dick sucked.”

  Kitchie folded her arms and sighed. “You have a point, and I appreciate your concern. Always have. You’re special to all of us. But let GP and me be the parents.”

  “We had to eat.” Secret pouted. “What else were we supposed to do?”

  “You’re getting mad at us for stealing; we only did what you do.” Junior’s innocence oozed from his gaze.

  GP sighed. “I’m not mad.”

  He wasn’t angered at all, but he had just been wounded by his son’s words.

  “I know why you did it. All I want you to understand is that stealing is wrong. No matter why you did it.”

  “Then why do you steal? Why is it wrong for us but not for you?” Secret folded her arms.

  At this moment, Secret reminded GP so much of Kitchie. Her cocky, inquisitive attitude. The prove-your-point attitude her body language communicated. Like mother, like daughter.

  “Just because I’m known for doing some things in the past doesn’t mean it’s cool for either one of you to do it.”

  “Aaunk! Wrong answer.” Kitchie strolled into the room with Jewels close behind. “Answer her question. I want to know, too.”

  Junior rested an elbow on the arm of the couch. “Well, Dad, why are you allowed to do it?”

  “This ought to be good.” Jewels plopped down onto the love-seat. “Your own kids got you on the ropes; going to your body real good.”

  GP visited each set of eyes staring at him for a brief moment. “Stealing is wrong for me, too. It’s not something I’m proud of. Stealing is self-centered. When you take something that doesn’t belong to you, you’re only concerned with the benefits you get.” He took Junior’s hand. “Stealing one small thing can hurt a lot of people in a big way.”

  “So, you don’t care about other people when you steal, Daddy?” Junior bit his bottom lip.

  GP looked at Kitchie, hoping that she would come to his rescue.

  “I won’t help you.” She shrugged. “I told you that you’ll be confronted by this one day.”

  “Man-up, homeboy, ’cause you’re definitely on front street.”

  GP scratched his head. “No, Junior, I don’t. The times I’ve stolen, at the time, there wasn’t anybody I cared about but your mother, you, and Secret. That’s wrong for me to think like that.”

  “If you know all of that—” Secret stretched. “—then why do you do wrong?”

  “Oomph, good goddamn question.” Jewels leaned back on the loveseat. This was getting good.

  “My teacher said, ‘Once you know something,’” Secret said, “‘you’re held accountable for what you know.’”

  “Your teacher is a very smart woman.” GP shifted his gaze from Secret to Junior. “Tell you what: I’ll make a deal with you. You won’t ever hear about me stealing anything again. But you have to promise me that neither of you won’t ever take something that doesn’t belong to you unless your life depends on it.”

  “Deal.” Secret kicked her shoes off.

  “Throw my bike in there and you got yourself a deal, Daddy.”

  “Bet.” GP shook his son’s hand.

  Jewels turned the TV on. CNN was doing a news brief on yet another entertainer turned pedophile. “Freak is going to jail this time. They finally got his confused ass trapped off.”

  Kitchie sat down beside her. “You think he’s guilty?”

  “You motherfucking right! Ain’t no question. He lucky it ain’t nobody I know, ’cause I’d break his ass off—literally. Show him how that shit feels. Anybody that tampers with kids in any type of way deserves to be done in. Fuck him, perverted queer.” Jewels turned the channel. “It’s some bags on my bed. Some of the hottest gear out. It’s something in there everybody can wear. Y’all take whatever you need. It might be a minute until things is back right.”

  “Booyah!” Secret sprang up and darted toward the bedroom.

  GP threw up a hand, stopping her. “Hold up a minute.” He turned back to Jewels. “You need to hustle those clothes so—”

  “Don’t sweat it. Y’alls bond money already set me back. I’m a player, though. I’ll get another opportunity to make some major paper. Them stolen clothes don’t mean shit to me. Take them all and get right. Family comes before money.”

  Junior turned. “Aunty, you stole, too?” His brow rose.

  “Boy, don’t you even go there with me. Ain’t no telling what Aunty might do. Steal, kill, wheel, and deal.”

  The following morning, Nancy Pittman was being escorted by a plain-clothes officer to an address that the Department of Motor Vehicles had matched with the license plate number provided to her by Mr. Irvington.

  “After you.” The chubby officer opened the vestibule door.

  “Thanks…” Nancy looked into the face of a dusty black man steadying a flame to the tip of his glass pipe.

  “Come in or close the damn door.” Smoke escaped Too Tall’s nostrils. “What y’all white folks doing down here?”

  The door slammed shut behind the of
ficer’s wide load. He shoved a badge in Too Tall’s face. “Break it or I’m hauling you in.”

  “Ah, come on, man. All the dope I got is in here.” He held the pipe up, then bolted out the door, nearly knocking Nancy over.

  “You okay?” The officer held her in his arms.

  A strange feeling ran through her. She felt a connection that had abandoned her years ago. “I’m fine, Officer Howard.” She looked at the paraphernalia littering the building’s interior. “It’s on the third floor.”

  Howard could just about tell what she was thinking from the expression etched on her face. “What you just witnessed and what you see…” He pointed to an empty crack vial. “…is almost considered normal in this type of area.”

  “This is no place for children to be.”

  Howard studied her slender frame as she climbed the stairs. “No one should be forced to live in an environment such as this, but unfortunately, this is the best some people can do.”

  “Why doesn’t the police force come through places like this and rid it of people like…that guy who tried to run me down? That way the families who are economically challenged, that must stay in places like this, will have a halfway decent place to live?”

  “Addicts aren’t the problem. They’re part of the equation, but not the majority of the problem. Sure, we can arrest them on bullshit charges, which won’t amount to nothing more than a county sentence.” He was really impressed with the way Nancy’s long legs performed in her business skirt. “From experience, my opinion is we shouldn’t concentrate on punishment for addicts; we should direct that energy into getting them help. And crack down hard on the dealers responsible for poisoning these people—starting with the government.”

  They stopped in front of Apartment 302.

  “Here we go. Uh…Nancy…”

  She looked into his boyish eyes.

  “I know this is bad timing, but would you like to go out some time?”