16
Coming to Terms

I drove up at Oz’s place about an hour and forty-five minutes after leaving Ernestina in the shower and immediately noticed Amp’s Navigator parked out front. “Just what the hell I need; as if the day hasn’t already been fucked up enough.” Instinctively, I dialed the old man’s cell phone. BBBRRRIIINNNGGG, BBBRRRIIINNNGGG.

Oz answered and I could tell by the sound of his voice, something had him on edge, “Yeah, what’s up?”

“Oz, this Willie. Everything all right in there?” I asked.

“Why wouldn’t it be? Just givin some last minute n’structions on how to handle this ass up on 153rd that don’t wanna pay his dues,” he said, before inquiring, “Where you?”

After getting out the car, I was peering at the blacked-out windows of the Navigator. “I just pulled up in front,” I confirmed while suggesting, “Oz, something doesn’t seem right.”

He asked, trying to be discrete in Amp’s presence, “What you got?”

While still checking out the ‘Gator, I informed him, “Don’t really know; something just doesn’t feel right about this whole situation.” I cautiously walked completely around the outside of the truck looking for any sign that things were the least bit out of the ordinary and then headed for the front door. “I’m on my way inside,” I said. When I entered, my mentor was standing over near the cigarette machines opposite Amp, who stood closer to the bar. I paid no attention to him, “How’s it hanging old man?”

“A li’l bit lower than I like,” Oz replied.

Amp snarled, trying to get under my skin, “He da only one you see, punk?”

Still thinking about the last time we were in similar positions, I commented, “He just happens to be the only one I can bring myself to give a damn about.”

Emphasizing the authority of his position, Oz snapped, “All right, there ain’t gone be no mo shit like last time you two was here! I ain’t gonna have no mo mess in my place, understand? Like it or not, two o’ you’s gotta work t’gether.”

Just as I was trying to understand why Oz seemed to be siding with that snake, I felt the rush of wind caused when the front door opened. Before I could turn to look, the unmistakable rhythm of a semi-automatic songbird sounded off: CLACK-CLACK, CLACK-CLACK, CLACK-CLACK…

Diving away from the line of fire, I shouted, “Oz, look out!” With all the commotion, I noticed Amp was virtually unfazed. “Oz...Oz! You all right, old man!” I screamed over the sound of gunshots. From where I was, only his legs were visible beside the cigarette machine but there was no sign of life.

Amp ordered, in a commanding tone, “Get that country some-bitch!”

As the setup became obvious, I summoned the assistance of my twin Smith & Wesson peacemakers. CA-CLACK-
CA-CLACK, CA-CLACK… And screamed over the noise of the shots “Oz...Oz! You all right?” There was no noticeable movement from the once commanding creature that now lay lifeless on the concrete floor. “Oz! Oz! Dammit man; can you hear me?”

An unfamiliar voice beckoned, “Willie, this Jerome.”

“I don’t care who the fuck you are!” I answered. “What I wanna know is why the hell you let that fool, Amp, talk you into slitting your own damn throat!” and then fired back, CA-CLACK, CA-CLACK,

Jerome’s voice sounded as though he was almost pleading, “I ain’t got no beef wit you, partner.”

“If you’ve got a problem with Oz, then you’ve got a problem with me! If he dies, you’ve got a problem to the grave!” I warned.

“Oh, ain’t this a touchin moment.” Amp’s voice sounded above my head as he ordered from behind, standing at the table where I’d sought cover, “Now drop that shit and turn yo punk ass ‘round.”

I reluctantly tossed the gun out onto the floor. “You know, you’re a dead man.”

“Well that’s gone be kinda hard, since you gone be dead first,” he said. “You just don’t know it yet. Now throw out the other one. I know you be carry’n two.”

I knew giving up the guns would mean giving up on any chance of getting out the situation in one piece. But if I didn’t hand them over, that coward would take my life. I could hear the faint sound of sirens as I slowly unhanded the second of the twins.

Jerome nervously yelled, “C’mon Amp, we ain’t got no time fo this shit. Somebody done called five-o. We gotta get the hell outta here!”

