Free At the Crossroads by Travis Hunter

number, and left a message with Nigel’s name and the jail where he was located. He knew the drill by now. Once he was done leaving the message, he hung up the phone.
    “Listen,” Franky said to Jason. “You sit tight for a second. I need to run down the street and holla at somebody.”
    “Okay,” Jason said with a nervous look on his face. He went from being a smart-aleck little boy to a scared one.
    “Do you have any homework?” Franky asked.
    “Yeah,” Jason said.
    “Get started on it and I’ll be right back.”

10
    F ranky walked down the street and marched up Stick’s driveway. The bum was sitting on his front porch in a rocking chair, smoking a cigarette with his feet up on a table.
    “What’s up witcha, lil buddy?” Stick said to Franky.
    “My cousin is pissed off with you.”
    “Which cousin?”
    Franky knew exactly why he was asking that question. Nigel was somewhat of a diplomat and would try his best to work out whatever issue he had with a person by talking. That’s why being a drug dealer didn’t work out for him; he didn’t have or refused to show that killer instinct needed to handle street people. They only responded to fear of violence. Rico, on the other hand, was exactly what the streets needed. And even though they sometimes fought like cats and dog, the brothers had each other’s backs.
    “Both of them,” Franky said. “Nigel is locked up for something you did.”
    “Locked up?” Stick said, snatching his feet down from the table. “Something I did? Whatchu talking ‘bout?”
    “That thing that went down at Mrs. Bertha’s,” Franky said.
    Stick was visibly nervous and looked like he was about to jump out of his own skin and run for cover. “Da … da … that thing was fixed. We straightened that out,” he stammered.
    “Nope,” Franky said, shaking his head and enjoying the bum’s discomfort.
    “Whatchu mean by that? I mean we talked about that, and I gave him all the stuff back. Wasn’t nuttin’ to be arrested for,” Stick said, seeming on the verge of tears. He was the biggest coward Franky had ever seen, which was why he could always be seen hanging out with people who were half his age.
    “Not so. Nigel got caught leaving your house with the stuff. The police arrested him on the spot.”
    “So that’s on him,” Stick said. “How is that my fault? I gave him the stuff back. Now, true enough when I found that stuff, I should’ve taken it right back. ‘Cause I didn’t break into nobody’s house. I found that stuff in the backyard, and I was gonna take it back when she got home but—”
    “Stick,” Franky said, cutting off the lie before the bum could really get started. “Rico is pissed. He’s talking about doing something real bad to you, but I asked him to let me come talk to you first. You know me and you always been cool.”
    “Right … right … right. You a good dude, Franky, andyou got a good head on ya shoulders,” Stick said as if he sensed an out to his situation.
    “So here’s what I need. Two things. One for Nigel and the other for me.”
    “Talk to me,” the bum said. “Have a seat. Let’s talk bidness.”
    Franky walked up on the porch and sat in one of the rocking chairs.
    “We need bail money,” Franky said.
    “How much is his bail?”
    “Twenty-five thousand dollars.”
    “What the … Twenty-five what?” Stick shouted. “Who in the heck did they say he robbed, Hannah Montana? That’s the kind of money they ask for when you rob white folks. Man, I ain’t got no twenty-five thousand dollars. If I had that, do you think I would be here? I would be chilling on a tropical island sipping on something fruity and watching me a curvy woman with a straw skirt on.”
    “Well, you know the bail bondsman asks for only ten percent,” Franky said. “Can you do twenty-five hundred?”
    “Man, no,” Stick said. “I don’t have twenty-five dollars right now.”
    “Well, Stick, you’re gonna have to do something. Nigel needs