Team Mom (8 page)

When they walked in the door, Jarques went to his room, and Shonda and Coach enjoyed some time in the back room, on the couch, remaining there almost until David Letterman was done with his routine.

“You know I want you to stay, don't you?” Shonda said. She was beginning to cuddle up real nice like.

Coach felt her hand move down to his lap. “Yeah, I can tell.”

“So why don't you?”

She put her soft brown lips back on his for the second or third time.

“As much as I want to, I can't.”

“Oh, yes, you can.” Shonda put her leg over his.

He laughed. “Uh-uh. No, I can't.”

“Robbie . . .”

“Don't want to disrespect J like that. Believe it or not, he'll be a man soon enough, and what I show him now, he's going to be taking notes on.”

The couple began to kiss again until they could barely continue without ripping off each other's clothes.

“I better go,” Coach said.

“Yes, you better, before I take you right here,” Shonda told him.

Coach's plan was to get home and get ready for a big day, the next day on the job. He knew he had to be reissued his street gear, and there would probably be more than enough ribbing from the guys on the force than he could stand. He realized he would have to change his entire demeanor now that he had been on the inside and was going back out. He knew what being on the outside did to him. It made him angry, impatient, and full of sadness at the same time. This was a chance to prove to himself that he didn't have to become angry at the system and to overcome the loss of his family without taking it out on someone else.

After Shonda sent him home after one last kiss, Coach got into the car. The feeling he experienced at that moment was close to the excitement teenagers routinely felt. He felt charged and rejuvenated by Shonda's encouragement to get back on the streets and do what he'd been doing for the thirteen years before his family's accident set him back. Getting back on the streets wasn't going to be hard to do, because while at work Coach had kept his eyes and ears peeled on all the other officers and knew what they were going through. Plus, he had continued to go to the shift meetings, so he was always in the loop.

In order to get home, Coach had to go in Mr. Tall's direction again. Another drive-by seemed like a good idea, as he was still getting used to the patrol car. When he drove past Mr. Tall's home, the light was on in one of the front rooms, and he smiled because he knew that Mr. Tall was probably inside talking shit to Ms. Lois about how good a football player he used to be. After passing Mr. Tall's house, he drove down to Ms. Lois's home, backed into her driveway, and sat there for thirty minutes, just listening to the chatter on the police radio and keeping a watch. Thankfully, his watch was without incident.

The next morning, hours before the shift meeting, Coach was back at the department and ready for duty. He walked to the watch commander's office, tapped on the door, and walked in. The watch commander was barely awake and looked up at the sight before his eyes. Before Coach could say one word, the watch commander broke into a boisterous laugh, and Coach stood there, wondering what it was all about.

“How long did it take you to polish those shoes?” the watch commander asked.

“What're you talking about?” Coach said.

“And that gotdamned dress uniform. Where the fuck are you going?”

“Hey, it's my first day back on the job. I'm just respecting my position,” Coach informed him.

“Your position?”

“Damn right. My position.”

The watch commander stood up from his desk and walked over to Coach and checked him out some more. “You sure look good.”

Coach looked down at his shoes then tugged on his jacket, smoothing out his uniform. He was really proud of himself now. “Thanks.”

“But you better take this shit off,” the watch commander told him and began to laugh again.

Coach said, “What the hell are you talking about? I'm back on the streets today.”

“Go and take this shit off and get into a suit. You're a detective now.”

“A detective?”

The watch commander walked back behind his desk and stood there with a smile on his face. “That's right.” He pulled a detective's badge out of one of his desk drawers. “This fucking thing has been in here since . . . well, you know. You made detective the same day. I just pushed it aside. Congrats, Detective.” The watch commander held out his hand to give Coach the badge.

Coach didn't move.

“Here. Take it. You deserve it. By the way, you'll be one of the first to get one of those new Chevy Caprices. They'll be here in the morning. The damn thing has three hundred fifty-five horses inside, you lucky bastard. At least headquarters has gotten something right.”

