Ahgottahandleonit

by Donovan Mixon

  The duo sat on the floor. He didn’t think that they’d go away—it would’ve looked like he had punked them. He got back to work. The red bag shined with sweat, whined like a demon on its chain as he loaded up combinations, grunting with the best animalistic sounds he could muster. He liked those sounds.

  Finally it was over. His hecklers—who hadn’t noticed—were in deep conversation.

  Fidel spoke in a harsh whisper. “Aw, man. I don’t believe it. What I know is that a week, ten days ago he was at the library that night—arguing with them! At least that’s how I heard it.” He used his hands a lot as he spoke. His loose-fitting jacket seemed to move on his shoulders with a life of its own.

  Spank shook his head no. “Well, I didn’t hear it like that.”

  “Oh yeah? What’d you hear? Tell me again.” Fidel punched one hand into the other.

  “Spank, y’all still talking about that shit at Rasheed’s?” Tim broke in. “Still trying to blame the shit on me? Well, you can forget that shit!” he said waving them off with a gloved hand. Sweat flew off in all directions. Fidel inspected his jacket for moisture.

  Spank, half laughing at Fidel’s concern for his jacket, tried to diffuse the situation. “Nah, nah, my brother. We know that was no set up. You was trapped, man! You had to get yo’ ass out quick.”

  Fidel spoke without looking at Tim. “Have you seen Chucky around lately?”

  Even though he’d sort of expected it, Fidel’s question hit Tim like a pipe in the balls. “N-no, I ain’t seen him,” he stuttered. His defect served him well this time because it made him angry. “Didn’t we fucking talk about this already?”

  “Shit, Fidel, he ain’t got nothin’ to do with that,” Spank said standing up and hunching his shoulders. He turned a 360 on the ball of one foot and shot a phantom three-pointer—all net.

  Fidel stayed on the floor. He whistled through his teeth and spoke as if Tim wasn’t there. “On the contrary, my brother, I think maybe he in fact did have something to do with it.”

  “Yeah, man, you done told me a hundred times and I told you—I heard they was just fooling around.” Spank spoke softly as if they might be overheard. No one else was there.

  Fidel glanced at Tim. “Hmm…as I was saying—the same night? That’s too much of a coincidence for me, brother. Something went down and mark my word, I will find out exactly what happened.”

  “And so?” Tim said. “You know how your cousin is—always getting up in people’s face. Never alone though—somebody’s always there to take his back. I ignored his ass for the most part.”

  Fidel held a hand up, still looking directly at Tim. “Please, shut up, Spank! Well, Tim, I heard that you all were supposed to meet outside to settle things and no one has seen Chucky since.”

  Fidel stood up, looked towards the floor for a second then back at Tim. “All I’m seeing these days is you everywhere I go.”

  “And so? You see me. Who do I look like to you? You need information? Go online, mother—” Tim stopped himself midsentence, held up a hand and turned towards the locker room. “Spank—I’ll catch you later,” he said and walked away. Something made him glance over his shoulder. He turned and paused. Fidel was smiling.

  He unbuttoned his jacket. “Aw, don’t go away angry like that, my brother.” His voice sounded like a snake choking on cornflakes.

  “What? You going to miss me, Fido?”

  Spank jumped like he would explode at any minute. “Oh shit! Fidel, did you hear…?”

  “Shut the fuck up, Spank!” Fidel barked. “I’m not asking this time.”

  “Okay, I ain’t got nothin’ else to say to y’all.” Tim smiled this time and turned away again.

  Fidel buttoned his jacket. “Yeah easy, Tim. I will catch you later.”

  CONFESSION

  Tim didn’t want to admit it, but what Fidel had said in the gym really fucked with him even though he knew in his heart that the boy couldn’t know anything. He had stayed and worked out as late as he could in the cool of Omar’s, hoping to burn off some stress. Now sweat ran down his back as he waited for Darryl just outside of the library exit.

  The thing with the glove was still a mystery. Going to Sheila about it was out. He wouldn’t have gotten a straight answer out of her anyway. Besides, he didn’t want to tell her that Darryl was probably there when Maurice jumped him in the park. He had to confront the dude, he had to do something.

  The library doors swung open.

  Darryl emerged with his fist extended. He carried a huge gym bag over his shoulder. “Hey, Tim! S’up, cuz? What are you doing here? Didn’t think I’d see you today.”

