Authors: Tamicka Higgins
“Man, he live way out somewhere,” Damon said. “And it ain’t like I know him like that. I mean, I know he live out somewhere, but I can’t really tell you where or nothin’ like that. I only been out there one time and when I did go out there, it was dark and shit All I remember is curvy roads and woods and shit. Dude, I’m tellin’ the fuckin’ truth. I really can’t tell you where that nigga live.”
Tramar looked into Jackson’s eyes, both knowing that Damon was referring to Bryon’s house far out, where they ran up on him with the chick in his kitchen
“Naw, nigga,” Tramar said. “I’mma need a little more information than that shit, nigga. Tell me what you know about Byron. How you know him and shit? Do you know where he be at?”
“Man, I used to live down the block from his granny and shit,” Damon said. “She used to stay over on Holston before she died. I think he rentin’ the house out and shit now, but I don’t know. I ain’t talked to the dude in like two months or some shit now, since like the summer. He also hang out at this bar I know downtown, but I don’t know the name. I ain’t never even been in there. Me and Byron just cross paths sometimes, but it ain’t like we friends and shit.”
“This granny’s house you just said, nigga,” Tramar said, still pointing the gun at Damon. “Where the fuck is this shit?”
“I just told you, man,” Damon said. “It’s over on Holston.”
“Nigga, I heard you say that,” Tramar said. “But what block and shit? You act like that street isn’t so many blocks long or somethin’.”
“I don’t know,” Damon said. “I used to live at 2146 Holston Street. His granny’s house was across the street and two blocks over. I swear, that’s all I know. Last time I was over that way, I thought I’d heard that Byron had somebody renting the place or something. But I really don’t know, man. Shit, I just don’t fuckin’ know.”
Tramar looked at Jackson before asking, “You up for a little ride?”
Jackson shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah,” he answered. “We can drop that nigga back off and go ride over there.”
Tramar looked back at Damon and smiled. “Naw,” he said. “We not gon’ drop him back off. You really try’na be some help and shit?”
Damon nodded, willing to say anything to get the barrel of the gun off of him. “Hell yeah,” he said. “Just tell me what you gotta do.”
“You gon’ ride with us over to this place, wherever it is, okay?” Tramar said. “And once we find out what house you talkin’ bout and shit, just to be sure, we gon’ drop you back off, okay?”
Damon nodded. Remaining in the backseat, Tramar kept an eye on Damon as Jackson pulled off and headed over to the southwest side of the city. Interestingly enough, where they were headed to wasn’t too far from where this Damon guy lived. After cautiously driving through a couple of hoods, Jackson tried to stay on the busy streets until he got to the specific neighborhood. Under the guidance of Damon, who Tramar watched to make sure he didn’t reach into his pockets, Jackson drove down the street.
“Right there, right there,” Damon said, pointing up ahead. Tramar and Jackson looked at an older style, small house with a yard that was cluttered with dead, unkempt bushes. There was no doubt in their mind that the house was empty. However, as Jackson rolled down the block, they found that wasn’t really the case.
“Slow down, nigga,” Tramar said. “Slow down.”
A van was coming from the other end of the block, directly at them. Before they were face to face with the van, it pulled over and parked in front of the house. Jackson slowly rolled by while he and Tramar looked up at the house. Once they rolled past, Jackson slowed down to practically a crawl. Tramar positioned himself in the backseat so that he could look back at the block through the front, passenger side mirror. He watched as two men climbed out of the van, appearing to be carrying food, and maybe a pack of beer in their hands. They walked up toward the house.
“Go around the block, nigga,” Tramar said. “Go around the block.”
“You sure that’s the house?” Tramar asked Damon.
Damon nervously nodded. “Hell yeah,” he said. “That’s the house. His granny used to live there and shit and I lived across the street, diagonally. I don’t know who them two dudes are, man. I’m tellin’ you that I don’t come over here much, so I really don’t know.”
“Okay, okay,” Tramar said, tired of hearing his whining. “Shut the fuck up and chill out and shit, damn. You sound like a bitch.”
Cautiously, Jackson rolled around the block. This time, as they passed the same house, Tramar didn’t know how he felt about it. There were so many dark windows, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. There was a basement, which had given him the idea of going up there and peeking. However, he knew that if he were to do such a thing, there would surely be dogs in the neighborhood that would began to bark immediately. His cover in the darkness would be blown and an entirely new altercation could happen – an altercation with someone who may or may not even know anything about why he was there to begin with.
“Wonder if them two niggas was dudes that Byron know or somethin’,” Tramar said, out loud.
“Man, I don’t know,” Damon said. “I told you, I swear to God. I just don’t know like that. We ain’t even cool like that.”
Jackson sped up, seeing that another car was pulling up close behind him. “Nigga, shut the fuck up with all that whining,” Tramar demanded.
As Jackson made his way back in the direction they’d come, it was a quiet car ride. Tramar wanted to jump out of the car and run up to the door, but he feared running into someone who would not react so well should he be at the wrong house. However, there was something in his gut telling him that the photo he saw on Facebook of his terrified stepmother was taken inside of that house. Now that he thought about it, the more he recalled the details of the photo, particularly the look of the furniture and carpet in the background, the more he realized that the picture was indeed taken in a house that once belonged to an older person. There was just no way that a younger guy was going to have a house that looked like that if he actually used it to entertain company or anything.
