Push Comes To Shove Part 9

Shea didn't bother. She felt around for the lighter.

"Who are...What the h.e.l.l are you doing in my car?" The mayor turned the interior light on.

Shea put the flame to the pipe.

The force behind the slap was somewhere between brutal and extreme. "What the f.u.c.k are you doing, stupid motherf.u.c.ker?" The pipe shattered against the dashboard. He reached between Junior and Secret, plucked Shea's clothes from the seat, and shoved them at her. "Put your s.h.i.+t on, you dizzy b.i.t.c.h. As a matter of f.u.c.king fact, get out! You see these children."

"Brandon, I'm sorry, baby. You know how it is."

"Walk it off." He reached over, opened the door, then threw her clothes to the asphalt. "You'll be good and sober by the time you get where you're going. Out."

Shea picked up what she could salvage of the pipe and climbed out.

The mayor locked the door behind her.

He took out his cell phone. "What's your parents' number?" He looked at them through the rearview.

Nothing.

He turned around. "I'm not going to hurt you. You don't know who I am? No, you don't." He glanced at the heavens. "Thank you, G.o.d. What are you guys doing in my car?"

"My mom and dad ain't..." Secret felt bad for Shea, who was now standing beside the car in a thong. "We're lost. I'll give you ten dollars to take us home."

Junior didn't have to imagine much anymore as he stared out the window.

"I'll take you home." He started the car. "How about we call your parents? They must be worried." He checked his watch. Eleven-fourteen p.m. "They probably have the police out looking for you."

Police. Crack. Missing Children. The Mayor of Cleveland. He s.h.i.+fted a worried look between Junior and Secret. "Where's home?" He pulled next to Shea and rolled the window down.

Junior fiddled with his identification bracelet. "We live-"

Secret clamped a hand over his mouth. "You better not."

The mayor understood that Secret was hiding something. He figured his sure bet was to drop them off somewhere and never look back.

Shea looked into the car. "Brandon, why are you doing me like this?"

He thought about the police again. "Here." He handed her the bulk of his cocaine and drove away.

As the power window rose, he could hear Shea's voice fading. "Brandon, stop. I need the lighter..."

The mayor pulled the seat belt over his shoulder. "Okay, buckle up." He held Secret's gaze through the rearview. "Little lady, tell me where it is I'm going."

"Uh...take us to Indian Hills Apartment. You know where that is?"

"In the city of Euclid." He put on his turn signal.

Junior's seat belt made a dull sound when it locked in place. "Why not home, Secret?"

"I'm with him." The mayor drove up a highway ramp. "I'd rather take you home and make sure you're safe."

"I'll make sure we're safe. Indian Hills is fine." Secret heard GP's warning, Everyone is a contender Everyone is a contender, in her head. "We don't know you well enough to show you where we live."

CHAPTER 7.

Suzette Sanders paced the Justice Center lobby, biting what was left of her nails.

A corrections officer emerged from an elevator and began to call visitors. His enthusiasm was zapped. He read from a list of names as if he'd much rather be parked in front of his wide screen with a cold beer. Halfway down the list, he called for Suzette Sanders.

She rubbed a hand over her brunette French twist, then went to the elevator where the other concerned and loved ones were gathered.

She drummed her fingers against the table. This place was more relaxed than what the media had led her to believe. Prisoners filed in wearing orange outfits. They dispersed throughout the visiting room. Most hugged; some shared an intimate kiss; others shook hands with their visitors.

Kitchie spotted Suzette and smiled. They shook hands. "You don't know how much I appreciate you coming here." She felt Suzette's hand trembling in hers. "How are my babies? Did they seem...sad?"

Suzette lowered her gaze. A tear splashed onto the table.

"Is there something wrong?" Kitchie sank in the seat to get a visual on Suzette's face.

"They're missing." Her voice was lower than the hum of the collective chatter.

"Excuse me."

Suzette straightened her posture. She found strength with a deep breath. "Your children have been missing since last night. I'm sorry, Kitchie."

Kitchie felt dizzy. The visiting room spun as if it were a merry-go-round. "Ay Dios mio crucificado...porque?"

GP approached a compact man who looked as if he had swallowed steroids for breakfast and had drunk dumbbells for dinner. "Are you gonna use that?" GP nodded toward the phone the man was propped against. The man made him think of Mighty Mouse.

"Waiting for a call; just paged somebody." He settled his ma.s.sive back on the receiver and stared at a group of undesirables shooting dice for commissary.

"Man...why the h.e.l.l you trying to play me? You can't beep n.o.body from these phones." GP was a smoldering bomb on the verge of detonation. "I'm not new to this. If you not about to use the phone, I am." He wrapped a hand around an ink pen in his pocket.

Mighty Mouse shoved GP, forcing him back several feet. "You calling me a liar, motherf.u.c.ker? Huh, motherf.u.c.ker, is that what you called me?"

"I didn't call you nothing." GP reclaimed the spot he had been pushed from. "I asked to use the phone." Before his eyes, he witnessed the man's muscles expand. He s.n.a.t.c.hed the ink pen from his pocket, praying that this display of matched aggression would end the bulls.h.i.+t and gain him respect from everyone watching.

