At the Crossroads (20 page)

T
he Village Apartments didn’t look anything like the place he had envisioned Kelli living. He thought she would be in some nice gated community living with the upwardly mobile crowd, but that was far from the case. The Village was just as ghetto as the place he just left. The frown on his face as they drove through the gates spoke volumes.

“I’m working on my master’s degree right now, and this is all I can afford, but the minute I’m able to move, I’ll be on the first thing flying out of here.”

Franky looked around at the run-down apartments; some of them looked like they were already condemned. He saw an old man marching like he was in the Russian army, and he was being followed by about five little kids who were marching just like him. He couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight.

“That’s General Mack,” Kelli said, laughing. “He was in some war that left him a little loony upstairs, but he’s harmless.”

Kelli stopped at the mailbox and jumped out. Franky tried to soak in as much of his new environment as he could. Kelli got back in the car with a stack of letters and junk mail.

“How long have you been living here?” Franky asked.

“Well, this is where me and my mother moved to when we first left New Orleans. I think I was in the seventh grade. Then we moved back home and then back again, so overall, I would say about six or seven years. I’ve been in my own place for two years.”

“Where is your mom now?”

“She’s back in New Orleans. But I think you’ll like living here. At least until we move. This place really isn’t that bad. It looks worse than it really is, even though we do have some occasional inner-city activity. There are some nice kids out here. You have your bad ones, too,” Kelli said, nodding toward a fat guy who was standing beside a BMW with chrome rims on it. There were a bunch of people standing around him as if he were the king chatting with his court.

“Who is that?” Franky asked.

“Some loser who calls himself Wicked. And from what I hear, he lives up to that moniker. It isn’t hard to tell how he makes his money, but I guess he thinks that’s cool.”

Kelli parked in front of her apartment, and Franky got out of the car. He walked around to the trunk and got all of his belongings. The air-conditioned apartment was such a relief. Franky had forgotten how it felt to go into a house to escape the heat.

“You can put your things in that bedroom,” Kelli said, pointing to the room across from hers. “I’ll figure out someplace to put all of those bookshelves. That used to bemy office, so just ignore that stuff until I can find someplace for it.”

Franky nodded and placed his suitcase on the floor by the closet. He looked around and saw a full-size bed, a nightstand, and a dresser. All of the furniture still had the tags on them.

Kelli stood in the doorway watching Franky. He turned around and gave her a look that said he would rather be anywhere but here. He wanted to go back to New Orleans with Nigel and Rico.

“It’ll take some getting used to, but you’ll be fine, Franky. I know you’ve been through a lot, but you have a bright future ahead of you.”

“My dad said …,” Franky said before catching himself. “Can I go outside and take a look around?”

“Sure,” Kelli said, nodding. “But before you go, Franky, I need to lay down some ground rules. I hate to put this out there on your first day here, but we might as well get started on the right track. You’re going to have a curfew. It’s ten o’clock on school nights and twelve o’clock on the weekends.”

Curfew? Nigel and Rico never asked me to come in the house at a specific time,
he thought.

“You’re also going to have to do chores around here. The dishes and bathrooms are your responsibility. That means they should always be clean. I don’t like to see dishes in the sink, so put them in the dishwasher. I will not—let me repeat, I will not—have a dirty bathroom. Don’t pee on the toilet seat, and if you do, use some toilet paper to clean it up. That’s your bathroom, so make sure it’s spotless. I will clean mine, but yours is on you. I’m waiting on your birth certificate to arrive from New Orleans, and once it does, you will be attending school. I expect homework done before you head outside. If you don’t have any homework, then I’m going to need at least an hour of study time for myself. There is always something to study. And last but not least, no disrespect. Ever. I don’t need to hear ‘yes, ma’am’ or ‘no, ma’am,’ but let’s get along. I will do everything I’m supposed to do to make sure you have what you need, and all I ask in return is for you to follow those rules.
Comprende?
“

Franky nodded.

Kelli smiled and gave him another hug. “I missed you so much, Franky, and I’m glad you’re here.”

Once Kelli let him go, he walked out of the apartment.

