A CHANGE OF HEART: Book 1 of the Hartford Series

by Jermaine Watkins

  It saddened Andre that most of the crowd were new, younger kids, whom he could not identify, nor could they identify him, he perceived from their curious stares. No doubt they were sisters and brothers of his old friends, who had either moved away or were so burdened with adult responsibilities now that they could not spend as much time outside as in the yesteryears. It was the same scene, the same action, but different folks.

  It did not surprise him to see Mail Man, the eyes of Hexter Street, leaning against the wall of Jimmy’s Corner Store. He smiled and said, “Knew I could count on you bein’ here.”

  At first, Mail Man peered at the other man with a dumb frown that caused Andre to clap his hands together and burst out in laughter.

  “It’s your boy, Little Man,” Andre said.

  “Yo!” Mail Man pushed away from the wall and wrapped Andre into a bear hug. But he was much taller and wider than in his younger years—at least 6 foot 6 inches and 340 pounds—and Andre uttered a strangled sound for desperate relief.

  “You cuttin’ off my breathin’,” he managed to get out, rubbing the center of his back when Mail Man finally released him.

  “When you get here, Little Man? Kria ran ’round tellin’ everybody you was comin’ back. But damn—you really here.”

  “Uncle Clyde picked me up from the train station this mornin’.” With a sudden, distracted expression on his face, Andre pointed back in the direction he had just walked from. “Who all them new kids? I didn’t see anyone from the old school.”

  “Everything must be brand new to you, like you ain’t ever grew up here. But the new kids’ all right. They don’t really get into crazy street shit. They much better than us. They all ’bout gettin’ the butter grades and doin’ right by the community.”

  “Seen my boy Tray?”

  “Nah, that nigga changed on us, Little Man. He all silent since y’all got busted by the po-po. No one likes him no more. His name is shit on the street.”

  Andre darted a quick forefinger at Mail Man with a threatening expression that reminded him of his old self. “Yo, watch what you say ’bout Tray.”

  Mail Man shook his head. “Yeah, that’s what you say now, but you ain’t seen Tray, have you? Or you would know what I’m screamin’. He even hangin’ ’round this cracker. Some dude name Ross that done went broke and ended up here in the project. Neither one of ’em talk to the rest of us. But that shade they throwin’ done landed them in big trouble. They done fucked over the wrong nigga.”

  “Bizz,” Andre said, soon after Mail Man had finished speaking, as if “the wrong nigga” to “fuck over” on Hexter Street could be no one but the thug he remembered so well. He had a nearly claustrophobic sense of déjà vu. Seven years ago, the night just before their arrest, Tracie and he had discussed the group of thugs that Bizz had been organizing for his own dangerous intentions. From the gossip that had channeled into the juvenile home, Andre had long ago learned about Bizz’s successful rise as the leader of a group he had driven to excel in violence and the distribution of illegal drugs for sale.

  Nodding with a grin of tiny teeth, Mail Man said, “One night, Tracie and his grandmother jumped in and saved that cracker, who Bizz and his boys was rollin’ on. But there was a drive-by shootin’ from another gang, and Bizz got shot. When the po-po arrived, they found Bizz on the ground, but he had some weed and ’caine on him. They sent him to the hospital under arrest. When he got out, the court sentenced him to time in prison. But he ain’t in prison now. I saw that nigga just yesterday. And he angry as hell.”

  Andre frowned, waiting for Mail Man to continue.

  “Don’t you feel me? It was Tracie and his grandmother that called the po-po. And Bizz know it, Little Man.”

  Before Mail Man had finished speaking, Andre broke out into a fast, clumsy run back up Hexter Street.

  The dinner table was set at 6:00 p.m. Ross and Tracie sat on either end, with Maggie in the middle, holding the hands of both men, as they all bowed their heads in silence.

  “Dear Lord, thanks for lettin’ us see another Thanksgivin’ Day. Last year, we was not all together to celebrate, but you made way for me and Tracie to meet Ross, and we know that some good is meant to come of it. We thank you for that, Lord. And for seein’ fit for Ross to walk again, when he thought he would spend the rest of his life in that wheelchair. We thank you for that, Lord. And for what you doin’ right now to make Tracie’s dream come true, that he will soon see the fruits of his labor, that all his hard work and writin’ ain’t in vain. He goin’ get that book published! We thank you for that, Lord.”

