The End of the Line (10 page)

“I’m
not afraid of you,” Peter said without the slightest trepidation. “You don’t
scare me.”

“Let’s
go, Peter,” Latesha insisted in a fast whisper. She turned to the teenagers.
“Everybody go home.”

The
girl who had given Peter the finger shouted at the skinhead. “Get lost!”

“Shut
up, bitch!”

“Who
the hell are you, punk?” Peter said to the tattooed man, his body tensing.

No
one moved. The bald man’s face suddenly became extremely animated and his
friends started laughing and goading him. He had an ominous expression and it
seemed he was going to get out of the car. Peter did not move. He was ready to
fight.

“Come
on, Peter, let’s go,” Latesha pleaded, lightly pulling on his arm and backing
away from the aggressive strangers.

Suddenly
the sound of very loud music reached them. Everyone in the parking lot looked
simultaneously and saw a huge black car carrying two black men.
X Gon Give it 2 Ya
by DMX blared from
their sound system. At the last moment, the car whipped into the parking lot
and came to a screeching stop halfway between Peter and Latesha on the right
and the car with the white men on the left. The black teenagers started to
chatter amongst themselves. A huge black man in a white T-shirt, his massive
and muscular arms on display, turned down the music and got out of the car.
Everyone knew by the look on his face that there was going to be trouble.

Big
trouble.

Chapter Five

“What’s
up, Latesha?” the massive black man asked in a deep voice. He looked
suspiciously at Peter and the white men in the car. “Everything all right?”

“I’m
just heading home, Tiny,” she said.

“You
don’t look right.”

Latesha
wrapped her hand around Peter’s biceps. “Peter is a friend of mine and we were
just out for a walk.”

“Okay,”
Tiny said, turning to the three white men in the muscle car.

A
second vehicle carrying six black men suddenly appeared, also with loud music
blaring. Tiny waved and pointed to a spot in the parking lot. The driver
immediately turned off the music and whipped into a space directly behind the
white men, blocking them from leaving. The white men turned around with a
surprised look and the driver looked frantic as he glanced at his friend in the
back seat. The passenger, however, smiled like a devil and seemed to enjoy the
situation. All the black men in the second car got out and leaned against
Tiny’s Buick.

Tiny
looked from Latesha to Peter and then to the black men who just arrived. “The
guy with Latesha is cool.”

The
newly arrived group nodded slightly without speaking and turned to the three
white men in the car.

“They
were out for a walk when these three cowboys pulled into town.” Tiny looked at
the passenger with the shaved head and swastika tattoo. “That right, son?”

“They
asked us for the time,” Latesha lied in a calm voice. “We told them and they
were just about to leave.”

“Oh?”
Tiny said, turning his massive barrel chest to the men. “I’ve known Latesha
since she was a little girl and I can tell she don’t look right, and I really
don’t think it was because you three clowns asked her what time it was.” He
looked at Latesha and held his hands apart. “With all due respect, Latesha, I
ain’t buying.”

Latesha
had a pained look on her face. “I don’t want any trouble, Tiny.”

He
stared at the tattooed man. “Trouble found us, and I’m looking right at it.”

The
passenger sneered and looked straight ahead, his swastika clearly visible. But
then he glanced in the mirror. “There’s a car blocking us,” he said.

Tiny
shrugged. “You’re a genius, boy.”

The
white passenger slowly turned to Tiny with a look of superiority. “Tell them to
move it...boy.”

Tiny
looked at his friends and laughed. “Will someone get on the phone and call the
newspaper. This is a big story, man. We have a marvel of nature here, an
asshole that can talk.”

The
eight black men laughed loudly.

“Eat
shit,” the man said with a homicidal glare.

Tiny
walked over to the car, put his gigantic hands on the door, and leaned close to
the white passenger. “I’ll tell you what, asshole. I ain’t gonna eat nothin’,
but I’m about this far,”—he held his thumb and forefinger close together—“from
ripping out your tongue and shoving it down your god damned throat.”

The
white man looked belligerent. “Is that right, Clyde?”

Latesha
and Peter did not try to intercede, but like everyone else they watched the
drama unfold. Suddenly a white Chevy truck with an extended cab slowed by the
store, stopped, then backed up and pulled into the parking lot next to Tiny’s
car. It had a metal frame on the back stacked with scaffolding and ladders.
Inside were two white men. The driver was about sixty and wore his hair in a
one-inch flat top. The passenger sat in the back, though the seat beside the
driver was empty, and he was at least eighty years old. He wore his hair the
exact same way as the driver, though he sat as still as a statue, as if in a
hypnotic trance. On the side of the truck was written
Donnie Strong Demolition and Construction
. The driver quickly made
a call on his cell phone and then lowered his window.

