I sit. “You’re gonna open back up soon?”
“In a li’l bit. What you see in that white boy?”
Damn. I wasn’t expecting him to go right into it. “Besides the fact he’s adorable—” I say, and Daddy makes a gagging sound, “he’s smart, funny, and he cares about me. A lot.”
“You got a problem with black boys?”
“No. I’ve had black boyfriends.” Three of them. One in fourth grade, although that doesn’t really count, and two in middle school, which don’t count either ’cause nobody knows shit about a relationship in middle school. Or about anything really.
“What?” he says. “I ain’t know ’bout them.”
“Because I knew you’d act crazy. Put a hit on them or something.”
“You know, that ain’t a bad idea.”
“Daddy!” I smack his arm as he cracks up.
“Did Carlos know ’bout them?” he asks.
“No. He would’ve ran background checks on them or arrested them. Not cool.”
“So why you tell him ’bout the white boy?”
“I didn’t tell him,” I say. “He found out. Chris lives down the street from him, so it was harder to hide. And let’s be real here, Daddy. I’ve heard the stuff you’ve said about interracial couples. I didn’t want you talking about me and Chris like that.”
“Chris,” he mocks. “What kinda plain-ass name is that?”
He’s so petty. “Since you wanna ask me questions, do you have a problem with white people?”
“Not really.”
“Not really?”
“Ay, I’m being honest. My thing is, girls usually date boys who are like their daddies, and I ain’t gon’ lie, when I saw that white—Chris,” he corrects, and I smile. “I got worried. Thought I turned you against black men or didn’t set a good example of a black man. I couldn’t handle that.”
I rest my head on his shoulder. “Nah, Daddy. You haven’t set a good example of what a black man should be. You’ve set a good example of what a man should be. Duh!”
“Duh,” he mocks, and kisses the top of my head. “My baby.”
A gray BMW comes to a sudden stop in front of the store.
Daddy nudges me off the bench. “C’mon.”
He pulls me to his office and shoves me in. I catch a glimpse of King getting out the BMW before Daddy closes the door in my face.
Hands shaking, I crack open the door.
Daddy stands guard in the entrance of the store. His hand drifts to his waist. His piece.
Three other King Lords hop out the BMW, but Daddy calls out, “Nah. If you wanna talk, we do this alone.”
King nods at his boys. They wait beside the car.
Daddy steps aside, and King lumbers in. I’m ashamed to admit it, but I don’t know if Daddy stands a chance against King. Daddy isn’t skinny or short, but compared to King, who’s pure muscle at six feet, he looks tiny. It’s damn near blasphemous to think like that though.
“Where he at?” King asks.
“Where who at?”
“You know who. Vante.”
“How I’m supposed to know?” Daddy says.
“He was working here, wasn’t he?”
“For a day or two, yeah. I ain’t seen him today.”
King paces and points his cigar at Daddy. Sweat glistens on the rolls of fat on the back of his head. “You lying.”
“Why I gotta lie, King?”
“All the shit I did for you,” King says, “and this how you repay me? Where he at, Big Mav?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where he at?” King yells.
“I said I don’t know! He asked me for a couple hundred dollars the other day. I told him he had to work for it. So he did. I had some mercy and paid it all up front like a dumbass. He was supposed to come in today and didn’t. End of story.”
“Why he need money from you when he stole five Gs from me?”
“Hell if I know,” Daddy says.
“If I find out you lying—”
“You ain’t gotta worry ’bout that. Got too many problems of my own.”
“Oh, yeah. I know ’bout your problems,” King says, a laugh bubbling from him. “I heard Starr-Starr the witness they been talking ’bout on the news. Hope she know to keep her mouth shut when she supposed to.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“These cases always interesting,” King says. “They dig for information. Shit, they try to find out more ’bout the person who died than the person who shot them. Make it seem like a good thing they got killed. They already saying Khalil sold drugs. That could mean problems for anybody who may have been involved in his hustle. So people gotta be careful when they talking to the DA. Wouldn’t want them to be in danger ’cause they ran their mouth.”
“Nah,” Daddy says. “The folks who were involved in the hustle need to be careful ’bout what they say or even think ’bout doing.”
There are several agonizing seconds of Daddy and King staring each other down. Daddy’s hand is at his waist like it’s glued there.
King leaves, pushing the door hard enough to nearly break the hinges, the bell clanging wildly. He gets in his BMW. His minions follow, and he peels out, leaving the truth behind.
He’s gonna mess me up if I rat on him.
Daddy sinks onto the old people’s bench. His shoulders slump, and he takes a deep breath.
We close early and pick up dinner from Reuben’s.
During the short drive home, I notice every car behind us, especially if it’s gray.
“I won’t let him do anything to you,” Daddy says.
I know. But still.
Momma’s beating the hell out of some steaks when we get home. First the skillet and now red meat. Nothing in the kitchen is safe.
Daddy holds up the bags for her to see. “I got dinner, baby.”
It doesn’t stop her from beating the steaks.
We all sit around the kitchen table, but it’s the quietest dinner in Carter family history. My parents aren’t talking. Seven’s not talking. I’m definitely not talking. Or eating. Between the disaster at the DA’s office and King, my ribs and baked beans look disgusting. Sekani can’t sit still, like he’s itching to give every detail of his day. I guess he can tell nobody’s in the mood. Brickz chomps and slobbers over some ribs in his corner.
Afterward, Momma collects our plates and silverware. “All right, guys, finish your homework. And don’t worry, Starr. Your teachers gave me yours.”
Why would I worry about that? “Thanks.”
She starts to pick up Daddy’s plate, but he touches her arm. “Nah. I got it.”
He takes all of the plates from her, dumps them in the sink, and turns the water on.
“Maverick, you don’t have to do that.”
He squirts way too much dishwashing liquid in the sink. He always does. “It’s cool. What time you gotta be at the clinic in the morning?”
“I’ll be off again tomorrow. I have a job interview.”
Daddy turns around. “Another one?”
Another one?
“Yeah. Markham Memorial again.”
“That’s where Aunt Pam works,” I say.
“Yeah. Her dad is on the board and recommended me. It’s the Pediatrics Nursing Manager. This is my second interview for it actually. They want some of the higher-ups to interview me this time.”
“Baby, that’s amazing,” Daddy says. “That means you’re close to getting it, huh?”
“Hopefully,” she says. “Pam thinks it’s as good as mine.”
“Why didn’t you guys tell us?” Seven asks.
“’Cause it’s none of y’all business,” Daddy says.
“And we didn’t want to get your hopes up,” Momma adds. “It’s a competitive position.”
“How much does it pay?” Seven’s rude self asks.
“More than what I make at the clinic. Six figures.”
“Six?” Seven and I say.
“Momma’s gonna be a millionaire!” Sekani shouts.
I swear he doesn’t know anything. “Six figures is the hundred thousands, Sekani,” I say.
“Oh. It’s still a lot.”
“What time is your interview?” Daddy asks.
“Eleven.”
“Okay, good.” He turns around and wipes a plate. “We can look at some houses before you go to it.”
Momma’s hand goes across her chest, and she steps back. “What?”
He looks at me, then at her. “I’m getting us outta Garden Heights, baby. You got my word.”