Ahgottahandleonit

by Donovan Mixon

  His last thought before dozing off was to answer it.

  TEA PARTY

  Tim got off the bus at Central and Oakwood, the corner entrance to Orange Park, and for a moment, didn’t recognize the place. It had been a while since he’d come here, when chip bags, beer cans and pizza boxes lay strewn everywhere. Now only plastic-lined trashcans stood guard.

  He joined a thick line of happy music lovers on their way to the other side of the park where the stages stood. People who knew the score moved quickest in order to claim a good spot on the grass. The scent of hot dogs, burgers, fries and barbecued ribs wafted through the air, as did the sound check of guitars, drums and microphones in the distance. But he didn’t care about any of that shit. He only wanted to find Rene.

  She has to be here, I know it, Tim thought as he peered through the dense crowd. Colorful blankets covered the grassy clearing in front of the main stage. Kids chasing balloons ran wild, adults fanned newly lit coals in their grills while vendors, moving cheerfully among the public, sang their songs of cheap thrills.

  Tim made his way over to the concession stands where he found Les trying to hold onto six hot dogs and a couple Big Gulps. “Dag, Les! I guess those nuggets from yesterday left you hungry. Did you leave any for me?”

  “You better hurry up, dawg. You know how it goes. Soon the lines will stretch back to the gate. So I’m gettin’ mine now,” he burped out through a mouth full of dog. Tim wondered how the boy could eat, talk and twirl a toothpick between his teeth at the same time.

  “Yo, Les,” Tim said, pulling him over to the side. “Have you seen Fidel? I swear I saw so-some du-dude with a leather jacket ha-hanging around, looking evil as shit.”

  “Well, if you saw a leather jacket in this weather, it’s gotta be that fool. Maybe you should go home, Tim. You know he’s saying he wants to talk to you.” Les pulled his cell from his pocket. “Yo, man, you know it’s all over Facebook about his cousin. Some fool’s done picked up on the rumor about you, dawg. Check it out.” He pointed the screen at Tim’s face.

  Tim pushed the phone away. “Yeah-yeah, his cousin Chucky. Yeah, man, I know. Soon as I hook up with Rene, I’m outta here. Watch my back, homie.” He looked around. He would have to move fast before the grounds got crazy crowded.

  “Yeah, cool. I got you. Hey, let’s get a couple of burgers before the line gets too long. I’ll pay. My pops gave up some extra cash this morning. Oh shit, look who’s coming.”

  “Yo, Les, s’up? Tim, my man!” Spank spoke through a big grin.

  “Hey, Spank,” Tim said, throwing back a stiff smile. “So, you still talking, huh? Not holding that Rasheed shit against me?”

  “What? Sh—nah, man! With me, what’s done is done. Fidel might see it another way—you know! Anyway, we got out all right. You wasn’t wrong to split. If the cops had seen you, man, you’d be in even more trouble.”

  Tim frowned and moved toward Spank. “Man, whatchu talking about. Last time I saw you and Fido, I thought we closed on that shit.”

  Les, with an arm like a tree limb, pulled on Tim’s shoulder until he had to take a step back.

  Tim didn’t push his hand away. “So, just say it, Spank. What the fuck’s on your mind?”

  “Yo, man, like I know what you said then,” Spank said, bringing his hands together at his chest as if in prayer. “But the word on the street and the net is that you had something with Chucky the night before he uh, like—you know, disappeared.”

  “That’s some bullshit,” Les told him, glaring. Tim watched his friend defend him and had to look away for feeling so shitty.

  Spank looked Les squarely in the eyes and continued to speak. “Fidel say the cops been askin’ questions around the hood about you.” He pointed at Tim. “Everybody say, you been hiding out big-time.” Before Tim could respond, Les did it again. “I told y’all on the street the other day to mind y’all’s business, Spank-a-Lank. Tim ain’t got nothin’ to do with that fuck-face Chucky. The boy probably got his ass in deep with those Weequahic dudes.”

  “Yeah, Les, I-I know. But—” Spank stopped talking midsentence.

  Tim couldn’t hold his tongue any longer and took a step towards Spank. “No buts, Sp-Spank. Now I’m te-te-telling you. Don’t be going around ta-talking about me, especially in connec-connection with that scrawny pu-punk Chucky. We c-cool?”

