Nightcrawling(68)

“What about my brother?” I ask. None of it matters if I can’t have Marcus back and, without Uncle Ty, I have no other strings to pull. I need to get him back, so that he can do things different, be better.

Marsha takes a minute to look out at the water, joins me by the ledge. “This looks worse for the department than they’re going to let you know. If we play our cards right, we can use your brother as leverage, like a deal.”

“What kind of deal?” I’ve entered too many negotiations that ended in my pockets empty, chest a tight knot, exposed.

Marsha smiles. “That’s the fun part. We have the power here. They’re going to try to make you feel like they do, but you aren’t the one with everything at stake.”

Feels like I am.

“And what if I decide not to testify?”

“They’re going to subpoena you whether you like it or not, so you won’t have a choice about being there. The only thing you have control over is what you say.”

“What if I lie?”

Marsha sighs, slips her bottom lip under her top one. “You will be under oath and I will never advise you to break that. However, if you do decide to lie, then most likely your brother would go to prison for a considerable period of time and the grand jury wouldn’t indict, meaning all the officers who were involved can continue to do whatever they would like without consequence.”

“And if I tell the truth?” The sun’s finally found its way into the peak of the sky and Trevor’s probably starting to stir from his Sunday sleep.

Marsha’s whole body relaxes, letting her shoulders drop for the first time. “If you tell the truth, then we have a chance at an indictment and changing the way this kind of thing works. After that, we can sue the police department and get you enough money you won’t have to do this anymore.” She sighs. “For now, we prepare. They’re going to throw everything at you. As soon as the district attorney’s office alerts us of a subpoena, we’ll need to be ready for every question, every little thing they might ask. Only the district attorney, the jurors, and a court reporter will be present for your testimony, since the grand jury is closed. That means we need to get you ready, so you won’t even need me in the courtroom. For now, you stay under the radar. I don’t want you on the streets and I don’t want you near any officer under any circumstances. Understand?”

I nod and I know that by trusting Marsha, I’m giving up these streets, giving up so much of what has become my world, at least for now. I thought it would feel like a celebration, and it does, but it also feels like a grieving, still trying to make sense of the months and the men and what I have given up in the name of feeling like I am in control, like I belong to myself even for a moment before it fractures and I remember. When I am tired and cold and just want to curl into a bed that isn’t a couch or eat something that isn’t microwaved. Marsha is telling me I’m free, but I’m still living with the repercussions of the streets, of the job that was supposed to just be a job until it became much more.

Marsha looks satisfied enough, says she’ll take me home. There’s still half the pizza left over and Marsha says I can take it with me. Trevor’s gonna devour the rest of it, stuff his belly until I can’t see his ribs no more. The thought of it has me really smiling for the first time all week.

Before she lets me out of the car, Marsha reaches over and squeezes my hand. Hers is so small I bet two of her fists would equal the size of my one. “If you act like you know what the fuck you’re doing, people will trust that you do. That’s it, that’s how you win.” Hearing Marsha cuss is like hearing a dog talk and I know she meant it like that, no way for me to ignore it. I nod, step out the car, and walk up to my gate.

The shit pool greets me and this is the last time I walk past it without the scream of reporters, cameras flashing, security guards Marsha hired telling me they’re here to escort me. This is the last time I look into its murk, the subtle swish, whirlpool of water right outside my door. The subpoena arrives the next morning and I almost forget what it was like to wake up to Dee laughing, to Marcus on the couch, and a whole day blurring into streetlights.





Trevor wants to be on camera. Every time we leave the house, he gets mad ’cause I take us out the back, the route none of the reporters know about. He whines and says that if I get to be famous, he should too. He doesn’t know what he’s asking for, but the way he clutches his ball in his hand reminds me of the way I want to grab his wrist, keep him right next to me.

We’re stuck inside today because Marsha called and told me not to leave, not to open the gate for nobody. She sounded panicked, talking quick, and I thought maybe it was finally happening: they getting the handcuffs ready for me, adding me to a family line of prison cells. Marcus has been calling every day, sounding more gloomy than ever, and I can tell losing Uncle Ty is sending him spiraling. I keep telling him I’m working on it, but Marsha won’t say nothing about him and most days I think it’d be better to stop picking up when she calls. Except then I’d have to tell Marcus the truth: that most likely he don’t got a way out of this. Then I’d have to tell myself the truth: that I’m as alone as Trevor.

Trevor’s sitting on the bed with a whole deck of cards spread out in front of him, happy he doesn’t have to go to school today. I don’t know what game he thinks he’s playing, but it looks more like the way I used to shuffle before Alé taught me how. I keep trying to call her, but she hasn’t answered in days and I’ve got too much pride to call again just to hear her voicemail on the other end.