“You still have to be twenty-one to buy from the pot shops.”
“Please. That’s the rule for alcohol, too, but kids have been getting around it since before our parents got old. You don’t see dealers up in school selling people a forty-ounce from their lockers, do you?”
“You’re right. I guess I need to rule out drugs as the motive behind all this.”
“Listen to you, sounding like a detective and whatnot. So when Marco said it will all be over in a few days, what does that mean, anyway?”
“I’m not sure. If it means he’ll have the money, I don’t even want to think about what he plans to do to get it.”
“You need to believe Marco and Brent when they both say it isn’t just about money. If it was, Brent’s boss would have taken your bag when you tried to give it to them during the fake mugging.”
“They would have been disappointed to find seven dollars and a coupon for a Popeye’s two-piece, but they didn’t know that’s all I had.”
Even though we haven’t worked out a way to get Marco out of this mess, I feel about fifty pounds lighter just talking it through with her.
“My break is over. Let’s talk some more tomorrow, but I think you should listen to Marco and let him handle it,” Tasha says, getting up to leave. “Dang. Not him. I don’t even work the counter and this is only my third shift and I already know he’s the worst customer ever.”
“Oh, him,” I say, watching the man at the front door. “I’ve dealt with that guy a few times. I’d have thought he’d be in jail by now. Or dead.”
“Old meth heads are like roaches. Nothing kills them. Even meth.”
Chapter 21
After Tasha leaves, I keep my eye on the meth head. Our manager banned him for a while, but in a brief moment of sobriety, the guy called the Tastee Treets main office and complained about his constitutional rights. After that, the manager said we had to serve him unless he was actually bothering patrons or committing a crime. I’m about to bag up the cold food for Not-to-Worry so I can get out of here when I see Cisco walk in, coming straight toward me.
“I was wondering if you’d reconsidered my offer,” he says, skipping the pleasantries.
“How did you know I was here?”
“I didn’t. A man has to eat.”
“Bull—”
“Young ladies don’t use that kind of language.”
“You didn’t glance toward the counter when you walked in, just made a beeline to my table. Are you watching me?”
“I was in the bus shelter, plying my trade—well, my cover trade—when I saw your boyfriend leave Treets. Thought there was a good chance you might be in here. Guess I was right.”
“What do you know about my boyfriend?”
“It’s my job to know.”
That reminded me of something Marco had said just a few minutes ago—not all cops are honest. Is that what’s been making me uneasy about Cisco?
“What exactly is your job?”
“You already know what it is. Mostly.”
“It’s the mostly part that worries me. I’ve only made guesses on the rest. All you’ve done is gone along with my theories. You haven’t actually said what you do, or for whom.”
“Excellent elocution,” he says, completely ignoring my question. “That school your mother has you in is doing well by you.”
“So now you know what school I attend?”
“Like I said, it’s my job. So what happened here?” Cisco says, waving his hand over the nearly untouched food, showroom-model style. “Date gone bad?”
“I don’t have to tell you my business, even if I can’t stop you from stalking me. Oh wait, I can stop you. It’s called a restraining order. Heard of it?”
Cisco just smiles at me before going to work on Marco’s cold French fries.
“I’m not playing. All I have to do is tell the cops some old dude is creeping on me and you’ll be under the jail cell, cop or not.”
“Why do you say, ‘Or not’?”
“Because I’m not convinced you are one yet. But if you are, so much the better. Your fellow inmates will hate anyone who messes with kids, especially an ex-cop creeper. And stop eating that food. I’m saving it for someone.”
“Your boyfriend?”
I ignore him and start bagging up the leftovers when a man begins yelling obscenities from the lobby. I guess the tweeker decided not to stay quiet after all.
“Saving your life doesn’t make us confidantes?”
“Not when you’re the one who put my life in danger in the first place,” I say, my last words drowned out by a string of f-bombs from the counter. “Shouldn’t you do something about that? I mean, you’re supposed to be a cop.”
“I’ve got my cover to consider. It’s just a meth head coming off his high.”
“Yeah, and they aren’t dangerous or anything.”
He may have saved my life, but he doesn’t act like any cop I know. Lana’s undercover, but she’d be assessing the situation right now, deciding whether she had time to call it in and wait for backup or if she’d have to handle it herself before things got bad. But Cisco’s just sitting here continuing our conversation like it ain’t no thang.
“I have some information on your father.”
I stop packing up the food and look at him.
“I thought that would get your attention. But you know any information I give you comes with a price. You have to help me out first. If you’re worried about the risk, you should know I wouldn’t put you in harm’s way.”
“You’d sell that better if you hadn’t already put me in harm’s way.”
“All I need is for you to keep your eyes and ears open, something I know you do anyway. Only difference is you just need to report back to me what you see and hear.”
All of a sudden, the tweeker’s yelling goes from incoherent to crystal clear: “Give me the damn money or ain’t nonna y’all going home tonight!”
Even clearer was Tasha’s scream. I’m usually the first one to run from a confrontation, but when someone I care about is in danger, I might do something that will probably get me killed, like run toward the bad thing when everyone else is using the back exit. I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I have to do something. Except Cisco grabs my arm.
“Get out of here, Chanti.”
“But that’s my best friend up there.”
“Back door—now.”
“I’m not leaving Tasha.”
“Then take cover,” Cisco says, in a voice that makes me do what I’m told.
He puts his hand in the pocket of his puffer coat, I assume to ready his weapon, and starts slowly walking toward the front of the restaurant. I peer around the bottom of the booth to watch, until he turns the corner and is out of sight. There are a few seconds of silence, the sounds of a scuffle, and then I hear Cisco say, “Y’all might wanna call Five-O, but I don’t plan on staying around ’til they get here.”
I scoot from under the table and run up to the front, where I find Mr. Meth has been laid the hell out. At least, I think he’s only unconscious.
“Cisco, is he—”
Cisco turns to me before I can say anything else and says, “Look, shorty, you don’t want to give me your number, no problem. But a man in my position don’t really need to be here when the cops roll up. Feel me?”
I nod, and then he’s out the door, the second man tonight to leave me in Treets wondering what the hell just happened.
*
“Maybe we don’t mention this to my mom,” I say to Tasha as we leave Treets and walk toward Aurora Ave and home. The cops who responded to the call offered to give us a ride, but we told them it was less than a block, and the walk would do us good.
“Or mine. They don’t know about the hold-up that made your mother send you across town to school and make you quit Treets. I guess that’s one good thing about your mom being so antisocial with folks on the street. If my dad hears about tonight, he’ll do the same thing. Minus the
fancy prep school part.”
We cross Center Street in silence. Even on a Wednesday night, it’s busy enough to require your full concentration since there’s no stoplight and people act like they don’t know what a crosswalk is. But I know Tasha is also trying to shake off the terror of having your life threatened. Been there, done that.
“It’s going to stick with you for a while, Tasha. Maybe you should tell your parents.”
“No. I’m okay. And if I need to talk, I have you.”
“All day, every day,” I say, threading my arm through hers.
“Did you see Cisco? He was amazing.”
“I didn’t actually see him in action.”
“He didn’t need a gun or anything, and you know all the dealers carry. Just came out of nowhere, put his arm around the guy’s neck, and next thing you know, the man’s eyes roll back in his head and Cisco is laying him on the floor.”
“Impressive, but don’t make it sound so hero-worshippy when you describe it to Michelle. She’ll get jealous, even if he is old enough to be her much older brother,” I say as we reach my house first. “I’ll stay on my porch and watch you get to your door.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not telling anyone about tonight, especially Michelle. She won’t do it on purpose, but she’ll slip and say something in front of my parents. Besides, she doesn’t have a chance with him. Sounds to me like he was into you.”
“He was just running game like all these guys do,” I say, continuing Cisco’s cover story for why he was sitting with me in Treets before he had to go all Jason Bourne on the tweeker.
“Well, whatever he was up to, I’m glad he was there.”
Tasha crosses the street and walks one house down. I watch until her porch light flashes off and on twice. She was right—Cisco did save the day, like he was used to doing it. As though it was his job.
Chapter 22
When I finally got to sleep last night, I must have slept hard because it takes Lana a while to wake me this morning.
“Marco’s on the phone for you,” Lana says.
I grab my cell off the nightstand and find it’s dead.
“He’s on the landline.”
“Did you bring it in?”
“I’m not your maid, Queen of Sheba. Get up. Time for school.”
“It’s a teacher planning day. No classes.”
Lana checks the corkboard where I keep the school schedule. “I forgot about that. Well, now that you’re up, you can get an early start on weekend chores.”
I get out of bed, plug my cell into the charger, and follow her to the living room and the cordless phone.
“Chanti, come take a look.”
I tell Marco to hold on a second and go to the window where Lana is peering through the blinds.
“Have you noticed that car before? I’ve seen it out front a few days in a row.”
“Probably one of Ada’s clients.”
“That’s what I thought, but the hours are all wrong. Like now—early Friday morning. She doesn’t let them stay overnight.”
“Well, maybe this guy is special. You’re just being a cop. If someone was watching the house, they’d be inside the car, right?”
“I guess so,” Lana says unconvinced, though she gives up watching the street and goes into the kitchen.
“Sorry about that, Marco. We can talk now,” I say once I’m back in my room.
“What was that your mom was saying about a car in front of your house?”
“That’s the problem with living with a cop. They’re so used to seeing bad things, they seem them even when they aren’t there.”
“Kinda like you,” Marco teases, but then his tone gets serious. “If she thinks there’s something, then maybe there is.”
“It’s nothing. It belongs to a friend of one of our neighbors.”
“You’re sure?”