  Tim gave up the bump. “’S’up, Darryl—just passing through. It’s crazy hot out here, yo! What you doing tonight? I know you ain’t hanging with my sis. She’s out with her homegirls.”

  “Ha, now you’re keeping tabs on me, man? There’s a night game in the park. Want to hang?” he said, walking down the path toward the curb. Tim followed.

  “It’s nine o’clock, man. Ain’t it kind of late for a game?” he said, worried that they wouldn’t get a chance to talk about Maurice.

  “Where have you been, dude?” he said, smacking Tim on the shoulder. “All summer the lights have been coming on at eight and stay on ’till midnight. So, are you in or what?”

  “Hell yeah, you know it.”

  As usual, traffic was heavy. After dodging a couple cars, they stood on the very same island he’d escaped to the night when Chucky and his boys had chased him. The memory made him mad and more certain that he had to set things straight with this bullshit Darryl fuck-head.

  Waiting in line at the local D & D for a couple smoothies, Tim stole another look at the glove and it pissed him off even more. Now he clearly remembered seeing Darryl in the park, standing off to the side as Maurice unloaded on him. The slick cool of Les’ knife in his pocket calmed him. He’d almost forgotten the thing was there.

  They stepped out onto the pavement. Darryl turned down King—the same street where Tim had run for his life over a week ago. “Yo, Tim, come on, bro! Quit dragging your feet—we’re late, man.”

  Kids played on the sidewalk, on porches, in front yards and in the street. Tim wondered how he’d missed all of this that night. Then he spotted the house. The same dudes who’d chased after him through the alley were hanging on the porch as if they had never moved.

  Fearing to be recognized, Tim stepped to the curbside of the sidewalk when he caught up with Darryl. “Who’s going to be there tonight?” he said, keeping an eye on the boys on the porch.

  “Aw man, you know—the same dudes as usual: Hank, Junkie Spliff. Even your girl, Lucy. Word is she took you to the hoop recently.” Darryl said with a sly smile.

  “Man, if you believe that shit, I wanna sell you—”

  Tim stopped talking when Darryl turned and continued backwards half running, half skipping down the sidewalk. “Aw man, Tim! I almost forgot to tell you. The police came to the library again.”

  “Oh yeah?” Tim said, having to jog to keep up.

  “Yeah, was asking everybody a lot of the same questions about the night Chucky disappeared. Afterwards, Mrs. Shepard was a nervous wreck.”

  Tim thought it funny to imagine Mrs. Shepard nervous. “Ha! What was that like? She always be—hey. Darryl, watch out!”

  The Doberman came like a bullet, hit the fence full force and grabbed a handle of Darryl’s bag in its teeth. Screaming, Darryl held onto the other handle with one hand while Tim held onto his free arm. Tim watched the dog the entire time and swore to himself that the pooch had given him a look when his owners pulled him back.

  “Shit, man—y’all need to control that bitch!” Darryl yelled, inspecting his bag.

  The hoods, laughing, exchanging fist bumps, said nothing and returned to their perches.

  “You alright, bro?” Tim said, words dripping with guilt.

  “Yeah, I’m good, but I have to get out of here,” Darryl said and jogged away towards the
park entrance with Tim bringing up the rear.

  He listened to the boy jabber on about the dog: the bitch had bitten nearly clean through the handle of his gym bag, how good he usually is with animals, the dog didn’t appear to be after him, how he wasn’t afraid, what he was about to do if those hoods hadn’t shown up. Tim didn’t care. Happy to finally be in the park, he could think about what was next. The basketball courts were on the opposite side of the park from…

  Say it, motherfucker!…from where you left fuckin’ Chucky. Shit!

  What exactly he had to say to Darryl, he didn’t know. But Darryl had to know that the game, this game with him was over. Who does he think he is? I mean, does he think that giving me some English lessons could make up for that shit? Nah-nah. He stood by and watched them beat the shit out of me. What does he think? Hooking up with my sister excuses him? Nah-nah, buddy.

  When they arrived at the fence, a group of white boys were playing four-on-four full-court.

  Tim smiled at the sight. “Man, you sure this is the right place?”

