In a nice suburb in Gwinnett County, the DEA, along with the local police department, move in on a two-story brick McMansion. With the agents’ shields up and guns pointed, Elliott barks out the command, “Everybody get down on the floor!”
Two large brothers in the living room reach for their weapons and come up shooting. Before I can squeeze off a shot, the sound of a baby crying catches my ear. I pivot and sure enough there is a woman standing behind us holding a baby with one hand and a ·38 in the other. “Put down your weapon!”
The woman doesn’t even seem to be concerned about her child as she squeezes off a shot. The bullet goes wild, but I aim for her left shoulder and pull the trigger. The woman jerks back, drops the baby, and smashes into the wall. I don’t know why this crazy shit always surprises me, but it does.
When the action calms down, we make seven arrests and find drugs stashed everywhere—the couches, the freezer, the mattresses, and even in the toy bins. This shit doesn’t make any sense.
“Cheer up,” Elliott says, noting my long face. “It’s not like you shot the baby.”
“Yeah. I know. Not that his momma gave a damn.” Which is true. At no point when she was screaming and yelling about what sons of bitches we were had she inquired about the safety of her child, who was steadily screaming at the top of his lungs. We couldn’t even get an answer out of her on who we should call to come and take care of the baby, so Family and Children Services were called.
Much later, we stroll into Flint’s to toss back a few much-needed whiskeys, and I find myself questioning how much longer I can actually do this fucking job.
“Why are you so quiet?” Elliott asks, already looking a bit tipsy.
I shrug my shoulders. “Just thinking.”
“About?”
Drawing a deep breath, I turn and look him straight in the eye. “About whether it’s time for me to hang up my boots.”
Elliott’s face twists with surprise. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head.
“C’mon, Hayes. It was just a bad day.”
“I’m starting to have a lot of bad days. And that can’t be good.” I feel a little better getting that off my shoulders. “I think it’s time to start looking into something a little less stressful.”
Elliott keeps shaking his head as Mitch sets another drink down in front of us. “You’re trippin'. You’re an adrenaline junkie like the rest of us. We either do this or join the military to be shipped out to Afghanistan. We’re not the kind of people who can just settle for a nine-to-five. We need excitement.”
“I don’t know. It’s all starting to feel hopeless to me. The more drugs and criminals we take off the street, the more there are to take their place. It’s an endless cycle. The war on drugs is a joke, man.”
“And what are our options? To fucking give up? Make all the shit legal so crackheads and junkies can take over? You really think that’s the answer?”
I shake my head.
“So what are you saying?”
“I don’t know. I just fucking know that I’m getting tired of this bullshit.” I toss back my shot and then relish the burn. “I need a break from dodging bullets.”
“Then you’re in luck. Tomorrow we’re babysitting a transport down to Columbus. Should be a walk in the park.”
“Oh, goody-goody. I get to sit and listen to you bump your gums in a car for about six hours.”
“Damn. You really are in a pissy mood.” He cocks a slick smile at me. “Does that mean that things between you and Mr. Thug ain’t working out too good?”
“Get your nose out of my business, Elliott.”
“What?” He chuckles. “Clearly something ain’t right. I’m just trying to figure out what it is. I share shit with you.”
“Oh, yeah. About that: stop.”
Elliott throws his head back and laughs. “That’s fucked up, partner. Fucked up.” He turns toward Aaron and Eric. “Y’all hear my partner over here?”
“What’s up?” Eric asks, switching stools so he can flank my left side.
“Jordan still thinks it’s cool for her to listen and chuck in her two cents when it comes to other people’s private business, but she wants to keep her shit under lock and key.”
Eric shrugs. “Same old, same old. She’s been doing that shit for years. Why is that bothering you now?”
“Thank you, Eric,” I say.
“Oh, I ain’t saying that it’s right. I’m just saying that you do it. You always keep one foot in and one foot out of the boys’ club.”
“No. The problem is that y’all bitches gossip like teenagers. And since I don’t want my business all over the department, I’d rather keep my rat trap shut.”
“Fine. You don’t want to tell details—you can be general. Like, are you still seeing old dude? We got a pool going.”
“What?”
“Don’t worry,” Elliott says. “I’ve already lost. I thought ole boy was just going to be a one nighter. He didn’t look like a deep conversationalist. Were those prison tats all over his body?”
“No, they weren’t prison tats, asshole.”
He shrugs me off. “I think Aaron has you down for three weeks. So if you can hang in there until this weekend, he’ll win about fifty bucks.”
Aaron glances around Elliott’s shoulder and gives me a sheepish smile. “I’ll split it with you if you want.”
I look over at Eric. “And what did you pick?”
“I gave y’all a week.”
“I don’t believe you guys.”
“What are you getting so mad about? You made some bets in the past. It’s not like we’re so far off base here. I mean, what is the longest relationship you’ve ever been in?”
“None of your fucking business.”
“So hostile. You ever think about going to anger management?”
Instead of responding, I flash them my two middle fingers and tell them, “And rotate.”
“It’s not your fault,” Elliott continues. “Children of divorce usually have trouble with intimacy. I read that somewhere.”
