Neighborhood Watches

Farrell damn near ripped the car door off its hinges as he opened it. The slam shut was equally vigorous. Again, Ross kept his mouth shut. It would be stupid and possibly volatile if he asked what was wrong.

Considering Farrell would begin cussing at any moment.

Right after he started the car.

“Well that was a complete and utter waste of our fuckin time! A pastor! Really! Pious son of a bitch. He knows where the fuck his son is. He knows where his brother is too. Shit, I bet they’re together.”

Ross felt as though this was a safe time to interject.

“Well at least the wife gave us a lead.”

“Yeah, Malik Douglas. Sounds slightly familiar. Wonder if we got anything on him at the precinct?”

“Wanna get breakfast first? My treat.”

“You know what, Ross? Sometimes you make this job bearable.”

Between mouthfuls of hash browns, eggs and sausage, the detectives shuffled through reports and witness statements. They only wished the collective facts were as easy to swallow as the breakfast.

“Ok. No one saw this guy?!” Ross was, for the first time, becoming outwardly frustrated.

“Well to be fair, everyone was seated behind him.”

Farrell wheeled his chair over to his computer and began typing while his eyes scanned the screen. “I’m tellin you that kid’s name sounds familiar.”

A glow of epiphany came over Farrell’s face as a finger punched on of the keys.

“That’s it!”

“What?” asked Ross not looking up from his reports.

“He was a kid! When Thomas came in and gave his statement, I remember thinking to myself. My God he’s barely old enough to shave. Do you remember tryin to look up his priors?”

“I remember he didn’t have any.”

“Exactly! Too young! We know the Martins, but the other one? This Douglas? We ain’t even bother to run his name. Cuz we assumed he was just a kid with no priors as well.”

Farrell was typing furiously then he popped up and pointed to the screen.

“Got em”

“No shit?”

“Juvie record. Sealed though. But as long as he has a mugshot…”

He printed out the picture and handed it to Ross. He shoveled some of his breakfast into his mouth and grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair.

“I’ll drive. Somebody somewhere knows this kid and where he is.”

***

Malik was expecting the locker downtown to be one of those little boxes assigned to him in gym class. But in true Sticks fashion, the keys provided to him at the customer service desk were for two full sized closet lockers. One was filled top to bottom with duffel bags. The other had several wardrobe bags hanging in it. On one of those hung a satchel with a note pinned to its leather strap:

Open this first and keep it with you at all times.

Malik sat down on the bench across from the lockers.

In the bag were train tickets, new cell phone a casino room key card, and stacks upon stacks of gift cards. After grabbing one of the tickets, he zipped up the bag, put it on his back, grabbed a luggage cart and headed to elevator leading to the platform.

Apparently, he was going to be gone a while.

Which was a good thing since Farrell and Ross were just entering the station as the elevator door closed.

***

In frustration, Jasmine ran her hand through the long side of her asymmetrical haircut and tugged. A small, muffled scream escaped. Being Samuel Martin’s woman was more than she bargained for. She never knew when she accepted his offer to put her through nursing school, it came with more than strings.

It came with chaining obligations.

She wanted so much more out of life than to patch up bullet wounds for thugs.

Or be a companion to the shut in.

For all intents and purposes, she liked Dre, felt sorry for him actually.

Understood him.

That’s why she went over and above what her job description entailed. Instead of hiring a cook, Jasmine cooked for him. They watched T.V. together. They even starting a healthy competition playing video games. So, when he left, at first she was at a loss, but then she started making plans for herself.

For a change.

Just when she started to become excited about all of the opportunities ahead of her…

Sticks changed the plans.

Again.

Now not only does she have to unpack the spare room to make it comfortable for a guest she knows nothing about…

Again.

She has to call the realtor back…

Again.

And as her frustration was reaching its boiling point, her phone rang and it was Sticks.

Again.

Jasmine didn’t even say hello; she just went into a tirade.

“Look Samuel, before I spend more of my life being a nursemaid in a safe house, I have a list of demands. And if you want me to still be your woman, I strongly suggest you accommodate them.”

If it were possible to be amused and annoyed at the same time, that’s the emotion Sticks was living when he replied.

“Should I get a pen?”

Jasmine was now infuriated.

“This shit ain’t nowhere near funny to me! No, you don’t need a got damn pen. If you can’t remember simple things like consideration and respect and you have to write them the fuck down, maybe you ain’t who I thought you were.”

Without any inflection in his voice, Sticks replied, “Are you done?”

More adamant than defeated she answered, “Yes.”

“Good. This should answer all of your questions. Your guest will hopefully arrive within the next few weeks. He will stay long enough to help you finish packing up the house which will be sold via my realtor while we are settling in at our destination. God I love technology!”

“It’s about damn time. Can I ask who is coming?”

“Mr. Douglas is the only member unaccounted for.”

“Why can’t you just say Malik? This whole proper persona gets on my nerves.”

Sticks chuckled, “If I do remember correctly, Ms. Jasmine, you were very much intrigued and fascinated by my vernacular when I first met your acquaintance.”

