Sweet 16 to Life (7 page)

I
nstead of heading home after the bus drops me off, I make a stop at the Center Street bodega to check if MJ is lying about her new boyfriend or not. If she wasn't lying about never missing school, she should be in class right now and Eddie should be working the cash register.

The day started out cold, but the sun has made the afternoon warm enough to bring people out, including Crazy Moses, who is standing outside the bodega leaning against his shopping cart/home, money cup in hand. I have to tell him twice that I'm not working at TasteeTreets anymore and can't give him free coffee like I used to. I actually had to pay for it with my employee discount, but I always told him it was free. Moses didn't get the Crazy added on to his name for no reason. Half-priced coffee was a small price to pay to keep things peaceful during my shift at the register whenever he was there. Now I can't afford to subsidize him.

Moses being here tips me off that Eddie's father isn't working today. Mr. Perez would never let Moses hang around his door harassing his customers like that. Eddie doesn't care. He's just killing time while he figures out what's next. He was recently kicked out of college for being a slacker and never showing up for class, and his father is making him work in the bodega to earn his keep. Eddie couldn't care less about his father's store and is probably the last person to be trusted with it, but MJ made me promise to stay out of their family business. She's got a point—I have my own father issues to deal with. But that doesn't mean I'm staying out of MJ's business when doing so could mean letting my friend get herself into a world of trouble.

“Tamale girl,” Eddie says when I walk into the store, like he's announcing the queen.

“It's Chanti,” I say.

“Yeah, I know—MJ's friend. But you usually only come in on Freebie Friday for the buy-one-get-one tamales.”

It's true, and apparently I've got an easy-to-mark pattern even though Eddie hasn't been working in the bodega very long. I need to work on that—not a good trait for a detective, even one who isn't really a detective. Now I'll have to buy something to keep my cover. Good thing I took Lana's twenty off the table this morning, not that I plan on spending more than I have to. There's an extra-cheese-and-pepperoni pizza calling my name right now.

“I come in other times, like now, when I get off the bus from school.”

“Yeah? I must not have been working those other times,” Eddie says.

If it was anyone else, I'd think he was reading me, but from what MJ has told me, Eddie didn't just fail in college because he was a slacker. He probably believes me and really thinks he wasn't working those times, even though this is his regular shift.

“You have any Bubble Yum?” I ask. “I wanted to buy some for MJ because I'm always mooching off her. You know what her favorite flavor is?”

“Really? I've never seen MJ with gum.”

He's right; it is a bad cover story. He's reading my habits and my lies—I'm way off my game. Thanks to Marco messing with my head. And my heart.

“It was only once or twice I bummed off her. It's not like she has a Bubble Yum addiction or anything.”

“Well, I know she likes grape slushes.”

“You know MJ pretty well, don't you?” I say, finally getting the opening I was so ineptly looking for. “Things must be going great for y'all, huh?”

“Oh yeah, me and MJ are definitely tight. I never thought she'd be my kind of girl, her being all roughneck and everything. I was chasing pretty girls around campus and didn't know what a real woman would be like.”

Unbelievably, he says this all dreamy-like. I suppress a smile.

“MJ is about as real as it gets,” I say, putting the pack of grape gum, two protein bars, and Lana's twenty on the counter.

“Yeah. Ain't nothing pink and frilly about her. You never know what you want until it hits you.”

“
It
hits you? You mean like—”

“Nah, man . . . it's like . . . you know,” he says.

Like most guys, he fumbles the four-letter L word like it can't possibly relate to him, so I let him off the hook.

“Right, I know. And MJ won't ever hear it from me,” I promise as he gives me my change.

On my way out, I give Crazy Moses the protein bars. I'll probably regret it the next time I see him when I'll have to explain why I can't give him free coffee
or
Power Bars now.

“You can pay me back when you have a little extra,” I tell him, hoping he'll remember I said it and won't expect freebies whenever he sees me. I know he'll never have a little extra. Some panhandlers probably make more than I ever did at Treets, but Crazy Moses isn't one of them. People generally cross the street to avoid him; he scares off too many people to actually make any money.

“Not to worry,” he says and nods, taking the bars. I'm never sure what this means because, outside of demanding money, food, or coffee from people, I've never heard Moses say anything but those three words. He says them all the time, whether he's pushing his cart up the street, panhandling on the corner, or sitting on the sidewalk in front of Seoul BBQ enjoying someone's donated leftovers—you'll hear him repeating those same three words over and over. I always figured he was trying to convince himself, not the rest of us, but sometimes I wonder.

I should take Moses's advice, but that'll never happen. Right now, I'm worried about MJ. Either she's lying about things between her and Eddie not being serious or the poor guy is completely deluded. The way he kept looking all stupid-in-love whenever I mentioned MJ, that delusion theory is not improbable. But there are other ways to get information than from the source, and sometimes they're even more reliable than the source. This is especially true when a would-be informant thinks of gossip as a sport and she's training for the gold. On my walk home, I call in a pizza order and then text Tasha to come over for a slice in about fifteen minutes.

 

Before I go home, I make a stop at Ada Crawford's house, the weight of the heavy lighter reminding me that it's been in my coat pocket—and on my mind—for a couple of days. After I explain I might have found something of Ada's to her housekeeper, who I am certain is the only one working on Aurora Avenue and probably a five-block radius, I am shown into the house. I only have a second to get over the surprise of actually being let in before I am struck by the house itself.

Like with my first visit to Marco's place, Ada's house is nothing like I had imagined, which involved leather furniture, feather boas, and black lights. Or at least something like her car, a gold Lexus with gold medallions, gold spinners, and gold everything else. Instead, it looks like someone forced Ada to only shop at Laura Ashley for the rest of her days. Pastel flowers bloom on the walls, curtains, pillows—everywhere.

