Criminal (6 page)

“Yeah, I know all that. More and more, though, I feel like there's things I don't know.”

I faced her then, the rush of having been with Dee making me bold. His groans, his breath were still humming in my ears. My whole body was still wet with him, still electric and fearless.

“You know where we were,” I said, cold. “And you know we love each other.”

She snorted, turned to wipe the edge of the sink that didn't need to be wiped.

“You know,” I went on, “that all I had before I had him was nothing. My job, maybe. You. You know he's been good to me this time around, has been here. You know you don't like him, but you know you can't say exactly why.”

“Oh, I know why,” she said, hand moving steadily. “Only I know you don't see it, so there ain't no point.”

“What are you trying to say?”

This was the edge we usually came to, me and Bird. Fighting but not-fighting about Dee. About how she didn't like him, didn't want him around, but also didn't want to undo things for me—my happiness, mainly. It seemed like this time, though, there might not be a limit to her anger. No place where she might back off.

“I'm saying, Nikki, that boy ain't no good. And I don't like him in my house. And instead of getting smart about those two things, lately you just getting more and more up into him. Getting all wrapped up in what he is or isn't doing, with who. Some kind of letter, whatever. I'm saying to you, Nikki, that when the
po
-lice”—she slapped her hand down flat on the counter, making me jump—“come to my
house
and ask me
questions
, it probably ain't very wise or kind for you to take my car and go running off to him. I'm saying, maybe you need to think about who you really looking out for, and why. That's all I'm saying.”

Her eyes were steel. I could hear her breathing through her nose, like a bull. But I think I was also hearing my own breaths, coming fast. It wasn't fair for her to make me choose. It wasn't fair for her to have this house and everything in it, her baby,
her job, her life she'd been able to turn around because she was strong and smart and brave, while at the same time trying to keep me from having any kind of my own happiness. She
knew
I didn't have anything else. She knew it. And just because she didn't have a man, just because she worked too hard to ever meet anybody new, that wasn't my fault. It wasn't my fault my man came back to me and hers didn't. Wasn't my fault that she was too scared to love anybody—even, by the sound of her now, me.

“I won't bring him around anymore,” I said finally.

She started yelling. “You already
brought
him around, Nikki! Him, and the police with him, and whatever bad he's done, trailing it in, dragging it around, and spilling it on everything in here!”

“I don't know anything about that!” I shouted back at her. “And you don't need to, either! What Dee's done is his business, and I trust him. I won't have him over if you don't want him here. But don't ask me to check my own happiness at the door too.”

I was amazed that Jamelee wasn't awake and crying, the sound of us. I almost wanted her to be so that one of us would have a real reason to end this, to go and check on her and finish talking for the night. I wanted to get away from Bird, and her anger, and the lie she'd just forced me to tell her. I wanted to get away from police and questions and worry and all of it. I
wanted Dee holding me again, like he had been only an hour ago. Making the world only him and me and nothing else.

“Go in there”—she gestured to the bathroom around the corner—“look in the mirror, and you tell me just how happy you are.”

“Maybe you should do that yourself,” I spat, turning around and leaving her there alone in her clean kitchen.

But when I went to wash my face and brush my teeth, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't meet the eye of my reflection for more than a few seconds at a time.

• •

Bird and I had fought before. Usually, after, we didn't even apologize. She didn't like dwelling on much of anything, but especially not ugliness. But apparently she'd been dwelling on her dislike for Dee even more than I thought. And now that it was out, I didn't know how long it was going to stay around.

The next morning, I kept out of her way. I was still mad too. She had to do her KFC job, though, and I had to go to work myself, so that made avoiding her easier. When I got home, we ate dinner at the TV and then went to bed, not talking more than we had to. I was calmer at that point, but it was clear she still needed space. I understood she was mad about the police, because they freaked me out too. But they hadn't come around to ask me anything else today, and I knew, now that she'd talked to them, she didn't have
any more to worry about either. It was just like Dee said: they'd asked her what they needed to know, and that was the end of it. She was safe, even if she didn't feel it yet. We all were.