Mighty Mouse laughed. "Now you're gonna have to use that." He pulled off his T-s.h.i.+rt, wrapped an end around each hand, and stretched it as if it were a s.h.i.+eld. "Come on, motherf.u.c.ker, let's work. You better hope you know what you doing." He crouched some and called out for someone to watch for the police.

GP cursed himself over and over. Now he had to explore territory that he really wanted no parts of.

"Yo, Tiny, hold up, homie. Let me holler at you." A tall guy with a patch covering his eye stepped forward, followed by four other hustlers from the Cliffview area.

"In a minute." Tiny pulled the T-s.h.i.+rt tighter. "I got me one; it'll only take a minute."

Patch Eye ignored him and whispered in his ear.

Tiny s.h.i.+fted his focus from GP, stood straight, and looked at Patch Eye. "Jewels? Gangster-a.s.s Jewels?"

Patch Eye nodded.

"I was about to catch a body in this b.i.t.c.h. Why ain't n.o.body been said something?" His attention returned to GP. "I have a lot of respect for Jewels. Use my phone anytime. If somebody call for me, tell 'em to hit me back." Tiny strolled away with Patch Eye and the fellows.

GP was relieved to put the ink pen back in his pocket. He stared at the phone for a moment, then exhaled. He picked up the receiver and punched in a number.

Killer grinned as he stuffed a skimpy nurse outfit and fishnet stockings into a bag. "Where's the costume party? Undecided on what to wear? Second time you've been in here this week."

The customer smiled but she did not respond.

The phone rang.

She studied the short man, absorbing his details from head to toe. She smiled. "Your accent s.h.i.+fts my tide. I love it. Can't place it, though."

"Rough Buff."

"And that is?"

"Buffalo." He leaned on the gla.s.s countertop. "Can I get an invite to the party? I would love to surf your tide."

"I'm afraid you can't surf the Marian Trench. You have to dive in the deepest spot known to man to appreciate it."

They laughed.

"Invite me to the party. I'll bring my wet suit."

"Sorry." She licked her lips. The cherry lipstick remained. "Don't do parties. I'm into role-playing."

The phone refused to stop ringing.

He glanced at the phone, then back at the gorgeous woman. "Can I get a role in your play?"

She leaned across the countertop and traced the contour of his lips with a finger. "You're short but cute. Any good at acting?"

"Didn't you see my cameo in How to Be a Player How to Be a Player?"

The look she gave him was intense. She smiled. "There's a part I'd like to see you star in when the time comes. I know where to find you." She touched his lips once more, grabbed her bag, and sashayed to the door. Before she went out into the busy street, she paused. "Answer your phone."

He danced his way to the phone. "Killer Cal's Costumes and Accessories, Killer speaking?"

"You have a collect call from a correctional-"

He pressed five, a.s.suming that it was one of his partners, Tutu or Fruit. "What's good, son?"

"Killer, this GP. What up?"

"That was wild as s.h.i.+t. Man, you and Kitchie was bugging. I can't believe y'all touched that kid like that in public. Think it's a game, if you want. They still breaking black folks off crazy for mishandling whites. What's the deal with that?"

"It's a long story. I need a loan. Bail me out. No, I need you to bail Kitchie out."

"GP, I don't know about that. Every time I loan you something you get selective amnesia and act like you don't owe me. You still owe me eight hundred from last year."

"I thought I paid that back."

"I bet you did. That's what I'm talking about. You haven't given me one dime on that tab. How much is Kitchie's bond?"

"Sixty thousand, ten percent."

"Oh, h.e.l.l no! You my mans, but that's too rich for Killer Cal's blood. I ain't gonna be able to do it."

"Come on, Killer. Is it that you can't do it or won't do it?"

"Both. Six thousand is a lot of money for you to forget about. And if you did choose to remember, you don't have the means to pay me back."

"I need this loan. Remember that group home I told you about? The one I grew up in?"

"How could I not?"

"My kids are there; gotta get them out."

Killer sighed. That statement was painful to his ears. "For Secret and Junior, if I had it, I'd give it to you. The problem is I just don't. I'm in the red. You of all people know how it is."

"I understand." GP tugged on his goatee. "Yo, Killer, go outside and tell Smitty to come to the phone."

"Just saw him no more than fifteen minutes ago. He went over to Terminal Tower for some burgers. He left his mannish-a.s.s daughter to run the booth, and I'm keeping an eye on her. Call back in a little while; I'll make sure he's around." Killer glanced at the digital clock on his cash register. "Some white kid came looking for you this morning."

"White boy?" GP put a finger in his ear to block out the surrounding noise.

"Yeah, some older kid dressed in a mean suit. He called himself Mr. Lee. Said he had something important to talk to you about. I didn't tell him your business. I did say you might be gone a few days, though."

"All right. Good looking out. I'll hit you back later."

"Stay up." Killer stared at GP's empty booth through the costume shop's showcase window.

"They're coming." Secret stuck her tongue out.

"Are not!"

"Are too, punk."

"Not, sissy." Junior plopped down on Secret's bed, slipped on a sneaker, and began to tie it.

"Mom and Dad know we need them, so they are are coming home soon." She froze when a noise came from the first floor. "Did you hear something?" coming home soon." She froze when a noise came from the first floor. "Did you hear something?"