  Maggie paused, squeezing Ross’s and Tracie’s hands, as she continued. “But, Lord, none of all the many gifts you done blessed us with over the past year gets more thanks than the friendship we now share. It been said that what don’t kill a person will make him stronger. We thank you for our strength in unity, Lord. Our journey been long, but we know you able to bring us all the way to the end, to that special place you desire us to be. And we will stay humble and let you be our guide. For all these many things—and much more—we give up our thanks. Amen.”

  “That was a beautiful prayer,” Ross said, unfolding a napkin and laying it across his lap. “It really makes me realize just how far we have all come to get to where we are right now.”

  Tracie looked over all the food spread out across the table. He couldn’t decide what to reach for first. “You overdid yourself, Nana. Everything looks awesome.”

  Maggie smiled at the compliments that she received from Ross and Tracie. And then she started preparing her plate, the two men following her lead. In five minutes, they were all eating, but Ross could not wait very long to reveal his exciting news.

  “I received a telephone call from one of my contacts yesterday, after arriving home from the barbershop. Actually, Sandy Brown was a senior editor who worked closely with me at my agency.”

  Tracie’s eyes shone under the bright ceiling light. “Get outta here! That’s great news. What she say?”

  “We met at Black-Eyed Sally’s restaurant. Sandy wondered what had happened to me since I left the hospital and came to live on Hexter Street. She was absolutely thrilled to hear that I am returning to the business. And she offered to read your story, Tracie. I left her with what we have so far of the manuscript printout. She took it back to New York with her for holiday reading.”

  Tracie dropped his fork on the plate and jumped up from his seat. “For real? Oh, my God, that’s the best news ever. You go, Ross!”

  “Tracie, sit back down, like you got some manners. You at the dinner table.” But Maggie shared Tracie’s happiness and laughter. If possible, she would bottle up that very moment, storing it away for whenever he was sad and needed a lift in his spirit.

  And then she looked over at Ross, who sat to her right. “You think she goin’ like the story?”

  Ross waited for Tracie to sit back down before addressing Maggie’s question. “One can never tell in this business. However, Sandy has always trusted my professional judgment in the past, including times when she claimed that some of my clients’ stories were poorly written. But if she knew I needed her to edit them for a sure sale, she always came through. My gut instinct tells me that we will know something soon, either way the coin turns. Our best bet is to prepare ourselves. Tracie, work your fingers to the bone to finish that typing.”

  “Yes, sir! I only have three chapters left to go. I got a lot of work done today for you to proof.”

  Ross used a knife and a fork to skillfully cut a thin slice of turkey, which he ate with gusto, following with a forkful of macaroni and cheese. “I will work on the manuscript later tonight, after I get home from Heavenly Delight. Nick asked if I could be back by eight to help him count a shipment of frozen food. If you don’t mind, I’ll need a ride, Tracie.”

  “Eight o’clock it is,” Tracie said.

  Dinner ended sooner than they had expected, and Ross left to spend a little time working on Tracie’s manuscript befor
e he had to head back to work. Tracie promised to meet him outside at the car at 7:40 p.m.

  It only took about fifteen minutes for Tracie to drop Ross off at Heavenly Delight and return home, where an unwelcome surprise sat waiting for him on the top step of the front porch. He moved up the asphalt walkway hesitantly, like a toddler taking his first step, until he fully approached Little Man.

  “What you doin’ here, Little Man?” Tracie spoke as if Kria had never told him that Little Man would be coming to town for the holiday.

  “Please, call me Andre.” His smile was easy, as he stretched forth his hand, which Tracie took hold of briefly, before withdrawing.

  “You don’t know how happy I am to see you, Tray. I must been countin’ all them days since gettin’ arrested ’til I would get this chance again... if I would get this chance again. Don’t be a stranger. Come sit; let me talk to you.”

