No Way Out Page 7

  Harold wasn’t sure what to say. “I’m with Londell,” he answered.

  The door opened a crack, and a skinny man peered at Harold. “Where’s the other boy?” he snarled. “Where’s Keenan?”

  “He’s not here,” Harold replied nervously. “I’m Harold. ”

  “You got my stuff ?”

  “Yeah,” said Harold, reaching into his backpack. “It’s a hundred dollars. ”

  “Lemme check it first,” said the man, looking Harold over.

  “The money first,” Harold said cautiously.

  “How do I know you ain’t rippin’ me off ?” the man replied. “Lemme check the bag. ”

  “I ain’t got time for this!” Harold yelled desperately. “Please, mister. Just gimme the money so I can get outta here!”

  The man handed Harold a wad of cash. Harold counted it quickly and shoved the bag into his hands, glad to be rid of it. He hurried back to the playground, which was busier than ever.

  Jupiter and Keenan stood together at the far corner, their hands moving swiftly, taking money and giving out what looked like small plastic bags. Harold headed straight for Londell’s car, which was parked on a shadowy curb under a broken streetlight.

  “Got my money?” Londell asked as Harold climbed into his car.

  “Yeah,” Harold grumbled, handing him the crumpled, sweaty bills.

  “There’s my boy!” Londell said approvingly. “And here’s your fifty dollars. ”

  Harold grabbed the money, though part of him wanted to leave it right there on the floor of Londell’s car.

  “That guy I deliver to. He’s got a wife,” Harold blurted. “And there’s a little girl that lives next door. ”

  “So? ” Londell answered, counting out the cash Harold handed him. “What’d you care?”

  “I don’t wanna go back there,” he replied. “It’s not right. ”

  Londell checked the rearview mirror. “Relax,” he said, shifting in his seat. “If he didn’t buy from us, he’d buy from someone else. ”

  “She looked right at me,” Harold persisted, shaking his head. “I sold her neighbor drugs. ”

  “That’s right,” Londell replied with a bitter grin. “You’re one of us now. ”

  Harold cringed. “I don’t wanna go back there,” he said again.

  Londell’s cell phone rang loudly, lighting up the darkness. They both jumped at the sound.

  “Yeah?” Londell answered quickly, his voice tense. “Yeah, I’m on my way now. I got your money. Yeah, all of it. ”

  Londell hung up and started the car.

  “Gotta go. Tell Joop I’ll be back later. ”

  Harold swallowed and took a deep breath. “I can’t do this anymore, Londell. I’m sorry. I just can’t. ” Harold checked his watch. It was 6:15. He needed to get home.

  “What’chu think this is, SuperFoods?” Londell replied with a flash of anger.

  “Look, I appreciate all you did, giving me a job and all,” Harold continued, putting his hand on the door handle.

  “But I can’t come back here. Thanks for everything. Really. ”

  Suddenly, Londell grabbed Harold’s shirt and yanked him across the car. Harold’s head smacked into the console, and then he heard something click. Before he could react, he felt a stabbing pain under his chin. Londell was leaning over him, holding a switchblade at his throat.

  “Where you think you’re going?” Londell growled. “You owe me, boy. Didn’t I help you when you didn’t have no money? Didn’t I give you a job when you came looking for it? You belong to me now. There ain’t no quittin’. ”

  The blade bit into the soft flesh of Harold’s chin. Londell’s eyes blazed with rage.

  “Please!” Harold cried. He tried to pull away, but Londell only tightened his grip. “I’ll pay you back!”

  The rearview mirror suddenly lit up with the headlights of an approaching car. Londell ducked, shoving Harold’s head lower.

  “Git down!” he whispered nervously, holding the knife at Harold’s neck. The car passed and Londell looked up.

  “I ain’t goin’ back to jail,” he insisted, staring at the red taillights fading in the distance. “And you ain’t quittin’, understand? I know where you live. I know where you go to school. I know you ain’t got no daddy to run home to. I even know about your poor sick grandma. You better keep your mouth shut. And you better be here Monday,” he warned.

  “Londell, please,” Harold pleaded. “I won’t say nothing, I swear. I won’t tell anybody!”

  “Oh I know you won’t,” Londell growled, pushing the knife tightly against his skin.

  “Okay!” Harold gasped. “Please, just let me go. I’ll come back Monday! I swear!”

  Londell relaxed his grip, and Harold pulled himself free.

  “You had a good day, Harold. You made your drops and came back with my money. Don’t get soft on me now. You just getting started. ”

  Harold opened the door and tumbled onto the sidewalk.

  “What’s goin’ on?” Jupiter called from the corner.

  “Mind your business!” Londell shouted back.

  Harold staggered to his feet and rubbed his chin. A bead of blood coated his finger. For a moment, his eyes locked with Keenan’s and Jupiter’s. He could see fear on their faces as they slowly walked toward the car. He knew at that moment how Keenan injured his lip and how Jupiter’s face got bruised: Londell. The truth crashed through his mind like a gunshot.

  Londell lied. He doesn’t care about us. All he wants is money. And I got no way out.

  Harold turned away and bolted down the street, his heart pounding so hard he could feel it throb in his throat. He made it halfway to the bus stop before his stomach heaved. He doubled over and threw up, the mess of his sandwich splattering at his feet.

  What am I gonna do? he thought desperately, burying his head in his hands.

  “Yo Harold, you okay?” Harold looked up to see Bug running toward him.

  “Bug!” he cried, wiping his mouth on his T-shirt. “Listen to me. You gotta get outta here. Understand? Go home, and don’t ever come back here. No matter what Londell says. ”

  “What’chu talkin’ about? Why you throwin’ up in the street?” Bug reached out and pointed to Harold’s chin. “You bleedin’, Harold!” he cried.

  “It’s okay. I’m all right. ” Harold replied, searching his backpack until he found a notebook and pen. “Listen to me. Here’s my address and phone number. You keep this with you. If you ever need me, you find me, okay?”

  “Okay,” the boy agreed, studying Harold.

  “I’m serious, Bug. Londell don’t care about y—” Harold stopped himself. He wanted to protect Bug, not frighten him. “Just don’t come back here no more. Take the money Londell paid you and don’t come back. ”

  “Londell got my money. He say I’m too young, so he holdin’ it for me. He do give me food, though,” Bug said innocently.

  Harold rolled his eyes in disgust. “Tell you what,” he said, trying to sound calm. “I’ll give you all the sandwiches you want if you promise me you won’t come back here, okay?”

  “But Londell say—”

  “I know what he says!” Harold interrupted. “But sometimes grown-ups don’t tell the truth. Do you trust me, Bug?”

  “Yeah,” he said, nodding his head. “You nice. ”

  “Good. Then you gotta listen to me, okay?”

  “Okay,” Bug agreed.

  “You gotta go home,” