Huang snorted. Raymond stayed silent. The car bumped along the road. Thirty seconds later they returned to Seventh Street and Huang jumped out of the car.
“He’s touchy,” said Shadrack. “Full-fledged United Bamboo, though. You ever heard of them?”
“No,” said Raymond.
“Shit, they Taiwanese, man. World’s bigger than your little prison gangs.” He turned to John. “Head over to the lake,” he said.
At Lake Merritt, John parked on the street. People walking alone or in couples passed by on the sidewalk as they sat in silence. Raymond watched the back of Shadrack’s head and waited.
“What time you got?” asked Shadrack.
“They’re not late,” said John.
“So you said that family’s as big as—”
“Biggest in Hunters Point. They’ve got about forty or fifty of them over there,” said John. “Cousins, aunts, uncles, all of them. They’re in the Fillmore, too.”
Raymond measured his breaths and waited. It was a beautiful day in Oakland; the sun was out. Seagulls flew and landed.
When the car pulled up next to them, Raymond’s first thought was that they were looking for parking. He shook his head at the passenger. But the woman cocked her head, held her hand up, and waved her fingers.
“There they are,” said John.
Shadrack got out and slammed the door shut. He walked to the other car, opened the back door, and got in. Raymond bent forward to look at the driver. He could tell it was a white man, but that was it. The car pulled away.
“Should I get in front?” asked Raymond.
“Nah, you’re good,” said John.
“Who’re they?”
“Just more people.”
“Everybody pays first?”
“Certain types do.”
“He’s got them paying before they even see it?”
“That’s how he is.” John shook his head. “Not normal, but as you’re probably starting to see, he gets away with a lot more shit than a normal man could.” He adjusted the rearview mirror and looked back at Raymond. “Like having you come along.”
Raymond nodded a little and looked across the lake to see if the car was circling back.
“The man does have a strange sense of humor,” said John.
Raymond measured John from behind, imagined reaching over the seat with his left hand, locking John’s head against the headrest, and cutting his throat. The car felt hot. He pressed the window button, but nothing happened.
John leaned forward and turned the car on. Raymond lowered his window a few inches and asked, “How come he lives in that filthy house?”
“Shit, it’s just some people’s nature to be dirty.”
Raymond closed his eyes for a moment. He was tired as hell. Just before he drifted off, Shadrack came back and opened the door.
“She had on all white!” said Shadrack. “Head to toe. I said, ‘You on your way to get married?’ She said, ‘I’m already married. It just makes me feel more spiritual.’ She’s the kind of person you wonder if it’s bad luck even talking to.”
“Where next?” asked John.
“We good, for now,” said Shadrack. He turned in his seat and looked at Raymond. “You saw her? Head-to-toe white like a damn Latter-day Saint.”
They drove Raymond back to his hotel. It was dark outside by the time they got to the city. A man was selling crack to another man on the sidewalk. Shadrack rolled down the window and spoke through it as Raymond stepped out.
“Better to be dumb and have friends, than smart and alone,” he said. The car pulled off.
Raymond had just drifted off to sleep when he was woken by Gloria knocking on the door. It was almost like she was timing her visits to keep him awake. As he let her in, he peeked down the hallway and saw a different young man this time.
“Why don’t you invite him in, too?” he said.
“He’s not with me,” she said. Her anger took Raymond off guard. He’d come to realize that she had all kinds of different moods, and they changed fast.
“Where’d you go?” she asked. “I’ve been calling you.”
Raymond found his cell phone and saw five missed calls; the ringer had been turned off.
“Where you been to?” she asked again.
“I went to Shadrack’s house. Like you said.”
“From there. Where did you go?”
“You been following me?”
“If I was following you, would I ask where you go?”
Raymond felt anger boil up in his guts. This woman, he thought, needed to learn how to interact with people. Basic conversational skills. She was getting on his nerves. “We went to Oakland,” he said.
“I know that. I’m asking who did you visit there?”