This was the pits. He could already tell that this situation wasn’t going to work out. He didn’t like Kelli, and he knew that he needed to do something to get out of here. He walked around the complex until he found the basketball courts. When he walked up, there were about twenty kids on the blacktop playing. The game paused for a second as the players checked out the new guy. Once they chalked him up as harmless, they continued.

“What’s up?” said a tall brown-skinned guy who was standing on the sideline watching the game. He extended his hand toward Franky. “Romeo.”

“What’s up, Romeo?” Franky said, shaking the boy’s hand. “Franky.”

“Do you ball?”

“Nah,” Franky said. “I’m more of a football guy.”

“Me too,” Romeo said. “You live around here?”

“Just moved in a few minutes ago.”

“That’s what’s up,” Romeo said. “So you going to Tucker High?”

“I don’t know where I’m going. Is that the school for this area?”

“Yep.”

“I heard about Tucker. Y’all won the state championship a few times, right?”

“Yep.”

“What position do you play?”

“Quarterback. Number one in the state, number three in the country. I wanna see those two guys who the pundits say are better than me,” Romeo said, and Franky could tell this kid had a competitive spirit that would take him anywhere he wanted to go.

“Oh, yeah. I was gonna play at my last school, but then I had to move over here.”

“Where did you go?”

“I was at M and M High,” Franky said.

“Okay. M and M is straight. You know we can always use another good player,” Romeo said. “What grade are you in?”

“Ninth.”

“Oh, you’re a youngster but still. We have a nice junior varsity program. You should come out.”

The game on the court got rowdy, and two guys started to fight. Romeo shook his head and walked out onto the court and separated the combatants. He walked back and stood on the sideline like nothing had happened. One of the guys who was fighting walked over still jawing with the guy he got into it with.

“Yo, man,” the short guy said. “Let’s get out of here before I mess around and catch a case.”

Romeo stood there with his arms folded, laughing.

“This is my man Amir,” he said.

“What’s good with ya, player? You live round here?” Amir said, balling his fist up and reaching out to Franky.

“Yeah. Franky,” he said, and bumped his fist.

“I sure hate that you had to see me slap a fool on your first day here, but every now and then I gotta show these fools what the business is,” Amir said. “He got pissed because I was shooting those jays in his face. Ain’t my fault I got stupid game.”

“I hear ya,” Franky said, laughing because all he saw was Amir shooting air balls.

“Well, Franky,” Romeo said. “We gotta roll. I hope to see you at school, man.”

“His girl has him on a clock,” Amir said. “If he misses a call, she whips that arse.”

“Don’t listen to this fool,” Romeo said. “He’s mad because he’s still a virgin.”

“How many times I gotta tell you I gets mine. Your interception waiting to happen,” Amir said.

“Y’all take care,” Franky said as they walked off arguing about something.

Franky decided that he was gonna force Kelli to send him back to New Orleans. He saw the guy who had been sitting on his BMW holding court when he first got to the apartments and walked over to him.

“What’s up, whoadie?” Franky said, approaching cautiously. “Are you Wicked?”

“Depends on who’s asking,” said the fat guy with platinum teeth and a matching chain around his neck. Everything about his demeanor and clothes said “up to no good.”

“I’m Franky,” he said, thinking of a lie he could tell theguy in order to get in good with him. “My cousin told me to come holla at you.”

“Who yo cousin, youngster?” Wicked asked.

“Rico,” Franky said. “I just moved out here, and he said you was cool and to tell you wassup.”

“I don’t know no Rico, but then again, I’m good with faces but bad with names. Ain’t no telling,” Wicked said, reaching out to shake Franky’s hand. “What’s up witcha?”

“Nuttin', man. I just moved out here and wanted to come say what’s up and see if you had any work for me.”

“So you looking for some work?”

“Yeah.”

“Work-work or something to keep you busy?” Wicked asked.

“Just something to make a few dollars,” Franky said. “I just got out of jail today. I’m not tryna go back.”

“I hear ya. Well, I always need security. You wanna handle that?”

“That’s cool,” Franky said.

