Free If You Don't Know Me by Mary B. Morrison Page A

against me wouldn’t count when I explained to the police I was going to visit my son. I had the right to do that.
    Sensor lights came on as I approached Madison’s front door. I rang the doorbell then waited. Playfully I put my finger over the peephole. Laughing, I moved my hand. Hoping she’d be happy I’d come, I didn’t hide my face. “Hello, dear.” I was prepared for Madison not to let me in soon as she saw me but she couldn’t leave me standing out here forever.
    â€œYou need to get your ass away from here right now nigga and never come back.”
    I balled my fists tight, held them high in the air as I turned around and swung.
    â€œYou heard me, nigga. I ain’t scared of you,” Johnny Tyler said stepping back. “Get!”
    â€œI ain’t no dog, dude.” This old man wasn’t my boss anymore. I was glad Madison had fired me. Otherwise, we couldn’t be together. “You want some, old man? I ain’t come here for no trouble. I came to see my kid.”
    â€œI called the cops! They’re on the way!”
    My head snapped in the opposite direction. My fists were still raised. Dropping my arms to my side, I stared at Loretta standing in her front doorway. “You need to call 1-800-JENNY.”
    What did I ever see in her? She still hadn’t ditched that dreadful ponytail. I wasn’t close enough to see if that raspberry lip gloss was smeared across her chocolate lips. Can’t believe I’d sucked it off twenty-three times. Yuck!
    She yelled, “Don’t leave. I want you to go to jail!”
    â€œOh, so now you neighborhood watch, bitch! I came to see my son, not you! Did you lick any pussies while you were in prison?” That should shut her up.
    She threw up her middle finger. I saw that white T-shirt tucked into those skin-tight blue jeans just before she slammed the door. “You gettin’ fat!”
    â€œGranville, you need to leave and never come back.”
    My head jerked in another direction. This time it was Madison standing in the doorway of her house. These bitches lived too close together. I looked toward Tisha’s place expecting her to be in the driveway, then I heard sirens in the distance.
    â€œNigga, you deaf?” Johnny said.
    â€œI got your nigga,” I told him then quickly thumped my cowboy boots along the driveway. When I made it to the sidewalk, I saw a cop car heading in my direction. I took off running toward my truck.
    A big house with an alleyway leading to a backyard was to my right. Too big and too black to hide in this upscale neighborhood where owners like Madison had motion lights surrounding their property, I kept it moving.
    I made it to the corner, dashed across the street while shoving my hand into my front pocket. My keys were on my fingertips and my truck was less than fifty feet away. “You can make it,” I told myself. I looked over my shoulder before crossing the street.
    The cop’s car bumper was literally on my ass when he pulled into the driveway next to my truck. His door flung open.
    The police yelled, “Freeze! Take your hand out of your pocket or I’ll shoot!”
    I put both hands up in the air. The phone Charles gave me fell out of my pocket. I motioned to bend over to pick it up.
    Pow!
    â€œOw!” My left knee hit the grass, then my right. My chest was flat against the cement sidewalk. The left side of my body ached. I braced my head inches from cement. I might not be the most handsome man in Houston but my face was not scarred. Had to keep it that way. It felt like blood rolled underneath my armpit to my chest.
    The officer said, “Don’t move!” then I heard him say, “Suspect in custody. Cancel backup.”
    He was the one that needed to back his ass up. “Man, I was surrendering! I don’t have a gun,” I said. “You didn’t have to shoot me. This is racial profiling.”
    â€œPut your