Raymond didn’t want to tell her who they’d seen. For the first time, he wondered if Shadrack’s fear of getting ripped off was well founded. “We went to a place in Hunters Point, don’t know who he saw there. They left me in the car. Then we went to Oakland. Met a Chinese guy with a fat envelope, name of Hung, or Wong, or some shit. Then they saw some white lady dressed in white. That’s it. They didn’t tell me who anyone was, didn’t tell me nothing.”
“Who’s they?”
“Shadrack and John.”
“Who’s John?” she asked, her face looking like she was finally closing in on some kind of truth.
“He’s a black dude. I thought you knew him. They work together.”
“A black dude named John,” she said, mockingly. Raymond sensed hatred coming from her. He was so tired he felt feverish. This job was becoming more and more difficult.
“It’s too much back and forth between y’all,” he said. “I just need some sleep. My mind’s not working right.”
“Come here,” said Gloria. She stepped closer to him and put a comforting arm around his shoulder. He could smell her perfume. For a moment, he felt a sexual energy run between them. It scared him, and he stepped back. Her eyes looked damp.
“You need to keep your phone on,” she said. “I’ll pass by later.” She turned and looked at the bed for a moment. “Rest. You’re confused,” she said.
“I know,” he said.
She left him after that. As soon as she was gone, he tried to call Arthur. Duck answered the call and told him Arthur had been thrown in the hole. There was a new guard who’d caught him with dope. Thirty days. Duck cursed the guard up and down, said they were thinking of acting on him. He asked Raymond if he was good, and then asked if he’d had his dick sucked yet.
Thirty days in the hole, Raymond thought. Better to be dumb and have friends than smart and alone.
A few hours later, he woke up to the sound of knocking again. He assumed it was Gloria, but when he opened the door he saw four plainclothes cops. They wore hoodies and nylon jackets, with badges hanging from their necks and guns on their hips.
“Raymond Gaspar?” said one of them.
“Yeah?”
“Parole sweep,” the cop said. “Give me your ID.”
He did as they asked. They searched him and then sat him down in the hallway. He didn’t have anything in the room, but they weren’t leaving. They turned his bed over, searched under the sink. They turned out each pocket of his pants a second time. Eventually two of the cops left, but the other two kept him sitting in the hallway. Finally, after an hour and a half, they called it a night. It was almost one thirty in the morning by that point.
The cops didn’t answer any of his questions. The way they’d searched him, though, it looked like someone had given them a tip.
He couldn’t sleep after that. He tossed and turned and when he finally fell into something like sleep, he was woken again by hard knocking. This time he asked who it was. The person on the other side wouldn’t answer. When he finally opened the door, there was a young black guy there, sober seeming, dressed in black. He looked Raymond dead in the eyes, then told him he was sorry, must’ve had the wrong room. It was four in the morning. Somebody didn’t
want him to sleep that night.
His cell phone started buzzing before nine. The only numbers he’d saved were Gloria’s and Duck’s, and this wasn’t either of them. He answered it.
“It’s your old friend,” said Shadrack. Raymond didn’t remember giving him his number. “Got a little situation. I’m ‘bout to pick you up in thirty minutes. Wait outside for me. You check in with your mother yet?”
Raymond told him he hadn’t. He hung up the phone and sat there wondering what the hell Shadrack was talking about. Then, with nothing else to do, he called his mom.
She went on and on about how happy she was, about him needing to get a job, a fresh start, all that. He said he’d come visit as soon he got settled in; maybe he could get his parole moved up north. Before he hung up, he asked if anybody had come by looking for him. She told him no, but the damnedest thing had happened. Somebody had broken all four of her garage windows last night. Raymond felt his blood pressure rise.
Shadrack picked him up a half hour after that. He wore his hair wet, combed and pushed behind his ears. He’d shaved, too, and Raymond noticed a dark spot of blood where he’d nicked himself above the lip. The man’s eyes still looked like he was on speed; he kept working his mouth around like a crackhead. Everything about him made Raymond nervous.
