Chapter 3: Bad Plans and Whiskey

Friday, July 10, 2009, 9:10PM

“Excuse me? Have you seen this boy?”

“No. Sorry.”

“Thank you. Excuse me? Sir? Do you recognize this boy?”

“Sorry.”

“Thanks.”

Tricia had been searching the K Street area for over an hour, asking every passing person about him. She was relentless, and showed the picture to everyone she saw. It was now after nine o’clock, and the long summer sunset had finally finished, and it was just starting to get dark. Streetlights turned on, and the number of people on the streets were dwindling.

It was frustrating, but she continued searching for the boy. At every business that was open, she tried speaking to managers, employees, and even customers. But no one had seen him. No one knew who he was.

Every block had its own maze of alleys separating the buildings. There were small parks with the occasional homeless. There were a million places to hide, and K Street was only a small fraction of the city.

She stopped in one of the small parks and checked her map under a streetlight. K Street ran east and west through the heart of the city, and she had only really explored a small section of it. This task was proving itself to be impossible. She was hoping to find someone, anyone who may have seen him, but it was starting to look hopeless.

Debo intentar quizá otra vez mañana. She decided to call it a night and try again tomorrow. Dejected, she folded her map and headed back to her car. I should try the shelters tomorrow.

As she reached her car, she took one last frustrating look at the boy’s picture, folded it up, and put it in her purse with the map. She pulled out her keys, and just stood there next to her car. Frustrated, she balled her fist, pounded the roof of her car, and leaned her head against it. She mentally prayed for strength.

Jesús, Déme la fuerza.

“Yo lookin’ fo’ sometin?” said a voice behind her.

Tricia looked around and saw an old man sitting on the ground in front of a store. He was black, about in his sixties, she guessed, wearing a rumpled shirt, dirty jacket, jeans, and dark glasses. He had a scruffy gray beard. The cup sitting next to him told her he was homeless. The white cane with the red tip told her he was blind.

“Yeah...” she answered. “Don’t know if you can help me though.”

“Ol’ Gus here knows where lot’s o’ things are in this city. So you tell me. Whatchu lookin’ fo’?”

She shrugged. “I’m looking for a boy.”

He perked up. “Well, shit girl! I ain’t busy!”

She smiled. “You’re sweet, but you’re not the one I’m looking for.”

He rocked in frustration. “Ah, hell! Well, ain’t no matter! Can’t get it up anymo’ anyhow. What can I do you fo’? Who’s dis boy you lookin’ fo’?”

“I ... don’t know his name.” she confessed. She thought about the release statement he signed. She didn’t check his signature, and the statement was back in the station with the rest of the paperwork.

“Well, what do he look like?”

“He’s ... Well, how’s that going to help you?”

“Shit girl! Just cause I’m blind, don’t mean I don’t know what people look like! Look in this sto’ behind me! Look in dat windo’. I know what every person looks like, so don’t go tellin’ me what I know o’ don’t know!”

Tricia glanced up to the dark window. The store was empty and closed. All she could see was her own reflection in the glass.

“Oookaaayyy ... And how many people are in there?”

“Ain’t nobody in dere! HA!!” He laughed. “So I know what dey look like!”

She smirked. “Very funny.”

“But I bet I ken tell you what YOU look like.”

Tricia folded her arms in front of her. “Really?”

“Sho’ nuff.” He rocked back and forth, reminding her of Stevie Wonder and Ray Charles. “Fo’ one thing, I know that you a ‘Spanic chick.”

Tricia raised her eyebrows.

“Yo have a slight accent. You talk good English, but you know Spanish too.”

Tricia nodded. “I’m impressed.” She knew that she did tend to trill her R’s.

He smiled and rocked. “Yo’ also tall. Naturally. Ain’t wearing heels, cause I can hear yo’ shoes. Yo’ got long hair. I can hear it rub on yo’ shoulders and back.”

“Wow. Very good.”

“Yo’ a chunky girl too.”

Tricia’s jaw dropped, and she took an attitude pose. “Say what?”

“The way you walk, and I ken hear your clothes rubbin’ against itself. But it ain’t all over yo’. Yo’ extra weight is all up top.” He smiled again. “Yo’ got dem big-ass titties, don’t you?”

“None of your god-damn business how big my titties are!”

