Down by Law (9 page)

“Y
ou sure they not gon' wake up?” I said as me and Yvette stood at Nana's bedroom door and I softly inched it open, one hand on the knob and the other slapped over my nose. “Wassup wit' that smell?” I frowned, feeling like the stench of funky behind, stale Thunderbird, and a burned crack pipe had bust me in the face.

“What you mean? You been here for two months and you never noticed that on the weekends Nana and Mr. Bill tear this room up? She be up in there drunk as I don't know what and Mr. Bill be in there gettin' beamed up.”

“No. I never really noticed that.”

“Well, welcome to Nana's world. And that's why we gon' run up in there real quick and handle our business.”

I wasn't so sure I wanted to do this. I'd never been no petty thief before. And no, stealing hip-hop magazines, jelly bracelets, and a nickel bag of weed here and there from the bodega and Queenie didn't count. That shoulda been free anyway.

But. This was different.

We was desperate.

And I guess desperate times called for standing at your grandmama's door with your eye on her rent drawer.

“Yvette,” I whispered, gently pulling the door closed, and turning toward her. “One of her rules was everybody had to be outta the bed by seven a.m. It's almost eight.”

“But it's Sunday.”

“And? What that mean to me? And anyway, just 'cause you say you wanna rob somebody today don't mean you actually do it today. You gotta watch the joker first. Case they place and see how they move.”

“I've been living with Nana for two years.”

“Yeah, well, I just got here. And I don't know her Sunday routine and I don't know the easiest way in her bedroom or the smoothest way out.”

“What, you scared?” Yvette paused and then looked at me like calling me a punk was at the tip of her tongue.

I looked Yvette up and down. I may have been in a bad spot right now, but I was still thorough and she better know it.

She sighed and then whispered, “Look, trust me. They ain't waking up.”

“And what about when she does wake up and realizes her rent money is missing?”

“She gon' accuse him. Beat him up. Drag him. And if he piss her off enough, she might cut him. But she'll patch him up, he'll give her some money, and they'll be back together by next Sunday.”

I eyed Yvette suspiciously. Seems she's been movin' like a petty thief for a while now. “And how long you been doing this?”

“What is this, a job interview? You wanna lick the drawer or not?”

I smirked, as I held onto the doorknob, opened the door again, and we both pressed our faces into the crack. Yvette stood on her tippy toes behind me and looked over my head.

Nana slept in a flimsy white and sheer gown. Her wig cap was twisted, revealin' the five jumbo cornrows she had plaited to the back. She lay to the left of her boyfriend, Mr. Bill, who was tucked on the inside of Nana's flabby arm.

“Told you,” Yvette whispered. “She ain't gettin' outta that bed today. We might not even see Nana for the whole weekend.”

“Okay. So tell me where the money at so I can snatch it real quick.”

Yvette planted her feet flat on the floor and tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around and she said, “There you go actin' crazy again. Why would I let you go snatch the money?”

I curled my top lip and swerved my neck. “You tryna play me.”

“No. But I'm sayin' you been somebody different for a minute. How I know you back to the old Isis?”

“Oh, word? So this how we getting' down now? You doubtin' me.”

She twisted her lips. “Look, I know where the money at and I know how to get in and get outta there. So, I'ma get the money and you gon' be the lookout. And I'm not getting' ready to argue with you. 'Cause if you really wanna go snatch the money, go get it. But if she does wake up and sees you, just know she gon' call the state on you. And when they drag you outta here, you'll be rollin' to yo' new group home alone. I been in foster care and I ain't goin' back. Now how you wanna do this?”

I took a step back. “You get the money.”

“Thought so. Now keep an eye out for Stick, 'cause she likes to breeze through here and I don't need her catchin' us. 'Cause the last time she caught me sneakin' in here she muscled me into givin' her half of the money.”

“Well, she ain't gettin' half of nothin' over here.”

“Exactly. So watch the door.”

Yvette eased into Nana's bedroom, with the grace of a ballerina dancing across the floor. Nana started to rustle, Yvette hit the floor, and I pulled the door, leaving only a slither of space for me to see through.

Nana never opened her eyes, she simply turned over and her naked behind faced the door. I frowned. I'd never seen a booty look so riddled with dents as deep as bullet holes before.

I looked back over to Yvette, who had eased Nana's top dresser drawer open and slid her hand inside. She felt around for a moment and shook her head. She looked back at me and her eyes told me it wasn't there. She checked the other four drawers. Nothing.

Nana started to rustle again. Yvette hit the floor and I closed the door.

A few seconds later, Yvette eased out and we hurried back to our bedroom. “She must've moved it. 'Cause it wasn't there,” she said.

“Dang.”

“Don't sweat it though, 'cause Mr. Bill's wallet was on the nightstand and he had a fifty-dollar bill in there.” She popped the bill and stretched it. “So I snatched it and we gon' split it.”

I rolled my eyes to the flaking ceiling. “And what we gon' do with fifty dollars? I need some clothes. I don't have nothin'! Nothin'! All my stuff was upstairs and the crackheads stole it.”