“Man, you look tired. Wassup, you went out last night and got your rocks off?” Shadrack asked.
“Parole sweep,” Raymond said. “Middle of the night.” He watched Shadrack’s face for a reaction.
“No shit.”
“Then some black dude woke me up.”
Shadrack turned the car off Mission and headed up Seventeenth toward Folsom. “So what’d the black fella want?” he asked, smiling a little.
“Don’t know. Didn’t say,” Raymond said. “Let me ask you a question: Why’d you want me to call my mother?”
“‘Cause that’s what you’re supposed to do, when you get out the can,” Shadrack said. “Call your mom, make sure no windows were broken, no doors kicked in, that kinda thing.”
“Pull the fuck over.”
Shadrack kept driving. Raymond reached for the steering wheel and the other man slammed on the brakes. They stopped in the middle of Seventeenth Street. A car honked behind them.
“What the fuck you playing at?” Raymond asked.
“I didn’t do it.” The honking grew louder as other cars joined in. “Your bitch boss of a friend, the Filipino bitch—she did it.”
“Bullshit. How’d you know about it?”
“She told me.”
“Y’all don’t even talk.” He felt like he was about to hit the man.
“That don’t mean we don’t got ways of hearing what she says.”
“Pull the fucking car over, man,” Raymond said, pointing toward the curb. “What the fuck you think you’re playing at?” He felt violence balling up in his right hand.
Shadrack swung the car toward the curb and pulled out a cell phone. Raymond thought he was going to call somebody, but instead a recording started coming out of the speaker: it was Gloria’s voice. There were some muffled words, some static. Then he could hear Gloria saying his mother’s address, 1407 Spruce Street, Santa Rosa. After that the recording stopped.
“You’re pissing me off, man,” Raymond said. “I swear to fucking God.”
“It’s me they want,” Shadrack said. “They gonna try to tell you I did it. You’ll see.”
“How’d you get that?”
“Shit, I might look poor, but I got ways and means.”
“Bullshit. She wouldn’t mess with my mom like that. Come on.”
“Don’t know what she’d do,” said Shadrack. “But I do know she’s the type of bitch that’ll do something. She won’t even act on it. She’ll just hold it like a damn ace up her sleeve, use it if she wants. But watch, she’ll use this one, next forty-eight hours—mark my words, you try and stand up for me, she’ll make you think I broke the fucking windows. You get it?”
“I’m done playing,” Raymond said. “What do you want out of this?”
“I want help,” Shadrack said. He stared out the window for a moment. “I’ll pay you. Just tell me how she wants you to do it.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“But you will. I promise. You will.”
“I ain’t crossing nobody,” Raymond said. “Get that through your head.”
“Just keep an open mind,” whispered Shadrack. “Stay focused, I’m saying. Think critically. Keep your eyes peeled.”
Raymond was too tired to deal with any of this. His head hurt. His shoulders ached from holding his neck tight.
“Now don’t go and get all dark,” Shadrack said. “I know you feel like you’re at the center of a shit storm right now, but it ain’t all about you. Think about it, you know Arthur—this deal gotta be one of seven decisions on his plate today. It seems big to you, but it’s just one of many for him. Same for Gloria. Shit, she’s got her hands in so much shit she should look like an Indian goddess with eight arms. You know what I’m talking about?”
“I guess so.”
“Don’t be so stiff. Look at me,” he said. “I’m the Molly Man. I made it from the bottom to the top. Shit, I’m from the fucking trailer parks, man.” Raymond watched him as he spoke. It seemed absurd to be sitting in a beat-up Corolla listening to this speech. “I’m the king of the 415, you understand that?” Shadrack went on. “I’ve sold more pills than there are people here.” He seemed to be getting angry as he spoke. After another moment he pointed down near Raymond’s feet.
