CRY, CRY, CRY
PART ONE: I WON'T CRY
"No matter what happens, I won't cry," Sammy-Sam resolved.
Just turned fourteen, wearing a Michael Jackson T-shirt, well chewed bubble gum in his mouth, and the heavy black rubber coverings on his purple bike's handlebars slippery with the sweat oozing uncontrollably out of his palm, Sammy-Sam, stammering to himself, repeated his vow, "I won't cry."
Swerving only slightly to avoid a dead pigeon, Sammy-Sam skillfully negotiated around the feathered carcass without going too far towards the middle of the street.
He didn't need to look over his shoulder. He knew a car was just behind him. He could hear with the finely tuned ear experienced bicycle riders develop.
Although conscious of where he was and what he was doing, Sammy-Sam's main attention was focused inside himself. The approaching car's noise was mere background to what Sammy-Sam was hearing in his head: Snowflake screaming at him.
Screaming like he screamed on Jay when Jay had threw away six rocks cause he thought the police was going to bust him.
"Stoopid moth-ther FUCK-er, you fuckin' went and threw away six motherfuckin' rocks just cause some doofus ass cops happen to look yo motherfuckin' way. Is you motherfuckin' crazy. You OWE ME. You owe me. And yo fuckin' ass is going to pay today. One Goddamn way or another within the next twenty-four hours. By the time the sun set and rise on yo triflin' ass you best be done put fifty motherfuckin' dollars in my hand and a whole bunch of 'I'm sorries' in yo mouth beggin' my motherfuckin' pardon. I don't play no shit like dis. Fifty motherfuckin' dollars by sunrise tomorrow or else tomorrow will be the last time the sun shine on yo stoopid ass, stoopid moth-ther fucker."
Jay had just stood there in his multicolored, knee length shorts with matching shirt, an outfit he had proudly bought for himself with his earnings. His bottom lip trembling uncontrollably, Jay instinctively licked at the semicircular scab that covered a small gash blighting the left side of his mouth. Jay was fifteen and bewildered.
The danger had appeared imminently real to him. Ditching those rocks had seemed the most prudent action. Afterwards, even Ronnie had told him it was better to eat the cost of some rocks than to get busted. Besides he intended to pay Snowflake back out of what he sold next time round.
Although Jay felt wronged by Snowflake's refusal to appreciate Jay's predicament, he didn't feel angry at Snowflake. Jay was confused. He just did not know how to handle dilemmas. Spinning like a rear tire mired in a mud hole, Jay's mind was working furiously but going nowhere.
"And til you pay me my fifty, you ain't gettin' shit mo from me to deal wit. You got that?"
Jay nodded in muddled agony. What was he going to do?
Their insides churning worse than the time they had eaten a desert concoction of pickles and hog lips right after wolfing down milkshakes and Big Macs at Rudy's birthday party two years ago, Jay and Sammy-Sam began to feel nauseous as Snowflake curtly left the room.
Snowflake's melodramatic display of anger had achieved his desired effect. The two youth stood straight and silent, not unlike the never used, expensive burnished brass reading lamps in Snowflake's front room, which languished beside a matching pair of seldom sat in, blue leather easy chairs. The two teenagers were scared of what was going to happen if Jay couldn't pay Snowflake the fifty dollars.
Sammy-Sam hesitantly tugged the checkered back of Jay's loose shirt tail. "Come on, man," Sammy-Sam suggested, "let's go." But they stood there until Snowflake came back in the room and literally kicked Jay out.
Outside Sammy-Sam silently motioned for Jay to climb on his bike's gleaming handlebars. Jay wordlessly obeyed. As they pushed off, Sammy-Sam decided to give Jay the thirty dollars he had set aside to buy his little sister Gloria a birthday present for when she made two in a few weeks. That would leave them with twenty to get. Sammy-Sam felt as equally involved in this mess as was his good friend Jay.
They rode the twelve blocks to Sammy-Sam's house in embarrassed silence.
With the casualness that comes from frequent repetition, Jay hopped off before Sammy-Sam came to a full stop by Sammy-Sam's back door.
After hurriedly tossing directions to Jay, "Watch my bike. Be right back," Sammy-Sam rushed up the steps.
Jay studied Sammy-Sam's bike for what seemed like six hours before the idea struck him to wonder how much the bike was worth and to whom he could sell it. Busting through the back door, two and a half minutes after he had run inside, Sammy-Sam interrupted Jay's self-wrestling about whether to ask or just take the bike and pay Sammy-Sam back later.
"Here man, it's all I got right now." Sammy-Sam shoved thirty dollars—two tens and two fives carefully folded over twice—into Jay's right palm. If Sammy-Sam hadn't given the 650 dollars to his mother just last week, giving fifty dollars to Jay would have been a snap.
Jay incredulously looked down at the money in his hand.
"It's thirty. Now all we got to do is figure out how to get the other twenty right quick."
Jay hadn't figured out anything. He wasn't sure what was happening. Stymied by this unexpected display of unusual generosity, Jay wondered what the deal was; was Sammy-Sam giving him the money? Naw, couldn't be. Didn't nobody give nobody no money for nothing. Jay knew that.
"How much I got to pay you back?" Jay was almost afraid to ask. He knew the interest rate was often tied to need, the more a lendee needed the money, the more the lender charged.
"Man, you got to pay Snowflake fifty dollars fo sundown tomorrow. You can pay me back whenever you get it. I'm yo homey. Snowflake, shit, ..." Sammy-Sam was at a lost for words to explain Snowflake's strangeness.
Although he never said "thanks," and instead kept staring at the money, Jay was truly grateful.
"Hey, man I just don't want to see nuthin' happen to you like what Snowflake did to Ronnie," confided Sammy-Sam putting a hand on Jay's shoulder.
Both Jay and Sammy-Sam's memory reeled backward recalling the menacing scene of Snowflake pistol whipping Ronnie the time Ronnie tried to hold back on Snowflake.
WHOP. Dead upside the head. The pistol seemed to appear like magic. One minute Snowflake had his hands in his pocket not saying nothing, next second a gun was arcing through the air. Look like a gash instantly opened up cross the left side of Ronnie's head. Blood came shooting out like squirts of sticky juice when you whack a super cold watermelon with a butcher knife.