As they pulled up onto Damon’s block, Tramar finally put his gun away. He quickly grabbed Damon by the collar of his hoodie and pulled him close. “Nigga, I swear to God,” he said in a very deep and soft voice. “If you say one fuckin’ word about this to anybody, we will know. And nigga, we will be back over here, ridin’ around and shit, lookin’ for your ass. Don’t think we won’t. Now go on and get the fuck outta here. We really not bad dudes, my guy. If you know what we was lookin’ for, you’d be doin’ the same thing too.”
Damon nodded, ready to jump out of the car and make a run for it. Tramar smiled, reaching out and shaking Damon’s hand before Damon did just that. He calmly got out of the car and Jackson pulled off, not even waiting three seconds for Damon to walk away from the car. Tramar slid back into the front seat and looked back up the block. He chuckled as he watched Damon cut out running like a criminal leading the police on a foot chase.
***
Vivica jumped a little when she heard the front door open and close. As crazy as it seemed to her, she had practically gotten used to this bedroom where she and her husband had been held prisoner for the better part of two days. It was still a hard reality to face, but she was more concerned with her husband. While she would never thank her captors for anything, the two men were decent enough human beings to at least bring her some towels and peroxide. She still wished that she had clothing to put on, but she figured that wouldn’t be the kind of thing she could ask for and honestly get.
Frank, Tramar’s father, woke up and looked at his wife. He could still feel pain in different parts of his body, as well as one of his eyes was swollen shut. “What was that?” he asked, speaking weakly.
“They comin’ back,” Vivica said. “They just walked in the door.”
Before Vivica could go on, she heard the footsteps getting closer and closer to the bedroom door. Then, there was the sound of keys jiggling. That was a sound that now terrified her because it meant that somebody – who, she did not know – was coming back into the room. She quickly held her husband tightly as the doorknob turned and the door opened.
Vivica looked into the eyes of Knight and Juan as they walked into the room with White Castles. They tossed the bags at them onto the table. “There’s dinner,” Juan said. “He ain’t say we had to get you nothin’, but we figured we would since he ain’t get you enough food for us to give you nothin’ tonight.”
Vivica maintained eye contact as she reached forward and snatched the bag. “Thank you,” she said, opening the bag and seeing that there was enough food inside for both of them. “Thank you very much.”
“You welcome,” Juan said, backing out of the bedroom.
As Vivica watched Juan back out of the room, something told her that maybe he was the one out of the three men that she could talk to. As farfetched as it seemed, she got a vibe that maybe he wasn’t all bad. Sure, he was certainly in the wrong line of work. However, he had thought enough to stop and get them some food when the man in charge, whose name Vivica still did not know, hadn’t made sure there would be enough.
“Wait a minute,” Vivica said, catching the two men’s attention as they stepped out into the hallway. “What is going on? Why are we here? How long are we going to be here?”
Juan, who was feeling somewhat resentful toward Byron because of how he talked to him and never shared any women, began to feel a little more open to talking. “I don’t know,” he said. “That nigga don’t tell us shit but what to do day to day.”
“And why?” Vivica asked. “Why are you doing this for him then? Why?”
Juan looked at Knight. The two of them knew that with their felony convictions, their employment prospects were rather limited. The money that Byron was paying them was not only tax free, but it was also far more than they’d make working at any job across Chicago. Juan shrugged. “Shit, lady,” he explained. “Just like you, we get up and go to work every day. This is just what we do for a living. I couldn’t get into college and stuff like you and your husband here, so this is what I do. Plus, when you get into trouble when you young, and live in a world that don’t give second chances, this is what happens.”
Vivica, who quickly recalled her days of working with at-risk youth around Chicago, felt some sort of compassion. While his reasoning certainly didn’t excuse the magnitude of what was going on – kidnapping and holding one against his or her will – she had heard these kinds of stories far too often, especially from inner city youth in the streets of Chicago.
“Look,” Vivica said, feeling like maybe she could reason with this young man. “I can make you a deal.”
Juan looked at Knight. The two were intrigued to hear what she had to say. The both of them were tired of being Byron’s puppets and not really getting much in terms of a reward. “Okay,” Juan said, nodding his head. “We listening.”
“Look, I have money saved up,” Vivica said. She ignored her weak husband’s attempts to push her with his arm, telling her to stop talking. “I have money saved up, and we can offer you whatever that crazy man you work for offered you or maybe even more. Tell me, young man. Tell me. What is he givin’ you that makes it worth what you doin’ right now? I saw the way you brought us food and stuff. I see the look in your eyes that you really don’t wanna do this. And you know you don’t. Just tell me.” Vivica tried to make her face as soft as possible, which was hard considering what she and her husband had been through. “How much he give you and what you want to get away from this life so you don’t have to do this anymore?”
Juan and Knight stood there a few moments more. The both of them contemplated, both thinking about how laid out their house had been. There was no doubt in their mind that this couple had the kind of money they would need to get up out of Chicago and go start off somewhere new.
“A hundred thousand?” Vivica offered. “I can get you a hundred thousand dollars, and you two can go do what you really wanna do with your lives rather than whatever that crazy nigga friend of yours wants you to do. I can get it for you and you can just let us go and we all disappear.”
Juan shook his head. The very thought of Byron finding out that they’d made a deal with his company scared not only him but also Knight. Knight also snapped out of his train of thought, as he too realized that the wrath of Byron coming after them would far outweigh however much money this lady could offer either of them. The fact that the two men were standing here, looking at a couple they hadn’t even known a week ago, in a dusty bed in a dusty house was proof of just how far Byron would go when he felt as if he’d been done wrong.
“Sorry, lady,” Juan said. “Sounds nice and stuff, but we gon’ have to go ahead and stick with what we got so we ain’t on the run and shit like your boy is.”
“On the run?” Vivica asked. “What do you mean on the run?”