Baby Brother's Blues (19 page)

33

K
entavious Robinson’s mother looked around Precious Hargrove’s office and felt small. Mamie Robinson knew everything about her looked wrong in a place where one chair probably cost more than everything in her whole apartment. The thought made her nervous and angry at the same time. She gulped down a few swallows from the icy-cold Coca-Cola the secretary had brought her when she first arrived, then stopped herself. Lord knows she didn’t want to have to ask if she could use the bathroom.

Mamie wondered how long she’d have to wait. Her nerves were already bad, but she had no choice. She had to come here because of her child. It was wrong how they had killed her son and nobody seemed to be able or willing to do a thing about it. That’s why she had put on her one good dress and a pair of heels, even if she didn’t have any stockings left, and come down to see Precious Hargrove.

She knew it was a long shot.
What does this woman care about my Kentavious?
Mamie thought. Her beautiful, angry,
hurry-up
child. He’d done everything too early. Walked at eight months. Had almost all his teeth before his first birthday. She had to stop nursing him before she really wanted to because he’d bit her nipples until they bled. Now he had died too soon.
Fifteen years ain’t no time to live a life,
Mamie thought.
You’re still stupid as hell. Don’t even have time to grow up and correct your shit and, BAM! You gone.
Like her child was gone. Forever.

Realizing there were tears running down her face, she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, wishing she had a handkerchief. That’s when the door opened and Senator Hargrove walked in carrying a briefcase.

“Hold my calls, please,” she said to the woman in the outer office as she closed the door behind her, dropped her briefcase on her desk, walked over to Mamie, and held out her hand. “Mrs. Robinson? I’m Precious Hargrove. I’m sorry you had to wait. Can I get you anything?”

The woman looked a lot prettier in person than she did on television, Mamie thought. “No, I just… I saw your ads on TV during that campaign you had and you kept sayin’ ‘my door is always open.’ So I figured I’d come by and see if you meant it.”

That campaign was five years ago, Precious thought, sitting down across from Mamie. She knew all about Kentavious Robinson’s murder. The brutality of the killing, the youth of the victim, and his mother’s public collapse at the cemetery that almost toppled her into her son’s grave had all propelled the story to the top of the six o’clock news for days.

Precious had reached out to the family right after the story broke, but the angry young man with whom she’d left a message had probably never relayed it to this exhausted-looking woman. It was hard to tell how old she was, but Precious placed her at right around forty. Mrs. Robinson looked like she’d been crying. That wasn’t surprising, Precious thought.
If I was living her life, I’d be crying, too.

“I was sorry to hear about the death of your son.”

Mamie’s eyes filled with tears and she shook her head sadly. “It ain’t right. Kentavious wasn’t no
gangsta
like his brothers. I know he wadn’t no angel, but what did he do that was so bad? Sellin’ a little weed to some of his boys? It mighta been wrong, what he was doin’, but he didn’t deserve to die for it. They didn’t have to cut him up like that.”

Looking at the heartbroken mother, Precious thanked her lucky stars one more time that she had been able to raise Kwame in peace, but she knew West End was only one tiny oasis. A few miles away, there was nothing but cruelty and chaos.

“Have the police arrested any suspects?” Precious asked.

“Suspects? They ain’t got to look for no suspects. They know who did that to my boy. They
been
knowin’.”

Precious frowned slightly, but her voice stayed even. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, they all in on it, too.”

“The police?”

“Yeah, the police. They protectin’ these coke dealers because they payin’ ’em to look the other way. They were afraid my son might tell what he knew.”

Precious leaned forward and took Mrs. Robinson’s hand. It was damp with tears and sweat. “That’s a very serious charge you’re making.”

Mamie didn’t blink. “Why you think I came down here? Everybody else scared to help me or they takin’ money.”

“I don’t really have any powers over the police department.”

“I thought you was gonna be the mayor.”

“That’s a long time from now.”

Precious wondered if Mrs. Robinson had ever voted. The charges the woman was making were explosive. The wiser course was probably not to get involved at all.

“So what was all that about the open door?”

“I was in the state legislature then,” Precious said, knowing she might as well have said,
That’s when I was living at the North Pole.
“But I still wouldn’t have had any power over the Atlanta Police Department. The two governments don’t work that way.”

Mamie withdrew her hand and stood up. “Then I guess I wasted your time and mine by comin’ here.”

“I’m so sorry,” Precious said. “But at this point, I don’t know what you want me to do.”

