13.

First, there was a lot of screaming and cussing—the sound of glass breaking, too, which was definitely not good amidst the chaos.

And then I could actually feel the big battle at the door rippling through the crowd like ocean waves pushing me backwards. But when I finally made it to the dj booth, Big Man leapt down, bracing me with his arm like he was about to slam on the brakes in the Vee.

His eyes were worried.

“It’s that fool came to the house that time—cop that hauled you in!” he said.

“Fuck me—Friendly?!”

“And every other cop in the damned city, looks like—can you get upstairs?”

“Not a chance!”

Right about then, Mike popped up right next to me—the other two squeezed through, too. And I could have kissed them all--they had rescued Wyatt for me.

And of course, trust me to forget about all the hubbub and go right to, “What were you, a pole dancer in a past life or what?” Like her belly dancing was more important than me possibly getting arrested and jeopardizing the lives of everybody I loved in this world.

The goofy grin I got from her was priceless, though. If one of her students came into class like that she would’ve called Security for sure.

Or so I thought, until she said, “I worked my way across Europe doing that,” all proud.

Mike said, “Yeah? On whose pole?” and I shot her a look.

But that’s when something—somebody—lifted Aisha right up off her feet. She started kicking and swinging for dear life.

It was one of the cops—not Officer Friendly yet, but I knew this one almost as well. He was this really mean black cop who used to work the schools for a while, until they discovered he was selling the drugs he took off the kids. Sometimes right back to the kids he’d copped it from, too. Bastard.

Lloyd Harris, was his name. I barked his name at him, trying to startle him enough for Aisha to get loose. But he just gave me this snarky smile I remembered from back when when he would look at me from across his desk and go, “You think you about half nigga slick don’t you, white boy?”

Yeah, we go ‘way back, Lloyd and me.

He was the cop they sent looking for truants. And the principal was always having him give me these little “talks” about how if I was smart enough to work the system so well, I was smart enough to get As if I just showed up every day.

Only he never talked to me about that. He told me about “jive ass punks” like me, and how he couldn’t wait to see a bunch of big, ugly “mo fo’s” run a train on my little baby ass in prison one day.

And then he’d say, “Git outta my sight, fool!” and I’d wait ‘til I got ‘way out of ear shot to go, “Cock sucker” or something—I couldn’t risk really making him mad. They’d taken us from my mom before and I was determined not to have it happen again. No kid in my family was going into the system, ever. That was an unspoken promise I made to all five of ‘em.

And now my own kids and the girls were at his mercy—I could not have that.

So I dove in after him, but I grabbed Wyatt’s hand first and held on for dear life. Not just because I wanted to protect her, but also because she had no place to go but with us. And I knew I’d go nuts worrying about her over in Juvie or wherever he was taking me, if I didn’t know where she was.

Luckily, my moving toward the door ended all the shoving because it was me Friendly was after—we call him Officer Friendly because he smiles while he’s fucking you up.

And as soon as he and his butt boys saw me shoving through, they snatched me outside where Joie was screaming bloody murder. But it was the cop who had hold of her who should’ve been screaming. She was swinging her wig with one hand and one of her high heels with the other--dude was being stiletto’d to death, damned near.

Lloyd and two other cops ran over and snatched Joie off of him. But Friendly honed in on me—noticed Wyatt, though. What was it with her and cops?

“Whosis? Your mom?” he asked me. The smile made me want to kick him in his nuts.

“You know she’s not my mother, you stupid son—“

“Hey!” he yelled, trying to act all bad.

And then he got his smile back. And said, “Always were a little mother fucker, though, right?”

I said, “Yours had no complaints.”

And of course, the dumb ass spun me around and got his cuffs out, like he didn’t see that comin’ a mile away.

And the second he whipped out those cuffs Aisha came flying over and started punching. She’s from what she calls the “sho nuff ‘hood,” so she fights gangsta style—no random cat fight flailing. She’s like a friggin’ kick boxer that girl.

Which meant that Friendly had to get hold of both of her arms and keep her feet from connecting with his jewels. She was out to take him down, that woman—a cop came over to hold me, too.

And Friendly went, “You better settle down, missy!” sort of through his teeth.

And Aisha shot back, “You bettah quit messin’ wit him, then!”

And then she jerked an arm hard enough to get loose and give him a slap so hard people in the crowd that was building up around us actually gasped.

That’s when he grabbed her by her hair--I kicked him behind one knee and he almost fell down.

“You don’t fuckin’ touch her!” I told him.

