Street Pharm (13 page)

She wouldn’t look at me. “Mike called earlier tonight. He’s Gavin’s father.”

“He bothering you?”

“Nah. He’s just a loser. I don’t want him to have anything to do with me or Gavin. I told him as long as he stays away from us, I won’t take him to court for not paying child support.”

“Did he agree to stay away?”

“Yeah.” She sighed. “Hearing him on the phone reminds me of what an idiot I was.”

“Everybody got regrets. You gotta put them behind you.”

“Most of the time I do, but sometimes I can’t. I messed everything up. I mean, how will I get into a good college with “Last Chance High” on my record?”

“The Alyse I know don’t talk like that.”

“The Alyse you know is the Alyse I show people. Now you’re seeing the real thing.”

“Good.” I wrapped my arms around her. “I’m sick of you being Miss Perfect all the time.”

“You’re tripping,” she said, hugging me back. “Ty . . . ”

“What?”

“You’re the best.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“Well, I do.” She raised her lips.

The passion in her kiss took me by surprise. I could feel how emotional she was.

Even as we kissed, I knew I was breaking one of my golden rules.
No relationships until I turn twenty-one.
But how could I turn away from something that felt so damn right?

I couldn’t.

When the kiss was over, we held each other. I felt something I hadn’t felt in a long time.

Happy. Just plain happy.

But soon, fear came creeping up behind it.

How long could I hold on to Alyse before she found out who I really was?

T
he next night I left the gym, my muscles tight from a good workout. Stepping onto the wet dark streets, the smell of earthworms hit me. Poor suckers, the rain flooded their homes and forced them out to die in the streets.

My growling stomach couldn’t wait until I got to the hotel. I walked into a Dominican restaurant and ordered dinner. I ate in five minutes flat. Then I went outside and walked toward Flatbush.

A car came around the corner, a little too slow.

Without thinking, I hit the pavement.

Shots cut through the air above me. My body went into overdrive.
Rolling twice, I dove behind a mess of trash cans, covering my head as bullets ricocheted off metal. My arm burned. I knew I was hit.

I looked right and left for an escape. The door of a Chinese Laundromat was a few feet away. I made a run for it.

In two seconds, I was crashing inside. Everybody started screaming as bullets shattered the front windows. I heard the screech of tires, and the gunfire stopped.

I was on my knees, blood all over the white tile floor. Trying to catch my breath, I looked up to make sure they were gone. Then I passed out.

*  *  *

I didn’t stay unconscious for long. I guess God wanted me to remember this day.

When I opened my eyes, two EMTs were bent over me. I groaned as they put pressure on my right arm and my stomach. Every breath meant more pain. Gritting my teeth, I focused on a piece of glass on the floor.
You gotta survive,
I told myself.
Be strong.

A needle went into my arm, and in a few seconds, blackness.

*  *  *

For a long time I was in the dark. I knew that stuff was going on around me, but I couldn’t wake up. I was too busy wrestling with
the pain. I saw the lights of the operating room above me, and later, voices, some I knew, some I didn’t.

I woke up in a hospital room. A fat black nurse was doing something to my arm. I moaned.

She looked at me. “Are you waking up, dear?”

“I . . . oww!”

“Sorry, honey. Your bandages have to be changed.” I felt a pull, and turned my head to see what she was doing. When I saw the gooey, bloodstained bandage, I looked away.

“What’s your name?” she asked me.

“Shouldn’t you know that if you messing with me?”

“I know your name. I want to make sure you know it.”

“It’s Tyrone Johnson. I didn’t get shot in the head or nothing.”

“You better thank the good Lord for that! And thank Him the bullet in your abdomen wasn’t an inch to the left.”

I went silent, taking this in. I was still dealing with this life-and-death shit. I didn’t need it thrown back in my face.

“You scare all the patients like this?”

“Just the ones I think should be scared. The ones I think are involved in gangs or drugs.”

“You say that to every young black man?”

“Only the ones people
ain’t
calling innocent bystanders. You might as well know, your first visitors will be the cops.”

“Jesus.”

She cleared her throat loud. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t take the Lord’s name in vain.”