A gotdamned detective. Coach hated surprises, and his brother in-law knew that, but he really enjoyed this one. Back in the day, before the tragedy, becoming a detective was one of his main goals. While he'd told his wife that his life as a street cop wouldn't be forever, it had taken until this moment for all his efforts on the streets to pay off. And to know that this slot had been there for him ever since the tragedy . . . Coach had to try to wrap his mind around being a detective. He hadn't thought about it one time since he lost his wife. It was hard for him to even remember thinking about how he would tackle the position. When he was a regular police officer who drove a squad car with one of his twenty partners in thirteen years on duty, he would visualize himself walking into crime scenes and solving cases. Coach was pleasantly surprised to find out that his work before the accident was being recognized.

The watch commander told him that he was expected to get his feet wet nice and slow. He was to finish up any pressing business he had in public relations, and then he would be assigned the task of tracking down those responsible for the home break-ins and the terrorist-style threat that was handed out to Ms. Lois Gregory. Coach didn't know it, but Lois had informed the county commissioners about the threat too. It turned out that Lois knew many of the younger commissioners who lived in the area as they had had her for a teacher. Those high-level suits weren't pleased, and they wanted answers and an arrest made as soon as possible to show their respect for her.

One thing Coach did remember about wanting to be a detective was the fact that every time he stepped into the street to investigate a crime, he wanted to be sharp and dressed to the nines. The upgrade to detective was a code word for suit shopping and lots of it. With a game coming up on Saturday, Sunday would be his first chance to get a suit, or two or three, or probably four. Coach was going to need more time. So he decided that he would take the next day off and go shopping. Given the educational value of watching a man go through the process of being fitted for a suit, he thought it would be a good thing for Jarques to tag along with him. And he'd make sure that Jarques got fitted too. But first, Coach had to convince Shonda to let Jarques accompany him.

“Take him out of school?” This was about as loud as Coach had heard Shonda's voice.

“Yeah. It's an educational trip,” he replied.

“To do what again?”

“Show the boy how a man shops. Show him how to get fitted for a suit and buy shoes, shirts, and ties.”

“What do you mean? You just go to the store and pick one off the rack and go to church.” That had been the norm for Shonda. It was a quick and worry-free way of shopping.

“See, that's what I'm talking about,” Coach said. “That is not how you properly purchase a suit. He needs to get fitted. Let the seamstress or tailor measure his chest, arms, and legs so the suit will fit him just right. Then he has to see what type of cut looks good on him, what he likes. It takes longer than fifteen minutes to get a suit. Trust me, he will never forget it, and he needs to know how to do this.”

Shonda still had questions. “Are you serious?”

“Yes, and let's not forget about the shoes, shirts, and ties. This is going to be an all-day affair. We are going to have to be out and about as soon as the stores open if we are going to get everything we need.”

“All this because you made detective?” Shonda asked.

“Yes. Plus, we'll have a chance to hang out.”

“Okay, but I don't want you to buy him a lot of stuff.”

“What's a lot?”

“Bags full of stuff, so much that he begins to think he's a man himself.”

Coach laughed. “I keep telling you he practically is, but I'll make sure he gets a couple of suits and some shoes, okay?”

“That's it?”

“That's it.”

Lois had been looking in Mr. Tall's backyard that morning. When she saw the grill that he'd told her he had made by hand, it reminded her of the ribs and barbecue chicken he would bring down to her house from time to time. Since it was the end of the week. Lois talked Mr. Tall into barbecuing some ribs on the oversize grill in his backyard.

Mr. Tall enjoyed Lois's cooking as well. She always had healthy helpings of black-eyed peas and collard greens at the ready. Lois let him know that she had both in her freezer down at her house and that it would be a good time to go get them as they could thaw them and put everything together for a tasty meal.

Things had never been so weird for Lois. She had lived in her house for over thirty years, and now she was sneaking in and out because she didn't feel safe living there all alone. She wanted to get a little me time and enjoy the beautiful weather, so she told Mr. Tall she'd be back later as he started to wipe down the grill and place some charcoal inside it.

As she walked down the street, she encountered two neighbors who were outside. One was sitting in a lawn chair close to his garage, and the other was walking around in circles in the yard with his dog. She stopped to engage in small talk with them. They both knew what was going on in the neighborhood and let her know that they'd been keeping an eye out. Her neighbor with the dog even let her know that he had noticed a police car in her driveway the other night, which made Lois feel a little better.