WHOP. Snowflake hit Ronnie again while he was down on one knee trying to recover from the first blow. When the second blow hit, Ronnie fell like a fighter collapsing on his ass after taking the full force of a looping right hand from a 225 pound, well conditioned heavyweight.
Crumpling to the floor in slow motion, Ronnie moaned with a hurt that sounded like some kind of badly wounded animal. Crying and bleeding all over the place, the lanky youngster rolled over on the floor and curled up. Scared Snowflake was gon hit him again, Ronnie was trying to protect his head with his little adolescent hands.
Snowflake's eyes pierced into the cringing form occupying the middle of the floor, desperately clinging to the short, burgundy colored carpet fibers for lack of any other hiding place.
Snowflake squatted down beside Ronnie. He put the gun barrel in Ronnie's nose.
Jay looked at Ronnie's nose with the gun sticking in it. Then Jay looked at Snowflake's hand; it wasn't trembling or nothing. Then Jay looked at Sammy-Sam's face. Sammy-Sam was looking without blinking. Then Jay felt his own hand twitching involuntarily.
"Don't nobody double cross me." Snowflake was almost whispering but each word he said was clearly heard by all present. "Boy, I could shoot yo ass right now and wouldn't nobody blame me or do nothin about it. You know that?"
Ronnie didn't answer. He was cowering and trembling and whimpering. It sounded more like small squeals than like crying.
Jay was also silently crying. Jay didn't know he was crying, nevertheless tears freely flowed down Jay's cheeks. Ronnie and Jay used to be best friends before Sammy-Sam and Jay hooked up.
"What make you think you can cheat me? What make you think you smart enough to cheat me or anybody else? What make you think you can even think? ANSWER ME, NIGGAH?"
Ronnie just sniveled louder.
The entire room was holding its breath, praying Snowflake would decide to spare Ronnie's life. Even Snowflake's pet goldfish was looking at the scene in pop-eyed amazement. The fish wasn't smart enough to understand English, but it had enough sense to sense danger.
"Nah you wants to be puttin' on some kinda baby act. You steal from a man, you best be prepared to deal with gettin' caught. Ronnie, son, and I calls you son cause I likes you, son, please don't never steal from me no mo."
Snowflake turned his head toward Sammy-Sam and Jay, but he didn't take the pistol out of Ronnie's nose. "Ordinarily I would kill somebody who stole from me."
Sammy-Sam nodded his head yes. He didn't mean for Snowflake to kill Ronnie. He meant, yes, I understand you would kill somebody if you was mad enough or if you thought they done you wrong. And clearly Ronnie was wrong.
Snowflake, returned his attention to Ronnie. Using the leverage of the gun in Ronnie's left nostril, Snowflake forced Ronnie's head to turn until Ronnie was looking at Snowflake through eyes blurry with tears. Without saying a word, Ronnie begged Snowflake to spare his life.
Ronnie knew he was wrong. His passive acceptance of the pistol whipping said 'I know I'm guilty.' The quietness and absence of anything resembling anger acknowledged Ronnie knew that by the laws of the game, Snowflake had the right to take Ronnie's head.
Now Ronnie's head, held in place by the cold steel rod in his nose, was completely off the floor, suspended two inches above the carpet.
"Ordinarily I'd whip yo ass til I was tired and then I would pay one of them boys standin' there to whip you somemo'. But, Ronnie, I like you."
Snowflake slowly eased the gun out of Ronnie's nose.
"I like you. So, I'm gon give you another chance."
Snowflake stood up. Snowflake put the gun back in his pocket. It was just a little snub nose thirty-eight, but it looked so big. Snowflake straightened the crease on his trousers.
"Yaknow, crime pays but stealin' is a sin," Snowflake said to the ceiling. "Ronnie, get up and go wash yo face and then come back here. I got somethin' I want to tell you."
***
"And get me two pounds a pickle meat for the beans. And boy hurry up!" Myrtle's hollering out the second story window at her son, Pete, who was dallying cross the courtyard, broke the silence of Sammy-Sam and Jay remembering how Snowflake had treated Ronnie.
Sammy-Sam was thinking about how Snowflake didn't play. He remembered Snowflake's opening lecture given to everybody who worked for him. Snowflake always ended with "if you play crooked with me, I'ma straighten yo ass out."
Jay was thinking about jacking Pete. He needed twenty dollars. Although he doubted Pete had that much, maybe he had five or even a ten dollar bill; that would be a start. Jay tried to assess the odds: Pete didn't really know Jay cause Pete was only seven and went to a different school and Jay lived a good ways off, and, maybe it would work.
"I'ma see you later, man," Jay half said. When Jay was concentrating, he characteristically lowered his voice. Naw, Myrtle might of seen him and Sammy-Sam standing there, so if he jacked Pete, then Pete would tell Myrtle. Naw. Not Pete. But somebody. Somebody else. Not Pete. Jay shoved it into his pocket. But who else? Standing around the store waiting for somebody was too dangerous. Too easy to get caught.
"Yeah. Later, man." Sammy-Sam responded with a clasp of Jay's right hand and a brief embrace. "Call me later, Jay. Let me know what's happenin'."
"Yeah," Jay walked away deep in thought.
Jay never told Sammy-Sam how he got the rest of the money and Sammy-Sam never asked. He knew Jay had probably stolen it from some unfortunate person who just happened to cross Jay's path when Jay was in desperate need.
Sammy-Sam started off thinking about Jay's predicament and then began to think about how all of them were like Jay. Everybody had to have money and you got it the best way you could. If you weren't smart, you had to be strong or sneaky.
Everybody Sammy-Sam knew never had enough money, not even Snowflake. Everybody was just trying to make it. Sammy-Sam wished there was something else his friend Jay could do to make money. But all the things Jay was able to do well was stuff some authority figure said you wasn't suppose to do.
Damn, why even think about it. When there was a need, like what Jay had, what could you do?
While Sammy-Sam was sitting silently on the steps thinking and using a weed stalk to play with a string of ants, Pete passed by in a playful mood. He tossed a pebble at Sammy-Sam and quickly ducked into the next dooor stairwell.
Sammy-Sam looked up, "Hey, Pickle." All the kids called Pete "Pickle," which was short for "Pickle-Head," on account of Pete's elongated skull.
