Emhart County is buzzing with the death of Marcus McGraw, brother of Bud McGraw and cousin to Nick and Brody. The newspapers scream that it was gang-related shooting.
I know for a fact that not many people liked Marcus, as he was an asshole. I was one of those many people.
He was a rude, racist pig who rode on the McGraw name.
But I met him when I dated Brody, so I’m shocked at his death.
Since his death is gang-related, it is major cause for alarm and people fear that it could spiral out of control and more youths could die.
Anyway, I’m perturbed enough to approach Bud, who is standing next to Nick. “Hey, Bud,” I say. “Just wanted to offer my sympathies. I lost my mom and dad, so I know how hard it …”
“Yeah, well, guess what nig - I’m gonna become a cop one day just so that I can beat the shit out of all the niggas ’round me.” He slams his fist into his palm as he speaks, a menacing snarl on his face. “Plenty time for me to get my revenge.” He suddenly smiles, flooring me. I stare at him, unsure what to say. I mean, he just lost his brother so I feel sorry for him; at the same time, he’s being such a dipshit.
When his phone rings, he steps aside to take the call.
I look at Nick. “He’s kidding, right?”
Nick shrugs.
“So who did it?”
“That fucker Trojan and his asshole friends.”
“Trojan? You sure?”
“Oh yeah. This has been going on for a while now. It was bound to happen sooner or later.”
“Wow!” I think about the flowers, the bunny, the fake tattoos …
Is he really capable of killing someone? Disappointment wells inside of me.
“Heard he gave you a hundred dollar tip.” Nick’s tone is accusing.
“What?!” Word sure gets around quickly. “I ..eh …”
“Don’t be fooled by it.”
“Whaddyamean?”
“You’re a witness to him shooting. He can’t let you live.”
I’m not gonna mention the flowers and bunny rabbit, of course. “He’s had plenty opportunity to do it,” I say.
“Oh, he will, he will. Give him time.”
I look at the ground. Maybe that’s why he’s been chasing me, sending me flowers and stuff – to soften me up – get me to change my story.
“Word is, he’s placed a hit on Brody.”
“Whaaaaat?! Ohmigod! You serious?”
“Yeah.”
Now that changes things. I will not let him hurt Brody. “I’m gonna go talk to him.”
“What you gonna say that’s gonna make a difference, Burn?”
“I dunno, but ...” I grab my bag and sling it onto my shoulder. “I can’t sit around and do nothing.”
“Burn, I don’t think it’s a good idea to …”
“How … how is Brody, these days, Nick?”
He looks at the ground, then at me. “Miserable.”
“Oh.”
“Fighting with my parents over you.”
My spirits soar as his words. “But I’ve noticed he’s with Alicia?”
He shrugs. “Parent pressure – it’s worse than peer-pressure.”
“That’s too bad – an arranged marriage in this day and age? In the US? It’s tragic. Anyway, I will talk to Trojan. Where do I find him, though?”
“Under some rock.”
I chuckle. “Yeah.”
“I think you should stay away from that cunt.”
“Yeah … see ya, Nick. I’ll let you know how it goes. Going to find Luther. He’ll know which rock I must look under for that cunt.”
Luther is only too happy to spill it. “Goer’s Gym,” he says. “Hangs out there all the time, maan.”
“Not a good idea you visiting him, shawty,” Luther says. “Why don’t you come sit on my lap instead?”
“In your dreams Luther,” I say and walk away.
I find this whole Brody/Trojan thing a little daunting and unsettling.
Erro appears in my line of vision. “Why you frowning?” she asks. “You seem stressed.”
I slow down my steps. “Well, what exactly do I say to Trojan, Erro? I mean I practically snubbed him, talked crap about him to everyone – now I must go and ask him to lay off my boyfriend? He might tell me to jump in the lake.”
“That’s ex-boyfriend. And what will you say then?”
“Yeah, ex-boyfriend.” Hate that word. “I will say, ‘I will if you join me.’” I look at Erro and chuckle. “You know what a smartass I am.”
“As a matter of fact, I do. I think he does too, Burn. In fact, I think that everyone who knows you, knows what a smart ass you are.”