“Meet me tonight around midnight out here on the courts. I need to run and holla at this lil honey,” Wicked said before getting in his car.

Franky watched him pull off and smiled. His plan was moving in the right direction. He was going to force his aunt to send him back to New Orleans.

F
ranky took a shower and stretched out across his bed.

He was homesick again. He missed living with his cousins and thought he would give anything to be out of this soft and comfortable bed and back into the hard one he had had at the house with Nigel and Rico.

Kelli had come to his room and said good night twenty minutes ago, but she was still fiddling around the apartment. He wished she would hurry up and take her butt to bed so he could get on with his plan to get back to New Orleans. This was his third night living with her and still didn’t like it. Kelli wasn’t as bad as he thought she would be, but he wasn’t interested in being that goody-two-shoes little boy she wanted him to be. Mr. Goody-two-shoes was dead. Being good in the hood was asking for trouble. People had to respect you, and he planned to get his right away in the Village. At least until he could get back with his own people.

He still missed Khadija and often wondered what shewas doing, how she was feeling, and if she was thinking about him.

Just yesterday, he took the MARTA bus out to her house while Kelli was at work with hopes of catching her outside, but to his surprise, the house was totally empty with a
for sale
sign in the yard. He looked up at the window where he last saw her and realized that he would never see again.

Franky stood up and walked into the living room. He had been sneaking out every night since he had been there. His job with Wicked was putting one hundred dollars a night into his pocket, and the plan was to save up enough to get a plane ticket back to New Orleans. He peeked into Kelli’s bedroom and found her fast asleep. He stepped away from her door and headed out to the basketball courts. The other guys who worked for Wicked weren’t his type, so he kept to himself.

“What’s good with ya?” Wicked said, motioning for one of his flunkies to give Franky a weapon.

Franky took his firearm and headed to his post. Just as he sat down, a guy walked up. He looked around the apartments like a tourist. Franky stood and went to meet him. It was his job to stop anyone from approaching Wicked. The fat man had many enemies, and he was paranoid.

“Hold up, man,” Franky said to the guy who was casually strolling toward the basketball courts.

“Who are you talking to?” the guy said.

“I’m talking to you,” Franky said, noticing the guy’s bulging muscles. But they were no match for what he was holding in his hand.

The guy laughed at Franky and walked on as if he was a mere nuisance.

“Yo, man,” Franky snapped as he hustled to get in front of the guy. “You deaf?”

The guy looked like he was about to rip Franky’s head off but stopped when Wicked jumped up and called his name. They gave each other brotherly hugs, and Wicked picked the guy up and swung him around.

Franky backed off and went back to his post, but he wasn’t going to let that guy’s disrespect slide. He was tired of being that guy, and he wasn’t about to start that here. Being Mr. Nice Guy was how he lost everything at his last place of residence.

Franky sat back and watched the guy and Wicked act like long-lost buddies. He didn’t like either one of them but especially the guy who blew him off.

After about a fifteen-minute chat session, Wicked jumped into his car and drove off. The guy remained on the courts looking around. Then he sat down, leaned back on the bench, and seemed to be having a peaceful night. Franky pointed his gun up in the air and squeezed the trigger. There was a loud boom, and out of nowhere he was hit and forced to the ground. That old stink man who was marching the kids around was lying on top of him. He tried to get up, but the old bum was too strong.

The guy on the bench walked over and stood over the two of them.

“Are you shooting at me?” he said. “Let him up, General Mack.”

The old man stood up, and Franky jumped to his feet. General Mack held his arm so he couldn’t go anywhere.

“I asked you a question,” the guy said calmly.

General Mack hauled off and slapped Franky on the back of the head. “He’s talking to you, dummy.”

“Man,” Franky said. “If you put your nasty, crusty hands on me again, I will—”

“Franky!” Kelli screamed. “What in the world are you doing out here?”

Franky looked at his aunt and wanted to run, but instead he just dropped his head in defeat. Nothing was working out for him.

“I’m sick of you already, boy. I hear gunshots—then I look in your room and you’re gone. Tell me that wasn’t you out here shooting.”