Rewind Time

Bernie’s Bar was just about to close when Lilly King finally went to the window and called out into the darkness.   It was a clear night, the sky was filled with stars, and the streets were quiet. Not a single person was out  at that late hour,  not a man or woman, not a boy or girl.  Lilly hoped too, hoped to see a person headed in that direction, and prayed it would be Damon.  Nothing or no body came along.  Only a single car was parked in Bernie’s parking lot and from Lilly’s view point the car appeared to be abandoned. 

“Damon, get your ass in this house, right now!” Lilly yelled out into the darkness, fully aware she was yelling at the street.

Damon was outside, but nowhere near Comstock Street.  He had left early that morning with his cousins, and at that very moment they were in a subway station in Brooklyn being held up at gun point.

It’s not a long story, but a real story.  It happened during the time when bell bottoms and afros were still in style.  During a time when Comstock Street in New Bethill was known for selling drugs.  It was run by the Jefferson family.  Damon was a King, but his mother Lilly, was a true born and bred, Jefferson.  A family infamous for the schemes they concocted.  The Jefferson clan were always up to one thing or another, some were thieves, others drug dealers, drug addicts, hustlers and alcoholics.  Only a few were like Lilly, well respected.  Lilly was a worker.  She prayed her children would walk the right line, but feared Damon was on a path to become another Jefferson.

Comstock Street was facing an issue, the Jefferson's had the demand for crack cocaine, but kept running out of product due to the influx of crack heads.  Damon couldn’t articulate the problem, but he understood his supply was insufficient for the demand.  He needed to have a talk with his cousins to come up with a reasonable solution.

 “Ma,” Damon yelled when he peeked inside the refrigerator.  It wasn’t empty like it used to be.  There was milk and eggs and kool-aid.  His mother had just started taking money from him, but he had to always make up lies about where the money came from.

  “Can I make an egg?”

“Boy, I don’t care," Lilly said, "clean up the mess."

She wore her pale-blue uniform dress, it was like an ushers dress, only blue.   Her hair was pushed back off her face and pulled to the front, like Weezy Jefferson's.  She thought she looked conservative and wore it that way on work days.  Other than that, she kept her thick main in a wild afro.  It was Wednesday and she cleaned the doctor’s office on Wednesday mornings.  When she came into the kitchen, she walked over to the cabinet and took down her coffee and a cup. 

Damon grabbed the eggs and put a spoonful of margarine in a pan. 

Lilly wanted to have a talk with Damon, his grades were slipping in school, and she was getting calls from his teachers.  She was about to have the conversation, when she noticed his fresh haircut, “I told you I was going to give you the money for a haircut on Friday,” she said.

With his hand on his hip, Damon waited as the margarine melted in the black cast-iron pan.  His hair was cut in a high-top fade, the front was tall and square and the sides were tapered close to his scalp.   “I know, but now you don’t.  Goliath paid for me to get a cut.”

“Goliath?”  Lilly looked at her son from head to toe, with a suspicious glance as she scooped coffee.   Goliath was her nephew, one of her sister’s sons.  Her sister had six sons, all were close to Damon.  All of them together used to remind Lilly of the little rascals, but now the oldest four and Damon were trying to be gangsters.   Goliath and Damon were the closes, they were like Irish Twins.  They were the same age, born days apart in April and both were starting to act up in school.

 “Where he get money from?" Lilly asked.

"He had a job," Damon said.  He gave a bashful smile, the same look he gave when he tried to cover his lies.  "What time you gettin off today?”

Checking the temperature of her coffee, Lilly blew on the stream of smoke that rose over her cup, and stirred.  All the while she watched Damon.  He was just a boy, with a big mouth, just like his father.  “The same time I get off every day.  You look nice.  I guess Goliath got you the clothes too,” she said.  “He don’t have a job the first but he can afford to shop for both yah, huh?"

