Jeffery Allen - Holding Pattern - Stories

The dick come up behind me, breathin and coughin all hard. He reach down and jerk me to my feet. He keeps one hand on me, the other on his hip, and stands there swayin from side to side, tryin to catch his breath. Damn, he says, grinnin and shakin his head. They make you all dumber every day. Nobody never told you how to keep yo pants up?

What? I look down and see my jeans all tangled up around my ankles. I’m standin there in my draws. People is pointin and laughin.

You got enough room in there for an entire family.

Would you pull my pants up?

Maybe I should take your picture.

A second dick comes over with Crust and Ham. He takes one look at me and tells his partner, Pull his pants up. The first dick pulls up my pants. They start to walk away wit us.

Damn, he could run.

Couldn’t he.

Need to put him in the Olympics.

Jesse Owens.

They take us back into this little office. That’s when I get my firs good look at the two dicks. The dick who’d caught me ain’t much older than myself. He got this lil lima-bean head and this peach fuzz on his chin, which he keep stuck way out for the world’s admiration. The second dick older, a big ugly Frankenstein-lookin motherfucker. Round pigeon shoulders and muscular ears. Face all scrunched up and serious, like he bitin down on his words, snappin them in two. He shoves me into the wall. Okay, let’s see some ID.

You lookin at it.

You don’t have any ID?

I lost my wallet.

I’ll go back and see if I can find it, Peach Fuzz says.

Nawl. I lost it a long time ago.

Monster Dick starts goin through my pants pockets, pullin the long insides out like banana peels. Look, I say, mind my civils.

Be quiet, Peach Fuzz says. Civil rights are for citizens. You’re underaged.

What? Hey, I’m not—

Frankenstein shoves me into a chair. Sit there. Shut up. Then he bear-hugs the kids and starts pullin them toward his face like he gon screw them into his eyes. They start bawlin. Juicy! Juicy! Mamma! Mamma!

Hey, Officer, I say, don’t scare the kids.

He lets them go and points to a chair. They squeeze into it. Then he stand there lookin at me. Mr. Hero, he says.

You shouldn scare the kids.

Mr. Hero.

I jus sit there watchin him, quiet.

Mr. Hero, let me ask you something.

I know my rights.

Come on, just one question. Off the record.

I watch him. Off the record?

I would have it no other way.

Aw ight, then.

Where will you be in five years?

Dead.

The dick’s frown burns away.

But see, we criminals never die. I’ll probably come back as a pimp or serial killer in my next lifetime. Maybe even the president.

His face seals over in anger. So, you one of those smart ones.

Look, I messed up. You caught me. Slippin. Can we get on with it? No disrespect. Can you jus gon and write my summons?

Wish we could, the young dick says, but we don’t handle kids. City policy.

I ain’t a kid.

He grins. Okay, if you say so. But what about them? He motions to Crust and Ham.

Can’t we forget about them?

Wish we could. But I’m not getting caught up in a lawsuit.

Lawsuit?

Everybody wants to sue nowdays.

Look, I jus wanna—

I already told you. We don’t handle kids. You don’t like that policy, take it up with the city council. The mayor.

Man, I don’t believe this.

The young dick sits down at his desk and starts fillin out some forms.

What? I got to wait fo you to do yo paperwork?

That’s right. Then you’ll go down to the Hundred-and-seventh Precinct.

I don’t believe this.

Why don’t you try to relax.

Frankenstein leanin against the wall beside the desk, lookin at me. I eye his badge: JASON GEORGE SAMS.

I be like, Hey, yall ain’t even real cops. What kind of cop got three first names?

Frankenstein don’t say a word.

Why don’t you jus gon and call the real cops.

The transit dick puts his pen down and starts lookin at me. Hey, you want this to take all night? I didn’t think so. Why don’t you pipe down and relax. He starts back on his form.

Hey, Hero, Frankenstein says to me. You mind if I have one of your cigarettes?

What? You on the job.

Maybe I want to smoke it after I get off the job.

I’m thinkin, Why this nigga fuckin wit me? They ain’t mine.

What, you stole them?

How you gon play me like that? Officer, I ain’t no thief. I’m a sneak.

My mistake. So, Hero, let me just take one of your cigarettes, see, and I’ll tell them to let you keep the pack. Otherwise.

Okay.

He removes Juicy’s pack of squares from this plastic bag, opens it, and pulls outta square. He taps the butt, puts the square between his teeth, and fires it up wit his own lighter.

Hey, Jason, the other dick says, pass me one of those.

Jason holds out the pack fo the young dick, and he waste no time pullin outta square and firin it up. And the two of them jus start puffin like crazy, the young dick sittin there at his desk, strings of smoke risin up to the ceiling, jerkin him this way and that like he some kinda puppet. And the other one real relaxed against the wall, blowin fat white rings and cannonballs.

Hey, I say.

They look at me.

Ain’t you heard?

Heard what?

Smokin is bad for you. Make yo balls shrink.

I guess that jus pissed em off big-time, cause they hurry up and finish those squares mad quick, then fire up two fresh ones. They smoke on those long and good, till they see these two city dicks approachin the office, strapped with gats, nightsticks, radios, handcuffs, and mace. The transit dicks stub out the squares in a glass ashtray and shove the ashtray into a metal drawer.

This him? one cop asks.

That’s him.

Workin together, the municipal dicks pull me up from the chair and start pattin me down.

We already frisked him, Frankenstein says. Here are his effects.

They continue to frisk me. Satisfied, one dick takes the plastic bag from Frankenstein, the pack of squares inside. Paperwork?

Peach Fuzz holds out a form. The dick takes the form and folds it into his breast pocket. Two other city dicks come and take Crust and Ham into they custody. Jus befo the kids step outta the room, they turn to me and throw up they sign. I nod.

I guess we’re about done here. Okay, son. Let’s go.

We get on the elevator and rise up to the street like smoke up a chimney. Then they shove me in the back of this paddy wagon and slam the door shut. And I jus sit there like the last sardine in a can, dry and forgotten. Ain’t gon lie, I’m scared as a motherfucker.

They hustle me into the precinct and we go in one room after another, the escortin dicks noddin to the station dicks. Seem like we walk damn near a mile. Finally, we come to this one tiny-ass room wit jus one dick, sittin at a desk, readin a sports magazine.

Hey, Steve, look who we got for you.

The dick named Steve looks up at me from his desk.

This here’s — tell him your name.

I tell him my name.

Ain’t he a beauty. I’m thinking I should take him home and make him my son.

Could I have him first? Steve tosses his magazine on top of a pile of papers on his desk.

Only if you say please.

Please.

Okay.

The cop shoves me into the chair next to Steve’s desk and hands Steve the form and my personal effects. Steve takes a quick look at the form and flips it onto his desk.

Routine, he says.

That’s right. Nothing special. Never is.

Thanks, guys.

The two dicks turn and head outta the room. Steve tapes the form to my personal-effects bag, then tosses the bag onto the desk. Halfway out the door, one of the departin dicks stops and turns back around. Hey, Steve?