The giggling child peeked around the open door to see if Sammy-Sam was going to pitch something back at him. Sammy-Sam wasn't thinking about Pete. he was engrossed in studying the ants. No matter how many times Sammy-Sam disrupted their line, the ants reformed. Sammy-Sam thought about that. He thought about how all the ants did the same thing. That was all right for ants but he didn't want to do the same thing all his life.
Sammy-Sam stood up, threw the weed to the ground, dusted off his butt and went inside to his comic books. When he read those comic books he was in a different world.
That had been two months ago, now he had a more pressing problem. As he rode down the street, toward his rendezvous with Snowflake, Sammy-Sam's memory strayed far afield to avoid thinking about his problem. Sammy-Sam rode pass Ronnie's house. Ronnie.
Sammy-Sam remembered it clearly.
After they had left Snowflake and Ronnie, Sammy-Sam pedaled five blocks with Jay perched on the handlebars before pulling into the park so he and Jay could talk about what they had just seen.
They plopped down beside the new swimming pool, the same pool that hadn't been full since the last time it rained all day.
Although the pool was less than three years old, nobody who lived around there could accurately recall the last time the pool was open. It was 458 days ago, and that was right after they had a big rally in the park for the mayor's reelection.
Sammy-Sam had leaned his bike against the concrete side of the pool, the same side on which Jay had sprayed "RONNIE & TINY IS TIGHT LIKE THAT."
Neither one of them said anything.
Jay was thinking about how Ronnie had took the pistol whipping like a man. He never once broke down and begged for his life.
Sammy-Sam was thinking about how scared Ronnie was and wondering who Snowflake was trying to scare more, Ronnie or Jay and himself.
"I though Snowflake was gon blow Ronnie away, man," Jay stated, still shook up from witnessing the drama.
"Yeah," Sammy-Sam was uncomfortable about the whole way the deal went down. "Except, maybe he meant it to teach us a lesson."
"What chu mean?"
Sammy-Sam was sitting on the ground pulling at the grass between his legs. "I mean, maybe Snowflake wanted to make sure that the rest of us didn't ever try to steal nuthin' from him."
"Man, I wouldn't never try to steal nuthin' from Snowflake."
"That's the point."
"What's the point?"
"That you wouldn't never try to steal nuthin'."
"Oh..."
They fell silent.
"Sammy-Sam, you think Ronnie is all right."
"Yeah."
"Why?"
"Cause the nigger got a hard head." They both laughed. Jay knew what Sammy-Sam meant. Who could forget the time Rudy had hit Ronnie in the head with a stick and the stick broke. Everybody had laughed so hard, both Rudy and Ronnie had forgot about the fight they were having.
"Ronnie, knew better'n to try to hold back that money on Snowflake in the first place. What he think, Snowflake was just goin' to let him go?"
"Maybe Ronnie did lose it."
"Man, don't nobody be losin' no two hundred dollars like that. Here he come with fo fifty when he suppose to have six fifty, talkin' bout he don't know what happen to the other two hundred. You believe that shit?" Sammy-Sam continued without waiting for Jay to answer, "You know Ronnie better'n than anybody. You know good and well, Ronnie ain't lost no two hundred dollars."
"What cha think he did wit it then?"
"I don't know. Gave it to his momma. I don't know."
"You think he gon give it back?"
"He can't."
"Why he can't?"
"First, cause he got to live out his lie. He done told Snowflake he lost it. He done took the ass whippin' Snowflake put on him for losin' it. Now if he go back and give Snowflake the money, then Snowflake gon know he stole it, then Ronnie gon have to take another ass whippin' or maybe even a killin' behind stealin' from Snowflake. He know like I know, his best out is to go straight from here on in."
"We some lucky, huh?"
"Lucky how?"
"Lucky we workin' for Snowflake. He pay us good. If you fuck up, he give you a break. Where else we gon do this good?"
Sammy-Sam remembered how Jay had felt behind Snowflake literally kickin' Jay in the ass when Jay threw them rocks away.
"Get outta my face. Go get my fuckin' fifty dollars." While Jay was slowly retreating from the room, his head hangin' in shame, before anybody knew what was happening, Snowflake spun around and put a karate kick up Jay's rectum.
Everybody knew Snowflake knew karate. Most of the time he didn't demonstrate his martial prowress but this was one of the times when he put on a show.
Snowflake's pointed alligator-skin loafer moved with such swift accuracy that by the time Jay felt the sharp pain, Snowflake was standin' unsmiling on two feet. "Fifty fuckin' dollars, moth-her FUCKER!"
"You really think we lucky, Jay?"
"Yeah. Yeah, man. We lucky."
"Man, this ain't lucky. This is bullshit. We ain't lucky. We just ain't got much of a choice. Thas all man. We just ain't got much a choice."
After that pistol whipping, Jay had thought Ronnie was going to quit. But Sammy-Sam knew better. "Quit for what? Ronnie used to getting a whippin'. His crazy ass old man be beatin' on that boy even when he right sometimes."
Sammy-Sam was saying that but he shuddered just to think about how much pain Ronnie must have felt. Well, at least the money was good. "Besides, Jay, who else you think Ronnie could work for?"
***
"Hey Sammy-Sam!" Darlene's cheerful greeting snapped Sammy-Sam's attention back to the street. He didn't have time to stop and entertain no long conversation with Darlene but Darlene was sweet on him and he liked Darlene a little, so it made sense to at least stop.
"Hey," Sammy-Sam responded as he pulled up to the curb. Sammy-Sam stayed on his bike, twirling the pedal backwards with his left foot while bracing himself with his right foot on the curb. "I'm in a hurry right now. Got some business, but later Darlene, me and you."
"Yeah. Later like when Sammy-Sam?"
"Later like when I call you round five."
Darlene grinned, hunched her shoulders, and grinned some more.
Damn, that girl got some deep dimples, Sammy-Sam thought to himself admiring her smile as a slight smile flickered briefly across his own face. Darlene, for her part, enjoyed the little gap between Sammy-Sam's two front teeth.
"I gotta blow." Sammy-Sam pushed off. Looking back over his shoulder he hollered, "I'ma call, hear? Five o'clock. Hear?"
Darlene just laughed while watching the up and down, piston like motion of Sammy-Sam's lithe buttocks. Darlene liked Sammy-Sam's butt.
Sammy-Sam hoped Snowflake would give him a second chance the way he did for Ronnie. Ronnie was proof somebody could straighten up after making a mistake. Shit, Ronnie was even driving for Snowflake now.