Friday I had off, and since I didn't have anywhere to go, I decided to try and make things nicer again between me and Bird. She'd been up early but lain down on the couch to doze while the baby bounced and squealed in her jumpy swing. I cooed and tapped Jamelee on the nose as I walked by, heading to the kitchen to make a big breakfast, keeping as quiet as I could so as not to wake Bird.

I made a mess of eggs and some ham, plus biscuits with gravy. The cooking melted away the rest of my upsetness with Bird. But even after the house filled with good food smells, Bird didn't come into the kitchen until I called for her. She sat at the table with me but pretended to be looking at a magazine while we ate. I watched her, disappointed that she hadn't even said thank you for breakfast. She wasn't letting this go. I cleared our dishes and tried to think of some kind of outing I could suggest, something fun for me and her and the baby. Something to help her realize everything was okay.

A knock at the door finally got us talking. Bird made a face, looking at the clock on the stove.

“Tyrone ain't supposed to be here for his suit until eleven,” she said to me.

“I'll get it. Probably Jehovah's Witnesses, since the car's here.”

She snorted, and the small laugh-noise felt like a kind of victory.

When I opened the door, I thought at first what I was seeing wasn't real. Two cops in uniforms, plus a detective in a suit—the one who had questioned me before—and another officer standing back, in the yard. Two squad cars behind them parked on the street, with a black police van parked farther down the road.

“Good morning, ma'am. We're here to see Shondeana Brown.”

Polite as could be, the detective was. Like he wasn't turning my blood into ice.

“Who is it, Nikki?” Bird said, coming behind me. I heard her stop still, seeing the police.

“Ms. Brown,” the detective said to her, looking beyond me. He held something up. “We have a warrant here to search your vehicle. We're expecting that you'll cooperate.”

“You have a what?”

Somehow Bird was past me, on the stoop, jutting out her chin, looking fierce, even though she only came to the detective's chest.

“Ma'am,” one of the officers said, his tone not as polite. “I'll ask you to step down, please.”

I wanted to take her arm, pull her into the house with me. But I couldn't move.

Bird's hands were in fists at her sides, but her voice was
low. “Ain't no reason you have to be over here this morning. I already told him everything I know, which is nothing. You ain't got no need to search nothing of my property.”

A small sound came out of me: “Bird.”

The detective moved a step down, bringing him closer to her eye level. “Ms. Brown, a vehicle of this exact color and model—specifically, with the symbol there on the back—was described by more than one witness during one of our investigations. We noticed the vehicle when we were here questioning you the other day, and as this is—by your own admission and Miss Dougherty's—the residence where one of our suspects was staying, I'm afraid we do have probable cause to search your car. Now, I understand you're upset, but your cooperation would be appreciated.”

I stared at both of them. Suspect. This man was calling Dee a
suspect
. I remembered his name then. DuPree. He was like this the other day too. Nice as pie. Like he was just coming over for a cup of coffee. And not in a fake way, either. In a way that made you almost want to do what he said. And now he was here. Here on our step.

Bird turned and looked at me, though she was talking to the police.

“Why. On earth. Would my car. Be anywhere near some ‘investigation'?”

I wanted to sink into the ground, disappear. Bird's eyes on me, full of rage, and the lights on top of the police cars, spinning. They could be at Dee's house, doing the same kind of search. He could be arrested. There were witnesses. My whole body was water. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

“Ms. Brown, this shouldn't take much of your time. We'd appreciate it if you'd just let us begin.”

I expected her to scream at them, throw herself in front of her precious Mustang, act crazy like a lady on TV, but she just made this defeated gesture toward the car and sighed. “Let me get the keys.”

