What Goes Around (6 page)

Jason cleared his throat and shifted from one foot to the other. “Sydney's definitely a great person. I, uh, I'm looking forward to getting to know her,” he started awkwardly.

“So it goes without saying that both Mrs. Duke and I have great expectations for our daughter. None of which will be achieved if she becomes sidetracked.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And while neither her mother nor I would ever propose to choose who our daughter spends her time with,” Altimus continued, “I'm sure you can understand
my
concern after years of walking into this room and greeting the Honorable Councilwoman Green's son, Marcus—you do know Marcus Green, don't you?”

“Yeah, I know him.” Jason bristled at the mention of Sydney's ex-boyfriend.

“Well, then, I'm sure you can understand how I might feel about finding you here now,” Altimus continued unapologetically.

“Understood,” Jason responded from between clenched teeth.

“As long as we're clear,” Altimus concluded just as Sydney bounded down the staircase into the living room. She paused at the end of the staircase for effect. Altimus reflexively clenched his teeth.

“Hey, J!” Sydney rewarded Jason with a huge smile as she unknowingly interrupted the tense moment.

“Hey, Sydney, you look nice,” Jason responded, grateful for the opportunity to escape from Altimus's well-executed scare tactics.

“Thanks—so do you.” Sydney paused for a moment to take in Jason's jeans, buttoned-up shirt, and fresh pair of Nike Air Force Ones. Even though the jeans were much baggier than his infamous uniform pants, Jason still looked really good.

“Altimus, did you meet my friend Jason?” Sydney inquired, oblivious to the tension in the room.

“Yes, I did,” Altimus responded. “As a matter of fact, Jason and I were talking about future prospects when you came down.”

“Of what? The Brookhaven team?” Sydney looked quizzically at Jason for a clue to what her stepfather was talking about.

“Something like that,” Jason answered vaguely with a slight smile Sydney couldn't figure out. “You ready to go?” he asked.

“Yeah, my shoes are at the door,” Sydney answered as she headed to the front door in search of her black-and-silver Gucci ballet flats.

“Cool,” Jason said. “It was nice to meet you, Mr. Duke.” He turned and offered his hand again.

“I'm sure,” Altimus responded drily and walked away.

Lauren felt around the bottom of her purse, reaching past her makeup bag, iPod, two notebooks, a few tubes of M.A.C Lipglass, a compact, a couple of purple pens, and a gaggle of school papers, until her fingers hit the pile of coins collected in a jingling lump beneath a piece of stale, half-opened Orbit Bubblemint. She peeled off the quarter that was stuck to the gum and rolled the coin between her fingers. Honestly, she didn't even know how much it cost to make a local call from a public phone these days; heck, she didn't even know public pay phones still existed, really. But there was one, right there at the corner of the McDonald's parking lot, as ancient a relic as Uncle Larry's house, which she was about to call to warn its owner that she was on her way over. He wouldn't be happy about it. Never was. But visit she must.
Lauren needed some intel, and right about now, Uncle Larry was the only one in the family she could turn to without repercussions or a cuss out.

Lauren pulled up Uncle Larry's contact info on her iPhone and punched his number into the sticky keys on the pay phone. As she raised the receiver to her ear, she secretly wished she was afflicted with Sydney's perpetual (and annoying) habit of carrying antibacterial hand sanitizer and wipes everywhere—Lauren was sure the phone harbored some kind of nasty toxic cootie that would make the side of her face break out into some kind of funky, incurable rash. She held the phone as far away from her ear as she could without ruining her ability to hear. Uncle Larry answered after the second ring.

“Hey, Uncle Larry, it's Lauren,” she said.

“Oh, hey, doll, how you been?”

“Good, good,” Lauren said. Cutting to the chase, she quickly added: “You up for some company?”

“Um…”

The hesitation in Uncle Larry's voice made Lauren immediately regret asking permission to visit; he was two seconds away from shutting down her drop-by. She was going to have to do some fast talking. “Look, Uncle Larry, I really need to see you. I have some interesting updates for you—things you need to know.”

“Lauren, now isn't a good time, sweetie—” he began.

“I promise, I'll only be a few minutes,” Lauren said, cutting him off. “I'm right around the corner at the McDonald's. No one knows I'm here, and I called you from a pay phone so that the call can't be traced…” Lauren insisted.

“Lauren, this isn't a good time,” Uncle Larry repeated simply.

“Look, Unc, I'm going to just come over to your house for a few minutes…”

“No!” Uncle Larry shouted. “Don't come here, okay? I need you to stay where you are.”

“But I need to see you, Uncle Larry—I really need your help.”

“Then I'll meet you where you are,” he said. “Just don't come here. You said you're at the McDonald's?”

“Yes,” she said simply.

“What you driving?”

“A black Saab.”

