Dating Games Read online

  “Take that fucker for a spin, man. And hold up, I’m going too.”

  Rafe and Paul had the rare two-door-coupe BMW sailing down side streets at ninety miles per hour. When they got back, Rafe pulled the dash and found a quarter that was bouncing around in there.

  “Found it!” Rafe yelled across the service area to Paul, holding up the coin.

  “See. You never would’ve known if we didn’t take that baby out.”

  It was five minutes ’til noon, and Rafe was on his back under a car, checking for a leak. He glanced at his watch because his stomach was growling. Sure enough, it was just about lunchtime. He was looking forward to that, because all the guys said they were going out to a pizza place a block from the dealership that made the best Chicago deep dish.

  Rafe was almost tasting it when he felt someone kicking the sole of one of his boots.

  “Yeah,” Rafe said, clicking off the light he was holding under the car.

  “Roll out from under there,” Rafe heard Mr. Sillva tell him.

  Rafe came out from under the car. “What’s up, Tommy?”

  “Got a surprise for you. The owner wants to meet you.”

  “Oh, okay.” Rafe looked down at his greasy hands, feeling the gunk that must’ve been on his face. He didn’t want to be shaking hands with some rich old white man looking like a grease monkey.

  “Can I wash my hands first?”

  “Don’t worry about it, Rafe. The owner doesn’t think you’re performing surgery back here. You’re fixin’ cars. You supposed to be dirty, and he knows that. C’mon.”

  Rafe followed Tommy out of the service area, down a number of hallways, and past countless office doors.

  Tommy stopped in front of one of them, a plain door, no name on it.

  “How you feel?” Tommy asked.

  “Fine,” Rafe said, swallowing hard, not feeling as fine as he said.

  “Well, just relax,” Tommy said, slapping his shoulder. “The owner is a regular guy, just like you. He understands where you’re coming from, and that’s why I think he allowed you to join our little team. So just remember that, okay.”

  “Yeah, okay,” Rafe said.

  Tommy opened the door, and Rafe stepped into the large, finely decorated office, then turned around when the door was pulled closed on him. He turned back around to face the desk, and the tall executive chair that was facing the wall, making it impossible to see who, if anybody, was sitting in it.

  Rafe stood there wringing his hands together, feeling nervous, not knowing whether to speak or just stand there. The high-backed chair started to swivel. Rafe quickly straightened himself in preparation to meet his boss, but when the man behind the chair was completely facing him, Rafe couldn’t believe who he was looking at.

  The brown face, the deep-set eyes, the manicured mustache and goatee, and the tightly braided hair snapped Rafe back to three years ago.

  “FUCK MAN, we gotta do something,” Rafe remembered Smoke saying as flashing red and blue lights invaded the back window of the ’75 Cadillac. Rafe looked over his shoulder, saw two police cruisers behind them, saw another one speeding up on the other side of the street, whipping a U-tum to join the others.

  “Give me the stuff,” Rafe said to Smoke, holding out his hands.

  “What?” Smoke said, frantically, his hands on the steering wheel.

  “Give me the stuff! Don’t make sense both of us gettin’ caught and going up.”

  “Hell naw, Rafe. Fuck that! I ain’t lettin’—”

  “Smoke! Give me the shit!” Rafe whipped his head around to see officers cautiously approaching either side of the car, their guns slowly being drawn.

  “I ain’t got no record. For me, this only enough for a minor possession charge. I’ll get probation. They get you for this, you going away for ten to fifteen. Now c’mon.”

  “But you my brother. I ain’t lettin’ you go down for this alone. We’re in this together. We go down together,” Smoke said. But Rafe grabbed the shoulder bag out of the back seat before Smoke could reach it. He quickly pulled out the small amout of weed they had left from the day’s sell and shoved it in his pockets.

  “What are you doing!” Smoke said, his eyes wide.

  “Just be cool. I’ll handle this,” Rafe told him, catching sight of the officer just outside the car door. He looked as casual as he could until one of the cops tapped on the car window with the barrel of his gun.

  The cop was a black man, name was Bryant, and he hated Rafe and Rafe hated him. He was an Uncle Tom officer if there ever was one, beating down brothas with his nightstick harder than any white cop dared.