  Darryl just stood there and watched the action for a minute before saying, “Yeah-yeah, I don’t get it. The game was for tonight at eight. Oh-ho-ho! Hey, Lucy!”

  “Yo, Darryl. How’s it hangin’, baby, to the left? Ha! S’up, Tim!” Lucy said, dribbling a ball as she spoke. “Me seems you done healed up from our last meeting,” she quipped, grinning from ear to ear.

  Darryl tried and failed to snatch the ball. “Yo, Lucy, what’s going on? No game tonight?”

  “Tru-dat, dawg. These dudes was here when I came up before. Ain’t seen nobody else,” she said, bouncing the ball from one hand to the other.

  “Shit, man, this is a waste of time,” Tim said and turned to leave.

  “Yeah, Tim, I feel you! You got some stocks and shit to trade or something?”

  Tim pulled on Darryl’s gym bag. “Aw man, Darryl. Let’s get the hell outta here. See you, Lucy-Lu.”

  Weaving side to side, passing the ball between her legs twice, the girl looked wicked fresh. It would have been a great game. “Yeah easy, Tim. Remember, I’m good for a rematch anytime, yo.”

  They walked in silence. Tim waited for Darryl to speak first. After a winding descent, the path led them to a long stone tunnel. Their footsteps produced a repartee of syncopated percussion sounds on the walls.

  Tim couldn’t wait any longer. “Darryl. You had that glove for the entire summer, right?”

  “Yeah. I think it’s about time to get another one,” Darryl mumbled, looking at it.

  “You had it on the last day of school too. Right?”

  Darryl frowned and snapped back. “That’s right. What about it, homie? Didn’t we cover this some time ago? For real, why are you so interested?”

  Tim stopped, tugged on Darryl’s bag to make him turn around. They were in the middle of the tunnel now. Long sinuous echoes followed every scrape and syllable. Tim spoke slowly.

  “Well, on the next to last day of school, I got jumped by Maurice Rice and his boys. They messed me up, man, for nothing—some bullshit ’bout my sister. They didn’t want money. Seemed to me they just wanted some entertainment.”

  Darryl listened, but kept his gaze towards the opening in the tunnel. “I’m sorry to hear that, bro, but what does that have to do with my glove? I mean…”

  Tim pushed Darryl into the wall hard. Darryl slipped, hit his head and fell into a puddle. When he tried to get up, Tim took out Les’ knife and kicked the boy in the shoulder. “Stay down, motherfucker. I’m not telling you again,” he yelled. The sound of his voice boomed.

  “Ugh, what the fuck are you doing, Tim? It’s wet down here. Enough of this shit, I’m getting up,” he said and pushed away from the wall.

  “No you’re not,” Tim yelled, kicking him again, making sure that he saw the knife.

  “Oh, so you’re going to cut me now? Damn! So, it is true! You did do something to Chucky! Man, you won’t believe how I’ve been defending your ass all this time!” He lay on his back holding his upper-body from the floor with his elbows.

  Tim placed his foot in the center of Darryl’s chest, leaned in, and pointed the knife at the zipper of his jeans. Darryl, completely wet from bottom to his shoulder blades, sat between the curve of the wall and the floor of the tunnel. “Stay still and shut up, pussy! Who says I got s-something to do with that? You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, stupid. Now say it! You were th-there with Maurice that day. Say it, bitch!”

  Darryl’s voice squeaked a little from Tim’s weight on his chest. “Aw man, Tim, get off me. You wrong, cuz. Why would I…”

  The knife sliced through the leg of Darryl’s baggy jeans so easily it surprised them both. “I-I ain’t your cu-cuz. You sure you wanna tell me that, bitch?” he whispered bitch for no reason.

  “Tim, bro. You’ve gone crazy or what?” Darryl pleaded, through tears. “Okay, okay, I was there but I hardly even knew you, man. And I didn’t touch you. Remember? I didn’t touch you! When you went down on the ground, I split. You saw me—I thought. But since you were meeting me at the library all summer, I figured that you hadn’t remembered. Ahhhh! Let me up and put that shit away, you’re going to cut me for real. This isn’t you, Tim. It ain’t you. I don’t hang with those dudes anymore.”

