My dealer’s trap house on Fridays was the most poppingest trap house you’ve ever been to. Soon as you walk in, it’s like party time. Music turned all the way up. Video games playing on the TV. Other regulars would be there, sometimes a few girls. All of us, chilling, smoking, drinking, in this one little room, having a good time.
But this Friday night, tonight, I just wasn’t feeling it. I tried to get into the spirit, drink, and participate, but it just wasn’t there for me. I had too much on my mind. Long story short, I was about to get put out on the street again.
The last couple months, I been staying at my friend’s, which was cool for a while. But after a month or so, I overstayed my welcome and was given two weeks’ notice to leave. The way him and his family sat me down, a little over a week ago, and broke the news to me, you’d have thought it was an intervention. I didn’t have to go home, my friend told me, but I had to get the hell up out of there—unless I got a job and started chipping in. And I been looking for work. I been getting interviews. But ain’t nobody was hiring. I wanted an extension. But it was final. My friend said he was sorry. I told him, it was okay, that I’d be fine. Of course, I was lying. I didn’t know what I was going to do. I was screwed.
Since then, I felt like a dummy hanging around at their place, so I been going out, everyday, as much as possible. I’d hit the streets, looking for work; or be at the mall, window-shopping; or else at my dealer’s, because sometimes he’d let me crash on his couch, too. He was a good friend of my late brother, so he always was hooking me up. Matter fact, I was supposed to crash at his place tonight. But like I said, I wasn’t feeling it.
So, at about a quarter to eleven, this light-skinned, cross-eyed nigga with braids stood up. I didn’t know who he was and had never seen him before. He was with someone else, but he definitely wasn’t a regular. Anyway, he announced to the room that he was leaving. And for whatever reason, I took that as my cue to do the same. I downed the last bit of my drink and told my dealer I had an interview in the morning (lies). I got my jacket, dapped only my dealer, and followed cross-eyes out into the dark shared space of the apartment.
He flipped the light switch, and everybody’s shoes and sneakers appeared crowded on the mat in front of my dealer’s room. Cross-eyes picked out his Nikes, and I grabbed my Vans. Then both of us stooped over and started shoving our feet into our sneakers and lacing up.
The loud music and voices I had just escaped were still competing for my attention, hardly muffled by the closed door, when, out the corner of my eye, I caught cross-eyes shaking his head. “I seen you was bored with that shit, too?” he bent his head at the door and looked back at me for some kind of feedback, when my phone rang.
I didn’t want to pick up, but it was the friend I was staying with. He wanted to know about some package that was delivered, but I couldn’t help him since I wasn’t home. Out of politeness, before hanging up, he asked about my job search, and I guess cross-eyes overheard, because as soon as I got off the line, he said, work!
“You looking for work?” he finished with his sneakers and stood up. “I could get you work!”
Immediately, my skeptical eyes squinted. But I was so low, so pressed, I couldn’t not hear him out. You never know. Plus, now was no time to be choosy. Still monkeying with my laces, I said, “I’m listening.”
“We bout to hit this lick tomorrow, “ said cross-eyes. “If you want in?”
I fixed the last knot on my kicks and let out the driest chuckle when I rose. “Nah, I’m good, man. Thanks.”
Cross-eyes shrugged, swiped down at the light switch, and casually left me in the dark, like who told him to do that. Standing there, alone, in the absence of light, in all my drunkenness, honestly, it was whatever; nothing mattered. And I’d have shrugged it all off if it wasn’t for that little exchange with cross-eyes. After looking for work all this month and getting nowhere, his offer stuck in my brain and wouldn’t get out of my head. For the first time, crime was seriously on my mind. I was dead ass considering breaking the law, like all of a sudden it was the next logical, legitimate option. Maybe my only option.
Clank! The front gate creaked open outside. My one shot, one opportunity, was getting away! I hurried down the staircase and out the front door, where I just caught cross-eyes going up the walk and out of sight behind some hedges. He was heading toward the main street, same as me, so I trailed him, by streetlight, a good thirty to forty yards behind. He was probably a few years older than me and maybe two or three inches taller. He walked cool and with attitude, and a slight bop in his step. Low key, I actually imitated him for a block until he finally reached the main street and posted up at the bus stop opposite the one that took me home.
Cross-eyes leaned against the glass pane of the stand, thumbing through his phone, the glare from the screen in his face. It was half past eleven, so the streets were damn near empty. In fact, we were pretty much the only ones out. Aight, let’s get this over with, I told myself.