“Ma,” Damon said, with a playful look in his eyes that always melted Lilly's heart,  “Goliath don’t got that much money.  Nah Mikel hooked us up, you know he got a job?”

“Yeah, momma told me he was working.”

“He is working.”

“Is…”  Lilly said and she shrugged her shoulders, “he won’t have that job long.”

“Now how you know?”

“Because, he had the job at McDonalds.  He worked 2-weeks, before that he worked at the Pegasus Supermarket, didn’t have that job long and before that he was working at the Recycle Plant.  He doesn’t have a track record of keeping jobs very long.”

Damon and Lilly both laughed, “Not everybody can be one of the Lilly King girls,” Damon said.

Damon was talking about his sisters.  They were known to work.  He had three of them and all three had after school jobs.  Not just jobs flipping burgers, or bagging groceries, they had good jobs.  The oldest Cordelia, worked at the newspaper, writing stories, his middle sister Jersey worked at the bank, and his baby sister Angel worked for social security.  He was the youngest and never had a job.  Not even for CETA.

“I know not everybody is one of my daughters," Lilly said, "But you're my son, you need to get a job and leave them streets alone.  They only bring you heartache and pain.  This is your last year at school, and you're acting up and running the streets ain't going to teach you nothing but trouble."

 “I’m going to look for a job.”

“When?”

“Today,” he said thinking about his plans, “I might be late.”  He sat at the table and began eating his eggs.  They weren’t like Lilly’s but they were good.  He’d learned to cook watching her, she was an excellent cook and had a side hustle cooking for people in the neighborhood.  Damon turned her onto the hustle, around the holidays Damon would buy ingredients so Lilly could make samples.  He would give the samples out to people in the neighborhood, and the orders would flow-in.

“Just be home before 11.” Lilly said after she’d finished her coffee and was headed out the door.

It was a cold October morning and Lilly put on her long, black coat, her black hat and gloves.  She had a way of looking fashionable even though she didn’t own a lot of clothes. 

 “That’s not late.  Delia an’em never come that early.”

Lilly raised her brow and threw him an unsympathetic gaze, “There’re grown.  You, son better be in this house by 11 o’clock.  No exceptions.”