“I'm on my way. Don't get out of the car, hear me? Not even to get fries. Just pull around toward the back and sit tight. I'll be there straightaway.”

In no time at all, Uncle Larry was easing his black Cadillac into the space next to Lauren's, which was hemmed in by an oversized Dumpster that absolutely reeked of rotting food
and sour milk. The stench and the gust of cold air that rushed into the car when Uncle Larry climbed in delivered a one-two punch from which Lauren struggled to recover. She pressed the digital temperature button until it read 80, and snuggled into her coat. Uncle Larry peered through the side-view mirror and peeked out the rear window, clearly nervous; he was giving Lauren the shakes.

“Uncle Larry, you're kinda bugging out—don't worry, nobody knows I'm here,” Lauren said.

“Lauren, the whole block knows you're here,” he said, slamming the door behind him. “I need you to understand that you can't just drop by when you feel like it. The block is hot, sweetheart, and your Uncle Larry is trying to keep cool. I don't want no part of this now, I told you that before.”

“But a lot has happened since the last time we talked, and I really needed to tell you about it,” Lauren said, quickly surmising that she should wait a few minutes before asking his advice about Jermaine's brother. “Altimus—”

“See?” Uncle Larry said, peering out the mirrors and windows again, “that's what I don't need to know about. Altimus.”

“Uncle Larry, take it easy—it's good news, kinda,” Lauren said.

“Good news, huh?” Uncle Larry said. “Did Rodney
come back to life or something? Because that would be the best news right about now. Otherwise, he's still dead, we still don't know who killed him, and the entire West End thinks one of your fathers had something to do with it.”

“But—”

“But, hell,” Uncle Larry said, cutting his niece off. “You're in the middle of some serious mess, Lauren, and you're dragging me into it.”

“I didn't drag you into anything,” Lauren said, a little louder than she'd intended. “You came for me that day at Pride and offered your help—I didn't ask for it. So no matter how much you say you don't want anything to do with this, you made yourself a part of it.”

Uncle Larry was taken aback by Lauren's gruffness; honestly, he didn't know the girl had it in her, but he should have figured.
This,
he said to himself,
is Keisha's child.

“Now, I came over here to give you some news and to see if you could help me sort through what it means,” Lauren said. “It's about my Aunt Lorraine.”

Uncle Larry just stared blankly at Lauren.

“You know who she is, right?”

Uncle Larry folded his arms.

“She's my real father's sister,” Lauren said. “She lives here in the West End, and my father, Dice, has been—”

“He lives with her, I know that,” Uncle Larry said as he settled into the leather seat. “Lorraine is a real piece of work.”

“Yeah, well that piece of work is working with Altimus and my mom,” Lauren said. “I don't know exactly what she's going to be doing for them, but it's got something to do with helping Altimus get himself off the hook for the murder.”

“Wait, Lorraine is in on this now?”

“Exactly—weird, huh?” Lauren said. “All these years she's been standing by Dice and keeping her distance from Altimus and my mom—I assume because she knew what they did to Dice and what they could do to her if she got mixed up in the madness. Now she's all down. She even came to our house a few days ago, like she was there to kiss Altimus's ring or something. I swear it was like a scene straight out of
New Jack City.
The only thing missing was the Rottweiler and the chain.”

“She wasn't there to kiss your father's ring—Lorraine was there because of Keisha,” Uncle Larry muttered cryptically, almost as if his words were intended only for him.

“Keisha?” Lauren said. “But Altimus…”

“Look,” Uncle Larry said, waving his hand. “My sister is many things, chief among them a winner. She will not lose. She's like Malcolm X in that regard—by any means necessary.”

“I don't follow you,” Lauren said, confused.

“What I'm trying to tell you, doll, is that you need to fall back on this—give everybody some room to breathe and figure out what's what,” Uncle Larry said.

“But I can't do that, don't you see?” Lauren demanded. “I feel like I'm the one who can't breathe. I'm sneaking around the West End, watching over my shoulder trying to see who all is looking at me and watching what I'm doing. I'm afraid to talk on the phone, my sister is a mess, my parents have lost their minds and are dragging our family members into their madness, and Jermaine? He's treating me like I'm one of the detectives from
Law & Order
, like I have all the clues and the answers. It's driving me crazy!”

By the time she finished her rant, Lauren's heart was beating so fast and hard, she was sure anyone looking could have seen it pounding through her sweater. She was absolutely done with everyone telling her to be quiet—to sit back and wait for the adults to handle it. Their words made sweat pop from her brow, it got her so angry, because all of the adults were doing a piss-poor job of giving up the info and getting her life back to normal. She could feel the lump in her throat as she struggled to find the words to say this to Uncle Larry. But the only thing her body would conjure were tears—tears she did not want to cry.