  “Yeah, Tim, we cool. Now I think you better back the fuck off,” Spank said, staring straight into Tim’s eyes.

  “Nah-nah, you the one that’s going to back off! Don’t touch me, Les!” he said, batting away his hand.

  Les pointed over the crowd and said. “Oo-wee! Is that Rene in the pink hotpants coming this way? Y’all chill now. Okay?”

  “Nice eye, Les!” Tim said, taking a step back. “Later, Spank. You still cool with me, man.” He squeezed out a fake smile.

  Spank smiled slowly. “Yeah I’m feelin’ you, Tim. Like I said before, no worries.”

  Tim cupped his hands and called out to Rene over the wall of sound coming from the stages.

  Finally she turned around. “Hey, Timmy—Tim! I thought that was you over there.”

  “So you remember my voice, huh?” he said, sidling up to her.

  “I think the question be, do you remember me?” she said, gently pushing away.

  Tim laced his fingers on top of his head, looked at the sky and on one foot, spun around like a top. “Aw man, Boo, it hasn’t been that long!” He reached out to hug her.

  Laughing, Rene stepped back, just out of his reach. “Not really. I’m just playing with you, silly boy! But, Tim! What’s all of this talk about you and Chucky Black? I thought you all didn’t hang.”

  His head throbbed at the mention of Chucky. Reflexively, he looked over his shoulder and scanned the crowd for Fidel. “Yo, I came here to see you, Boo, not for some gossip,” he whispered, moving in close again.

  Rene pushed him back—hard this time. “So, what’s going on, Tim. Why are you so serious? Did something happen? Sheila said—”

  “Never mind what Sheila said. Okay? I just wanted to give you this.” He extended his open palm towards her.

  Rene shook her head side to side and pushed it away. “Whoa! Now I’m sure something is wrong. Your middle school baseball ring? Come on, Timmy, I remember when you got that. We…”

  “Yeah, I know. That’s why I want you to hold onto it for me.”

  Rene heard the huskiness in his voice, hugged him and spoke into his ear. “What are you talking about? Hold on to it? Where are you going?”

  “I ain’t going nowhere, Boo. It’s simple, if we’re really together, I want you to have it. That’s all,” he said, still holding her close.

  Rene smiled. “Well, okay then,” she said and kissed him on the cheek.

  “So, can I see you later?” he asked, looking into her eyes.

  “I’ll have to talk to you later on that one, homeboy. Hey, is that Maria over there? Ha! I got your ass good, Timmy! Oh, hey Mr. Les. Hey, Spank. What’s up?” she called out, waving at the gawking duo. “See you later, Tim. I came early and got a good spot on the other side. You can come over there if you want. Bye!”

  Les rubbed his hands together. “Looks like progress to me, dude!”

  Tim shook his head side to side. “Remember, bro, looks are deceiving.” They watched Rene push through the crowd. “Hey, we still down for Monday night at the gym?”

  At the mention of the gym, Les flexed his pecs. “Yeah, like I said, I can’t swing by before nine, after closin’ time. Will you still be there?”

  “Yeah, man, you know the dude lets me close up when I stay late. I’ll leave the door cracked so you can let yourself in. Cool?” Tim said, giving up a bump.

  “Yeah—cool. Now you, Tim Thornton, has got to get the fuck out of here! I saw that dude Fidel standin’ around just now, hands in his pockets as usual—not talkin’ to nobody. Tell him, Spank, you his boy and shit,” Les said, slapping Spank on the shoulder.

  “I’m not
telling him that and I ain’t nobody’s boy. But I will tell you this, Tim—he wants you bad, bro,” Spank said, nodding and swaying side to side to the music.

  Tim waved his hand. “Man, I don’t give a shit about Fido—Oh, hey, Sheila! Did you just get here?”

  “Timmy, I’ve been looking everywhere for you. That foul dude Fidel…”

  “Yeah, I heard. He’s got some problem about his cousin,” Tim said, trying to sound bored.

  “Well, you and Les didn’t see, but he was standing right behind you two while you were talking. For a minute, it looked like he was with you guys, until you turned around.” She clapped and made a swooping move with her hands. “That’s when he took off real quick.”

  Tim turned to look around. “What? He was here? Les, did you see?”

