Push Comes To Shove Part 12

"At home; helped carry her bags myself."

"Good. Good." Trouble swung his feet to the floor and noticed a used condom.

"You still gonna look out for me?"

"Yeah. Meet me in front of the convenience store in ten minutes. Wait a minute." He shook the woman. "Get up, hoe. Where am I?"

"Seventy-ninth and Saint Clair." She reeked of alcohol. "Don't be calling me out my name."

Trouble's stomach churned when he saw her rotten teeth. He hoped that the Hennessy hadn't convinced him to kiss Yuck Mouth. "Make that twenty minutes."

"You still owe me for yesterday's watch." TT grinned at Meka.

"I'll take care of it in twenty." He hung up.

TT headed for the door.

"Where you think you going?" Meka put hands on what was left of her once-bodacious hips.

"Meet a friend of mine so I can get something to kick-start us both."

"I'm not letting you out my sight. You ain't to be trusted." Meka stepped into her shoes and pulled her wild hair into a makeshift ponytail. "Let's go."

Kitchie felt as if her breakfast was protesting in her stomach. "Thank you for everything, Suzette. I'll call you back this evening."

"I tried...I really tried, but they kept running from me." Suzette paced her den floor while holding her toddler on a hip. "I'll keep looking. We'll find them."

"I know." Kitchie hung up and hoped that the shower would relieve some tension.

From the other side of the day room, Logan watched Kitchie go to the shower stalls. Logan whispered in the ear of the woman sitting to her left. The woman excused herself from the card table and went into a cell.

The water felt marvelous crashing into Kitchie's curvy body. But it had no positive effect on her mood. Suzette had left her with unanswered questions that promised to drive a loving mother insane. Where are the children? Where'd they sleep last night? Are they hurt? Are they hungry? Are they safe? Her wet, silky hair stretched to the center of her back. The water camouflaged her tears.

"Mind if I share the mist with you?" Trish closed the s.p.a.ce between Kitchie and herself. Their naked bodies touched.

Thomas unearthed the first shovel of dirt. "I can't believe you'd bury a body in a public park. Anybody can stumble across it."

"Had to put it somewhere." Hector admired the ambience of the park as he wiggled his wrists inside the cuffs, searching for comfort.

"It's gonna be a hot one." Crutchfield wiped his moist forehead.

More dirt.

"For a bunch of white cops, you guys aren't that bad."

"You lived up to your end of the deal; you have my word that I'll honor mine." Crutchfield watched the dirt pile grow.

"Thank you, Crutchfield. He was already dead when I got there."

"Don't worry about it. Your cooperation, statement, and testimony will work in your favor."

The shovel's tip struck a flat object. "Got something." Thomas' shirt was spotted with perspiration. He dropped to his knees and pushed the dirt away from the object with his hands.

Crutchfield gave Hector a pat on the back. "Good job." He moved in closer to see what Thomas's labor would reveal.

Hector spat out the chewing gum and replaced it.

Thomas pushed the remaining earth away from a shoe box that had Nike Nike printed across the top. He looked at Crutchfield, then they looked at Hector. printed across the top. He looked at Crutchfield, then they looked at Hector.

"That's how I found him."

Thomas pulled the box from beneath the earth and set it on level ground.

Hector closed his eyes when Thomas glanced at him.

Crutchfield prepared himself to see what was inside. "Open it."

Hector turned away. He couldn't stand to see the remains again.

Kitchie threw her arms across her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and backed out of the water. "Trish, you dumb b.i.t.c.h. I told you I'm not on that h.o.m.o s.h.i.t. b.i.t.c.h, you're gonna force me to step in your a.s.s. Now get the f.u.c.k from around me."

Trish's eyes locked onto a b.u.t.terfly that was tattooed right above Kitchie's v.a.g.i.n.a. "That's pretty." She squinted and turned her head sideways to read the calligraphy below it. Greg Greg. "That's sweet. Think he'd mind if-"

"Back the f.u.c.k off." Logan tossed Kitchie a towel. "It ain't hard to tell she doesn't want to be bothered with your s.h.i.t."

Kitchie covered herself with the towel and folded her arms beneath her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. "Thank you." She removed wet hair from her face and noticed two of Logan's buddies guarding the entrance.

Trish stood her ground. "One way or the other, you're gonna stay out of my business. This dorm is too small for the both of us."

"Then claim your t.i.tle or holler at the guard so you can conduct your business elsewhere. I'm here to stay, and as long as I'm here, I'm the producer of this video." Logan turned to Kitchie. "Go on and get your shower. I'm holding you down now. Trish is leaving...ain't she?"

"No, no, I'm okay." Kitchie adjusted her towel as Trish brushed by.

Trish found her payment on her pillow. She cuffed the heroin, then went to a stash for her syringe.

Logan walked Kitchie to her cell. "You have to pay more attention to your surroundings. You don't have the slightest clue of what's really going on around here, do you?"

"I'm not into this jail nonsense." Kitchie closed the door behind them. She could see Logan's two shadows loitering outside her cell.

"In here, everybody wants something. Everything is gonna cost you something, and no one does something for nothing." Logan sat on Kitchie's bunk.

Kitchie's skin crawled when the two shadows entered the small cell.

Logan laughed. "Right about now, you're asking yourself what do I want for helping you out of that tricky situation?" She glanced at her buddies. "For starters, I want my towel back."

A dark-complexioned woman towered over Kitchie, then s.n.a.t.c.hed the towel away.

