Push Comes To Shove Part 4

Dirty was moving too much for Jewels's comfort. She pulled the trigger and blasted a chunk of brick inches away from his ear.

"I'm sorry." Trouble was as still as paralysis.

"That you are." Jewels pushed the blade. "Sorry for what?"

"Being disrespectful."

Jewels stroked the handle of the .45 with a thumb and averted her piercing gaze to Dirty. "Something wrong with your noise-maker?"

"I apologize for disrespecting your woman."

"Now if you poor-excuses-for-men will excuse us, we'll keep minding our business." She considered something else. "On second thought, you look like you're gonna need a constant reminder of how you should address ladies." With one motion, she had left behind a cut across Trouble's cheek.

Dirty's heartbeat quickened. The bones beneath his hips trembled. His eyes bulged. "G.o.dd.a.m.n, Jewels. What...Why did you have to cut him?" He spoke over his ringing ears.

After hearing the word cut cut, the left side of Trouble's rugged face began to burn. He covered the burning sensation with a hand. "You cut my face! On everything I love, you started some s.h.i.+t that I ain't never gon' let go."

"Shut the f.u.c.k up before I slice your b.i.t.c.h a.s.s again," she spoke through clenched teeth with a scowl on her face. "p.u.s.s.y, you don't stand a chance in h.e.l.l f.u.c.king with me. Your soft a.s.s better recognize." Jewels backed away and collected their guns from Ndia.

Trouble and Dirty watched as Jewels threw the first gun up on the roof of a nearby vacant building. When she launched Trouble's .22, her cell phone popped from her waistband and fell between two bags of garbage. She put her arm around Ndia and continued down the avenue.

Blood oozed between Trouble's fingers. "I'll be d.a.m.ned if I let that b.i.t.c.h get away with carrying me like I'm some chump. On my dead mama, Jewels is gonna feel me. That's my word." He tapped Dirty. "Go see what she dropped."

"You're gonna need a gang of st.i.tches." He stalked off toward the garbage bags. I'm glad it was his a.s.s and not mine I'm glad it was his a.s.s and not mine.

Bright and early the next morning, a taxicab driver leaned on his horn outside of Jewels's apartment.

She lifted the window and stepped out onto the fire escape. "I'm coming, dammit! Chill with the noise-maker." She pulled herself back inside. "Ndia, let's go before this impatient punk leaves."

Ndia came out of the bedroom carrying a pillow.

"What are you doing?"

"It's a long ride. Them Greyhound seats get uncomfortable after you sit on them awhile."

They headed to the door. Jewels hesitated. "I still can't figure out where I lost my phone."

The horn blew.

"f.u.c.k it, come on. I don't need no one keeping tabs on me anyway." She patted Ndia's a.s.s, then picked up their luggage. "Let's ride."

Trouble sat behind the steering wheel of an old Buick, picking at the st.i.tches in his face. He frowned as he watched Jewels and Ndia get chauffeured away by Yellow Cab. After a few moments of thinking, he picked up the cell phone from his lap and pressed redial.

The phone rang twice.

"Ninth Street Artwork, home of the Street Prophet. Kitchie speaking, how may I help you?"

Trouble terminated the call, climbed out of the car, and made his way over to a man who was constantly peeping out of a stairwell door. "Slow out here this morning, huh?"

The frail man nodded his unkempt head. "Yeah, I ain't got high since last night. It'll pick up soon, though. The banks just opened and welfare checks is circulating." He checked out Trouble's urban attire and a.s.sumed that he was a go-getter. "Don't you hustle at the bottom of Cliffview? I've seen you before."

"You know the butch that just left?"

"Jewels? Sure, I know her. Who's asking?"

Trouble dug in his crotch and pulled out a sack of crack rocks.

The man's eyes widened.

Trouble took out a tiny rock. "How would you like to be my main man and make one of these every day?"

"What I gotta do?" He held out his hand.

CHAPTER 4.

Miles removed the headphones from his ears. He stood in front of Squeeze's mahogany desk, a fibergla.s.s cast covering most of his boney arm. "I need a few more days. I'll have it all put together for you by then."

"I see a broken arm don't mean a d.a.m.n thing to you." Squeeze zoomed in on Miles with a set of cold eyes. He had the face of innocence and the grin of corruption. "You turned a forty-thousand-dollar loan into a ninety-thousand-dollar calamity."

"Ease up on me some. I just need a few more days."

"I won't ease up on my mama when it comes to my cash."

Miles sighed. "I b.u.mped into an unexpected situation, but everything is together now. Five more days; that's my word."

"Your word don't mean a motherf.u.c.king thing to me." Squeeze rested his square chin on a fist. "You f.u.c.ked that up when you reneged on our agreement. I gave you until tonight to have my cash, but I guess you're gonna need some more motivation."

Miles held up his good limb. "You gonna break this one, too? I can't conduct my business-"

"That's exactly why I don't have my cash now; you're selfish. You only think about yourself. My cash is much bigger than you. How's your family? Your brother? Is everybody in good health?"

Miles felt weak. He leaned on the desk. "You know where j.a.p is? Don't hurt him; my mother is worried sick about him."

Squeeze threw his hands up. "I don't know what you're talking about. I just asked if your people are all right."

"I'm gonna get your money."

"I know. The problem is that I need that little bit by tonight."

"Ninth Street Artwork, home of the Street Prophet. Kitchie speaking. How may I help you?"

The caller hung up.

She went back to the booth and sat in a folding chair beside Secret. "It's too hot out here."

GP stopped airbrus.h.i.+ng a jean outfit and turned to Junior. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Nope. All I know is that you have money in your pocket right now." He touched GP's front pocket. "This one. You even said I deserve a new bike when you get the money. So why don't you buy me one with the money you got?"