“What’s
up, Tiny?” he asked.

Tiny
looked at him. “These boys came here looking for trouble.”

“They’re
my wife’s cousins,” Donnie said with a meaningful look. “They’re visiting from
the States. Just got in last night.”

Tiny
was not appeased. “They’re lookin’ for trouble.”

Donnie
sighed and looked at the white men. “What did you say?”

The
passenger with the tattoo looked at him. “I told those two”—he pointed at Peter
and Latesha—“that they should stick to their own kind.”

“He
threatened to beat up the white guy,” said the same black girl who had given
Peter the finger earlier. “Latesha’s man stood up to him, though,” she said,
obviously impressed.

Donnie
crooked an eyebrow and turned to the old, statue-like man in the back seat.
“What do you say, Daddy Strong?”

Daddy
Strong said nothing.

Tiny
rolled his tongue around in his mouth. “Nobody rolls into your home and
disrespects your people. That’s some happening shit, Daddy Strong.”

Donnie
turned to his father. “It’s your decision, Daddy Strong.”

Daddy
Strong, a fleck of dried saliva on the corner of his mouth, suddenly turned and
looked directly at Tiny. “Sticks and stones.”

Donnie
smirked and leaned out the window. “There you have it, Tiny. A ruling direct
from Daddy Strong himself. Sticks and stones will break your bones, but names
will never hurt you.”

Tiny
said nothing, but he seemed to be considering his options. “All right,” he said
after lengthy consideration, “I’ll give you that ruling because Daddy Strong
spoke to it direct. But little Adolf here scared Latesha, and that’s bones.”

The
look of amusement that had been on Donnie’s face suddenly disappeared. He
looked at his father and saw the old man’s expression change as well. The two
men now looked extremely serious and Donnie started biting his lip.

“That
don’t pass inspection,” Tiny said.

Donnie
sighed loudly. “How long you been out, Tiny?”

“Month.”

“You
don’t want to go back, do you?”

“Nobody
wants to go to jail.”

Donnie
shrugged calmly. “If you lay your fist upside that white boy’s head, that’s
exactly what will happen to you.” He rubbed his forehead. “I don’t want you to
go back to jail either. You’re above that.”

“If
I do nothing, I lose my juice.” He shrugged. “And what’s a man without his
juice?”

“But
you got me in a box,” Donnie replied, shaking his head. “Them boys is staying
at my home. They’re my wife’s relatives. If I sit here and let you smack them,
I’m going to be sleeping alone. I don’t like sleeping alone. So there you have
it. If you smack them, I lose my juice.”

“I
got no choice,” Tiny said, spreading his hands in front of his chest. “A man’s
got to do what a man’s got to do.”

Donnie
wasn’t finished negotiating. “I take my dad with me everywhere I go because he
can’t stand sitting at home anymore. But he never said one word these last few
months. Not one. Oh, he can hear and talk real fine, but he got tired of
dealing with things and decided to just tune out. So we drive up and down the
roads and he never said a word until today, hey, Daddy.”

The
old man stared mutely ahead. Latesha and Peter, along with everyone else in the
parking lot, could clearly see a dark scowl on his face, but nobody knew what
he was going to say or do. The atmosphere was edgy.

“What
do you say, Daddy Strong?” Donnie asked with a perplexed look. “What should we
do about this? Give me some direction.”

The
old man suddenly turned and looked at his son. He picked up a box from the seat
beside him. “Give a cigar to cousin,” he said, pointing at the man with the
Nazi tattoo. “To sticks and stones.”

Donnie
was surprised by the instruction. “You want me to get out and walk this cigar
over to cousin?”

The
old man nodded solemnly. Donnie took the box, opened the truck door, and got
out. An older man, Donnie was still an imposing figure, though he walked with a
marked limp. Tiny and the other black men stepped aside and allowed him to walk
over to the muscle car. When he reached the car, he showed the three white men
an artistically decorated box and let them read the fancy writing.

“Havana
Gold Premier,” the tattooed man said with a self-satisfied smile.

Donnie
nodded, opened the box to reveal one remaining cigar, and then glanced back at
Daddy Strong. Donnie pointed at the man with the swastika tattoo and asked his
father if he should give the cigar to him.

“He
gets my very last cigar!” Daddy Strong called out in an authoritative voice,
loud enough for everyone to hear. “Give it to him!”

Everyone
watched Donnie hand the tattooed man his father’s last cigar. The man accepted
it with great pleasure and unwrapped it as Donnie got back into his truck. Soon
he was holding a match to it and puffing away. When it was well lit, the man
turned to Tiny and blew smoke at him. Tiny’s eyes narrowed and a vein popped
out in his neck.