He snarled, “Then call ‘er off!” just before she kicked his shin with one of her platform heels.

“That’s right, Mama! Kick his ass!” Joie yelled—some of her fans cheered when she said that, but she was too ticked off to care about any of that.

Friendly started trying to get Aisha’s arm behind her back then, and Big Man started struggling, too. But a coupla cops ran over to help the cop who’d been holding him down--I counted, like, six or seven of ‘em that’d come to be in on this farce. They had to grab his legs and arms, both, to get him into a cop car. And another cop finally got Aisha off Friendly and into a car, too.

And as soon as her butt hit the seat and he shut that door, she started slapping the window and screaming even louder.

She was scared for me. And that kind of raw fear and anger and frustration can give you more strength than you’d have normally. So I was afraid she’d break that damned window or something else and hurt in the process, you know? She’s my bottom bitch, Aisha—I’ll never let anything happen to her if I can help it.

So to calm her down, I had to act calm myself. But she knew how much I had to lose if this was real. And there was also a little part of me, deep down, that was sort of scared that the nonstop party my life had been for the past few years was over. Like maybe I was going to finally be forced to pay some dues for all the insanely good luck I’d had, you know?

But another little part of me figured I’d paid in advance, just fighting to survive as a kid. And that part of me was ready to fight to the death—that’s the part that could read our boy Friendly like a book, too.

See, like I said, Friendly enjoys making people squirm. So I knew this was theater, mostly. What I had to do, real fast, was figure out who he was trying to impress with it—and why.

And there was one more thing that gave me the edge. He’s a criminal. And criminals, by and large, are only smart about the one crime they do. In fact, they’re not usually even all that smart about that. They get cocky or careless. Or they just fall behind the times—you know, like how those Butch and Sundance types couldn’t operate when the Old West went what passed for “high tech” back then.

Friendly was like that. He came up with all these stupid schemes all the time, but he’s on old Tucson time. There’s a whole bunch of new players in town--that “Mexican” kid you’re throwing up against the wall may be mixed up with the friggin’ Zetas or something.

So you could wind up in a ditch with your head cut off—they find bodies on both sides of the border every day now. They’re land mines, the criminals cops deal with over our way now. Add a cup of crazy and a dash of dumb and boom! You’re a sad story on the evening news.

I needed to get my street smart on—give him my “Bring it on, if you think you’re so bad” face that this psycho Nam vet taught me once. He was totally off the chain, that guy—I mean, he wanted to start a race war with an army of little Aryan wet dreams like me, right?

But he taught me that the battle’s won before the swinging starts. You have to look like you’re not afraid to die—like you’ll fuckin’ suck someone’s eyes out of his head if you have to.

So I reached down deep and made my face go stone cold dead. And I said, “Okay, what’s really happenin’ here, Bobby?” in this super chill voice. Scared myself, actually—I do not know where that came from.

Friendly sort of freaked out, too. The smile froze, and there was some definite uncertainty in those steel greys, too.

But the whole world was watching—big circle of spectators looking on, yelling and whistling and getting it all on video. I don’t think any of the guests had left, either. I loved them for that.

They were why Friendly figured he’d better get his composure back right quick.

So he looked up at me and said, “Well, your he/she there’s contributing to the delinquency of a minor among other things,” like he was large and in charge.

“It’s a charity event, dude!”

“Private party!” Joie yelled. “Invited guests only!”

“In a bar! A gay bar—you’re a minor, sonny boy,” Friendly said.

“I’m not a minor.”

“Sez who?”

“I was emancipated two years ago!”

“Can’t drink yet, though, can ya’?”

He had me there. But my phone was vibrating like mad now—the big wigs that’d been in there with us had probably started speed dialing all their connects. I almost felt sorry for him, thinking of all the pissed off public officials getting dragged out of bed to deal with whatever half assed idea he’d had.

So I was actually a little amused when he smiled at me and said, “No guns, no booze—you’re not such a big man after all, are ya’, tough guy?”

“So what’s the charge?” I asked, just to give him another thrill.

“Probation violation, son,” he said. “Icing on the cake? You helped ‘er violate that restraining order.”

And then his eyes did that little flicker of doubt thing again. He’d tipped his hand telling me that.

“Fuckin’ Russian came runnin’ to Daddy, huh?” I said. “I know you and him are quite the item these days.”

He tried to sling me down on the ground by the arm and Wyatt ran up closer to us, pointed and yelled, “That’s assault—someone shoot that!”