  When Rafe rolled down the window, the black officer pointed the gun in at Rafe, even though his hands were already in the air. Countless times, he and his white partner had stopped him and Smoke, hoping to catch them with something. He’d finally gotten lucky and seemed to know it.

  “Get yo’ black ass out the car, slimy nigga,” Bryant said. “Something’s telling me this is your lucky night.”

  It was only two dime bags of weed. The public defender said it would be nothing, simple possession, no intent to distribute. They would hold Rafe ’til his court date, then slap him on the wrist with probation.

  But when that court date arrived and Rafe stood there in front of the judge listening to the charges being read off, he thought he had to have been hearing things.

  He saw the white man in the suit read something from a clipboard. Rafe heard his name, then heard the words “possession of cocaine.” He heard the words “with intent to distribute.” Then heard something about “five-year sentence.”

  He felt light-headed, felt the room whirling around him. He quickly looked to the Asian female public defender beside him.

  “Don’t worry. They’ve obviously made a mistake,” she said. “We’ll get this cleared up.”

  But Rafe knew that wouldn’t happen when he caught sight of Bryant, there in the back of the room, smiling an evil, wide grin, bobbing his head, mouthing the words, “Gotcha, nigga.”

  As Rafe was being dragged out of the courtroom in handcuffs, the last thing he saw was Smoke rushing toward him, as if to rescue him, climbing over courtroom seats, yelling, tears in his eyes, “I’m gonna get you out of this. Don’t you worry. I’m gonna get you out of this!”

  RAFE’S EYES refocused on Samuel, the man in front of him, the man everyone had called Smoke. He had earned the nickname because of the weed he had sold and had later convinced Rafe to start selling when he was seventeen. Smoke was smiling, getting up from behind the huge desk, walking over toward Rafe, his arms extended.

  Rafe took a step back, but Smoke took him in a brotherly hug anyway, rocking him side to side for a moment. Then he leaned away from him, looking him over fondly, as if they were high school buddies meeting at their twentieth reunion.

  “How you doin’, brotha?” Smoke said, a huge smile on his face. “It’s been a long time. I missed you, man.”

  Rafe didn’t say a word, still shocked to see him here, shocked that he was his employer.

  Smoke let go of Rafe, stepped back.

  “So one day you just decided to fall off the face of the earth, huh?” Smoke said.

  Still Rafe said nothing.

  “I mean, we was talking every day. We was mounting your defense. I had lawyers on retainer and shit. We was gonna get you out, and you just stop calling, stop taking my calls. I spent thousands of dollars tryin’ to get you out, and nothin’.”

  “You want your money back, Smoke?”

  “Naw, naw,” Smoke quickly said, sounding almost apologetic. “It ain’t about the money. I told you I’d get you out of there, and that’s what I was trying to do. I didn’t know what happened to you. Didn’t know if you was dead or what.” He was silent, as if giving Rafe a moment to respond to any of what he said. Rafe didn’t.

  “I was worried about you,” Smoke said, the look on his face now expressing that sentiment. “I thought we were brothers. That’s what we
said, right?”

  “Yeah,” Rafe said, sounding now as though that had been a mistake.

  “So why ain’t you never call back?” Smoke asked, concern on his face. “Was it about Eric?”

  Eric’s face flashed across Rafe’s mind, causing a quick pain in his heart. “Yeah. That’s it, but I don’t want to talk about Eric. I’m here, and that’s all that matters.”

  “Yeah, yeah. That’s right.” Smoke brightened. “That is all that matters. That reminds me. Got something for you.” He raced around his desk, going in his drawer, and handing an envelope to Rafe. “Go ahead. Open that it.”

  Rafe looked at Smoke strangely, turning the big, oddly shaped envelope over in his hands to see his name scribbled across the back. It looked like the handwriting of a third grader.

  “Open it, man!” Smoke said, with ever building excitement.

  Rafe tore open the envelope to find a greeting card enclosed. There was a cartoon hippopotamus on the front wearing a cap and gown with a diploma in its right hoof. On the cover it read, After four years of being away … Rafe opened the card, where it continued … all you have to look forward to is hard work. Happy graduation. Glad to have you out, brotha, was scribbled in the same handwriting as his name on the envelope. When Rafe looked up at Smoke, he was chuckling.

