Flyy Girl (30 page)

“Damn, cuz'! Who is that?” Timmy's tall, dark brown friend asked. Jay watched Raheema walk up to her house.

“Go ahead and find out, Jay,” Timmy told him, knowing better.

“Hi,” Jay said to Raheema. Jay was a basketball addict, morning, afternoon and night.

“Hi,” Raheema responded, opening up her door to go in.

Jay asked, “Can I talk to you real quick?”

“That's all right.”

Timmy giggled as Raheema went in and closed the door back. “See, man, I told you. That bitch a
nut.
Nobody gets along with her, cuz'.”

Tracy came out and overheard him talking about her neighbor. “Stop talkin' about her then,” she interjected.

“So you goin' to that concert tonight, hunh, Jay?” Timmy asked, changing the subject.

“Yeah, man. You should take her. It's gon' be Run DMC, Whodini, LL Cool J, The Fat Boys, them white Beastie Boys. Cuz', it's gon' be live!”

Timmy contested, “Naw, you never take your girl to no shit like that. It's always some muthafuckas acting crazy, tryin' to talk to her. And them niggas be a hundred thick from South Philly.”

Tracy said with an attitude, “Oh, it's gon' be thousands of other girls there, and they just gon' pick me, hunh?”

“Ay, you gettin' a little bold, talkin' that shit, girl. You better shet the fuck up,” Timmy responded to her.

Tracy went in the house and took a seat on the couch, disappointed. Timmy followed her, leaving his friend outside.

“Now you wasn't even thinking about that concert until he said somethin',” he commented.

Tracy crossed her legs, and pouted, “You the one who brought it up. You just wanted to tease me about it.”

Timmy chuckled.

“Now why you laughin'?” Tracy asked, standing back up and in his face.

Timmy sat her back down. “Come on now, stop playin' wit' me, before I have to hurt you. Now you know me better than that, girl.”

Tracy looked away. “That's all you know how to do is hurt me.”

Timmy sat down beside her and kissed her ear. “Well, we gon' go out to eat tonight or somethin'. Okay?”

“I don't want to,” Tracy told him with a long face.

“What 'chew wanna do then? 'Cause I'm not goin' to that concert. I'm tellin' you that shit right now.”

“Let's go to the movies,” Tracy suggested.

Timmy nodded his head. “Aw'ight. We can do that.”

Going to the movies with Timmy became less exciting for Tracy. Their relationship was slowly falling apart. They always ended up in bed, no matter what they did. Timmy was “whipped.” Tracy knew it. There was no longer any foreplay to stimulate her, and they were always in danger from someone chasing after Timmy. It was more than Tracy could handle. They could not go out in peace. Timmy was constantly watching his back.

I never felt scared all the time when I was with Victor,
Tracy thought to herself.
But he never really took me anywhere.

“I'm tired of this,” she complained. She and Timmy ended up naked again, inside of a hotel bedroom that one of Timmy's older friends had gotten for him.

Timmy asked, while stretched out in the bed, “What are you talkin' about? Look, we went to the movies, right?”

“I'm talkin' about how we always do this routine stuff.”

Timmy laughed. “I thought you said that I was full of surprises.”

“Well, I was wrong. And the only surprise that you have is doing things without warning.”

Timmy looked puzzled. “So, that's still a surprise.”

Tracy yelled, putting on her clothes, “Well, it ain't shit new!”

Timmy gripped her arm. “Where're you goin'?”

Tracy snapped, “Oh, wow, I'm not even fifteen yet, and you think I'm your fuckin' wife.”

Timmy thought about it.
Yeah, we are kind of young for this, but
that's what makes it cool.
“Well, you act and look old enough,” he told her, pulling her back in bed.

Tracy sighed. “Come on now, Timmy, this is boring. I wanna go home.”

Timmy frowned at her. “So what 'chew sayin'?”

Tracy thought for a moment. “Did you treat your other girls like this?”

“What does it matter?”

“Because, I didn't think you was this possessive.”

“Well, you're my girl, right?”

“But I still need room and freedom.”

“What?” Timmy snapped. “Okay, you want
freedom.
Get the fuck out then!”