Amp was clenching his teeth as he turned toward Jerome, “Man, I been itchin fo this shit fo a minute.”

With him briefly distracted, I quickly went for the throwaway piece in the small of my back. It had been Oz who’d warned me to always keep at least one gun you can toss if you have to. “One that can’t be traced, in case ya get in a sit’ation where ya gotta throw it down,” he’d said.

CA-CLACK, CA-CLACK, CA-CLACK. Amp’s legs were all I could see from beneath the table so, that’s where I put three shots from my backup .380 semi-automatic.

“You son of a bitch!” I heard Amp’s agonizing scream. “That punk muthafucka shot me. You’s a dead bastard, Willie!”

I quickly grabbed the two 9mm partners previously placed on the floor and scurried over to check on Oz without much thought of where Amp and Jerome had ended up.

“C’mon Amp,” Jerome called. “We gotta be out this bitch wit the quickness!”

Amp was preoccupied with pain. “How fast you think I can move wit two busted legs? Get yo ass over here and help me out this piece,” he ordered.

The blaring of sirens got louder by the second. Amp threw his right arm over Jerome’s shoulder and shouted obscene threats back at me as they made their way past the pool tables and out the door. My only concern was for Oz. Seconds later, there was a tug at my shoulder which caused me to wheel around and nearly shoot Tony, Oz’s handyman, in his face.

Ducking and grabbing for the gun in one motion, Tony was focused on Oz’s limp figure and questioned with a nervous anger in his voice, “What da hell goin on up in here?”

I yelled, “The Old Man’s been shot!” while reaching for Oz. “It was that son of a bitch Amp who did this foul shit...him and that bastard, Jerome!”

Tony explained, “Yeah, I’s almost run over by some dude damn near carryin him out when I come in. Ya know da boys in blue is gone be pullin up out front in a second?”

I answered, while trying to maneuver Oz’s drooping mass, “Yeah, That’s why you’ve gotta help me get him to the car!”

“But da cops gone be all over this place,” Tony said. “Where we gone take him?”

“To see the bitching Statue of Liberty, Tone!” I snapped. “Where the fuck you think? I’m not gone let the man die waiting on a damn ambulance! By the time they decide whether they even want to come up here, his final arrangements will already be confirmed. Now bring your ass!”

Even with both Tony and me together, Oz’s massive structure was difficult to handle. We hurriedly lugged him out the front and into my Impala just as the cavalry approached. Before the NYPD could circle their wagons in the rehearsed standard tactical formation, Tony was clawing the passenger’s door wishing he’d never climbed in. We parted the two lead cars, causing them to seek refuge on the sidewalk with the rest content to follow suit.

Tony finally mustered enough nerve to say, “Man, if you don’t slow this damn thang down, we all gone need doctorin.”

I said, in a tone absent any emotion, “Any time you feel the need, Tony…feel free.”

“Feel free ta what?” he asked.

While barely making it through an intersection without sideswiping a Snapple truck, I exclaimed, “Feel free to get the fuck out!”

Attempting to get the seat cushion out his ass, “That bitchin light was red!” Tony screamed. “You tryin ta kill us?”

Nobody, pedestrians nor other drivers, seemed to pay any attention at all to the hazard lights and blaring horn as we came barreling down Broadway. I almost clipped a tow-truck driver outside his double-parked vehicle negotiating the fee with the frustrated owner of a disabled red Porsche.

“Man, you need ta slow this damn thang down. I thank I’m gone be sick,” Tony barked. “E’rythang I just ate ‘bout ta be all in yo flo.”

Already pissed at the entire situation, I warned, “Then I think you need to step your bitch ass the hell out. I’m not stopping.”

Tony looked in the back seat and said with a pale stare on his face, “Bro, I thank he done…”

“Tony, I’m not trying to hear your shit right now!” I tensed at the thought. “He’s not going to fucking die! I won’t let him die!”

Tony rationalized while reaching his husky trunk over the back of the seat, “For real man, wit this, I don’t see where you got much say in da whole thang.” he stretched, trying to get confirmation.

Without a word from Tony, I knew the exact moment Oz breathed out his last breath. It was as though someone had just hollowed my entire chest. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t see anything but red.