"Why?" Kitchie backed into a corner. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because you're s.e.xy." Logan ran a hand over the bed as if she were removing the wrinkles. "We like s.e.xy. And, as you now know, I didn't come to your rescue for nothing. Now come over here, lay down, and close your eyes so you can pay me back. It'll be fun for the both of us...all of us." She gestured toward her buddies.

"I'm not into women. Nothing against-"

"Get into it! Bring the b.i.t.c.h over here so I can break her in."

The bigger of the women started toward Kitchie.

The other woman held up a hand, stopping everyone's actions, and listened. "I hear keys." Now she was looking through a small window, out into the wing's main hallway. "The police is on the block."

"Who?" Logan stood, never taking her eyes off of Kitchie's trembling body.

"That f.u.c.ked-up broad, Lieutenant Proctor."

The bigger woman was standing inches away from Kitchie. She could feel Kitchie's fright, the rapid movement of her breath. She licked her lips. "Logan, Proctor is on some real police time. She's gonna pop her head in every cell."

Lieutenant Proctor was a s.e.xually frustrated woman who found it exhilarating to use her authority to be a hard a.s.s. It was her way of exacting revenge for being bullied in her buck-toothed, ugly-duckling days.

The prisoners fell silent when she entered the dorm.

"Those pants have been altered; make sure I have them in my hand before I leave."

"Come on, Lieutenant, I'm pregnant. I had to hook them up. I'm in my second trimester." She caressed her huge belly.

"I want them. Sign up for sick call; medical can see to it that you get some maternity pants." Her keys sounded off as she left the expectant mother. She pointed at two women. "Find a cell; this isn't a beauty salon."

"You need to find you something to do," someone called out. "Don't take it out on us 'cause your batteries died last night."

"Coward, say it to my face. Woman-up and make it known who I'm conversing with." Proctor's small shoulder-pack radio squawked. She switched to a private channel and received the message. She clipped the radio back on her shoulder. "Kitchie Patterson, pack it up. You made bail." She turned to a woman watching an episode of Divorce Court Divorce Court. "What cell does Patterson lock in?"

She pointed.

The woman watching the day room's happenings from the cell looked over a shoulder at Logan. "She's coming this way."

Logan nodded at the big woman who had Kitchie cornered. Big girl was swift and precise with her actions. She pinned Kitchie against the cell wall. As Logan came closer, Kitchie clamped her eyes shut.

Logan kissed Kitchie on the mouth. "This ain't over until I have you my way."

"She's coming, Logan."

The door swung open and the women were having a conversation as if things were fine and dandy. All with the exception of Kitchie who, for the first time in days, was thankful to be in the presence of the police.

Proctor was no fool. She eyed Logan with scorn while she addressed Kitchie. "Get dressed. You made bond."

"Daddy!" Secret and Junior said in unison. They rushed him when the elevator opened.

GP wrapped his arms around them both. It was rejuvenating to know that his children were safe. "I missed y'all so much. I'll never let us get separated again. We're gonna have to send the lawyer a thank-you card for getting y'all out."

"Not exactly." Secret nestled her head against his stomach.

"What do you mean?" He put a finger under her chin to lift her head.

"You look like s.h.i.t." Jewels gave him the once-over.

"I felt like it until now. Thanks for getting me out."

"Fool, you got me f.u.c.ked up. Don't motherf.u.c.king thank me; tell me what the h.e.l.l is going on. You got my niece and nephew out here living trifling. Some cracker beating on Secret; chattel slavery is over." Jewels pulled up Secret's sleeve, allowing the bruises to speak for themselves. "On top of that, they pulled a Harriet Tubman on Whitey and got exposed to some s.h.i.t they ain't have no business around."

GP dropped to his knees and hugged Secret tightly, wishing he could transfer everything she had endured onto himself. "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, baby." That you are, Greg That you are, Greg, Mr. Reynolds confirmed in the privacy of GP's head.

"Let me see your tattoos, Daddy." Junior tugged on GP's Street Prophet shirt.

GP feigned a laugh to conceal his hurt. "You know I don't have tattoos."

"Lil' Eric's dad said people in jail get muscles and tattoos."

"Are you sure he's my brother?" Secret draped her arm over GP's shoulder. "He says a lot of stupid things."

"Shut up." Junior stuck his face in Secret's. "If I'm stupid, why are you the one failing math?"

Junior smiled. GP and Jewels looked at Secret.

She shrugged. "It's hard."

"We'll talk about this at home." GP pulled Jewels to the side but kept an eye on the children.

Jewels shook her head in disgust when they were out of earshot. "I'd like to know what home you're talking about?" She noticed a smudge on her pink Timberland boots. "Your crib is padlocked."

"We wasn't supposed to be out until tomorrow."

"Well, you're out now."

GP fell into a long silence. "Mr. Reynolds is still on some abusive s.h.i.t. I swear I wish something bad would happen to his fat a.s.s."

Jewels was taken aback. "You mean-"

"Yeah, the same one."

"You some cold s.h.i.t, GP. I knew I should have left you locked up. No wonder they ran away."

He looked at Jewels, then across the waiting area at the children. "What you mean, ran away ran away?"

"Didn't you hear me when I said they pulled a Harriet Tubman? You heard right."

"How long before Kitchie-"

The elevator chimed.

The children greeted their mother with the same affection, if not more, than they had shown their father. GP joined the family's reunion hug. Kitchie couldn't speak because of all the crying she was doing.