  “Nope. Didn’t see nothin’. Told you, bro, you have to be careful. Sheila, tell your brother to go home, please,” he said, making a painful face.

  “You heard him. Go home, Timmy. He’s the only fool I know that can wear a leather jacket today without breaking a sweat. Chucky is probably hiding out from some bad dudes. I wouldn’t know. But that dude Fidel is cold, man! I’ll check with you later.” She gave a little wave and turned to leave.

  “Wait Sheila! Hold up a minute,” Tim said, staring over her shoulder. “Don’t turn around—here comes Maurice.”

  “What up, Tim?” the tattooed thug sang. “Oh–ho-ho, everybody’s here today,” he said, winking at Sheila. “S’up, girl? Hey, big Les.”

  Les was quick to speak up. “Maurice, you need to move on. I’ll catch up with you later, okay?”

  “Move on? Move on? Since when you the police, big man?” He did a little side-to-side dance as he spoke. “I gotta right to be here like everybody else. Word on that! So, Tim, you ain’t got nothin’ to say? Oh yeah! Maybe we need Mr. Jones here to speak for you?”

  No one could say when it became airborne, but everybody saw when Tim brought the ten-gallon iced tea dispenser down into the middle of Maurice’s chest. And no one missed how the thing followed the thug all the way to the ground, cracked open and left the boy tea-colored from head to toe. The crowd screamed with shameless delight.

  “Maurice, Maurice!” Les yelled over the noise. The dude didn’t move, didn’t make a sound—not even when Tim stuttered out, “WAKE UP, WAKE UP ASSPHA–HOLE!”

  STOP AND FRISK

  In the confusion, no one noticed when Tim had split the scene. He needed time to decompress. Not being able to lift that cooler high enough to hit Maurice up side the head bothered him. And the sight of the dude lying lifeless on the ground had resurrected a half-buried memory. On top of it all, he’d spied Fidel standing nearby in the shade of a tree. The creep had finally slung that stupid leather over his shoulder, proving his humanity. However, instead of cracking up at the scene like everyone else, he had simply stood by and stared with a little smile on his lips. If nothing else, that prompted Tim to get a hustle on, having to make several detours to avoid the police.

  He headed straight for Les’ house and sat on the stoop. He couldn’t go home. Sheila would light into his ass about what just happened and he didn’t want to fight with her. Dealing with his uncle was out—those eyes could sweat an onion.

  Tim stood and peered down the street in both directions, hoping to God that Fidel hadn’t followed him. Les was right—that dude was dangerous—he would have to watch his back for a minute.

  A black and white cruiser approached from down the street. Patting his pockets as inconspicuously as possible he thought, Oh shit! The phone! Did I drop…? Where in the hell? It’s not here! But how could I? Oh well, it don’t matter no how—it must be home—yeah, and the ringer is on silent.

  I think.

  Two giant cops emerged from the car and stepped onto the sidewalk. The black one had his hand on his Taser, the white one his Glock.

  The black one smiled before speaking. “Timothy Thornton?”

  “Yeah?” Tim stared at the ground.

  “My name is Officer Brown, this is Officer Sweeney. Stand up, please, and come down to the sidewalk,” he said, smiling.

  Tim looked at each of them before speaking. “What’s this about?”

  It was the white one’s turn now. “Son, stand up and come down to the sidewalk,” he said. There was no smile in sight.

  Tim frowned. “What? I ain’t your son!”

  “We’re not going to tell you again, young man,” said the black cop, Taser hand twitching.

  Tim stood up. “Alright, I’m coming down, but tell your boy to take his hand off his piece and shit. Look around, people are looking, somebody’s even taking video over there. See? For the record, you know my name and I ain’t being violent. What’s this?”

  The cops grabbed his arms and turned him around. “Put your hands on the car, please,” said the black one taking hold of Tim’s wrist.

  “Aw man, ow! Wait, man. So ya’ll not going to read me my rights?” he yelled.

  The two officers looked at each other. They appeared amused. One of them said, “You’re not being arrested, Tim, you’re being searched.”

  “For what?”

  “Contraband. Suspicious materials,” the white one said, patting him down.

  “What? Suspicious materi…?”

  “Open your mouth,” one of them said, cutting Tim off.