He grinned. “Shit girl. I like you. You got spunk. And ‘sides, I know you got dem big-ass titties, ‘cause if you do? Yo’ gonna stick ‘round! Dat means you know I know what’chu look like. And dat also means I know what’cho boy look like too! And you looking fo’ dat boy.”

Tricia nodded. “Big-ass titties!” she confessed.

“HA!!” he laughed. “I tol’ you! Now! What he look like?”

Tricia shrugged. “Well, he’s thirteen years old, white, homeless, kind of thin, with long brownish hair that’s kind of greasy. He’s got some acne, and um...” She held out her hand, approximating his height. “ ... he’s about...” And then she caught herself, realizing that the hand gesture and the phrase ‘this tall’ would be lost on the blind man.

She grinned, and snapped her fingers at his height. “This tall.”

Gus nodded. “Lot’s o’ kids look like that.”

She shrugged. “I don’t know how else to describe him. Sorry.”

“Well, you got a pitcher o’ him?”

“Yeah.” She pulled it out of her purse and unfolded it. “Not like it’s going to help you that much.” She held the picture out at him, illustrating her point. She turned the picture back and looked at it again.

“Well, you look at’cho pitcher and tell me what he look like.”

Tricia shrugged. “I ... Well, sunken cheeks, thin nose, down-turned, blue eyes. No real scars ... I don’t know how else to describe him.” She put the picture back in her purse.

He nodded to her. “What’chu lookin’ fo’ him fo’?”

“Well, I just need to talk to him.”

“Summtin special ‘bout the boy, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“What are you? Child Services?”

“No,” she answered immediately. “I’m a reporter. A journalist. My name’s Tricia Sanchez.”

He raised his eyebrows, impressed. “Ain’t got no plans for him?”

Tricia shook her head. “Uh ... No. Not really.”

“No house set up? No family?”

“Uh ... no.” She was feeling dejected.

He nodded. “You be takin’ him off the streets to yo’ house den? You be takin care o’ him?”

“Well ... I guess so. I hadn’t really planned out much.”

Gus nodded again, picked up his cup, and held his hand out. Tricia took it and pulled, helping the old man up. He groaned as he stood. His knees and hips creaked and snapped. “Well, dat’s about the best news I heard all day.” And he started shuffling down the sidewalk. “Come on! You gonna buy me some whiskey!”

Tricia stood there, shocked. “Excuse me? Best news ... and whiskey?”

“Sho! You buy me some whiskey, an I tell you his name an’ where to find him.” He continued shuffling away from her. She watched as he walked, and saw him step over a fairly large crack in the sidewalk which should have tripped him.

“Yeah, but you don’t know who he is.”

“Sho’ I do.” He stopped. “Dawg’s name is Scrappy. Yorkshire Terrier.” He continued his shuffle.

Tricia’s jaw dropped. “You! ... How did you? ... You know who I’m looking for!” She ran up, got in front of him and confronted him, grabbing his shoulders.

“Course I do!”

She stared at him. “How did you know who I’m looking for?”

Gus held his arm out, and Tricia took it. He started walking and she walked with him. “You think I don’t know what’s goin’ on in my streets? Big-ass tittie ‘Spanic chick reporter did a story t’day outside a bank where a boy gone missin’. Now a big-ass tittie ‘Spanic chick reporter come lookin’ for a boy. An’ I know dat boy, so I know who you lookin’ fo’.” She led him over a curb, which he navigated perfectly. “Lot’s o’ kids out here on the streets. But some kids, dey special! All kids are special, but some kids, they be a special kind o’ special. Know what I’m sayin’? Dis boy is dat kind o’ special, and you know he is. Dat’s why yo’ lookin’ fo’ him. But lot’s o’ people, dey be lookin’ for kids. Any kids. Child Services, dat be all right. Dey be lookin’ for kids to put dem in homes. But some other people, dey be looking for kids for other reasons. Bad reasons. Know what I’m sayin’? Yo’ ain’t one o’ dem.”

They approached a liquor store, and Tricia started to guide Gus into it, but he stopped. “Who all in dere?”

She looked inside. She saw a single Hispanic man reading a newspaper at the counter. The manager most likely, Tricia thought.

“Just one guy. Why?”

“Dat be Carlos. Can’t go in dere. I owe him money.” He shuffled off down the street. Tricia shrugged and followed.

