Bennington Gardens June 30
Starrell sat at the dining area table and sifted through letters, pages of assorted writings, and newspaper clips.
“What’s a ‘psyop’?” he asked.
Willie and Anjean Jameson were on the couch in their mother’s apartment, waiting for the television news.
“That badass with one eye,” Anjean said.
“Fool,” Willie snorted. “It’s a combo: ‘psychological’ and ‘operation’—”
There was a knock on the door. The three went quiet. Starrell gathered the papers into a pile. Willie stepped gently to the door. Anjean moved to a far corner of the room. Another round of pounding. Their mother coughed loudly in her bedroom. Willie slipped on the chain lock.
“Who is it?” he shouted through the door.
The door vibrated with a slam. Willie jumped back.
“Open the door!” a woman yelled.
It was Tamika Timmons. Willie let her in. She was wearing jeans and a loose, blue Snoopy sweatshirt that did not hide her pregnancy. Her hair was braided into corn rows. She strode past Willie.
“Yo, whatsup, Tamika?” Anjean said. “Heard your uncle came back from Lorton with the beetle. Man, that’s a bitch. Bad blood.”
She ignored him and turned toward Starrell.
“I knew you’d be here,” she said. “You go do this to me.” She used both hands to point to her stomach. “Then you ain’t nowhere. And then I hear you got some money. And where’s it going?”
“Hey, you told me you were DIY. Told me to drag my ass out of your life.” He stood up, and she hit him in the chest with both hands.
“That was when you were just hanging out doing nothing. And I don’t want my baby to be part of nothing.”
“Slap her back, Twayne,” Anjean said gleefully.
“Shut the fuck up,” Starrell told him.
“I ain’t never let no woman push me like that,” Anjean mumbled.
Starrell turned to her. “Baby, I was trying to do it straight-up, working for my unc. But you said bug out. So I did.”
“Like I meant that. I want to see what you’d do for me.”
“Baby, I’m doing a lot.”
“Yeah, right. That’s why I got to come looking for you.”
“That’s right. Tamika,” Willie said. “Lissen to—”
Timmons pivoted and stuck a finger an inch from Willie’s nose. “Who said I came here to hear your skinny behind making noise?” She turned back to Starrell. “So what you been doing then?”
He pulled out a chair for her.
“Sit down, baby,” he said. “It’s wild shit.”
“Yo, Double-T, your homey’s a desperado,” Anjean said, with a mischievous smile.
Timmons glowered at Starrell. He sat down next to her and tried to take her hand. She drew it back.
“An OG alright,” Anjean said.
“Damn, let’s hear it,” she said with a sigh.
When Starrell was done explaining, Timmons was silent for a moment. “That all true?” she then asked.
“Sure is.”
“Why would this Dunne guy tell you all that?”
“Like I said, he called his boss, the dude in charge of all the money—”
“That’s the Secretary of the Treasury,” Willie interrupted.
“And he says to him that he’s got all this stuff that shows there’s something funny with the assassination,” Starrell said. “And this dude—”
“His name’s Louis Alter,” Willie said. “It’s on every—”
“No more nigger-Einstein,” Starrell barked at Willie. Then he continued his story: “He says to Dunne he don’t want him out there doing what he ain’t supposed to be doing. Dunne’s all burnt up, says all this guy cares about is a fuckin’ Chinese deal.”
Starrell shot a harsh glance at Willie.
“I ain’t sayin’ anything,” Willie said. “But I know.”
“He has to lay this on somebody, and that’s me.”
“Let me look at those letters,” Timmons said.
She grabbed them from Starrell and began reading. “And this is the guy who shot—”
“That’s right,” Starrell said.
“So now,” she said, “what are you going to do?”
“Don’t know. Dunne tried to tell me something. But he didn’t finish. One-four-three. That’s A-D-C. But what’s that mean?”
“Shuddup, man,” Anjean interrupted. “Here comes the news.”
“I know what that means,” Timmons said.
“Not now,” Anjean said.
“What?” Starrell said.
“He never finished.”
“Shit, I know that,” Starrell replied.
“No,” she said, “like he never finished the last letter.”
The newscast began with footage of a car being lifted out of the Georgetown canal. A photograph of Addis appeared.
“Could be him,” she said.
“ … The police are not providing any information at the moment. And the White House has yet to issue any statement. Mr. Addis is believed to still be at the Second District station house.” A live shot showed the police building. It panned to reveal news crews maintaining a stakeout. “ … There is no word yet on whether he is being held on any charges. One source reports that Addis has been tested to determine the amount of alcohol in his blood. But there is no information on the results of the test.”
