Baby Huey: A Cautionary Tale of Addiction (15 page)

Fifty shook his head. “The life of me I don’t know why you wanna pimp me. Me and old gal do all the work while you sit round watch soap operas? Look, a salt-and-pepper couple the police will stop on sight. Especially in Texas. All you gotta do is follow us down there, then you and me ride back behind Cindy with the dope in her car. That a problem? You know the soaps don't show the good shit till Friday, anyway. We'll be back tonight.”

Had a mind to tell him to kiss my ass, but said, “Who’s paying for gas?”

* * * * *

The Grand Am, Cindy at the wheel, exited off Interstate 30 near Hope, Arkansas, and I followed it to a truckstop. Fifty paid for the gas for both fill-ups and a box of stale fried chicken and three cokes.

Back on the interstate I daydreamed of the day Doreen and I got back together. We would have to start from scratch like before, new furniture, another apartment until we saved our money again to buy a house…It could work.
Doreen, baby, I’ll make it up to you. Promise.

A sign said Don’t Mess With Texas and I realized I’d driven across the stateline without noticing it. Two miles later the Grand Am exited onto Highway 59 and I followed it through small towns. Atlanta. Linden. Whatley. Marshall. Carthage. Nacogdoches. Lufkin, where Cindy took the loop around town and circled the city twice before finding Highway 59 South again. The clouds on the horizon were dark.

In Cleveland, ninety miles from Houston, it started raining. The temperature dropped. To the west the clouds were even darker. Tornado clouds, I thought. Hail pinged against the hood and windshield, but the Grand Am, only the red taillights visible now, continued down the road.

Lightning flashed, providing instant daylight for a second. Doreen might not come back, I thought as thunder boomed. That was a disturbing thought, made my stomach churn.

Doreen didn’t come back, she might get horny and sleep with somebody, somebody other than me. The thought made me want to throw up, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it, taking it further…Doreen naked, some guy naked too, Doreen dancing, a nasty song playing in the background…

The Grand Am was gone. I sped up. Lightning flashed again and I didn’t see a gray Grand Am in the distance. The next exit I doubled back. No money for gas I had to find them. A few miles I spotted revolving blue lights, a black-and-white Texas state cruiser parked on the southbound shoulder behind a gray Grand Am.

Shit!
If they went to jail I’d be stuck.

I parked under a bridge and got out. Watched. Watched another state cruiser pull in behind the first. Watched Cindy escorted to the back seat of one cruiser, Fifty the other. He looked my way, but I wasn’t sure he saw me. Watched a state trooper open the trunk and take things out of it.

Fifty was right: a salt-and-pepper couple caught hell in Texas. They were going to jail, I just knew it, already thinking who to ask to wire some money.

The state trooper searched the interior of the Grand Am. Man, Fifty must have hidden the money well.

Wait a minute!

Got back inside the Caddy, pushed the yellow button in the glove compartment and the trunk popped opened. Nothing different but two plastic water jugs…then I lifted the mat covering the spare tire. And there it was.
Sonofabitch!
A knot of hundred dollar bills held with a rubber band. Bastard didn’t even try to conceal it.

Another look that way: both cruisers and the Grand Am were gone. Not a problem. I had enough money to drive back to Little Rock, get an apartment, furniture, wine and dine Doreen…Before I could get in the Caddy, the Grand Am pulled up and Fifty jumped out, ran and hopped in the passenger seat.

“Don’t even think about it,” he said. “Half that money belongs to Batman. You don’t want him on your ass. Let’s go.”

Getting behind the wheel I said, “You forget to tell me the money was in my damn car!”

“I wish you’d drive off. Police stopped us once already. C’mon, let’s go!”

I killed the engine, stared at him. “What if I got stopped? I wouldna’ve known a damn thing about that money. I woulda been the one going to jail.”

“What you want me to say? ‘I’m sorry’? Okay, I’m sorry. Let’s go!”

Starting the Caddy I said, “Man, you’re fulla shit, you know that?” and drove off.

Fifty said, “You just figuring that out?”

At a truckstop in Humble, Texas, thirty miles north of Houston, Fifty gave the money to Cindy, kissed her and told her he loved her.

The rain had stopped, but the sky was still dark. Next door to the truckstop was a Jack-In-The-Box restaurant. We didn’t have one in Arkansas.

