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By Root 972 0

As I drove toward the West Side Highway, I became more convinced that Bart was behind the phone calls. And that Yancey was helping him. She was the only person besides Raymond who knew what my uncle had done to me. If it was in fact Yancey, then how did they know each other? I thought about all the press Yancey’d gotten recently, the store promotions, and wondered how their paths had crossed. I also remembered Bart talking about doing some videos and how Yancey had some men in her video but you couldn’t really see their faces. Was Bart one of them? I made up my mind that somebody was going to answer my questions or else there was going to be a massive beat-down. I didn’t give a damn if I had to spend the rest of my life behind bars. Somebody was going to pay for messing with the Henderson men.

I exited on 125th Street and turned south. I came to a stoplight near the train station and turned west again when I got to 122nd Street. I drove cautiously, looking at the numbers on the buildings. When I came to the end of the street, I saw a brownstone tucked neatly in a curve at the end of the block with the numbers Bart had printed neatly.

I looked out my window and then the passenger’s side. I reached in the tiny backseat and pulled out the bat, which had been a gift from one of my major league clients, Purvis Turner. I looked at the metallic blue lettering, which said “1999 All-Star Game,” and Purvis’s signature scribbled in black Magic Marker.

I zipped my jacket to the top and got out of my car. I beamed the key toward the lock, and I heard the sound of my car doors locking automatically. As I walked up to the brownstone, I looked at the buzzers. I realized there were three floors. I pulled out the paper with Bart’s address and noticed the B next to his name and figured he lived in the basement apartment.

I stepped quietly down toward the basement apartment with the baseball bat in my hand. I was determined to do damage to Bart and anything he owned. When I got to the door, I noticed a black mailbox with the name “Bart Dunbar,” and I suddenly felt my heart begin to beat at a rapid pace.

I knocked on the door forcefully and waited for Bart to answer. A few minutes went by, and then I knocked again. When Bart didn’t come to the door, I looked in a window covered with black bars. I didn’t see any lights or hear any movement in the apartment. Bart must not be home. But he had to come home sooner or later, and I had nothing but time. I gripped my bat tighter and headed back to my car.

Two hours later and still no sign of Bart. He must be shaking his ass at some gay bar in the village, I thought. I was listening to The Quiet Storm on WBLS, when I decided to check my messages at home. Another call from Rosa, and one from Raymond saying he was just thinking about me. I looked at the clock and saw that it was only 10:20 in Seattle, so I dialed Raymond’s number. I knew from the events of the last thirty-plus hours that with my luck, Raymond’s partner would probably answer the phone. So I was a bit surprised when Raymond picked up himself.

“Hello?”

“You lookin’ for me?” I said.

“Just checking in. How are you doing?”

“Chillin’.”

“Where are you? Sounds like you’re on a portable.”

“I’m in my car.”

“Is it cold there?”

“It’s winter, so you know it’s cold. But I’m hot as hell,” I said.

“Why?” Raymond asked. It sounded like he was whispering. Maybe old dude was close by.

“Would you take a criminal case if it was somebody you loved?”

“Who are you talking about?”

I spent the next ten minutes telling Raymond about my day and evening. I told him how difficult it was hearing the pain in my Pops’s voice and how I had never been so mad in my entire life. I wanted to punish Bart and Yancey for making me look weak and soft in front of my Pops and business partners.

“Why didn’t you just tell your father the truth? You know he loves you. Basil, what your uncle did to you wasn’t your fault,” Raymond said.

“And it wasn’t my Pops’s fault either.”

“Basil, do me a favor. Turn on your car and go home. Don’t make matters worse. How is your