“Fuck that shit,” Tito say. “You just lucky we aint turnin yo’ ass in.”
“That how you treat a brother?” I say.
“Who dat?” that fat bastard say again.
“Nobody, Pops,” Tito say.
“Is it that Snookie Cane Show nigger?” Fat Man say. “Where my phone.”
I jumps up and run to the desk. I be pointin my pistol at him, but he keep dialin. “Hang up, Fatso!” I yell. But he keep pushin in the number. I rip the phone out the wall. I stick the gun in his face. “You still drive that piece-a-shit Ford?” I ax.
“It aint no piece-a-shit,” he say.
“Give me the keys,” I say.
“You bet give him the keys, Pops,” Tito say.
The fat man reach into his pocket and give me the keys.
“Awright,” I say. “Awright. Now, dont go runnin to the cops. You hear me?”
“I hear you,” the fat man say.
Then I point the gun at Yellow and Tito. “You, too!”
“Okay,” Tito say.
Tin
I be in that fuckin Ford Torino belong to Fat Man. It from the sebenties and it be dirty as shit. Beer cans and burger wrappers be all on the floor. The thing put smoke out the back and the engine be soundin like a jar full of pins. I can see a piece of the vinyl roof flappin in the wind on the passenger side. I member how smooth that Dalton car drove. It was like a cloud and I was floatin somewhere above all this shit. Everybody else floatin, so why not me?
Then I hears the choppin of blades and I sees people on the street lookin up and I just knows there be a helicopter spotted me. I look in the mirror and I see a cruiser way off. But he comin. They always be comin. I turns onto the 101 and the traffic be thick but I speeds on through them cars, blowin my horn and usin the shoulder. People be gettin out the way. There is a couple of cruisers behind me now. They lights be on, but they hangin back. I see a sign for Union Station and I think SHIT, cause I’m goin the wrong muthafuckin direction. I swings off and head down some side streets. Maybe the chopper cain’t see me for the trees, I thinks. The cruisers still back there and now I be passin some at the intersections. I gets back on the 101. I know it go south. They be behind me and above me and be drivin a hole in the highway.
Somehow I end up goin the wrong way again. I be on that 60 headin to Riverside. I know cause I gots a cousin who live there. He used to live out there. Nigger got shot for pokin round a speed lab. Niggers always wanna be gettin sumpin fo’ free.
I turns on the radio and hear they be talkin bout me. I can see a news helicopter off to the side, but it be from the telebision. I can see the cameraman hangin out and pointin it at me. Hey, I be on the telebision three times in two days. My heart feel all big. I press harder on the gas. There aint much gas in this fucker and there bout six cruisers behind me now. Sheriff cars be back there now.
I drives past Ontario and Chino and I miss the 15 headin souf to Mexico. I drives through Riverside and I’m sho’nuff bout to run outta gas and I turns onto the 215 headin souf, but I know I gotta get off the freeways. I gets off and I’m drivin through someplace call Moreno Valley and the car startin to knock and shake and them cruisers still back there and them helicopters still choppin up the air. I wave to the camera.
I pull into the post office, jumps out the car and runs in. I shoot my gun into the ceilin and people start screamin. I yells for them to shut up. “Shut up!” I says. “Everybody get down on the flo’!” I screams. They gets down but one old lady is goin slow. “I say DOWN!” I yells at her and she start cryin.
The police be outside. Must be twenty cars. I can see them through the big window.
A black cop call to me on one them horns. “Van Go Jenkins!” he say. “It’s all over, son! Time to call it quits!”
“I aint quittin nuffin!” I yell back through the glass. But he aint hear me. I points to a skinny blond girl. “Come here!” She crawl to me. “Get up!” She stand up and I grab her round her neck and put the gun to her head. I walk to the door and lean out with her in fronta me. “I’ll shoot her!” I shout. The girl be cryin. “I swear to God I’ll shoot her.”
“Let’s talk, Van Go,” the nigger with the bullhorn say.
“Fuck talk!” I say.
“What do you want?” he ax.
I see a telebision news crew settin up. The camera be pointin at me. “I want some money and another car,” I says.
“We can’t do that,” he say.
“You bet do it,” I say. I go back in and throw the girl on the flo’. This old black woman be starin at me. “What you lookin at, old bitch.”
She shake her head. “What happen to you in yo’ life?” she say.
“I aint had no life is what happen to me,” I say. “Now shut the fuck up.”
“Just give up, boy,” the old lady say.
“You aint my mama,” I say.
“Thank the Lord for that,” she say.
“You think you funny,” I say.
She dont say nuffin.
I counts the people in the room. Then I realize that them workers been behind the counter. I run over there and they all gone. I got seben hostages. All I want is a car. I yell at the window, “Just get me a fuckin car!”
The cameras are starin at me. Three of ‘em now. I see someone I recognize from the news. I waves at her. The phone ring. I go and answer it. It be somebody wantin to know bout a package.
“I aint got yo’ fuckin package!” I say and hang up.
The phone ring again. This time it the police. “You’re going to have to give it up, Van Go,” he say. It the same nigger that was on that horn.
“I aint givin up shit, man. Now you get me that car!” I say.
“The car is coming. Why don’t you give us a couple of those people in there?” he say.
“Old lady,” I say and point at her. “Go on out there. If you say a muthafuckin word I shoot you.”
She get up and walk to the door real slow. Then she out and she run cross that parkin lot like nobody bizness.
“Okay,” I say into the phone. “You got one.”
“The car is comin, Van Go.”
I hang up and I be sweatin like a pig. I shoulda killed that rich bitch. It be all her fault. Callin the cops and makin me run. And it be Reynisha fault too for comin after me wif that gun and lettin me take it from her. It be my mama fault for sho’, gettin pregnant wif me and havin me. It be that basketball coach fault. It be that white teacher fault. It be everybody fault.
After bout ten fifteen minutes, the phone ring again. It that cop. “Your car is here,” he say.
“Bout time,” I say. I watch as it pull up in the lot. It be a little red sport car. It look fine as shit. Awright, I says to myself.
“Okay?” the cop say on the phone.
“Okay,” I say. “I’m comin out wif this girl in here. I takin her wif me.”
“Okay,” he say. “Be cool and don’t hurt anybody.”
“I cool, fool,” I say. “You the one be cool.” I hang up. “You!” I points at the white girl again. “How old you?”
“Sixteen,” she say.
“Just be cool,” I say.
The light outside is brighter than I member. The cameras is pointin at me. All them cops be pointin they guns at me. I tell the girl not to move again. We walk to the car. I yell out at the cops, “Try sumpin! Try sumpin and this girl get it in the head.”
That car be little as shit and it hard for the girl crawl over the brake to the passenger side. I tells the girl to be cool again. I smile at the cameras. I turn the key and BAM! I dont know what happen. I think maybe I been shot. I cain’t see nuffin for a second and then I be covered with this powder shit. Then I be yanked by my hair out the car to the ground. I don’t know what goin on. Somebody kick me in my side. Somebody grab my arm and I think it be broken.