The Other Side Of the Game (3 page)

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Authors: Anita Doreen Diggs

BOOK: The Other Side Of the Game
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Chapter 4
PHIL
S
he stood in the doorway of her apartment, which must have contained a gazillion kids judging by the noise coming from behind her. It could not have been cleaned in weeks judging by the funk that wafted over her shoulder. She was wearing a super tight, hot pink vinyl miniskirt and a red-and-black tube top. Her ashy looking feet were shoved into a pair of dirty gold sandals. The outfit told me she was either blind or on drugs. The sunken cheeks, missing teeth and once pretty eyes gave me my answer.
“Are you Maria Gonzalez?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“I'm Detective Phillip Patterson and this is my partner, Detective Hugo Montana. I'd like to ask you a few questions, please.”
She responded in rapid-fire Spanish aimed at Hugo.
Hugo answered her through gritted teeth. “Miss Gonzalez, do you speak English?”
“Yes.”
“Then I want you to stop being so mutherfuckin' rude to my partner and pay attention to what he is saying.”
Hugo and I have been partners for many years and we've been through this scene many, many times. Black suspects talk to me like he isn't in the room and Hispanics talk to him in Spanish, which leaves me totally out of the loop.
I waited a beat and then continued. “Miss Gonzalez, do you know a young man called Beany Cruz?”
She shook her head to mean no.
It was a lie and a stupid one at that.
“That's strange. Because you and Beany were seen laughing and talking together in the park last night and then again at the liquor store.”
“You got a picture of this guy?”
She was stalling for time.
Hugo flashed a photo of the now-dead Beany in front of her face.
“Yeah. I know him.”
“Do you know who shot him?”
“No.”
“Do you care who shot him?”
That bought a gap-toothed grin to her face. “No. Can I go now?”
I unsnapped my cuffs. “Yes. We're all going right down to the 103rd Precinct. You're under arrest for murder.”
Her eyes grew huge with fear. “I didn't kill nobody.”
I cuffed her hands behind her back while Hugo rattled off her right to remain silent and all that shit. We both knew she hadn't killed Beany but her brother certainly had and the only way to find out where he was hiding was to put the squeeze on his crackhead sister.
It didn't take long to get the truth out of Maria Gonzalez. She held up pretty well through the reading of her Miranda rights but when we got downtown and it was time for fingerprinting and picture taking, brotherly love flew right out the window. She gave us what we needed to catch the real killer.
 
When I got home that evening, it was good to find the driveway empty. Saundra's boyfriend, Yero, spends so much time at our place, he might as well just move on in. As I opened the door, I could hear the sound of some music that sounded like monks chanting coming from her room.
I knocked on her door. “Honey, I'm home.”
Saundra opened the door and kissed me lightly on the cheek. “Hi, Daddy. Did you have a good day?”
“I'm a cop. There is no such thing as a good day at work.”
It was an old joke between us that started six years ago when Saundra first moved in. Back then she used to be really sad all the time about her mother's death and I didn't like to tell her about the human misery that I encountered each day. So, I'd make up these stories that had happy endings. One night I was just too tired to come up with another
I saved/rushed a little boy to the hospital and he is going to be fine
story and just told her that there was no such thing in my business as a good day at work.
When Saundra first came to live with me, I studied her every word and gesture, looking for signs of her mother that I could stamp out immediately. With all respect to the dead, Lola Smith was a weak, indecisive, and chronically depressed female who spent far too much time waiting for Mr. Right to show up on her doorstep. Saundra is the only child I will ever have in this lifetime and I wanted her to be the complete opposite—strong, educated, independent, with clear-cut goals and money of her own. To be honest, I'd hoped she would win a scholarship to one of those fancy girls' schools like Spelman or Barnard and land one of those jobs where she'd have a big office and a six-figure paycheck. But she decided to study the rag trade and open a boutique. That's okay by me. Saundra has turned out to be a terrific young woman and there is nothing wrong with raising a family and selling clothes. I'm going to give her the start-up money and pay for her wedding to Yero. Then I'm going to sit her down, tell her a truth that has always needed telling and live the life that will make me happy.
Chapter 5
EVELYN
P
hil is taking me to B.B. King's blues club in Manhattan so I'm trying to find the right pair of shoes to go with my lime green wrap dress and listen to my best friend, Josephine Styles, at the same time. That's what I like about Phil. I don't have to beg him to take me out or buy me a thoughtful gift. It was his idea for us to hang out in the city tonight and he even picked out this new dress for me to wear. He is a wonderful boyfriend. But just because he hasn't given me an engagement ring, I have to listen to Mama's mouth and Josephine's mouth. They harangue me constantly but I don't pass the stress on to Phil. He and I agreed that as soon as Saundra moved out of the house, it would be my time. Phil said that back in his hometown of Dayton, he saw many relationships fall apart simply because two grown women could not share the same space in peace. I agreed to wait for him to handle his business with his daughter. I'm happy with the way things are. So, that's that. Or it should be.
Josephine and Mama think that Phil is dragging his feet for some unknown reason and that I should push his back up against the wall and drag a wedding date out of him. That's crazy. I've waited six years and Saundra is getting married in a few months. Why should I start some mess now?
Even now, instead of helping me pick out the shoes, Josephine is sitting on the side of my bed, running her mouth, “Sweetie, when is his daughter getting married?”
I waved my hand airily, trying to look unconcerned. “In June.”
“So, why can't Phil buy your engagement ring now?”
“We're both always so busy. The subject just hasn't come up.”
Her voice rose. “Hasn't come up?”
I shushed her. “Keep your voice down. Mama is trying to get some sleep.”
Josephine lives down the street with her husband and two handsome teenaged sons. I love her but right now she was creating negative energy.
“I'm surprised your mother can sleep at all with her only child dangling on a hook for the past six years.” Josephine slipped off her shoes and put her feet up on the ottoman.
“Why should I rush this man down the aisle, Josephine? I've never been interested in having children. I'm not feeling insecure because I always know where he is, and we're only going to City Hall when we
do
tie the knot. We can just jump up and do that any time.”
Josephine was still a brainwashed sistah. Meaning that her hair was streaked with a red that is unnatural to African-American women and it was also chemically relaxed. She flipped it over one shoulder now. “Fine. Call him now and tell him to jump up and marry you next Friday. I'll go with you.”
“Phil is one of the last good men left and I don't plan to lose him by listening to you,” I said.
“Don't get me wrong, Evelyn. I like Phil and everything, but something just isn't right. I think he must be one of those commitment-phobic men who I read about in this book called
Men Who Can't Love
.”
“Phil definitely loves me!” I protested.
She took a long swig of Sunny Delight. “Yes, he loves you, but the idea of saying “I do” probably makes him wake up screaming in fear. I'm not putting him down. It's a serious emotional condition and he'll need to see a shrink to get over it.”
“How can you drink that stuff? Why not just buy orange juice?”
“Don't change the subject.”
“Actually, I am going to change the subject.”
“Fine. Just ask Phil to set a date and see what he says.”
“I don't want him to feel pressured.”
“Pressured? After six years? Puh-leeze, girl. He's lucky you haven't shot his ass.”
“Josephine, I've been married before and it flopped. Plus, it's not like I don't have any life outside of Phil.”
“Something just doesn't seem right to me, Evelyn.”
I'd had enough. “How are your boys?”
She sighed. “You just saw them yesterday. They're fine.”
“Look, Josephine. I believe in Phil and you're just going to have to respect that.”
She clicked the remote and started surfing for something enlightening to watch. “Fine. I'll never bring it up again.”
“Good.”
