Down by Law (7 page)

S
ix p.m.

It had been three hours, forty-five minutes, and too many seconds to count that I didn't know where Schooly was. And either I needed Schooly home or I needed somewhere to go until he got here.

I crept outta bed, leaving Yvette lying there, and grabbed my boom box. Then I eased through the living room window, sat on the fire escape, and did all I could to focus on Red Alert's
show
, desperately wantin' to rock to the underground artists spittin' freestyles.

But I couldn't.

So I looked down at the old man skin poppin' his johnson in the alleyway.

But I couldn't focus on that either.

“What is you doin' up there?” a chickenhead yelled at me, as she kicked bits of glass and trash with her feet.

“Minding my business.”

“I can't tell. 'Cause you look like you all in mines!” She grabbed a red-haired white man by the hand, gently pushed him against the building, and then slid to her knees.

I shut my eyes and squeezed them extra tight.

“Isis.” Queenie walked in the front door and looked directly at me. She walked over to the open window and stuck her head through. “Whatchu doing out there?”

I swallowed. A million things ran through my mind to tell her.

“I asked you a question,” she said, like she'd been waiting on an answer a moment too long.

I shook my head. “Nothing. Just chillin'.”

“You chillin' on a fire escape in the middle of Da Bricks? For what? Waitin' for a bullet with no name on it?” She looked at me like I was crazy. “Get off that thing and get back in here. Nobody got time for that. Find something else to do.” She turned away and yelled, “Schooly! Schooly! I want you to go to the store and get me a Pepsi!”

My heart thundered. “He ain't here.” I climbed back into the living room, boom box in tow.

The look in her eyes clearly asked me where he was.

Think. Think. Think.
“He's with Face.”

“And where they go?”

I hunched my shoulders. “I don't know. They didn't tell me.”

“I don't believe this. I always like an ice-cold Pepsi while I'm bagging up weed.”

“You want me to get it?”

“You know damn well you don't go to nobody's store at night.” She furrowed her brow. “What is wrong witchu?”

“Nothin'.”

She looked at me suspiciously and then snatched my chin. “Your dang daddy been by here? Did you let him in here? Is he here now? I told you he is not allowed to come back here!”

“No.” I yanked my chin away. “I ain't seen Daddy.”

She paused. Soaked this in a moment and then said, “Well then go find something to do 'cause you acting crazy.”

 

Eight p.m.

I sat on the edge of my bed with my knees folded into my chest and my face buried in my thighs. Trying my best to stay focused on Schooly coming home and not thinking the worst.

Yvette had fallen asleep on the side of my bed, holding her stomach and moaning every ten minutes. Truthfully, I wanted to put her out, but I knew she had to be in real pain to not wanna knock off the rest of this joint with me.

So I left her alone and let her sleep.

I hopped off the bed, lit about five Black Love incenses in here, and lined the bottom of my door with a towel. Hoping and praying Queenie wouldn't smell the weed. The last thing I needed was her spazzing on me about getting zooted or realizing that one of her nickel bags was missin'.

 

Ten p.m.

I wished I could stop pacing.

I just wanted to close my eyes and sit still. But I couldn't.

Face hadn't come back yet.

And I needed him to come back.

Soon.

Queenie bolted into my room. “Where did you say Face and Schooly went?”

I froze. Then dropped my eyes to the floor. “I don't know.”

I could feel her staring at me. “You don't know? You don't know? I tell you what, Face better hurry back up in here with my boy. Got my nerves on edge. And wake Yvette up. She needs to go home.”

She closed the door behind her and I felt like I wanted to disappear.

 

Midnight.

I could hear Queenie walking the living room floor.

Still no Face.

And no Schooly.

 

One a.m.

I'd fallen asleep and my dreams made me feel like I was drowning again. That something was pulling me under.

I couldn't move.

And I couldn't scream.

I felt trapped.

I couldn't breathe.

I needed to breathe.