Nearly done eating his eggs, Damon promised he would be home on time.  

~~~~~~

Damon’s six cousins lived around the corner on Edgar Boulevard, with Mama, Lilly’s mother.  They lived in a large Victorian house, with six bedrooms, 4 bathrooms, three kitchens, an attic, a basement, and a cottage at the back.  It was built by Madison Jefferson, Damon’s great-great grandfather and had been in the family since.  It passed down from generation to generation and was old and ragged, but rugged.

Mama Jefferson’s door was always open, even at seven or eight in the morning.  Such was the case that morning when Damon tapped on the door and walked right into the house.  He walked through the living room with the plastic covered sofa and love-seat, and found his two youngest cousins seated at the table eating oatmeal, his grandmother and Uncle Willie, Mama's oldest son, were at the table drinking coffee and talking about her youngest daughter, Thelma.  She’d run off again on a drug binge and left her two daughters.  Damon slapped his cousins in the head, kissed his grandmother, shook hands with his uncle, cracked a few jokes and went upstairs.  He probably should have felt guilty about his aunt being strung out on drugs, but it was his practice to never serve family members.   He had in the past bent the rules for some of his uncles, but he never did for his aunts. 

He knew just where the other boys were.  They always hung in the twins, Sampson and Samuel’s, room.  That room used to belong to their Uncle, Joshua Jefferson, he was the cool uncle, until he came home from Vietnam addicted to heroin.  He overdosed two-years after his discharge from the military, but when he first returned from the military, Joshua had the room painted black and green for Africa,.  He painted a black fist in the center of the longest wall, and album covers hung on the remaining walls--Prince, Michael Jackson, PFunk and Marvin Gaye and others.  They all loved that room, Sampson and Samuel took ownership of it the day after their uncle passed, and they made a vow to never change a thing.   

When Damon walked in he found, Mikel and Goliath were eating cereal on one bed.  Samuel was on the floor with a towel spread out, ironing, and Sampson was watching cartoons.  Sampson just started laughing when he noticed Damon.

“It’s about time,” Sampson said.

“Honestly, D," Samuel replied, "You're making me late.”  He was the second oldest of the Jefferson Five.  Whenever people spoke of the Jefferson brothers they always counted five, because most believed Damon was a brother.  

“I’m supposed to go on an interview,” Sampson said.  He glanced away from the television and went right back to watching when Damon sat next to him.

“Ain’t you too old to be laughing at cartoons?” Damon said.  It was the Flintstones on the television and Sampson had laughed at Barney, he was mad at Fred.

 “D,” Samuel said looking up from the floor, “why we have to meet up this early.  Some of us got real shit going on, bro, I have to go to work today.”

“You don’t even get paid,” Goliath laughed.

“I know,” Samuel said with ease.  “But one day they’re going to hire me full-time--” 

“You hope,” Mikel said.

“In the mean time we got real problems to deal with,” Damon said, returning to the problem with their product.   “We ran out of product again last night.”  He said it as if his cousin's weren't aware.

“Like we don’t know this,” Samuel said. 

“That’s why you and Goliath going today,” Sampson said, agreeing with his brother.

“I was on the block last night and ran out,” Samuel said. “Don’t want that to happen again.  It happened the week before too.”

“Me too,” Mikel said, “only Sampson has shit leftover.  He’s a stingy ass.”

Born two-minutes after Samuel, Sampson was the leader of the Jefferson Five.  That subject never actually discussed, it was automatically presumed.  They did as he instructed.  He was the smartest.  He was smart in school, graduated high-school with honors and was taking classes at Middlesex County College.  

“That’s because I don’t sell to every Tom, Dick and Harry,” Sampson said.

“See, this is a problem.  We can’t keep coming up short.” Damon said.  “But I have the solution.”

Damon glanced at Sampson, who shook his head side to side.  He was already in disagreement, but Damon knew he had to get him on his side, to make things happen.  

“Here me out--hear me out.  We should all go to New York today.  Tthis way we get more product to last us for a longer amount of time.  If we keep up our runs every two-weeks, we’ll never run out again," Damon said it with such assurance, he felt like a sales men. 

"You mean load up today," Samuel said.

"That's right.  We going through more than five-bricks every two weeks," Damon said. 

He glanced into the eyes of each of his cousins and giggled inside.   He knew he had Goliath, they’d talked about it before.  Based on the way Samuel nodded his head, and Mikel sat up, he knew he had them as well.  Sampson was the hold out. 

