Murder in Germantown (25 page)

“
Nothing, baby. Doing this here puzzle that you bought me for Christmas.”

“
I am a block away. So don’t be alarmed when I come in,” I said as Dajuan made a right onto Seymour Street. We hung up.

“
I’m going to Nana’s. I’m going to Nana’s.” Brandon was singing that like a Broadway show tune.

* * *

Dajuan parked in front of Constance Lemmelle’s and we hopped out into the cold. Nana--who was fortunate enough to have a lawn and outside porch--stood in the storm door sporting a new wig. That one was a short do with a duck tail. During the spring and summer, Nana planted flowers at the head of her lawn. The flowers complimented the tree that she had planted years earlier to use as shade against the deadly summer sun.

Her light hue glowed on the porch. She had all of her stoutness expertly packaged in a floral print dress.

Brandon raced up the block to her and hugged her legs tightly. She bent down and hugged him. He was too big for her to lift. Even though she was strong with a set of powerful arms from 40 years as a nursing aide, she was not picking him up.

We entered the home where I lived during my college breaks, considering my father--Nana’s son--didn’t want a gay trader in his then Mount Airy home. Nana had an olive green sofa with cream
fleur-de-lys
embroidered throughout, which matched her cream carpet. The walls were eggshell white, and she had a serious entertainment center. She loved movies, and I often heard her scream “Kill him” at a dizzy bimbo in a movie reluctantly
pointing a gun at some man. Just a strong fearless woman.

“
Where’s Ralph?” I asked her.

He was her veteran postal worker, live-in boyfriend, and a gospel guitarist in a band. My natural grandfather was a mystery that I had not been able to unravel. I wasn’t all that interested in it anyway, since he abandoned Nana.

“
He’s at practice,” she told me from her Boston rocker.

Brandon stood at her side, resting on her leg like a bodyguard.

“
I was just sitting here having tea and toast, listening to Jeopardy and doing my little puzzle.”

“
Tea and toast? You swear you’re a rich white woman.” That was our joke.

“
You do, too,” she said.

“
Runs in the family,” Dajuan said and glared at me. We all laughed, even Brandon.”

“
What are you laughing at?” I asked Brandon, and we all laughed more looking at his blank stare.

“
You’re telling me that a gal cannot have a little green tea and lightly-buttered pumpernickel to cap the night. You use to love jeopardy and pumpernickel.”

“
Still do,” I said and purloined a slice of toast from her plate.

“
Nana, can I have some cake?” Brandon asked.

“
No, boy. You just ate dinner,” Dajuan told him.

“
No, we had breakfast.” Brandon whined.

“
Boy, sit down somewhere. You’re not getting any cake. Go get some fruit.” I growled at Brandon.

He was trying to pull one of his manipulation tactics on Nana.

Nana chuckled at the family sitcom.

“
Ya’ll had breakfast just a while ago? You’re trying to starve my baby?” she asked with a funny smile on her face.

“
No, Connie. You know we didn’t starve that punk...”

“
Stop the name calling,” she said and gave me a wicked glare.

“
Okay, don’t kill me.”

“
You didn’t like your father calling you names, especially that one. As I recall it, that forced you to learn how to box, so that you could beat him up. So don’t call this here baby names.”

Brandon stuck his tongue out at me. The little bastard.

“
I’m going to get you when we leave. And keep your tongue in your mouth.”

“
Nana, he gon’ beat me,” Brandon said and hid behind her.

He was just a phony.

“
No he’s not,” she said and gave him a reassuring smile and hug.

“
Yes, he is. I’mma call the cops, too,” Brandon said confidently. He was really showing off.

The adults in the room cracked up with laughter.

“
He always gets over here and starts fronting on us,” Dajuan said. “At home he be chilling and all well behaved, and as soon as he gets here, he doesn’t know us and sticks out his tongue.”

“
No, I don’t, Nana. Nana, you got grapes?”

“
Have,” I said correcting him. “Does she have grapes?”

“
Okay,” he told me. “Nana do you have grapes without seeds?” he asked and flashed her some teeth. Just a little manipulator. I wondered where he learned that from.

“
Yes. Go look in the bottom of the icebox,” she said, and Brandon ran off to the kitchen.

“
Granny, I am about to walk around to Charlie B’s to see what’s happening over there.”

“
Not a damn thing,” she said. “Why are you going around there. I can’t imagine you being caught there going over well with your career.”

“
My career is taking me there. Crazy, I know. I am going about Wydell. You do remember our call from Sunday, right?” I asked and then slyly added, “Of course you do. I took the case.”

“
Oh?” Coy.

“
What time are you leaving for the mall?” I asked Dajuan.

“
Ooh, can I go?” Nana asked like a school girl. “Value City is having a sale and I want to buy some kitchen things.”

“
Yup, Nana, you can go,” Brandon said coming from the kitchen with a handful of grapes.

“
You’re too much,” Dajuan told him. “Yes, Granny, you can go. We will have a ball.”

“
Cool, I am leaving. Call me when you’re driving back from the mall and I’ll wrap up at the bar.”