“I can’t help it – I’m wired that way.”
“Well, appeal to his kindness. Flatter him. Tell him what big muscles he has and how much you like his …” She gestures to his Dreads. “Tell him that you love his sense of humor, yadda, yadda, yadda.”
“Guess I can do that. After all, he got me my job back – that means he plays fair.”
“There you go.”
“Then he gave me the biggest tip ever …”
“Exactly. You will mean everything you say, all the compliments you give him.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” I peer at Erro. “When did you get so smart?”
“The same time you became a smartass.”
We giggle.
“You know, Erro, I think I know why they paired us – we’re both crackpots.”
“Speak for yourself. I’m as sane as …” she wriggles her mouth as she thinks about it, “Nah, you’re right, we’re both loopy.”
Our giggles morph into laughter.
“Now, listen, when you go there to see Negro, dress … you know, nice.”
“’Negro’? Who says ‘Negro’ these days?”
“These days? Burn, I died twenty years ago!”
“Omigod! You serious?”
“As a hernia – which is what I died of, by the way.”
“People die of hernias? That’s awful! Terrible.” I squint at her. “What is a hernia?”
She rolls her eyes. “Never mind – back to the clothes bit – easy on the eye does it. And wear high heel shoes.”
“We call it ‘heels’ these days. Just ‘heels’ – not ‘high heel shoes.”
“Mff. Thank you very much for enlightening me,” she says in a sneering voice.
My turn to ‘mff’.
****
Goers gym is thumping. Dressed in my “high-heels”, an easy-on-the-eye tank, and an easy-on-the-eye short black skirt, I weave my way through bulging biceps, protruding pectorals, and gorgeous glutes (which I resist the temptation to grab) as I try to spot Trojan, the bunny-and-flowers-giving-fake-tattoo murderer. Wonder if anyone will notice if I whip out my iPhone and snap away at these fine specimens scattered around me. So what if I’m labelled a pervert?
I spot Trojan with Curtis the dickhead and some other guys, pumping iron and laughing about something.
Trojan wears a cut-away Tee that shows off his bulging muscles and clings to his chest, outlining his ripped abs. Have to say, he’s one of them I’d like to photograph. Under normal circumstances I would have been interested. If my heart didn’t still belong to the son of two racist, Bible-quoting hypocrites.
Trojan’s eyebrows shoot up when he sees me.
“Hi,” I say in an extra friendly voice. “Bet I can lift double that?”
“Hey!” he says with a smile. “Didn’t know you work out here.”
“I don’t.” I drop my voice. “I’m stalking you.”
“What?” He puts down the weight.
I laugh at the glimmer of nervousness in his eyes. “Relax, you’re not that lucky. I just wanna talk to you.”
“Ah, so you came to ask me out to dinner!” he says, folding his arms across his chest, a smile on his face.
“Eh …” I look at all the other curious faces around us. “Eh, in private? Please?”
Curtis steps forward and rolls his hands over each other as he speaks. “Is like dis, shawty – anything you gotta say, you say in front of us. Daz how we roll here, Caramel. It work like dat, see?” He gestures a lot as he speaks which I find a little intimidating.
But I stand my ground and look at Trojan. “In private. Please?”
Trojan’s eyebrows lift and shifts.
Curtis looks pissed with me. “See now, dat ain’t right. You disrespecting our …”
“Okay, I’ll come back later, or you can meet me after work today. You know where that is?”
“Wait, wait, wait! Lemme get dis right,” Curtis says. “You wanna talk to my dwag here, but you want him to come to you. Dat correct?”
Why doesn’t this guy just shut the fuck up?
I look at Trojan. “Look, I’m here now. I came to you. I’m not being disrespectful; I just need privacy, that’s all.”
“Privacy? Ooooh!” Curtis is annoying the shit out of me.
“Fine, forget it!” I turn to walk away.
Trojan grabs my arm. “Wait! I’ll see you this evening.”
I smile. “Thank you. I appreciate it. And, I’ll buy you a drink.”
“A drink! Wow!” Curtis scoffs. “What, lemonade?”
Both Trojan and I glare at him. Curtis shuts up and shakes his head slowly.