I hadn't moved—couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't believe any of this. She got past me again, somehow, without even touching me. I heard her in the kitchen, the sound of her jangling key chain, murmuring to Jamelee. Lifting her into her arms. When she came back toward the door, I stepped out of the way. Found my voice.

“Bird, I—”

“You ain't speaking to me,” she hissed, gliding past. She gave the detective her keys and then stood there, at the top of the driveway, watching them. Solid and unmoving, save to bounce the baby up and down a little. I wasn't sure what do to or where to go. Were they going to search the house? Had I really gotten rid of everything? I wanted to run to my back room, check
everything one more time, make
sure
there was nothing, but another part of me—the truly terrified part—made me stay on the top step, riveted. Watching every move the police made: pulling on their gloves, sliding the seats forward, going through the compartments, opening the trunk, lifting up the floor mats, slipping their hands down in between the seat cushions. Even, of course, looking for fingerprints. A cold sweep came over me as I realized I'd forgotten to wipe down the car again after the other night. Would they find anything, or would it all just be a bunch of smears by now? Could they tell how old they were? Would it matter?

I was so tense, so afraid, that I nearly screamed when I saw the officer in the backseat drop something square and shiny into a clear plastic bag. Dee's condom wrapper. Shoved between cushions in the backseat after we'd done it on Saturday. The earlier one, from Wednesday night, I'd known enough to pick up and shove in my purse. By that point, I was on my guard. But this one—this I hadn't thought about. Maybe I'd been too freaked out then to even care. Too turned on to notice. But now it mattered. Now it could make a difference. Even after the officer put it away, it still stayed burning in my mind. Dee's spit could be on there, from when he tore it open with his teeth. Gunpowder residue from his fingers might have lingered—I didn't know. All I thought was that this was from Saturday, and
there could be anything on it. Even the smallest thing could trace him to that day, that moment. To Bird. And there they were, placing it in that bag.

I almost fell to the ground. It was all I could do to stay standing up, to not plead with them not to take it, swear to them . . . what, I didn't know. The awfulness of what I did know—and what it would mean to Dee if I said any of it—was all that kept me shocked and silent.

THEY WENT THROUGH THE ENTIRE CAR. TOOK A COUPLE OF
other things out, but nothing that stopped my heart in the same way that wrapper did. After, they asked Bird more questions. How to contact her aunt and her grandma, because they'd need to be questioned. You could barely hear Bird's answers, her teeth were clenched so tight.

She didn't stay to watch them leave, but I did, not sure they wouldn't turn around, ask
me
a few more things. But it was almost like I wasn't there. Not today. After they were gone, I stood there staring at Bird's car, wondering who had seen it Saturday. And what else they'd seen. I hadn't thought about witnesses, really, but of course there were probably houses full of them. It seemed stupid of Dee to take that chance, doing what he did
in the daytime, but right on the heels of thinking that, I could understand why he did. The guy was a retired cop. Probably had a house full of guns. It hit me then that he might've even had one in his car. That Dee could've been shot himself. Hurt, or even killed. It had been smart, then, to surprise him that way. Nobody would expect a thing like that, in the middle of the day.

I was itchy all over to know if he was okay. I moved, finally, to head back inside. I would send a text. He might not like it, but I had to check in.

Only, the front door was locked.

I pounded the door with the flat of my hand. “Bird, I don't have my keys.”

Nothing from inside.

I knocked again. “Bird, let me in.”

The cold feeling I'd had before crawled back up into my stomach, along with panicky pricks all over. The locked door was probably just an accident, I told myself. I waited. I didn't have my purse, my phone—nothing. Maybe she was in the bathroom or running water in the kitchen, not able to hear me. I wondered what time it was, how long I might have to be out here until Tyrone arrived.

I knocked hard again with my fist, for a long time. When it opened, I almost banged Jamelee in the forehead, Bird standing there, holding her close.

“Thank goodness,” I gushed. “I didn't know if you could hear me.”