The Man in 3B (19 page)

“Let’s not play games here,” good cop said. “I know you’re not some gun-toting thug. Like you told Officer Jenkins here…” He looked at bad cop. “There were books in the bag. We’ve checked you out. You’re a college kid. A good kid. No record. It’s probably not even your gun. You’re probably holding it for somebody, right?”

I was more than just a college kid. I was a smart kid who knew better than to say anything to them besides “I want my phone call,” which I repeated again for about the hundredth time.

Bad cop shot off, “Give the little fucker a phone call so we can get somewhere.”

Good cop, of course, obliged. “What number you want me to call?”

“He’s probably calling his mommy,” bad cop taunted under his breath. “That’s what they all do.”

“For your information, my mother is dead,” I said before rattling off the number for good cop to dial.

It rang several times, and I found myself saying a prayer that it wouldn’t go to voice mail. I was terrified. Having never been in trouble before, I had no idea what I was supposed to do if the “I want my phone call” tactic didn’t work. I guess then I’d have to demand a lawyer.

Just when I thought no one was going to answer, I heard, “Hello?”

“Daryl?” My voice cracked slightly. I’d been keeping my poker face on pretty well, but hearing Daryl’s voice almost pushed me over the edge.

“Yeah, Benny. What’s up, man? You sound weird.”

“I got arrested,” I replied, getting straight to the point. “On gun charges. They found a gun in my bag.”

The first thing out of Daryl’s mouth was “Don’t say shit!”

“I haven’t,” I replied on the verge of tears.

“You didn’t fire it off or anything, did you?”

“No.”

“Good. Sit tight and don’t say nothing. Where they got you at? They haven’t sent you to Central Booking yet, have they?”

“No, I’m at the precinct right around the corner from the building. Daryl, don’t tell my pops.”

There was hesitation, and then he said, “Okay, cool. Don’t worry. I’m on my way.”

There was a click in my ear, and I felt like my lifeline had been cut. Something about having someone on my side there, even if it was only by phone, had made me feel secure for a few seconds. Now I felt like a surfer with a bleeding cut out in an ocean filled with sharks.

I guess the cops felt an urgent need to squeeze something out of me before Daryl got there, because they kept pressing me to talk while we waited for him.

“Come on, kid. Wouldn’t you rather be home with your girlfriend getting laid than sitting up in here looking at my ugly ass?” good cop said.

“Fuck it! Let his dumb ass keep his mouth shut,” bad cop interjected, glancing at his watch. “It’s a little past six. The Central Booking bus will be here in an hour. He’ll be somebody else’s girlfriend once they ship his ass over to Rikers Island. Bet he’s a bitch before dinner.”

I have to admit, that one almost got to me. The thought of going to jail… I couldn’t imagine anything worse. Pop would probably never talk to me again. Shoot, forget about jail. He probably would have killed me for being picked up in the first place. That’s why I had called Daryl instead. Considering the fact that he wore an ankle bracelet, he’d obviously had his own brushes with the law, so I knew he couldn’t get on my case but so much.

After a tense half hour, the door opened and an older uniformed officer with a white shirt walked in. My hands started shaking because I was sure the Central Booking bus had arrived.

“Captain,” good cop and bad cop greeted him.

His only words were, “Let him go.”

I think everybody in the room did a double take, including me.

“Captain—” bad cop started.

“I said let him go,” the captain repeated.

“But he has a—”

“It’s not up for discussion. It’s an order,” the captain stated with plenty of bass in his voice.

Then realizing he’d basically punked his officer in front of me, he lightened his tone a little. “He’s a college kid… trying to do the right thing. We’ve got no case.”

“Do the right thing?” Now good cop had to add his two cents, and he wasn’t sounding so good anymore. Matter of fact, he was starting to sound a little pissed. “This son of a bitch had a loaded nine-mil—”

“Let him go. You can’t win this one. It’s not worth the trouble,” the captain said, then left the room.

Good cop and bad cop exchanged furious looks. I wondered how many times they’d been through this before—not that I really cared. After the way they’d harassed me, it was good to see someone put these two bitch-ass cops in their place.

