Dollar Bill (13 page)

“Where you staying?” Tommy asked.

“I'm at the Y for now, but not for long.”

“Well, you definitely can't take him there with you.” Tommy thought for a moment. “I got it!” She snapped her finger. “We can take him to Short Stay Motel on Pike Road.”

With no other options, Tommy drove ten minutes to Short Stay where she went into the lobby and got a room for Ral.

Short Stay was a cash only, no ID, no questions asked kind of spot. Most of the girls from the titty bars took their tricks there. Some of the girls even lived there as roommates.

On Tommy's way back to the car with the key to the room, she ran into two chicks she stopped briefly to converse with. At first, Tommy felt a little uncomfortable as she thought the girls might assume she was there with a john. Tommy knew these two chicks were full-time hoes their own selves so ultimately it didn't matter what they thought about her.

Tommy hurried back to the car and helped Dollar carry Ral into his temporary dwelling, room 112. Ral smelled like a baby's diaper that had been sitting in a corner for a week. Smelling as if he hadn't bathed in weeks, the wrenching odor that erupted from his pores confirmed this fact. His teeth were rotted and his hair was an oily pit of dirt.

Dollar lightweight had an attitude with Tommy. How had she allowed her boy to get to this point? Why hadn't they stuck together and looked out for one another? Maybe they weren't the loyal road dawgz he thought them to be back in the day.

Ral never spoke a word to either Dollar or Tommy. He moaned and scratched at himself like a dog with fleas. Tommy suggested Dollar put Ral in the shower while she ran to Walmart to grab him some clothes. Dollar gave Tommy $500 of the money he had taken from Tyrone and she headed to the store.

Tommy came back with several Fruit of the Loom sweat suits, some generic brand sneakers, a couple of packages of briefs and socks, as well as some personal hygiene items. She also stopped and picked up a pizza. She knew nobody was going to deliver to the area the motel was in.

“Damn,” Tommy said as she watched Ral's twitching body soaked in sweat lay across the double bed. “He's real fucked up. I told you.”

“How long he been getting down like this?” Dollar asked.

“You know Ral always had a thing for street candy.”

“Yeah, well, if I had been here, there's no fucking way I'd let my boy get like this.”

“So, what the fuck you trying to say?” Tommy said. “You trying to say this shit is my fault?”

“Look at him, T,” Dollar said. “This is your boy. He supposed to be your boy for life.”

“He's a muthafuckin' grown-ass man,” Tommy said. “I'm raising two kids, sliding down fishy-ass smellin' poles, bruising my thighs just to feed them. You don't know what it's like out here. Just trying to take care of my own self is hard. My nieces are my responsibility, not Ral, and not you, so fuck you, Dollar. I don't need this shit. I'm saving my money to get out of this hell-hole lifestyle for good. I don't care how long it takes me. Fuck this shit. I don't even know how I almost let you talk me into this ghetto-ass shit.”

With tears in her eyes and a dose of the truth hurts, Tommy scrambled for her keys and headed for the door.

“So it's like that?” Dollar said. “You just gon' leave us hangin'?”

Tommy looked into Dollar's eyes and discovered his attempt to remind her of her debt to him. He wanted her to remember that she had shot three men dead and he accepted the punishment alone. Tommy knew she owed Dollar her life. By the same token, she had to be loyal to her nieces. She promised them she would provide them a good life. She promised that someday they would pick up and move to Cali or something, a good part. They would have a nice house, nice clothes, and breed dogs or something. They would be so well off that she wouldn't have to work so hard. She would be there for them when they woke up in the middle of the night instead of being in some bar giving a dude a lap dance.

On the other hand, if it hadn't been for Dollar, she might not even have the girls. They might be dead by now, buried next to their mother. She wouldn't have been there to save them, but in jail instead. She would be there for Dollar. Once again, she would commit herself. Just as soon as they made a big hit, though, she was gone and would never look back. On that final thought, Tommy dropped her keys and retrieved some cold, wet washcloths from the bathroom to cover Ral with.

Tommy and Dollar nursed Ral. They kept cold rags on him and made him take a few bites of pizza. He kept vomiting and moaning, though.

“He can't do this,” Tommy said. “He needs help, Dollar.”

“I seen cats in the joint go through this same thing,” Dollar said. “If he can just get through this first twenty-four hours he'll be fine.”

Ral's eyes began to roll in the back of his head. This episode scared Tommy. Dollar remained calm, insisting that Ral could get through his withdrawal.

“Dollar, can't you see he needs a doctor? He's sweating bullets, but he is as cold as a corpse,” Tommy said. “He needs a doctor.”

Dollar looked at Tommy who had a frantic look on her face. Maybe she was right, Dollar thought. Dollar's main reason for not wanting to take Ral to the hospital was because he had no idea what kind of shit Ral had been in and how many brushes with the law he had managed to accumulate. What if he had warrants? The hospital was sure to know he was a drug addict. Taking Ral to the hospital might have been like checking him into jail. Dollar could see that Ral was slowly but surely deteriorating. Getting through this first twenty-four hours didn't look so promising.