I yelled over the sirens, simultaneously slamming both hands on the steering wheel with each exclamation, “Muthafucker! Muthafucker! Son of a bitch!”

“Man, you need ta…” Tony started again.

Anger erupted from way down in the shaft of my Tony Lama boots, “I need you to shut the hell up, is what I bitching need, Tony!” as a single tear rolled down my face. “Just shut the fuck up, dammit. Give me a minute to figure this shit out!”

Tony uttered, while tearing up himself, “I mean, why you don’t just pull over? Ain’t no point takin him to da hospital,” he paused, “He done already….” his words trailed off as though he was afraid to finish the comment.

I snapped back to reality just before slamming into a woman and her young daughter attempting to cross the street against the light. Seeing us barreling straight for them, the woman grabbed her daughter by the wrist and flung her forward out of the car’s path. I snatched the steering wheel at the very last second to avoid the two. That action had me struggling to dodge the oblivious tourists and generally unconcerned pedestrians packed on the sidewalk like mackerel in a can.

I heard the voice of a woman selling incense and musk oils at a folding table, “MMMOOOVVVEEE! Get out the way!” she screamed. “Look out for that jackass on the damn sidewalk! He must be outta his bitching mind!”

There was a blind fellow with a cup on an old wooden crate begging for spare change. When hearing the commotion, his head snapped like he was at center court during a Venus and Serena Williams tennis match. He left cup, crate, walking stick, glasses and all, trying to make his way to turn the nearest corner, “People, git outta da damn way! Don’t ya’ll see that big ass ship comin on shore?”

When the car finally came to a stop seven feet inside the glass entrance of a clothing store on 125th Street, I slowly reached to answer my cell phone which had been vibrating like a battery powered sex toy since shortly after the chase began. “Hello.”

I recognized a familiar voice, “Willie, this Ernestina!” she confirmed and continued without waiting for a response, “Are you all right? I heard the license plate and description of your car on the scanner. I’m calling ‘cause I know somebody had to pry those damn keys from your dead hands to get away with your ride. The lead officer in the chase radioed just now that the car stopped at 125th Street. If you need a ride, I can have a patrolman pick you up and take you to recover your car. With it being involved in a crime…”

“I’m already at 125th street,” I interrupted.

A might puzzled, she questioned, “You where?”

My voice was monotone, without any emotion, “At 125th,” I repeated.

Baffled, Ernestina asked. “But how did you get there so fast? I thought they were just chasing the person who stole…” Her words faded and I heard a loud thump as the phone fell to the floor.

The nervous tension was obvious from the tremor in the responding officer’s voice, “You, in the car; driver, turn off the ignition and slowly place both hands on the steering wheel!” He ordered. “Passenger, place your hands on the dash in front of you. Don’t make no sudden moves!”

The warning behind the words spoken was as clear to me as the barrel of the shotgun I was staring down. It was being held by some anxious rookie just three feet in front of the car. I knew if I so much as sneezed, he’d paint the interior of the Impala with my brains. More armor-plated storm troopers surrounded the car on all sides like sugar ants on a doughnut.

The commander ordered, “All right, you gone do this like I tell you, when I tell you. If you move without my instruction, you will be shot. If you don’t move on my instruction, you will be shot. If you make any sudden move, you will be shot. If you don’t move as instructed, you will be shot. Are we clear?”

My shirt was soaked with as much of my mentor’s blood as perspiration. Still thinking about Oz in the seat behind me, I gently nodded my head to indicate an understanding of the rules of conduct just spelled out with painstaking clarity.

“Passenger,” the officer continued, “Do you understand these instructions?”

Tony, like most New Yorkers, talked with his hands and immediately started to gesture when I yelled without opening my mouth, “If you move, you’ll kill us both!”

He froze and glanced out over his shoulder to see four police at the passenger’s window poised with fingers on the triggers of their weapons. I think if Tony hadn’t been so afraid to move, he would have passed out then and there. He cut a nervous wind that nearly lifted him off the seat. Without parting his teeth, he listed, “Youngblood, I’m gettin too old fo dis shit. All my years on da block…ne’er been caught up in no bull like this.”

