Outcast (13 page)

Tirrell walked a mile before coming to the nearest MARTA station. The platform was virtually empty. His T-shirt was soaked through with perspiration. An unexpected cool breeze blew in from the east. It appeared that the rain that had been threatening for days was finally rolling in as well.

He removed his outer shirt and wiped his brow with the driest part of it. He called Alex as he sat and waited for a train. She didn't answer. He dialed Bobby.

“What's crackin', T?”

“I need to see you.”

It took over an hour to get the train out of Alpharetta. There was a steady downpour falling over Midtown by the time he arrived at Bobby's door. Another of Bobby's infamous gatherings was in full swing. Smelling of salty perspiration and now drenched by the rain, Tirrell had misgivings about knocking, but he had traveled too far to turn back. A quick in and out, just like the last time, and he would be on his way.

After several minutes a man answered the door. Tirrell recognized him immediately. It was the same man he fought at the restaurant the night of Tasha's birthday.

“Well, I'll be damned,” the man scoffed. “Looks like Bobby will invite any lowlife to his house.”

Tirrell's jaws tightened. “I guess you ought to know.” He peered over the man's shoulder and caught a glimpse of Tasha.

The man gave Tirrell the once-over. “You know I should've pressed charges against your ass. You fucked up a three hundred dollar suit. Looks like it would have been a waste of my time. You don't look like you got a pot to piss in anyway.”

Tirrell rubbed his hand over the moisture on his face. “Rickey, right?”

He nodded.

“Look, I don't want no trouble. I didn't come here to see you. I came to see Bobby.”

The man backed away from the door to allow Tirrell entry. When he stepped inside he saw Tasha laughing and chatting up a couple of other people near the bar. A lump formed in his throat when she glanced in his direction. She looked better than he remembered. The pounding music swallowed them up as she awkwardly averted her gaze.

“Yo, T,” Bobby called out as he came out from the kitchen. “It's about damn time you got here. What took you so long?”

Tirrell shook his head and watched haplessly as Rickey Hicks made a show of kissing Tasha. He knew he had no right to be angry.

“Damn, dude,” Bobby injected. “Every time you come to my place you look a hot mess.”

“Just got caught in the rain, that's all. Look, I don't wanna impose or nothin'. Let's just get to it and I'm out.”

“Okay, cool. Let's do it.”

Bobby stepped outside, past Tirrell, onto the landing shielded by the eaves. Tirrell took one last look at Tasha before joining him.

“So, what's that dude's story?” Tirrell asked. He slipped the pouch of cocaine into the pocket of his jeans and handed Bobby a tightly folded hundred dollar bill.

“Who, Rick? He's all right, one of my best customers and he brings in a lot of business. Hey, but did you check out who he was with? Didn't you used to tap that?”

“Ancient history.”

“Damn! Ol' girl gets around, huh?”

“Yeah, a little more than I thought.”

“That ass was lookin' good, though,” Bobby noted. “No disrespect.”

Tirrell ignored the comment. “Look, the rain is easin' up. I'm gonna take off. Catch you later.”

As he darted up the rain-drenched street Tirrell wondered if Tasha might be using. Maybe, like so many, she really didn't know what kind of business Bobby was into and was just there for the party. Still, she was there, and if her new man was into recreational narcotics, how could she not be a partaker? Or was she as blissfully ignorant of Rickey Hick's foibles as she had been of his?

 

 

Tirrell stumbled home after one in the morning. Betty awoke and sat up in her recliner.

“S . . . sorry I woke you up. I always seem to keep doin' that.”

“Tirrell?” Betty rubbed her eyes. “What time is it?”

“It's late.”

Betty picked up the remote and flipped off the television. “I was tryin' to wait up.”

“I just needed some time alone.”

“Are you hungry? I brought you a plate back from Kevin's.”

“No. I just wanna go to bed.” Tirrell swayed and bumped into the coffee table.

“Tirrell, what's the matter with you?”

“Nothin'. I'm just tired.”

Betty went to him and took hold of his arm. He looked away. She cupped his chin and turned his face back to her. “Are you high on somethin'?”

“No.” He pulled away from her.

She grabbed his arm again. “Tell me the truth.”

He yanked back more forcefully. “Why are you on me? Why is everybody on my case? Can't y'all just leave me alone?”

He stormed to his room and slammed the door. Betty followed him.

“Tirrell, open this door.” She rattled the locked handle. “Open this door, right now. Do you hear me?”

She stood for several seconds and pressed her ear to the door—there was little movement on the other side. Realizing that she wasn't getting in and he wasn't coming out, she shook her head and retreated to her room.