“Too dangerous for us all to go,” Sampson said.  He still watched the Flintstones.  “Who going to work the block?”

“Big Paulie,” Damon said.

“That dumb motherfucker, can’t watch the block,” Sampson said.

“You just don’t like him,” Golithe said.

“I don’t trust him,” Sampson said.  “If he’d fuck with my girl.”

“He didn’t,” Damon said, annoyed,  “but if we all go, he’s the only one I’d trust holding the block down while we're gone.  Got damn we're only going to be gone a few hours.”

Mikel had leaned back on the wall, his arms were behind his head.  He was the youngest brother, talked wild and crazy at times, but always backed his words up in action.  “I say fuck coming up short every day.  We got the dough, let’s go.  I like that idea, Damon.”

 “It’s dangerous, but makes sense.  Sometimes you gotta roll the dice,” Samuel agreed.

Goliath remained quiet, was always hesitant when Damon proposed things, his brother accused him of always taking Damon's side.  He leaned back on the wall, next to Mikel, above his head was the album cover with Marvin Gaye dressed in a white suite and a black shirt.   Goliath acted as if he was weighing the matter,

"I say let's do it."

 “I think it makes sense for us all to go,” he shrugged his shoulder, “just this one time,” Mikel added.

 “If they don’t get it from us, they’re going across town.  We're losing money, ” Damon said, he stood up and paced back and forth.  

Sampson knew it made sense.  Somehow they always got the best deals  with Damon’s connects, they should load up and keep replenishing, “How many?”

“Five a piece,” Damon said.

For a second there was complete silence.  They all got five before that wasn’t a big deal.  But having 25-bricks at one time was a big deal.  Sampson chuckled, he always laughed or smiled when he was nervous.

“What if we get robbed?”  Sampson said.

“We won’t get robbed,” Damon interjected.

“We got enough in the kitty?” Sampson asked.  He turned away from the cartoons for the first time.  The music to the Flintstone's played. 

“We got it,” Samuel said.  He worked the money house.  Their uncle, Albert had a house set up that he used to fence stolen goods.  Albert let them stash their cash and drugs at his place.  Samuel was the counter.

“Let’s do it,” Sampson said, “But Damon, your idea, your fall.”

Damon shook his head, “The things I gotta do, to keep us on top.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was after eleven when they set out for New York.  Each of them dressed to conceal five bricks and a gun.  Sampson and Samuel always seemed to dress alike, but not on purpose.  They wore heavy leather boomer jackets, Sampson’s was a royal blue with fur around the hood.  Samuel’s was black and had no hood.  Goliath wore a 3-quarter length shearling, it zipped in the front and had plenty of pockets.  Mikel wore a green army jacket, it belonged to his Uncle Joshua, had extra-large pockets on the inside.  Damon, was the thinnest and the shortest of the group, he wore a long leather jacket with big pockets. 

Damon had made all the plans.  Set everything in motion.  They arrived in New York and took the subway right to Brooklyn.  The connect was waiting at the Hazelton Project’s Recreation Center at 1 o’clock, as promised.

Things went wrong that night when they changed the rules.  Didn’t stick to the plan.  Before they arrived in New York, they agreed to leave before dark.  But they liked a good party.  Their connect invited them to an apartment where there were plenty girls, weed and booze.  They lingered, got high, collected a few numbers and lingered some more.  Close to midnight, when they set out for home.

The streets were pitch black and the usual rush-hour crowd was gone.  They walked in the night without saying a word.  Listening to anything that didn’t sound like night owls.

“Told yah, we should have left earlier,” Sampson said in a whisper.  He was nervous and felt like he should have followed his instincts and stayed back home. 

“We’re going to be all right,” Damon said.  “It’s five of us, we’re all strapped.”

 “I ain’t worried about that,” Sampson said.  “I’m worried about the police.  Yah do realize we’re carrying a hell of a lot of shit.”

“Calm down,” Mikel said, “this the fucking hard part, can’t complain now.”

 “Yeah,” too late to worry now.  Let’s get the fuck outta here,” Goliath agreed.

Damon was afraid too, but he walked proudly, as if he had no fear.  His chest stuck out, but he was worried about the five bricks of cocaine inside the lining of his jacket.  One of his girlfriends had opened the jacket and placed a zipper right down the middle.  He easily unzipped the jacket and dropped the bricks.  He'd worn that coat many times.  Had no issues.  But he usually only carried 2 or 3 bricks of coke, now he had 5.  He had a problem with the zipper and hoped it would hold.  So his heart pounded and every time a car approach he wondered if the lining would hold if he had to run.    

