YOU GOT ME

Even in the daytime, Livonia Avenue between the subway stops at Rockaway and Saratoga was shadowy, as any sunlight had to cut through spaces in the elevated tracks. Aside from the Marcus Garvey public housing development and Betsy Head Park, most of these blocks were either empty lots or poorly maintained buildings. Even Betsy Head, which should have flooded the street with light, felt dark because of the dust rising from its pebble-filled ball field.

“Anyone still play game here?” D asked Ray Ray as they walked past.

“A peewee football team practices here,” he reported, “but their league banned games because of all the rocks. Only hard-core Ricans and Dominicans play softball on it. A bad hop out there will bust your lip.”

The only respectable structure on Livonia seemed to be the renovated building near Saratoga that housed AKBK Realty and next door Womack & Womack’s Hair Heaven. The real estate entity had evidently paid for some sandblasting and the installation of security lights.

D and Ray Ray were about to cross the street onto that block when a patrol car and an unmarked vehicle pulled up in front. The Latino detective from D’s shoot-out emerged from inside AKBK Realty with a gun drawn and a walkie-talkie.

“Yo,” Ray Ray said, “that’s that Detective Rivera!”

“Okay,” D said, “let’s lay back.”

The police ran into Womack & Womack’s with serious intent. Women, some with their hair in half-finished weaves, scurried out. Mixed in with them were a couple of hairdressers.

“That one there is Eryka,” Ray Ray said, pointing to a curvy black woman with blue threads in her bob weave.

The police came out a minute later pulling a fifty-something black man with a barrel chest and a blond Afro (wig) and shoved him into the back of the patrol car.

Eryka shouted at Detective Rivera, “This is bullshit! Bobby would never have no guns or shit like that in his shop!”

“Relax, Eryka,” the Latino replied with a self-satisfied smirk. “We got a tip Bobby had guns in his shop. The tip proved right. He doesn’t have a permit. He’s an ex-con. He knows better. He’s in serious trouble. Sorry.”

Eryka sucked her teeth. “Can I at least get my bag out the damn shop?”

“Eryka, it’s a crime scene.”

“Stop the bullshit, Gerald. You know someone must have planted those guns.”

“Well,” Rivera said, “I hope it wasn’t you.”

“Bobby isn’t into anything but hair.”

The detective folded his arms and said evenly, “I’ll listen to what he has to say and I’ll give him a fair hearing. But you know we take illegal guns very serious in this precinct.”

Eryka, quite the diva and not intimidated by the detective, countered, “I know you really care about the guns,” and ice-grilled him like a G.

Rivera shook his head, smiled stiffly, and then let her back in Womack & Womack’s. D and Ray Ray stood behind one of the elevated subway supports, clocking the activity.

When the cop and the hairdresser came back out, Eryka had her bag but was still steaming. Rivera went over and locked the door to AKBK Realty and then hopped into the unmarked car and sped off. Eryka stood in front of the beauty shop looking angry and lost.

“Are you okay, miss?” D stood a couple of feet from her appearing concerned.

She glanced at him a moment and said, “You motherfucking cops make me sick.”

“I’m not a cop,” he said. “I was just walking by and saw you. I apologize for interrupting.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. You wearing black and all I just thought—”

“No,” he said, “it happens all the time. Listen, I saw a little of what went down. It looked nasty and unnecessary.”

“Very fucking unnecessary.”

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

Eryka looked him up and down, from shoe size to shoulders, and decided to take him up on his offer. D had already sent Ray Ray home, thinking this was a job for a single man.

Ten minutes later they were having fish sandwiches and lemonade at a small spot Eryka knew. She’d spent most of the time venting about the way the cops treated people in Brownsville, with a particular emphasis on the nastiness of Gerald Rivera. Finally she asked D, “So what are you after, big man?”

“You don’t think I was just walking by?”

“You ain’t cracked for the pussy yet, which immediately lets me know you about business. Plus, you brought me lunch and didn’t flinch. You ain’t a cop unless you IA, which I would welcome, since that bastard Rivera is dirty as hell.”

So D told her what he knew about Ride and his quest to find lost love. The story both amused and disappointed his listener.

“Well,” she said, “that man is so strung out on that stunt it’s crazy. But I doubt she’s thought about him a day or night since he went away. As for finding her, well, she e-mails me from time to time. But she changes her e-mail and phone number. I bet she’s in either Cali or Miami, or maybe some island. Girl loves flaunting her shit in a bikini as much as she loves singing. When she calls me next I’ll tell her Ride is looking for her. That’s all I can do for you pertaining to that.”

“That’s something. Thank you.”

“So you a security guard?” she asked.

“I know it’s crazy but I get paid to keep people safe.”

“Hmmmm,” she said, surveying his body again. “You good at it?”

“I’m as good as my clients let me be.”

“Oh, it’s like that. Where do you live?”

“Over in Prospect Heights.”

“Fancy.”

“Not really,” he replied, slightly embarrassed. “I just moved back to Brooklyn and it’s just what I could find.”

“Well,” Eryka said as she reached out and touched his hand, “good for Brooklyn.”