Durty South Grind (4 page)

Sarge let out a stream of blue smoke in his direction. “Dat dere's da bus depot; you near about there now, home, I mean.” Sparkle shot a frown at him, wondering why he had stopped so far away. Sarge didn't acknowledge the frown as he reached across Sparkle's body to open the glove compartment. Having no idea what this hillbilly was up to, Sparkle leaned back in the seat. Sarge smiled at his reaction. “What's wrong with you, partner?” he snorted in response. He pulled out a flask and took a big gulp of some rot-gut home brew. He aahed and belched loudly, and then to Sparkle's surprise, offered him a taste.

Sparkle gathered himself together. “Thanks, Sarge, but no thanks. I'd rather keep my head on straight now.”

Sarge harrumphed, took another big swig, aaahed again and wiped his mouth with the back of his knuckled hand. “Just thought I'd offer. You were one of the few guys back yonder that acted like he had some sense.”

Sparkle forced a smile at the so-called compliment. At the same time he was thinking,
This droopy-jawed muthafucka's gotta be out of his godayum mind if he thinks I'm gonna drink sumthang after his… uh, uh, damn what's that mutt's name…dam…Uh-huh, the one that
used to slobber all over everything. Oh yeah, that fucking Hooch, Turner and Hooch, that big nasty drooling mutt with Tom Hanks…Oh hell to the naw.

“Whatcha thinking about, son? I say sumthang funny?” Sarge grimaced, puzzled why Sparkle couldn't appreciate his good-natured gesture.
Hell, how many boys do he think could even get an offer to share a drink wid me,
he thought as he harrumphed and took another big swig.

Sparkle shuddered slightly; struck between insult and common sense, he chose the latter. “Naw, Sarge, I was sorta getting away from any mind-blowing stuff, if you feel me.” He paused to nod at the flask. “And from the smell of dat there and the way you aahing and shit, I really don't think I could handle it.”

As he expected, that drew a smile out of Sarge, so he continued, “Now if you wanna score me one of them root beer sodas out of that machine over yonder, I will gladly touch glasses with ya.”

The wrinkles eased out of Sarge's brow as he chuckled. “Aw, fella, you right, what's wrong with me?” He tapped the side of his head with the flask. “And here I'ma C.O. and offerin' you some rot-gut home brew.”

Sparkle smiled innocently, hunched his shoulders and spread his hands out.

Sarge smiled back. “T'ain't much correcting in that, huh?”

“No offense, but it sho ain't.”

Sarge nodded. “None taken. Come on, let's get you on home.”

Sarge escorted him to the counter where a gray-haired, leather-skinned, chew-tobacco gal cashed his twenty-five-dollar state check. Sarge handed him his bus ticket to Atlanta. “Take care of yourself, son. Don't let me see ya this way again.”

Sparkle saluted him as he drove off in a cloud of dust. He turned to the lady, who was whittling on a piece of wood. He bought a
cherry Slurpie and went to sit at a rickety wood table with a red-and-white checkered cloth. After a five-minute wait, he looked over at her. She was still whittling away, eyeing him nonchalantly. He nodded toward her and then pinched his nose. “You don't mind if I wait on the bus out on the porch, do you?”

She grumbled what he took for a yes and headed toward the door. Opening it, he turned back to her. “How long is the bus gonna be?” She held up all ten fingers without muttering a word. Taking that to mean around ten minutes or ten o'clock, he went outside and sat in a wooden rocking chair on the other side of the soda machine. He started rolling a joint out of the ounce of reefer he'd hidden in his socks earlier.

He had a pretty good buzz by the time the bus pulled up in front of the store a half-hour later. Since the bus was nearly empty, he eased his way to the backseat and stretched out. He began daydreaming about the things he had to do in the forthcoming days.

Before he'd even realized, he had dozed off. The next thing he knew he was being shaken awake by the driver after they had pulled into the station in Macon. He placed a collect call to his sister Janet's house. Her boyfriend, Kenny, told him that she had already left for the depot on International Boulevard.

He casually walked to the counter and asked the cute little redhead cashier, “How long before the bus pulls out for Atlanta?”

She blinked her bright green eyes and smiled. “You got about a forty-five-minute wait.”

