Stealing Candy (10 page)

Saleema stubbornly pressed the doorbell for the third time, and then strained to hear it chime. Competing with the loud hum of a gigantic air conditioner jutting out of a first floor window and the volume of a TV that was turned up sky high was challenging.

Someone was home. Through a crack in the vertical blinds, she could see a pair of flip-flops on the floor and fat feet hovering above them. From Portia’s description, the fat feet probably belonged to her aunt LaRue.

After pressing the button for several long moments, she realized that either the bell didn’t work or Portia’s aunt couldn’t hear it over the sound of the blaring TV. Considering the urgent nature of her visit, she felt justified in pounding on the door.

“Who is it?” shouted an irritated female voice.

“Saleema Sparks…from Head Up!” she yelled loud enough for her voice to penetrate the closed door.

“From where?” LaRue barked out.

Formerly from Head Up,
Saleema thought to herself with a sad sigh. “I’d like to speak to Glennis Burnett.”

“She’s not here.” Agitation coated the woman’s voice.

“Do you know where I can find her? It’s about Portia!” Saleema hollered from the porch. The shouting match was absolutely ridiculous. Why didn’t the lazy heifer get up and open the door?

The door magically swung open and Saleema was face-to-face
with a woman who wore a pissed-off expression on her face. LaRue was huge and seemed to fill the entire width of the doorway. It seemed as though the sound of pounding footsteps should have announced a woman her size, but somehow she had silently hefted herself off the couch and with stealth and agility she didn’t appear to possess, she’d crept to the door. For a woman who weighed over four-hundred pounds, LaRue was very sprightly and light on her feet.

“What about Portia?” LaRue inquired, breathing hard from the effort it took to move stealthily across the living room.

“She’s in the youth detention center—”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

It was too hot and humid for Saleema to be putting up with this woman’s funky attitude. It took all her self-control not to curse her out. She should have been ashamed of her lack of concern for her niece’s welfare. “Portia needs her mom to show up for court.”

“Portia needs her mom to do a lot of stuff, but that don’t mean her mom is gonna do it.” LaRue didn’t have much of a neck, but the couple of thick rolls that were visible beneath her chin were rotating in a confrontational manner.

Fuming inside, Saleema wanted to give this no-neck heifer an ass-kicking or at least a long-winded, profanity-laced scolding. But resorting to violence was no longer an option for Saleema.

“LaRue,” she said softly, pushing back the barrage of cuss words that were lined up on her tongue.

“That’s my name…don’t wear it out!”

Saleema gawked at her.

“Why you staring at me like I’m some damn mirror?” LaRue was wild-eyed; she looked ready to fight.

God! The woman was impossible and uncivilized. Saleema took the insult and asked politely, “Do you have any idea where I can find Portia’s mom?”

LaRue erupted in laughter. The sound was loud, long, and derisive. “Do I look like I know where crack addicts hang out?”

Saleema’s eyes traveled LaRue’s large frame.
No, but I bet you could point me to the nearest Popeyes.
A dozen similar zingers came to mind, but releasing them would not be beneficial to the cause. She reminded herself that she was here to try to get help for Portia, and not to exchange barbs.

“Portia is in a desperate situation. If you have any idea where her mother might be, I’d appreciate it.”

Saleema braced herself for another verbal attack, but the aunt looked at her with a hint of pity in her eyes.

“Searching for Glennis is a waste of time. My sister ain’t thinking about Portia or nobody else. Look, I’m not trying to blow you off, but I was in the middle of watching one of my favorite shows.”

“I apologize for disturbing you, ma’am,” Saleema said courteously.

LaRue grimaced and looked on either side of her wide frame. “Ma’am? You and me look to be around the same age. I ain’t but twenty-six years old, so don’t be talking no ‘ma’am’ shit to me.”

Saleema couldn’t win for losing. She could see why Portia was such a hothead, growing up around this volatile woman.

“Lemme make you understand something,” LaRue said, her big boobs heaving up and down, a meaty hand waving around, and neck rolls undulating. “I intend to enjoy this peace and quiet while it lasts. Glennis can stay gone for as long as she wants to. And Portia…Hmph!” She rolled her eyes in disgust. “Can’t nobody tell her grown-ass nothing.”

“I understand…I know Portia has a short fuse—”

“Short fuse or not…Portia needs to learn a lesson. As far as I’m concerned, she can stay in that detention center ’til she’s old enough to take care of herself.”

LaRue stepped back. She made a big show of stretching out an
arm and grabbing the edge of the door, opening it wider before giving it a powerful slam. Right in Saleema’s face.

Saleema stared at the closed door in disbelief. The TV volume shot up to a deafening pitch. She had no idea what to do next. For a few humiliated moments, she stood on the porch, trying to get her bearings.

Having marinated in its juices for a day, the chicken in mango sauce was even more delicious than when she’d had it for lunch. The encounter with Portia’s evil aunt, and then driving around rough neighborhoods asking drug boys if they’d seen Glennis, had worn Saleema out and given her a huge appetite.

Sitting up in bed with a tray in front of her, she licked sauce off her finger and then picked up the remote. The ten o’clock news on Fox filled the TV screen. The weather segment was on. Tomorrow would be even hotter than today.
Damn.

The day-old Caribbean food was banging. A glass of that delicious strawberry lemonade would really top it off.

She thought about Khalil. Pictured him ordering their food. Reminisced about their walk to the restaurant. Saw him standing outside her car. Umph, umph, umph. When her mind began conjuring up X-rated images of her new friend, she forced thoughts of Khalil aside.
We’re platonic,
she told her mind.