When Lois stepped inside her home, the first thing she remembered was that she wanted to turn off the air-conditioning. The nights were becoming a lot cooler, and she had decided to run the ceiling fans in place of the air-conditioning, which would keep the house fresh during the day while saving money on the electric bill. She made her way over to one of the ceiling fans and turned it on. The control to the air conditioner was right beside it, and she turned it off.

“I like the air-conditioning better. These ceiling fans fuck with my sinuses,” a male voice said.

Lois gasped and placed her hand on her chest, as she could see someone with his back toward her. He was sitting in the high-back chair in her living room. The same chair in which she watched her favorite TV shows and read her novels. Her first instinct was to get out of the house as fast as possible, but the moment she turned to leave, she was stopped by a person standing between her and the door.

“You going somewhere?”

Lois looked up at the person holding her by the arm. She couldn't see his face, because he was wearing a white mask and a baseball cap. He forced her to turn around.

“Get your hand off me!” she said as forcefully as she could.

“Or what? Yo, do you hear this bitch telling me what to do?” the masked punk said.

Lois could tell by his voice that he was young.

There was laughter coming from the living room, from the person still sitting in her chair.

She could tell that he was a young male too, and although she couldn't see their faces, she realized from their voices that they were the ones who had threatened her before.

“What? What is it you want, and why are you in my house again?”

“
Your
house?” the masked one asked.

“Yes,
my
house, and I said, ‘Get your hands off me.'” She tried to pull away.

“This is
my
house, bitch,” he said. “And we needed someplace to stay the night. We thought you'd be down the street again with your boyfriend. Next time you decide to come down here, you ought to let us know.” When he cursed her, she wasn't surprised.

“You know, your mother should have taught you better than this,” Lois told him.

“Well, she didn't. Now what?”

“You should go back and tell her that she wronged you, boy. That's what.”

He looked over her head and into the living room, at the one in the chair. “Yo, you hear this bitch?”

“Your mother was pretty trifling, though.”

They both laughed some.

“See? Everyone knows,” Lois said.

Lois looked at the door, and the masked one caught her in the act and turned to the door and turned the knob to the dead bolt. “Don't even think about it,” he said.

“Yo, bring her in here and keep a lookout,” the home invader sitting in the living room yelled out to his partner.

The masked one grabbed Lois by the arm, dragged her in front of his partner sitting in her chair, then took up position behind her drapes, covering the window, to keep an eye out.

“That's my favorite chair,” Lois said.

The punk in the chair laughed a little.

“I don't know why you are sitting in it with a mask over your face. I already know who you are,” she told him.

“So you know who I am?”

“Yes, I do.”

“You seem to know a lot, don't you?”

Lois didn't back down. “I know who you are. I know that much.”

“What else do you know?”

Lois didn't understand the question and didn't answer back.

He made it clear to her. “Do you know why that police car sat in your driveway last night?”

“Probably looking for you,” she said without hesitation.

“If they wanted me, they could have come inside and got me. How do they know about me, anyway?”

“I told them, that's how. If you're old enough to make threats, then you're old enough to handle what comes after that.”

This guy didn't respond, and that forced the punk looking out the window to glance back at him.

Lois looked at both of them before she spoke. “I don't know what's wrong with you boys today,” she said. “Do you really think you can just threaten people and come in their home because you feel like it and take it over?”

The punk at the window turned around. “Looks like I can, don't it?”

“But you're going to get caught, and when you do, I'm going to be there to watch you get put in jail,” Lois promised.

“You sure of that?”

“There is no doubt about it,” Lois said. By now she was fed up with being a hostage in her own home, and she ran for the door.

The young intruder who was sitting sprang out of the chair and grabbed her by the arm. “Where do you think you're going?”

“Get out of here!” Lois yelled at him. “Get out!”

“We will get out when you finally answer the question that man asked you,” said the punk at the window.

“Question? What question?” She struggled to free herself.

“Whose house is this?” said the punk who had grabbed her. He was now squeezing her arm harder and harder by the second. Then, without warning, he punched her in the face. “I said, whose house is this?” And he punched her again and again and again.