“Yeah,” I whispered. “I wanna know.”
Dre was quiet for a second.
“You sure?”
“You just asked me.”
“That ain’t what I said.”
I looked over at Crystal. She was still asleep beside me, facing the other direction.
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“It means once you know shit, you know shit.”
I sat there with the phone pressed against my ear. It sounded dramatic. At twenty-three, dramatic didn’t always sound dangerous. Sometimes it sounded exciting.
“So tell me.”
Dre laughed quietly.
“Aight.” I waited.
“You remember Stack?”
“Obviously.”
“He ain’t just my boy.”
“No shit.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.” There was another pause.
“He got rank.”
I didn’t know what that meant.
“What kind of rank?”
“Associate coordinator.” I waited for him to explain. He didn’t.
“What the fuck is an associate coordinator?” Dre laughed.
“You really don’t know shit.”
“That’s why I’m asking.”
“It means people listen to him.”
“What people?” Another pause.
“The people you’re asking about.” I looked toward the bedroom door.
“Y’all in a gang?”
Dre didn’t answer. That was my answer. I lowered my voice.
“Dre.”
“What?”
“Are you?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yeah, motherfucker. It matters a little bit.” He laughed.
“Why?”
“Because you’re using my fucking car.”
“And I pay you.”
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
“You want me to stop using it?” I didn’t answer. Dre laughed again.
“Exactly.”
That pissed me off because he was right. If I was really that concerned, the solution was sitting twenty feet away in the driveway. My keys. My car. My decision. All I had to do was say no. Instead, I asked another question.
“What are you doing with it?”
“You sure you wanna know that too?”
“Stop asking me that shit.”
“Aight. We move around.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means we move around.”
“Drugs?” Silence.
“Dre?”
“You ask too many questions.”
“You’re the one who said you’d tell me.”
“I told you what you needed to know.” I leaned back against the headboard.
“So Stackhouse is some kind of boss?”
“Don’t call him that.”
“Why?”
“Because that ain’t what I said.”
“Then what is he?”
“I just told you. He’s an associate coordinator.” The words still meant nothing to me.
“Is that high?”
“High enough.”
I thought about Stackhouse driving around earlier. The guy at the car asking who I was. The way his entire attitude changed when Stackhouse said I was with them. He with us. Now those three words felt different.
“Does he think I’m in it?”Dre laughed.
“In what?”
“You know what the fuck I’m talking about.”
“Nobody thinks you’re anything.” For some reason, that offended me.
“Then why’d he say I was with y’all?”
“Because you were sitting in the car with us.” I didn’t say anything. Dre lowered his voice.
“Look, nobody asking you to join shit. Stack likes you. I like you. You got a car. You got a spot. You don’t run your mouth. That’s it.”
A car. A spot. A closed mouth. Those were apparently my qualifications.
“What does my house have to do with anything?”
“Nothing yet.” Yet. That word sat there.
“What do you need it for?”
“Couple people need somewhere to stay.”
“Why can’t they stay with Stack?”
“Because they can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because.”
“That ain’t an answer.”
“It’s the only one you getting tonight.” I looked at the clock. After one in the morning.
“When?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Crystal’s gonna lose her shit.”
“So?”
“So she lives here.”
“Then talk to her.”
“You don’t know Crystal.”
“I don’t need to know Crystal.” I almost laughed.
“You might if you’re trying to move people into my house.”
“Nobody moving in. Couple nights.”
“Stack said one night.”
“Then one night.”
“You just said a couple.”
“Goddamn, JC.” It was the first time Dre called me that. Everybody who really knew me did. My real name was the name on paperwork. The name teachers used. The name somebody called when they didn’t know me well enough to know anything else.
JC was different. Hearing Dre use it did something small that I didn’t recognize at the time. It made him feel less like somebody I knew. It made him feel like a friend.
“Just think about it,” he said.
“I’ll talk to Crystal.”
“Aight.”
“And Dre?”
“What?”
“Don’t tell anybody they can stay here until I say yes.”
“Got you.”
I hung up. For a while, I sat there staring into the dark. Crystal moved beside me.
“Who was that?” I froze.