“Open that bag,” he said. His black doctor’s bag, the same one he’d brought to the party, was sitting there; Raymond hadn’t noticed it when he’d gotten in. He pulled it up to his lap and unlatched it.
The bag was filled with gems—cut sapphires, rubies, emeralds. There must’ve been half a million dollars’ worth of jewels, all of them loose, just cut rocks. They were beautiful. Raymond put his fingers in and pushed them around. Cold like glass, they clinked around like marbles.
“What are you showing me this for?” asked Raymond.
“I don’t believe in money,” Shadrack said. “I don’t believe it’s worth anything. Except you can trade it for them stones. Them stones’ll tell me who to trust, and they told me to trust you.”
Shadrack’s face looked serious, but his eyes were smiling. Raymond had the distinct impression that just under the surface, the man was laughing at him.
“You’re bullshitting me,” Raymond said.
“Stones don’t lie. Very first night we met, they said you were a Seventh Son.”
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
Shadrack watched him for a moment. Then he said, “Listen, time out, man,” forming the signal with his hands. “No bullshit, I think you should maybe consider just walking away from this whole situation. I’m telling you the truth. Shit’s gonna get ugly. Maybe you should just pack up and leave.”
The car felt cramped. Raymond didn’t say anything.
“Don’t tell her I said that,” said Shadrack.
“Don’t worry about me. I ain’t saying shit to that woman,” Raymond said.
“She’s fucking crazy,” said Shadrack. “She probably got this whole city wired, you know that? Probably got this damn car wired. She’s about the nosiest person in North America. She probably got her bedroom wired, hear what she says when she’s sleeping.”
Raymond squinted at him. Weren’t you the one just playing me a tape of her voice? he thought. He reminded himself not to argue. “Over-the-top crazy,” he said, nodding. “But tell me for a second: What do you want to happen?”
Shadrack’s eyes went distant. “I want—I wish it was just the way it was before you came, you know,” he said. “Do it the old way, the way it was supposed to go, nobody ripping nobody off. We done all kinds of deals, me and Gloria. There ain’t no reason to stop now.”
“Well then, everyone’s finally on the sam
e page,” Raymond said.
“Until Gloria puts her witchy little fingers in the soup,” Shadrack said.
“That’s true,” Raymond said. Humor this man, he thought. “That’s true.”
Raymond had a meeting with his parole officer after that. Shadrack dropped him off there, underneath the Central Freeway. Said he’d call later that afternoon, pointing his finger at Raymond like a gun.
“Don’t snitch,” he said.
Raymond shook his head as he watched the car pull away. Then, before he went inside, he called his uncle Gene. Told him he’d been sprung and asked him to pick up his mother and take her to his house for a bit. He said that everything would be fine, but he had to move her. When Gene asked what was going on, Raymond said he was doing something for “that guy.” Gene didn’t ask any more questions.
Forty-five minutes later, his parole officer finally came out into the cramped reception area and called his name. They went into a meeting room, where the PO opened up a file and started asking questions. Where was he staying? What had he done to find work? When he’d gone through his checklist, he looked up and said he’d gotten a call from an Officer Bierdeen, a Mission District cop, who told him they’d searched Raymond’s room the night before.
“Now why would they do that?” he asked.
“Don’t know,” Raymond said. “But they didn’t find nothing.”
“No they didn’t,” said the parole officer. “Not this time.”
Raymond started to get up to leave, but the man stopped him. “Give me another address for my file, in case you leave the Prita,” he said.
“I’m not planning on moving.”
“Where would I find you? Your mama’s house? Is she still up in Santa Rosa?”
Raymond stared at the man for a good five seconds. “Yeah, my mother lives there,” he said. “But I wouldn’t be staying with her. I’d probably go down to Sixth Street, the Auburn or something.”
The PO nodded his head and made a notation in his file. Raymond walked back to the Prita, keeping his head down. The city seemed filled with ugly faces. All kinds of people were smoking crack, and he was damn near tempted to join them.
Every Man a Menace Page 4