"Now you see, Ronnie here. Ronnie is an example of achievement. I hope that the rest of you lil youngsters will learn from Ronnie. I believe in rewardin' achievement. Don't I Ronnie."
"Yes sir, Mr. Moore."
"Ronnie, what did I do when you made a mistake."
"You gave me a second chance."
"And what did you do?"
"I learned from my mistake and took advantage of the second chance."
There were about five or six of them in the room for Ronnie's promotion. At the end of his speech, Snowflake threw a set of keys to Ronnie. "Ronnie, these are the keys to our car. You are in charge of the car. You drive the car. You wash the car. You keep the car serviced."
When everybody else left that day, they rode away on their bikes or else they walked back home. Sixteen year old Ronnie and twenty-four year old Snowflake left in the brown BMW with genuine leather interior. Ronnie was driving (and grinning) and Snowflake was on the phone. Ronnie didn't even look at Sammy-Sam as they drove by. Snowflake waved with a barely perceptible flick of his fingers while he held the car phone receiver to his ear.
Maybe. Maybe not. Sammy-Sam stopped thinking about a pardon as he passed the park and watched Rudy chase down a short fly ball. Rudy was some fast. No sooner Rudy caught the ball, he had fired off a pitch to second trying to catch who ever that was what was diving back to the bag. He looked like he was safe but Sammy-Sam wasn't sure. Sammy-Sam didn't see the call and wasn't interested enough to circle back or even to stop to look back.
Rudy sure loved to play center field but Sammy-Sam couldn't see the challenge in playing baseball. Basketball. That was the game. Except Sammy-Sam wasn't all that tall, wasn't all that fast, and wasn't no great shooter. I'm good, Sammy-Sam thought to himself, but a whole lots of people is better.
Still, Sammy-Sam knew he would go out for the team, just like most of his buddies was going to try out too. Some of them didn't really care about winning as much as they cared about getting one of them gold shiny jackets Snowflake had bought for the baseball team and had said he was going to buy for the basketball team and the karate team.
Snowflake.
Sammy-Sam started pumping harder. Let's get it over with.
To everybody that saw him whizzing by, Sammy-Sam looked normal enough, but Sammy-Sam's hands were sweating heavily as he got closer to Snowflake's house.
Sammy-Sam's hands weren't sweating because it was hot and humid, although the temperature in New Orleans was in the low 90s and the humidity was running neck and neck with the temperature, like two sprinters trying to nose out each other at the tape.
Sammy-Sam's hands were sweating because he was missing four thousand dollars in brand new hundred dollar bills wrapped in a big white envelope with a red rubber band around the envelope, all inside a plastic A&P grocery bag, stuffed into the bottom of his school bag he kept under his bed. The bag was a blue canvas knapsack with light blue trim that Tyronne had bought for Sammy-Sam.
The bag had been under the bed where Sammy-Sam had stashed it. The money was missing and it was time to go meet Snowflake.
Sammy-Sam looked under the bed twice, just in case the money had fallen out. But he knew the money hadn't fallen out cause he had zipped the bag tightly and checked it last night when he went to sleep, and checked it in the morning when he woke up. He had only gone to the corner store and when he got back he had lay on his bed and read two comic books. And then it was almost time to go meet Snowflake and he had reached under his bed and pulled his bag out. And, because he was systematic in the way he did everything, Sammy-Sam opened his bag to count his money to make sure everything was still in order. And that's when Sammy-Sam had discovered the money was gone.
Maybe Tyronne took it. No. Tyronne never so much as even went in his room without asking. Maybe Gloria had got to it. No, she couldn't have opened it. Maybe... It had to have been his momma. She must have taken the money.
Sammy-Sam had immediately run into the living room and looked at the clock. He was supposed to meet Snowflake at twelve noon. It was then ten fifty-eight.
Nobody was home.
Sammy-Sam looked under the bed for a third time.
He looked in the refrigerator.
He looked behind the sofa.
He looked in the closet.
He looked under the sink.
He looked in the bathroom closet by the towels.
He looked underneath his mama's bed. He looked under the mattress. He looked in all the drawers in the chest of drawers. He looked everywhere he could think to look in his momma's room.
He looked through a lot of her personal items he had never ever touched before. He looked in every purse he could find. He looked in a pink cloth bag that had his momma's diaphragm. He even looked inside the big box of Tampax.
No money.
It was ten minutes to twelve. Still, nobody was home.
He had to go.
Sammy-Sam never thought about not going.
He had to go. That was his responsibility. A man stands up and takes his medicine. He was a man. He would take the medicine.
"I guess he gon kill me," Sammy-Sam whispered to himself. Am I ready to die, Sammy-Sam wondered.
It didn't have to be all of this. Sammy-Sam was angry with himself for not figuring out a way to bring the money to Snowflake on Friday evening like he was suppose to.
Suddenly it hit him. "Momma," Sammy-Sam was talking out loud to himself. He hit his brakes, pulled up to a complete stop, leaned back, twisted around and looked back toward home, "momma knew somethin', that's why she made me go make groceries with her. It wasn't about watching no Gloria."
***
"Sammy. Sammy." Rita opened the door and looked at her son laying on his back reading a comic book. He had a stack of comic books resting beside him. Rita liked to see her son reading even though she wished he would read his school books more. "Sammy why don't you read your school books like that."
"Huh? What?" Sammy-Sam put the book down and gave his mother his full attention.
"Ain't you got some homework?"
"It's Friday."
"So, it's Friday."
"They don't give us no homework on Fridays."
"Since when? When I was in school we used to have plenty homework on Friday, more'n on the other days."
Sammy-Sam had heard that speech many, many times before. He had already returned to reading his comic book.
"Where your school books?"
"Huh?" With his mouth gapping open, Sammy-Sam looked away from the monster scientist who was threatening to blow up galaxy five. He had developed a habit of reading with his mouth open, not mouthing the words or moving his lips, he just read with his mouth hanging open. "What momma?"
"Where your school books?"
"In my bag."
He went back to reading.
"Where your bag?"
"Under my bed."
"Why you slinging that good bag up under that dirty bed?"
"Cause."
"Cause what, Sammy?"
"Cause."
