Chapter Twenty-two - Jeremy

I saw no other way out. Jersey would be the move, and I had to get on that as soon as possible. To make Marsha feel comfortable, I considered areas that were right over the George Washington Bridge. Uncle Marvin suggested a little further out, in areas where there were more relatives. I settled on East Orange. It wasn’t the best part of Jersey, but since my relatives were nearby and there was a large Haitian community, I knew we would be safe and welcome.
Marsha thought the battery charge was business-related, but it wasn’t. I’d gotten into it with a guy over a girl and a domino game. I had a friend named Barry who held weekly domino games in his backyard or basement, depending on the season or weather. Barry lived in the cutthroat neighborhood of Edenwald, where gunshots were as common as cracks in the sidewalks and sirens were the background music.
On that night, the game was in the basement. I wasn’t particularly fond of hanging out in the basement, but I was stressed about an issue with an arms shipment, and Uncle Marvin was on my neck about it. Not being able to go into Brooklyn made things harder on everybody, and Uncle Marvin was forced to do things he’d tried to phase himself out of. He and I met in lower Manhattan earlier that evening, and the meeting went smoothly as usual. Uncle Marvin cut me the most slack in the family, but not this time. I needed to blow off some steam and perhaps win an extra dollar or two. So I figured I could stomach the stale beer and old carpet smells for a few hours before cuddling up to Marsha at home.
As usual, I dominated the table, collecting everyone’s paycheck leftovers. All the while, a quiet Jamaican, with skin as dark as night, about my height, and a broad stature, skulked in the corner watching. Finally, he sat down across from me, looking for a challenge. When I won the first round, he sucked his teeth. Money lost and all, none of the usuals on the table were sore losers. This guy, however, made it clear that he wasn’t too thrilled about being on the downside of my winning streak.
“Barry, how long ya gonna let a cheater take up everybody money?” the guy growled.
“Cheater?” I retorted. I was used to being called a cheater, but not in this regard. Dominoes was something I was actually good at. I had absolutely no reason to cheat. I played for fun, to decompress, and because it guaranteed me extra spending money. If there was anything I didn’t have to do, it certainly wasn’t cheat at a dominoes game for money, when I made more off his illegalities in a day than all of these guys made in their biweekly paychecks. “Who’s the cheater?” I asked for clarification.
“You!” The guy pointed his sausage-sized finger across the table directly at me.
I tried to laugh it off. “Look, if you can’t take the heat, then get out the kitchen. Ain’t that what the Americans say?”
“Word,” said someone in the background.
“It’s not heat mi cyan take. It’s cheaters mi nah like!” The guy pounded his two fists on the table, rattling the dominoes out of place.
“Yo, take ya losses or get up from the table, dude!” I hurled the words back at him, letting him know I wasn’t no punk.
The guy stood, and I stood too.
“Ah, who di bumbaclot you ah talk?” the guy roared.
Finally, Barry came over to settle the situation that was not going to settle itself. “Kev, sit down,” he insisted. But Kevin shrugged Barry away.
“Whole time mi ah watch dis guy play, mi say mi know him from some place. Him ah cheat pon di table and him a cheat pon him woman too!”
Something jolted through me. Was this one of Marsha’s brothers? To my knowledge, none of them were in the States, and Marsha didn’t interact with them much either. Why now? My mind raced. I’m being good. I haven’t touched another woman in weeks.
“What di hell ya talkin’?” Barry shouted.
“Now mi recognize him,” Kevin went on. “Dis di one dogged out mi sister!”
“I don’t know your sister, man,” I chanced.
“You don’t remember Chantel?” Kevin was now coming around the table.
For a split second, I didn’t remember Chantel. But looking at the guy’s features, it hit me. I’d slept with that girl one time, months ago. She got all upset when she asked me to leave Marsha, and I refused, and I never spoke to her again. I rolled my eyes. “Your sister was never my woman. Didn’t she move on? Let that shit go. Me and my lady is good. Been good. Know what? I’m out.” I moved to step around Kevin, but Kevin shoved me, knocking me off balance for a moment. It baffled me that the guy was willing to take it there after all this time. He don’t know me, I said to myself as I decked the guy square in the nose.
“Yo! Yo! Yo!” Barry shouted, not wanting any violence in his hovel. But it was too late. Kevin charged forward, not caring that blood gushed from his nose. He threw a punch, but I dodged it, sending him flying forward into a wall. Barry and a few others scrambled to break up the fight, but Kevin was back on his feet in a flash.
“Vin chen!” I challenged him in Creole.
Kevin, looking more frustrated that he had no idea what I was saying to him, slung his arm around my neck and pressed me down into a stifling headlock. I could feel the pressure tightening around my throat, making me lightheaded.
“Mi ah go kill you, you fuckin dutty bumbaclot Haitian bwoy,” Kevin snarled.
As I gasped for air, I reached for and grabbed a beer bottle teetering on the edge of the domino table. I managed to swing upwards and crash the bottle down on top of Kevin’s head. Kevin’s grip on my neck loosened as he fell to the floor, holding his head. Blood colored his black skin red and soaked the front of his clothes. I stood out of breath and rushed for the door, but was backed in by the police with their guns out.
We all got picked up, but I was the only one held on a battery charge. It was time to get out of The Bronx.