Details at Ten (24 page)

“Listen, man,” Doug said. “Leave them alone. They’ll slow you down. Take me.”

“What? I look like a fool, man? You’ll try to pull something ’cause cops always think they Batman. You always played Batman when you was a kid I’ll bet? Caped Crusader and other bullshit, betcha, huh?”

“Look at them,” Doug reasoned. “The kid will be crying the whole time and she’ll be moving like a snail trying to carry her.”

“Naw, I’m taking them. They’re safe passage. Now,” Little Cap said, gun still shaking slightly. “Drop your gun, easy, with one finger.”

Doug did exactly as he was told. He reached for his sidearm with a crooked index finger. Butter cried louder, the muffled sound vibrating against my skin. I heard Doug’s gun clatter against the concrete floor. I took a step up on the stairs. They felt unsteady beneath my feet.

“Keep coming,” Little Cap hissed.

I took another step. Butter was getting so heavy.

“Don’t move, man, until they clear,” Little Cap told Doug.

I reached the doorway and Little Cap stood back next to the refrigerator. I walked by the stove and heard Doug walking up the steps behind me. Little Cap was standing off to the side, three feet away at an angle where he could watch both Doug and me.

I could hear the wind blowing outside and Butter was sniffling in my ear, all cried out but getting heavier and heavier by the second.

Doug reached the doorway, hands held high, spread wide.

“Easy, man, easy …” Little Cap said, his eyes narrowing.

Then the wind kicked up and the back door rocked back, making a loud creaking sound that made Butter jerk. My knee gave way. Little Cap turned toward the door, then back. That’s when Doug lunged for Little Cap’s hand, throwing his arm up toward the ceiling and forcing the gun to fire. Shards of glass came raining down on us. The bullet had hit an overhead light.

I swung my body around and Butter’s foot caught a grease can on the stove, flinging it out in the direction of Little Cap and Doug who were fighting over the gun. The cold, slick liquid soaked their hands, making Little Cap’s gun squirt out of his grip.

I set Butter down and pushed her into the farthest corner. “Get down!” I shouted. I dropped to a crouch by the stove.

The gun hit the floor, firing again, this time tearing a plug out of the wall. I knelt down. Doug slammed his fist into Little Cap’s ribs. The gun was spinning like a top. I got on my knees and reached for the gun with outstretched hands.

A roundhouse punch by Little Cap landed in Doug’s side, forcing him to drop to one knee in pain. Little Cap lunged for the gun on the floor. Doug tackled him around the legs.

I grabbed the gun’s handle and it slipped away, the grease coating my fingertips.

Little Cap’s hands landed on top of the counter.

I reached for the gun again.

Little Cap reached for a butcher knife.

I shoved the gun with my hands toward Doug.

Little Cap grabbed the knife and glared at me with hatred as he pulled his arm back, aiming for my heart.

Doug fired off two quick shots, hitting Little Cap. I saw death in the eyes that had planned death for me. I prayed that Little Cap wouldn’t fall on me and God answers prayers because he fell back and away, against the refrigerator.

I stretched out both my hands and Doug grabbed them, pulling me to him. I let myself fall forward without fear. It was all over except for the shouting.

The only light in the room came from the strawberry-scented candles, each one blazing intently, fresh and new like our relationship.

The only sound in the room came from our short breaths, anxiously awaiting this first deeply intimate sexual encounter.

The only hesitation in the room was in our minds, not our hearts—for after all our yearning, we could only hope our fantasy of each other together would live up to reality.

Doug lay next to me, his shirt stripped from his back, a soggy ball tossed at the foot of the bed. He used two fingers to slowly slide first one, then the other spaghetti strap away from my shoulders before pulling my entire tank top down to expose my breasts. Their new-found freedom was short-lived. Doug took them prisoner again with his hands and with his mouth.

We were at Doug’s place, three nights after Butter’s case was solved. It’s a cute little house with bay windows and bookshelves in every room—including the bedroom. This seemed odd at first, until I noticed all the titles were on having a healthy sex life or on erotica.

Boyfriend is something else.

We tested some of the theories out on his bed that first night. And other nights. Doug is probably the only man secure enough in his masculinity to have a canopy bed. Said his ex-wife bought their first one and he has loved them ever since.

I wonder, is it the bed or is it just us?

Our sexual appetite is unquenchable. And when we touch there is a singular feeling of belonging. Passionate and consuming kisses behind ears, on nipples, on bellies, over each other’s heart… .

I must say that I love me some him.

I think it’s been easier for us because Doug and I haven’t locked horns or hooked up together again on another story-slash-case.

But I know in my heart that we can get through it when it does come our way again.

Isn’t faith a beautiful thing?

Ardella Garland is the
nom de plume
of Yolanda Joe, author of the Blackboard bestselling novels
Falling Leaves of Ivy, He Say, She Say,
and
Bebe’s by Golly Wow
. A news writer at CBS in Chicago for twelve years, Joe is a graduate of Yale University and the Columbia University School of Journalism. Raised by her grandparents, she grew up in Chicago and still lives there. The name “Ardella Garland,” a combination of her grandparents’ names, was created to honor them.