The Big Apple Posse

by Wendy R. Williams

  “She is using a burn phone and so am I,” said Auntie Tina. “We talk all the time.” (Burn phones are prepaid cell phones that can be used without a person’s name or contact information.)

  “I wish we could talk to Mom all the time,” said Amanda as she took the phone from Auntie Tina.

  “Hi, Mom. No, no, we are okay. Nothing really happened to us, we were just a little scared,” said Amanda. “When can we see you? Peter and I really want to see you. I even want to see Dad,” said Amanda. Amanda was very mad at her Dad ever since he left them to go live with his administrative assistant, but she had not seen him in seven months so she was ready to get over being mad.

  Amanda listened to her mother for a minute. “But that means we won’t see you again until the trial.”

  “No. Let me talk to Mom,” said Peter taking the phone from Amanda. “Mom, we want to come home. Thibodeaux and Auntie Tina stayed in the city. Why can’t we stay in Greenwich with you?” Peter listened for a minute while his Mom talked.

  “What? You’re not in Greenwich?” asked Peter. “But where are you?”

  Auntie Tina took the phone from Peter. “Sweetie, it’s better if you don’t know where your Mom is. I promise she is somewhere safe and she will tell you all about it when she sees you in June at the trial. We need to get off this phone and talk.” Auntie Tina told Amanda’s mother goodbye and clicked off the cell phone.

  Amanda looked at the phone that Auntie Tina had just hung up and suddenly she was really scared. They must be in a lot of danger if her mother would not talk to her on the phone and she was willing to let Auntie Tina and Thibodeaux make arrangements to hide them. “But where are we going? And why can’t I talk to my Mom about what we are going to do?” asked Amanda.

  “Honey, your Mom knows all about what you are going to do. I would not let you go anywhere without asking her first. The three of you are going to New Orleans to stay with my niece Camille,” said Auntie Tina.

  “We are going to New Orleans?” asked Amanda.

  “Auntie Camille?” asked Thibodeaux. “But why aren’t we going to stay with my Mom?”

  Auntie Tina looked at Thibodeaux for a moment and then she spoke. “Honey, I guess I have to tell you now. Your Mom isn’t in New Orleans. She moved to Miami three years ago.”

  “What? But I call her all the time,” said Thibodeaux.

  “She kept the same cell phone number so you wouldn’t know,” said Auntie Tina.

  “But if she was going to move to Miami, why didn’t she take me with her?” asked Thibodeaux.

  “She is going to, just as soon as she gets settled,” said Auntie Tina.

  Amanda looked at Thibodeaux and thought about how his Mom had moved and not told him and how three years was plenty of time for her to get settled and have him join her. Why did Auntie Tina have to blurt that out in front of everyone? Amanda felt so awful for Thibodeaux that she was afraid that she was going to start crying, but she couldn’t. If she started crying, he would too and she knew how much he would hate that. She walked over and put her arm around him and said, “Hey, Thibodeaux. I am glad we will all be together again. You’re a great guy to have around when there is trouble.”

  Michael quickly interrupted, “So I am going to go to New Orleans with them? What about my internship? Terrence is my brother, but I am still supposed to show up. It’s a business.”

  “I told Terrence you would be gone for a few days. He said you should stay a few extra days and scout the music scene in New Orleans,” said Mr. Trudeau.

  “Why are we hiding in New Orleans? Won’t they think to look there since Thibodeaux is from New Orleans?” asked Peter.

  “Thibodeaux has lived in Harlem for five years so even if they did find out he was originally from New Orleans, there are so many New Orleans refugees from Katrina who were never able to go back home so someone would not automatically assume that he would go there. Besides, New Orleans is such a cultural stew, you could hide an elephant in the middle of the street and no one would notice,” said Mr. Trudeau.

  Amanda whispered into Thibodeaux’s ear, “Hey, we are your family. ‘

  Thibodeaux still looked stunned to hear about his mother and did not say anything.

  “Join the bad parent’s club. Maybe your Mom can start hanging with my Dad,” said Peter.

  “Okay, that’s enough of that,” said Auntie Tina. “We are all going to stay here tonight and then tomorrow morning, the three of you plus Michael and Mr. Trudeau will leave for New Orleans.”