Tommy was right; Ral needed a doctor. This could ruin everything Dollar had planned for the three. He wanted Ral, but more so, he needed Ral alive and healthy.

Ral began to wheeze and vomit. He was near convulsions. Tommy grabbed the toothbrush she had purchased for Ral at Walmart and used the handle to hold his tongue flat so that he would not choke on it.

“Dollar,” Tommy screamed. “Please! He needs a doctor.”

Tommy took Ral's head and held it in her arms. Was this her fault? Maybe she could have done something. Dollar wouldn't have allowed Ral to get to this point. Ral used to be Tommy's number one running partner, and now look at him. Tommy began to tremble as she rocked Ral.

“Come on, Ral,” Tommy said. “I ain't save your life all those times just so you could turn around and kill yourself. Come on, big baby, you can get through this.”

Tommy kissed Ral on his forehead and proceeded to give him pep talks. Dollar had never seen Tommy like this. He had never seen an emotional, nurturing side to Tommy. The scene before him reassured Dollar that he could, in fact, count on Tommy. He watched her interact with Ral a little while longer before giving the order.

“Come on,” Dollar said. “We're taking him to see a doctor.”

“It's four o'clock in the morning. Who in the hell can that be?” Klein said as the repeated beating on his front door woke him. Buck naked, as he always slept, he slipped on some boxers and a T-shirt and headed down the spiral staircase. He separated the blind with his hand and peeked out of the picture window beside the front door to view the side profile of Dollar.

Klein dropped his hands and stood there as Dollar continued to knock. As Klein headed back up the spiral staircase, Dollar's knock became harder and more desperate.

“Yo, Doc,” Dollar called. “Come on, man. It's me, your big brother. Please open up.”

Dollar had driven out near the suburb of Munster, where his brother lived. He'd looked up his address in the phone book. He was surprised to find it there because most black people didn't list their information, but with Klein being in the medical profession, he was sure enough in the book. Usually folks in the legal and medical profession listed their information in the directory.

Hesitantly, Klein reconsidered. He came back down the steps and opened the door. There stood Dollar with Ral limp in his arms. Tommy had Dollar drop her off at her house with the girls and gave him permission to use her car to go get Ral help. When Klein saw Ral, he knew that he needed immediate medical attention.

“What happened to him?” Klein said, helping Dollar carry him in. “Is he hit?”

“No, man,” Dollar replied. “He's fiendin'. I don't know what to do.”

Klein quickly retrieved his medical bag and began to take Ral's vital statistics. Dollar anxiously paced back and forth.

“Can't we give him something like chocolate or something?” Dollar asked.

“How long has it been since he had a hit?” Klein asked.

“I don't know, Doc,” Dollar replied. “He hasn't really been able to communicate with me. This is my first time seeing him since I been out. Found him like this at a dope house.”

“Why didn't you take him to the ER?”

Dollar's expression answered his brother's question.

“You ain't getting me caught up in no bullshit, are you?” Klein inquired.

“You know I wouldn't do that to you, bro.”

“Help me carry him upstairs to the tub,” Klein instructed Dollar. “I'll do all that I can do for him, but you're the one who is going to have to stay up and keep an eye on him.”

Dollar and Klein carried Ral to the tub and filled it with lukewarm water. Klein insisted that Ral's temperature needed to be regulated. He instructed Dollar to drain the water as it chilled and refill the tub. He showed Dollar how to take and read Ral's blood pressure, and how to take and read his temperature. He told Dollar to force Ral to drink fruit juice and to secure his tongue if he went into convulsions. And if this did occur, he didn't care what Dollar said, he was having Ral transported to the hospital.

All night Dollar nursed Ral like a wounded, stray puppy that had followed him home. It seemed like hours passed by before there was a sign of life in Ral.

“Yo, Dollar,” Ral said, waking up half out of it, still soaking in the tub. “What am I in for?”

Ral's voice woke Dollar from his catnap. “Huh?” Dollar replied, wiping his eyes.

“What am I in the joint for? It was my moms, huh? I told that old bitch I was gonna bring her television set back to her.” Ral began to twitch and gag. Dollar grabbed him and positioned him in a headlock to try to gain some control over his twitching and jerking body.

“Don't talk,” Dollar said. “Just relax. You're not in the joint, Ral.”

Ral was able to relax some. “Is we in heaven or hell?”

“Stop fucking around, man. You're sick,” Dollar said, releasing him from the headlock. “You ain't dead yet, fool. You still in sorry-ass G-Town. I got out the joint, man. I'm back.”

“Word!” Ral said. “My N word.”

“You's a silly muthafucka, you know that?” Dollar said.