Suddenly,
three more trucks, all full of white men ranging in age from twenty to forty,
pulled into the parking lot. At least ten men got out, including a huge man
wearing a body shirt and sporting a military-type crew cut. Not thirty seconds
later, two cars, each with single black occupants, pulled off the road across
from the store. The men, looking confused, sat back and watched the
proceedings.

“Ivan!”
Donnie called without looking back. “You come here, but tell everyone else to
hang tight.”

Ivan,
six-foot-six and weighing at least two hundred and eighty pounds, spoke to the
others and then walked toward Donnie. He glanced at Tiny with no expression, and
then locked eyes with Latesha for a couple seconds. Neither of them spoke.

“What’s
up, Dad?” Ivan asked Donnie in a deep voice.

“We
have a situation here.”

“Oh?”
Ivan said as he stopped by the truck window.

Donnie
nodded. “It seems like your mother’s kin have been a little impolite.”

Latesha
unconsciously shuffled closer to Peter and the teenagers crowded round, not
saying anything but listening intently. By now the storekeeper was standing on
the step and, like everyone else, watching with bated breath.

“Me
and Daddy Strong like peace and quiet,” Donnie said to no one in particular,
though everyone listened to every word he spoke. “Peace and quiet is good. It
makes us happy.”

“They
broke the peace and quiet,” Tiny said.

“Ivan
and Latesha went through school together,” Donnie said in a thoughtful way. “Me
and Daddy Strong used to watch them play soccer together when they were in
elementary school. Remember that, Daddy Strong? Remember how we used to watch
them beat all those teams from the city? You used to say Latesha could run like
the wind.”

Daddy
Strong had a permanent harsh, distant expression, but suddenly pleasant
memories manifested themselves in his features and an uncharacteristic smile
traced across his lips. “Like the wind,” he said.

“I
like it when everybody gets along,” Donnie continued. “I like it when nobody
has to look over his shoulder. I don’t want that to change.” He looked at Ivan.
“But there’s a big problem, son. They said some things they shouldn’t have and
that’s borderline. Sticks and stones. Daddy Strong made the call himself.”

“Daddy
Strong made the call?” Ivan said with a meaningful look. “It’s over and done
then.”

Donnie
glanced at his father, then back to his son. “But somebody scared Latesha.”

“Scared
Latesha?” Ivan said quietly, his expression changing. “Who?”

Daddy
Strong slowly and deliberately turned his head toward the white men in the car.
Even though the man was old and feeble, when he prepared to speak, everyone
watched and listened. There was absolute silence. “The man with the cigar,” he
said.

Ivan
walked over to the muscle car and without a word suddenly drew back and
unexpectedly punched the white man hard in the mouth. The blow was so violent,
and the cracking sound so loud, that Latesha and Peter cringed. The cigar went
flying and the driver jumped around like a maniac, brushing the hot embers off
his lap. The tattooed passenger rocked back and forth, shrieking like a wounded
animal. He moaned and held his face with both hands. Then he spit out a couple
teeth and looked up with blood dripping from his mouth, his lips beginning to
swell immediately. His nose looked broken. Neither of his friends made the
slightest move to assist him.

“I
don’t care if you’re family or not,” Ivan said, towering over the car like an
enraged grizzly bear, “you’re not bringing that garbage here.” His face was set
in stone, every muscle taut, and he looked as if he was literally on the verge
of killing the man, of beating him to death with his bare hands. “If you ever
scare Latesha again I’ll rip your god damned head off.”

The
man who had been struck was still rocking and groaning, but he was also looking
at Ivan and listening to every word.

Donnie
stared at the injured man, whose face now looked almost deformed. He turned to
Tiny. “When I get home, we’re going sit down and have a nice long talk. Count
on that.” He paused. “The only offense was his mouth, but now he’s got a new
mouth. What I’m trying to say, Tiny, is that every man deserves a second
chance. You believe that, don’t you?”

“Keep
talking,” Tiny said.

“I
give you my word,” Donnie pledged, “that if this man ever scares Latesha again,
or if he ever brings a foul mouth back to Beechwood, we’ll take care to shut
him up. You have my word.”

“Your
word’s always been gold here,” Tiny said.

“We
cool?”

“We
cool,” Tiny said, looking at the other black men, all of whom greatly enjoyed
listening to the tattooed man groan.

“Cool,”
several of the black men said in unison, nodding casually.

Tiny
signaled to them and the car blocking the white men was moved. Ivan nodded and
gestured for the white men to get into their trucks. He then walked up to
Latesha.