  Tim turned his head towards them to speak. “Man, I ain’t…” The cop grabbed his cheeks and squeezed. “Okay–okay. Ahhhh. Damn, I see y’all laughin’. I hope y’all having a good time,” Tim said, pulling away as the cop released pressure on his face.

  The black cop tipped his hat and smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Thornton. Have a good day.” The white cop had already gotten back in the car.

  Tim climbed back up the few stairs and sat down. “Yeah, right,” he said, as the cruiser sped off.

  People on the street stared at Tim. Others peered from behind curtains. Les walked up still aiming his phone at him. His face didn’t seem right, like a familiar photo hung askew. But then, in another way his expression was perfect. Tim had recognized it as similar to what he had been seeing in the mirror lately. Recently at the library, he had read something about friends representing different aspects of one’s self. Here Les was showing him with a certain look in his eye that his entire life had somehow gone off.

  Reading made him think of Darryl on the ground, wet and dirty. How easily the knife had sliced through his jeans—the sudden chill/thrill he felt at the sound of the boy’s scream and how he continued with his improvised revenge not giving a damn that anyone at either end of the tunnel might hear the whole thing. He had to see it to the end, had to hear the boy say the truth. Darryl’s fingerless glove held up like some kind of sacrifice, his cries echoing off the walls, his resemblance to Chucky on the ground, one eye submerged in red muck—nothing could deter him.

  His best bud’s voice broke his spell. “Yo, Tim! You hear me, dawg? What were they searchin’ for?”

  He couldn’t say.

  Why him?

  He didn’t know.

  Why did they look in his mouth?

  He hadn’t a clue.

  Did they ask about him, about Les?

  No, they didn’t ask about anybody. It was just a stop and frisk.

  Tim wondered: Les knew the deal, so why all the questions? While he remained bent over the hood of the car, the cops checked out his cell for a long time, scrolling through the contacts. Maybe they knew about Chucky’s phone? Les said that it probably had something to do with Rasheed’s. Tim let that ride as a possibility, although he doubted it. As far as he knew, they’d all gotten away. Rasheed hadn’t even filed a report.

  “Tim! You listening, bro?” Les said, poking him in the chest.

  “Yeah, yeah,” he said, a little annoyed. “I’m listening, man. S’up?”

  “Seemed like you went off somewhere for a minute. I’m just glad nothin’ happened with those cops. What do you think about that shit? You don’t seem too upset
, man. You know they be killing motherfuckers up in here every week! Think they will come after you again?” Les sat next to him on the steps.

  “Shit, man,” Tim said, groaning as he stood up. “I don’t know—was thinking about Jones, that’s all.”

  “Jones? Yeah, what was Maurice talking about? Ha! Before the tea party that is!”

  “Hee—tea party, yeah that’s what it was alright,” Tim said, holding up his hand for a high five.

  “Yo, uh, so what about Mr. Jones? I did hear something about some kind of thing y’all had,” Les asked, being careful.

  Tim looked out into the street as he spoke. “I fi-figured you’d heard and was just n-not saying nothin’, dawg.”

  “Heard what?” He turned around to look at him.

  Tim spoke almost at a whisper. “Last d-day of school, I had a fi-fight with Mr. Jones.”

  “Shit! Really? Get outta here!” Les said, punching Tim on the shoulder. “Where? How? Look at me, bro!”

  “Ain’t nothin’ to it now, man, I deserved it—I guess. The dude got sick of my shit and jumped me after class.” Tim shrugged his shoulders.

  Les jumped to his feet. “In the fuckin’ school, Tim? Did you report his ass?”

  “Nah, man, I didn’t report nobody. You know the dude—he’s alright. And he wasn’t wrong. He been trying help me for a while and I ju-just…” Tim leaned his head on his knees.

  “Blew it,” Les said.

  Tim sighed, leaned back now, and punched the palm of his hand. “Yeah, man. I blew it, big time, yo.”

  “So, how did it go? Did you get some good licks in?” Les asked, smiling mischievously.

  “Nah, man, it wasn’t like that, yo. It was more like a wrestling match. But I tell you—that dude is strong. I would’ve been in trouble if it was fo’ real.”

  “Humph, yeah, it don’t sound like a real fight. What? Where you goin’?”

  Tim jumped down to the sidewalk. “You still got those weights in the basement?” Tim said, already heading down the alley towards the back of the house. “Let’s go. I feel like throwin’ some iron. You?”