  “I know you ain’t graduate from college or nothing, but they don’t make no ‘Congratulations for getting out of the joint’ cards. Besides, that shit was kinda funny, hunh?”

  “Yeah. That was real funny, Smoke,” Rafe agreed, handing the card back.

  “Naw, naw. You keep it. Besides, I got a bunch of other stuff for you—your birthday, Christmas gifts, Halloween candy. All that shit. You ain’t think I forgot about my brother, did you?” Smoke threw an arm around Rafe’s neck and pushed him toward the door.

  “Naw. How could I have thought that, Smoke?”

  “That’s right. Now let me show you around.”

  Rafe let Smoke show him around the dealership. He took Rafe across the showroom floor, through the parts department, through the service area, the break room, locker room, and storage room. He wore slacks and a collared shirt, so unlike the jeans and tees that he and Rafe used to always wear. He was very businesslike, seeming to have the sincere respect of all the people who worked for him there.

  “I owe a lot of this to you, Rafe,” Smoke said, as they stood in front of a brand-new 7 series BMW on the showroom floor. “After you cut connections, I had to do something with all that energy I had trying to get you out. I knew I wanted it to be legit and something that you could benefit from when your time was over. This is what turned out.”

  Rafe looked up at Smoke, not knowing how to take what the man had said. He didn’t know whether to believe him, but then he asked himself, Why wouldn’t he? Why was he being cold to the man who was once his best friend, the man who tried so hard to get him out of prison? Did he deserve this treatment? Rafe didn’t know, didn’t feel like trying to find the answer that very moment, so he looked back down at the car in front of him.

  “Like that?” Smoke smiled. “Let’s go for a spin.”

  Smoke drove the car fifteen miles per hour slower than the passing traffic around him, as Rafe looked out at the street in front of him, a blank expression on his face.

  “So what you think of my establishment? Nice setup, hunh?” Smoke smiled at Rafe again.

  “How did I end up here?” was all Rafe could say, not turning to look at Smoke. “How did you get to my parole officer?”

  The smile on Smoke’s face disappeared. “Why you gotta even ask that? Can’t you just be glad that you are here?”

  “So you ain’t answering questions,” Rafe threw back. “Fine. Just pull the car over, and let me out.”

  “All right, all right,” Smoke said. “You weren’t stayin’ in contact with me, but it’s not like I didn’t know where you were, what you were doin’ every day of the week. I probably knew when you were getting out before you did.”

  “How?” Rafe said.

  “The guards. You know how little the state pays them to be locked up with dangerous types like you,” Smoke said, smiling.

  “And my parole officer.”

  “What about him?”

  “How did you get him to send me here?”

  “Damn,” Smoke blew, throwing his hands up. “I got to spell it out for you? How you think?”

  Rafe knew it was money. “You said you were clean, said the place was all legit.”

  “It is, but I still know how to get shit done.”

  Rafe shook his head.

  “What’s up with you, man? Don’t be mad. I get you a job, show you around my place, and you actin’ like I’m doin’ you harm.”

  “Can’t do me no more harm than you’ve already done,” Rafe said.

  Smoke hit the brakes. The car screeched to a halt. Smoke turned to Rafe, sadness on his face. “I ain’t want to give you those drugs. All that you did for me in the past. You were the only family I had. I ain’t want you to go down. I did everything I could to get you out, but you acting like I didn’t even care.”

  Rafe threw a hand over his face, exhaled, and told himself to take some steps back. Smoke was right. Rafe woke up this morning happy that he had a job, a new lease on life, and it was all because of Smoke, and he’s treating him like this. But he knew what the reason for this treatment was. The lease wasn’t exactly new. It was given to him by the same man who got him caught up in the business that had him going to jail in the first place. But that was all in the past now, wasn’t it?

  “All right. Okay, Smoke. You’re right. You’ve been being nothing but cool to me, and I’m giving you a hard way to go. I just got some shit on my mind that I gotta get right, and then I should be straight. All right?” Rafe did his best to conjure up a smile.