With my mouth still closed, I said, “Tone, why don’t you drop an anonymous note in the damn complaint box outside the manager’s office? It’s not like this shit was at the top of my to-do list for the bitching day either!”

“What da hell we gone do?” he quizzed. “It ain’t gone be easy ta ‘splain a dead man in da back o’ yo car.”

“That’s just one of our problems,” I said. “Right now, I’m more concerned with figuring out how to keep from joining him. You notice these bastards haven’t moved, haven’t said anything, and haven’t done anything?”

Tony nervously scanned the scene as much as he could without turning his head. “What you reckon they waitin fo?” he questioned.

“Now, I know you’re not that big a fool,” I said. “What they’re waiting for is us…for us to fuck up and do something they told us not to so they’ll have reason to justify plugging our asses.”

Tony was becoming irritated. “Well, what da hell they gone do, make us sit here in this hot-ass car all day? This bitch smokin wit da damn windows ‘n shit up.”

“You’re going to shut your face and sit right here ‘til sunrise tomorrow if that’s what we have to do,” I demanded. “How much love for two thugged-out undergraduate gangsters do you honestly think they have?”

Tony said, “I thought they job s’posed ta be ta serve ‘n protect. That what our taxes pay ‘em fo.”

“Tone, in case you haven’t realized it, their job is to protect tax-paying folk from muthafuckas like us,” I said. “Just sit still and shut the hell up!”

He had a disappointed, somber look as his eyes lowered, “I don’t ‘preciate you telling me ta shut up, neither.”

I heard the commanding officer over our bickering. “All right fellas, which one of you is Willie Le...Beaux? Driver, I need you to crack your window about four inches; using the index finger and thumb of your left hand, drop your weapon out the car. Passenger, I need you to do the same. I only want one of you moving at a time. Driver, you first.”

The knots in my stomach were so big it felt like somebody was sitting on my lap. I began to remove the first of the three guns as instructed when my cell phone vibrated and nearly caused me to climb out through the roof. Lucky for me, the police officer at the side of the car where I sat was a terrible shot. I heard the gun discharge, CLA-BAM, CLA-BAM. The glass from the window shattered into what seemed like a million particles and covered both my upper thighs.

Trying to keep from jumping out the other side, “FFFUUUCCCKKK!” shrieked Tony. “Man! What da…what da…what…FUCK! See Willie, I done told you, these muthas is tryin ta put our asses ta sleep!”

He must have shit his pants, but I was more concerned about the hole in the dash of my ride than the fact I’d almost taken one in the head. That is, until what had just happened registered. I clenched the steering wheel to the point my forearms cramped. All the run-ins I’d ever had with any cop since being out of diapers instantaneously replayed in my mind. Every son of a bitch with a badge was, with that one incident, condemned to burn in hell.

“What the fuck was that?” I looked into the face of the lead commando, “We doing every damn thing we were told to do, exactly like we were told to do it! And you got this Rambo wannabe, trigger-happy mutha…”

“That’ll be enough from you, mister!” the officer who’d been barking orders shouted. “Now, everybody, stand down. Let’s not lose control and end up with more bodies than we got bags for.”

That’s when I realized how right Tony had been when he’d commented about them not wanting us to walk away from this. It seems, no matter what color the cop, wherever in this country you go, they don’t take too kindly to being embarrassed, especially if you’re a brother. With that, I knew this was not the time to be trying to push the envelope. Having a dead Black man in the back seat of my car wasn’t an offense nearly as punishable as leading New York’s finest on a high-speed chase all over Harlem. I reasoned that they were more concerned about being shown up than anything.

“I’m Captain Klein, Steve Klein; you boys can call me Steve,” he directed. “Now let’s everybody just calm down and I’m sure we can get through this. You boys wanna tell me your names? You, driver; why don’t you start…what’s your name?”

Already annoyed at the reference, I answered sarcastically. “You can just call me Boy. Like it’s going to make a damn difference in tomorrow’s headlines.”

