The Trigger Effect
© 2005 By Ken Glassmeyer
© 2005 By Ken Glassmeyer
CHAPTER SEVEN
Coach Smith and the team never did catch up with Arman as he ran out of the hospital and cut a sharp angle through the park towards home. The coach tried to hurry the other guys down to the parking lot so they could go after him in the van, but Sir and the others convinced him that it was best just to let Arman work things out as he ran back towards home. Sir promised to call him later that evening and check on him. Smith decided to call off practice that night and took the players to their various homes in time for family dinner.
Jeren stared down at his plate and grinned. Not even fried liver and onions were going to ruin his mood. Evening practice had been cancelled, his homework was done and he was fifteen, and he had his new temporary driver's license, and it was burning a hole in his pocket. Finally there was an upside to having failed both fourth and eighth grade—he was the only one that could drive, albeit part-time, at Sally Ride Middle School. He doused the nasty concoction on his plate with rivers of ketchup, determined to choke the foul dinner down and get on with his plans that night. He was finally off punishment and even though it was Sunday night, he could go out because school was closed for teacher in-service day on Monday.
"How can you taste Gramma's wonderful fried liver under all that ketchup, son?"
"I like ketchup," Jeren grunted without looking at his father. He barely stopped to breathe between shovelfuls of food. Holding his breath helped it not taste so bad. He wanted to leave by 5:15 PM to pick up Jayce and Deshon, since his permit only let him drive until 10:00 PM. He cleaned his plate as quickly as possible. As he wiped his mouth he grinned over at his grandmother and mother. "Great dinner, ladies," Jeren lied spinning up the vibe of his game. It was very excited since he just qualified for his learner's permit and would be allowed to drive that evening as long as he was with a licensed driver. Deshon, a junior at Bluford High School, had his license. Jayce was a sophomore. Jeren wanted to drive his mom's car that night. He could already feel the thrum of the sporty little Escape. He didn't want to get stuck driving his dad's big old Grand "Marqui-hoopty," as his friends had come to call it.
"So mom, you know I am off punishment tonight and I was sort of thinking of going to Deshon's church tonight for the youth rally and, well, I was wonderin' if. . ."
"You could use, your father's car? Oh most certainly." His mom shut down his game before he could even get off the bench. The easy smile slid right off Jeren's face.
"What?" Father and son shouted in stereo.
Mother and grandmother smiled at each other.
"But, mom. . ."
"But, darling. . ."
"I am taking my mother to the Bingo social," Yvonne Jenkins pointed at her husband across the table. "Jonathan, you are doing the dishes and helping Kelsey with her science project this evening. Jeren you are to drive your father's car to Deshon's house, then to church then back again, and only there. I needn't remind you that you are on probation, young man. You have to earn our trust back. Besides, you have a learner's permit—not a full driver's license. That mean's no side trips. I already measured the driving distance. It is exactly seven-point-three-miles with an allowance of an extra two-point-two miles if you guys stop at the ice cream shop along the way for desert afterwards," she clicked off the details in her professional-office-manager voice as she consulted the notepad she had recorded the odometer reading on. Her lips were locked in a firm smile as she tossed her son the keys to the Grand Marquis and pushed the syllabus for her daughter's science project across the table at her husband.
"Yvonne, I was going to play cards over at. . ."
"Mom, I wanted to go. . ."
"The matter is closed," Yvonne declared. She made it a point to let her son see that she had noted the odometer reading. She rose, helped her mother clear the table, and then the two women went upstairs to get ready for the Bingo social.
Kelsey giggled because she would be out of all the chores and get help with her project for school. Jonathan grunted as he shuffled his feet slowly into the kitchen to do the dishes. Jeren stared down at his empty plate trying to figure out how he was going to still be able to sneak all the way across town to see his girl, Sasha, since it was her dad's weekend for custody. The line about going to church was just to get his mom to trust him with the sport truck. He frowned at the ground remembering what his English teacher and coach had quoted from Shakespeare or some some other dead white fool about how "a lie, once told, required constant embellishment." Now he would somehow have to find a car to borrow and still get the correct mileage on the Grand Marquis. He gave the dinning room table a cursory wipe and started to head upstairs to change clothes.
His father came in and snorted at him, "You drivin' my car, you do the dishes."
Jeren rolled his eyes at him, "But mom said. . ."
"Who do you think runs this here family?" Jeren's dad's baritone voice filled the room with false bravado.
"Mom."
The father smiled down at his wayward son.
"Yeah, and don't you forget it, or we'll both be miserable. Go on, get out of here, and remember not a scratch on Betty Lou."
Jonathan reached into his wallet and fished out two twenty-dollar bills.
Jeren smiled at his dad and held out his hand. His father held the money above his palm for a moment. "Don't get too excited, young man. This is for the gas tank. It only has about a third of a tank in it. Fill it up, and you can have the change for ice cream."
"No, problem, pop, thanks."
"Fill the tank--FIRST. Also, remember what your mom, said about the mileage. You know she checked it. You're on probation right now. Don't mess it up and go right back on lockdown."