Josephine and Mama need to handle the procrastinators in their own lives. Mama and the local butcher have been flirting with each other for the past ten years. She spends hours standing in that store talking to him about God knows what and sometimes he comes to our house and they yammer some more. Has he ever taken her to the theater, out to a nice romantic dinner or held hands and traded kisses with her during a movie? No. Does he buy her a card and a gift on her birthday? No. Does he show up with candy and flowers on Valentine's Day? No. So, what is she pushing me for? The butcher has it made. Mama listens to and counsels him about all his personal problems. They cheer each other on. Talk about their disappointments and sharing what few dreams they each have left. In other words, he has a free girlfriend without any of the responsibility (financial or sexual) that goes along with a real romantic relationship.
And Josephine? She and I have plans to quit the police force and open up a weekend spiritual retreat for women in upstate New York. But every time we get ready to file for incorporation and move forward, her husband convinces her to wait. I listen to her complain endlessly about how tired she is of him holding us back. Then she'll stiffen her backbone and promise me that we're really going to do it. Next month. He drags around looking sad for a few days and when that doesn't work, he becomes mean and starts nitpicking at everything she does until her migraines start up again. This has been going on for over a year. I'm beginning to think that I should just start the retreat by myself but Josephine and I have been friends since high school and I don't want to alienate her.
Today I wrote an advertisement for what should be our first program:
Real Life Retreat Center, Irvington, New York
Ever feel like you aren't living for yourself? Just going along with someone else's program? Living by someone else's standards? Traveling on someone else's schedule? It isn't too late to turn your life around. Wake up! Take a few baby steps toward living the life you want to have. During this weekend, we will unpack some of your old dreams and look at what you'd really like to do with your life. We will visualize a happier life for you and explore ways for you to get it. It's not too late if you start right now. Cost: $495.
Mama can't get the butcher to commit to simply being her boyfriend. Josephine can't get her husband to leave her alone long enough for us to find out if our idea has merit. Why should I listen to either one of them and start nagging Phil about a wedding date?
Chapter 6
SAUNDRA
M
edical studies have proved that vegans are up to 40 percent less likely to die of cancer and 30 percent less likely to get heart disease. We are also less prone to high blood pressure and diabetes. This is one reason why Yero, Evelyn, and I don't eat flesh. The other reason is that veganism is not just a diet but an attitude of reverence for the sanctity of life. It is a spiritual appreciation and acknowledgement of all God's creatures.
So the three of us are having veggie burgers and vegan pizza for dinner.
I was chopping up the green peppers, celery, pecans and parsley. Yero was mashing the chickpeas and Evelyn was spreading the vegan pizza dough when Daddy walked in with his friend, Hugo.
Hugo Montana is a Latino officer who has been Daddy's best friend for as long as I could remember.
The two big detectives greeted us cheerfully and then unpacked a box of Popeye's fried chicken and a tub of mashed potatoes covered with gravy. Dad grabbed two beers from the refrigerator and they tore into the meal like they'd never eaten before.
Evelyn, who was wearing a gorgeous yellow caftan and matching headwrap, had been singing as she prepared the pizza. Now she was quiet and a frown creased her forehead.
“Don't worry, Evelyn,” I said loudly. “Daddy is beginning to see the error of his ways. He won't be eating that junk much longer. The other day I caught him drinking some of my soy milk.”
“I had already poured my coffee,” Daddy replied. “There was no other milk in the house.”
Hugo munched a drumstick. “Leave us in peace,
chica.
We've just had a rough eight hours. First, we had to arrest a woman just so she'd tell us where her murdering brother was hiding, but then when we got to the address she gave us, he was already on a plane to the Dominican Republic. Now we'll have to do a whole bunch of paperwork to get him back to the United States. What makes it so bad is that both he and Beany Cruz put together ain't worth the price of a postage stamp.
“Who is Beany Cruz?” asked Yero.
“The dead guy.” Hugo shrugged. “Some penny ante crack dealer.”
“That was just this morning's work,” groused Phil.