“I don’t believe I’m having this conversation.”
“I think it’s true.”
“For your information, smart-ass, my parents were never married.”
“Oooh.” They all twist their faces like they’re sucking on lemons.
“What?”
“That’s even worse,” Aaron chimes in.
“You know what? Fuck y’all and the horses you rode in on. Why the fuck should I be listening to y’all anyway? None of you are with anybody either.”
“My parents divorced,” Elliott admits.
“Mine too,” Aaron says.
“Me three,” Eric pipes in.
“Fuck.” I hop off the stool and drop a twenty on the bar. “Keep the change, Mitch.”
The boys just laugh at me behind my back. “All right. I guess this means that you’ll just miss out on our vast knowledge about relationships.”
“Thank God,” I shout, and storm out of the bar. Before heading home, I decide to swing by my father’s place. He had mentioned having a doctor’s appointment, plus my uncles would be there. Perhaps I can interrogate Uncle Mishawn about his son. It’s a little sneaky but probably worth it.
I knock and wait while I hear things being moved around on the other side of the door. What the hell are they doing? When Dad finally answers the door, he looks a bit sweaty and out of breath.
“Hey, Daddy. What are y’all doing in here?” I have to push on the door, because it looks like he isn’t about to invite me in.
“Oh, nothing.” He glances over his shoulder and then finally steps back to allow me in.
Frowning at his odd behavior, I step inside and glance at the dining room table where my three play uncles are sitting around with their cards and poker chips. Still something seems a bit odd about their behavior. “Is everything all right?”
“Oh, yeah. Everything is fine.” Dad smiles broadly.
I glance back at the table.
“Great,” Rawlo says, giving me the okay sign.
“Wonderful,” Mishawn adds.
“Couldn’t be better.” Tremaine grins even though his hearing aid is whistling loud enough to wake the dead.
“Well,” Dad says, grabbing me by the arm. “If that’s all, we need to get back to our game.” He starts to shove me back out the door.
“Whoa. Wait a minute.” I snatch my arm free. “Why are you trying to get rid of me?”
My father’s face almost turns into the color of eggplant. “What? No. I just thought that … you know, that you had to go.”
“Uh-huh.” I move past him and head over to the dining room table. Everyone suddenly sits up straighter and flashes me wobbly smiles. They are definitely up to something. “Sooo … who’s winning?”
“Huh?” Tremaine asks.
“Uncle Tremaine, I think you need to turn your hearing aid down a bit.”
“Oh, yeah. Right. Hold on.” He rubs his finger behind his ear until the whistling stops.
I cast my gaze around the table and notice that everyone is trying their damnedest not to look me in the eyes. “Uh-huh.” Lastly, I turn toward my father as he takes his seat at the table. “Sooo … how was your doctor’s visit today?”
His eyes fall as well. “Fine.”
My heart skips a beat. “What did the doctor say?”
“Nothing.” He clears his throat. “I’m as healthy as a horse.” He flashes a fake smile at me, and I weigh whether I should press him for an honest answer, but there is a chance that he just doesn’t want to discuss this in front of his friends, so I decide to let it go—for now.
The table is quiet, and no one seems to be in any hurry to resume the game. “Mind if I join in?”
“What?” My father finally looks up at me. “You know the rules. No women allowed.”
“That’s a stupid rule.” I notice a notepad on the floor. “Oh, Uncle Mishawn, you dropped something.” I go to pick it up, but Mishawn moves faster than I’ve seen him move in years to swoop down and pick it up.
“I got it.”
“What is it?”
“Nothing.” His magnified eyes blink up at me.
I can’t help but laugh. “It’s clearly something, Uncle Mishawn. Let me see it.”
“No. It’s … personal.”
“Personal?” My gaze moves around the table again. Everyone still avoids my gaze.
“Okay. I’m not stupid. You guys are up to something. You might as well tell me now.”
“There you go,” my father says, throwing up his hands. “Always suspicious, just like your mother. That’s why no women are allowed to play—you always just mother hen us to death.”
“All right. All right.” I throw up my hands too. “You guys don’t want me around. I can take a hint. I’ll go.”
It might just be me, but they all suddenly look relieved.
“I guess … I’ll just call and check on you a little later,” I tell my dad.
He bobs his head, gets back up from the table, and starts escorting me toward the door.
“You guys stay out of trouble.”
“Who, us? Get into trouble? Why would we get into trouble?” they chime awkwardly together. So much so that it causes the hair on the back of my neck to sit up and my eyes to narrow.
“You sure you guys aren’t up to something?”
“Nope. Just playing poker,” Rawlo says.
“Yeah. It’s not like we’re sitting up here trying to figure out how to rob a bank or anything,” Uncle Tremaine spouts.
Everyone’s head turns toward him.
“What? I just meant it as a joke.” He shrugs.
“Ooookay.” I look at my dad but he’s waving off the comment.
“Don’t pay Tremaine any mind. You know he has a warped sense of humor.” He takes me by the arm and firmly ushers me out the door.
“I … I guess I’ll just call you later,” I tell him.
“All right. Talk to you later. Bye.” He slams the door in my face.
What the fuck?