 

 

Either the smell of brewing coffee or the need to relieve himself lured Tirrell from his room early that Sunday morning. He found Betty in her bathrobe, in the living room, seated in her leather recliner facing the window.

“You're not goin' to church?”

She didn't look at him. “No, not today.”

“How long have you been up?”

“I haven't really been to sleep.”

Those were six words he hadn't heard in a long time. The last time he remembered causing her to forfeit a night's rest was just before he went off to basic training. He, Marquis, and a few others had gone out to celebrate and he staggered in at nearly dawn, completely trashed. He recalled getting sick and vomiting all over the bathroom floor before passing out and leaving Betty to clean it up.

He sat down on the sofa facing her, cloaked in shame. He didn't say anything. He just watched her wring her hands. Her desperate agony was apparent, even to someone as self-absorbed as he. The heartache he didn't want her to feel was the very thing he continued to dispense. His eyes burned with sorrow.

“I was sittin' here thinkin' about your grandfather,” she began. “I was wonderin' what he would make of all this foolishness still goin' on after all this time. You know Curtis never did say a whole lot, but you could look in his eyes and tell how he was feelin' about a thing. Your daddy was like him in that way. Junior was a lot of things, but underneath it all he was a good man. Even when he failed he still tried to do right—like you—most of the time. I've tried to show you how important you were to this family in spite of what anybody said. Maybe this is all my fault. I've been too lenient. You've been too willful. And I need to stop coddling you. I know you been through a lot, including all this mess with Tasha. But, you're not an outsider. You don't have to keep actin' like one.”

It was killing Tirrell that Betty couldn't look at him while she spoke. She could have whipped him until welts showed up on his hide like ripe cucumbers, but to hear her pain was unbearable.

“I know I hurt you,” Tirrell said, choking back tears. “I know it may not mean nothin', but I love you, Noonie. All I ever wanted was for you to be proud of me.”

“Just be the man I know you can be. Do that, and that will be enough for me.”

“You want me to move out?”

“I didn't say that.”

Stillness assailed them—neither moved until the ringing telephone perforated the silence. There was no hurry to answer. Betty stood and moved to Tirrell. Her soft, warm touch caressed his wet cheeks.

“You know I love you, don't you? I'm here for you. If you ever need to doubt anything you don't ever have to question that.”

Tirrell nodded. Betty caressed the top of his head and sighed. She then went on to her bedroom, ignoring the ringing phone.

She puttered around the house with busy work the rest of the day. Kevin called again to check on her and to see if she wanted to come to his house for dinner.

“Noonie, I've been calling you all morning. You weren't at church.”

“I wasn't really up to it, baby. Just a little heartburn is all.”

“Can I bring you something?”

“No, I don't need anything.”

Betty was intent on avoiding another scathing discourse with Kevin's mother. She thought it best to wait until the woman was well on her way back to California. Gloria Patterson's spiteful, wine-fueled assertions were on target for the most part. Betty could do without being caught in the crosshairs of any more of her former daughter-in-law's injurious commentary.

The following Tuesday morning, Tirrell was to stand before a judge at the DeKalb County Courthouse to answer for the DUI charges. He was glad that Betty took the morning off to be with him. He looked up to see Kevin enter the courtroom, certain that he was only there to revel in his demise.

As case after case was presented and met with harsh penalties, Tirrell wondered if there was any need to worry about a place to live.

The bailiff's booming voice resonated in the gallery. “Ellis, Tirrell C.”

Tirrell glanced at his grandmother and stood up.

The judge perused his file. “Mr. Ellis, you were arrested Saturday night, August 9, 2008, at exit 33, Interstate 285 East. Your BAC tested at .18, and you've entered a plea.”

“Yes, Your Honor,” Tirrell answered.

The judge looked up at him. “This appears to be your first offense. I understand that you were cooperative the night of your arrest, and ADA Ellis has spoken to me on your behalf. So, here's what I'm going to do: I'm still going to suspend your license, effective immediately. You're also ordered to pay a fine of five hundred dollars. We will revisit your suspension in thirty days on the proviso that you complete a mandatory defensive driving class that is scheduled to commence on the eleventh of this month. If you do not successfully conclude this mandate your license will be revoked for the period of no less than a year, and you can look forward to some jail time. Am I clear?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“See the bailiff for the necessary information and paperwork on your way out.” The judge rapped her gavel. “Next case.”

Both Betty and Tirrell breathed a collective sigh of relief. He then turned to look at Kevin, surprised by his intervention.

