Five Bay
Five
Bay
I decided to walk back home so that I could stop by the grocery store and buy something to make for dinner.
With my small bag of items, I was almost back to my apartment when I noticed the person wearing the black hoodie standing a few feet from the entrance.
I paused and glanced around at the busy street and figured it was safe enough.
I hadn’t seen a face yet, but from his tall build, I assumed it was a man.
He was probably just asking for money. I didn’t carry cash on me, but I did have an extra apple and some cheese crackers in my bag I could offer him.
He lifted his gaze, and his eyes met mine.
Surprise and then immediate concern hit me.
I knew him. Pooky had been coming to After the Bell for the past two years, but it had been almost three months since we had seen him.
Reggie had talked about it just last week, asking some of the boys he often hung around with if they had spoken to him.
All she found out was that he had turned eighteen and was no longer in the foster system. No one had seemed to know where he was.
There was a slight edge of concern at seeing him here, alone. While I didn’t think he would hurt me or try to, Pooky was known to have a violent temper, and he had caused problems at the center in the past. His being here, knowing where I lived, was unsettling.
Why hadn’t he gone to the center? Reggie and Belinda had always done all they could to help him.
Had he followed me? He had been hanging around for a couple of weeks. Was he stalking me? Why was he just now approaching me? So many questions were racing through my head.
“Pooky,” I said once I was close enough.
“Hey,” he replied, looking relieved.
“Uh, what…what are you doing here?” I asked, studying him for any sign for me to be alarmed.
He shrugged. “Don’t have anywhere to go. Got kicked out of the fosters when I turned eighteen. Been living on the streets.”
My chest ached. I knew that feeling. Although I’d not been forced onto the streets.
I’d been given a full ride to college. I still had loans I was paying off and probably would until I was retired.
But I hadn’t been homeless. Claudine couldn’t change her daughter’s will, or I most likely would have been.
But Lana had left me what little savings she had in an investment account that I had been able to access when I turned eighteen.
The money accrued interest, and I was given a twenty-thousand-dollar check that I used sparingly, but even while working a full-time job in college, I had ended up using almost all of it.
Pooky hadn’t been left with anything. I had some money put back; if I thought he’d use it correctly, I could give it to him to get cleaned up, find a job, a place to live.
I needed to think this through properly though, and I wanted to talk to Belinda and Reggie about it as well.
They knew resources that I didn’t know about that might be able to help him.
Possibly get him financial aid for a local community college.
Give him a boost to get started in life.
“Reggie and Belinda have been worried about you. We all have. They wouldn’t want you on the streets. You need to go see them. They—”
“No.” He shook his head, cutting me off. “I don’t want to go back there. I’m not their charity case. I don’t want the guys to see me like this. It’s fucking embarrassing.”
Pride could be a real pain in the ass.
“Pooky, you don’t need to live on the streets.”
“I don’t want to. That’s why I’m here. If you could let me sleep on the sofa for a couple of weeks maybe, I could get a job, find somewhere to live.”
Oh, no. That was not a good idea. I couldn’t let him live in my apartment.
I wanted to trust him, but I’d also witnessed the darker side of him.
Reggie handled him well, but there was more than once they’d had to threaten him with the police.
He’d had a very sordid childhood, and it had damaged him in many ways.
Reggie had tried to get him to go to counseling.
“Uh, I don’t think—” I started to say when he reached out and grabbed my wrist firmly.
“You got to,” he pleaded. “I want to stay with you. Not at the center.”
“That’s not an appropriate situation,” I tried to calmly explain as his grip tightened.
“What? You don’t trust me?” he demanded, his eyes taking on that gleam that I’d seen before. It was one that always came before his temper snapped.
“Let go of her,” a deep voice demanded.
My eyes shot from Pooky to the man walking up behind him.
For a moment, I forgot the situation I was currently in as I stared wide-eyed at…
2B. What was his name on the passenger list?
Carver…I forgot the first name. I rarely looked at those.