With a smile, I hurry out of Goers Gym and away from fuckface Curtis.
When I glance back, Trojan is watching me walk away.
I flash him a quick smile, then walk on.
That wasn’t too bad.
****
He’s waiting for me when I step of the Pizzeria. I hurry to him. “Thanks for agreeing to meet me,” I say, realizing that my nervousness is making me sound stiff and formal.
“Thank you for the flowers and bunny rabbit,” I say. “It was nice.”
“You’re welcome, shawty.” He gestures for us to walk. “So, when are you taking me to dinner?”
I smile. “Look, um …” I play with my hair and look at the floor. How the hell do I say this? I take a deep breath and look up at him.
“Trojan, I need you to call off your hit on Brody McGraw.”
He stops walking. “What?!” His surprise seems genuine.
How else could I have said it? Had to be direct.
“That’s what you called me here for? To ask me that?”
My courage dips. “Eh, y …yes.”
He folds his arms across his chest. “Why?” Okay, so he hasn’t denied there is a hit on Brody.
I ignore the irritation in his voice. “Because.”
He stops walking. “That ain’t an answer. That’s a word.”
I nod and scan my brain for a reason. “Because … I … I …” I shrug. “Guess I care about him.”
“You said you were done with him.” His voice is accusing.
“Yeah, but I still care about him.”
“You mean you’re in love with him?”
“Eh …”
His eyes scan my face, making me shift in my hi-tops. “I take that as a yes.” His voice is filled with disappointment.
We walk again.
“Can you call it off?” I ask, eager to change the subject.
He stops walking and turns to me. “Hey, I dunno nothing about no hits, and you may be wired for all I care, but … my question is … what’s in it for me?”
“Waddyamean wired?” My eyes grow huge and I drop my voice. “Oh, you mean like the FBI listening in and stuff? That’s so cool.”
He frowns, then waves dismissively in a forget-I-said-that sort of way. “What’s in it for … me?”
“For you?” I shrug. “Like …?”
“First rule of business – gotta be a win-win situation, know what I’m saying?”
“Eh, well, I don’t have a business and I don’t have much to give you. How much are you wanting?”
“I don’t want your money!” His tone is scoffing.
“Oh, okay.” I scratch my head and look at him. Maybe I should talk about me changing my story about the gun incident? “There’s nothing else I can give you that you’d …”
“I want you.” His voice is almost a whisper.
I look at him with huge eyes. “I’m seventeen!” I blurt.
He shrugs.
I frown. “I …I don’t do shit like that. Ever.”
“Ever?”
I shake my head.
“How come?” His tone tells me he doesn’t believe me.
My turn to shrug. “I’m doing it right. I’m waiting for the right guy before I give it up.”
His eyes turn to slits.
“And I want to be eighteen when it happens.”
“You serious?”
“Yeah.”
“Not even for white boy?”
“Not even for white boy.”
He folds his arms across his chest. “Don’t know if I believe you. I mean, you’re here asking me to save your boy, but you tell me that you haven’t given it up to him as yet, even though you …?”
“Love him? Yes. But I guess he doesn’t want to go to jail either.” I take a deep breath and cover my eyes with my hand. “Can we talk about something else? I’m getting really awkward here.”
He smiles.
“Back to your question – seriously, what do you want from me in return?”
“That.” Again, his voice is soft but serious.
I peer at him in disbelief. He wants my virginity? Is he fucking nuts? “I told you, I’m seventeen. You’ll go to prison and a pretty boy like you will get lots of sex there.”
He smiles.
“I’ll wait till you’re eighteen.” His voice is way too serious for my liking.
I stare at him, flabbergasted by this whole conversation. “That is the most indecent proposal I have ever heard …” I turn away from him then turn back to him. “It’s crazy. It’s absolutely crazy!”
My rant does not faze him. “That and three dinner dates with you.”
My jaw drops.
“Since I have to wait six months for my payment, it will be a ‘meanwhile’ scenario.”
“I …I …” This is so fucked up. “Why me? I mean, there are so many other girls around who are more experienced …”
“’Cause you’re white boy’s girl. I want … what he has.”