"Sammy, me and Tee bought you a desk with a draw in it so you would have some place to keep you school books and stuff. Tee bought you that bag to carry yo books in. You carry yo books in yo bag. You keep yo books in yo desk."
"Ok."
"Well?"
"Well, what?"
"Nothing." And before he could react, Rita had stooped to one knee, reached under the bed and was pulling the bag out. "Look, let me show you how easy it is."
"How easy what is?"
"How easy it is to put yo books away."
When Sammy-Sam heard the zipper shriek as Rita opened the bag, he jumped up and grabbed the bag so fast, he almost knocked Rita over. The money was in the bag.
"Boy, what is wrong with you? You near bout knocked me down." At that moment Rita realized something was wrong. Sammy was hiding something. Had Sammy-Sam been looking into his mother's eyes, he would have seen it, but instead he had turned his back and was pulling the books out, quickly throwing them on the bed and then firmly rezipping the bag. He held the bag in his hands.
"I can put my own books away."
"I know you can, but you didn't," Rita replied.
Sammy-Sam had felt her glaring at his back, but he remained silent.
"Excuse me."
"What?"
"Excuse me. Say, 'excuse me.' You nearly knocked me down."
"Excuse me."
Rita walked out of the room. This was not like Sammy.
Ten minutes later when Sammy-Sam had come bouncing out of the bedroom, his blue bag on his back, Rita immediately noticed it.
"Sammy, where you going?"
"Round to Jay. Me and him gon watch Eddie Murphy on the video. He said his daddy was gon rent a Eddie Murphy movie."
Rita hadn't asked him why he was taking his bag and she didn't believe he was going to watch Eddie Murphy. Something was wrong and, until he would tell her what was going on, all she could think to do was keep him close to her.
"Sammy, you call Jay and tell him you can't come. I need you to go to the store with me. I need you to watch Gloria."
Sammy-Sam should have realized his momma was suspicious, instead he misread her concern and thought she was just punishing him for almost knocking her down.
"And, Sammy, you can leave your bag here."
He hadn't really heard that last remark. His mind was already figuring out how to let Snowflake know he had the money but he couldn't bring it at the time he was supposed to.
Sammy-Sam turned around, went straight to the phone, called Jay. "Tell Snowflake, I'ma call him when I get back and I'll come by later."
***
One block from Snowflake's house, reviewing the scene in his mind, the mystery was beginning to clear up. Yeah. She knew something.
As he stood there, astride his purple bike, Sammy-Sam was sure his mother had taken the money out of his bag. Now the question was should he go back and wait for her or should he meet Snowflake at twelve like he had called Snowflake earlier that morning and told Snowflake he would.
Sammy-Sam weighted the pros and cons of his options and decided it was best to go to Snowflake first since he was only a block away. Besides, ain't no telling who Snowflake had checking him out and it wouldn't look good for Sammy-Sam to be seen riding up to Snowflake's house and then turning around. As for his momma, Sammy-Sam figured he could tell her the truth. She knew something anyway. He wasn't street dealing and he wasn't using. All he was doing was carrying dope and money back and forth. He had kept his promise to her. Maybe she would understand. Maybe not.
"I shouldda knowed something was wrong. Maybe I shouldda left a note for momma." As he pushed off, Sammy-Sam looked around to see if anybody had heard him talking to himself. He continued his conversation with himself inside his head: But then again, maybe not. He didn't want her blaming herself if something happened. If something happened. Shit. Something definitely was gon happen.
Maybe Snowflake would let him bring the money back later. Naw, that didn't even make no sense. On top all that, suppose his momma didn't have the money.
This was the hardest thing Sammy-Sam ever remembered having to do. It never occurred to him to go to the police, besides they were dealing too. He could have stayed home and waited for his momma and then if she had the money he might have been able to talk her into giving it back to him so he could bring it round to Snowflake. It also never occurred to Sammy-Sam to tell Tyronne and ask him for help, besides he hadn't even seen Tyronne except for a few minutes late Friday night.
This was Sammy-Sam's responsibility and he would take care of it himself. Sammy-Sam's fourteen-year-old ghetto logic didn't allow him to even think about running away. Besides Snowflake liked Sammy-Sam.
"Where you get two first names from boy?"
"Well my momma named me Samuel and sometimes she call me Sammy and sometimes she call me..."
"Sam."
"No, uh-uh. She either call me Samuel or Sammy. The kids at school would all the time be callin' me Sam. And so I would tell them to call me Sammy like my momma call me. And one day, Jay caps on me, Jay hollers, 'hey, yall this nigger sho is some kind a confused. Boy what's yo name, Sammy or Sam.' I said, 'my name is Sammy.' Jay said, 'kiss my ass, yo name Sam.' I said, 'Nigger, I'll kick yo ass, my name Sammy.' And so we started to fight."
"Who won?"
"Nobody. It was a tie. On account of that they started calling me Sammy-Sam." Snowflake had laughed loudly, his mouth wide open, his eyes closed, his head thrown back.
"Thas all right. Thas all right. I likes that."
Then there was the time Snowflake made that woman suck Sammy-Sam's dick. Sammy-Sam couldn't believe it at first.
"Sammy-Sam I likes you. You the first cat I don hired that ain't never fucked up. When I moved you up to carryin' my shit, we ain't never had a problem. You ain't never lost nothin' and you ain't never tried to take nothin'. You just do damn good work. I likes that. I likes that. I'ma do somethin' for you to show you my appreciation for the fine job you doin'. Come here."
Snowflake had put his arm around Sammy-Sam's shoulders. Snowflake hollered at Jay and Ronnie, "what the fuck yall lookin' at. Beat it. Yall been paid. Make like a tree and leave."
Snowflake had winked at Sammy-Sam. It was a conspiratorial wink between men. A shared joke at the expense of the boys.
"Sammy-Sam you ever had a blow job? Hmmm?"
Sammy-Sam remembered how he hadn't been able to believe Snowflake's offer and had just shook his head from side to side. Snowflake had winked again. "Well I got a bitch in the back room who gon fix you up."
Maybe, Snowflake would spare Sammy-Sam's life.
Sammy-Sam pulled his bike up on the porch.
Naw.
Sammy-Sam put the kick stand down. He stooped to open the combination lock on the chain that was...
