T.C. wondered if he should say thank you but decided against it, just gulped, kept one eye on the green-eyed man who still held the burner at Tiger’s temple but who stared T.C. down.
“And why the fuck you even talking about some Betsy friend you don’t even fuck with no mo’? She got your kid?” Spud was shouting at the green-eyed man now.
“Hell nah.”
“Well, then, why you even mentioned her? You tryna get me caught up over some bitch in your rearview, didn’t even have no good pussy. Come on, nigga.”
The green-eyed man stood up and walked over to Spud. “That’s it?” the green-eyed man asked.
“Yeah, that’s it, for now.” Spud smacked his friend in the back of his head as they walked to the door.
T.C. listened for the front door slamming, then the car’s, but even once the sounds had registered, he couldn’t find relief. He stayed in his spot, still staring at Tiger.
“Now, calm down, T.C., I didn’t lie to you.” Tiger stood. “I just thought it would be a win-win, see. Get you back in the game again, hook you up with some cash. You wasn’t complaining when that money was coming in.”
T.C. just shook his head. The scene had zapped him of his energy, and he wasn’t going to waste any he had remaining on some bullshit.
“Look, he didn’t even take all of it, see.” Tiger was still talking. “I got a couple ounces in the back. We could sell that, make enough to buy some more seeds.”
“Just give it to me,” T.C. said.
When Tiger brought it out, T.C. stuffed it in his backpack and turned for the door.
Tiger followed him. “That’s it then?”
T.C. nodded, put his hand on the knob. He was almost out when Tiger called for him again,
“T.C.?”
“What?” He turned to him from the doorway.
“I didn’t have no other way to get the money. I didn’t mean to fuck with your life. I just thought either way you was gon’ hustle and if I helped you out, you’d bring a lil’ bit more in. Look, you got your auntie and your grandma, and I ain’t got nobody else, and I couldn’t see a way out.”
T.C. nodded. “I’ll check with you later, dude,” he said. Licia’s beat-up old Camry seemed like Tiger’s car the day he’d picked T.C. up from jail, and if he could just reach it, he might see his son again, his girl who was about to be his wife. He climbed in, reclined the seat, and just sat for a minute. Oddly he felt free. There wasn’t much weed left, and he could just pawn the rest off on his old basketball heads. Tops, he’d be done in a week. He’d have enough in his pocket for the ring, bottomed out, but it would be right on time. He would start work the following Monday. That was when his real life would begin, the engagement, the wedding; maybe he and Licia would have another one. That’s what people did, he knew. That encounter with the green-eyed mothafucka had him feeling out of place in his body still, but maybe it wasn’t just the man; maybe it was the realization that his life was moving uphill, and he wasn’t destined to plummet down the other side of it. He needed to take a minute to rest from the adrenaline of it all.
He turned the ignition on. Goddamnit, “Right Above It” again—Q93 played that song the hell out. Well, it was a good song to smoke to though, and if there was ever a time to smoke, it was now. He was tempted to go back inside and make amends with Tiger; after everything, he still loved to chill with him, hear the crazy shit that came out of his mouth. Nah, Tiger was bad news. T.C.’s mama had been right.
T.C. already had one rolled, and he pulled it out, flicked the lighter over its end, inhaled, closed his eyes. It was just his okay strain, OG Kush, more body than he liked, but he saved the heady shit for his customers these days. When he heard the siren, he wondered if he had mislabeled. That OG didn’t usually fuck with his mind. The sound must have been in the song. If Tiger were in the car, he’d have them running around the Ninth Ward on a phantom high-speed chase. T.C. was glad he hadn’t gone in to get him. He tapped the blunt out, turned the key in the ignition. He looked in his rearview before he drove off, and that’s when he saw them. One police car had stopped, and one was in the process of rolling up behind it. The cop in the car behind him sat in the passenger seat just watching him; the other one had already stepped out. He heard the one who was walking call the stop in on his radio. T.C. looked at the weed he’d tapped out in an old coke can, thought about ingesting it, but there was at least an ounce in that bag right beside him. He hadn’t broken any traffic laws, he was just sitting there, but when he rolled down the window they’d smell it on him, and that would be their cause to search his car. He could drive off, but that would just make things worse. On the other hand, he couldn’t go back to that place, he wouldn’t.
The cop tapped on the window. “Without reaching anywhere can you confirm that you have your license and registration on you?”
It was too late to leave the scene. They had the plate number and everything. He sat for a minute. One of his last games in high school, he’d been in a bind like this. There were only forty-five seconds left on the clock. His team was behind five points. The coach called a timeout, ordered the play where T.C. would flash open across the court, catch a pass from the point guard, then shoot a layup. T.C. wasn’t nervous—it was impossible to win, so there was nothing to be nervous about. Still, as he waited for his forward to set a back screen, he felt himself floating above his body, looking down at himself posted up, then running, holding his hands out, catching the ball, and tossing it back up at the backboard. If making that shot had given him any hope, he lost it when he got fouled because he was terrible at foul shots. Always had been. But he made it, and then he stole the ball from the best point guard in the state, drove it right back down the court for a shot just outside the three-point line a millisecond before the game ended. He had never felt anything like that to this day.
The officer tapped again, this time with more force, and T.C. just waited for a miracle to kick in, for that magic that had lit up his heart on that basketball court to drive him away from there.
Evelyn