I felt my arms flailing in the air, but I still couldn't wake up. Then suddenly, as if someone had slugged me in the back of my head I sat straight up and screamed, “Schooly!”

 

Two a.m.

No Schooly.

Yvette is pissing in my bed.

And Queenie keeps questioning me every five minutes.

 

Four a.m.

Yvette is calling on Jesus, and Queenie is yelling for me. “Get up!” Queenie pounded and jiggled the knob on my locked bedroom door. I hopped out of bed and ran out into the hallway, closing the door behind me.

“What?” I said in a panic. “Is Schooly home?”

“No!” she said, her eyes bloodshot red with worry. “The cops is back and they must have a warrant this time!” She rushed into the kitchen and I ran behind her, repeating the routine, over and over again in my head.

Repeat.

“Come on!” Queenie snapped as she emptied clips from the two guns she had and tossed them in a trash bag. “Load the stash!”

I did as I was told and, once the bag was full, Queenie pushed me toward the back door. I ran to the roof and hid the goods. But instead of waiting on the roof like I was s'pose to, I came back downstairs, cracked the back door open, and looked to see if the police had the front door on the floor and Queenie handcuffed.

They didn't.

Two officers, dressed in navy-blue trousers, white shirts, and khaki trench coats, flashed their badges and the lead officer said, “Mrs. Beverly Carter?”

Queenie swallowed. Nobody ever called her by her government name.

She shoved a hand up on her hip and said, tight-lipped, “Who wanna know?”

“You mind if we come in?” the officer asked.

“Oh, you will not be comin' up in here without no warrant.”

“We're not here to search your place, ma'am. We're from homicide, and your son—”

Her eyes scanned their faces. She sucked her teeth and sighed in exhaustion. “Ezekiel Jr. ain't here.”

The officer shook his head. “No, ma'am. I'm here to speak to you about your other son, Montez Carter. His body was found on the McCarter Highway bridge. . . .”

 

“T
hey forgot about me,” I whispered to Yvette as I sat at my nana's small and round kitchen table, my eyes tracing the aged grease spots splattered behind the stove.

“Who forgot about you?”

I turned around and stared at Yvette. Her hair was sticking straight up on the top of her head. Dark circles seemed to eat up her eyes, as she squinted and looked straight through me.

“Whatchu mean?” she asked, placing the baby that she'd delivered in my bed, the same day Schooly died, on her shoulder.

“All of 'em. Queenie—”

“Yo, where she go?” Yvette asked, like she'd been dying to know that.

“I don't know.” I shrugged. “After the funeral she told me she was going to the store to get herself a Pepsi. That was two weeks ago.”

“You think Uncle Zeke know where she is?”

I rolled my eyes and rocked my neck. “Psst. Please. Spare me. He don't know nothing, except what Ms. Brenda tell him.”

“What about Face?”

“He in the streets somewhere. I guess laying low. The last time I saw him was at Schooly's funeral. Afterwards, he told me he was gon' find the dude, Snoop. I haven't seen him since.”

She shook her head.

“You know what I've been thinking,” I said.

“What?”

“That I might go back upstairs to my old apartment and wait for Face and Queenie. I hate it here.”

Yvette grunted and let out a slight chuckle.

That pissed me off.

She smacked her lips. “Girl, please. Some crackheads broke in your old apartment and stole everything they could. I saw somebody walkin' out with the sink yesterday.”

“What?! You watched 'em do that?!”

“And what did you expect me to do? Who I look like to you? Five-oh? Not.”

“Whatever! It's cool 'cause Face gon' come back and find us someplace else to live. Da Bricks ain't the last place on Earth.”

“Yeah, okay. You keep waiting on Face.”

“And whatchu mean by that?” I snapped. “You know you pushin' your luck, right? You know I'm not in the mood for no BS, right? You know I'm 'bout to go
alllll
the way off, right? And I don't know what or who has pissed you off. Maybe it was your baby daddy, but I don't know and I don't care. So, I suggest you watch yo' mouth and be easy when you talkin' to me.”