Hugo nodded. “After that, we get another call. This guy beat his grandmother to death with a candlestick holder. He gets down to the precinct and starts playing like he's crazy. Only we know he ain't crazy. Then, when that didn't work, he tells us he didn't do it. That he has a violent twin brother who hated the old lady. So we go back to the block and talk to the neighbors again. They look at us like we been smokin' angel dust or something. Then we get it. There ain't no twin brother. In fact, there ain't no other family around at all. So then your daddy got mad and when we got back down to the station, I had to keep him from killing that fool.”
Yero had stopped mashing the chickpeas. He loves cop stories. “Then what happened?”
“We booked the fool and threw him in jail.”
Daddy grinned at Yero. “Why don't you take the officer's exam, man? Quit fooling around. You know that's what you really want to do.”
“No, he doesn't,” Evelyn said. “It's just like in the old days when the lives of proper ladies were very structured and stultifying; they were always willing to listen to stories of what they called fallen women. Of course, they pretended to shake their heads in disgust, but the tales really added some color to their dreary lives.”
Yero pretended to be hurt. “What are you saying? That my life is dreary?”
Evelyn laughed and patted him on the back. “Of course not, honey. I just meant that you sell stamps all day and uh . . .”
I laughed. “Evelyn, why don't you quit while you're ahead.”
Yero went back to mashing the chickpeas as we all chuckled.
Hugo pointed a fork in my direction. “So,
chica,
I hear you're going to be a bride. Is that true?”
Evelyn answered for me. “Saundra is going to be the most gorgeous bride in the history of brides. I've been waiting for this wedding for a long time.”
She and daddy locked eyes and I could feel the negative energy.
I hurried to cover the silence. “Are you coming to my wedding, Hugo?”
“If I'm invited.”
“Of course you're invited. Don't be silly.”
“Can I have the first dance?”
“No, my first dance will be with Yero.”
He continued to tease me. “What about the second dance?”
“Sorry. That one belongs to Daddy.”
Hugo sighed and took a long swig of beer.
“This wedding is going to cost me a pretty penny,” Daddy said. “Have you two found a church yet?”
“We're getting married in Central Park,” answered Yero. “Churches make some people feel uncomfortable. We have friends who believe in a higher power but it isn't always a Christian God.”
Daddy was about to say something but Evelyn gave him a
leave the kids alone
stare.
“What about the party? Where is that going to be?”
“Daddy, we found one place over near Jamaica Estates. It's called The Crystal Palace. It is really beautiful but they want too much money, so we're still searching.”
Hugo shrugged. “How much?”
“Two hundred fifty dollars per person.”
“Ay, Dios mio!”
Daddy went to the refrigerator and got another beer. “Humph! Oh, my God in Spanish isn't enough. You need to say it in Italian, German, Hungarian and Yiddish. Two hundred fifty dollars per person! Are they crazy? Does that include an open bar all night with premium brand liquor? What type of food do they serve for that kind of money?”
Yero cleared his throat. “Phil, we're not planning to serve any alcoholic beverages at the reception.”
“I'm expected to shell out two hundred fifty dollars per person and sit there stone cold sober?”
“Get a grip, Phil,” said Evelyn. “Saundra has already said that it is too expensive and they're looking at other places.”
“Yeah, Daddy. Calm down.”
Evelyn added coarse salt and Roma tomatoes to the vegan pizza dough. She looked very unhappy and I couldn't help feeling sorry for her. We should all be planning her wedding to Daddy. She still lived with her mother on Long Island. Daddy lived in a three-bedroom house with me in Queens. The two of them must have had sex at hotels because she was never in his bed here and this whole silly mess had been going on for six years.
What on earth was she getting out of the relationship? Why didn't she just end it?
How could Daddy be so wonderful with one female (me) and so self-centered and callous with another (Evelyn)?
I combined the chickpeas, pecans, bread crumbs, carrots, pepper, celery and parsley in a big bowl.
Yero and I dug our hands into the mixture, smiled at each other and started making patties.

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