"Yes, sir,"
Dad stopped and looked down at his dejected son. He reached for his wallet again. "Here'e a extra five spot. Now get out of here and have a good, but SAFE time."
"You're the best, dad."
Jeren ran upstairs to change and call his friend, Deshon. Maybe he would have some ideas on a way around the mileage problem. Twenty minutes later he was sitting in Deshon's room listening to the new 50 Cent cut. Jeren was spinning Deshon's football in his hands. The lines, laces and wide-open spaces of the ball twirled in his fingers and danced to the beat of "Candy Shop."
"We could take a taxi over to Sasha's. Man, this friend she has that will be over here, is she cute?"
"I don't know, why does that matter?"
"I just wanna' be sure she walks on two legs instead of four like your girl, Sasha and. . ."
The football struck the back of Deshon's head.
"You got jokes?" Jeren asked as he reached for the basketball perched on a pile of dirty clothes on the floor.
"Nah, man. Hey now, put the ball down I'm sorry. I was just thinking if she was fine, we could hire one of those limousines and cruise Compton country in style."
"Bro, I only got forty-five bucks, and most of that has to end up in the gas tank of the hoopty."
"Never fear, Deshon is here."
"This should be good."
"Look I've got you covered. First, we can fill your Dad's gas up at the church parking lot."
"Huh? Man, I knew Mierer's put in gas pumps. When did Fairfield Baptist put in. . ."
"No fool. Were not going to buy gas, were going to, uhm, borrow it."
"How do you borrow gas?"
"With one of these." Deshon went over to his closet and rummaged around inside. He then came back out with a section of plastic hose and a foot pump.
"No way. You mean steal gas. Man, we go over there and siphon gas from those church ladies and were, goin' to hell fo' sure. You probably goin' there anyway, but I gotta momma and grandmamma that be prayin for me. I still gotta chance."
"Whatever, choirboy. What are you planning on telling Sasha since you promised we would be over there tonight?" Deshon asked as he whipped out his new Razor phone and handed it to Jeren.
Jeren stared down at the phone and then glanced around the room. He took in all the new toys and fly gear. It suddenly occurred to him that his best friend had either won the lottery, or was dabbling in his cousin's street business again.
"Dee, please tell me you aren't hangin' with the G.D. boyz again?"
"Its no big thang."
"Man don't you know they are just using you? They don't care who you cousin is. Besides, Kellen don't run that gang like he thinks he does. You're just another shorty' slingin for them. Didn't you hear what happened to that kid. They sent him to the wrong block and some OG's not only took his new Mongoose bike, they wrapped him upside the head with a fence pole. Lil' dude eats all his meals through a straw now."
"Look, I'm just doin' some small stuff. I gotta get paid, and I have been. No sweat. No blue boys. I'm workin' an inside game. Tell you what, I've got enough in my roll to front us tonight, that way you don't have to worry about the church ladies. We'll drive your pop's car over to the parking lot and then. . ."
The cell phone chirped in Deshon's hand, startling both boys.
It was Jayce wondering when they were going to pick them up. Deshon told them him they would be there in ten minutes. Deshon's thumbs flew over the cell phone buttons and he dialed up a favor. He whispered a few words to some unknown person smiling at Jeren the whole time like a shark getting ready to eat. He snapped the phone shut with a flick of his wrist.
"One of my boys will be by in a minute, and he has a sweet ride for us. I need to get fresh and clean. Keep your eyes out the window for a silver and blue Eagle Vision. That'll be my boy. He doesn't like to wait and I don't want him honkin' his horn out in the street so that moms gets all goofy." Deshon selected a royal-blue Sean-John outfit from the closet and spread it out on his bed before heading down to the hallway to the bathroom. Once again, Jeren had some serious doubts about what his friend was into with the older kids in the neighborhood. Moments later a sporty Eagle Vision pulled into Deshon's driveway. Jeren ran downstairs and out the door before the driver could honk his horn.
Deshon was right behind him, trying to spray himself with a fancy bottle of CK1 as he ran across the lawn.
"Whad' up, Snake. This is my boy, Jeren. Jeren, this is Snake," Deshon did the introductions as they started to climb into the back seat. There was a real serious looking dude in the driver's seat that didn't say a word. He had dark sunglasses on even though it was already getting dark outside. Snake smiled at the two younger boys from the passeneger's seat. His mouth flashed with gold. Both decks were done in an elaborate filigree of dollars signs and guns. Jeren reached in his mouth and slipped his retainer out of his mouth not wanting to look like some dumb, young kid. He didn't like the way the car smelled. There was a sweet tang in the air and the smoke looked bluish. Jeren looked at Snake dubiously. As they drove to Jayce's house, Snake opened a towel in his lap and he began shredding the outer shell of a cigar and removing the tobacco. He replaced the tobacco with something he was pulling out of a baggy he had unrolled in his lap. Suddenly, Jeren wished he was still at home eating liver and onions.