  “But why aren’t you going with us?” asked Thibodeaux.

  “I am going to Jamaica to stay with Vanessa until the trial begins. I called those old people, Mr. Garvain and Miss Virginia, and told them it was not safe for them to stay in Vermont and they are going to Jamaica with me,” said Auntie Tina.

  “But is it safe for you to be in Jamaica?” asked Amanda. “My Mom said we could not vacation in Jamaica. Well she did say we would be safe if we stayed inside one of the resorts, but not anywhere else because there is a lot of violence.”

  “Well, I am certainly not going to stay in a resort and Jamaica is no scarier than any other place if you know what you are doing. Vanessa has a big house in the mountains and we will stay there. There are no white people around for miles so if any tall, blondes thieves come there to cause trouble, those white folks will stick out like red Kool-Aid on a white sofa,” said Auntie Tina giving Thibodeaux a stern look. There was obviously some story here about red Kool-Aid, a white sofa, and Thibodeaux, but everyone was too smart to ask.

  “But Mr. Garvain and Miss Virginia are white,” said Peter.

  “Well, they will be with me so no one will mind that,” said Auntie Tina.

  “Peter and I don’t have any clothes with us.” Amanda saw a huge duffle bag on the floor which she assumed was filled with Thibodeaux’s clothes.

  “Well, Thibodeaux was the only one who had any warning about this business,” said Mr. Trudeau. “As soon as we get out of town, we will stop at a mall and let you go shopping. But first things first, what kind of ID’s do you have with you? We need to figure out a cover story to explain why two black men are driving three white kids through the deep South.”

  “Hey man, I’m black too,” said Thibodeaux.

  “So we need a cover story to explain why two black men are driving two white kids plus one kid who can pass for white through the deep South,” said Mr. Trudeau.

  Auntie Tina rolled her eyes, “Thibodeaux! Let Mr. Trudeau finish making the arrangements.”

  “I have my school ID with me, how about you, Peter?” asked Amanda. “They make us carry ID’s whenever we are on school property.”

  “Me too,” said Peter. “They have our fake names on them—Amanda and Peter Thompson.”

  “I have a school ID too, but it has my real name on it so I sure can’t use it,” said Thibodeaux.

  “Well, they will have to do until I can get some new ones for you. Michael, when you go back upstairs, get my digital camera off the desk and take some passport style photos of the kids and then download them to my computer,” said Mr. Trudeau. “I will have some ID’s made up for you and we will pick them up in New Orleans.”

  “How do you know how to do that?” asked Amanda.

  “Let’s just say that I occasionally represent criminals and have picked up a few tips along the way,” said Mr. Trudeau.

  “When do we leave?” asked Peter.

  “In the morning, we will wake you up about seven. Michael, please take them upstairs and show them the guest bedrooms. There are new toothbrushes in the upstairs bathroom cabinet,” said Mr. Trudeau.

  “Everyone we meet seems to keep extra toothbrushes around,” Peter asked Amanda. “Do they all expect emergencies?”

  Amanda did not answer him.

  Michael took the three kids upstairs to the third floor, stopping to pick up the digital camera. He stood each one of them next to a white wall and took a photo of their face.

  There wer
e two guest bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs “Peter, you will need to stay with your sister?” asked Michael. “I am going to bunk with Thibodeaux.”

  “Sure, but don’t you have a room in this house? It is your home?” asked Peter.

  “Not any more. I moved out when I left for college. After I graduated, I bought a condo and I live in midtown over by the Hudson River,” said Michael.

  “Oh,” said Peter.

  The children were tired so they got ready to sleep in their clothes. Both Amanda and Peter had eReaders in their backpacks, so the fact that there was no television in the guest room did not matter that much. Amanda had made her mother buy them eReaders after they had spent close to a week without television after last October’s bombings.

  Amanda and Peter stayed up late reading before they finally turned off the lights and went to sleep.

  Suddenly someone was in the room with them. It was Michael telling them, “Hey, wake up. We need to leave right now.”

  “But it’s the middle of the night. We just went to sleep,” said Amanda.

