Team Mom (11 page)

The next morning Coach was well rested. He was more than ready to find the idiot deviants who had beat Lois and to put them behind bars. He offered Jarques a ride to school, and the boy accepted. This time, though, their ride together was odd. Odd because Shonda had revealed to Jarques that she and Coach were now an item. Neither Coach nor Jarques knew how to start the first conversation. This day was a fresh start for their relationship too.

They were maybe a few minutes from the house when Jarques said, “I see you stayed the night.”

Coach was sort of hesitant. “Yeah. Yeah, sure did,” he said.

“Was everything okay?”

Coach turned to him quickly. “Excuse me?”

“With our place, Coach. Did you sleep okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I did. Thanks.”

Jarques said, “You know, my mom must really like you.”

“Oh, really?”

Jarques smiled and waited awhile before he explained. “Yeah, it's been weeks since the last guy stayed over.”

Coach took his eyes off the road and looked at Jarques.

“Relax, man. Just teasing,” Jarques said.

“What about you?”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you have a girlfriend?”

Coach had never noticed Jarques smile so wide before. It was the first time he had even had a really good look at the blue braces in the boy's mouth. “Yeah, I got a few . . .” He sat up straight.

“A few?”

“Yeah, you know.”

“How they feel about that?”

Jarques laughed. “I don't know. I mean, what can they do? It's just like that these days.”

“Oh, it's like that?”

“Yeah, it's just like that.” Jarques noticed Coach move his head from side to side. “What?”

“Nothing. It's cool. It's cool.”

Jarques leaned forward. “Hey, this is cool right here. That's my boy right there. I'll walk in with him.”

Coach stopped the car and watched Jarques climb out and walk toward the school grounds with his friend. Coach easily recalled his days as a young buck without a care in the world as he drove toward the department to get his day started.

 

 

Lois's house was still being watched by rolling patrol cars throughout the day, and earlier in the day Coach made sure he went to Mr. Tall's and turned off his lights. He had spoken with Mr. Tall about an hour before lunch and had learned that Lois was still in and out of consciousness, but her doctor was impressed because her vitals were getting stronger, which made everyone feel much better. Mr. Tall had insisted that he needed to get a walk in and stretch his legs, or he was going to explode from so much stress, so he asked Calvin to pick him up from the hospital and take a walk with him for an hour or so in order for him to get his blood circulating.

Even though he was on the desk for almost three years, Coach had always kept in touch with his contacts. It seemed as though he'd become closer to them over the three years, because most of the time when he'd reached out to them, it was just to see how they were doing. They would be a big help when he needed information.

One of his favorite informants was Lester. Lester James was the most talented athlete Coach had ever seen who didn't have the intangibles to become great and to use his ability to carve a better life for himself. Coach met Lester his senior year of high school as he coached Lester's little brother, who was attempting to follow in his big brother's footsteps. Lester had been a beast on the football field from eighth grade all the way up to his senior year, when his friends helped him decide that he would be an even bigger beast on the streets, committing crimes, which meant an end to anything else he wanted to do with his life.

Lester had been Coach's informant ever since Coach had helped him out after other beat cops found crack in his pockets, which he was trying to sell. For no other reason other than the fact that he was coaching Lester's little brother, Coach talked the cops into letting him handle the situation, and from that point on Lester had been forthcoming with any information Coach needed.

Lester had also done right by Coach, and deep down he'd always be grateful to him.

When Coach received the call that his wife had been killed in a car accident, he and Lester had been meeting at a park and Lester had been filling Coach in on a low-level drug dealer. Coach was in shock after receiving the call, and Lester put him in his police cruiser and drove him home, then sat outside on his front porch until someone came to take care of him. They had only spoken by phone in the past three years, but Coach knew if he wanted to get some information and quick, Lester could get it, so he called him and they agreed to meet at the Pancake House.

 

 

“I remember a time when this place would have a line wrapped around the building,” Lester said.

“That's when the food was good,” Coach said.

Lester was looking around the establishment almost like he was scared to put his elbows on the table, even though he looked like shit himself. “Yeah, it does look a little dusty up in this bitch. You should arrest them or some shit.” Lester checked out his coffee mug for cleanliness before he took a sip.

“So, how you doin', man?” Coach asked him.

Lester said, “You know, I'm making it. That alone is something of a good thing these days. You know what I mean?”

“Yeah, I know. And li'l bro? What's up with him these days?”

Lester smiled. “College grad. He finished playing at Eastern Oregon, and now he's an engineer with a wife and a son of his own in Portland.”

Coach smiled too. “See? That's what the hell I'm talking about. Have to share that with my team after practice today.”

“You still coaching?”

“Of course. I would have too much time on my hands if I didn't.”

“Plus, you enjoy it. I know you do. Even remember when you would give advice when I was in high school.” Lester looked off into space. “My black ass should have listen too.”

Coach didn't know what to say, because he knew he'd been right, but he wasn't going to pile on. Instead, he said, “Look, Lester, I really appreciate what you did the day of the accident.”

“Oh, that? Look, not a problem. I mean, what was I going to do? Leave you there?” Lester has done a lot of shit in his life, but when a man is down, one thing I can say about Lester is that I've always helped him up . . . unless I'm the motherfucker that put him down,” he said. His laughter was in remembrance of his dirty deeds. And Coach noticed that he looked around and checked out his back a few times in a protective kind of way.

Coach pushed his plate away after taking one bite of his food. “I can't eat this, man.”

“Told you not to order that shit, bruh.”

Coach drank some water. “Look, I have an elderly woman who was beaten up a few days ago in her house. You heard about any crews running buck wild about that?”

