Larceny (5 page)

“Who dat?” John said as he squinted his eyes, trying to see the two youngsters in the dark alley.

John didn't permit kids into his alley because it was way too dangerous. If anything was ever to happen to them, he'd feel responsible, so to avoid all the trouble, he made strict rules. The alley was off limits to juveniles.

“It's me, Bilal.”

“Bilal, what I tell you 'bout coming in this alley?”

“Aw, man, my man and me here just trying to sell these belts and cologne we got.”

“Some what? Belts and cologne?”

“Yeah, man.”

John had a slight grin on his face. “Let me see what you got.”

Bilal showed John the goods, and when John looked at the belts and cologne, he laughed so hard that Bilal and me felt a little ashamed.

“Why you laughin', John?” Bilal asked.

“'Cause, man, I don't wear this cheap shit. I wear two-hundred-dollar belts and cologne! This shit ain't nothing. I can't do anything with this.

“Damn, man,” he continued, “tell you what; y'all go 'head and keep your shit. I'ma give you fifty dollars anyway, 'cause I know you gotta take care of your li'l bro. Take this stuff down the alley to one of my runners. They might buy it. They some Bammas anyway.”

“Okay, thanks, John.”

“Yeah, it ain't nothin'. You better start taking your butt to school, Bilal. Both you and your man here.”

“But you don't even know me,” I said.

“Yeah, but you hangin' with Bilal, so I know you ain't going to school either.”

“Okay, thanks, John.”

“Yeah, now hurry up and get your asses out of this alley,” John said.

“A'ight,” Bilal said.

When Bilal and I walked down to the end of the alley, we bumped into this hard-faced, dark-skinned dude with beady hair and pimples. He didn't look like no runner to me. He looked more like a fiend.

Bilal said, “Hey, man, you wanna buy some belts and cologne?”

The guy looked up and down the alley nervously before he answered, “Where they at and what you want for 'em?”

“Ten dollars for the belts and five for the cologne.”

“Let me see 'em.”

Bilal pulled out the goods and showed them to the dude.

The dude said, “Shorty, these mu'fuckin' belts cost fifteen dollars and this cologne cost eight dollars. What ya tryin' to do, get over on me?”

“Naw, man, we ain't tryin' to get over on you. We just tryin' to get paid,” Bilal said.

“These fuckin' belts ain't worth no ten dollars,” the dude said.

At that moment, I said something that I shouldn't have said. “Look, slim, if you don't wanna pay what we want, then give us our shit back.”

“What you say? What you say, you little bitch-ass nigga? Nigga, I'll take this shit from y'all!”

Bilal then jumped up and said, “Man, you ain't taking shit from us!”

“What you gonna do, huh?” the fiend said as he still looked up and down the alley. “Nigga, this shit mine now. Get the fuck away from here 'fore I beat the shit outta both y'all!”

Bilal reached for the goods, and outta nowhere this mu'fucka hit Bilal in the face and kneed him in the stomach. Bilal went down on his knees, crying throughout all the commotion.

I didn't know what I was doing, but for some reason, I didn't feel nervous or scared. I felt like what I was about to do was justified. I looked at Bilal on the ground, and although I was angry, I still didn't replace logic for emotion. I knew that something had to be done and fast, so when the fiend turned toward me, I already had the bulldog pointed at his chest. I didn't hesitate or panic. I waited until his body was positioned directly in front of mine, and then I pulled the trigger two times.

The impact of the bulldog damn near lifted me off my feet.

Bilal looked up at me in a state of shock and said, “What the fuck you do, Jovan?”

I never answered because it was obvious I was protecting us by any means necessary.

“Where the fuck you get that gun, man?”

“Shut up, man. Get the shit and let's go.”

At that moment, everything in the alley stopped. The fiend was lying there dying in his puddle of blood; then we heard some voices saying, “Hey, what y'all doing?”

As Bilal and I took off running down the alley, we heard a woman scream and say, “Hey, come back here! What y'all do? They shot Boo-Boo! Call the police!”

We ran faster until we reached Sherwood Recreational Park, where we sat down and caught our breath.

Then came the question: “Man, Jovan, why the fuck you ain't tell me you was strapped?” Bilal said.

“I dunno, man. You probably would have told me I was scared and to take it back,” I said.

“How the fuck you gonna know what I'ma say if you don't ask?”

“Man, the shit just happened. That nigga violated us and got what he deserved.”

“What if he dies?”

“Then that's what he deserves.”

Bilal was silent for a moment, then said, “Okay, where the fuck you get that gun then?”

“I stole it out my pops' room.”

“Your pops got shit like that laying around the room?”

“Naw, man, I was sneakin' through his shit and found it.”

“When he find out you got it, he gonna whip your ass.”

“No he ain't, 'cause I'ma put it back tonight.”

“A'ight, then let's go put that shit back, 'cause it's getting late.”

“Hey, Bilal, you think anybody saw us?” I asked, scared.

“Man, them mu'fuckas don't know us. They coke heads, remember.”

“Yeah, right,” I said as I thought about what I'd just done.

“Hey, Jovan?”

“What is it now?”

“Hey, thanks, man, for not letting that mu'fucka stomp my head in.”

“Slim, you my man, and I fuck with you from the heart. I ain't gonna never let nobody do nothin' to you and get away with it.”

“Vice versa, nigga.”

We both gave each other a hug and went into Grandma's house, which was directly across the street from the park. As soon as I came through the door, Grandma got right in my ass.