  “My Dad and Auntie Tina were watching the local news and the waitress from your diner was beaten up by some guys last night. She told the police that they were looking for some kids and she described both you and the thugs and the way she described the thugs, it sounds like they might be two of the South African jewel thieves. I don’t think she saw us when we picked you up because there is nothing about us on the news. The police think it is a child custody situation, and have put out an APB for both you and the guys who beat up the waitress. So we need to get you out of town right now,” said Michael.

  The children quickly got ready and went downstairs. Auntie Tina and Mr. Trudeau were still sitting in the living room, Auntie Tina was still wearing her burgundy hat with the feather.

  “Thibodeaux honey, I’m sorry, but you and your friends need to leave right now. Mr. Garvain, Miss Virginia and I are all leaving for Jamaica late this afternoon. I have been up all night making arrangements,” said Auntie Tina. “Here, put on these tee shirts. I got them from my church last night.” Auntie Tina handed them three tee shirts that said Riverdale Gospel Choir on the front. “If anyone stops you, you are supposed to tell them that you are going to New Orleans to perform at Saint Barnabus Roman Catholic Church. My nephew, Brother Francis, knows you are coming and he will back you up if anyone calls to verify your story. Mr. Trudeau and Michael are going to tell any police that they are your uncle and cousin by marriage. Here, I wrote it all out for you. So read this in the car and be prepared. Hey, don’t look so sad. You’ll love New Orleans.”

  There was a knock on the door and Mr. Trudeau looked through the peep hole and then opened the door. In walked DJ True/Terrence with Nelson, the driver from last night.

  “Hey kids, you ready to go?” asked Terrence/DJ True.

  “Hey, man. I’m Thibodeaux Botrain. I like your tracks. I’m a rapper myself,” Thibodeaux told DJ True/Terrence.

  Terrence/DJ True high-fived Thibodeaux.

  “Are we going with you?” Amanda did not want to sound scared but she did.

  “No, Michael and I are going to take you to New Orleans. Terrence and Nelson are just going to follow us until we are on the interstate,” said Mr. Trudeau.

  “How long will it take?” asked Amanda.

  “We have four days driving time ahead of us; we can’t risk flying. You are too recognizable; there is an APB out on you which means the police know what you look like. The thugs that are looking for you may have someone at the airport who will recognize Auntie Tina, Mr. Garvain, and Miss Virginia, but I doubt they will be able to get on the same plane with them and we have made arrangements for guards to meet them at the airport in Jamaica. And once they are in Jamaica, no one will be able to find them. Vanessa lives on the way to Nine Mile and there is only one road up the mountain,” said Mr. Trudeau looking at Amanda. “Don’t worry, they will be safe and so will you.”

  Terrence/DJ True and Nelson walked out the front door and looked up and down the dark street. “Now,” said Terrence/DJ True.

  Mr. Trudeau, Michael, Thibodeaux, Amanda, and Peter walked quickly out the front door being careful not to slip on the un-shoveled sidewalk. It was still snowing outside and very cold. There were two black Cadillac Escalades in front of the house. Michael quickly pulled the kids to the first one and opened the back door and hustled them inside the car. Michael then walked around the car and got into the driver’s seat while Mr. Trudeau sat in the front seat. Amanda quickly dove into the third row so she could lie down, leaving the second row bucket seats for Peter and Thibodeaux, but then she looked at how tired Peter looked and got up and switched places with him. Being Peter’s only family, and the supposed grownup, was no fun whatsoever.

  Michael started the car and pulled into the street, followed closely by the other Escalade. Amanda put on her seat belt, reclined her seat and moved to sit sideways and went back to sleep. Someone else would have to do the worrying for a while.

  Amanda woke up as they traveled over a bridge leaving Manhattan and then she went back to sleep. When she woke up again it was light outside and they were traveling on an interstate highway. Thibodeaux was watching a hip-hop video on the DVD player that was on the back of Mr. Trudeau’s seat. He was wearing headphones so there would not be any sound. Peter was still asleep in the third row. Amanda tapped on Thibodeaux’s shoulder and said, “Where are we?”

  “New Jersey,” said Thibodeaux.

  “Is DJ True still following us?” asked Amanda.

  “No, they turned around once we were on the interstate,” said Mr. Trudeau.

  “So, how long is this going to take?” Amanda asked again.