While I wait for Ada in the foyer—she actually has one and again, I'm sure it's the only one on the block—I look around for clues that she is who I have always suspected she is despite her sweet and innocent interior design. Like maybe a guestbook with all her clients' names that I could sneak a peek at like they always do in the movies. But I guess it isn't like she's running a bed and breakfast, even though her décor might suggest it.

“You have something for me?”

I turn around to find Ada dressed the same way she does on those rare times I run into her around the neighborhood—normal. No leather bras or those little shoes with the feathers on front. I really watch too much TV, and possibly the wrong kind.

“Well, I'm not sure it's yours.”

“So why would you come see me about it?”

“Because I found it on your—on the sidewalk in front of your house.”

“What is it?”

“I was wondering if, uh, you could tell me,” I say, a little nervous. Something about Ada is intimidating, even surrounded by pale flowers. Maybe because she's really pretty, even prettier than everyone on the street thinks she is, when you get up close. Or maybe because I know what she does in this house of flowers. “I thought if one of your, uh, visitors had lost something, you could describe it to me. It probably would have been last Sunday—likely Saturday night—that they lost it.”

“So whatever it is,” Ada says, smiling a little, “you're suggesting it's something a man would own.”

“Yes, that's what I'm suggesting. Ma'am.”

“No, none of my visitors have lost anything. Could I have a look at it, anyway?”

Reluctantly, I fish the lighter out of my pocket and instead of handing it to her, hold it up for her to see. I don't know why I think she's going to take it, but . . .

“Hey!” I say as she grabs it from me.

“This is nice,” she says, appraising like she's looking at a diamond through a jeweler's loupe. “What do you think this design on it is?”

“Um, I have no idea,” I say as I snatch the lighter back.

“I wasn't going to steal it,” Ada says, looking to me like she was totally planning to steal it. Then she gives me a hard once-over. “What's your story anyway, little girl? And your mother. I always wondered about her game, though I have my suspicions.”

“We, I mean me and my mother, we always wondered about your game, too. We have our suspicions, too. Ma'am.”

“I suppose we should both just keep our suspicions to ourselves. You know, let sleeping dogs lie.”

Uh, it's confirmed. Ada Crawford weirds me out.

“Okay, well, thanks about the lighter,” I say, “but I gotta go. I have a pizza being delivered.”

She says something to me, but I don't hear it because I'm out the door and down the steps before she can even finish her sentence.

 

“Hey, girl,” Tasha says when I open my front door. “This pizza offer was right on time. My parents are doing a date night and I was going to have to fend for myself. Kinda early for dinner though, isn't it?”

“Yeah, but I figured we could catch up. It's been a while.”

“Glad you noticed. Since you started going to that new school, we never get to talk.”

“I know, but between the crazy amount of homework they give me and the bus commute, I don't have much time left.”

Not to mention all the time I spend crime-solving, but I leave that part off. I'm dying to tell her about my visit to Ada's house, but it's best to keep investigation details under wraps unless you need to reveal them. Instead, I fill her in on my breakup with Marco and show off the new birthday dress I have no place to wear since I haven't made plans and don't have a date. Tasha shares the latest news about people I knew at my old school and what's going on around the Ave.

Which brings me to MJ.

“So what's the word on MJ and Eddie?” I ask Tasha as I refill our glasses with soda. “Are they still together?”

“She's
your
friend. You ought to know.”

“We don't talk much anymore.”

“I saw y'all talking when her house was on fire. Speaking of, what's up with that? Do they know how it started?” Tasha asks, completely turning the interviewing table on me.

“MJ thought it might be embers from her fireplace that she left on the back porch.”

“Who puts out hot embers? She ain't too bright, is she? I guess they don't have too many fireplaces in Los Angeles. Maybe now she'll leave Aurora Ave and go back there.”

“Because she accidentally started a fire?” I say, even though I still don't believe MJ started the fire even if MJ does.

“That and the fact she's involved with Eddie Perez.”

“They hooked up?”

“You didn't know?” Tasha asks, taking another slice from the pizza box. “Yeah, they're real tight.”

“So why would she go back to Los Angeles if she's in tight with Eddie? Are they having problems?”

“They aren't, but he might cause some for MJ. She's on parole and not supposed to be associating with criminals.”

“Eddie isn't a criminal.”

“But his dad might be real soon. I heard he might go into business with Big Mama, running Numbers out of his store.”

“MJ lives in the same house as Big Mama. She can get into trouble from the Numbers game without any help from Eddie and his family.”

“It's different when it's your relative. The cops will figure she couldn't help that—who she's related to and where she lives,” Tasha says, lowering her voice. “She
can
help who her boyfriend is and who he hangs with.”

Whenever Tasha starts gossiping, her voice gets quieter and all conspiratorial even if we're the only ones in the house. I don't bother to tell her she's wrong about how cops will see it. I take the bait instead.

“So who's he hanging out with?”

“You won't believe this, but Michelle has started talking to Cisco.”

Tasha says the name like I should know who that is. My face must register clueless.

“Chanti, you really do need to keep up with what's going on in your own neighborhood.”

“Not when I can get all the gossip from you. So who is he?”

“He was Donnell Down-the-Street's second man.”

“How many men did he have?”

“Well, just the one—Cisco. Now that DTS is in jail, it looks like Cisco is taking over his operation.”

I know about Donnell DTS since I helped put him in jail, but I didn't know about a second man. I thought Donnell was a small-time dealer trying to go big thanks to MJ's gang connections. When I stopped those plans, I thought I'd taken out an Aurora Avenue criminal for good. I swear, they're just like roaches. Step on one, here come two more.