20
The Difficult Goodbye

I’d driven a full four or five blocks after increasing the stereo’s volume before Cherish finally reached to turn it down.

She asked, “Why you come this way? Don’t you usully go West Side Highway to the Village? Ain’t that way faster to get back?”

I responded, “We’re not going to the Village. Not right now, anyway.”

“Then, where we goin?” She posed.

“If I’m going to be out of pocket for a minute, I need to touch base with somebody who’d be expecting me to come through,” I explained. “We’ve got plenty of time and I’m only going to be a second.”

“Oh,” she sighed, “I ain’t know it’s gone be a matter of you takin care ‘o no official bidness ‘n shit. If Ida knowed that, I coulda stayed up by mom’s.”

“And then how would you get to the airport tomorrow?” I asked, pulling to the curb. “Just keep your pants on. This won’t take long…be right back.”

Cherish complained as I left the car, “Thought we’s goin to the Village? This ‘round the corner from ma’s house.”

Pushing the door closed, “I know where we are. Just stop with the nagging and sit tight,” I said.

“What’s up Willie?” Terry asked as I entered the market. “You ain’t s’posed to be back through for few days. Thought I told you the other stuff I got coming won’t be in for ‘nother week, if not longer.”

“That’s not why I needed to pass by you, Mr. Terry,” I said when noticing his daughter suddenly appear from behind the tinted glass door. “How you doin Ms. Sharon?”

“I’m good Willie. How you?” She responded. “What’s got you back over this side so soon?”

“You know, you’re the third person to ask me that in the last three minutes. I should be getting paid per query,” I said while attempting to joke away the moment. “Considering the way things turned out on my last visit, it’s certainly not to pick up any fresh meat.”

Terry then questioned mid-chuckle, “So, if it ain’t meat you come for…”

“I stopped by to let you know I’ll be out of town for a while,” I interjected. “Kind of unexpected but I’ve got to make a trip down south…just wanted to stop by in person and let you know.”

“Well, how long you gone be gone? You know I don’t like what happened wit that Oz shit,” he said. “Somebody gotta do something ‘bout them two asses. They done stepped way outta line.”

I reassured him while trying equally as hard to convince myself, “Something will be done but it’s gotta be done right. I already got heat eyeballing me.”

“What can they do? You was just trying to save the man life.”

“You know that, Terry. I know that,” I confirmed before certifying, “Hell, the police know that but they just looking for somebody to be a scapegoat so the department don’t look bad.”

Terry scratched the bald spot atop his head, “See man, that’s why I gotta get Sharon outta this place. Shit done changed from what it used to be.”

“Where you gone go?” I asked. “From what I hear, you don’t know anything else. Oz told me how the two ‘o you been in the game since things first started. According to him, you went straight from kindergarten to kingpin.”

“Yeah Willie, you right,” he said. “But thangs sho ain’t what they used to be. Ain’t nobody livin long ‘nough to retire like times once was.”

“But you in decent shape, Terry,” I told him. “You’ve got things set up to the point there’s no need to be out rolling in the mud with folks anymore.”

He lowered his head, “See Willie, it ain’t just ‘bout me no more. I gotta consider my baby girl ‘n what’s gone be left fo her. She don’t need no part ‘o this life. Ain’t no real future in the game fo my daughter.”

“Can the two ‘o you stop talking ‘bout me like I ain’t here?” Sharon interrupted. “When do I get to vote on what’s supposed to be my future?”

Both Terry and I responded in unison, “You don’t. It’s the best thing for you.”

I exited the market to sounds of the father and daughter team on the edge of a rare argument as reason suggested it better for me to leave the family issues to be sorted out by the family.

At the point I returned to the car, Cherish continued where she’d left off and immediately resumed complaining, “You know, if I knowed you’s gone be gone that long, I woulda told you to leave the keys. Got me sittin out here wit nothin to do.”

“My apologies,” I said, starting the engine and pulling onto the street, “It’s just that I’m usually the only one in the car with me and I compulsively take the keys.”

“Why we going this way? You know somebody live over this side?” she persisted with the questions. “I been livin in Harlem all my life and don’t come here no more than I gotta. Who you know over here?”

