At the Crossroads (8 page)

“Stick? Why he do that?”

“Because he’s Stick. But you can best believe I’ma handle that fool, ya heard? He got me caught up in his mess. I tried doing the right thing and went and got the stuff he stole from her, but the police rolled up on me. You know how those police do us, so it was on. They can’t wait to lock a brother up. Get that lawyer on the phone for me. I need to get up outta here, ya heard.”

“Yeah, I feel ya,” Franky said. “That’s messed up.”

“Fo sho,” Nigel said. “Where is Rico?”

“Sleeping on the sofa,” Franky said, rolling his eyes.

“Tell that fool I said get up and go get some money. Weneed to grind right now—no time for sleeping. I can’t do no time for this one, ya heard. Not for that fool. Yo,” Nigel said, as if he just had a thought. “You know what I need? I need for you to run down to Stick’s house and tell him I’m locked up because of him. Tell him he owes me and that I’m pissed. You tell that sorry lil piece of trash that I need bail money. But call the lawyer first.”

“Okay,” Franky said.

“And make Rico go with you so that fool don’t act stupid, ya heard.”

“Got it,” Franky said, but he knew he wasn’t going to wake up his volatile cousin. He would let him sleep forever if it was up to him.

“Okay, whoadie,” Nigel said. “Handle those things for me and I will call you back in a few hours if I can.”

“Okay,” Franky said. “I’ll get on it right away. Talk to you later.”

“Hey, yo,” Nigel called out right before Franky took the phone away from his ear.

“Yeah.”

“How was school?”

“It was different,” Franky said, happy that his cousin asked. “But it was cool. I got in a fight, too.”

“A fight?”

“Yeah, this dude ran up on me talking about how some New Orleans guys killed his friend. It wasn’t really a fight. I punched him two times and knocked him out,” Franky said proudly.

“Okay, Floyd Mayweather,” Nigel said with a chuckle. “But don’t be up there getting in no trouble. You ain’t no street dude, so stay clear of that mess. It’ll pull ya down, ya heard.”

“Yeah. I met a cool girl, too.”

“Ohh, Lord. We’ll talk about that one later. Handle that business for me, whoadie,” Nigel said.

“I’m on it,” Franky said. “Peace.”

Franky hung up the phone, opened the kitchen drawer, and searched around for the pad with the number for attorney Sharon Capers. He found it, called the number, and left a message with Nigel’s name and the jail where he was located. He knew the drill by now. Once he was done leaving the message, he hung up the phone.

“Listen,” Franky said to Jason. “You sit tight for a second. I need to run down the street and holla at somebody.”

“Okay,” Jason said with a nervous look on his face. He went from being a smart-aleck little boy to a scared one.

“Do you have any homework?” Franky asked.

“Yeah,” Jason said.

“Get started on it and I’ll be right back.”

F
ranky walked down the street and marched up Stick’s driveway. The bum was sitting on his front porch in a rocking chair, smoking a cigarette with his feet up on a table.

“What’s up witcha, lil buddy?” Stick said to Franky.

“My cousin is pissed off with you.”

“Which cousin?”

Franky knew exactly why he was asking that question. Nigel was somewhat of a diplomat and would try his best to work out whatever issue he had with a person by talking. That’s why being a drug dealer didn’t work out for him; he didn’t have or refused to show that killer instinct needed to handle street people. They only responded to fear of violence. Rico, on the other hand, was exactly what the streets needed. And even though they sometimes fought like cats and dog, the brothers had each other’s backs.

“Both of them,” Franky said. “Nigel is locked up for something you did.”

“Locked up?” Stick said, snatching his feet down from the table. “Something I did? Whatchu talking ‘bout?”

“That thing that went down at Mrs. Bertha’s,” Franky said.

Stick was visibly nervous and looked like he was about to jump out of his own skin and run for cover. “Da … da … that thing was fixed. We straightened that out,” he stammered.

“Nope,” Franky said, shaking his head and enjoying the bum’s discomfort.

“Whatchu mean by that? I mean we talked about that, and I gave him all the stuff back. Wasn’t nuttin’ to be arrested for,” Stick said, seeming on the verge of tears. He was the biggest coward Franky had ever seen, which was why he could always be seen hanging out with people who were half his age.

“Not so. Nigel got caught leaving your house with the stuff. The police arrested him on the spot.”