“Dre.” She rolled over. Even in the darkness, I could feel her looking at me.
“At one in the morning?”
“Yeah.”
“What did he want?”
“Nothing.” She sat up.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Say nothing when it’s obviously something.” I rubbed my face.
“He needs a favor.”
“No.” I looked at her.
“I haven’t even told you what it is.”
“I don’t care.” I laughed quietly.
“You don’t even know.”
“I know it involves Dre.”
“So?”
“So no.” I shook my head.
“Couple people need somewhere to crash.” Crystal stared at me.
“Absolutely not.”
“It’s one night.”
“No.”
“They ain’t moving in.”
“No.”
“You don’t even know who they are.”
“Neither do you.” There it was again. Crystal had an irritating habit of reducing my arguments to one sentence. I got out of bed.
“Where are you going?”
“Bathroom.”
“You’re mad because I don’t want strangers sleeping in our house?”
“I’m not mad.”
“You are.”
“I said I’m not.” I walked into the bathroom and closed the door. I wasn’t mad at Crystal. I was mad because she made sense. That was worse. The next morning, I woke up before her. The house was quiet. I went into the kitchen, grabbed a red-bull, and looked through the window at the Grand Prix sitting outside. I had owned that car for what felt like five minutes, and somehow it had already introduced me to people I never would’ve met otherwise. Dre. Stackhouse. Whoever had been at that convenience store. Whoever had walked up to Stackhouse’s window. People whose names I didn’t know but who apparently knew mine. My phone vibrated on the counter. A text. Dre.
“Stack said 300.”
I stared at it.
Three hundred dollars.
I knew exactly what it meant.
I typed back.
“For what?”
The response came almost immediately.
“The room.”
I looked down the hallway toward the bedroom.
Three hundred dollars for somebody to sleep in a room for one night.
That was ridiculous.
It was also more money than I could ignore.
I typed:
“Who?”
Dre responded:
“2 people.”
That wasn’t what I asked.
“Names?”
A minute passed.
Then:
“Tone and Smoke.”
Those weren’t names either. I put the phone down. Crystal walked into the kitchen a few minutes later wearing sweatpants and one of my shirts. She poured herself coffee. I didn’t say anything. Neither did she. Then she noticed my phone sitting on the counter.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
She gave me that look. I sighed.
“They’ll pay us.”
“No.”
“You don’t even know how much.”
“I don’t care.”
“Three hundred.” She stopped. For half a second. I saw it. Three hundred dollars sounded different than free. Then she shook her head.
“No.”
“For one night.”
“Jay.”
“Three hundred dollars for somebody to sleep.”
“Why would somebody pay three hundred dollars to sleep here?”
I didn’t have an answer. She did.
“Exactly.”
“They probably just don’t have anywhere else.”
“Then they can get a hotel.”
“Maybe they can’t.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then why are they staying here?” I leaned against the counter.
“They aren’t yet.”
“They aren’t at all.” Her voice had changed. This wasn’t one of our stupid disagreements anymore. She was serious.
“This is our house, Jay.”
“I know.”
“No, I don’t think you do.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“It means first it was the car. Now it’s the house.” I stared at her.
“What comes next?” That question stayed with me. Because I didn’t know. And because somewhere inside me, there was a part that wanted to find out. Crystal grabbed her books and left for class. Before she walked out, she stopped at the door.
“Don’t let anybody in this house.”
“I heard you.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
She looked at me for a few seconds. Then she left. I stood there alone. My phone buzzed. Dre again.
“Well?”
I stared at the message. Then at the door Crystal had just walked through. Then at the Grand Prix outside.
I typed:
“She said no.”
Three dots appeared. Then disappeared. Then appeared again.
Finally:
“What you say?”
I didn’t respond. A minute later, my phone rang. Stackhouse. I had never given him my number. That should’ve bothered me more than it did. I answered.
“Hello?”
“Jay.” His voice was unmistakable.
“What’s up?”
“Dre said there’s a problem.”
“No problem.”
“Your girl don’t want nobody there.” I looked toward the front door.
“It’s her house too.”
“Respect.” That surprised me. I expected him to argue. He didn’t.Then he said,
“Five hundred.” I laughed.
