Free Life Without Hope by Leo Sullivan Page B

Look, boy, you either got some dope or you’re the Po-Po.”
    Nina Brown was a true street veteran. My shoes gave me away.
    Plus, the expression I wore on my face did not help none. Some
    junkies are just a ball of fun. I kind of liked Nina Brown from the
    start.
    I walked out with her on my heels. She was onto my scent like
    a camel to water. As soon as I stepped onto the sidewalk, it was
    pure pandemonium. The police had people like they called in the
    riot control. Vans, cars, dogs. I had the .380 in my pocket. The
    one that I took from the police at the motel. Dumb.
    “ You!”
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    A policeman pointed at me. “Get your ass over here!” He was
    talking to me. I had no place to run. I was trapped. For some rea-
    son, Hope’s face flashed before my eyes and I heard her voice,
    you’ll end up dead or in prison
    . Nina Brown grabbed the back of my
    pants and snatched me back in the store.
    “ Hurry! Give me everything you got, I’ll keep it for you.”
    That was the oldest junkie ploy in the world, but very effec-
    tive. If I would have deposited all my dope and money to her in
    order to be saved from the police, her and her rock star friends
    would have had the great smoke out, smoking all my dope and
    spending money like it grew on trees.
    I passed her the gun. She took one look at it like that was the
    last thing in the world she wanted to trick me out of. She tossed
    it into the trashcan like it was a hot potato. The police came in the
    store, snatched my ass out of line, and lined me up with the other
    fellows. I gave him a phony name and address and prayed like hell
    that the computer didn’t find anything wrong. Once before I had
    done that and the name I gave them came back with a warrant on
    it and they took me to jail.
    One by one, they locked some up, let some go. When they got
    to me, they let me go. The cop poured out my beer, faked like he
    was going to kick me in the ass. I walked off into the ardent sun
    feeling like someone somewhere was praying for me.
    Nina Brown followed me like a lost stray dog.
    “ Well, you ain’t the police, that’s for damn sure.”
    I thought I heard her snicker. She saw my fear and somehow
    found it humorous how I stumbled around back there. The police
    have a way of scaring the shit out of a nigga, especially when you’re
    on the run.
    She ran to catch up to me. I was trying to distance myself from
    the police as quick as possible.
    “ Here.” She passed me a brown bag. “You owe me big time.”
    “ Nigga, I know you was servin’, cause I can tell. What you car-
    rin a gun fo?” She had to struggle to keep pace with me. Once
    again I was thinking, hot as it is this woman got on a jacket. “I
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    ain’t stupid.” A police cruiser was headed our way and I was car-
    rying this gun in a brown paper bag like a loaf of bread. The police
    cruiser slowed. I already made up my mind to r un like hell if they
    tried to pull me over.
    “ Nina Brown! Take your skinny ass home before I lock you
    up!” the police bellowed over the loud speaker in the patrol car.
    He laughed at her and she threw up the finger at him. The officer
    laughed and drove off.
    “ Asshole! His name is Spitler. I went to school with his punk
    ass. We were on the same track and field team. He works in the
    Vice Squad now. You got to watch him, he’s dirty.”
    We continued to walk. Frenchtown reminded me of the old
    days. Some of the houses were set up on bricks, mingled with a
    few modern homes. There were a few vacant lots, worn pavements
    and dusty roads, like Black folks in poverty trying to survive.
    “ Look, man, ‘L’, where you from?” The tone of her voice was
    agitated.
    “ Miami.” I lied.
    Her bloodshot eyes lit up like Vegas slot machines. Ever ybody
    knows that niggas from the bottom are considered as having been
    born with a silver coke spoon in their mouths. Like a cocaine cow-
    boy.
    Now Nina Brown was talking a mile a minute about a