“So that’s on him,” Stick said. “How is that my fault? I gave him the stuff back. Now, true enough when I found that stuff, I should’ve taken it right back. ‘Cause I didn’t break into nobody’s house. I found that stuff in the backyard, and I was gonna take it back when she got home but—”

“Stick,” Franky said, cutting off the lie before the bum could really get started. “Rico is pissed. He’s talking about doing something real bad to you, but I asked him to let me come talk to you first. You know me and you always been cool.”

“Right … right … right. You a good dude, Franky, andyou got a good head on ya shoulders,” Stick said as if he sensed an out to his situation.

“So here’s what I need. Two things. One for Nigel and the other for me.”

“Talk to me,” the bum said. “Have a seat. Let’s talk bidness.”

Franky walked up on the porch and sat in one of the rocking chairs.

“We need bail money,” Franky said.

“How much is his bail?”

“Twenty-five thousand dollars.”

“What the … Twenty-five what?” Stick shouted. “Who in the heck did they say he robbed, Hannah Montana? That’s the kind of money they ask for when you rob white folks. Man, I ain’t got no twenty-five thousand dollars. If I had that, do you think I would be here? I would be chilling on a tropical island sipping on something fruity and watching me a curvy woman with a straw skirt on.”

“Well, you know the bail bondsman asks for only ten percent,” Franky said. “Can you do twenty-five hundred?”

“Man, no,” Stick said. “I don’t have
twenty-five
dollars right now.”

“Well, Stick, you’re gonna have to do something. Nigel needs to get out. So you can either go down to that jail and turn yourself in or come up with the money. Rico told me I need to have an answer for him in ten minutes. I’ve been here for about five already. Whatchu gonna do, man?”

Stick rubbed his raggedy beard as he thought about his dilemma.

“What’s the other favor you need?”

“Oh,” Franky said. “I need for you to break back into

Mrs. Bertha’s house. Jason is locked out, and we need to get a telephone number. She’s in the hospital, and we need to get in touch with their people.”

“Whatchu mean, break back in? I never broke into her house in the first place,” Stick said with a straight face.

“Come on, Stick, man,” Franky said, standing. “You’re wasting time. I gotta get back home.”

“Let me think for a minute on the bail situation,” he said. “I got a friend who might be able to help you out.”

“What about Mrs. Bertha’s house?”

Stick jumped to his feet. “Let’s go,” he said.

Franky and Stick walked down the street together, and once they came up on his house, they saw Rico standing on the porch, still in his underwear.

“Come here, Franky,” Rico said.

Franky looked at Stick, whose eyes betrayed him and showed nothing but fear.

“Go ahead and handle that over there,” Franky said, pointing at Mrs. Bertha’s house.

Stick gladly hurried away from the prying eyes of Rico, who was staring him down. Franky walked over to his cousin.

“Whatchu doing with Stick?” Rico asked.

“Jason is locked out, and I asked Stick to try to open the house so Jason could get in.”

“Where’s Mrs. Bertha?”

“In the hospital.”

“And so why his people didn’t come get him?”

“He doesn’t know their phone numbers by heart. So that’s why we gotta get in the house,” Franky said.

“Yo, man,” Rico said. “I’m sorry about this morning, ya heard. I was wrong for that.”

“Yeah, you were,” Franky said. “But it’s cool. We’re struggling over here, and it’s frustrating.”

Rico hunched his shoulders as if to say “not really.”

“Nigel’s locked up,” Franky said casually.

Rico frowned. “For what?”

“Burglary. Police think he broke into Mrs. Bertha’s.”

“Nigel? Nah,” Rico said, shaking his head. “That’s not his thing. That boy wouldn’t burglarize a store even if nobody was in it, and he sure nuff ain’t breaking into nobody’s house.
I
won’t break into nobody’s house.”

“I know,” Franky said, looking over at Mrs. Bertha’s house. “Stick did it. Nigel went to get the stuff back from him, and the police showed up. They caught him with the stuff he was trying to return.”

“Wait a minute,” Rico said. “My brother is locked up behind something that fool did?”

“Yep,” Franky said.

“And how do you know all this when you were supposed to be at school?”

“He just called when I got home. You were asleep.”

“Oh, okay. Gotcha,” Rico said, nodding at Stick, who was walking around the side of Mrs. Bertha’s house. “So what that fool gonna do?”