“You need to take a chill pill. Stop sweatin' er'thing. So what, we only got fifty dollars. It's fifty dollars more than what we had. And no, it can't buy us no clothes, but it can get us some Chinese and at least we got some bus fare.”

I looked down at my faded black jeans and oversized white tee. “I can't wear this nowhere. I look stupid.”

“You can wear it to the mall.”

“To the mall for what?”

“So we can get us some clothes.”

“And how we gon' do that?”

“W
ord is bond,” Yvette squealed, as we walked swiftly outta the mall and rushed to the nearest bus stop. “Everything we got is fresh to def,” she whispered as we slung two overflowing duffel bags across our shoulders.

Truthfully, I was a little paranoid. 'Cause I'd never done anything like this before. I mean, robbing a drug dealer was one thing, but runnin' up in the mall and boostin' was low budget and honestly, not even worth bail money.

But I was willing to roll with it, 'cause we ain't have no clothes and no other way of gettin' some. So, we hustled our way through Lerner's and helped ourselves to summer wardrobes.

The bus pulled up and we stepped on, hurrying to the back. We stuffed our bags under our seat and sat down.

“We gon' be stupid fresh.” Yvette giggled.

“Yup.” I grinned. “And you know it. And the next time we come back we could steal enough to sell to our crew.”

“True. 'Cause I know Munch gon' be sweatin' these pink leather shorts.”

“Sell 'em to her. Make some money and then come back and getchu some more.”

“Not. I'm rockin' these. Psst. Please.”

“Look, like Face always said, ‘The only thing that ain't gotta price is loyalty.' Which means that er'thing else gotta tag, including them pink leather shorts.”

“Face didn't know everything. 'Cause if he did he wouldn't be locked up right now.”

Did she just chop me in the throat?
Breathe.
“Yvette, why would you say somethin' ill like that?” I looked toward the front of the bus and watched the driver help an old lady to her seat.

“What's ill about it?”

“The way you said it. You ain't say all that when you used to be sweatin' him. For all I know, Face might be Kamari's daddy. 'Cause truth be told she looks like Queenie to me.”

“You waaaay outta pocket. I know who my baby father is. And I wasn't never sweatin' Face.”

“You lyin'? We was even planning a double wedding before.”

“Not true.”

“Yes, it is. And anyway, if it's not true, then what you mad for?”

“I ain't mad.” She shrugged. “Who said I was mad? I'm just sayin' that I wasn't sweatin' him. I mean, maybe you was sweatin' K-Rock, but I ain't see Face like that.”

“You can't be serious.”

“Excuse me. You two.”

Me and Yvette looked up and there was a uniformed officer staring down at us.

I sucked in a breath and hoped he couldn't hear my heart skipping beats. I looked down at the duffel bags we had poking from under the seat. Then I looked over at Yvette and she'd turned to stone.

“Get up!” the cop snapped and gripped me by my forearm, pinching his fingertips into my skin.

“Get offa me!” I screamed.

“You two are under arrest!” he said, as another officer reached for Yvette.

“For what?!” I snapped.

“For shoplifting.”

“I ain't steal nothing!” I tried to snatch away but couldn't.

An officer handcuffed me and yanked me off of the bus and his partner dragged a handcuffed Yvette behind me.

The whole bus was buzzin'. Some kids was laughin' and others was in awe. Old ladies was shakin' they heads, complaining about how this didn't make any sense and we should be ashamed of ourselves. And everybody else was just watchin' and lookin' at us like this was an episode of
Miami Vice
unfolding right in front of them.

I couldn't believe this was really happening. The whole bus was filled with police. You woulda thought we was some real thieves. By the time the officers escorted us back into the mall and tossed us into the security room, Yvette had completely fallen apart. I was doing my best to hold it down for the both of us. All I kept praying is that this fool remembered not to talk. 'Cause as far as I was concerned, I didn't know whose stuff this was.

The security room was filled with television monitors that zoomed in on just about every angle in every store. There was a double mirror that showed the front door. There was also a table that held all of the stuff we'd stolen and two chairs, which we were handcuffed to.

“So you like to steal,” an officer said to us. His eyes going from me to Yvette and back again. “A buncha thieves!”

“I need to call my grandmother,” I spat.

The officer snorted. “We don't have to let you make a call. We could send you straight to juvie and call child welfare.”

“Whatever.”

“Oh, you're a little smart aleck, huh?”

I didn't even respond to that. “You arresting us or what?” I snapped. “Otherwise I need to call my grandmother to come and get me.”

The door opened and the manager from the store we licked off stepped into the room. “Yes! These two! That's them, right there!” She shook her head. “I can't believe this! They are no older than my daughter and are out here stealing! You need to be worried about school! Not ripping people off! I feel sorry for your parents!”

“Trick,” I spat. “I don't need you to feel sorry for me! I got this. Who you should feel sorry for is your mother 'cause she gave birth to a beast.”

“Ma'am,” an officer interrupted, “I'd like to step into another room to discuss the charges with you.”

“I need to call my grandmother!” I yelled.

One of the officers frowned as he spat. “What's the number?”

“555-1212,” I said. The officer dialed the number and held the phone to my ear.