  Tracie found himself beside Andre on the porch step without any resistance, but that stirred up a fury within, because it felt as if he were falling back into the naïve role from his childhood years, as if he could not oppose the other man. “I don’t have much time. I have to get back upstairs to Nana soon.”

  “Ms. Turner. How she?” Andre laughed, as he looked at the other people outside on this chilly November night. Somehow, the combination of the two—the subject of Tracie’s Nana and the surrounding ghetto scene—gave him a feeling of such happiness that he became sad because he had spent so much time away from all that ever really mattered to him.

  “Nana’s doin’ great.” Tracie paused too, but distracted instead by the sight of Andre’s uniform. “Seems like you ain’t doin’ so bad yourself these days.”

  Andre laughed again, slapping Tracie’s back with a heavy hand. “Thanks, Tray. Your approval means so much to me. I been in the army three years now, but I’m just a private. Good discipline was what I needed. I had a hard head, without thinkin’ ’bout where my life was goin’. Who knows? Maybe I would be dead if that arrest never happened. Maybe I would’ve ended up killin’ someone and been locked up forever. I had lots of time to think about what could’ve happened worse while in that juvenile home. And I chose to turn my life around while I had the chance. But you already know this from the letters I wrote.”

  “Yeah,” Tracie said vaguely. He looked down to nothing at all on the cement step to avoid commenting on the writing in Andre’s letters, none of which he had opened since reading the first two.

  “Why you never write me back? I mean, I understand I got you into some serious trouble, but damn... we was like brothers for so long. That shit almost killed me, never hearin’ back from you. But then again, it was you I used to motivate me. It was you I tried to pattern myself after... think like you might think. Trapped in that juvenile home, with no way to make contact, but still you led me in the right direction. The positive you I never could forget.”

  Tracie nodded. “I also made a drastic change after we split apart. I got myself straight, because I didn’t see how fast my life was goin’ downhill hangin’ out here in the street. I got my priorities straight, which no longer included you, because I saw our friendship for what it really was. It was negative and bound to end up in somethin’ disastrous, like the arrest that happened that night. The arrest that wouldn’t have happened if I had listened to Nana. The arrest that would not have happened if I would have been stronger and braver, and had confronted you with the truth. But somehow I always saw good in you—the big brother I never had.”

  He held out his hands to present the changed man sitting beside him. “But I won’t lie, I only read two of your letters. The rest I stored away in a trunk. I never considered you would make such a drastic change for the better. I saw your girl, Kria, one day. She told me about this army thing, and I couldn’t hold back my big Kool-Aid smile. But it didn’t affect me as much then as now, with this new person, Andre, sittin’ at my side.”

  Andre smiled then, extending his arm sideways to pull Tracie to him in a strong hug. “Man, these kids on Hexter Street is wrong as hell ’bout you. You still chill as hell.”

  Jumping up from the step, Andre became alarmed as he remembered why he had really come to visit his long lost friend. “You know what happened to Bizz after his gang beat up your white friend?”

  Tracie nodded, acknowledging the police had arrested the wounded gang leader. But then he frowned at how abruptly the conversation had changed from one subject to another. And he wondered how Andre, who had been away for seven long years, knew about how his Nana and he had come to meet Ross.

  “Today, I vibed with Mail Man. He told me Bizz ain’t behind bars no more and that he goin’ settle a beef with you and your Nana for interferin’ in gang business by callin’ the police.”

  Tracie’s eyes grew large with new fear. “Think we crazy? Callin’ the police? We only removed Ross from the scene of the crime so he wouldn’t press charges against the gang and endanger his life.”

  A gust of cool wind pushed at him from every side, and he shoved his hands down deep into the pants pockets of his navy sweat suit. He fought to control his nerves as he pressed his mind for a quick answer to one important question: How could he prevent a confrontation between the gang and the two people that meant more to him than anyone—and anything—else in the world?

  “What you goin’ do?” Andre said.

  “I don’t know exactly, but if those hoodlums even come close to Nana and Ross, I’ll kill ’em.”

  “I got your back, Tray. You know that. If those guys step to you, they step to me too.”