“Sorry.”

She pulled back the sheet to look at my stomach, bunching it in front of me so I couldn’t see what was going on.

In the other bed on my side of the room, a middle-aged white guy was watching TV. An old man was sleeping in the far corner. The bed across from me was empty. Guess this was the best Mom’s cheap-ass insurance could do.

I gasped. My wound stung like hell as she changed the bandage.

The pain sobered me up. I could so easily be in a body bag right now. My enemy took the step I didn’t want to take, and that’s why he almost won.

Almost.

The fist on my good arm tightened. This wasn’t over.

Not by a long shot.

“There, it’s done and everything’s looking good.” The nurse put the sheet back in place. “I have to call those officers and tell them you’re awake. They’ll be coming to ask you some questions.”

“Fine,” I grumbled. “I ain’t going nowhere.”

*  *  *

Two cops showed up stinking of coffee and cigarettes.

I recognized Akindele the minute he walked through the door. The guy with him, a white beanpole with a bushy mustache, walked up to the bed.

Time to get grilled. The guy next to me was gonna eat this up. He’d probably turned down the volume on his headphones.

“I’m Detective Scanlan. I understand you’ve met Detective Akindele. How are you feeling, Mr. Johnson?”

“Like I been shot.” I didn’t need no cops pretending to give a shit about how I was feeling.

Scanlan closed the curtain around the bed. Oh, I got it—our own little interrogation room.

“We don’t want to encroach on your recovery time, Mr. Johnson. So the better you answer our questions, the sooner we’ll leave.”

“Go ahead.”

“Do you know who shot you?” Scanlan asked.

“Nope.”

“Do you have any idea who could be behind it?”

“I must’ve been mistaken for somebody else.”

Scanlan looked surprised. “You’re calling it a random drive-by?”

“You got it.” I closed my eyes and took a breath. All this talking was making me hurt worse.

“Please describe the car and anyone who might’ve been inside.”

“They was shooting at me. I can’t describe nothing.”

Akindele stood at the foot of the bed. “We already have reliable descriptions of the car, but not of the assailants.” Damn, the guy sounded like James Earl Jones. “We believe that the shooting is drug related. We suspect that you’re a dealer, but we’re not taking steps to prosecute you at this time. We would, however, like to prosecute whoever tried to kill you, but that’s impossible without your help.”

“I don’t know what you talking about,” I said. “This ain’t no drug-related shooting.”

Akindele curled his hands around the rail at the end of the bed. “What was it then?”

“I dunno.”

“I would’ve thought you’d want to see justice done,” Akindele said. “Not only for yourself, but for the other victims of this shooting.”

“Other victims? What do you mean?”

The detectives looked at each other and shook their heads.

“What happened? Did other people get hurt?”

Scanlan turned to Akindele. “Thought you said this one had some brains in him.”

“I thought so too. Let’s go.” Akindele opened the curtain. They headed for the door.

“Wait!” I shouted. “Tell me what happened—did somebody else get hurt?” I had to know.

“Read the paper,” Scanlan said. “Good night, Mr. Johnson.” He closed the door behind him.

I buzzed for help.

A young white nurse came in.

“Nurse, I need to know if anybody else got hurt when I got shot.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know. Why don’t you just have a rest and—”

“I wanna know what happened! Can’t you get me a damn newspaper?”

“Please quiet down. I’ll try to find one.”

Minutes passed and nobody came. Shit, did everybody think that telling me the truth would freak me out?

The guy beside me kept glancing at me. Finally I shot him a
mind your business
glare. He turned away fast.

I couldn’t stand it. Did someone get killed? An innocent nobody just doing their laundry or walking down the street?

It didn’t matter, I told myself. If someone got hurt or died, it was a damn shame, but it wasn’t my fault. I didn’t ask for this to happen.

But somehow I
had
to know.

Another nurse came in—it was the
don’t take the Lord’s name in vain
one. She gave me a copy of the
Daily News.
“Page four.” And left.

The headline: LAUNDROMAT SHOOTING IN BROOKLYN.

The picture: A Chinese woman hysterical in front of the shattered windows of the Laundromat.