  “Three to four days,” said Mr. Trudeau. “We got an early start today but we will need to stop early since none of us got any sleep last night. But we will stop at a mall as soon as we get a couple hundred miles under our belt. We will also pull off and go through a McDonald’s as soon as Peter wakes up. “Amanda turned around and looked at Peter who was sound asleep. “Hey, do you want to stop at McDonald’s?”

  “You know Mom does not want us to eat at McDonald’s,” said Peter as he tried to go back to sleep.

  “Peter is awake and he would love to stop at McDonald’s,” said Amanda.

  Michael pulled the car through McDonalds and everyone ordered food. Amanda and Thibodeaux ordered coffee drinks and no one even bothered to remark about how they should not be drinking coffee at their age. The rules seemed to be relaxed for fugitives.

  Chapter III

  The next three days passed in a blur of sameness; the road trip was boringly uneventful. They were never stopped by the police (Michael never exceeded the speed limit) and they did not need to put on the tee shirts or tell any kind of cover story. Michael drove while Mr. Trudeau sat in the passenger seat talking to them, telling them stories about Harlem in the 60’s and 70’s and about the New Orleans he knew as a young man. Michael, however, did not say much. He simply drove the car and was quiet. Amanda thought that he must be pretty unhappy to be torn away from his glamorous life in New York’s hip-hop music business to take a bunch of kids to New Orleans. He did not openly complain, but every time they stopped, he was instantly on his Blackberry, returning his calls and emails. Amanda overheard him talking to someone she assumed was his girlfriend who was obviously unhappy to hear that he was going out of town without telling her where he was going or when he would be back. After that phone call, Michael was even quieter than before.

  When they were about two hours outside New York, Mr. Trudeau stopped at a drugstore and bought a burn phone and activated it on a pay phone. He got back in the car and called Jonathan Marcum at the FBI. Amanda could not help overhearing the conversation because Mr. Trudeau kept raising his voice. Mr. Marcum was obviously telling Mr. Trudeau that he needed to bring them back to the city and turn them over to the FBI and Mr. Trudeau kept saying that they had tried that and the kids could have been killed yesterday. So until th
e FBI figured out who told those thugs where the kids were staying, he would take care of them himself. After some pretty heated arguing, Mr. Trudeau and Mr. Marcum must have come to some sort of agreement because Amanda heard Mr. Trudeau say that he would meet with the FBI next week when he was back in the city. And Mr. Marcum seemed to have agreed to not alert the FBI to search for them or Mr. Trudeau since he had no idea who had leaked Amanda and Peter’s location.

  As soon as Mr. Trudeau was through with his conversation, he put the burn phone on the sidewalk, stomped on it and threw it in the trash. So obviously Mr. Trudeau did not trust Agent Marcum, their main contact with the FBI. Amanda looked at the elegant Mr. Trudeau stomping on the phone and thought that this would really be funny if she were not so worried.

  But Amanda found it hard to spend much time worrying when she was so bored with the trip. All they did was drive and every night when they had traveled as far as they could for the day, they had to leave the interstate to find some small dumpy motel where Mr. Trudeau could pay cash for their rooms. Nicer motels required a credit card and he could not use a credit card because that would leave a trail for the FBI.

  The only fun part of the trip was the first day when they stopped at a mall and shopped for new clothes, duffle bags, drugstore stuff, burn phones and some charging cords for their eReaders. Mr. Trudeau had a lot of cash with him and Peter and Amanda purchased three days worth of clothes, swim suits to use in the motel pools, pajamas, and toiletries. Amanda had thought they would stop at some place like Walmart, so she was pleasantly surprised to be able to shop at a mall.

  As they were walking out of the mall, Amanda asked Thibodeaux, “Why is Mr. Trudeau being so nice to use?”

  “He’s Auntie Tina’s lawyer,” said Thibodeaux.

  “I know, but he is driving us to New Orleans, buying us clothes. I don’t think most lawyers do that,” said Amanda.

  “Well, he has always had a thing for Auntie Tina, ever since they were young. But mostly it is because Auntie Tina owns a lot of Harlem and she is a pretty good client. Her husband worked for the Transit Department and she taught school, but they spent all their spare time and money buying Harlem real estate when it was still cheap,” said Thibodeaux.