"Let me see how I can explain this to you, little man." GP set the airbrush gun on the ground. "Just because you see me or Mommy with money doesn't mean we have any money to spend on things like bikes and remote control cars. Maybe you can understand me better this way." He pulled the money out, separated a portion of it, then stuffed the rest back in his pocket.

Secret rested her head on Kitchie's arm as they focused on GP's demonstration.

"This is fifty dollars. Pretend this is all we had. You with me?"

Junior nodded. "I'm good at pretending."

"Okay... For us to have a place to live, it'll take, let's say, twenty of this." He gave Junior a twenty. "Hold on to that. Now we need another twenty for food." He handed Junior two tens. "Then, we need twenty for lights so you don't have to be in the dark like last night."

Junior grabbed the remaining money. "But this is only ten dollars."

"That's right, and I haven't gotten to gas, transportation, your bike, or Secret's new-"

"Maricon." Kitchie sat straight up.

"What?" GP faced her. "Who's the f.a.ggot?"

"Over there." She pointed to the book vendor two booths away. "That's the guy who ripped me off." She was on her feet headed in Blue Eyes's direction with a club that GP called the act-right stick act-right stick.

"Park it; don't either one of you move." GP s.h.i.+fted his eyes from Secret to Junior. He hurried after Kitchie.

Blue Eyes picked up a copy of White Heat White Heat. He studied the woman on the alluring book jacket. She's s.e.xy She's s.e.xy. He held the book to the merchant. "What's this about?"

"You b.a.s.t.a.r.d, where's my money!" Kitchie grabbed his arm.

White Heat fell to the sidewalk, revealing the author's name-Oasis. fell to the sidewalk, revealing the author's name-Oasis.

"Lady, I don't know you." He s.n.a.t.c.hed his arm free. "And I don't owe you s.h.i.+t."

Kitchie clobbered him with the act-right stick, then jumped on his back. "Puto, you're gonna give me my money."

He started to spin in an effort to shake Kitchie.

Dammit. Kitchie! GP screamed in his mind. He put Blue Eyes in a tight headlock so Kitchie wouldn't fall and get hurt. GP screamed in his mind. He put Blue Eyes in a tight headlock so Kitchie wouldn't fall and get hurt.

Junior put his holey sneakers to work on Blue Eyes' s.h.i.+ns. Secret clamped her teeth on to Blue Eyes's forearm.

GP put enough pressure on the man's neck to obstruct his breathing. "Man, give us our money."

"Kiss...my a.s.s. Take it as a loss."

Onlookers formed a complete circle around the brawl.

"You black f.u.c.ker, stop kicking me." He tried to kick Junior back.

Kitchie's first thought was to bite him as hard as she could, but she opted to pound the top of his head with a closed fist when she saw that Secret had beaten her to the punch. "I want my money."

Junior kept kicking; GP wrestled Blue Eyes to the ground.

Secret pulled his blond hair. "Get in his a.s.s, Mommy."

Kitchie dug inside Blue Eyes's pocket and removed his wallet while GP pinned him to the ground. "One way or the other, I'm gonna get mine."

Whistles were blown loud enough for some onlookers to turn toward the direction of the sound. The Pattersons never heard the whistles.

Two officers dismounted their buckskin colts. The slim officer broke through the dense crowd.

The taller one pressed the b.u.t.ton of his walkie-talkie. "This is downtown Horse Patrol Fourteen. I need some a.s.sistance; I have an a.s.sault in progress at Euclid and Ninth Street."

Secret and GP sat in the backseat of one squad car; Kitchie and Junior were seated in another.

Kitchie glared at Blue Eyes through the window.

He held an ice pack to his head. "I swear, I was just walking down the street when she-" He jerked his head toward Kitchie. "-came from nowhere and attacked me with a pipe. She demanded my wallet and threatened to kill me if I didn't give it to her. Then the rest of them jumped on me and kept punching me. And that GP guy took all my cash. They're really crazy. It's because of black people like them, public streets aren't safe anymore."

The slim officer jotted a few more notes, then closed his notepad. "After you get that bruise taken care of, we'll need you to come down to the city jail and file a formal complaint if you wish to press charges."

"As soon as I leave the hospital, I'll be there." He was a.s.sisted into an ambulance by a paramedic.

"Warrant?" GP was unsettled by the implication. "Are you sure you have the right Greg and Kitchie Patterson?"

"I don't steal." Kitchie ma.s.saged the bruises that had been left behind by the cuffs. "We haven't stolen anything."

"That's what they all say. Convince the magistrate. You're wasting your breath with me." The desk officer glanced at them over his round spectacles.

"I want to see my children."

"They're fine, Mrs. Patterson. You'll be arraigned within seventy-two hours, and your bonds will be set shortly after that. My advice to you is have someone come for your kids." He adjusted his eyegla.s.ses. "In a few hours, they'll be turned over to the Department of Social Services. They're too young to be released on their own."

GP sighed with grief and kneaded his temples. He couldn't believe that the Man upstairs would let life single him out to be treated so terribly. "Can we make a call?"

The officer led them to side-by-side cages with phones mounted to the walls. "Dial nine, then your numbers." He locked them in and paused in front of Kitchie's cage. "You have about five minutes before they come to process you on the women's side."

Tears trickled down her face as she punched in a telephone extension. "Mama."

GP held his jeans up. He had been stripped of his belt and shoe laces. He dialed a number of his own. As the phone rang, he watched Kitchie's depressing expressions.

And rang.

"h.e.l.lo." Trouble turned the car stereo down.

"Thank G.o.d, Jewels-"