The caption:
Chun Wah Soo in despair as her newly opened Laundromat is damaged by gunfire.

I started to read.

What began as a quiet Brooklyn evening was shattered when assailants in a black Toyota shot local teen Tyrone Johnson in what appeared to be a premeditated drive-by shooting.

“As soon as he came out of the restaurant, the car came around the corner, real slow like,” said one witness, who requested not to be identified. “The shooting started, and the guy, he jumped behind them garbage cans. Then he ran into the Laundromat and that’s when they shot up the place.”

The people in the Soo Laundromat watched in horror as the bloody Johnson fell to the floor.

“It was terrifying,” said Marg Walker, who had been doing laundry with her eight-year-old son. “We all thought the shooters might follow him in here to finish the job. And maybe finish us, too.”

Tyrone Johnson sustained gunshot wounds to the arm and abdomen and is in stable condition after several hours of surgery. Five other victims had to be hospitalized for cuts and trauma inflicted by the shattering glass.

Police have not established a motive for the shooting, but neighbors speculate the shooting was drug related.

Johnson is the son of former Brooklyn drug kingpin Orlando Johnson.

Brooklyn City Councillor Jeffrey Benn says this shooting is only the latest act of violence in a string of drug- and gang-related incidents this year. . . .

I tossed the paper onto the bedstand. Nobody got killed, thank God. But my name was out.

Weird, but I was kind of relieved. No more lying, no more hiding.

No more Alyse.

I told myself it was for the best. If she was out of my life, I wouldn’t have to worry that Darkman would find out about her and Gavin. Now that Darkman had tried to kill me, I had no choice but to stay away from them.

The article in the paper meant I didn’t have to tell her myself.

I was a coward. A punk.

The nurse came in with a fruit basket. She put it on the bedstand and gave me the card.

“Strange time of night to be sending stuff, don’t you think?”

“I guess.”

I waited until she left before reading it.

Don’t forget Daddy’s advice.

Get well soon.

T
he next morning I pissed in what looked like a metal vase and choked down some breakfast slop—all of this before Mom showed up.

“Hi, sweetie.” She kissed the top of my head. I caught a whiff of that familiar mama-smell. “Is the pain real bad?”

“Nah.”

“My poor son. Would you like some water?”

“Sure.”

She lifted the cup and gave me the straw. “Before you know it, you’ll be comfy at home. I’m’a take good care of you.”

Uh-oh.
No way I was going home when I got out of here. I had
a business to run and Darkman to deal with. I couldn’t do those things with Mom around.

She sat by the bed and started boring me with work and neighborhood stuff, like she would any other day. No questions about the shooting, about my dealing. Her strategy: Help me get well,
then
dog me out.

That was the thing about mamas. No matter how bad you fucked up, no matter how much they hated what you did, they were still going to be there for you.

I was glad. A little of Mom’s TLC would do me good.

I managed to stay awake for an hour, but whatever drugs they gave me kept pulling me under.

“You need to sleep, sweetie,” Mom said. “Would you like me to stay while you nap?”

“It’s okay, Ma.”

“I’ll be back first thing tomorrow. If you need me in the meantime, call.” She kissed my cheek and left.

*  *  *

Later on, my favorite nurse came in, looking mighty salty. “There’s a real persistent young man out there who claims to be your brother, Jackson. He don’t look anything like you, and he says he don’t have ID.” Her hands went to her hips. “He’s gotten on my last nerve. I thought I’d let you choose if you want to see
him. If not, we’ll have Security take him out of here.”

I smiled. Who else but Sonny? He wouldn’t let a family-only rule get in his way. “Yeah, Jackson’s my brother. I been missing him.”

“If you’re sure. That guy, he’s crazy.” She walked out.

Seconds later, “Yo, my dog! How you feeling?”

“A’ight.”

“I was thinking I’d have to jump one of them orderlies for their uniform.”

“Don’t make me laugh, Sonny. It hurts too much.”

“You ain’t looking too bad. They say you lost a lot of blood, but after a few transfusions you were good to go.”

“What?”

“Doctor said you got four pints.”