The bailiff confiscated Tirrell's license and gave him the paperwork he needed to present to the instructor at the defensive driving school. He found Betty with Kevin waiting in the corridor outside the courtroom.

He extended his hand to his brother. “Thanks.”

Kevin hesitated, and reluctantly returned the gesture. “I didn't do it for you.”

“I know.”

“Just make sure you do what you need to do to get your act together.”

“I will.” Tirrell knew it was past time for him to do right by them all. He needed to man up.

Kevin embraced Betty. “I've got to get back over to my office. I'll talk to you later.”

“Thank you, Kevin,” Betty responded. “I need to be gettin' to work myself.”

Kevin walked up the bustling hallway toward a bank of elevators, and Tirrell escorted Betty to the parking garage.

“Are you goin' into work today, Tirrell? Do you need a ride?”

“No, thanks. I didn't know what to expect, so I got the whole day off. I'll catch the train back. I don't wanna make you any later than I already have.”

“All right, I'll see you at home later.”

Tirrell kissed Betty's cheek and watched her drive off. He then walked out of the garage and inhaled the sweet smell of leniency. Standing on the sidewalk outside the courthouse he pulled out his cell phone and dialed Alex's number. He wanted to talk to someone who knew nothing about his current dilemma. He hadn't spoken to her in days and she hadn't bothered to call. The phone rang through to voice mail. “Hey, Alex. It's Tirrell. I've been tryin' to call you. I'm not workin' today. I was thinkin' that maybe we could do lunch or somethin'. Call me.” He flipped the phone closed and rubbed his hand over his mouth, frustrated and unable to believe what his encounter with the elusive vixen had done to him. He was never prone to chase after a woman, but in her case he was willing to make an exception.

“Operator . . . do you have a listing for Event Planning by Alex?”

Tirrell hopped the bus to the Buckhead location he was directed to. Tacked on the granite walls inside the twelve-story building he found an embossed plate that confirmed there was indeed such a business. He took the elevator to the third floor and made his way through double glass doors at the end of the hallway. The space was bathed in the sunlight pouring in through the large plate glass windows. A couple of hefty green rubber trees and palms stood decoratively in opposing corners, and lively impressionist prints hung on the walls.

A fastidiously dressed African American man talking on the telephone, seated behind an Isotta desk with a frosted glass top, pulled the receiver away from his ear. “Can I help you?”

“I'm here to see Alex Solomon.”

The man looked at Tirrell in his dark gray three-button suit and leaned back in his chair. “Are you here about an upcoming event?”

“No.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No.”

“I'll have to call you back,” he said, directing his attention back to his call. “Unfortunately, Ms. Solomon isn't here.”

“I can wait. Do you know when she'll be back?”

“Let me explain something to you, Ms. Solomon is very busy. If you want to see her you need to make an appointment. Should I pencil you in for next week?”

Tirrell moved to the chairs in the reception area, sat down, and picked up a magazine. “I'll wait.”

The man picked up his phone and whispered into the receiver. Seconds later, Alex came out from the back office.

“What are you doing here?”

Tirrell got up and walked over to her. “I wanted to see you. If you didn't want me to be here maybe you should've returned my calls. Or maybe you shouldn't have given me your card in the first place.”

Alex grabbed Tirrell's arm and pulled him toward the exit. “I'm working. You have to go.”

He leaned into her and whispered seductively, “I brought your lunch.” He took her hand and tried to pull it toward his crotch. “You remember how good it tasted, don't you?”

“Woooo hoooo, I can hear you,” sang the man from behind the desk.

Alex yanked her hand away. “Travis, can you go in the back and make the call I asked you to make earlier?”

“What call?”

“Travis!”

“Fine.” The man grabbed a notepad and exited the reception area.

“You need to go, Tirrell.”

“Oh, you remembered my name. Funny you couldn't remember my number.”

“Look, I don't have time to play with you. We had sex. That's it. No more, no less.”

“It was good though, wasn't it?”

“It did the job.”

“You got off several times that I recall, and you loved every minute of it.”

“I hate to burst your bubble, Tirrell, but I'm not one of the obsequious tricks you're used to tripping all over themselves to get to your dick. How many times have you gotten with a woman and never called her back? Men aren't the only ones with game.”

“I thought you didn't have time for games.”

“Go away. I'm serious.”

“You want me to take it again, is that it?”

Without warning, Tirrell grabbed Alex and wrestled her against the wall, shoving his hand up under her skirt.

“What the hell do you think you're doing?”

“If I recall you like it rough, don't you?”