Mr. Carver. Not a frequent flyer. He had no loyalty points.
That much I remembered. Mostly because Lillibeth had asked me to look.
“Mind your own fucking business,” Pooky snarled as his fingers began to bite into my wrist painfully.
I winced, and my eyes darted from Mr. Carver to Pooky.
“No, don’t think I will,” the man drawled.
Pooky let out a sinister chuckle, as if that amused him, before reaching under his hoodie and pulling out a gun.
Oh God! Where had he gotten a gun? He wanted to live in my apartment, and he had a gun. A gun. Oh God, oh God.
Before I could reach a full-blown panic attack, the gun was snatched out of his hand and turned on him. Mr. Carver tilted his head slightly and looked…bored. He’d taken the gun with no struggle and had it jammed into Pooky’s ribs, and he looked freaking bored.
“Here’s a lesson for you, little boy. Don’t toss around your weapon when you don’t know just who you’re dealing with,” he drawled, and his gaze cut to me.
Pooky slowly let go of my wrist, but he didn’t move.
“Go on inside,” Mr. Carver told me with barely a glance.
What? Was he serious? What would he do to Pooky? I didn’t want him to get hurt. I wanted to help him, just not the way he was asking me to. I couldn’t leave him out here with this man who clearly knew how to handle a gun and well. Too well.
“He’s—I know him. He wasn’t going to hurt me.” At least I hoped he wasn’t. “Let me call someone I know who can help him.”
The man raised one singular eyebrow at me, as if I were lying or insane.
“You know him?” he asked.
I nodded. “Yes. He used to come to the…the place that I volunteer. He is just—he needs some help. That’s all.”
The man dropped his gaze to my wrist. “That’s going to be bruised.”
Crap. Was it? How was I going to cover that up for work?
I shook my head. I would deal with that later.
“I’m gonna fucking kill you,” Pooky sneered at the man, seemingly finding his voice again.
The man didn’t even glance at him. “Good luck with that,” he replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
“How are you planning on helping him?” the man asked me, sounding more amused than interested.
I looked down at where he was pressing the gun against Pooky. No one else on the street would be able to see it. He was good. A little too good. Was he military or something? How had he disarmed him so fast? And where had he come from?
“I just—if you’d move the gun away from him and let me think a minute,” I suggested.
The man smirked. “He just threatened to kill me,” he replied. “While I’m discussing this with you, I think I’ll keep things like they are.”
Right. He had done that. And I’d like to say he was full of it, but I wasn’t so sure. He was homeless, but he had a gun. Where had he gotten money for that?
“Okay, um, let me call someone. She can help.”
“She?” the man repeated as if that was an insult.
“Yes, she,” I snapped back, irritated.
“I hope it’s his momma.”
Pooky moved then, and the man made a tsking sound.
“Easy, kid. I’m not a nice guy. Don’t piss me off.”
“You’re dead,” Pooky threatened again.
“No, but if you don’t shut the fuck up, you will be.”
“You fucking—” His angry words came to a halt when I heard the gun make some faint click.
What was that?! My eyes shot to Pooky, who did not look as if he’d been shot. Oh God. I needed help.
“Pooky, just be quiet,” I begged him.
“I’d listen to her,” Mr. Carver drawled.
I cut my eyes back to him. “This is ridiculous. He is a kid. A troubled one. The couple who own the center where he used to go will help him. I just need to call them.”
“I’m not going there,” Pooky hissed, but he didn’t move or take his eyes off the man.
I thought about all the kids at the center and the fact that Pooky had a gun.
I doubted Mr. Carver was going to give that back to him.
But could he get another? He could be too dangerous to go back to the center.
Maybe I should call the police. I hated to do that.
But leaving him with this man wasn’t a safe option either.
“How old are you?” Mr. Carver asked him.
“He’s eighteen,” I blurted out before Pooky could say or do something to set this man off. “His foster home kicked him out. He needs somewhere to go. He’s been on the streets.”