Timmy led her to the door and pushed her out.

Tracy pleaded, “See, why you gettin' mad like this.”

“ 'Cause I feel like it!”

Tracy yelled through the door, “You a pussy anyway!”

Timmy rushed out in a fury, wearing his drawers. He chased Tracy down the hall, caught up to her and punched her in her mouth. He then banged her head on the wall and threw her to the carpeted floor.

“NOW! Call me a pussy again. BITCH!”

Tracy ran to the elevator and rode it down to the lobby level with a busted lip and a headache. She wept and sucked her lip as she walked to catch a bus back home. It was ten o'clock, and Timmy had humiliated her for the last time. She was tired of him.

Tracy got home and snuck into her bedroom, not wanting her mother to see her. She wiped the tears from her eyes and iced her lips.

It was the first time she had ever been beaten on. She felt that she had experienced everything that makes a woman, as if she was in a bad marriage.
I'm too young for this,
she told herself.
He don't own me.

“How you get that bruise on your lip?” Raheema asked Tracy on the steps that next day.

Tracy stared out at the street. “Timmy did it.”

“What did you do?”

“I told him I didn't want to be around him no more.”

“And he just punched you in your lip?”

“He kicked me out and chased me first,” Tracy answered. She didn't want to tell Raheema that they had been inside of a hotel room.

“So you're going to quit him now?”

“I don't know,” Tracy mumbled. She wanted to hear what Timmy had to say first.

“Mmm,” Raheema grunted. “I would quit him if I were you.”

Raheema went inside the house and left Tracy alone with a busted lip and damaged pride in ninety-degree weather, while she watched her brother all day. Tracy figured she had been through enough emotionally to last for the rest of the summer.

Timmy and his friends prepared for a major theft inside of a department store. They drove to a suburban mall and waited inside until it was almost ready to close. With limited cameras and theft detectors, the only thing that concerned them were the aged security guards.

Timmy unfolded a trash bag and started throwing in jeans and shirts as his friends followed his lead. Once it was half full, Timmy dropped the bag and pushed it under a clothing rack. He watched all sides for walkers-by. He then kicked the bag closer to the door. It was an easy nighttime job. Timmy and his friends made it out undiscovered and tossed the stolen merchandise in the trunk.

Timmy grinned. “I told y'all it would be an easy-ass hit.”

Mat, the chubby brown driver, shook his head. “Damn, man, I don't believe that security.”

Basketball Jay said, “Yup, but we got to keep things low, 'cause we took so much that they might put a word out on the streets for a snitch.”

Mat contested, “They can't touch us anyway. We're not in their district.”

Timmy retorted, “Y'all can talk all that shit if y'all want, but I'm gettin'
paid.”

•    •    •

Timmy had an increasing hunger for stealing since Tracy was no longer around him. He started romancing a new girl and had moved out of his mother's home. No one knew where he was staying.

He continued to steal, deviously, sticking up stores and everyday citizens around the city. His friends feared his destructive path. Timmy was developing into an all-out criminal at the tender age of sixteen.

“Y'all wanna stick up that spot up on Seventeenth Street?” Timmy asked his friends. He was visiting on his mother's Germantown block. “They be gettin' paid in that bitch, y'all. I just peeped that shit,” he said.

Thick-built responded, “Naw, man, and you crazy to even be up here.”

“Did the cops come to my house?”

“Fuckin' right they did. I mean, they huntin' for your ass, cuz'. You better start wearin' shades,” Thick-built joked.

Timmy did not look as well groomed as he usually did. He had been drinking and doing drugs, and his rusty-brown hair was growing wild under a blood-red Phillies cap.

“Aw, man, as long as they don't know where I'm at, fuck the cops.”

Thick-built said, “You crazy as shit, man. I don't see how you be doin' that dumb shit.”

Timmy persisted. “Look, cuz', is you down or what?”

Basketball Jay stepped up. “Fuck it. I'm wit' it.”

“Dig, cuz', I'm down,” Chubby Mat agreed.

Timmy directed. “Bet. Let's go steal a lemon and roll.”

Thick-built shook his head. “Y'all niggas is crazy to be listening to him. That muthafucka out his mind.”