“Boy, where your ass been at? Didn't I tell you don't be out too late? I gotta take you home.”

“Yeah, Grandma, but it's only nine o'clock.”

“Nine o'clock my ass. Next time I'ma leave your butt standing out in the cold. Act just like your damn daddy. Don't listen for shit.”

“I'm sorry, Grandma. You know I love you, baby girl,” I said, hugging her tight.

“Go upstairs and get your things with your silly self,” she said, giving me a light smile.

“Okay,” I said.

“Hey, Grandma Price, can I use the phone to call my aunt before I go?” Bilal asked.

“Yes, go ahead, baby.”

Bilal called and his aunt told him that Ms. Cookie had left Mal-Mal over there all day. She was pissed off because she had to get up and go to work in the morning.

“Okay, Aunt Gloria,” Bilal told her. “I'ma come get him right now. I'm right around the corner.”

I went upstairs to put Pops' bulldog back and pack my things. When I came back down, I had the blue North Face coat in my hand.

“Didn't I say I was about my word?” I said to Bilal.

“Yeah, so what's up?” he answered.

“Here, nigga. This coat still new, so don't fuck it up,” I said, handing it to him.

“So it's mine now?”

“Yeah, it's yours.”

“Then I can do what the fuck I wanna do with it.”

“Give me my shit back, nigga.”

Bilal and me were joking with each other as if nothing had happened earlier.

Grandma then yelled from the back of the house, “Hey, I hear you two out there. Y'all better stop that damn cursing in my house!”

“Sorry, Grandma.”

“Sorry, Ms. Price.” Bilal turned to me before he left and said, “Man, thanks. You the only friend I got.”

I could see the sincerity in his eyes, as if he was about to shed a tear.

“A'ight, man. See you next weekend.”

Bilal left and was on his way to pick up Mal-Mal from Aunt Gloria's house, which was on Twelfth and Wyle, a few blocks up from where the murder was put down. Just before Bilal could hit the corner of Twelfth Street, two police cars closed in on him. Both officers got out with their guns drawn.

“Freeze, goddamnit!” said one officer.

“Don't move, and put your hands in the air!” said the other officer.

Bilal was scared and confused as he placed his hands above his head, praying that they wouldn't shoot.

As one officer began to frisk Bilal, the other held him at gunpoint. Bilal almost fainted when he overhead the dispatcher on the officer's radio say, “Calling all cars. We now have the full description on the two suspects involved in the homicide on Orleans Place.”

The officer holding the gun turned the volume up on his radio, while the other officer was still searching Bilal.

The dispatcher called out, “Suspects are two young black males between the ages of fourteen and sixteen, medium height. One of the males was wearing a blue coat with writing on the sleeve, blue jeans, and tennis shoes.”

The officer frisking Bilal yelled out to the other office, “Does he fit the description?”

“Yeah, that's him. Lock his ass up!” the officer said.

Bilal was arrested and charged with murder. There was one witness who pointed out Bilal and stated that there were two people, but the one with the blue coat pulled the gun.

After hours of interrogation, Bilal never broke. He kept his silence. He remained loyal and was sentenced to a juvenile facility up until he was twenty-one years old.

This was the first time that the reality of the world Bilal was living in became completely visible to me. Bilal took the murder charge for me. Niggas nowadays would catch diarrhea of the mouth if they were caught. I would remember this and forever remain loyal to Bilal.

 

 

 

“So now, Mr. Jovan whatever-your-middle-name-is Price,” I said to him.

“Conrad, sweetheart. My middle name is Conrad.”

“Okay, Conrad, it's my turn now to interrogate you.”

As we looked each other in the face, I still couldn't believe how strikingly handsome he was. I hoped Jovan didn't have a girlfriend, wife, kids, or anything else that would make me get up and leave this place immediately.

“First, how old are you?” I said with a devilish grin.

“I'm twenty-four years old, but I'll be twenty-five next month.”

“Hmmm, so you're a youngin'?”

“C'mon, Sonya, you only got me by less than two years. You act like you 'bout forty-something.” We both laughed.

“Naw, I'm just joking with you. So when is your birthday?”

“June third,” he said.

“Oh, June third. That's my bro Tony's B-day.”

“Yeah, he must be a good dude like me then, huh.”

“Whatever, Jovan. You're sweet now, but you're probably a li'l devil after someone gets to know you.”

“Naw, boo, what you see here is what you get,” he said, as he looked in my face, letting me know that he meant every word.

Damn, I hoped Jovan wasn't playing no games, 'cause if this was what I got, then I wouldn't want for nothin' else. Jovan Conrad Price was the perfect gentleman: a handsome, sharp, smooth, and intelligent young black man.

“Okay, so do you have a job?” I asked.

“Good question. You know most women nowadays don't even ask that question.”

Shit, what did he mean by most women? I hoped he was not taking other bitches out to lunch on a regular basis.

“I've been questioned like this by a lot of women, but most of the women my friends date never even ask that question.”

Whew, I was glad he cleared that up!

“Well, that's a very important question, because if you and a person are to become friends—and later on, who knows, you may end up falling in love or something—it's only right that each person knows what they're bringing to the table.”

“I totally agree. Well, first of all, yes, I do have a job. I work for Rohon and Robinson, a law firm in the city. I've only been working there for a couple months, but I love it.”

“What type of work do you do? I mean, are you actually a lawyer?” I asked.