Nana picked up on the first ring. “Praise the Lord. God is good.”

“Nana, it's Isis.”

“What is it?” I could hear her taking a pull of her cigarette.

“Me and Yvette need your help.”

“My help?” She blew out the smoke.

“They got us up here in Livingston Mall. Claiming we were stealing, when we were not. They got stuff up here on the table and I don't know who this mess belongs to. And I don't know where they got the idea that it belongs to us.”

Nana snorted. “I don't think that's a bad idea, actually. 'Cause you two didn't have no money to even cross the street, but you up there at the mall. And you at the mall the same day that Bill said fifty dollars was missing from his wallet. I think I'm beginning to put two and two together.”

“Nana—”

“And Yvette left this dang-gon' baby here and ain't said nothin' to nobody. Just walked out the door? I gotta good mind to leave both y'all lil thievin' asses right where you at and call the state for this lil brat. I don't want no kids. I done raised mine. And I'm not gon' raise no baby. And you two lil thievin' whores. Didn't I tell you I didn't like thieves? I just told you this.”

“I'm not no thief!”

“Shut up! 'Cause you ain't nothing. And you ain't gon' never be nothin' 'cause yo' mama's a slut monkey and daddy is some garbage. Betchu can't call him to come for you. 'Cause he's just like his daddy. Garbage.”

“You comin' or what?”

“I got a good mind to leave you there, let 'em take you to jail, and have the dykes make men outta you.”

“Nana—”

“Don't Nana me. My name is Darleen. Now mark this, if I decide to ask Bill to bring me up there to get you two, this will be the last time I come and get you. So if your stealing behinds get the urge to go five-finger discount shopping again, don't even dial my number. Lose it.”

Click.

The officer hung up the phone and shook his head.

Two hours passed and I started to think maybe Nana wasn't coming. I knew for sure we were about to be carted out of here and taken downtown. I could tell by how bad Yvette was crying that she was thinking the same thing.

But then: “Jesus is the truth and the light.” There was Nana standing there. I'd never been so happy to see her.

“Nana!” I said, and me and Yvette smiled.

“Yes, ma'am,” Nana said to the female officer standing next to her. “That's them.” She held a sleeping Kamari on her shoulder. “And I'm so, so sorry.” She looked at the store manager. “Apologize.” She looked over at us, arching a brow. “Now.”

I started to say, “For what?” But changed my mind. “We're sorry.”

“And that you are,” Nana said. She turned to the store manager. “I know that their fate lies in your hands and I'm not here to persuade you of anything. I just want you to know that they were not raised to be thieves. But when your mothers are junkie whores and you don't know your fathers, there's only so much a grandmother can do.”

The store manager grabbed Nana's hand. “I'm sure you are doing the best you can.”

“I am.” Nana sniffed. “I am. And they are good girls. They are.”

“They don't need to be stealing.”

“You're right. They don't. And if there's any way I can pay you back for the stuff they took, then please tell me what I owe you. I'm on a fixed income, but praise God, anything is possible.”

The manager shook her head. “I should really, really press charges on you girls. Your grandmother is doing the best she can and this is the thanks she gets. Ma'am.” She turned to Nana. “Looks like I have back everything they took. So I'm willing to forget this whole incident, as long as I don't see their faces in my store again.”

“Hallelujah!” Nana waved her hand to Jesus. She looked at us and said, “Say thank you!”

“Thank you,” we mumbled. The officers uncuffed us and Nana handed Kamari to Yvette.

“Truly appreciate this ma'am,” Nana said. “And don't worry, you won't have to see their faces again.”

I fought with everything in me not to cuss the whole room out, and especially Nana 'cause this chick was off the meat rack. But since I didn't wanna push my luck, I stayed quiet.

Mr. Bill was asleep by the time we made it to the car. But he hopped up when we got in and slammed the door.

“Everything all right?” He snorted, wiping the cold from his eyes.

“Yeah, it's cool,” Nana said, turning around toward the back seat. “These two lil bird-brain bimbos wanna steal their way through life, moving around here like thieves in the night. Now I got to tie down and lock up everything I own, 'cause now that Stick has been tossed out into the street, she's been replaced by two more thieves. Goons. Now I don't know where you gon' get the money from and I don't care. All I know is that you better get it from somewhere 'cause Bill need his gas back and I need some money for misconvenience.”

“It's inconvenience,” I mumbled, looking out the window and sinking down into my seat.

I swear this was not my life.

My life had my fly daddy, dressed in his smooth and loud-color suits. Queenie sittin' in the kitchen baggin' up pounds of weed. Face plottin' and schemin'. Schooly dreamin'. Yvette gigglin'. Break dancin'. And B-boys. And hip-hop. And stupid-fresh kicks. And a dope radio blastin' my mix-tapes in the window.

I needed somebody—somewhere—to tell me what happened to my yesterday. Why did Queenie just jet and leave me here? Was my posters still in my room? Was my weed still tucked away in my nightstand drawer? Was mothersuckers down at the playground still scared of me? Was I still thorough? Down by law?

Or was I this weak and pathetic nothin' stuck here, with a beautiful life that had withered to dog shit.