Mrs. Robinson lifted her chin. “I want you to do whatever you’d do if some niggas sent your son’s dick home in a shoe box.”

The two women looked at each other and in that look was all the information they both knew about the power of class and cast and gender; who was worth protecting and who was not. Precious’s whole life had been dedicated to fighting for this woman’s right to be heard, to be seen, to be respected. If she couldn’t help a woman whose child had been killed so brutally, what good was all her talk about sisterhood and solidarity? If she started avoiding controversy now, the bad guys had already won.

“You’re right,” Precious said, ashamed at her initial hesitation. “You’re absolutely right and I apologize. Please sit down and let’s figure out how I can help you find out who killed your son.”

Mamie began to cry again. “Thank you, Senator. Thank you!”

“Thank you for trusting me enough to come here.” Precious picked up the phone. “Joann? Get me Lee Kilgore on the phone, will you?”

34

W
hen Baby Brother arrived at the West End News, still wearing his baggy blue jeans, oversize white T-shirt, and 76ers baseball cap, he wasn’t sure what to expect. Zora had made Blue Hamilton sound like some kind of godfather or something. That was cool, Baby Brother thought. He needed someone to watch his back until he got the lay of the land. Right now he needed a job and a place to live. Zora seemed to think this guy was good for both, so at the appointed hour, Baby Brother presented himself at the newsstand and asked for Mr. Hamilton.

The old man fiddling with the cappuccino machine looked him up and down, shook his head, and told him to take a seat. Baby Brother wanted to tell the old guy what he could do with that look, but he didn’t want to get off on the wrong foot. Instead of picking a fight, he decided to use the time to look around. He had no idea what kind of place this might be. The shelves and racks were filled with newspapers and magazines. There was lots of foreign stuff with weird writing. It was like being back in Iraq, he thought. The people there read a million newspapers a day.

He wondered if they kept the porno in the back. There were a couple of people sitting around reading and drinking coffee and there was a pretty steady stream of folks coming in for the evening paper or the latest issue of
Jet
magazine. He made eye contact with a slender, dark-skinned beauty who looked too regal for the sweats she was wearing. She smiled as she paid for her cappuccino and left. Atlanta was full of fine women, Baby Brother thought.
I think I’m gonna like it here.

Momentarily distracted, he didn’t see General come up behind his chair.

“Are you Wesley Jamerson?”

Baby Brother jumped about a foot in the air. “Damn, man! You scared the shit out of me!”

The big man just looked at him. “That’s the last cursing you’re going to do in here today, youngblood. Now I asked you a question. Answer it.”

Being bold was one thing, but Baby Brother didn’t have the nerve to say something smart back to this guy. “Yeah, I’m Wes Jamerson.”

“Are you carrying any weapons or contraband of any kind?”

He felt like he was back at boot camp and he didn’t like it one bit. “Naw, man. Are you Hamilton?”

“You’re not here to ask questions, youngblood. You’re here to answer them. Follow me.”

Baby Brother walked behind the man down a short hallway full of more newspapers. At the end of the hall, the man pulled open a large metal door and moved inside to let him enter. Baby Brother found himself in a large room where a dark-skinned man in a beautiful black suit sat at a table drinking coffee in a little tiny cup.

General looked down at Baby Brother. “Stand until he tells you to sit, and when he tells you the meeting is over, the meeting is over.”

“Cool,” Baby Brother said, heading for Blue.

General grabbed his arm in a grip that made him wince. “Say ‘yes, sir,’ youngblood, and
pull your damn pants up
!”

Resisting the desire to rub his arm as he walked across the room, Baby Brother did as he was told. He stood awkwardly while Blue gave him a long, hard look. He was glad Zora had warned him about the eyes. Otherwise, he felt he never would have been able to withstand Blue’s gaze. He had never seen a black man with eyes that color.

“What’s your name?” Blue’s voice was a low rumble.

“They call me Baby Brother.”

Blue’s eyes glittered in a way that made Baby Brother wish he’d just said “Wes Jamerson” like he had some sense.

“Well,
they
aren’t here, so why don’t you tell me what your mama calls you?”

Baby Brother swallowed hard. “My given name is Wesley.”

“I’ll call you Mr. Jamerson. You’ll call me Mr. Hamilton.”

Baby Brother wished he could sit down, but he knew better.
“Yes, sir.”

“What kind of work do you do?”

“Well…”

Zora said tell him the truth, but what was he supposed to say?
I used to browbeat my mother out of money, but she died. I hustled my father a lot, but he died, too. I guilt-tripped my sister. Stole from her, too. Sold a little dope to kids. Let the homies pay my way if they got it like that. You know, man, same ol’ shit.