“Hey, settle down, sweet cheeks,” Friendly said—smiling like she was a joke.  “His hot shot laywers’ll have ‘im back between those nice little legs in no time.”’

I was going to say something but she gave him a hot stare and said, “You’re talking to me?”

Like she was DeNiro or something, she says this. Cat rushed up and put a hand on her shoulder but I nodded her back toward Mike. I wanted to keep them from going in with the rest of us if I could—Mike was on the phone with someone, talking and gesturing like mad, so I knew we’d have reinforcements on the scene pretty soon.

But Wyatt wasn’t done yet. She kept glaring at Friendly like she’d taken lessons from that Nam vet, too.

And he said, “Yeah, I’m talkin’ to you! And you’re lucky I don’t take you in for public intoxication or somethin’!”

“You made it public!”

“Hot little tamale, huh? Kid’s got such good taste,” he said, giving her a good look over. The other guys watching were having fun, too, because whenever she yelled those nice little titties bounced. Me being one of those guys, of course I noticed it, too—a guy could be dying and still cop a glance at some hot stuff walking by.

Friendly said, “Okay, I got no issues with you, lady, so just back it up, huh?”

And Wyatt goes, “Well, I’ve got issues with you, you fucking fascist,” and the crowd gets totally into her then, pointing and taking pictures and whatnot. She was the star of the show.

Friendly tried to brush it off with, “Ooooo. U of A right? One o’ those college teachers with the big words.”

And just to get her even madder, he leaned closer and said, “I’d like to sign up for your class. I bet the homework’s kinda fun, right?”

That was a real bad idea. Because that crazy little woman hocked up and sent a gob flying right into his eye—swear to God, it hit him dead in the left pupil. Joie let out a whoop she couldn’t hold back and the rest of us cracked up, too because he went nuts trying to wipe it away.

And of course, he took it out on moi—I think that should be moi meme, but I don’t have JJ around to correct my French all the time anymore. A lot of the time he would only speak to me in French, right? The international language, he said it was, and he wanted me to be able to do business all over the world.

I just Alzheimer’d off track again. I’m sorry.

Anyway, Friendly grabbed my arm real rough and barked, “She’s just diggin’ you a bigger grave, funny guy. You watch’n’ see.”

And Wyatt looked up at him with those half closed eyes and came with, “Is this how you get off or something? Wrestling with pretty young boys?”

Joie went, “PREACH” real loud and the cop standing by the car she was in slapped the top of it trying to shut her up. But she stuck her tongue out at him. And Cat, Mike and all the  spectators busted a gut again. This was going to be legendary—there was always something crazy going on around there but this was epic. They’d be telling their grand kids about that night, all the crazies out there with us.

Even so, I tried to give Wyatt a look because she was already losing one job. Between that hoochie coochie dance and getting arrested for public intoxication she would never get another one.

But then she glanced at me and I realized she was trying to get hauled in with us. I wasn’t sure if it was because she also knew she had nowhere else to go or if it was deeper than that. Some…drug-induced show of solidarity, maybe—I don’t know.

I looked over at Cat and Mike with pleading eyes, but they were down with her apparently. And then I got distracted by Aisha—she was kicking the glass now.

It gave Friendly an out, too. He hauled me over to the cop car and said, “What the hell do you do to these women, huh? Maybe I should be in your class—tell ‘er to chillax, wouldja?”

I wasn’t exactly in the mood to take orders from him, but for her sake, I leaned down and said, “C’mon, stop it now. You’re not helping me.”

I felt awful talking to her like that. Her face was all wet from crying. And she put her hand on the glass like she wanted me to touch the glass there, too. But I couldn’t.

So for her, I was willing to beg.

“Look, let ‘er go, man. This is lame even for you.”

Wrong move. He turned me back around and smiled because he knew how I was about women.

“Okay, here’s the menu. Pick one from column A and one from column B, smart ass,” he said. “Told you about the queen. That little one there bein’ all bad ass, too—she’d flunk the test for sure. The girls and Godzilla there? Assaulting a police officer, obstruction of justice, aiding and abetting.”

Mike folded her arms, raised her chin and said, “Spell it. Any of it. I dare you.”

“He had enough trouble learning how to say it,” Cat added, shoving her hands in her back pockets to raise those cannons up. And then she shook back all that hair just to up the ante, and none of the men on that street could remember how to say anything for a minute.

They don’t fight fair, my girls. But they damned near always win.

Friendly recovered right quick because he was the guy behind the wheel of this fiasco.