“So, he accosts you outside your apartment, demanding that you help him with a gun poorly hidden under his hoodie,” Carver drawled. “Poor plan and complete bullshit.”
Okay, so, yes, that had happened, but…I needed to think. There had to be an answer here. And it wasn’t bullshit. I was telling him the truth. But there was no time to convince him.
Turning to Pooky, I took a deep, calming breath. “Why did you come to me? How did you know where I lived?”
Pooky’s jaw was clenched tightly. “I knew you’d help.”
Carver reached over and shoved the sleeve of Pooky’s hoodie up.
“What the fuck?!” Pooky demanded.
“Homeless, huh?” the man asked. “Last I checked, the Bone Apex keep their members under the same roof.”
Bone Apex? What was that? I glanced at Pooky, who narrowed his eyes.
“You don’t know shit,” Pooky spat.
The guy chuckled, but his eyes held no amusement as he looked at me. “Bone Appex is a gang. He’s not homeless. This tattoo is given to members once they make a kill that was given to them, among other orders.”
My throat felt tight. No, no, no. What were you thinking, Pooky?
“What are you, the fucking cops?” Pooky asked. “We ain’t scared of them. We got people that can shut you down.”
We. He wasn’t denying it. My stomach turned.
The man leaned slightly closer to Pooky. “Let Cross know that you threatened one of Blaise Hughes’s men?” He smirked. “I’d love to know what happens then. Hate I’ll miss it.”
“Who the fuck is Blaise Hughes?!” Pooky asked.
“Young and stupid,” Carver said with a shake of his head. “I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you pull out that phone you’ve got hidden and call him? Ask him what you should do.”
He had a phone? Where had he gotten money for a phone?
“You really want me to?” Pooky sounded a little too thrilled for someone who had a gun on him.
The man nodded his head once. “Go on.”
I was mentally letting it register that Pooky had killed someone and was in a gang. When had all this happened? Why hadn’t any of the other boys told us? Were they safe? Had he tried to get them to join?
Pooky pulled out a phone from his pocket. He did have a phone. What all had he lied about?
“Got a problem,” he said into the phone. “I need backup. Need a fucker killed.” He cut his eyes to me briefly, then looked back at Carver. “He is blowing out some shit about Blaise Hughes or something. He took my—” Pooky stopped talking.
Whoever it was on the other line was shouting at him.
Okay, so now I wanted to get my phone and google who Blaise Hughes was myself.
“Yes, sir.” His voice trembled, his earlier bravado gone.
He held his phone out to Carver. He looked ready to laugh as he took it.
“Yeah,” he said into the line. “Got his Glock against his ribs.” He smirked. “He’s stalking a woman. That has to stop. Now.”
The other man said something, and then Carver handed him his phone back. It was a little exaggeration that Pooky had been stalking me. He had just been lurking around a bit…I thought. But…maybe he had. Bile began to burn my throat.
Pooky listened as the other man said something to him.
“Yes, sir,” he replied, then ended the call.
“You running along now?” Carver asked him.
Pooky’s nostrils flared, but he only nodded.
“All right, I don’t want to see you again,” Carver informed him, then took the gun and held it up before slipping it into the waistline of his jeans. “I’ll be keeping this.”
I was expecting Pooky’s temper to ignite again, but he only nodded before turning and walking away. I watched him go, then glanced back at Mr. Carver.
“What just happened?” I asked.
“I handled a situation for you. He won’t be back. They’ll kill him if he does.”
“What?!”
“He’s in a gang, Snow White. He’s also the low man on the totem pole. He knows better than to disobey an order. Go on inside now and pay more attention to your surroundings.”
I blinked. Speechless. Horrified. And in shock.
Mr. Carver began to walk away in the direction Pooky had gone.
“What—where—” I blurted out, not sure what I wanted to ask more. “How were you here? I mean, where did you come from?”
“My daughter lives a few blocks over. You were just lucky I was walking by when the thug showed up,” he replied, then continued on his way.
Did he call me Snow White?