Cherish’s jabbering was constant for the entire ride over, until the car slowed and left the street. While turning into a fenced lot next to a huge Tyler and Son’s sign, “Funeral parlor,” I stated without feeling and parked, “Wait here.”

Cherish began her protest, “You gotta be sick in da damn…”

“It wasn’t a question,” I established in a dry tone without looking her way. “Wait here.”

Appearing to dissolve into the leather seat, Cherish replied, “Leave the keys so I can turn the radio on…please.”

I noticed the side door to the building propped open with a small block of wood, so I entered what turned out to be the room where bodies were embalmed and prepped before being dressed. There were two nude corpses atop stainless steel tables with clothing draped over their legs. I couldn’t help but stare at the exceptionally pretty female and, without thinking, the words, “To die for,” escaped my lips.

I was startled by a deep voice from behind, “Interesting choice of words.”

While trying to mask my uneasiness, I posed, “Excuse me?”

The ghoulish mortician introduced himself, “My name Edgar. Your comment…interesting choice of words,” he repeated, “Considering she was the victim of a murder/suicide. That guy right there was the one killed her…then hisself. We didn’t get the other body. Dude she was caught in bed wit come from Upper East Side…Jewish realtor.”

“I…uh…my name Willie,” I stammered. “That’s a real shame.”

He warned, “You know, ain’t nobody s’posed to be back here. You’s trespassing,” then reconsidered, “But I guess it be a’ight. Can’t say I get much company…none that can talk anyways. Who you come for?”

“What makes you think I came for anybody?” I questioned.

He replied, “Well, for one, ‘cause I know sneaking in mortuaries ain’t what ya do to pass the time.”

I finally disclosed, “Umm…Oz…Oswald Jenkins. I’m looking for Oswald Jenkins and a guy by the name of Tony.”

Edgar instructed, “Two ‘o them in that room to yo left…over there,” Before questioning, “What…you family? ‘Cause only family s’pose to be allowed in to see him ‘n that other fella.”

“Well, you can say he’s my brother, but we not actually related,” I replied.

Edgar half grinned as he pointed me in the direction of the adjoining room. “I knows what you mean. Sometimes folk ain’t even blood kin treat you better than yo own,” he said. The mortician ushered me to where the made-up bodies of Oz and Tony lay in caskets positioned beside each other, “Ain’t s’pose to do this, but the family ain’t here yet. I give you five minutes. Then you gotta get out…through the side like you come in.”

Moving to where the bodies lay and standing between the two caskets, I said to myself, “Just like they lived…side by side.”

I was reminiscing for what seemed only a second when Edgar’s head appeared in the doorway nearly half an hour later. “You gotta get outta there,” he whispered. “The family coming in. I didn’t see ‘em when they got here, so they right…”

“Oh Lord!” A scream came from the dark-complexioned heavy-set woman who’d appeared in the doorway, “It’s him; the man that had my brother dead in his car! You killed my brother!” She accused.

Edgar directed, to no avail, “Excuse me ma’am, you not s’posed to be back here. No customers s’posed to be in this area. Please, you gotta wait out front.”

The woman insisted, “But he the one killed my brother.”

“I didn’t kill him,” I defended.

“Ms. Jenkins,” demanded Edgar, “You and yo family gone have to leave now.”

She spoke with a condescending tone, “The name is Mrs., if you don’t mind; Mrs. Harriston, thank you very much,” and then started shouting directions at the other family members. “Somebody call the police. I want that hoodlum arrested! How they let him outta jail? Will somebody call the damn police?”

A vaguely familiar voice mumbled, “Ain’t no point calling the cops Mama,” but remained hidden amidst the group. “He ain’t wanted for nothing.”

I realized it was Oz’s nephew, Marcus, who I had pinned against the building with Amp’s truck when he and his partner tried to jack us for Oz’s money. I squinted and searched the small crowd of relatives until his heavy form materialized near the room’s entrance.

His mom insisted, “But he…that’s the man from the news…he…”

Marcus volunteered a defense on my behalf while yelling over her screaming, “He worked for Uncle Oswald!” He clarified, “For the last two or three years, far as I know.”