He pressed his mouth onto hers and pulled at her panties with his fingers. She pushed at his chest, trying to fight him off. He became more forceful.

Her associate sailed back into the room. “I called Ush . . . Ooops, didn't mean to interrupt.”

Alex slapped Tirrell across the face. “Get out!”

Tirrell backed off, rubbing his cheek. He licked his fingers and walked out laughing.

“You're breathing awfully hard. You look a little flustered,” Travis remarked. “You want me to get you a glass of water, or maybe something stronger?”

“Shut the hell up, Travis.”

Tirrell sat on the train, calculating his next move. He recalled the look in Alex's eyes. He knew that he'd gotten to her. The Ellis charisma rarely failed him when he needed it. He was sure he wouldn't have to wait long to hear from her the next time.

His cell phone rang, playing his ring tone “Stronger.”

“Bobby, what's good?”

“I can't call it. You tell me. You still workin' at that little rinky-dink garage?”

“I'm off today. Why? What's up?”

“How would you like to put some dead presidents in your pocket?”

Tirrell hesitated. Money was exactly what he needed if he was going to move forward. He would be able to get his own place and stand on his own two feet once and for all. He thought about Bobby's apartment and imagined his own. He thought what he could do for his grandmother with the extra cash. And he thought about how he might impress a woman like Alex Solomon.

“T . . . You there, man?”

“Yeah . . . I'm here.”

“Did you hear what I said?”

“Yeah, what did you have in mind?”

“Why don't I swing by your place and pick you up and then I can tell you all about it. I can be there in an hour.”

“A'ight, bet.”

Tirrell rushed home with just enough time to change clothes. He heard, then saw, the Escalade and ran to meet it before Bobby had a chance to loiter in front of the house.

“You ready to make that paper?”

“Hell yeah.”

Merging on to the interstate, Bobby began to lay out his plan to bring Tirrell into his lucrative venture. Dollar signs were all Tirrell envisioned.

“What do you need me to do?”

“We gotta make a run to Miami.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow night.”

“What's in Miami?”

“You'll know when we get there.”

Tirrell pondered this for a minute. “What am I gonna do about my job?”

“Call in sick.”

“Just like that?”

“Yeah, just like that.”

Tirrell coughed. “Yeah, I guess I do feel a cold comin' on.”

They laughed.

“We'll be back in a couple of days. No worries. But, if I'm gonna bring you into this I need to know I can trust you, 'cause if I can't, this ends now.”

Tirrell pondered a decision. “You can definitely trust me, but . . .”

“But what?”

“You should probably know that I was in court today. I got a DUI on my record. I can't afford to fuck up and get caught up in anything illegal.”

Bobby signaled and pulled over to take the next exit. “What are you doin'?”

“Takin' you back home. I don't think you're gonna work out.”

“Wait, I just—”

“You just what, T? You're either in or out.”

Tirrell sighed, contemplating what he considered to be all the implications.

“What's it gonna be?”

“I'm in.”

“A'ight then. Cool.”

Bobby drove to an area of town near Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport, and parked the Escalade in back of an abandoned warehouse on a sparse parcel of land overgrown with dense weeds and dried grass, scored with the boisterous soundtrack of massive jets taking off and landing.

Tirrell was uneasy but tried not to show it. “What are we doin' here?”

“You'll see.”

While they waited Bobby pulled out a Glock 9 mm and aimed it at Tirrell.

“Man, what the fuck!”

He drew down and laughed.

Tirrell caught his breath. “What the hell's the matter with you?”

“You said I could trust you.”

“You can.”

He handed Tirrell the gun. “Prove it.”

“How?”

Bobby pointed to a husky older African American man skulking around the corner edge of the building. “You see that fat muthafucka over there?”

“Yeah.”

“He owes me a couple of stacks for some product that he was supposed to turn around. His ass is probably gonna try to pull a fast one. I need you to have my back on this. You feel me?”

“Are we gonna have to . . . You want me to kill him?”

“If it comes down to that hell yeah.”

Tirrell's throat went dry.

“You in or out, T?”

Bobby started the ignition.

“In. I'm in.”

“That's what's up, T.”

Bobby jumped out of the Escalade and approached the man. Their altercation quickly escalated. Tirrell's eyes flushed wild with panic when the man abruptly pulled a gun on Bobby and fired without a moment's hesitation.

“Oh shit.” Tirrell gasped. He scrambled over into the driver's seat and realized that Bobby had taken the keys with him. “Shit!”

Another shot rang out as a plane flew overheard. “Hey, you,” the shooter yelled. “Get out of the car.”