Good cop took his sweet time getting up from the table and escorting me out of the room, but he finally did, and Daryl was the first person I saw when they took me to the front lobby. I walked over and gave him a quick hug with a pound on his back. He was standing next to a dark-skinned black man, who was wearing an all-white dashiki and turban. He was also wearing a Jewish star similar to the one Daryl always wore.

“Benny, this is Brother Israel. Brother Israel was instrumental in having you released.”

“Thank you,” I said, offering my hand in appreciation, although I had no idea what was going on.

“You are most welcome. Always a pleasure to help a striving young brother.” Brother Israel smiled.

“Come on. Let’s get out of here,” Daryl said.

I looked back at the two cops staring at me. He didn’t have to tell me twice. Shoot, I never wanted to see the inside of that place again.
We headed to the elevator and rode it down to the street level, where I walked out of the precinct on legs that were still a little shaky. Once outside, I saw about ten or twelve men dressed similarly to Brother Israel. I was introduced to them and thanked Brother Israel again for his help before he and the other men entered a van and pulled away.

“What the hell did you say to get me out?” I asked.

“Not what I said, but what Brother Israel said.” Daryl laughed.

“Which was?”

“That you were on your way to the police station to turn in the gun through the amnesty program.”

“The what?” I asked.

“You know, the program where you turn in guns from the street, no questions asked.”

“And they let me go on his word?”

“Well, it didn’t hurt that you had a college ID in your wallet. But the truth is, this plan wouldn’t have worked if it wasn’t for Brother Israel threatening to call the media and have every Black Israelite in the five boroughs outside that station protesting within an hour. We were about to go Malcolm X on this joint, Israelite-style.”

I was touched. “For real, he would have done that for me?”

“No, he would have done it for me, because I told him that you needed my help and that you were a good kid and one of my best friends.”

“Best friends, huh? Wow, that’s one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me.” I looked over at him and said, “Thanks, Daryl, for getting me out. You’re a good friend.”

“Yeah, but I’m also a fool. I never should have given you that gun, and you can be damn sure I ain’t giving you another one. You’re never going to carry a gun again. By the way…” Daryl dug into his pocket and pulled out an envelope, which he handed to me.

“What’s this?”

“It’s your voucher for your free video games. You know, the voucher you were turning in the gun to receive.” He rolled his eyes as we turned the corner, the apartment building now in sight.

I slowed my pace when I saw my father sitting on the stoop. For the first time ever, I would have loved to see those gossiping old hens out there instead.

“There’s my dad,” I said. “Do you think he knows?”

Daryl shook his head. “I don’t know, man, but I guess we’re about to find out.”

I pulled up in front of my old apartment building feeling like a brand-new man. The new suit I was wearing, not to mention my brand-new Mercedes-Benz convertible and a pocketful of money, might have played a little part in that, but the fact that I had gotten rid of a bunch of deadweight from my life, aka Connie and my job at Cheap Sam’s, had much more to do with it. Even though the divorce wasn’t final yet, I felt free. I felt good. I felt happy. I was starting to abide by Cain’s “live like you’re dying” creed, and it was working out even better than I could have expected.

We’d done four more robberies since we held up my former place of employment, pocketing almost $150K in cash. I couldn’t wait for Cain to get back from the Cayman Islands so we could get back to business. He was down there depositing our most recent score into the corporate accounts he’d set up for us. I had to give it to him: the man had thought of everything. Once the money was deposited in our accounts, it would be readily available through debit cards and wire transfers. Heck, I even had my new Mercedes leased to the phony company, along with my new apartment over in Forest Hills.

As much as I loved the money, I think I loved the excitement and the rush it gave me even more, which was why I couldn’t wait to hit our next spot.

“Well, lookie here, lookie here,” I heard someone say as I stepped out of my car. As usual, the hens were out front clucking away. “Is that Avery Mack? Well, I’ll be damned if you don’t look open-casket ready. When’s the funeral?”

The three other women on the stoop laughed at the comment as if they’d never heard anything funnier. I almost felt bad for them. I looked damn good, and these dried-up old heifers were only making jokes because they knew I’d never get with one of them.

“If you stepping up in here looking this good, you must be looking for Connie,” Nancy, the queen of the stoop, said.