  Darryl started to really scream when Tim put his hand in his pocket. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, man!” A message beeped in on Chucky’s phone just as Tim fished it out. The screen read:

  Call me! Fidel

  He pointed the phone at Darryl, who shook his head side to side saying, “Oh, so now you going to make a photo of this? Nah-nah, it’s not going to happ…”

  “Shut the fuck up, fool, and stay down!” Tim said, swinging the knife.

  “Come on, Tim-bro, get off me!” Darryl cried, trying to push up to his feet. Tim kicked the boy back into the puddle, hit the shutter button and ran off. Blinded by the flash, Darryl listened to Tim’s splashy footsteps retreat into the darkness.

  NUGGETS

  The four o’clock swelter had set in. Tim sat on his stoop. Sweat ran down his arms, soaking the paper bag he held in his lap.

  Across the street, on the far end of a parking lot, air conditioners roared from a line of dilapidated structures that looked like broken teeth. He considered waiting in the barbeque takeout for some relief, but then thought again. I better stay my ass right here on the step as planned. If Les don’t see me right ’way, he might turn around and go back home. He could be a real dufus sometimes.

  It had been about nine days since the killing—as he started to refer to it in his mind—and there had been nothing on the news about a body or a missing person. Damn, somebody or some dog has got to find him any day now. He must be smelling pretty bad, he thought. He chuckled sadly at the thought that the last time he’d seen Darryl, he had a pretty bad stink going on too and wondered if the boy had actually shit himself. Sitting on the steps in the heat, going into a panic at the sight of every passing police cruiser, sent him so deep within himself, pressed upon him so hard, that at one point he almost lost consciousness. He held onto the banister, looking up and down the street again for his friend.

  Where is Les? That boy is always late. Strong as he is, you’d think he’d be able to jump up and bounce over here.

  Aw man! Nobody’s going to believe it was an accident, nobody! I’m sure he had Maria make that ringtone just to fuck with me. I didn’t mean that shit. Now what am I going to do? Everybody’s looking for the punk, I know the police haven’t given up on my ass, and I ain’t got no money to go nowhere. Maybe if we go to Chicago? They still will get me eventually. Damn, this is gonna mess up Mom good. With Dad finishing up like he did and now me? Dad didn’t mean for his brother to go and get himself killed—it just happened. I mean, if things wasn’t all fucked up back on the farm and shit, Dad wouldn’t have had to steal to get outta there.

  I don’t blame him, I would’ve done the same. So now what? Am I supposed to go and steal some cash to get
away? Oh shit, another message?

  Unknown number

  Wonder what’s that about?

  Tim jerked around at the sound of someone walking towards him.

  “S’up, Tim?” Les said. He looked like a boulder in a tee shirt.

  “Oh shit! You scared the shit out of me, boy! What up, Les?”

  “Come on, let’s get outta this heat.” Les said it like an order and headed for his favorite restaurant.

  “So it’s true! You only agreed to come over here ’cause you wanted to go to the Chicken Shack! Anyway, have you heard how they make those nuggets you like so much?”

  “Nah—I ain’t worried ’bout that shit, homie. I’m ready to eat. Come on, let’s go!” Les said, continuing on without looking back.

  The joint was crowded with hungry teenagers. They stood around holding their trays for a minute before a table opened up. Seated now, Les spoke through greasy lips. “Mmm—damn, they’re good, Timmy! Sure you don’t want none? What’s in the bag? You on some kind’a mission?”

  “Yo, I told you not to call me that!”

  Les wiped his mouth and hands and sat up straight at the tiny table. “Alright, dude, chill okay? Just don’t go all Van Damme on me again. I might have to fuck you up for real. So how’s it goin’ at the library with Darryl? Tim…you okay, man?”

  At mention of his tutor’s name, Tim went deaf for a second. All he could hear were Darryl’s pleas to be released. Once again, he had tucked the entire episode away in a place as dark as the tunnel where he left the crybaby. From the way his hands had jerked and almost cleared the table, he must have gone a little blind as well.

  “Oh shit, Tim! Watch what you doin’, dude!” Les yelled, using his hand like a squeegee to keep the liquid from his lap.

  “Aw man! Sorry, Les. I’ll get you another one,” he said, and grabbed a roll of paper towels sitting on the counter next to them.

  Les patted himself down with a huge wad of napkins. He studied his friend. That made Tim nervous. He moved around in a herky-jerky manner and mumbled curses to himself, apologizing as he cleaned up the mess.