That was the truth, but he was hardly going to say that to this blue-eyed stranger who had no sense of humor that Baby Brother had been able to detect.

“I’ve been in the army, sir.”

“But you’re not in the army anymore.”

That was the one thing they could agree on. At least he wasn’t in the army anymore. Baby Brother grinned at Blue.
“Word!”

Blue’s look was so disapproving, it sent a chill through Baby Brother. He hadn’t meant any disrespect.

“Word,
sir.
”

“What are you going to do now?”

Baby Brother didn’t know how to answer the question any better now than he had when Zora asked it, so he just stood there. Blue didn’t move a muscle while Baby Brother shifted from one foot to the other and tried to think of something sensible to say. Failing that, he decided to throw himself on Blue’s mercy and ask for some assistance.

“Look, Mr. Hamilton,
sir,
” Baby Brother said, choosing his words carefully, sounding suddenly more like the prep-school dropout he was than the pseudo-street-smart, wannabe hoodlum he was always pretending to be. “I saw things… I
did
things in Iraq that sort of messed with my mind. That’s why I couldn’t go back. Right now I’m just trying to find a job and a place to live while I figure out my next step. Zora seemed to think you might be able to help me, sir.”

Blue watched Baby Brother morph effortlessly from one persona to the next and wondered why the one he chose most consistently was the one with no future. “Sit down.”

Baby Brother took a seat across from Blue. Without being told, he pulled off the 76ers cap and placed it on the floor beside his chair.

“Since you don’t seem to know what kind of work you can do, I’ll find a job for you in West End. You’ll be paid. It won’t be much over minimum wage, but not working is not an option. Everybody works.”

This was sounding more and more like the army. “Does everybody work for you?”

Blue’s eyes glittered like black diamonds. “Everybody who’s got any sense. Does that include you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. You’ll share an apartment in one of our buildings until you find your own place. Mr. Mason will meet you there and tell you the rules.”

Baby Brother felt like he’d jumped out of the frying pan into the fire. He hated rules. A flicker of annoyance passed across his face and Blue recognized it for what it was: defiance. He leaned forward and placed both his hands on the table. His long fingers were laced together like he was getting ready to pray. The cuffs of his white shirt were spotless.

“Let me explain something to you as clearly as I can. You are a deserter from the United States Army. You’re not the only one, not by a long shot, and the army can’t afford to let all of you just slip away. It sets a bad precedent. So they’re going to be looking for you. If they find you, that’s a problem for
you.
If they find you in West End, that’s a problem for
me.
”

Baby Brother didn’t say anything. The last thing he wanted to be to this blue-eyed boss man was a problem.

“In order for us to avoid that moment, you have to stop acting like a damn kid who can’t keep his britches up over his own ass and
be a man.
” Blue paused to let his words sink in. “We don’t tolerate violence toward women or abuse of children. We don’t tolerate nonproductive people who want to live off their neighbors’ hard work. We don’t tolerate men acting a fool.”

Baby Brother started to ask Blue for a more precise definition of
acting a fool,
but he knew better.

“West End is a unique community, Mr. Jamerson. There are lots of other places you can live in Atlanta where none of these rules apply. If you decide to do that, I will have nothing more to say about how you live your life. But if you stay in West End, you’ll have to keep up your end of the bargain or I’ll want to know the reason why.”

The possibilities of what might happen if the explanation wasn’t satisfactory was not something Baby Brother wanted to explore.

“Is that clear?” Blue said.

“Yes, sir.”

“Are you sure you understand what I’m saying to you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Blue stood up, and Baby Brother scrambled to his feet, too. Behind him, General was already opening the door. Outside, another man in a dark suit was waiting. “Then this meeting is over.”

He held out his hand and Baby Brother shook it, feeling the strength of his grip without Blue having to squeeze too hard like men sometimes do to show how macho they are. Blue’s strength seemed to flow down his arm and out through his fingers like a force Baby Brother could feel, but couldn’t see.

“Thank you, sir,” he said, backing away. “Thank you.”

General stepped out into the hallway just long enough to introduce Baby Brother to Jerome Mason, who would take it from there. When he closed the door, Blue was already pouring himself another espresso. General waited for Blue to speak first.

“What do you think about this kid?”

General didn’t mince words. “He’s trouble as sure as I’m sitting here.”

“Keep an eye on him.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve got it covered.”