Determinedly, she forked a chunk of chicken dripping with savory sauce. Eyes back on the TV screen, but she wasn’t watching. She couldn’t stop thinking about Khalil. Good looks aside, it was his candidness, his self-assuredness, his commitment to troubled kids that touched her at a deep level.

Still, she had no choice but to accept the platonic friendship he’d
extended. She was a woman with a past. A practically broke and uneducated woman with a past. Even worse, she held a horrible, nightmarish secret.

Thinking about the ghastly night in the swamp caused dreamy thoughts of Khalil to instantly fly right out of her mind. Shaken, she also lost her appetite as well. She closed the lid of the container and put the wooden tray on the table next to the bed.

Scooting out of bed, ready to return the exotic food to the fridge, her cell rang. She checked the display. Unavailable. Frowning, she answered. “Hello?”

“Hey, Miss Saleema. This is Amirah. My cell got cut off so I’m using a friend’s phone. Guess what?” Amirah asked excitedly.

“What?” Saleema humored Amirah.

“I was over Greta’s house, kicking it with her sister, Brandi. You not gon’ believe this, Miss Saleema. You know Greta didn’t have any priors or anything and she was supposed to get out of the detention center today, but she can’t because they’re all on lockdown.”

“Why?”

“You ready for this?”

“Amirah…what happened at the detention center?”

“According to Brandi, Greta was allowed to make a phone call and she said that Portia and some Puerto Rican girl broke out. They tied together sheets and got out through a window…like in the movies.”

“Oh, my God!”

“I know, right? Portia is a hot mess. Always finding ways to stay in trouble. But she’s messing with the wrong people now. This isn’t like getting in trouble in school. Brandi said that if they catch up with her, she’s gon’ have to do some hard time. We might not see her ’til she’s eighteen.” Amirah sounded overjoyed about that prospect.

Saleema’s entire body tensed. Her mouth hung open.
Why would Portia do something so stupid?

And why did the city have them housed in that temporary location in the East Falls? The place had been plagued with escapes in the past few months.

“I have to go, Amirah.” Saleema disconnected and immediately scrolled through the list of numbers and called the detention center.

Amazingly, she got a live person on the phone, but when she asked if Portia was okay…if she was present and accounted for, the woman told Saleema that she couldn’t give out any information.

Saleema hung up.

She dressed quickly. Sliding her feet into a pair of sandals, she grabbed her handbag and the keys to her dependable Camry.

Twenty minutes later, she pulled up to the curb in front of Portia’s house. This time, she didn’t bother to ring the bell. With a balled fist, she banged on the door. She heard grumpy mumbling and then the door flung open.

“Can I get a break? Damn! First the cops, now you. What do you want now?”

“The cops were here?”

“Duh…don’t you watch the news? My niece and some other female convict escaped; they on the loose.”

Saleema felt her heart tug for Portia. The girl was not nearly as street savvy as she thought. She knew nothing about surviving out on the streets. That poor child was headed for unimaginable trouble.

“I know one thing, Portia better not even think about bringing her fugitive ass nowhere near this house. She ain’t dragging me in this mess. I’m on disability. This kind of nonsense could mess up my check.”

“Mess up your check? How?” Saleema wondered aloud. Portia
had warned her that her aunt suspected anything and everything other than her out-of-control eating could mysteriously interfere with the continuation of her disability income.

LaRue glared at Saleema. “Don’t worry about it, cuz it ain’t gon’ happen. Portia knows that I’m not the one. There’s not a chance in hell that I’d be stupid enough to mess up my check by harboring a fugitive. Now can you please get off my steps so I can lock up my house properly.”

“Aren’t you worried about your niece?”

“Hell no. She thinks she grown, so let her worry about her own damn self. The police said I should get a security system installed—just in case Portia tries to slip in to get some of her things. Hmph. I’d like to know who’s gonna pay for some dang security system. I’m on a fixed income.”

“Did you give the police any information on Portia’s mom… you know…her whereabouts?”

“I don’t know her whereabouts.” Agitated, LaRue rolled her eyes. “You sure ask a lot of questions. Who you s’pose to be, the FBI or somebody?”

“I’m concerned about Portia. I told you earlier that she used to be a member of my social club, Head Up. She has so much potential—”

“Uh-huh, she has the potential…to be a pain in the butt,” LaRue interjected.

“Aren’t you concerned about Portia?”

“No! I’m concerned about changing these locks.” She squinted at the top lock on the door. “I’m washing my hands of both Portia and her mother. My grandmother left this house to both me and Glennis, but I’m the one who pays the taxes. With a drug addict coming and going and stealing anything that isn’t nailed down, and now with her wild child running from the law, I think I’m
within my legal rights to change these here locks. Enough is enough.”

“I understand your frustration. But Portia…” Saleema held out her hands, a plea for Portia. “She’s only a child. It’s so dangerous for a young girl to be without adult supervision and a secure roof over her head.”

LaRue smiled coldly. “Maybe you’ll get lucky, and little Miss Potential will turn up on your doorstep. Have a good night,” she said and closed the door.

The discussion was over. The sound of the lock clicking into place was Saleema’s cue to be on her way.

Defeated, she returned to her car.

 
 CHAPTER 11

Driving his recently purchased Cadillac, Bullet pulled into a side street behind the Rite Aid Pharmacy…far from the entrance and out of range of the security camera. It was a ten-year-old car, needing a new repair every other week, but Bullet kept it shiny and looking good.