Uncle Larry shifted his body so he could look Lauren in
the face; he watched the first tear, then the second, fall from her eyes. “Look, I didn't mean to upset you. That's not what Uncle Larry does.”

“Then what does Uncle Larry do?” Lauren demanded. “Because right about now, you're the only one who can actually
do
something. My parents have no idea I even know you exist, so you can make moves without anyone knowing you're involved.”

“It's nice that you're so confident in my skills, darlin', but I'm not so sure it's that easy,” he said.

“I'm seeing that much, Uncle Larry. I know it's not easy. But Jermaine and his mother deserve to know who killed their fam, and my father—my real father—deserves not to have to rot in prison for something he didn't do.”

Suddenly, Lauren got quiet. Had she really suggested out loud that Dice was innocent?

“I hear you loud and clear,” Uncle Larry said quietly, putting his hand on Lauren's. “I got my eyes wide open and my ear to the street on this, Lauren. I got your back.”

Lauren took in a deep, long breath and swiped at the tears on her cheeks. “Thank you, Uncle Larry. Thank you so much,” she said, taking his hand in hers. “I swear to you from the bottom of my heart, I'm so grateful. Anything you can do, it's appreciated.”

“Yup,” Uncle Larry said. “But one more thing: You can't keep dropping by, okay? I need more notice than this,
hear? Seriously, little girl, you don't know what you're up against coming here. This is the lion's den, sweetheart. You're easy prey, no matter who your daddy is.”

Lauren just nodded.

“Now, you need to get on—go on back to Buckhead and let me figure some things out. I'll be in touch.” And with that, he stepped out of Lauren's car, slammed the door, and watched as she put her car in reverse, pulled out, and got on down the road.

When he could no longer see her car, his eyes settled on the value menu; high cholesterol and blood pressure be darned, the Big Mac combo was practically whispering in his ear. Moments later, he was telling the surly girl behind the register just that. “Hold the onions, though, doll—can't stand them things,” he told her as she punched his order into the register's buttons.

“Make that two Number Ones, but I want the onions on mine,” a familiar voice called from behind Uncle Larry. The register girl tossed him the side-eye; Uncle Larry whipped his head around to see for sure if the voice belonged to who he thought it belonged to.

“Oh, hey there, Smoke,” Uncle Larry said nervously. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Yeah, man, you know, can't beat Mickey D's when you got the taste for those good fries, huh?”

“Yeah, you know that's right,” Uncle Larry said,
rubbing his stomach. “Say, man, I'm getting my food to go, but you're welcome to order—my treat.”

“Oh, say word?” Smoke said, smiling. “Your treat, huh?”

“Yeah, man, go 'head and get you something to eat—tell the lady what you want.”

Smoke turned to the surly girl and winked. “What up, Trina?”

“Hey, Smoke, what can I get for you?”

“The Number One with the onions,” he said. “You know how I like it, don't you, Trina?”

Trina rolled her eyes, punched in the order, and stalked her way over to the fries.

“So I thought you were supposed to be taking it easy with the fast food, what with your health and all,” Smoke said, folding his arms.

“Yeah, you know…” Uncle Larry said, trailing off.

“I know my mother would be worrying you to death if she saw you up in here supersizing Big Macs and fries and such,” he smirked.

“Yeah, your mom always was a worrier,” Uncle Larry said quietly. “This little hamburger and fries ain't gonna kill me.”

“Yeah, man, ain't nothing wrong with a fry every now and again,” Smoke said. “But maybe you oughta meet your friends at the health food store—that way you can get you
some vitamins and vegetables or something after you finish up your little talks.”

Uncle Larry didn't say anything—just blinked.

“Who was your little friend?”

“Who do you think it was, Richard?” Uncle Larry asked, putting a little more bass in his voice.

Smoke frowned. “Well, judging from the 'Duke Two' license plate in the back and the 'Duke Dealers' plate in the front, I'm going to assume it was one of the Duke girls,” he said. “What she doing in these parts?”

Under any other circumstance, with any other person, Uncle Larry would have come up with a good lie or simply told the inquirer to mind his own business. But this wasn't just your average inquirer; this was Smoke. Lies didn't work well with him. They'd known each other much too long for that.

“That's my niece,” Uncle Larry said simply. “She comes around every once in a while to check up on me.”

“Really, now?” Smoke said, cocking his head to the side. “Your niece? How about that—I learn something new every day. And here we are, practically family. How come I've never seen her at your house before?”

“Her mama and I had a falling out, so we're just kinda getting to know each other is all,” Uncle Larry said, keeping his explanation as simple as possible.

“Humph,” Smoke said, his arms still folded. “Well, it's good to keep in touch with family, huh?”

“Well, that depends on who your family is,” Uncle Larry said. “Like I said, her mama and I don't have much dealing with each other. The young'un just wanted to reach out to her ol' Uncle Larry. Simple as that.”