They went with Timmy anyway.

Timmy left it up to Mat, the car specialist, to hot-wire a car. They drove with the lights off until they were out of Dodge. Timmy then showed Mat where the place was. They got there in a hurry, filled with nervous energy. Timmy pulled out two small-caliber guns, giving one to Jay.

“Where you get these from?” Jay asked him apprehensively.

“Look, man, don't worry about it. Let's just do this,” Timmy snapped at him.

They stopped the car. Timmy got out and told Mat to keep it running. It was a dark restaurant in West Oak Lane, off of Ogontz Avenue. Timmy knew where they kept the money.

Small crowds frequented the place, especially on Friday and Saturday nights when the bar had entertainment and an open dance floor. Timmy had watched the sexy waitresses taking money alongside the bar for safe storage on a previous visit, when he had asked to use the bathroom.

He and Jay walked in slowly, wearing shades and baseball hats. Timmy told Jay to watch the outside, as he approached the back room.

“Yeah, I was wondering if I could get change for a fifty?” he asked a honey-brown employee, who was heading toward the back. His adrenalin level was stable. Timmy was used to the action.

“Sure,” Honey-brown answered, taking his fifty-dollar bill and walking into the back room.

Timmy ran in behind her and pulled out the gun and a small bag in his left hand. “Aw'ight, just throw all that shit in the bag!”

The manager was shocked. He did what Timmy demanded. Jay eased up against the door, making sure no other employees walked back.

Timmy reached over and smacked the short, fat manager in his curly head with the butt of his gun. He then eyed Honey-brown. “You try some dumb shit, bitch, and I'll kill your ass!”

Timmy dashed out of the back room with the bag. The other employees were puzzled.
What the hell is going on?
By the time they had gotten word that they were being robbed, the car was speeding up a side street.

The angry manager ran out with his own gun in hand and decided not to shoot. He ran back in and called his friend from the police force instead. Two cruisers happened to be in the vicinity. Ogontz Avenue was a busy strip.

Timmy was frantic. “Yo, let me out right here!” he yelled, only five blocks from the hit.

Chubby Mat whined, “Aw, man, you gon' get us stuck wit' the fuckin' ride!”

Timmy leaped out of the front seat and ran for the Broad Street subway. He took all of the money with him.

Jay and Mat turned paranoid.

Mat yelled, “See, I knew we shouldna' tried this shit!”

Jay roared, hopping in the front seat, “Fuck it, man, let's get the hell out of here!”

They turned a tight corner and crashed into a parked car.

Jay shouted, “SHIT! Get out and break, man!”

They sprinted in opposite directions. Philadelphia police cruisers whipped around at both ends only seconds later. The officers hustled in hot pursuit as Jay dashed up a street perpendicular from Mat and tried to jump over a fence. The fence snagged his leg, slamming Basketball Jay to the hard concrete. The officers caught up and pinned him down.

“MOTHER-FUCKA!” Jay spat, with tears in his eyes.

One officer smiled. “Your father can't help ya' now, son.” They smashed Jay to the ground and put the handcuffs on.

BOOMP! BOOMP! BOOMP!

“Open up! It's the police!”

Patti marched to the door. “What the hell is going on?” she demanded, answering it.

“We would like to talk to your daughter concerning the whereabouts of a Mr. Timothy Adams.”

Tracy walked out of the kitchen with big eyes.

“Do you know Timothy Adams, ma'am?” the officer asked her on sight.

Tracy's voice cracked. “Yes,” she squealed nervously.

“Would you happen to know where he stays?”

“No,” she responded, looking over his clean stern face and dark uniform.

The officer shook his head. “Now, nothing is going to happen to you. We just want to find out where he is.”

Tracy wouldn't have told if she did know. But she didn't. “No, I don't know where he is. I haven't talked to him in weeks,” she answered.

Stern-face said, “Well, if you hear from him, could you do us a favor and let us know? 'Cause from what I hear, it would be to his benefit if
we
caught him first.”

Stern-face walked out while his partner radioed the station from the squad car.

Patti closed the door and watched until the police cleared out. She then turned and stared at her daughter, shaking her head. She went to the kitchen to think. Tracy followed her.