They all wanted to run and exhaled a big sigh of relief when the subway lights came into view.  They had only a block left, and there were more people on the street.  Damon was happy things were still going according to plan.

“The station!”  He said.

“Now I understand when people say, So close, yet so far,” Samuel said with a grin.  He glanced around at the street and was relieved to find the nightlife was still happening.   A bar was opened and several cars were stopped at the  light.  No police in sight.

“Stop being so scary,” Mikel said.  He was glad too.

They reached the entrance Damon stepped into the subway station first, Sampson brought up the rear.  Damon had about three steps to go, when out of nowhere there appeared two men with guns drawn at them.   Damon had a pained expression in his eyes, and when he turned and glanced his cousins, he found they wore similar expression,  Behind them three more dudes, with guns pointed at their backs. 

 “A fucking setup,” Sampson said.  He looked right at Damon, angre written all over his face.

“What’s the deal,” Damon said to a big dude holding a gun.  He must have been the leader because he spoke first.

“You know what this is.”

“Give it up,” the smaller man beside him let out.

 “Nah,” Damon said.  He stood tall and rocked from side to side.  “I don’t know what this is, please let us pass.”

“Listen bro,” the big dude said and he drew close to Damon, so close Damon felt his breath.  “This is a fucking stick up.  Everyone of yah going to take off them coats.”

“You want our fucking coats,” Damon asked.

Mikel stood on the steps, in between Damon and his brothers.  He wasn't afraid--he knew the boys and their leader were afraid.  “They not getting shit from us,” Mikel said.    Then he looked into the eyes of the bigger guy, “You heard my brother, let us pass!” He yelled.

“What you say…” the big dude said, and he approached Mikel with his gun pointed at his head.

“Woo…woo…woo,” Damon said and he stretched his arms and moved the barrel of the gun away from Mikel's head. “Let’s talk about this.”

“We not talking, Damon” Mikel said.

The big dude was irritated, “You want to die today, motherfucker," he said.

His  accomplices reinforced their positions.

 “No, Mikel.”   Damon could hear his cousin’s heavy breathing with an acuteness.  “Let's do what they said, before they kill us."  Damon eased  out of his jacket and let it drop to the concrete floor.  Goliath and Samuel were just about to follow, Sampson never moved.  Mikel pulled out his gun and held  it at the big dude.  “Pick up yah coats.”

Goliath and Samuel put their coats back on.  Damon squatted with his hands out and glanced at his gun.  It was in the pocket of his coat, and the handle rested on the concrete platform, barely visible.  Damon didn’t want to die, he hoped they would all just take their coats off, but  Mikel nudged him hard.  Damon picked up his coat and put it back on.  He gripped the gun, figuring he was going to have to make use of it.

 “Let me handle this shit,” Sampson said.  Sampson started down the steps.  He walked right up to the big dude, like an Angel.  He placed his gun on the man’s temple without even a flinch, “You’re scared, my brother.  Do you want to die today?”

Damon hated fights.  Especially gun fights.  He’d never been in a close gun fight, and never shot a single person. When he shot, he would aim, shoot and duck.  People in New Bethill had rules:  only shoot if no one was on the streets and no shooting during daylight hours.   Damon said a quick prayer during a long moment of silence.   It was only a few minutes, but it seemed like an hour, no one stepped onto the staircase to catch a train, no train arrived with people departing.  

Sampson still stood with the gun pointed at the man’s head.  "I don't want no trouble," the big dude finally said, his voice cracked.  

“Man, you’re a fucking punk, Larry,” the little dude next to him, blurted out.  He gave in, put his gun into his pocket.  The other three in the back did the same. 

“Told your fucking dumb asses, we was gonna need bullets,” the last man said when they stepped out the subway.

It was like a miracle.  The five of them watched the gang disappear, as quick as they had appeared.

~~~~~~

Damon, thought about that night when he entered New Bethill police station.   He no longer had his cousins to back him, to stand guard and save him.  Damon was old now.  Old and tired, he even looked ragged.  He’d had enough, running the streets.  The night he turned himself in, he couldn’t explain why that memory popped into his head, but it took away his fear.  Made him feel warm inside, it gave him courage.   If only he could rewind time.

 He walked up to the big desk where the police officer was busy filling out papers, “I am Damon King and I’m here to turn myself in."

The rights to the content / images on this page are owned by Jacqueline Session Ausby,  and you do not  have the  right to use any of the content / images without her expressed permission.  If you would like to contact Jacqueline Ausby, please email jmbeausby@aol.com.  Thank you.