Ral looked down at himself fully clothed in a tub of water. Dollar reached for a can of Hawaiian Punch to give to Ral. “Is this some type of ghetto baptism?” Ral asked.

Klein, hearing voices, entered the bathroom to check on things. He gave Ral some towels and clothing to throw on and moved him into his guestroom. Next he checked Ral's vitals, which were pretty good for the condition he was in. He let Dollar know that Ral would most likely go through withdrawal for a few days. He also instructed Ral to pay him a visit at the clinic, and provided them with information on some rehab facilities where he could go to get help with kicking his addiction, if that was something he really wanted to do.

“I appreciate all this, man,” Dollar said to Klein as Ral's arm hung around Dollar's left shoulder as he assisted him with walking. “I really do.”

“That's my job,” Klein said short and with an attitude. “Let me help you get him out to the car.”

The two brothers got Ral into the passenger seat of the car. Dollar laid the seat back as far as it would go, strapped Ral in, and closed the door.

As soon as the car door closed, Klein went off. “Nigga, don't you ever come to my domain with your ghetto-ass bullshit,” Klein said. “What the fuck you hanging around trash like that for anyway? Ain't that the same piece of shit you used to run with before you went in the joint?”

Dollar stood there, thrown off by Klein's rampage.

“Look, take that money from Ma's death, get you a nice little place, get you some schooling, a steady job, and fuck these streets, man. Damn, didn't you learn nothing while you were locked up?”

“As a matter of fact, I did,” Dollar said, opening the door to leave. “As a matter of fact, I did.”

Dollar made his way to the car. As Dollar drove Ral back to Short Stay to get him situated in the room, he told Ral all the details surrounding his release from prison. Dollar left out the part about Romeo being his father, as he did with everyone else he relayed the story to. Ral was barely comprehending Dollar's words, but Dollar rambled on in spite of that.

Dollar stopped at a convenience store so that he could stock the motel room with enough snacks to tide Ral over for a few days. He bought a foam cooler and filled it with ice and beverages.

Dollar ordered Ral to stay put while he handled a few things, and promised that he would come back to check on him the next day. Dollar soon learned that a fiend don't stay put when he went to the bathroom and came out to find the hotel door open and Ral gone.

Ral hadn't gotten too far down the road before Dollar caught up with him and took him back to the hotel room. It was evident that Dollar was going to have to do some babysitting for the next few days.

 

 

“Good looking out last night,” Dollar said, as he drove Tommy to work in her car. “Ral would probably be lying up dead in that motel room if it weren't for you insisting we get him to a doctor.”

“Either that or he'd be somewhere sucking dick,” Tommy said as she looked in the back seat at Ral who was taking a snooze. “One of the two.”

Dollar, not finding humor in Tommy's joke, simply gave her a dry look.

“Anyway,” Tommy continued, “Shay ain't gon' give a fuck about me saving somebody's life. All she's going to care about is why my black ass wasn't at work last night.”

“Shay your boss?” Dollar asked. “Shay from View Point?”

“She manages the joint,” Tommy replied. “Her dude owns it. Well, he bought it, anyway. It's in her name. You know how these dope boys do it once they get big time. They graduate from buying they bitches tennis bracelets to buying them titty bars, beauty shops, day care centers and shit.”

“Then why haven't you snagged up one of them ballers?” Dollar asked. “I know you done bumped into all kind of ballers in the club.”

“I can't have that shit around the girls,” Tommy quickly replied. “These muthafuckas are ruthless. They don't give a fuck who they shoot up trying to get to a rival nigga or a cat that owe them some money. I can see the girls and me now sitting on the couch watching
My Wife & Kids
and bullets raining through the window. Hell no. It's a known fact; wherever trouble goes, trouble follows. I can't bring it to where I lay my head.”

“Yeah, being a hustler's wifey is just as crucial as being the hustler himself,” Dollar said.

“If it was just me, hell, I'd probably roll with a baller until I got tired of his ass,” Tommy said. “Until I got my bookstore anyway.”

“What bookstore?” Dollar asked.

“I've been thinking about shit, about what I really want to do. And I want to own my own bookstore. I want to name it after my sister, something to leave for the girls so that they never have to do some of the shit women have to do to survive nowadays.”

“A bookstore, huh?” Dollar said, turning into the parking lot of the Chocolate Factory.

“Yeah, with all kinds of books.” Tommy's face lit up. “Maybe a little café section, too, with a stage for some open mic. Yeah, that's what I'm gonna do someday.” Snapping out of her daydream, Tommy grabbed her duffel bag from out of the back seat and said to Dollar, “Pick me up at three a.m. Don't be late, Dollar. I ain't trying to be like some of these bitches in here waiting around for their dudes to come pick them up in their own car.”

“T, you know I wouldn't play you like that,” Dollar said. “Thanks for letting me borrow your wheels.”

“Three a.m.,” Tommy reiterated. “Oh yeah, and, Dollar . . . welcome home.”