The captain was noticeably put off. He then redirected his attention to Tony on the other side of the car. “O…kay, passenger, why don’t we try the same question…or you gone make us have to do this the hard way?” Officer Klein asked.

“Uh, my name Anthony; but e’rybody on da block just call me Tony,” he blurted out. “I just work at da lounge fo Mr. Oswald Jenkins. But I thank he dead.”

Through clenched teeth, I said, “Tony, shut the hell up!”

He responded in defense of his comment, “Well, they gone know any way, soon as they get us out da car…ain’t like he can just decide ta get up ‘n leave now, is it?”

“Fellas, ya’ll wanna stop all the chatter with each other and focus out this way? I think I’m the one you should be explaining things to,” Officer Klein protested. “Now, just who is this Oswald Jenkins, and where did you kill him?”

“We ain’t kilt no damn body!” Tony said. “It was them fools, Amp ‘n Jerome that shot him. We’s just tryin ta get the man ta da damn hospital…‘fore ya’ll showed up.”

Another officer shouted the warning, “There’s a unknown suspect in the rear of the car…be aware. He’s prob’bly armed!”

“Da mutha…da man dead,” Tony yelled.

Officer Klein spoke up, “All right, enough; I want both of you out the vehicle…one at a time. Driver, drop any and all remaining weapons you might still have out the window in the same manner as the first. Then proceed to open the door with your left hand while keeping your right hand on the steering wheel in plain view.”

I remember thinking to myself, I know how to open a damn door!

“Let’s get this done today, mister!” He shouted. “I would rather not be caught up here after dark.”

The words escaped before I could keep them from rolling off my tongue, “Bitch, you better not let me be the one to catch your ass up here after the street lights come on either.”

Officer Klein snapped his head in my direction, “What the hell was that you said, son? You in no position to be making threats, boy. All right, enough o’ this bullshit; get your asses out the damn car, now! Driver…no more pussyfootin ‘round.”

I proceeded to drop the second of the handguns outside the car and even anteed up my little “throw away” .380 from its hiding place. Reaching out through the shattered window with my left hand so as to not have either out of plain view, I unlatched the door and moved to push it open.

I heard Officer Klein shout, “I said give up all the weapons before anybody exited the vehicle! Passenger, it’s your turn now.”

“He doesn’t carry,” I responded before Tony could digest what the officer said.

Captain Klein condescendingly scoffed. “Yeah, sure, a criminal that don’t carry a gun.”

“I got three mo months probation,” Tony volunteered, “Three mo months on a two-year stretch ‘n some shit like this gotta come up. Ain’t that a bitch?”

“All right driver, let’s keep it coming nice and slow…just like you started. Stand up, turn around with your fingers locked behind your head, move out the store to the back of the car, and place your face on the trunk,” he ordered. “Passenger, once the other suspect takes position, you do the same.”

I had been in place as directed a good two or three minutes before Tony approached. He leaned over but stopped short of placing his face on the trunk. “That’s gone burn.”

“All the way down,” Officer Klein instructed.

“This shit hot,” Tony complained.

“Tony, the faster you get down here, the faster we can both get the hell up,” I said.

He asked with much concern, “Ain’t that shit burnin, man…?”

Before he could finish the question, four officers rushed in and slammed his head on the car. When Tony instinctively sprang up, the police commenced to punch him in his side, back, and everywhere they could get a fist, Billy club or boot.

I was yelling to make him understand that moving only gave the cops an excuse to continue the battery, “Tone, stop moving! Tony, just be still! Tone…”

The unwarranted assault by the officers continued until Tony lay motionless on the sidewalk.

I mumbled to no one in particular, “Sons of bitches…no good sons of bitches.”

Suddenly, I felt a blunt object in my left side which was accompanied by a stern whisper from one of the officers. “I think you better shut up before I decide you was resisting arrest too,” he said.

About then, I recognized a sound that was all too familiar when the voice identified, “Yes, I’m off duty. Officer E. Lady,” she said. “I have knowledge concerning the suspect.”

Captain Klein instructed her after requiring me to stand up and turn around; both hands behind my back, when they applied the handcuffs, “Proceed with caution, ma’am.”