He wondered if hers was a set smile. He looked down at his prison garb, feeling that she had to be accustomed to seeing dudes in the cheap light-blue shirt, khakis and brown fake leather shoes.
What does it really matter?
he thought as he turned away from her and headed for the seats.

After squirming around to get comfortable, he started scanning
the room. Immediately, he noticed a familiar figure wheeling the knob of a video game. Cocking his head slightly, he squinted to make sure. Shonuff, it was Soft, his little gambling buddy from back in the joint in Columbus. He'd been named such because of the magic he could do with a deck of cards. Nodding with a high-cheeked smile, he crept up and gently tapped him on the shoulder. “What's up, little muthafucka?”

With a jolt Soft turned around with a stunned look on his face and leaned away. Recognition set in and he broke out in an ear-to-ear smile. “Whodafuck, aw, man, tell me it ain't so. Sparkle?”

“It's so, little guy.” He was all smiles.

“Well, I'll be damned. What it be, dog? Yours was certainly the last face I expected to see today. Man, when you get up? Where you go after we split? Aw, man, what the fuck; fucking Sparkle, wow!” Soft shot off in rapid succession in a squeaky feminine voice. Yeah, his boy was gay. Well, at least he was back in the joint. Sure didn't appear to be anything like that now.

“Yeah, Soft, it's me, nigga; what the fuck's up?” Evidently Soft hadn't taken the time to notice his get-out-of-the-joint gear, so he spread his hands down his body. “Man, don't tell me you've been out that long that you don't remember this shit here.”

Soft leaned back and blinked his eyes. “Damn, man, I didn't even pay attention; all I saw was your face.”

Sparkle smiled. “Yeah, tain't nutten but a come-up this morning, partner, from down there in Valdosta.” He leaned back and eyeballed his boy up and down before adding, “Shonuff look like you doing good for yourself.”

Soft dusted some imaginary dust from his collar and the front of his outfit down to the knees. “You like?”

The
dun-de-dun
of the video game caught his attention and he jerked back around to resume playing. Sparkle noticed that he
had a slightly different look from what he remembered when he'd seen him last in Columbus. Replacing do-rag, pressed-down hair was a curly do, cropped bald at the temples. He was wearing a light-brown coverall about three or four sizes too big, with tan Timberland boots. The oversized outfit looked rather jazzy and disguised the lankiness of his frame. The huge gold rope dangling down his neck and Rolex watch hanging on his wrist showed that he was definitely successful in whatever he had gotten into.

He waited for him to complete his game, which was obviously frustrating him. “Yeah, hell yeah, I like your outfit, dude,” Sparkle whispered. “Shit be fly for a mug.” He reached over and ruffled his hair. “Looking good, baby, looking good. So whatcha up to, partner?” He made a real show of checking him out.

Soft smirked at the admiration in his eyes, ran a finger under his nose and sniffed. “A nigga's gotta do what a nigga's gotta do.” Then he took a quick peek around the depot. “Well, you know, I be kicking a little weed here, a little coke there and a little boy to a select few. You know, to keep the ching-ching fat in my pockets.” He rattled the few coins in his pocket to emphasize his point.

“Tain't a thing wrong with that.” Sparkle twisted his mouth downward and nodded.
Fly as this nigga done got, I knew he had to be slinging sumthang. But godayum, dis nigga's a walking pharmacy. I wonder if he's gonna throw a nigga a little sumthang.

“Last time I saw you, dog, you were Georgia skinning with JJ, Pull and that Buckhead crew on the yard.”

Suddenly, as if he was reading his mind, Soft sniffled. He looked over his shoulder and whispered, “Come on, dog, let's hit the bathroom right quick; getcha head tight before you hit the ATL.”

Sparkle stretched his neck in a circle and smiled. “Shit, sho ya right, curly top, you da man. Where you lead, I'll follow. I'm right behind ya.”

They exited the bathroom a few minutes later, wide-eyed and shiny from sweat. Sparkle eyed the big clock on the far wall. “JJ's probably at the bus station with my sisters, Debra and Janet, now. Dat nigga sounded really eager for me to sho when I talked to him on the phone the other day. Sho hope he got something nice lined up for a nigga, ya feel me.” He bent his head toward the big window to see if his ride had showed up, and turned back to Soft. “Check this out, man, how about giving me your digits and I'll holla atcha after I get settled down a bit.”