"Hey, man. Come on in." Snowflake was looking for Sammy-Sam's blue booksack. It wasn't on his back like it usually was. Something was wrong, radically wrong. Sammy-Sam looked nervous. "Bring your bike inside, don't leave it out here. Somethin' might happen."
Something was wrong, mighty wrong, Sammy-Sam thought. Wouldn't nobody around here take nothing off of Snowflake porch and Snowflake had never before invited him to bring his bike inside. Damn, how was he gon say this to Snowflake.
Sometimes you just say stuff. Cause the more you think about it, the more confused you get. It was at that moment Sammy-Sam truly understood, "study long, you study wrong." Sammy-Sam smiled as he comprehended the futility of explaining what had happened. Sammy-Sam couldn't explain it because he didn't know what had happened.
Snowflake saw Sammy-Sam smile. Something was wrong don't nobody grin like that less you catch them wrong.
Snowflake had a steel mind. He was used to people trying to beat him out of his shit. He was used to people plotting on catching him wrong. He was used to the police sending stoolies, spies and plants trying to bust his ass. He was used to bitches trying to figure out how to get money out of him. He was used to being shot at and shot. Snowflake was nobody's fool and though he sometimes made mistakes, he never made the same mistake twice.
You could punch the silence with your fist it was so solid.
The only thing Snowflake couldn't figure was why Sammy-Sam was fucking up. Sammy-Sam was the last one Snowflake would a figured would fuck up. Snowflake was disappointed.
Softly, and with a sound that was almost hiss like, Snowflake expelled air through his nose, then gently cleared his throat.
Snowflake scratched his chin.
Snowflake stood in a slight crouch with his legs shoulder length apart, assuming a martial arts, modified horse stance, which was Snowflake's most comfortable position when he had to confront a problem.
Snowflake folded his hands low over his groin, the right hand on top of the left hand, the left hand on top his joint.
"You got my money, man?" he asked even though he was already certain Sammy-Sam didn't have the money. Still, Snowflake couldn't figure out why Sammy-Sam was holding out on him.
While waiting for Sammy-Sam's reply, Snowflake gave up trying to figure it out any further. He learned long ago not to ask people to lie to him by asking them for explanations of why they were doing wrong when Snowflake caught them doing something wrong to him.
Whys and wherefores was for philosophers to figure out. Snowflake was not a philosopher. Snowflake was a dealer, and a dealer always got his money. One way or another, always get your money.
Snowflake had an iron law: never suffer a wrong without giving out a punishment.
Snowflake was not sadistic. He never punished for the pleasure of punishing, but he never let a wrong go unpunished. That was Snowflake's law and this was Snowflake's turf. And anybody broke Snowflake's law, don't care what the reason was—they mama coulda had a heart attack and they needed the money for surgery—fuck with Snowflake and you will suffer. Snowflake's law was like gravity; it applied to everybody.
Snowflake was tired waiting for Sammy-Sam's answer.
At that moment, while Snowflake was looking through him with murderously cold but calm eyes, Sammy-Sam remembered his vow. He looked up at Snowflake.
"I ain't got it."
“So where my money at?”
“I.. I don’t know.” Sammy-Sam steeled himself. All he could do was tell the truth and suffer the consequences. Snowflake was more disappointed than upset.
Sammy-Sam couldn't think of anything else to do so he kinda folded his arms. He wasn't being defiant or anything. He was scared, but he was a man and he wasn't going to cry.
Snowflake raised his hand, extended his index finger and pushed against the bridge of his glasses. Then covering his mouth with his hand, Snowflake curled his index finger beneath his nose and across his mustache. Snowflake was calculating.
Snowflake's eyes betrayed nothing. Sammy-Sam could not tell what Snowflake was thinking.
Sammy-Sam started to look away, to look down, but then he held his head up and looked into Snowflake's eyes.
Snowflake might as well have been wearing a Mardi Gras mask. Not one muscle in his smooth, deep ebony face had moved. Snowflake stood still as a statue.
Sammy-Sam shifted his weight back and forth from foot to foot, waiting for Snowflake to ask him "why, what happened?". Sammy-Sam wasn't going to lie, he was going to tell the truth. He didn't know what had happened.
As he finished thinking through the situation, the only unanswered question Snowflake had was what to do with Sammy-Sam's purple bike.
Snowflake didn't want Ronnie or any of the others to touch it, and certainly he couldn't be seen carrying the boy's bike. Snowflake tapped the bridge of his glasses again. Suddenly it came to him: get Brenda to take care of the bike. Call her on the way back from the dump. She could even go get it while he wasn't there.
Satisfied he had found the solution, Snowflake thought it through to make sure there were no holes: I'll go in my other car. Then maybe I'll drive up to Baton Rouge, be seen up there, buy some shit on my credit card. Establish an alibi. Brenda'll take care the bike. Yeah.
Snowflake touched his back pocket to make sure he had his wallet, which contained his Mastercard with his name embossed on it: Paul Moore.
"Sammy-Sam, we got to talk. Come on."
Sammy-Sam went for his bike.
"That's ok, leave it. Ride with me."
Snowflake decisively strode to his front door, opened it and motioned with his hand for Sammy-Sam to exit.
Sammy-Sam had dreaded the confrontation with Snowflake. The focus of Sammy-Sam's fear had been Snowflake's house, that front room where punishment was meted out with a swiftness and certainty that made the courts downtown seem just like the inefficient and ineffective anachronisms they actually were.
Sammy-Sam remembered Jay and Ronnie, as well as numerous stories of other unfortunates who had, in one way or another, messed up, and who resultantly got kicked in the ass, pistol whipped or otherwise corporeally disciplined by Snowflake.
Now that Sammy-Sam had survived his meeting in the front room, this room seemed like a haven. Sammy-Sam knew what a pistol whipping in the front room was about but Sammy-Sam could not even imagine what type of punishment Snowflake had in mind to take place outside, unless it was Sammy-Sam's execution.
Sammy-Sam's legs felt tight like after a hard basketball game early in the season. The first tremors of a muscle spasm were bothering Sammy-Sam's left hamstring. Nervously Sammy-Sam wanted to take a leak but could not summon up the courage to ask Snowflake for any favor at that moment, so he walked through the door and stood motionless on the front porch.
Sammy-Sam was mentally bewildered and emotionally overwhelmed. When Sammy-Sam heard the door slam behind him and heard Snowflake's keys jingle as he took them out of his pocket, Sammy-Sam flinched. It had sounded like a shot to Sammy-Sam but he was both relieved and further frightened when he realized he was not shot. He was still alive. For now, but what next?