And he looked at me and said, “The probation thing’ll do it for you. Your judge gets a whiff o’ this you are in a heap o’ trouble, dude.”

It got sort of quiet then. I mean, everybody knew about the judge and all. So they knew Friendly wasn’t done. And I knew he saved the “best” for last when that smile became a grin.

He said, “Those kids are with granny for good now, too. And granny’ll be in a little trouble herself, if you don’t watch out. CPS may not be too sure she’s such a great guardian, if she can’t keep you from runnin’ off with ‘em every chance you get. I mean, everybody knows what goes on at The Fun House, dude. What kinda environment is that?”

That sent a white hot bolt through me—Aisha hit the glass again, too.

And I said, “Friendly, don’t fuck with my kids, man. Swear to God--”

“You’re fuckin’ up your kids!” he hissed at me. “That crack ho mother of theirs shouldn’t be within a mile of ‘em, restraining order or no!”

Strange thing happened then—must’ve seen that he’d finally gone too far. I hadn’t had to tell myself how to sound that time. It was natural, the threat in my voice.

He even leaned down and told Aisha, “Just chill, wouldja? I’m not gonna hurt ‘im or nothin’—it’ll be okay, okay?”

She watched him the way cornered animals do. Trying to see if it was a trick and thinking what all she was going to have to do if it was.

But he turned back to me and said, “There’s your problem right there. You got those girls with you--the Vegas thing? Smart move. Gets ‘em outta the picture at least for a while—that they’ll like, the social workers.”

Now we were getting close to that last little doll inside the doll inside the doll inside the doll—you feelin’ me?

“Course, the strip clubs and the dirty movies…that’s another issue. But JJ had a plan for that. You sell to the Ruskies, you go legit and they owe you. And that’s some heavy juice right there—risky, though, you know? I mean…you do business with them, you gotta worry about us a little.”

He paused just a hair, and then smiled and said, “I could help you with that.”

I smiled, too. But it was cold, though.

“Oh, you could, huh?”

“Yeah, well…we’ll discuss that later. I got a nice private room for you over at Ajo,” he said.

“You’re seriously doin’ this?”

“I gotta be serious!” he said. “I got my own issues, okay? There’s some things you don’t know about, kiddo.”

“You couldn’t just phone ‘em in?”

“Nah, this you gotta do face to face. But I mean, as you know, judge’n’ me, we got what you call an agreement,” he admitted. “I do him a favor, he does me a favor. Owes me a few, actually.”

“You might not live to collect,” I said.

“You threatenin’ me now? Ooooo, that’s not wise.”

I got my dead face back just in time. Looked him right in those eyes.

“I’m stating a fact,” I told him. “This gets in the way of any of the business you were talkin’ about…I can’t be responsible.”

There was just a tiny flicker of something in the steel. He had known JJ just enough. And people who really knew JJ were well aware that man they thought they knew was just the tip of the old iceberg. You didn’t wanna know what was going on down deep—even if you did know, it could do a Jaws on you before you knew what hit you.

“Yo’ Bobby!” that Lloyd dude called. “Let’s roll, son!”

“Yeah, just be listenin’, right?” Friendly called back. “We gotta play this just so.”

Lloyd nodded and he and his partner started putting Cat and Mike in the car—his partner brought Joie over to Friendly.

“You’n’ your ladies in back, of course,” he said to me. And as he was shoving me over so I could sit between them, he unlocked the cuffs lightning fast—his eyes told me not to say anything, so I sort of slid in with my hands still behind me just to make him feel all cool.

Wyatt went in last—she shook her head when he tried to put his hand on top of it the way they do, but he pressed down and held it there ‘til her head cleared the door frame.

“I think you better watch out for that one, man,” he told me, like we were old pals or something.

And when he went to put Joie up front with him, he said, “No funny business, okay?”

“Backatcha, honey,” Joie said, giving him this priceless “As if” glare.

As soon as I’d settled in, Aisha fell over onto my lap and pressed her face against my stomach. I caressed her hair, trying to keep her calm. And then I looked over at Wyatt and she shook her hair back but didn’t bat an eye or anything. She was sitting up tall. Eyes front. Shoulders back.

I reached over and took her hand. And she gave my hand a pat and then held onto it. That totally “chill” look never wavered even once.

She didn’t even flinch when I kissed the back of her hand—I did it just sort of to thank her for being so damned cool. She just smiled and gave my hand a little squeeze.

And then she kissed it and I lost my damned mind.

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