The spot cut to footage of a body on a gurney and covered by a white sheet. “ … The women’s identity has not yet been revealed. According to witnesses at the canal, she was white and had light colored hair. Apparently, Addis did try to …”
“God-damn,” Starrell said.
They all looked at him.
“I know who it is.” He looked at Timmons. “She’s the one at that cowboy-bitch bar. I stopped that guy from messin’ her up. Oh fuck.” He shook his head.
“Maybe it ain’t, baby,” she said.
“Maybe. But I know. Dunne. Then her. I know it.”
“ … The news of the accident is likely to overshadow Margaret Hanover’s announcement of her plans for her political future … .”
“So Dunne was talking about this guy?” Willie said. There was stock footage of Addis walking with Hanover. “What do we do?”
Wesley Pratt and Representative Wynn Gravitt, both in formal wear, stood in front of a Washington hotel. A reporter held a microphone before them. “It’s like this White House is cursed,” Gravitt said. “You have to wonder. You really do.” Pratt interrupted him: “My prayers go out to the lady’s family—whoever she is—and I wish Mr. Addis all the best. He’s a dedicated public servant. There’ll be time down the pike for asking questions.” Pratt placed his hand on Gravitt’s arm. “Thank you for the chance to express our concern for the family and Mr. Addis.”
“Oh, man,” Starrell said.
“Fuck this,” Anjean complained. “Where are we?”
A reporter was interviewing a white woman with silver hair in the Chicago airport. “This can’t be good for Margaret,” the woman was saying. “It takes attention away from her tonight.” The reporter asked a question. “Yeah,” the woman answered, “I’ve been leaning toward her—and I think most of the delegates from northern California have—but we’ll see. I doubt this accident—and I hope Nick is okay—will affect the convention.”
“So this Dunne guy,” Timmons asked, “wanted you to take what you got to this guy who busted up his car and maybe got that girl killed?”
“How we’re going to get to him now?” Willie asked.
“Okay, okay, now you all shut the fuck up,” Anjean said. “They’re coming to us.”
Next to the news anchor was a screen legend: “Mayhem at Med Center.” The show cut to footage of broken glass in the lobby of the hospital, and then to the abandoned ambulance roped off by yellow police tape. Anjean bounced on the couch: “Man, they ain’t showin’ those tires we cut. That would embarrass their asses.”
A police sketch of the “young mystery man” who visited Dunne’s room barely resembled Starrell.
“Don’t look like you, suge,” she said.
Anjean threw a cushion at him: “You the mystery man.” He laughed and slapped his knee. “A damn ugly mystery man.”
“ … Fortunately, there were no serious injuries … .” That was what Starrell had been waiting to hear. The segment ended, and commercials began.
“We should have been first,” Anjean complained.
Starrell dragged his chair next to Timmons. “Sorry, baby,” he said lowly. She ran a finger down his cheek. Anjean was about to speak, but Willie raised a fist, and Anjean closed his mouth.
“Me, too, baby,” she said and kissed him on the cheek. “Was she nice?”
“I guess so. I don’t know.”
“So now you got to have a plan.”
“Sure. Like how we’re gonna get this”—he held up some of the pages—“to a guy cribbed by the police, when they want me? And even if he’s out, like I just call the White House and say we got this package for him?”
“Fuckin’ no way,” Anjean said. He leaped off the couch. “Man, we sell this shit to somebody. I didn’t save your black ass for nothing, man.”
“Who we’re going to sell it to?” Willie asked.
“Shit, I don’t know. There’s all these motherfuckers on television or at magazines that pay jumbo-size for this kind of shit.”
Starrell stood in front of Anjean. He stared hard at the man. “Ain’t happenin’ that way, Anjean.”
“Man, who says you make the call?” Anjean waved his hands. “Who the fuck found the asshole’s joint? Willie did on his computer? How much that thing cost you, bro?”
Willie didn’t reply.
“And who B&E’d it? I did. And then we got you black butt out of that hospital. What do you owe a nigger who ain’t done nothing for you? Or for no black man. He’s just guardin’ Big Whitey. And then he comes to you, when he ain’t got no game. Man, you don’t know what he’s playin’. But you know one thing: you got this.” Anjean jerked his head at Timmons’s stomach. “Don’t you think you owe it? Get a stash for little Twayne? Man, how you know that if you hand this shit to some other player he ain’t gonna do with it like you should. It’s like this: Keep it in the community. Man, us. Why don’t you ask your lady what she wants?”
Starrell turned toward Timmons. She didn’t say anything.
“Bro’s got a point,” Willie said. “Now I ain’t saying I agree with it. But it’s a point to consider.”
“Fuckin’ damn righteous point,” Anjean said. “And Twayne should consider it fast.” He patted the side of his pants. “Fast.”
“Oh, come on, Anj,” Willie said. He took a step toward his brother.