Reacting to the door's slam much, much slower than a runner springing from the blocks at the sound of the starter's pistol, Sammy-Sam just started walking: off the porch down the steps. Through the gate onto the sidewalk. Sammy-Sam didn't know where he was going, and every step was hard.
Sammy-Sam was afraid to look around. He was also afraid to ask Snowflake any questions. Willing his legs not to tremble, Sammy-Sam decided his best bet was to go up to Snowflake's BMW parked at the curb in front of Snowflake's house. Without looking around, Sammy-Sam stood waiting for Snowflake to unlock the door.
Snowflake had walked past the BMW, unlocked and slid into the metallic red Datsun Z, closed the door softly, locked on his seat belt and impatiently honked the horn. Sammy-Sam looked up with a start, confused. He was disoriented. The horn sounded again. Sammy-Sam couldn't figure out who was blowing or whether they were blowing at him. Where was Snowflake? Impatiently, the horn sounded a third time.
Snowflake reached over and pushed the passenger's door open. Sammy-Sam trotted over to the Z. From the outside, all Sammy-Sam could see was dark tinted windows mutely blank, but the front door was open so Sammy-Sam leaned over and looked inside to make sure it was Snowflake.
Snowflake turned the key to start the engine before Sammy-Sam got in the car.
Snowflake looked straight ahead.
As Sammy-Sam was closing the door behind him, Snowflake's right hand flicked to the dash, hit a button and the soothing sounds of Anita Baker leapt from the rear speakers.
Snowflake pulled smoothly into the traffic.
Snowflake had put on a pair of Kool Moe Dee type, wrap-around sunglasses he kept in his Z.
Sammy-Sam couldn't see Snowflake's eyes. The music was so loud Sammy-Sam could barely hear his own thoughts. Outside of the car, barely perceived sights took on the aura of a silent movie.
The muscles in Sammy-Sam's face started minute movements and eventually coagulated into a mask of anguish. Even though buffeted by the blast of cool air from the car's air conditioning system, small beads of perspiration began to form on Sammy-Sam's young crinkled brow.
Sammy-Sam heard this pounding. It seemed so close to him. At first he thought it was something in the car, but then Sammy-Sam understood he was listening to his own heart beat. Without warning, Sammy-Sam suddenly felt nauseous. He stifled the urge and swallowed hard twice even though his mouth was dry. Sammy-Sam was trying to think of something intelligent to say.
"You gon kill me, huh?"
Snowflake looked over at the young boy and briefly hallucinated that the young boy sitting beside him was Paul Moore at thirteen being driven to the park by his Uncle Henry, the same Uncle who pulled his pants down, the same Uncle who... How could Snowflake answer the question?
Snowflake remembered his own questioning: "Uncle Henry what you doing to me? Uncle Henry why?" Snowflake remembered he had known, even without ever being told by anyone, he had known what his Uncle Henry did to him was wrong. Snowflake also remembered how his uncle's cigar fouled breath had repeated slowly over and over, "Paul, I wouldn't hurt you. I love you boy. I wouldn't hurt you. I wouldn't hurt you."
But it had hurt when Uncle Henry had stuck his stiff penis up Paul Moore's rectum. Snowflake shifted uncomfortably in the seat thinking about it. Gradually, Snowflake realized Sammy-Sam reminded Snowflake of himself.
Uncomfortably, Snowflake also realized this car ride reminded him of the car ride to the park he and Uncle Henry had taken years ago.
Sammy-Sam's question reverberated inside of Snowflake's skull. After that car ride, Snowflake had cried and between the tears promised himself he would never be used like that again and his Uncle Henry would never catch him alone again in this life time, never.
Actually, Snowflake had not cried; Paul Moore had cried. The transmutation from Paul Moore to Snowflake at that time had not yet taken place.
No one now alive (not even his older brother Silas whom he idolized), no one except Snowflake knew this story—and Snowflake intended to keep it that way.
That's what it was, the way Sammy-Sam was sitting all hunched up, his small hands shoved between his knees, that's exactly how Snowflake had sat on the way back from the park, his butt aching, shame and humiliation dripping from every pore of his body.
I can't kill this boy, he reminds me of me too much, Snowflake involuntarily thought to himself.
Sammy-Sam saw Snowflake squirm in his seat and took it as confirmation that Snowflake did indeed intend to kill him.
"No, I'm not going to kill you." Snowflake cursed himself. He couldn't believe he was being sentimental.
The atmosphere was tainted by the stilted silence of Sammy-Sam waiting to find out what Snowflake was going to do to him and Snowflake trying to figure out how to handle a simple situation that had unexpectedly turned into emotional quicksand. Clearly Snowflake could not afford to let a fourteen year old boy beat him out of four thousand dollars. If he did he would have niggers challenging him left and right, no, it didn't make sense not to punish Sammy-Sam.
"Buckle your seat belt."
"Huh?"
Snowflake repeated himself, "buckle your seat belt."
Snowflake was remembering the ride back home. All the way back home he had wanted to scream at his uncle, "why, why, why you did this to me? Why?" But at the time there didn't seem to be any reason other than his uncle wanted to and his uncle was strong, and he was weak.
The only difference Snowflake could see between Sammy-Sam and himself when he had been forced on that awful journey was that Sammy-Sam wasn't crying. All during the deed, Paul Moore had cried, and afterwards, pulling his pants back up, and afterwards climbing back into the car—he had had to get back in the car, they were so far away from home—one hand on the door handle. Snowflake remembered how he had been ready to jump out in case his uncle tried to touch him again.
Snowflake looked over at Sammy-Sam. Snowflake reached down with his left hand and hit the door lock buttons. The click of the automatic locks seemed to Snowflake to sound louder than they had ever sounded before.
Sammy-Sam looked at Snowflake. Snowflake avoided eye contact and return his visual attention to the traffic.
No, Snowflake could not afford to let Sammy-Sam go. Snowflake knew what had to be done and the only question was who was actually going to pull the trigger. Regardless of whom he got, if he was going to drive to Baton Rouge, Snowflake reasoned he needed gas. Riley's Shell station was nearby.