“Stack.”
“Five hundred. One night. They gone before she gets up.”
“She’s already up.”
“Before she gets home then.” I rubbed my forehead.
“This is fucked up.” Stackhouse laughed.
“Ain’t nothing fucked up about making five hundred dollars.”
“Why my house?” There was silence. I expected another joke. Instead, Stackhouse answered.
“Because nobody knows it.” That was the first answer anybody gave me that actually scared me. I didn’t say anything.
“You still there?”
“Yeah.”
“You asked.”
“I know.”
“You wanted answers.”
I thought about Dre’s warning from the night before. Once you know shit, you know shit.
“Are they running from somebody?”
“No.”
“Police?”
“No.”
“Then why does it matter if anybody knows the house?” Stackhouse sighed.
“Jay.”
“What?”
“You gotta decide something.”
“What’s that?”
“You want the money, or you want the answers?” I didn’t understand.
“What?”
“People who get paid don’t need every answer. People who need every answer usually don’t get paid.”
It sounded like bullshit. Maybe it was. But it was five-hundred-dollar bullshit. I looked around the kitchen. Five hundred dollars. For one night. Nobody had to know. Crystal would be gone most of the day. They’d leave before she came home. I could put the money in my pocket and never mention it. Easy. That word again. Easy.
“Five hundred?”
“Cash.”
“One night?”
“One night.”
“They’re gone before Crystal gets home. I have to tell her so they better be.”
“Done.”
I closed my eyes. There was still time to say no. Instead, I said,
“Aight.” Stackhouse didn’t celebrate. Didn’t thank me. Didn’t sound surprised. He just said,
“Dre gonna bring ‘em.”
Then he hung up. I stood in the kitchen holding the phone. Something about how quickly the conversation ended bothered me. Like Stackhouse had never really believed I would say no.
Around noon, the Grand Prix pulled into the driveway. My own fucking car. Dre was driving. Two men were inside with him. I walked onto the porch. Dre got out smiling.
“You made the right decision.”
“Don’t start.”
The passenger door opened.
A skinny guy stepped out carrying a backpack.
“Tone,” Dre said.
I recognized the name from the text.
Tone nodded at me.
The rear door opened.
The second guy was bigger. Heavy coat. Black knit cap pulled low over his forehead.
“Smoke.”
Smoke looked at me.
“You Jay?”
“Yeah.”
He reached out.
We shook hands.
“Appreciate you.”
That made it feel better.
Not good.
Better.
Like maybe they really were just two guys who needed somewhere to sleep.
Dre opened the trunk.
I stepped off the porch.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting their shit.”
“Their shit?”
Dre lifted out a duffel bag.
Black.
For a second, I thought about the first night.
Stackhouse walking away from my Grand Prix carrying another black duffel.
Maybe it wasn’t the same bag.
Probably wasn’t.
But my stomach tightened anyway.
Dre handed it to Smoke.
Then he pulled out another.
“What’s in those?”
Nobody answered.
“Dre.”
He closed the trunk.
“Clothes.”
“Then open it.”
Everybody got quiet.
Tone looked at Smoke.
Smoke looked at Dre.
Dre looked at me.
“What?”
“If it’s clothes, open it.”
Dre smiled, but this time there wasn’t anything funny behind it.
“You sure?”
That question again.
You sure?
I looked at the bag.
For the first time since all of this started, the answer came easily.
“No.”
Dre nodded.
“Then let’s go inside.”
I unlocked the front door.
Tone walked in.
Then Smoke.
Dre followed.
I stood on the porch for a second longer.
My Grand Prix was in the driveway.
The neighborhood looked exactly the same as it had yesterday.
Nothing outside had changed.
But Crystal had been right.
First it was the car.
Now it was the house.
I stepped inside and closed the door behind me.
I didn’t know what was inside those bags.
I didn’t know why Stackhouse needed two men hidden somewhere nobody knew.
I didn’t know why five hundred dollars was worth more to me than the answers.
But for the first time, the danger wasn’t disappearing down the road in my Grand Prix.
It was standing in my living room.
And I had opened the door.