“No, actually,” I corrected her, “I stopped by to see my daughter.” It was true that I was there to see Krystal, but I sure wouldn’t mind if Connie saw me looking this good and driving this car. Plus, I happened to have a big chunk of the money she said it would cost to get her to sign the divorce papers.

“Oh. Well, that’s good, because Connie ain’t here no way.”

She gave the other women a knowing look, which set off a chain reaction of eye rolling and snickering. They obviously wanted me to think they knew something I didn’t. It’s not like I really cared about those broads or what they knew, but I’m only human. I wasn’t about to let curiosity eat me up all afternoon and ruin my Saturday.

“Where is she?” Seconds after I said it I regretted it. The last thing I wanted was for them to be telling Connie I was over here inquiring about her.

“You know I don’t like gossip, and I’m not one to participate in gossip of any form or fashion,” Nancy started and I wanted to laugh. “But the fact that your wife got all fresh and fly and then headed out with the man in 3B, that ain’t gossip. That’s the truth.”

She looked to her cohorts, and they burst out laughing, giving each other high fives like they had won some type of victory against me. I hate to say it, but it pissed me off. I was not sure why, though, because there was no way I was jealous of Connie—what she might be doing or who she might be doing it with.

To prove it to those women—and myself—I said casually, “Oh, Daryl,” shooing my hand. “They probably went to the gym to exercise.”

Nancy smirked and turned to her girls. “Maybe he didn’t hear what I said, because I said Connie got all dressed up, looking all fly,
and then left with the man. I didn’t say nothing about her wearing a jogging suit or shorts and a T-shirt. She was wearing makeup and most likely a big girls’ thong.”

There was more hysterical laughter from the stoop crowd. I decided that Nancy was probably exaggerating, jealous that Daryl hadn’t paid her no mind.

Nancy continued her comedy routine. “Oh, but if you say they’re out exercising, Avery, then who am I to disagree?” The other women hung on to her every word. “What woman wouldn’t want to exercise with a man like Daryl Graham… in three-inch heels, no less?”

The cackling started again. That sound was becoming like fingernails down a chalkboard, yet I stood there, acting unfazed. I refused to let these women think they were getting to me.

“So what? She went out to lunch with him. They’re friends.” I took a step toward the entranceway.

“Friends, huh? Okay, if that’s what you want to call it. Besides with you two getting a divorce and all, it probably doesn’t matter to you anyway.”

“Divorce?” Nancy had said the magic word. I stopped in my tracks. I was surprised these women knew about that. Connie must have been out broadcasting it. I wondered how she’d broken the news to the women. Were they the listening ear when she needed a shoulder to cry on, or had she been out there joking and cackling about it? Maybe she felt as free as I did.

“Yeah, you two are getting a divorce, aren’t you?” Nancy pressed.

Without responding, I opened the door to head into the building. That’s when I heard one of the women say, “Speak of the devil. Here they come now.”

Curiosity got the best of me, and I turned to see Connie and Daryl walking toward the stoop. She was all up in his face, laughing and blushing. She didn’t even notice me standing there.

“Honey, if that’s the devil, then I’ma try my best to earn me a ticket to hell,” another one mumbled. “If you ask me, Connie traded up.”

“Connie!” I called her name before I had time to stop myself. I
don’t know how the hell she didn’t fall flat on her face in the high-ass heels she was wearing. Where did she even get those fire-red patent leather shoes? They must have been new, because she sure hadn’t worn anything like that around me in years. Guess I wasn’t the only person who was making a change.

I had to admit, though, she looked good. Looked like she’d lost some weight too—not that it was enough to change my mind about her, but she was starting to look like her old self.

“Avery,” Connie greeted me unenthusiastically. “What’s up?” she said and then took her next step past me like she was stepping over trash.

“Where you been?” I asked.

Connie stopped and looked at me like I was gum on the bottom of her new shoes. “Daryl and I went out to lunch, if it’s any concern of yours. Didn’t you ask me for a divorce?”

“Speaking of which…” I reached into my suit jacket and pulled out a thick envelope. If she didn’t want to bother being civil, then I might as well get right to the point. I handed her the envelope. “It’s half of what we talked about. I’ll have the other half when you sign the papers.”