Fifty got back in the car wearing a worried expression. I asked him why he didn’t go with her and he said, “Ain’t my connection.”

“You don’t trust her?”

Fifty rolled the window down and spat. “I don’t trust no bitch, especially a crackhead bitch. She run off she better keep running.” After a pause he said, “You think she’ll run off?”

“Hell if I know--she’s your woman.”

“She ain’t my damn woman, just something to do till I can do better. If she gank me, I couldn’t tell Batman she run off with his money. He’ll say, ‘Fuck that, I gave
you
the money.’ That would be a problem, a big problem.”

“One thing I can honestly say, I can trust Doreen. She has her mood swings, but she wouldn’t gank me. I fucked it up, man. Somehow I got to unfuck it. Coming down here I was thinking she’ll never take me back the the way things are now. No job, no money, smoking that shit. I get back to Little Rock I’ma make some changes, get my shit together.”

“Uh, didn’t you say she filed for divorce?”

“Yeah, but I don’t think she’s going all the way with it.”

Fifty looked at his watch. “Let me ask you something. You willing to die for Doreen?”

“Depends on the situation. Somebody tried to hurt her, yeah I would. But I’m not jumping off a bridge or something like that if she don’t come back.”

“Popeye, you remember, loved him some Olive Oyle--no ass, anorexic, bland personality, but Popeye loved her skinny ass to death. Bluto didn’t give a damn ‘bout her, he just wanted some pussy. He wanted her because Popeye loved her, know what I mean?”

“What the hell you talking about?”

“You’ll see, ’cause I’m going to show you. Popeye and Bluto, the classic example of two men wanting the same damn woman. Different reasons, though. Bluto was in it just to hit it, but willing to kick ass or get his ass kicked to get it. That’s why I ask you willing to die for Doreen.”

“Man, what the hell you talking about? That’s a damn cartoon! Doreen ain’t quick to fool around and she damn sure wouldn’t play two men. We were together two months ’fore we even started kissing. You told me not to indulge your woman and I respect that. I appreciate it if you keep Doreen’s name out your fucking mouth!” I got out the car, slammed the door, and went inside the truckstop.

Damned fool comparing my wife to a cartoon!

More than an hour I sat in the trucker’s lounge watching a western, Roy Rogers or somebody jumping on and off a horse.

Fifty came in and said Cindy’s back. “You ready to go?”

Sounding polite about it.

Outside, first thing I went and looked in the trunk. Nothing. Cindy was in the Grand Am, the engine running. Fifty drove and we didn’t speak, not a single word, until crossing back into Arkansas, Fifty saying, “Fuck Texas!”

A hundred and forty miles to Little Rock, eight at night, we should’ve got there before midnight.

Fifty dug between the seats, said, “I had this in my pocket,” and handed me a pipe.
Yeah, right?
Then he put a rock in my hand, the biggest I’d seen, the size of a golf ball. Fifty said, “Break off a piece, let’s see what’s what.”

Numerous hits later, the rock reduced to half, my left arm started acting up. Hit the light overhead and Fifty switched it off, saying, “Police will see us.”

I told him to look at my arm, see if it’s swelling up, and hit the light again.

Fifty glanced at it and said, “Looks al’ight to me.” I held up both arms side by side and told him to look again. Looking upside my head instead of my arms, he said, “I guess it’s a little bit swole,” and turned the light off.

“Stop the car! I wanna look at it under the headlights. Need to pee too.”

“What? Can’t stop, we’ll lose Cindy. Use the plastic jug, the one with the red top. Ain’t nothing wrong with your arm.”

“You a doctor? How you know? My arm swell up too big we stopping at a hospital. I’m not losing my arm messing with you!”

“Man, relax. You tripping.”

A blue Crown Victoria pulled alongside in the passing lane, an inside light illuminating an elderly white woman looking at a map as she drove. Fifty stiffened. The Crown Victoria slowed and fell in behind us, its headlights almost blinding us.

“Damn,” I said, “those Ford lights are bright, aren’t they?”

Fifty whispered, “Be quiet. That’s the police.” I turned to look and Fifty snapped, “Don’t do that, fool!”

“That ain’t the police, that’s a little old white woman. I think she’s lost.”

“It’s the police! Let your window down, flick the rock out with your thumb--don’t throw it out!--just flick it with your thumb.”

