By Darren Kaminsky
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Darren Kaminsky's novel, Sugar Spun Sisters, appears in serialized form every Monday right here on Me Three. The story follows the lives of five twenty-somethings living in Washington D.C. As far as the editors are currently aware, none of these characters work in politics.
Chapter Thirty-Four
...Continued...
I been holding my breath and, after a few seconds, little dancing sparkles had danced in front of my eyes.
Big A had walked slowly around the van, into the back yard and stood in front of Teddy, whose eyes were red from crying.
“Teddy, my man, you haven’t turned into a 12-year-old girl have you?”
Teddy didn’t say anything.
“You pissing in your pants too?” he asked and looked down at Teddy’s feet very theatrically. “You’re like everyone else. You’re all smooth and cool when you’re in with an operator like Russ the Bootlegger, but the moment things turn as mean and nasty as they really are...?”
“Are you going to kill us?” Teddy asked and seemed to stop crying. “Are you going to kill the kids? Are you going to kill me?”
“Ahh, come on, we were friends before, sort of. You gonna figure me for some mindless murderer? Some fucking killer of children? I’m a business man, Teddy. Bizzzness. ”
“We wouldn’t have been friends if I’d known who you really were,” Teddy said.
“What? You think that I was just selling beer and liquor in that place? That stuff paid for the bribes and some of my people. That’s it. I wouldn’t have been able to pay for my kids to eat, if I’d had to rely on light beer from Miller,” he said and laughed.
“So what’s this all about?” Teddy asked.
“Gotta send a message or two maybe, but not kill you all. Messy. Messy. And bad for business. Supremely bad for business. No, I just want these kids to get back to work and you not to interfere. You really care anyway? What’s in it for you?”
“I just like the kids that’s all. I watch out for them.”
“Teddy, you’re one of the good ones. You are, but let me teach you something. You can’t do it. You can’t watch out for people. You gotta watch out for yourself and if you do that well then other people get taken care of as a sideline...Like me, I’ve got my business and by making money I get all these kids money too. That’s good capitalism. And that’s what they want. They want to live like me. They want the gold and the cars and guys who wear tracksuits with their name on the back.”
He waved his arm with a flourish and one of his henchmen turned around and on the back of his jacket, set at a diagonal, sinuous red cursive letters said, “Big A”
Big A chuckled as we looked at that. He was obviously pleased with himself. “Now, that’s class, huh? You know people respect you when they wear your name. Big A means quality stuff.”
“Doesn’t that make drug dealing kind of conspicuous?” Teddy asked.
I hadn’t moved or breathed since the drug dealers had pulled up. I’d been in a state of shock, but Teddy’s question, so obvious, jarred me back into thinking again. Did these guys stand on street corners plying drugs while wearing those things? Were the police so corrupt that they ignored this? Didn’t those things look like big-ass targets to Big A’s competitors?
“Hey, I don’t have them wear them all the time,” he said, then, seeing Teddy’s expression, “...No, really. I don’t...you can’t make money like that. It’s only for around the homestead and, you know, for special errands.”
“Like killing children?” Brenna said and John Slater turned to her and scrunched his face in alarm.
But Big A just laughed and said, “That’s sass. I already said that we’ve done all the murder we’re gonna do. Now kneecapping? That’s a possibility. Or maybe we’ll cut some of ya’ll’s ears off. Just like the movies. Or just pistol whip a few of you?” Then, he turned to Brenna and his face contorted and he no longer talked with mock friendliness and brio. “Let me tell you, bitch. I’m not afraid to pistol whip a girl. Serve ya right to have your fucking jaw wired shut.”
He motioned to one of the black-tracksuits, who pulled a little snub-nosed pistol from his pocket and handed it handle first to Big A. who grabbed it in his big fleshy mitt of a hand with a swift jerking motion like a bear taking a swipe at the face of prey.
He walked over to Brenna, raised his hand and, with a fierce look on his face, started to bring it down but then lowered his arm again. “No. No.” he said, talking to himself. “I’m not going to let you do that to me. I’m going to think this through. I’m not going to be hasty. I’m not going to let you bring me down that way,” he said.
And that was like a cue for sirens from all sides and blue and red flashing lights and cop cars behind the drug dealer’s cars and the familiar beating of a helicopter’s rotors overhead and a spotlight throwing down its cone of white blindness and blaring a titanic voice telling everyone to drop their weapons and lift their arms in the air. There were cops all around us and they were pointing their guns at us and the drug dealers and the children not knowing who was who and what was what.
Right as the rush started, I was able to lift my camera and take 5 photos, but, in the adrenaline rush of the thing, whether I’d been able to really capture any of what was happening or even adjust the camera’s manual controls properly before being ordered to lift my arms and drop my weapon was anyone’s guess. I think that I snapped the last photo after the helicopter’s spotlight had found us. It was so bright that it washed everything else out. I’m sure that that film frame is just a big white blur.
Officer Tytis walked through the wooden door in his street clothes. “He’s OK,” he said pointing at me. “Let him get some photos. It’d be good for us to get some good press once in a while.”
John Slater, Brenna and Teddy all had their hands up, but not fully extended, like they weren’t sure whether they were supposed to have them up or not.
“Can they put their hands down, Officer Tytis?" I asked pointing at them. “They’re part of the rescue party?” It took me a second to realize that he might not know what rescue party I was referring to.
“No. No one except you puts their hands down until we sort out who’s who and who did what. Got it?”
Tytis put the handcuffs on Big A and I took a photo of it right as I heard the cuff’s click. Two other officers came through the wooden door and Tytis gave Big A a little shove towards them. He stumbled and the two officers caught each of his arms and pushed him through the gate in the general direction of the greatest mass of police lights.
Several more officers walked through the gate. Tytis put out his hand and asked for another pair of cuffs. He took them, stepped towards Teddy, turned him around and told him to put his hands behind his back.
“He didn’t do anything,” John Slater said and almost took a step himself.
“Yeah, let us be the judge of that.”
I saw John Slater trying to mull over what to say next and for a second I wondered if we would be treated to him saying, “Do you know who I am?” and ranting on about his father and family and demanding to have his way. But he didn’t. I might have done that in his place, but he didn’t and I admired him for it.”
Teddy, Brenna, John Slater, Kerran and Jean all got cuffed and put in the back of police cars just like the drug dealers did.
Officer Tytis, who’d been supervising, all this turned towards me and said, “You know that I could finally make lieutenant for this. If we can get it to stick.”
“Teddy knows a lot,” I said. “He knows who knows what too. He’s close with all those kids.”
We were all taken down to the station and questioned. My statement was taken first and I could have left before anyone, but I waited. It took them the longest to release Teddy, but we waited for him too and as a group walked him home first.
Turned out that the police had known that Big A had assembled kids from all over the area to work for him. When they’d seen them going back and forth to Teddy’s, they’d figured that Teddy had to be involved. Bad for Teddy, but it had led to Big A being caught. We’d have to settle for that.
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Darren Kaminsky is a writer living in Brooklyn. He can be contacted at sugarspun @ bigbagoftricks dot com.
© 2005 Me Three