The corners of Soft's eyes wrinkled for a second before he took out a matchbox to jot his number down and handed it to him. Then he took a quick inspection of his Rolex and licked his lips. “Hate to hit and run, but my girls should be pulling up right now. And I got to take a package to some white dudes out in the burbs.” As if on cue, a horn started blaring from outside on the dock. His head jerked toward the sound. “Come on, man, that's them right there.”

Aw hell naw, he didn't just dis me like that there,
Sparkle thought before he shook his head, wondering if the coke they had snorted had him tripping. He shook the thought out of his head and followed him out the door.

When Sparkle had reached him, Soft held up his hand, indicating for him to wait as he continued on to a shiny red Escalade parked at the far end of the building.

Sparkle froze in his tracks.
Damn, shortie done really flipped the script on a nigga, for real yo,
he thought when he saw three sexily clad honeys get out the car. They greeted his boy with kisses on the cheek before one of them handed him the keys to the ride. All he could do was smile in admiration; it was evident that Soft was handling his biz.

Before the thought had cleared, Soft was headed back toward
him. He slapped a piece of paper in his mitt, gave him a hug and whispered, “Yo, dog, give me a holla when you get yoself situated. I'll explain the quickness later on, but right now I got to jet, yo.”

The sound of the bus revving up let him know that it was time to get on board. They embraced and slapped each other on the back. “I'll be calling ya in a day or so,” Sparkle said over his shoulder. “Might have some good news for ya. And of course you ain't gotta explain yourself. I feel ya, dog.”

“That'll work, you be chill, partner. I hate to roll on you like this but impatient money's waiting.” He hunched his shoulders as he spun around, then got into the ride and sped off the dock.

“Last call for boarding to Atlanta,” the bus driver yelled. Sparkle stepped up his pace and followed the last few people to board. He again made his way to rear of the bus.

After settling into his seat, the scene quickly changed as the bus sped through the city to the outskirts. Three-story buildings and housing projects turned into peach groves and farmland. He let the window down to catch the breeze and then unfolded the piece of paper Soft had slipped him. It contained an 8 ball of the powder they had snorted in the bathroom.
Good looking out, little buddy, good looking out. Damn, this be some good shit, too.
He took a few blasts and then eased back in the seat to continue enjoying the scenery.

The sun was at high noon as the Atlanta skyline came into view on the horizon when the bus hit Spaghetti Junction, a virtual maze of intersecting interstate highways, outside of downtown.

The sight of the Peachtree Towers' revolving restaurant warmed his heart with memories. He and his partner Rainbow had run their episodes of the “fly in the soup scam” for free expensive meals. He laughed to himself at how easy it had been to fool the waitresses and waiters simply by toting a briefcase and wearing a
three-piece suit. Usually they hadn't had to use the scam; only act like they were important. The workers automatically had presumed they'd pay; however, they rarely had.

Sparkle was still caught up daydreaming when the bus pulled into the Greyhound station on International Boulevard. Debra's man, JJ, whom he had done a bit with in Columbus, was standing at the entranceway as he passed to the unloading dock. He pushed the window down to holler at him, but the bus turned the corner before he had a chance.

No sooner had he touched ground than he was bumrushed by a horde of squealing little sweethearts. “Uncle Larry, Uncle Larry,” was all he could decipher. A sea of dainty hands pulling on his pants legs had his heart in an uproar. All were vying for his attention, with their wide-eyed excitement. It took all the effort he could muster to keep his balance. As he bent down to scoop up one in his arms, he caught JJ's eyes and nodded to the wiggling one in his grasp.

JJ smiled. “My nig, that's Brittany, Krystal's little girl, in your arms.” He proceeded to point to each of them. “And that's Candace and Man, Kym's kids; and Ebony and Mike, Debra's little runts.”

After a few moments of confused bliss, he noticed a dark-brown Mark IV parked a few feet away. He presumed it was Janet's ride. Through the fingers of a little hand clawing at his face, he saw Debra in the passenger seat beaming an angelic smile.

He looked over to his niece, Krystal, who was leaning on the hood of the car smiling at his predicament with the kids. “Niecy, could you please help me out here, girl?”

The volume of her laughter shot up a couple of scales. “Aw, man, they all happy to see you. Enjoy the moment; you can handle it.”