“Yo,” I called and approached him.
Cross-eyes looked up from his phone. Wasn’t the slightest bit of surprise or startledness in his eyes. It was like he was waiting for me, like he knew I was coming and had only been expecting me.
“Changed your mind?” he asked.
“Maybe,” I shrugged and stepped closer. “What’s the gig?”
With the light from his phone still on his face, he smiled like a jack o’ lantern and said, “Cleaning!” Between his eyes and his smile, though, something was off. I felt like turning around and walking away right then and there. Only the conversation had just begun, and had to go on. “There’s this old bitch dirty apartment downtown. We want to surprise her and clean it out for her. You know, a little community service.” He snickered.
Sounds like burglary, I thought. Got it!
“So you’re short a cleaner?” I asked.
“Nah,” cross-eyes shook his head and laughed as though I told a joke.
“So how do I fit into this?”
“Look out!” he said.
“I’m sorry,” I had a slow moment.
“We need a look out.”
“Oh, okay, yeah,” I said. “I can do that. Whatever you need, man. I need money.”
“Who you telling?” he scoffed. Then playfully slapped at my shoulder like we were already pals. “Cash rules everything around me!” he rapped aggressively. “And if they ain’t going to give it, then we gotta take it, right?”
“Word!” my mouth spoke without my brain’s consent, and on that point of agreement, we had a small laugh. At the same time, in that moment, our eyes met, and I damn near peeped his soul. Fear, stress, and paranoia suddenly reverberated like a gong in my chest sinking into my stomach. Then, somehow I just knew, I had a feeling, this guy was not to be trusted. I had to get away.
Luckily, just then, cross-eyes asked about my phone, so I could take his number. Perfect! I got my phone out and was ready, when he dead ass just snatched it from me. All at once, dude’s whole facial expression, his whole demeanor, switched up. Even his eyes! Like a miracle, all of a sudden, they were looking straight at me!
I said, “Yo, what the—”
Then he pulled a gun.
“So I put my hands up,” I went on, telling the man I’d just met in McDonald’s. “Dude started going through my pockets and got my wallet and the little bit of free weed my dealer gave me.” I shrugged. “Oh, well. I didn’t care about none of that. But when I seen my brother’s sunglasses come out of my jacket in his hand . . . I went off. I told him to give it back and held my ground, like a gangster, when his hand with the gun drew back, and he gave me this,” I pointed to the gash above my left eye. “It all happened so fast, and I was so shook; I can’t even tell you which way he ran off. I just remember the bus coming right after. I was holding my eye, trying to tell the driver what happened. But all this nigga did was shoo me off like some petty-ass gatekeeper.”
“And then you came here?” the man sipped his soda.
I shook my head.
“The bodega first,” I told him. “They gave me the napkin for the blood. But they wasn’t paying a nigga’s fare, so I came here.”
Other than the bodega and a rundown bar, the McDonald’s was the only other place nearby that was open on the main street. When I first came in, the woman behind the register tried to play me, like I was homeless, but one of the dining customers—the man I was now talking to—called me over to his table and asked what happened.
His eyes were strong and steady and seemed full of genuine concern. In a long sleeve plaid button down, he smelled like cologne and was bald, completely. He had a big wrinkled forehead, thick, thoughtful eyebrows, and a graying goatee. I told him everything. Then he sat back for a moment and said, “Wow.” He shook his head. Then again said, “Wow.” He picked up his half-eaten burger from the tray in front of him, took a bite, and I guess both literally and figuratively started chewing it over.
“So you going to give me money for the bus?”
The man nodded, still munching.
“The next one’s at twelve thirty,” I told him.
The man checked his watch and finally gulped down his food.
I asked him for the time.
“Can I get you something?” he asked. “A burger, some fries?”
I shook my head, “Nah.”
“You sure,” he said. “The fries are fresh.”
“No, I don’t want any fries!” I got loud, and a group of shiesty-looking guys a couple of tables down looked our way. I lowered my voice: “I just want to go home.”
“I understand,” the man said. “I just figured you might be hungry. You got well over a half hour to kill.”
I collapsed back in my chair.
“I’m sorry that happened to you though,” the man stuffed his face with the last of his burger and spoke with his mouth full. “It’s always the innocent ones that pay. I’m an old head, so I know.” Chomp, chomp. “These streets.” Chomp, chomp. “Ain’t no joke!” Chomp, chomp. “Everybody shooting up everybody.” The man shook his head and finally swallowed. “Makes me sad.” He took a napkin and wiped a spot of ketchup from the corner of his mouth.