“Nigel told me to get the bail money from him,” Franky said. “But of course he’s claiming he doesn’t have it. He said he will check with his people.”

“His people? Yeah, okay. He better do something or I will,” Rico said, staring at the bum who was now his enemy.

“Did you get in?” he said, turning to Stick.

“Yep,” Stick said proudly. He gave a thumbs-up and started toward his house. It was clear he wanted to avoid Rico at all costs. “The back door is open.”

“Cool,” Franky said, and walked past his cousin and into their house.

“Come here, man,” Rico said to Stick. “We need to talk.”

Stick shook his head and took off running down the street. He looked like a big goofy chicken as he ran while looking back over his shoulder.

Rico chuckled and didn’t bother to give chase.

F
ranky sat on the steps of his house with Jason. Neither one of the boys said much; both were lost in their own thoughts. They were waiting on one of Jason’s relatives to show up.

“Jason,” Franky said, breaking the silence and throwing his arm around Jason’s little shoulder. “You’re going to be okay, lil whoadie.”

“But when is my grandma coming home?”

“I don’t know, but we all know she’s a strong woman, and she’s gonna beat whatever this is that messing with her,” Franky said.

“She don’t have muscles. It’s just fat,” Jason said with his head down.

“Not that kind of strong, boy,” Franky said, shaking his head. “She’s strong in the brain, and when you believe something hard enough, a lot of times it helps your body make it happen. As bad as you are, she’s crazy about you, so you know she’s gonna fight extra hard.”

“I’m not bad,” Jason said.

“Well, what do you call it, Jason? Because where I’m from, we call it bad with a capital
B.
“

“My teacher said you shouldn’t call kids bad because they will start acting like that. She told me I’m a good boy,” Jason said, rolling his eyes and bouncing his head from side to side. “Now what you got to say to that, Mr. I’m Fifteen and I Already Quit School?”

“I didn’t quit school, chump. Didn’t you just see me with a bunch of books?”

“You probably stole them from somebody.”

“I don’t steal. And your teacher is crazy. You’re bad. Super bad. You’re probably the baddest little boy I’ve ever seen in my life. You have supernatural powers that make you extra bad, whoadie.”

“Nuh-uh,” Jason said. “My grandma told me that I’m her angel.”

Franky chuckled. “You know what, Jason? Your grandmother and your teachers are right. You do bad things, but you’re not a bad kid. You just do stuff to get attention, but it’s the wrong kind of attention. I checked your homework, and you got all of the answers right. Everybody knows you’re smart, so why not use it and stop trying to get on people’s nerves?”

“How you know what everybody knows? You ever talk to everybody? Have you talked to all the people in China, Asia, Mars?”

“Mars?”

“Martians,” Jason said, twisting his lip up. “You so dumb.”

“Call me dumb again and I’m going to smack you right upside your lil knotty head,” Franky said.

“Okay,” Jason said, then scratched his head. “What about stupid?”

“Shut up,” Franky said. “Like I was saying. You’re smart enough to know that you shouldn’t be doing some of the stuff you do.”

“Stuff like what?”

“Stealing, fighting, talking back to your grandmother, sneaking out of the house. Should I continue? You’re only seven years old. Why would you sneak out of the house? What if somebody kidnaps you? Whatchu gonna do then?”

“I wish a fool would try to kidnap me. I’ll kick him in the nuts and bite him. I bet he won’t try to kidnap nobody else. I ain’t scared of no kidnapper.”

Franky laughed. “Yeah, they’ll probably bring your lil bad butt back.”

“They better,” Jason said. “I’m staying with my grandma not some crazy kidnapper.”

“Where is your mother and father, Jason?” Franky asked, even though he already knew that Jason’s father had always been a no-show and his mother was living her life with a rich man across town. The man didn’t want kids, so Jason was pawned off on Mrs. Bertha. With the exception of the day he was born, Jason had never met the woman.

“My momma lives in California,” he said proudly. “She’s rich. She makes movies.”

“Is that right?”

“Yeah, she said she’s gonna come get me when she finishes working. And when I get out to California, I’ma make me a rap record with Snoop Dogg.”

“Can you rap?” Franky asked.

“Yeah, stupid,” Jason said.

“That’s it,” Franky said, grabbing the little boy and playfully putting him in a headlock.

“You said dumb … you said dumb,” Jason said through his laughter as he tried to cover up. “You said I couldn’t call you dumb. Not stupid, stupid.”