Snowflake always bought Shell. Even when Carl and the others tried to start a boycott against Shell on the apartheid issue, Snowflake had not stopped buying Shell. He never drove cross a picket line but he was always able to find a Shell where there was no line. Besides, Snowflake reasoned, none of the other brands had a Black owned station nearby and there was one Shell station that was Black owned so that's where he would go.
When they pulled into the gas station, a young, light-skinned girl with blue short shorts on was walking down the sidewalk. The girl's skin color reminded Snowflake of Sheila. Snowflake knew Sheila would do it.
"Here," said Snowflake holding out a ten dollar bill to Sammy-Sam, "go get me a fill-up."
Glad for the opportunity to get out of the car, Sammy-Sam quickly took the money, unbuckled the seat belt, and pulled on the door handle. The door was still locked. Snowflake didn't realize Sammy-Sam was waiting on him to unlock the door and Sammy-Sam didn't feel brave enough to ask Snowflake to unlock the door. After a few seconds Snowflake looked over at Sammy-Sam, he saw Sammy-Sam's hand on the door handle. Sammy-Sam pulled at the handle again. Only then did Snowflake understand that Sammy-Sam was locked in the car.
Snowflake hit the master lock lever, "Hurry back, I ain't got all day." Snowflake turned the engine off.
Sammy-Sam jumped out of the car into the afternoon heat. After the tomb like cold of the car, both the high humidity as well as the high temperature of the outside air felt invitingly good.
Sammy-Sam went to the window, paid for the gas, jiggling back and forth as he felt the pressure on his bladder.
"Yall got a bathroom?"
"Toilets on the other side, kid."
Sammy-Sam ran quickly around the building almost unable to hold his urine. The door knob was broken and just a slight push sent the door flying open. Sammy-Sam fumbled with his zipper and barely got the zipper down and his penis in his hand before a long stream poured from him.
After two minutes had passed and Sammy-Sam hadn't returned to the car, Snowflake turned his head to see what was happening. Snowflake knew Sammy-Sam hadn't decided to run. If he was going to run, he never would have come to Snowflake's house in the first place, but then again, Snowflake thought, you never can be sure what somebody will do under pressure.
Pressing the power window switch, Snowflake eased the passenger window half way down. Snowflake didn't see Sammy-Sam anywhere. "This boy better not make me run after his ass."
Snowflake lightly scratched the back of his neck. Looked up and thought about whether he should go looking for Sammy-Sam now or send somebody to get him later on. No, it wouldn't do for him to be seen running after Sammy-Sam. Snowflake looked out the window again and while he was looking began easing the window up. "I'll get him. Ain't no where he can run to that I won't find him."
Snowflake turned the key. The engine started, but before he could put the car in gear, Sammy-Sam came running up to the car. Sammy-Sam tapped on the driver's window. Snowflake eased the window down.
"I need the key to..." Sammy-Sam pointed to the gas pump, "to put the gas in."
Snowflake stared at Sammy-Sam. The boy looked terrified. Without saying a word, Snowflake pulled the lever that opened the small door, which accessed the gas line. Then he eased the window up.
Sammy-Sam heard the gas door pop open. Sammy-Sam ran to the pump and began pumping gas.
"Bitch, you better be home," Snowflake said to himself as he dialed Sheila's number on his car phone.
"What?" Sheila answered the phone without any display of emotion or expectation, just a flat acknowledgment she was there. She might have been a tenth grader absent mindedly answering a teacher's roll call.
"That's a funny ass way to be answering the phone."
"What?"
"This me."
"What?"
"I got some light work for you."
"What?"
"It don't matter. What ever I tell you to do, that's what you'll do."
"When?"
"In five minutes, bitch! And hey, put some clothes on." Snowflake hung up.
Sammy-Sam saw Snowflake use the phone but he couldn't hear the conversation. The car only took $7.58 of gas. Sammy-Sam replaced the pump handle and ran over to the window to collect Snowflake's change. Sammy-Sam ran back to the car, stood at the door for three brief seconds trying to decide whether to knock on the glass or just get in. Sammy-Sam decided to get in without knocking.
"What took you so long?"
Sammy-Sam pathetically held out his hand with the $2.42 of change. Snowflake peeped at Sammy-Sam with a quick dart of his eyes and no motion of his head.
"Keep it."
Snowflake pulled out into the traffic. On the way over to where Sheila was staying, Anita Baker did all the talking.
Snowflake parked.
"You stay here. I'ma leave the keys in the ignition so the phone'll work. When the phone ring, you answer it. You know how to use it?"
"Huh?"
"You know how to use the phone?"
"Uh-huh," Sammy-Sam mumbled affirmatively.
Snowflake took off the sunglasses, put them in the glove compartment, exchanged them for his clear lens glasses and then climbed casually out of the car. Snowflake's eyes were good. He didn't really need corrective lens, however, he wore the glasses because he thought the expensive designer frames looked good on him—sort of gave him a distinguished, intelligent appearance.
Anita Baker was still singing.
A minute passed. Sammy-Sam was a jumble of emotions.
"I won't cry."
Another minute passed.
Anita Baker was still singing. When the cassette had come to the end of one side, the machine automatically began playing the other side.
Another minute passed.
Sammy-Sam sat dutifully waiting for the phone to ring.
Another minute passed.
Another minute.
The phone rang. Sammy-Sam pounced on it.
"Hello."
"Look like I'm gon be here awhile, Sammy-Sam. I want you to come on round. Climb over to the driver's side, turn the switch all the way off, take the keys out, open the door, hit the door lock, get out, close the door and come round here to the green house around the corner in back of you on your right as you walk to the corner. Hey, baby what's the address here. What? Twenty-three what? Twenty-three forty. Come to twenty-three forty General Pershing Street. Got that?"
"Yes sir."
"Good. Come on. And Sammy-Sam, make sure my car is locked."
Sammy-Sam followed the instructions. He wouldn't allow himself to think about what would happen next. Snowflake had had the chance to kill him and didn't. Snowflake didn't even get mad with him. Sammy-Sam began to delude himself: maybe I'll get another chance after all.
Sammy-Sam walked to the front door. Knocked.
"What?" It was a woman's voice.
"It's me. Uh, Sammy-Sam."
The door opened and Sammy-Sam relaxed. For only the second time that day, a slight smiled creased his young face. This was the woman who had sucked him off.
—kalamu ya salaam