Free Dark Corner by Brandon Massey Page B

his desk. In his gigantic,
bony hand, he held an issue of one of those wacky tabloids.
Dudu read the tabloids zealously, the same way Jackson's
deceased wife used to devour paperback romance novels.
    "You know what the problem could be?" Dudu said. He
tapped the cover of the publication. "Extraterrestrials from
Venus. It says in here that Venusians-aliens from Venusare beaming signals to Earth, to scramble brain waves, and
that our youth are especially vulnerable. It could explain
your boy's erratic behavior, Chief."
    Jackson only stared at him. Dudu was serious, that was
the worst part. He believed all of that alien crap. Heck, Dudu
believed everything he read-the more bizarre, the better.
Dudu's fascination with all things weird ranged from the
tabloids to the lurid horror novels that he kept stacked on his
desk.
    At times like this, Jackson was astounded that he had
hired this man as his deputy. Perhaps his brain waves had
been scrambled when he'd given Dudu the job three years
ago.
    Jackson stood and hitched his belt. "I got to make a run.
Hold it down, hear?"
    "Let me know if you want more details about how the
aliens-"
    "Later, Deputy."
    Jackson pushed Dudu's madness out of his thoughts, and
focused on his son. He needed to find him, and he had a
good idea where Jahlil had gone. There weren't many places
in town where youths could hang out.
    He drove down Main Street, made a right on Pine Lane,
and pulled his cruiser up to the basketball court. A group of
young men, most of them bare-chested, played ball.
Onlookers leaned against the fence.

    Jahlil was on the court playing. He spotted Jackson's car,
and Jackson could see his son mouthing the words, Oh shit,
my dad's here.
    Jackson didn't climb out of the cruiser. He wanted to
avoid causing a scene and embarrassing the kid in front of
his buddies. Doing something like that would only make
Jahlil resent him more than he already did.
    Though I don't understand why the boy resents me at all, he
thought.
    He tapped the horn.
    Jahlil sauntered to the car, looking cool, putting on a
show for his friends, as if to say, No problem, everything's all
right, fellas, I can handle my dad. Finally, he got in and
slammed the door.
    Silent, Jackson pulled away.
    As he drove, Jackson watched his boy from the corner of
his eye. Jahlil looked so damn much like Paulette, his
mother, that Jackson's heart kicked. Jahlil had his mother's
chin, eyes, nose, and lips. He had inherited Jackson's sturdy
build and low, even voice. Sometimes, when Jahlil talked,
Jackson thought he was listening to a recording of himself
from twenty or so years ago.
    Jackson took them to a quiet area on the outskirts of the
town. He parked on a bluff that overlooked the Coldwater
River. Years ago, Jackson would bring Jahlil here, to fish.
Those were happier times.
    "Got a call from Old Mac today," Jackson said. "Said you
up and left with your buddies when you were supposed to be
working."
    "I'm not working at that stupid store anymore," Jahlil
said. "Old Mac's racist. He treats me like I'm his slave."
    "Old Mac ain't racist, and you know it. I've known him
twenty-some years. He's a good man. He did me a favor, giving you a job at his store"
    Jahlil shrugged. That so-what shrug was the boy's re sponse to many of Jackson's points. It infuriated him. Why
couldn't they have an ordinary, two-way conversation?

    "I can't keep getting you jobs, son," Jackson said. "I'm
using up all my goodwill with the business folk in town"
    "I don't wanna work, anyway."
    "If you're living with me, you've gotta have a job. You
got to learn to be responsible, earn your own paycheck.
That's the way the world is."
    Another so-what shrug.
    Jackson flexed his thick fingers on the steering wheel. He
wanted to seize Jahlil by the shoulders and shake him, to rattle some common sense into his head. Did the boy think that
life was only hanging out with his lazy buddies, playing ball,
and chasing