Lester thought about it for a few moments, then sighed. “Man, these streets have changed since you were in uniform, and that's what? Damn near three, four years ago?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Coach said. He took a few seconds and reflected on the fact that so much had changed in such a short time.

Lester said, “There are so many different crews now. So many that an old head like me just tries to survive and keep my ass away from these crazy little motherfuckers. These days you got boys who want to do right, and the rest don't give a damn about anything but taking.”

Coach said, “These guys here, I think these are the same ones behind all the home robberies out there.”

Lester said, “Heard about it. You know Mom and them don't talk to me that much anymore, but when their shit was broken into, you know I was the first one they thought of,” he said, shaking his head before getting some water. “They still treat me like a crackhead, man, and I ain't never taken a hit of that shit. I just sold it.”

“Family man, what ya goin' to do?” Coach said. It reminded him to call and check on his family up east.

“You're right. You're right. But I haven't heard about any crews that have been taking it to the elderly, man. I mean, that right there is a no-no. You see . . . most of these boys try to get a reputation by jumping into shit they have no business being in and roughing people up who don't want to move out of the way. The only thing I've heard of is knuckleheads walking up to people and just knocking them the fuck out for the thrill of it. Some knockout game or something.”

Coach said, “Nah, the punks I'm looking for are on some retaliation with her because she wanted to know why they were always walking her block, looking into houses and whatnot.”

Lester thought for a moment. “The other day in the shop I heard some guys speaking about some thugs who have been waiting outside of a check-cashing joint for people to cash their checks. They make people cash their check and hand over the cash as soon as they walk out or take one in the head,” Lester told him. “They were even talking about how these dudes run up in high school girls' homes and dare their daddies to say a word about it.” Coach listened intently. “These are not young cats, though who should be in high school or something. These guys are older. Old enough to know better. I don't have a name or location on them, but if it comes up, I will give you a call.”

The only thing worse than a crime was not finding out who committed it. The fact that he had no lead in his first case as a detective, and that the crime had been carried out against someone he knew personally, was not sitting well with Coach. He was beginning to exhibit a real lack of patience. At this point, Coach didn't care. After Mr. Tall informed him that the local television station was there at the hospital to speak with Lois about her ordeal, Coach filled the Chevy up with gas and hit the streets of the community to find the bastards who did it, because once the interview aired, everyone would be on alert and the whole neighborhood would be uneasy if these fools hadn't been found. Members of the community would know through the media that they needed to take precautions, but the assholes who beat up Lois needed a wake-up call as well, and Coach decided to give them one.

Coach had kind of forgotten that there were so many people walking around on the streets in the middle of the day. Maybe there were more than he remembered. His desk job had given him a sort of closed-captioned view of the world. He decided that maybe the unemployment rate was responsible for the number of people walking around. But he didn't give a damn. Every person whom he rolled up on was getting questioned, and if they had a problem with it, they could call his boss, and he never returned calls.

Coach drove past Lois's house again. As he passed her house, he caught sight of a young man in a hoodie, walking along with his hands in his pockets. Coach slowed down, matching the speed of the young man on foot. When he acted like he didn't see him in the car, Coach hit the whistle. The young man stopped and turned and looked at Coach through the tinted windows.

“What?” he yelled out as he turned his palms toward the sky.

Coach stopped the car, got out and walked over to him. “What you mean, what? You better show me some respect.”

He was silent.

“What's your name?” Coach said.

“Why?”

“'Cause I asked.”

“I don't have to tell you nothing,” he said.

Coach looked around. “Look, I'm about to smack your ass, son. Now, what's your name?”

“Mac.”

“Take off that hood, Mac. I need to see your face.”

Coach could tell he was about to give him some more of that mouth, so he shook his head no.

Mac just did what he said and kept quiet.

“Where you headed?” Coach said.

“Home.”

“Where is home?”

“It is where it is. I'm not telling you shit.”

Coach could not believe the attitude this guy had. He was young, about twenty-three, but he couldn't be ignorant about the fact that he should keep his mouth shut and show some respect to his elders, especially the police. Coach moved closer to him.

“Do you beat up old ladies, Mac?”

“What?” he said. He looked at Coach, very puzzled.

“I said . . . Do you hit on old ladies?”

Mac stepped back. “Fuck you talking about, man?”

“Just what I said. I am looking for someone who beat up an old lady and left her for dead. Do you know anybody who would do that?”

“Nah, man. What you asking me for?”

“'Cause you're here and I need to know.”

“Well, no. I didn't do it and don't know who did.”

Coach stood there and stared at him for a while, then turned to go back to the car.

Mac mumbled, “You're just pulling people off the street and asking stupid-ass questions. What you need to do is go over a few blocks and see why everybody in that check-cashing place ain't coming out with no money.”

Coach had his hand on the car door by this point, but he froze and looked at Mac. “Say what?” Twice in the same day he had heard about this check-cashing mess.

Mac looked around, hesitated. He put the hood of his hoodie back over his head and looked around again. “Those motherfuckers in the check-cashing joint, they in there waiting for people to cash their checks, and then they take the money. Every dime of it.”

Coach said, “They get you, Mac? Is that why you're walking around out here pissed at the world?”

“They ain't get me, not today at least. Last week, though, they took the money I made mowing and cleaning up at the corner store. I just saw them inside from across the street. Forget that I need my money. I'll go to the grocery store and cash my check.” Mac started to walk away.

Coach called out, “Hey, c'mon. I'll take you anyplace you need to be.”

Mac looked at Coach, then looked around and thought about it. “Fuck you, man.”