“It was dark the night I first saw the car, but I’m pretty sure. Tasha and I even pointed out our neighbor’s house to him.”
“He didn’t know where his own friend lived?”
“Well, I’m being generous when I refer to the guy as Ada’s friend. Why are you so interested in the comings and goings on my street, anyway?”
“I’m not. It’s just that I know how interesting life can be at your house.”
“The only thing I’m interested in is tonight’s game and hanging out afterward. I know you want to keep some distance for a while, but we’ll be with Annette and Reginald, safety in numbers and all that. We thought after the game we could go—”
“Chanti, if I ask you a favor, will you just do it without a lot of questions?”
That just sets my mind to forming questions and I don’t even know the topic, so I answer, “Depends on the favor.”
“Don’t come to the game today.”
“Miss the Final Four? Why? I want to see you play.”
“That’s why I don’t want you to come.”
Let’s see—how do I ask questions without actually asking them?
“You think I jinxed you by saying I know you’ll win.”
“A jinx? You’re my lucky charm.”
“Now I know something is up,” I say. “Even I’ll admit the last thing I’ve been for you is lucky. Between the burglary ring, the mugging, the—”
“Maybe I should have said, ‘I’m lucky I met you.’ That you and I . . . you know.”
I do know, and Marco is so sweet that he almost throws me off track when I’m trying to find out what his request is really about.
“If you’re still worried about us being together, I told you—Brent doesn’t scare me.” Well, not that much. “But we can skip the double-date. I’ll watch the game with Reginald and Annette, be the third wheel when we get food after, and just get a ride to Denver Heights with Reg. I want to watch you play and cheer you on.”
“I know, and that’s just it. You know better than I do that I’ve been off my game lately. Tonight, my focus needs to be only on the game, and if you’re there, it won’t be. I’ll be worried about you.”
“What can happen in a crowd of ten thousand people?”
“Chanti, I can’t really explain what I’m feeling, but if you could just do this one favor for me.”
When a guy starts using the word feeling, in any context, I know the situation is dire. Even if it’s unfounded, he must really be worried.
“All right, I’ll stay home. But you guys are going to win tonight and there’s no way you’re keeping me from the championship game.”
Marco is silent for a second or two before saying, “It’s a deal.”
“Don’t worry, I knocked wood three times, so I didn’t jinx you.”
“I told you—you’ll never be a jinx to me. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Okay. I love you.”
Love you? Love you! Oh my God, did I just say that? But I can’t verify whether those words were in my head or if they actually came out of my mouth because Marco has already hung up. It’s the thing I say when I’m ending a call with Lana if she’s on a dangerous assignment, or my grandparents just because they’re kind of old and you never know. I’ve never said it to Marco, and if I was ever going to say it, I didn’t want it to be like this, just some absent-minded add-on to the end of a phone conversation. It takes a minute for me to realize I must have said it because I meant it.
Now I’m thinking it works out great that it happened like this because it didn’t put Marco on the spot to say it back, if he even heard me say it. Then my cell beeps a text alert. He did hear me. I’m almost afraid to read the text. What if he doesn’t say it back? What if he does?
I got myself all worked up for nothing because when I finally check the message, it’s a guy all right, but not the one I was hoping for.
*
A few hours later, I’m in the bus shelter sitting next to Cisco. There are two other people in the shelter, one an old man on the bench beside me. Cisco can’t run him out into the cold for the sake of our privacy, so we do
n’t talk until a bus arrives and the people board.
“You haven’t worked this corner in nearly three months. Now you’re here all the time. Dealers, even cops pretending to be dealers, don’t leave a good spot unless the police are on to them or business dries up. You are the police, according to you. Or was it DEA?”
“I never said, exactly.”
“Well, I know all the dopers around here didn’t suddenly leave town when you did. So where were you? And where’s your partner? Usually these undercover drug stings involve selling, then arresting. Where’s the ‘sting’ in your operation? Without it, you’re just a dealer.”
“Still don’t trust me, Chanti? Even after what happened in Treets?”
“Still don’t know you, Cisco. No matter what you did in Treets.”
Cisco stares straight ahead like he’s mesmerized by the cars whizzing past us, and lights a cigarette. That’s new. I don’t know if the smoking is part of his cover or he’s just a smoker.
“I’ve been working down on Lexington. Too many eyes on this corner.”
“You mean me? Who else knows what you really are? Hell, I don’t even know who you are.”
“Language.”
“Whoever you are, you have kids.”
“What?”
“Either that or you were a schoolteacher before you became a cop pretending to be a drug dealer.”
“What makes you think that?” he asks, stubbing out the cigarette under his shoe.
“The way ‘language’ just rolled off your tongue when I cursed, especially when all I said was hell. The way you just wasted a whole cigarette when I reminded you of your kids, and how you’re puffing secondhand smoke all over one right now.”
“I don’t believe you’ve ever been a kid a day in your life, Chanti Evans.”
Guys, Lies & Alibis Page 11