  “Well, I got something that might just help you.”

  THIRTEEN

  SMOKE pulled up to Rafe’s once worn-looking wood-framed house but it was now covered with brown aluminum siding. There were small, neatly trimmed shrubs in front of the house and along the walkway leading up to it. New window fixtures were in place. Even the banisters that enclosed the porch were new.

  Smoke looked over his shoulder as he parallel-parked the BMW. “Got to be very careful,” he said. “Don’t want to hit your old man’s Cadillac.”

  Rafe turned his head and looked out the back window. His old man didn’t have a Cadillac. Always said that he wanted one, but … and then Rafe saw the 2001 STS parked behind him.

  “Where did he get that?” Rafe demanded, turning to Smoke. Smoke was smiling, pulling his key from the ignition. “Why don’t you ask him?” He got out of the car. Rafe was afraid to step into that house, afraid to find out what was really going on, but he pushed the door open and got out the car anyway.

  Up on the porch, Rafe stood to the side while Smoke rang the doorbell. After a moment, Rafe heard the locks on the door being turned. He stepped further aside so he wouldn’t be seen.

  “Hey, Smoke. How’s it going? Didn’t expect to see you this week,” Rafe heard his father say, sounding as though he and Smoke were old friends, fishing buddies.

  “Yeah, well, Pops,” Smoke said, “I have a surprise for you and Ma that I wanted to bring by.”

  Hold it, Rafe thought. Had he just heard Smoke refer to his parents as Ma and Pops, like Rafe always had? What the hell was going on?

  “Well, c’mon in,” Rafe heard his father say, then saw the door open, saw his old man’s hand holding it there for Smoke. “The little woman is in the kitchen. Just have a seat, and I’ll get her.”

  Rafe didn’t budge, just stood outside, still trying to understand why Smoke had called his parents what he had. Smoke stuck his head out the door. “C’mon in, brotha,” he said with a genuine smile. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

  Rafe stepped into the house, was going to find out just what the hell was going on, when he was halted by everything around him. The house had chang
ed. Yes, structurally it was the same. The shape of the living room wasn’t different. The kitchen door was still at the back of the room. The stairs leading up to the second floor, where his and Eric’s bedroom was, were still back near the dining room. But that’s where it all ended.

  None of the the plastic-covered, flower-print-upholstered furniture was there anymore. It had been replaced with fine Italian leather sofas and a chair. The ancient floor model RCA Colortron, with its mammoth wooden shell, wasn’t there either. In its place stood an entertainment center. On the shelves were a 36-inch flat screen Sony and full Bose audio system with surround sound, as well as countless CDs and DVDs.

  Rafe spun in a circle, his head feeling light, looking at the floor, the expensive deep-pile carpet that covered it. He saw the window treatments, the gold metal, and glass end and coffee tables. There was no way that his parents could afford this stuff. There was just no way.

  Rafe turned to Smoke, having an idea where all this stuff had come from, but not wanting to find out for sure.

  “Let’s go,” Rafe said. He headed toward the door, opened it, and was almost out of it when he heard his mother’s voice. “Hey, Smoke,” she said, and in it was none of the anger, the malice that Rafe had heard in her voice the last time she’d spoken to him.

  “He said he got a surprise for us, baby,” Rafe’s father said, his voice filled with an almost childlike excitement.

  Rafe stood outside the door now. He wanted to run away from there, actually wanted to just disappear into thin air. But he just stood there.

  “So what you got for us?” Rafe’s mother asked. She gave Smoke a hug, then looked over her shoulder, catching sight of someone just outside her front door.

  “Who is that?” she called.

  Rafe froze.

  “That’s the surprise I brought for you, Ma,” Rafe heard Smoke say, his voice cheerful. “Come in, man.”

  Rafe still stood there, his body feeling leaden with anxiety, his head racing as he thought about what he would do, what he would say if his mother found out it was him standing there. He couldn’t allow that. He couldn’t speak to them now, especially after seeing how they responded to Smoke. They were allowing Smoke to refer to them as though he were their new son, the one who had replaced Rafe. He had to leave because he knew if he confronted them, he would have nothing but hateful words for them.