“Because I’m …” I shake my head in disgust. “That is really fucked up, Dreads. It really is.”
“Maybe. But it is what it is, know what I’m saying?”
Of course I know what he’s saying. “And if I say no?”
He runs his hand slowly over his face, then locks eyes with me. “Then we have no deal.”
I stare at the ground as his words wash over me. “You’ll wait six months?”
“I’ll wait six months.”
Maybe in six months he’ll lose interest. Maybe he’ll just forget about it. But in the meantime, Brody will be safe. “Okay, fine, whateva!” I finally say, eager to end this conversation.
He shows no reaction. “But white boy’s gotta back off or else someone’s gonna waste him. He’s one arrogant motherfucker.”
“Deal. I’ll talk to him.”
“You’ll talk to him?”
“Well, I won’t, but I’ll get someone to.”
He gives me a that’s-better nod.
“Can I have your guarantee that he’s safe?”
“Yes. Can I have your guarantee that we have a deal? That you’re not lying to me about you being pure as the driven snow?”
“Pure as the driven …” I cock my head to one side and look at him. “Hey, I never said that. I said I haven’t like … you know, been with a guy. Not pure for sure. I mean, I wasn’t planning to donate my organs or something. I was just like wanting it to be a special experience. “’Sides, my mamma made me promise to wait till I’m eighteen and I want to keep that promise.”
“Your mama is a smart woman.”
“Was,” I correct. “She died a few years ago.”
“Sorry to hear …”
“Thanks. And yes, we have a deal. Now, I gotta go.”
He jerks his head towards his car. “Get in, I’ll drive you.”
“Eh, no …”
“Relax. If I wanted you now, I’d take you now, know what I’m saying? But I said I’d wait, and I will. So get in.” He jerks his head towards the parking lot.
He has a point, I suppose. Feeling a little unsure, I get into a black Cadillac Escalade. He’s way too young to be driving such fancy wheels, I must say. Please don’t let it be hot. A scenario flashes before my eyes: we’re on Cops – us being pursued by the police; he jumps, leaving me to handle the cops. Then me getting out of the car with my hands in the air. They frisk me, cuff me and throw me in the back of a police car. Everybody in the world watching me on TV and thinking that I stole the vehicle. Shiiiiit!
“Do you do this often?” I ask.
“What?”
“Run a barter exchange?”
He smiles. “It’s my first, but if it works …” He shrugs.
The music in his car is rap, but cool, haunting with lyrics. “Who’s this?” I ask, pointing to the radio.
He shrugs. “Some new kid on the block.”
“It’s nice,” I say.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He nods. “Which is your house?”
“You see that beautiful, big, double-story …”
“Yeah …”
“Not that one.”
He smiles again.
“You see that smaller house there with a neat garden?”
“Yeah …”
“Not that one.”
He looks at me and frowns.
“You see that tiny, rundown, trailer park house?”
“That’s not your house?”
“Yeah, that’s my crib. Sorry to disappoint you.”
“That’s okay,” he says. “I’ll be in touch with details for my dinner dates.”
“Okay, thank you.” I get out of his car and wave goodnight.
I immediately call up Nick and fill him in, but I don’t tell him the price I will be paying for Brody’s safety.
“You have to tell Brody to stay away from them, Nick.”
“I will. Don’t worry.”
“Maybe talk to your mother about it as well. Get her to knock some sense into Brody.”
“Yeah, okay.”
I start to hang up.
“Burn!”
“Yep?”
“What did he want from you?”
“Whaddayamean?”
“He wouldn’t have done it for nothing. I wouldn’t have.”
Silence.
“He wanted you?
“Eh, Nick …”
“I thought as much.”
I say nothing. “Did you?” he finally asks.
“In six months’ time when I’m eighteen,” I hear myself saying.
“Motherfucker!”
“Don’t worry about it,” I say. “In six months’ time, he’ll probably have forgotten this conversation.”
“Or be in the slammer.”
“Yeah, exactly.” I chuckle.
“Anyway, Burn, thanks. I owe you one.”
“Yes you do, Nick. You owe me big time.” I hang up.