  Tracie sighed. He silently thanked God for sending such tough help, but he did not feel worthy, after the horrible way he had treated Andre in the past. “What you think could stop Bizz’s gang from harmin’ us?” Tracie said.

  “Truthfully—only a gun. I didn’t bring mine back from Virginia, but I still know where Uncle Clyde hides his. And from talkin’ to Mail Man earlier, we already runnin’ out of time. Them thugs ’bout to make a move soon.”

  “Please, go grab your uncle’s gun,” Tracie said, getting to his feet fast. “I’m about to go tell Nana what’s happenin’.”

  “Bizz’s gang are after us.” Tracie rushed over to his Nana, who stood at the kitchen sink dressed in a long cream dress, with full curls in her hair. He was nearly out of breath from running up the hallway steps, three at a time, to reach her.

  Maggie was washing a large silver bowl, but she dropped it in the water and turned around. Nervously, she dried her hands with a white towel. She gave Tracie a knowing look. “Because we helped Ross?”

  Tracie nodded. “Little Man is home for the holiday. He waited out on the steps for me to return from drivin’ Ross to work. Mail Man told him about the danger we in. We not safe here in the apartment, but we got to contact Ross first, to tell him what’s goin’ on.”

  Maggie walked over and reached for the receiver of the wall telephone, but she paused at the sound of fast, heavy footsteps ascending the back stairway. When the gold knob of the locked door twisted around, she glanced over at Tracie in terror.

  Tracie and Maggie tiptoed backward in the direction of the other rooms.

  The furious gang leader released the doorknob and whispered, “Damn, it’s locked.” But he quickly cancelled the thought of breaking in, since the noise would echo throughout the hallway and alert the neighbors.

  Bizz turned around and signaled with his hand for his five followers to attempt entering through the front door. Three minutes later, the men who came in through the front went to the back door to let their leader in. All of them fell behind their leader, on the hunt for Tracie and Maggie.

  “Do what you got to, but find ’em!” Bizz ordered, walking off alone in a different direction.

  Down the long hallway, he entered Tracie’s Nana’s room—he could tell by the pink slippers under the side of the bed. He sniffed in deep and long, detecting a pleasant rosy fragrance. “The old bitch is in here,” he said. She could hide in one of two pos
sible places: underneath the bed, the only piece of furniture in the room, which appeared too low, or inside the closet.

  Bizz walked over to the closet and snatched the door open. He smiled sinisterly down at Tracie’s kneeling grandmother, then grabbed her thin wrist with his rough hand and yanked her out of the closet. “Where’s Tracie?” Bizz yelled.

  “Please... don’t hurt me...” Maggie raised her hands to shield herself from any possible harm.

  Bizz backed up the terrified woman to the bottom of the bed. “Answer me!” he said.

  “I... I don’t know where Tracie ran off to.”

  Bizz grabbed the front of Maggie’s curly hair and slapped her face so hard that she fell backward with a loud scream.

  Maggie landed on her bed. She quickly raised her hand to massage the aching pain in her cheek, thinking, If these boys will hit an old lady, they’ll really hurt Tracie. Then she tuned in to the horrible sounds of damage being done to the other rooms, with silent prayers that the Lord would keep Tracie safely hidden.

  A dark-skinned man came into Maggie’s room, approaching Bizz with his arm locked around Tracie’s neck. Following close behind were the rest of the gang. “Look who we found hidin’ under a bed in the other room.”

  Bizz laughed and his gold-capped teeth all shone under the ceiling light. “Well, if it ain’t Tracie. Always actin’ like you some big shot. Like you better than everybody else in the ’hood.” Then, in a quick shift, his expression turned very evil. “But you finally went too far the day you stepped in my business and helped out the cracker.”

  He inhaled deeply for all the strength he could muster and kicked hard at Tracie’s stomach. Tracie dropped to the floor, embracing himself, as he coughed in pain.

  Maggie sat up on the bed. “Tracie!”

  Spinning around, Bizz slapped Maggie’s face again, to silence her. “Where the cracker at?” he yelled.

  The continued silence of Tracie and Maggie told the gang leader that they were ignoring his question. “I’m goin’ have to make you talk, right?”