“Hold up,” Anjean said. He pulled a Glock from his pocket.
“Shit,” Willie said. “Not here.”
“Willie, you know we’re talkin’ dino-dollars. Fuck, man, imagine the load. Not just for me. For all of us. Right, Tamika? Tell’em, bitch.”
She shook her head.
Starrell moved toward Anjean.
“This ain’t the way we’re doing this,” he said.
Anjean pointed the gun at him. “Don’t do it, Twayne.”
“That thing ain’t gonna make any decisions here. No way.” Starrell took another step forward.
“I said don’t.” Anjean extended his arm. The gun was a foot from Starrell’s face.
“No way,” Starrell said. He reached for the gun. He kept his eyes focused on Anjean’s. Anjean returned the stare. His finger hugged the trigger.
A shot sounded. It came from behind Anjean. The bullet shattered a lamp across the room. Anjean spun around to face the spot from where the shot had come. Starrell grabbed Anjean’s gun and pulled hard. Both men fell to the ground. The gun in Anjean’s hand slammed against the wood floor, crushing his knuckles.
“Fuckin’ shit!” Anjean screamed in pain.
“Let go!” Starrell shouted.
Both men looked toward the doorway to the bedroom. Willie and Anjean’s mother was standing in the threshold. She wore a red bathrobe with large fuzzy buttons and purple, plastic slippers. She held a small pistol.
“Stop it, you boys!” she yelled. She waved the gun at them. Her arm was wobbly.
“Momma!” Willie shouted. Timmons jumped out of her chair. Starrell and Anjean stopped fighting to stare at the heavyset sick woman.
“I told you Anjean Jameson, you’re not welcomed in this house,” his mother said. “I told you not to come back’til you repent upon your evil ways. I told you.” Sweat was on Cass Jameson’s face.
Anjean let go of the gun. Starrell pulled it away and jumped up. Anjean stayed on the ground.
“Momma, put that gun down,” Willie said.
“Not’til that sinner is gone,” she said.
“C’mon Mrs. Jameson,” Timmons said. She walked slowly toward the woman. “C’mon.” Anjean looked at his mother. He began laughing. He held his stomach. He rolled over on his back and laughed.
“Man, a real motherfucker,” he said between guffaws. “Get it Willie?” He looked at his brother. “Our momma’s a real motherfucker.”
Cass Jameson had the gun aimed at her son. Her glasses were crooked. Timmons drew closer to her.
“Where’d you get the popgun?” Anjean asked. “Inside some Cracker Jacks shit?”
“When Mrs. Ellis in 4B was robbed and raped, I said none of you sinners is going to do that to me. I’d shoot you in Jesus’s holy name first. And send you on to his glory.”
Anjean got to his knees. “Yeah, like someone would want to rape your old black ass.”
“Anjean!” Timmons yelled at him.
“That’s alright, Tamika,” Mrs. Jameson said. “He’s just black trash. Just so happened he came out of me. Just like someone’s gonna come out of you. But just ‘cause someone comes out of you don’t make them a part of you forever. Otherwise we’d all be dead from grieving.”
Anjean got up off the floor. He saw Starrell draw tense.
“Don’t worry,” Anjean said to him. “I ain’t that stupid.” He straightened the bandana on his head and pulled down his shirt. “Got my own business to get to.” He nodded toward his mother. “You keep practicin’. Maybe you’ll get me next time.”
“Momma,” Willie said. “Let him stay. He’s helping Twayne and me.”
“He knows the rules,” Mrs. Jameson said. She kept the gun on Anjean.
“There ain’t no room in that church for me,” Anjean said. “So, see
you bro’. Twayne, we’ll be running together real soon. Keep the piece. Ain’t the only one I got.” His gaze shifted to Timmons. “Girl, tell him to talk to his brains.”
Anjean left the apartment. Timmons put her arm around Mrs. Jameson and led her to the bedroom. Starrell felt himself shaking.
When Timmons returned to the front room, Willie and Starrell were at the table. “She won’t let go of that damn gun,” she said. “But I got her to bed.”
“Man, I ain’t never going to forget that,” Willie said.
Timmons placed a hand on Starrell’s shoulder.
“So what you gonna do, baby?” she asked.
“I dunno. Take all this down to the White House and say, ‘Let me see that white boy’?”
“No, you got to get someone else to call for you,” Timmons said.
“Yeah, like his personal attorney,” Willie sneered.
“Someone who knows him already,” Timmons said.
“Who’s that?” Starrell asked.
“I know who.”
Willie snickered at her.
“’Cause I read the papers, too,” she shot back at him.
“So who?” Starrell asked.
“Tell me you love me,” she said, “and I’ll tell you who.”