“Oh my God, I’ll let you know when the street rat arrives. Goodbye Jafar!”

What could be perceived as sarcasm was actually a growing disdain Jasmine had for Sticks. Sure, on one hand she loved him, on the other she was full of resentment.

She missed her family.

Warm weather.

Drinking in the scent of magnolia trees.

Indigo hues of backroom speakeasies.

Zydeco.

Big Chief costumes.

Indian songs.

Mama’s ettouffee.

And her humming.

Blues.

Or hymns.

That was home.

Not this frozen tundra in Illinois.

Not even the tropical paradise that Samuel Martin promised her.

After the job…

was…

done.

***

The last time Malik went to the beach and stayed at the casino hotel, it was a gaudy place with too many colors and lights He could never eat at a restaurant that chose to have their dining chairs upholstered in animal print patterns that didn’t match.

Even he knew that was tacky.

As tacky and as painted as the makeup on the cocktail waitresses that flittered about.

This time, however, Sticks put him up in a hotel-suite closer to the bay. The view was amazing.

And it had a sunken tub.

He could get used to this

But that wasn’t the plan.

The only thing Malik had planned for that particular evening was food.

What else was new?

But he was hungry, so he ordered as such.

He sat down in the living quarters of the suite and had every intention of putting ESPN on the large flat screen. Instead Malik found himself mesmerized by the ebb and flow of the sea and the sunset reflecting within it. Watching the waves of color must have seduced him to sleep because he was startled by a knock on the door.

Room service.

Shit.

He wondered how long they were knockin and prayed his food wasn’t cold before he opened the door. Without looking up he said,

“My bad. I hope you wasn’t out there too long, I fell…”

Malik’s apology as interrupted by a familiar soft voice.

“Hey you, fancy meeting you again. How ya been?”

Camilla then pushed the table past him and began setting it up in the living quarters.

Without warning, Malik’s stomach dropped and took his words along with it. He remembered her from Tori’s celebration dinner at the restaurant.

How could he forget her? She was professional but down to earth. Her soft glow and demeanor should have put him at ease.

But it didn’t.

He was entranced and stunned silent.

And for a while Camilla was oblivious until the silence became heavy.

“How’s your Mom?”

That lightened the mood a little bit and gave Malik something to talk about.

“Oh ,she’s good. Real good. I have a baby sister now.”

They chatted on about typical new baby talk until he found the question that was nervously hiding behind his tongue.

“You work here now?”

“Nah, I just dress up like a bell hop and stalk the penthouse suites looking for a husband.”

They laughed.

“The tips are better here.”

Camilla was done setting up Malik’s order which was enough for two and then very casually she joked,

“I would ask where your guest is, but then I remembered you had quite an appetite that night, so all this could be for you.”

She remembered?

Cool.

“Yeah, I like to eat.”

Before the silence again became too heavy, Camilla interjected.

“I get off at eight you wanna go somewhere and catch up? This place has a great lounge.”

“Yeah, we can do that.”

“Okay, I’ll come back around nine thirty.”

“Bet.”

She scribbled her cell phone number on the guest portion of the check.

“This is me. Call if something else comes up, or if you need anything.”

“I will.”

With that he opened the door for her and watched her walk away.

Camilla went about her day without issue finishing up her shift then going home to make herself presentable.

Home was a tiny, modest apartment sitting over a bakery on the main street downtown. For the amount of rent she was paying there she could have a three- bedroom house back home. That fact was something her mother always reminded her of whenever they spoke. Camilla then reminded Mama how many break-ins happened on her block in the past year. Thieves were becoming exceptionally bold and robbing the homes of people who worked during day. Imagine someone walking out of the front door of a house with a flat screen TV and no one seeing anything.

Or worse yet, no one doing anything.

But unfortunately, that was common place. Back when she was younger, there was a criminal presence, but it wasn’t spoken about. It also wasn’t in your face, but you knew who was who on your block. Neighbors looked out for each other. Even the elements looked out for people especially the elderly and citizens with families, but most of that generation was gone now.

Either moved away.

Locked up.

Or dead.

So, when the house across the street from the duplex she wanted to buy was robbed leaving a six-year old little boy inside beaten to death, she packed up her shit and left.

That’s when she found the tiny little space. Camilla preferred to call her quaint treasure. Quaint because she was always awakened by the aroma of breads, cakes, and pastries. A surprise because her landlord either never noticed or neglected to mention that outside of the bedroom window was a fire escape. That fire escape led to a roof where the treasure was revealed.

A panoramic view of the ocean and bay.

Right away Camilla started making this space her own. She installed a small canopy, a beanbag chair, solar twinkle lights, tiny, yet sturdy, tables, and tossed around a couple of eclectic pillows. Truth be told, she spent more time up on the roof than she did in her bedroom. The ocean breeze was perfect for relaxing, meditation and sometimes sleeping.

And to her, that space alone made every penny of the overpriced apartment in the city worth it.