Oz’s little sister seemed to want somebody, anybody to be accountable. “Marcus, you sure you know what you sayin? I mean, how your uncle end up dead in this man’s car…and why was the police chasing him?”

Her son reasoned, “It’s like he said Ma. Guess they was just trying to get Unk to the hospital. I mean, if Uncle Oz…uh, Uncle Oswald, was his bread and butter, what sense it make for this punk to kill him?”

The comment struck me rather peculiar. I couldn’t figure out whether Marcus was speaking defense or damnation. At that point, it really didn’t matter one way or the other, as long as I could get out that proverbial lions’ den without having to fight my way to the door. All eyes were on me as I passed slowly through the crowd of still dissatisfied hyena who were already hungry for blood…no matter whose it happened to be. I whispered when briefly making eye contact with Marcus as I approached the entrance beside him, “Thanks man.”

“For what…I still owe you, jackass. This just ain’t the time or the place for no bullshit,” he warned.

Nodding in agreement, I softly replied on my way past, “You right, but it’s never the time nor place to threaten me…watch your back.”

Climbing into the car, I interrupted Cherish scanning radio stations to keep herself occupied. “Thought you was gonna need my help when I saw the hit squad go’n in the buildin ‘while ago,” she said.

The skepticism in my voice did well to establish the point. “And just what the hell were you going to do, run in there and force me to fight all of them for the both of us?” I asked. “Thanks, but no thanks; you did the best thing.”

She unknowingly confirmed, “But I ain’t do nothin ‘cept sit here and listen to the radio.”

I smarted back, “Like I said, you did the best thing.”

“Well, it’s just my opinion, but I think the best thing woulda been to just keep on drivin down West Side Highway and not stop by this place. But that’s just my opinion,” she said.

I responded, while pulling out into traffic, “Well, you know what they say about opinions…like assholes.”

When we drove up the street approaching my apartment building a little more than ninety minutes later, the unmarked police cars might as well have been neon green with platinum shields painted on the sides. Fortunately, they didn’t recognize my Monte Carlo passing them.

“Where you goin Willie? You done drove past where Eunice said yo place is. You move to another buildin without tellin us? Two parking spaces was right in front,” Cherish said.

“Maybe one will still be open when you come back around,” I replied.

“Come back ‘round…me…from where?” She questioned.

“When you drive the car back around the building to park it; I can’t get out here,” I insisted.

“Why not…you still live here, right?” She questioned. “What’s goin on, Willie?”

“Well, New York’s finest sitting out front watching the place,” I said.

Cherish continued, “Where? I ain’t see nobody.”

I attempted what proved to be a futile explanation, “That’s the whole point…you’re not supposed to.”

She asked in a nervous tone, “So, what you gone do? If I go to jail, I’ll miss my flight tomorrow.”

“Well, I need you to let me out, then drive the car back around front and go into my apartment,” I directed. “Whatever you do, no lights, no television, or anything that’ll let them know somebody’s there. That way, you’ll keep us both from going to jail.”

Cherish unwisely tried to reason, “I ain’t understandin why you hidin if you ain’t done nothin. Didn’t they ar’eady let you go?”

I explained, pulling into an alley blocks from my apartment building, “There’s a big difference between being released and being let go. They released me all right, but that’s far from letting me go.”

Cherish still wore a look of uncertainty, “So where you want me to park...and how you gone get upstairs wit the Po Po sittin out front?”

Pushing the button on the remote to open the trunk, I assured, “I’m going to get in the same way you’re going to; through the front door. Now, come around to the driver’s side.”

We met at the back of the car where I lifted the trunk lid and began sorting through the contents of a canvas duffle bag.

“Hold this a second,” I said.

Cherish paused to question, “You ain’t gonna shoot nobody is you, Willie?”

Straightening the dreadlock hairpiece and donning a pair of dark glasses, “No silly, I just need to get dressed,” I said.

“What the…if you knowed how you look,” she laughed.

Before trying to instruct her, “The most important thing is, I don’t look like me,” I said. “Let me show you which keys fit which locks.”

“I’m pretty sure I can figure that part out,” she insisted.

“All right, but you don’t want to be standing in the hall fumbling with keys to what’s supposed to be your apartment. Wait for me just inside the door so I can walk you through the place. It might be a little difficult for you getting around with no lights,” I said.

