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“Down at the courthouse.”
She swallowed and he followed the movement of her throat.
“I was there on behalf of my brother. You were there because of your niece. I was there early, and you’d come in, sometimes crying, explaining to a magistrate that that poor girl you raise now was bein’ neglected while her mother was nowhere to be found.”
“Didn’t you say your brother, Cain, has a life sentence? I wasn’t in that court. I was in family services…”
“I never said nothin’ to you about my brother. You must’ve dug that up on your own.” Her complexion deepened. “You know family services is right across the damn hall… After a while of sittin’ on that bench, waiting, you notice people walking by, hear stuff. Plus, you stood out because you’re so damn pretty.”
“So, you’ve been following me? I’m thinkin’ this would be a good time for me to call the police.”
“Now you’re just being silly. Busy man like me ain’t got time to stalk nobody, even one as pretty as you. Imagine my surprise when I realized you were the girl in the grocery store. To me, that’s not a coincidence. The answer to my prayers was right in front of my face.”
“So you felt like because I went to bat for my niece, I’d go to bat for Eli, so to speak?”
“That was part of it. It wasn’t benefiting you in any way to have her. You weren’t getting no money, ’cept maybe some tax breaks. That’s called a selfless act. You even relocated from a better part of town to a shithole, in order to make her more comfortable since she was already staying there.”
“You said you were born in Bordeaux, and you’re calling it a shithole?”
“It is. But it’s full of good people, too. That don’t make it any less of a fucking shithole because scarcity, unemployment, lack of prospects, growin’ up with your stomach growling, houses with leaky roofs and bad plumbing, peeling paint, drunks and tweakers in the street fighting, and people struggling for their lives make up thedefinitionof a shithole. It made me stronger, but it is what it is. Back to you…”
“I don’t want to discuss my private life with you.”
“Oh, so now you wanna be quiet, after throwing my private life up in my face in the car?” He pointed at himself, and she turned away. “Aren’t you the same woman who said to me on the ride over here that I should be ashamed of myself? I ignored you… I let that go.” She shot him a glance, but only a fleeting one. “Naw, look at me when I’m talking to you.” She slowly turned back around and faced him, loathing etched across her face. “You didn’t want her to lose her friends, on top of her mama, too. That’s a sign of a good heart. You work at Kroger, for goodness’s sake. I don’t see any get rich schemes oozing out of you, but I do see the eye of a tiger, a woman with wants, needs, and ambition… and somethin’ I don’t have, except when it comes to Eli.”
“And what’s that? Concern?”
“Naw, I’m concerned about plenty. I meant a heart. I don’t care about many people. Caring about someone is optional. I exercise the choice to not do it very often. That keeps life less complicated. When you care, everything has the potential to go to shit.”
“When you do what you do for a living, everything goes to shit, too.”
“You judging me again?”
“Why? You think ’cause they call you ‘Judge,’ you the only one around here who can criticize and analyze somebody?”
“They call me Judge because I make smart, judicious decisions regarding my work, and I make the laws in these here streets. Not because I’m criticizing anyone. You’ve got it wrong.”
“That may be, but what I’ve gotrightis that you’re used to your flashy cars, clothes, and money luring the ladies. You’re nice looking, too, and you know it, but all of those muscles, those beautiful eyes and tattoos, and all of your little toys and accessories will make me look, but won’t make me stay. I don’t date drug dealers anymore. We’ve got a business arrangement, Jude. Nothing more, nothing less.”
“You’d date me if I owned a bank… if I owned any financial corporation at all.”
“Last I checked, bank owners aren’t out here selling little rocks of death.”
“Don’t make this about morals because almost any occupation you name, I can prove to you is just as harmful and corrupt.”
“Oh yeah, try me.”
“You ring up ice cream for diabetics, gift cards to shopping addicts, cigarettes to people with lung cancer, ‘I’m sorry’ greeting cards and bouquets of roses to men who give their wives black eyes, broken ribs, and bloody lips. You ring up condoms to rapists, duct tape to kidnappers, decks of cards to compulsive gamblers, lighters to arsonists, and alcohol to drunks every fuckin’ night, ma’am. I’ve seen that drunk man you’re always kee-keeing with… silly ass Monroe…” Her complexion deepened. “You think if you dated a loan officer, or some flunky from the IRS, he ain’t make somebody commit suicide because they lost their damn house?! Delusions of fuckin’ grandeur! Oooohhh Weee! You think if you dated a teacher, he didn’t make some kid think he was dumb at one point, and maybe that same kid dropped out and ruined his life by getting hooked on something?! Don’t talk to me about harm and rocks of death because every job out here, if it’s profitable, can ruin someone, missy. We’reallstuck between that same rock of death and motherfuckin’ hard place. It’s all about how you look at it, and because we live in a capitalist society rampant with corruption, everything has the potential to do harm!”
He leaned close to her, but she stepped back, and then took another step and another, until he backed her against the wall. “Just like you, I’ve got customers. So, unless you’re a saint and never earned a dollar off something that could’ve aided in someone’s misery in your whole entire life, you’re in no position to talk. Walk in my shoes and learn my story before you try to talk recklessly about my journey and turn the page before you’ve even finished the passage…” Anger kept rising to the surface, but he pushed it down. “Now let’s go. It’s getting late and you need some sleep. Eli is expecting you tomorrow, bright eyed and bushy tailed…”
CHAPTER NINE
The Bishop, the King and the Queen
WizKid’s, ‘Essence,’ playedas Iris pulled up to Ayanna’s school in her gunmetal gray Nissan Altima. It was seven years old, but still running fine.
“I hope you have your lunch today, Ayanna, because I’m going home to crash. I won’t be runnin’ back here like last week to bring you a sandwich and some chips. You’ll have to buy the school lunch, and then complain about how they don’t season nothin’.” She yawned.