“Shieeee! I’m not throwing the rock out for a little old woman. She ain’t the police.”

Another five miles the Crown Victoria was still tailing us.

Fifty, sweating now, whispered, “Undercover. She’s an undercover cop. I were you I’d flick that rock like right now, before she turn on her siren.”

“Man, you crazy. A little old white woman an undercover cop? Please! I’ma turn the light on, take another look at my arm.”

And that’s how it went all the way to Little Rock: Fifty certain every car behind us was the police, pleading I toss the rock and the pipe out; me convinced my arm was swelling up, twisting it this way and that, asking Fifty to stop so I could check it by the headlights.

More confusion arose when we finally arrived at the apartment. According to Fifty, you couldn’t simply walk into your apartment with two turkeys in hand; no, you had to go inside, turn off all the lights, and look out the window. Exactly what he did.

Cindy and I made do with a lighter and the rock I’d pretended to flick out the window so Fifty would calm down.

Three in the morning, Cindy was inspecting the carpet with a lighter, a square inch at a time. Fifty still stood at the window. I looked over his shoulder and didn’t see nothing but cars in the parking lot, stars in the sky.

I asked him to look at my arm, tell me if it was getting bigger. He didn’t respond so I asked him, “What you looking at?”

“They out there,” Fifty whispered.

“They who?”

“Get away from me!”

I sought medical advice from Cindy. She held the lighter close to my arm and said, “Yes, you’re right. It’s swollen. Wonder what caused that?”

That was a good question. Body parts didn’t swell up unless something was wrong. “Think it might be a disease or something?” I asked, but Cindy had resumed her search, stopping now and then to suck her hot thumb.

The living room light came on. Cindy and I froze. Fifty stared at us as if he’d caught us having sex.

“I’m going to get the dope,” he said.

Chapter 15

We, Fifty and I, had been sitting in the car behind the blue house on Pine Street for almost thirty minutes. Between us, on the floor of the BMW, was a box of Kentucky Fried Chicken in which contained a turkey, a kilo of crack cocaine.

Again Fifty was confronted with the daunting challenge of transferring a turkey from vehicle to dwelling. It was broad daylight, a quarter till three.

I made a suggestion: “Why don’t you tell Spiderman to come get it? He knows where you live, don’t he?”

Fifty stared at the house, a man and a woman coming out the back door, giving us wary looks before heading down the alley.

“Batman,” Fifty said. “His name is Batman. Don’t forget it. Some shit start you got my back, right?”

“What kinda shit?”

He started to say something, but kept it. Bags were evident under the shades he wore and his jaw muscles kept twitching.

The last thirty-six hours neither he, Cindy nor I had slept, wide awake the whole time, smoking crack, until Fifty declared, “It’s time to get busy, ’fore you suckers smoke up all the shit.”

Twenty minutes later we were still sitting there. When I started massaging my left arm, Fifty said, “Don’t start that shit again,” picked up the box and got out of the car.

I followed him up the back steps to a screen-covered porch. Nellie’s
Pimp Juice
and the smell of cabbage hit us when Fifty opened the back door without knocking.

The kitchen. A large pot hissing on a dirty white stove. To the right two men and three women were at a table playing dominoes. Fifty nodded at them, kept going. Through the living room, only a green couch, a girl looking out the window. Into the hallway, past a bathroom, a man and woman there, the woman and I locking eyes before she slammed the door.

Fifty stopped at a door and knocked. A guy wearing a military uniform, a holstered automatic pistol on his hip, came out and looked past Fifty at me, a who-the-hell-are-you look. I cleared my throat and Fifty said, “He with me.”

GI Joe moved away from the door.

In what once was a bedroom sat a short, middle-aged light-skinned man, shirtless, red baggy shorts, in a red recliner before a big-screen television,
Judge Hatchett
holding court. An Asian girl knelt at his feet, jet-black hair concealing her face, massaging his toes. Rubbing alcohol choked the air.

Fifty waited for a commercial to come on before saying, “Got your package.”

Like an actor, the man turned toward Fifty and smiled, two bottom teeth missing, which made me think about the fight I’d had with Oscar.

Fifty said, “Where you want me to put it?”

The man nodded and GI Joe came in and took the Kentucky Fried Chicken box from Fifty and left.