CHAPTER 57

Back on familiar turf, I walked down Seymour Street toward Wayne Avenue. Taking this late-night stroll had forced me to recall memories that I packed in brain cells that now had dust and cobwebs. It had been a while since I had actually made the trek on foot. So many things that made up my character were given birth on Seymour Street. The one thing that stood out was my sexuality. I often wondered what sparked that characteristic to become a monster inside of me that it has.

I distinctly recalled fondling with boys as far back as kindergarten. I couldn’t remember if I was the catalyst to those boyhood experiments, but I do know that I began to like them. What started out as accidental grew into deliberate acts of sex with quite a few of the thugs around the way. They may not remember, but I did. The feelings were mutual, too, and most all the way up to high school. My special buddies and I called each other when our homes were free and we engaged in sexual acts. We also had sex with girls and as soon as they left, we had sex with each other. If family were home and we had a desire to play, we used parks, school play grounds, and alleys. Hell, any where it was dark and secluded.

I was often around a lot of boys who liked to pull trains on girls. Most enjoyed the company of another man to secretly lust off them. I mean some guys were eager to announce that they had a chick to flip, so that their homey’s could get on board to have sex with the girl, strictly so that they could watch.

I once had a special buddy who confessed that he liked watching me have sex with girls. What he really liked was watching my ass in the air and my penis going in and out of a young lady, and I was sure to give him a great show. Amazingly, none of these guys were out of the closet like your scribe; but, I’d bet my 401K that they enjoyed gay sex.

I approached a small barbershop on the corner of Seymour and Keyser Streets. I was one block from Wayne Avenue. The barbershop constantly changed ownership. It was often an illegal drug flagship, which the police probably raided twice a month. I stepped through the door and examined the place. The known local players were present and sat on folding chairs. I recognized one of the barbers, but not the other one. In the back, two buffoons played PS3 on a TV. Normally, they’d be outside drinking from a brown paper bag and playing craps, but it was too cold for that.

I was greeted with a gay joke. Stretch, the barber, usually had jokes. It was a part of the black barbershop experience.

Hastily, I replied, “Want to know the best position to make ugly children?” After a brief pause, I said, “Ask DJ’s mom.”

The shop burst into laughter. My knack for jokes had not dulled since I had become an attorney. I was the king of “Yo Mama” jokes in high school.

The laughter died down and I gave one of my childhood buddies a conspicuous head nod.

I said to the barber, “I was just in the neighborhood, so I figured I’d swing through to see if you were still renting.”

DJ confirmed, “I ain’t going nowhere. What’s up with my boy, Wydell? You gon’ get that fool out, right?”

“
I’ll be back, yo,” Kensan announced before I could reply.

He had noticed my head nod and probably thought that we were in for ephemeral pleasure in the darkened back of Fitler Elementary. Just like the old days.

“
I am trying my best to get him out,” I replied.

“
Trying! You get them white folks off all the time, Mr. Big Shot Lawyer. Now when it comes to one of ours, it’s a problem.”

Smoov had said all that.

“
That’s a damn shame.” Someone echoed.

“
You’re on some other shit. I am trying to get him out, but I need, no, he needs your help. Starting with some witnesses who saw the shootings.”

“
I wasn’t there,” Smoov said quickly.

I bet he lied. Everybody else looked crazily as if I had spoken a foreign language.

“
I am not looking for snitches. I really need to know who was there or anything like that because I am not trying to put him at the scene.”

My cell phone rang interrupting me.

My aunt Diana was released, but I could not talk to her at that moment. I got back to the barber shop clowns.

“
I need the order of the deaths and I need to know what time the shots were fired.“

Everyone was quiet.

“
You mutha fuckas were all laughter and chatter a moment ago. Smoov you were barking at me and shit, but no one wants to open up their damn mouths. Fuck all of you!”

“
Yo, who the fuck are you talking to faggot?” That was one of the new kids on the block. He looked at me fiercely. He turned from the PS3 and walked towards me. Fists clinched and mean mugging me. He advanced closer. I had never met him, and he had obviously never heard of me.

“
Dawg,” I said having to turn on my hood charm. “I don’t even know you, fam. And I really wasn’t even talking to you. I doubt if you were in Suspect’s company.”

I was going for overkill because he had threatened me with his body language. Who the hell was he to talk to me any kind of way.

I studied him a sec, and then added, “Nappy ass hair, dirty ass jeans, scruffy ass Tims.”

That was a very accurate description.

The motley chump got inches within my reach and Smoov slid between us. He warned us not to let anything pop off inside of his shop.

Tone said, “Fuck dat fag! I’ll beat him the fuck up. I don’t know why ya’ll respect this nigga. He a faggot! A dick taker. I’ll kill that nigga!”

“
That’s what you won’t do,” I confirmed.

I tried to relax, but that ugly ass man was trippin’. I wasn’t even talking to him. He just wanted to beef with me because he probably desired to interact with me, and this was his only way to. No, I am not full of myself, but I know that men who claim to hate and detest homosexuals are oftentimes down low and in a closet dying to get out. This argument was an avenue for him to talk to me and possibly fight me. This situation was no different than a woman who picked an argument so that her man could punish her in the bed shortly after the fight.

There was another division of other freaks that would not be attractive to a wild bear and swear that I was lusting over them, when in reality I wouldn’t touch them for an absurd amount of cash. I had preferences and Lil Tone, the man trying to fight me, was off the mark. Way off!