Yvette paused and an awkward silence filled the room. After a few minutes, she said, “I was in the courtyard yesterday and er'body saying Face found that dude who killed Schooly.”

I swallowed the lump that forced its way in my throat. “I hope he did and I hope his mama droppin' flowers on 'im.”

Yvette sat down and lay the baby across her lap. “Well, just in case nobody comes back for you, I'm tellin' you now, all Nana gon' do is feed you. That's it. Don't look for no clothes. You not about to be fly, not off of Nana's dime, anyway. You ain't gon' rock no hotness. And you gon' always hate it here.” She shook her head. “Always. And whatever you do,” she whispered as we heard footsteps approach the kitchen, “don't let Stick get to you. She like to mess with er'body.”

Yvette's two little brothers and sister ran into the kitchen and grabbed bowls for their cereal, while my twenty-year-old aunt, Evelyn, who er'body called Stick, 'cause all her life she'd been way too skinny, pushed her boney hips through the crowded kitchen. “Just the two I wanna see.”

“Why?” I twisted my lips.

She slammed the
Star Ledger
over my bowl of cereal, then leaned against the stove and smiled. “You see Face right?”

I soaked in Face's picture and the headline: N
EWARK
D
RUG
D
EALER
A
RRESTED
FOR
E
XECUTION
-S
TYLE
M
URDER
. My eyes scrolled further down into the article.
It is believed that Carter's victims may have killed his brother....

My breath was short. My heart raced and rushed into my throat, and a few seconds later, it exploded. I tried to swallow the pieces before anybody noticed.

I failed.

Tears rushed to my eyes and er'body was starin' at me.

Stick carried on, “You know it's over for him, right? You know he 'bout to do football numbers, right?” She popped her black ashy lips.

I did my best to contain my tears.
Just chill.
“You need to go 'head with that. Always tryna front on somebody.”

“Psst, please.” Stick laughed. “You can't front on the truth. And anyway I'm grown. I can say what I wanna say 'cause you in my house, lil girl.”

“Yo' house? This is Nana's house!” My eyes scanned the kitchen and mostly er'body except Yvette was gigglin'.

My blood boiled and rushed up my back.

For one: Fifty-eleven fools ran through Nana's apartment on a regular.

And two: There was only two bedrooms in here. Nana slept in one and too many people slept in the other one.

I had no idea who lived here, who was layin' low, or who was just visitin'. There was no space to have your own space. No room to think. No room to chill. All you could do up in here was exist. That's it.

“Like I said, go 'head.” I managed to blink back tears.

Stick smirked. “And if I
don't
?”

“All right now,” Nana yelled into the kitchen. “It's too early for foolishness! Y'all talkin' too loud and Bill is back there tryna get some sleep!”

I ignored Nana's warnin' and said, “First of all, Stick, why you all in my business?” I cocked my neck to the left. “You need to slow down. At least my brother took care of me. But you? Don't nobody take care of you. You assed out. Assed out in the face. Assed out in the body. It's only a matter of time before you pimped out and beatin' that concrete, you baldheaded fiend! Now you better get outta my face and back up before you get smacked up.”

Stick laughed. “Smacked up? I double dare you. Mess around and get put over my lap, lil girl. Face can't save you now and yo' mama and daddy don't care nothin' about you!”

I looked over at Yvette and she mouthed,
Forget her.

And she was right—I needed to forget her.

But I couldn't.

Suddenly, I felt like I was back on the playground and standin' in front of Aiesha again. And just like on the playground, if I let Stick get off wit' dissin' me, then er'body in the kitchen was gon' think they could bring it to me. Whenever. Wherever.

I stood up from the table and just as Stick carried on about how Queenie was a ho, I reached for a half-empty forty beer bottle that somebody had left on the table and bashed Stick dead in the face. The bottle exploded and jagged pieces of wet glass rained er'where. Stick screamed and blood spurted from her face onto Nana's yellow walls like wild red paint.