“Maybe that’s what I need,” I smiled.
“What?” said the man. “A gun?” His head cocked to the side, and his eyebrows nearly touched. “What you going to do with that?”
“I’d find that nigga wherever he is and hit him so hard, his eyes will go crossed again,” I made a gun with my fingers and pretended to shoot. “I know what he looks like.”
“Nah, there’s enough boys with toys running around out here,” the man shook his head. “And you know you ain’t no a criminal, so don’t act like it. ‘Cause that’s what got you in trouble, you see. A real man’s power comes from following his heart, not others. Besides, you’ve got bigger fish to fry. Don’t you think?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Look,” he sipped his soda. “I’m not trying to get in your business or tell you how to live—but listen. Nobody wants to hear this, but it’s the truth.”
“What?”
“No matter how good or bad,” he said. “If you keep your ears, eyes, mind, and heart open, you’ll see that everything happens for a reason.”
“Are you . . .” I dropped my head and sighed. But I wanted to fall out of my chair like an anime character. “Look man, can you just give me the money?”
“Oh, I can do more than that,” the man shifted around in his seat, got out his wallet, and carefully checked one by one through the cards. “Hold on,” he said and immediately closed his wallet. He picked up his jacket from beside him, went through all the pockets, pulling out random pieces of paper here and there. “Hold on.” He put the jacket to the other side of him. Then reached down under the table and pulled up this big quirky-looking knapsack and set it on his lap. From the small pouch on the front, he pulled out a black business card and slid it across the table.
“R&B Media,” I read aloud.
“You like music videos?” The man drank the last bit of his soda and looked disappointed at the cup.
“Yeah,” I said. “Of course.”
“Well, I can get you work on set, if you want? I’m actually shooting a video for a client this week, and I could use an extra P. A.”
“P. A.?”
“Production Assistant,” he said. “It’s not the most glamorous gig. You pretty much just do as you’re told. But it’s long hours and good money!”
When he said that, it was like the room spun around, and suddenly I was in the middle of a job interview.
“You still need work, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, if you still want something to shoot,” he patted his knapsack. “I’ll give you something to shoot, and get you paid for it.”
His smile made me smile.
“So this is you,” I said. “R&B?”
“It’s my brother, Brian, and I,” he nodded. “Our initials . . .” He stopped like he just remembered something important. “I’m Ronald, by the way. But everybody calls me Ronny.”
I told him my name, and we shook hands.
“Okay,” Ronny checked his watch. “Great, you’ve got about fifteen minutes. I’m going to run to the bathroom. Then we’ll get you on the bus.” He snuck a glance at the shiesty dudes down the way, when he slid out from under the table and stood up—way taller than I imagined he was. “Watch my stuff,” he took his empty tray up with him, dumped it in the trash, and went into the restroom.
Honestly, I don’t know how it happened. On my brother’s grave, I wasn’t thinking anything beforehand. But as soon as I heard that bathroom door close and the lock click, the idea just came to me: to hit or not hit this lick. That was the question, I thought, plotting on Ronny’s bag in front of me.
And after the whole conversation I had with him and the job he was trying to give me, I couldn’t believe I was even considering this. But I was so done getting my hopes up and being let down, done with promises and dreams. I mean, all that P. A. stuff Ronny was kicking sounded good; I just didn’t have the room right now for more disappointment. Nah, I couldn’t afford it, especially after everything that happened earlier. Nah, at this point, I needed a sure bet. And that was Ronny’s bag.
I didn’t know what exactly was in it. But I had a feeling it was worth way more than some bus money, so I looked around. The only other customers in the place were those shiesty dudes. The woman working the register was busy talking to her coworker. It was all me, if I was brave enough to take it. So I thought about it and thought about it. Then I heard the toilet flush, and it was now or never, so I grabbed Ronny’s bag and lit out.
I walked twenty-some-odd blocks all the way back to my friend’s place and didn’t get there until two in the morning. On the way, though, I peeked inside the bag and seen a camera and a laptop and a bunch of other expensive-looking equipment Ronny had in there. It felt like I struck gold. I was hype. I was happy. I figured I’d hit a pawnshop the next day and chill for a good while.
But then, when I woke up this morning, what do I find when I turn the bag inside out? Zipped in one of the secret compartments was a revolver, loaded with two bullets. Huh, I guess everything does happen for a reason.