“How do you know that I don’t have bad reasons to find him?”

“I know dat ‘cause you ain’t know what you doing, girl! You came out here wit no plans! You don’ know what you doing, but you know WHY you doin’ it! It’s dem others who come out here with bad reasons you gotta watch out fo’. They got dem plans out and ready. They got dem stories straight! OH YEAH! WE GONNA TAKE DAT BOY AN’ GIVE HIM TO A GOOD WHITE COUPLE IN BAL-MER! HE BE HAPPY THERE. GET HIM A MOTHER AND FATHER AN BROTHERS AN SISTERS AN A DAWG AN SHIT. But choo come out here an’ you don’ know what you doing, dat’s cause you ain’t coming up wit lies and shit! An’ if you ain’t lyin’, you ain’t here fo’ bad reasons.”

They walked down the deserted street a little further and it wasn’t long before they reached another liquor store. Tricia looked inside, and saw an older middle-eastern man behind the counter and a young Korean man sweeping the floor. “There are two people in here.”

“Dey be all right!” He headed for the door, and entered the store. “Farid!! My brother from another mother!” he called out, smiling.

“Hey! Gus! How are you doing tonight?” Farid, the man behind the counter asked.

“Can’t complain! Cho? Dat you dere?”

“Hi, Gus!” said Cho, the Korean.

“Looky what I got here! I got me a big-titty woman! HA!!”

Farid and Cho checked her out and waved, and Tricia nodded to them, feigning embarrassment.

Gus looked pleased as punch, and just rocked in the store. “Farid! Can you get me somma dat Mountain Moonshine?”

Farid nodded. “Sure. You got money?”

Tricia spoke up. “It’s on me.”

Farid looked impressed. “Man, Gus. You gotta tell me how you find women who look like that AND buy your whiskey!” He pulled a bottle from the shelf and brought it to the counter.

“Shit, man! She just wants to know if it be true ‘bout us black men! HA!!”

Tricia rolled her eyes, paid for the whiskey, and handed it to Gus. “It was very nice meeting you.” she said to Farid and Cho. Then she opened the door and struck a sexy pose. “Come along Gus ... I don’t have all night, and there are things I want from you...” she teased.

Cho let out a whoop. Farid burst out laughing, and Gus smiled, beamed and shuffled to the door. “Now, dat’s what I’m talk’n ‘bout. Later, brothers!”

“Later Gus!” said Farid.

They stepped outside, with Gus giggling to himself. “Shit, girl, you sassy! I like you!”

Tricia smiled. “Thanks. Now Gus ... His name?”

Gus stopped and opened his whiskey, took a swig, closed the bottle, and pocketed it. “Okay, but you gotta promise me somtin’. Okay girl?”

“What?”

He got serious and pointed at her. “You promise to take care o’ dat boy. You get him off the streets! You take him home! You give him a bed and food and a bath and everything else he needs. Dat boy needs a home, an’ he needs love. And dat ain’t cause he’s special. It’s because he’s a boy, an he been through some rough shit. But you an’ me, we both know how special this boy is. So you gotta protect ‘im. Dem people in the gov’ment, they be looking fo’ kids, an’ a lot are good people, but dere be enough bad people in dere to make it not safe for special kids, unnerstan’?”

Tricia nodded. “Yes...” She thought. “And, I’ll take care of him. I’ll get him off the streets.”

Gus seemed satisfied. “His name is Joey. Joey Harper. You find him up north, two blocks north o’ Dupont Circle Metro. They got some good restaurants dere, and he can sometimes get food dere.”

Tricia smiled. “Thanks, Gus.” And she leaned in to kiss his cheek.

Gus flinched back.

Tricia stopped, and looked at him curiously. “You didn’t HEAR me coming, did you?”

“I don’t know what’choo talkin’ bout,” he said a bit nervously.

Tricia grinned at him. “Gus ... You aren’t REALLY that blind, are you?”

“Now don’t you be goin’ in that way.”

Tricia gently reached up to his face, and touched him. “You knew what I looked like, you knew who I was looking for after I pulled out a picture. You step over cracks in the sidewalk which would trip anyone else. You knew who was in the store without a description...” She winked at him, and touched his dark glasses, lifting them. “Nice little scam, but I’m not fooled that eas...”