Once the cuffs were on, I turned slowly to the right, only to have my skin feel like it was still on the heated trunk of the car. I realized Ernestina had slapped me.

An officer ordered, while two others grabbed Ernestina and nearly wrestled her to the ground, “Ma’am, you can’t be assaulting the suspect…” he said.

When I regained my faculties and was able to shake the cobwebs, Ernestina’s twisted face came into focus. Fortunately, she was still being restrained but assured the officers, “I’m all right; I’m okay. You can let me go.” When they released Ernestina, she marched over and positioned her face inches from mine. It was uncertain as to who was more anxious, the other officers or me. “Do you realize the trouble I could be in…the trouble I could’ve gotten into being affiliated with the right hand of one of the biggest criminal elements in all the five boroughs?” She asked. “How could you have put me out there like that, Willie? You knew from the beginning that I’m a police officer. Hell, I was on duty when we met!”

I couldn’t put ten words together to complete a sentence, “I wanted to tell you. I mean I wanted to be out of…”

“You must think I’m as stupid as the idiot you played me for,” she cut back. “You and I both know full damn well that once in, there is no getting out, unless you’re the guest of honor at a damn funeral.”

I tried explaining, “But I wasn’t in like that,” I said. “I wasn’t involved with the usual operations and things they got into. Oz was a friend.”

“Oh, please,” she snubbed. “That’s like being almost pregnant or sort-of fucking dead. Willie…either you are or you’re not. So, which is it? Are you pregnant or just full of shit?”

The captain intruded, “All right, Officer Lady, is it?” He asked. “I don’t mean to break up this little lovers’ quarrel, but we got work to do. If your position here has no bearing on the circumstances at hand…I’m gonna have to insist you allow me and my men to proceed.”

“Fine, carry on,” she informed. “I’m finished.”

As the cops turned me in the direction of a waiting patrol car, I called to Ernestina, “I need you to contact Moms and Poppy for me if you will.”

She stopped, turned slowly toward me but never lifted her eyes from the pavement, and commented in a voice that sounded like a woman possessed, “I…am…so finished.”

I was led away to the squad car and placed in the back seat. While waiting, I watched as an ambulance arrived to transport Tony to the hospital along with a second unit to pick up Oz’s lifeless body. There were no waterworks as I sat watching. Even though a part of me wanted to break down and boo-hoo like a newborn, I couldn’t bring myself to shed more than a single tear. For a moment, I resented my biological father for never having allowed me to be in touch with my emotions as a youngster growing up in a difficult South. Sometime later, I found out Tony was D.O.A. at the hospital. It was rumored he had suffered a heart attack, though no autopsy was ever performed.

I was startled back to the present by the officer driving, “You done gone and got yourself in a whole heap o’ trouble,” he said. “They had to call the Police Commissioner off the seventh hole at the course. He don’t like nobody bother’n him on his golf day… My name Harry if you’s interested.”

“Well, I’m not,” I abruptly cut back. My mind slowly drifted miles and years away; back to how it had all started with Oz. Now I wondered how it would continue without him…if it could. I was waging war within myself because I knew, if things continued, I’d have to be involved. The dilemma stemmed from the fact that I, for a long time, had not wanted any part of this world. The ride to the police station seemed to take as long as the years I was remembering.

I heard the security officer on the intercom as he instructed the patrolman, “Drive forward into the rectangular figure and keep your windows up.”

Once in the painted area, a huge concrete door closed behind us and four jets began spraying the vehicle as if it was in an automated car wash.

My chauffeur felt the need to explain something that was neither of any interest to me nor allowed to be shared, “Think about the kinda money they spend on new-fangled stuff like this; what it do is spray some stuff something like acid all over the car ‘case somebody might be hiding trying to sneak in and break some idiot outta this place.” Harry continued, “I tells ‘em, they can put that money to good use and pay all our asses a li’l more at the end o’ the week. All them dollars spent just to make a fool need to get a shower. It don’t do nothing ‘cept make ya itch real bad and burn a li’l bit. But I ain’t s’pose to be telling you this stuff…could be my job if word get out, ya know?”

“Your secret is safe with me,” I dismissed his misguided concern.