Climbing into the car, she put it in gear, “Why is it I get the feeling you kinda used to sneakin ‘round in the dark?”

I smirked and looked out into the street, “You go, I’ll be there shortly.”

Leaving the alley, I walked opposite the direction Cherish had driven and turned left at the next street. After another two blocks, I made a second left to walk five blocks, and then back over two streets before walking three more blocks toward where I’d started, to approach my building from the direction opposite the way she would have driven. I strolled past, within inches of one officer seated in his car at the end of Bleecker Street.

“Excuse me,” he called as I started past.

My heart seemed to lodge in a parched throat as I responded with my best Caribbean impersonation. “Yeah man, what can me do ya fur?”

The officer asked, “You got a light on you?”

I even modestly impressed myself with the impromptu response, “Naugh man, me no smoker…only pure breath o’ da Cre’ater go in des lungs. Dat cancer stick kills ya, man.”

“Yeah, thanks anyway buddy,” he dismissed.

Sweat could be felt rolling down my spine as I continued walking; realizing I’d just passed the proof-of-identity test. Approaching the steps at the front of my building, I noticed Natasha in the usual position atop her perch. I nodded at the top of the steps thinking she was none the wiser.

As I passed and opened the huge wooden doors, “Gute oukfit,” she quietly commented. “I keeped chu zeecret.”

This was not the time to try and figure out how she had recognized me. The last thing I needed was to become involved in a conversation with her so I continued without breaking stride until outside the door of my apartment. Pausing momentarily to be certain no one was looking; I quickly disappeared into my lair.

“Damn, it took you long ‘nough,” Cherish greeted.

I quieted her, “Shhh. Nobody’s supposed to be in here. We’ve got to move away from the door. Hold on to my belt.”

In a sensual whisper, she asked, “How the hell you know where you goin?”

I clarified, making my way around the end table and couch, “To my room; it is my apartment, remember?”

I felt a slight tug at my waistline when she asked in a warning tone, “You think that’s safe?”

Proceeding through the kitchen and into the hallway, I flatly stated, “I’m not in any danger, but you can crash on the floor if it would make you feel more comfortable.”

She prodded, while playfully slapping me on the shoulder, “What, no offer for me to sleep on the couch?”

I confirmed, as we approached the bedroom door, “My couch is for sitting…”

“I know, I know,” she cut. “The table is for eatin and the bed is for sleepin.”

“Among other things,” I sang in a suggestive whisper.

“Things like…” she prodded.

Before Cherish could finish the question to which we both knew she’d already determined the answer, I turned and led to the side of the huge bed, gently kissing her soft shoulders, neck, and face until I had mapped my way to succulent full lips. She let out a subtle moan as one hand found its way inside her blouse. Strategic motions of the forefinger and thumb of my right hand witnessed the clasp in the front of her bra retreat and leave eager subjects to fend for themselves. Layer after layer gingerly subsided until she stood wearing nothing but the French-cut thongs once guarded by the cotton/polyester blend of her miniskirt. The soft gray glow from the half moon filtered through the partially opened Venetian blinds past the sheer curtains, and outlined the silhouette of grace personified.

I questioned to be certain, “Are you all right?”

She slowly exhaled, as I lifted and gently placed her in the queen-sized chamber of pleasure, “I can’t...can’t see,” she said.

As I reached into the drawer of the night stand and summoned protection, I whispered, “You don’t have to…just feel.”

Her body methodically tensed, relaxed, stiffened, and softened with an intense rhythm that had me exploring the boundaries of ecstasy for the next forty minutes. Simultaneously, we both reached the pinnacle of pleasure and let go a masked yell that had each of us wondering if we could have been heard by anyone outside the apartment.

I asked again, “Are you okay?”

She quietly panted, trying to catch her breath, “You bad.”

Pretending to sulk, “I’m not bad,” I said. “I just do bad things.”

“That you do,” she confirmed. “So bad ‘til its good.”

“Speaking of good,” I teased, “Where you learn…?”

Cherish joked, “I watch a lotta movies.”

I whispered, “Yeah, right.” And then questioned, “Are you going to join me for a shower?”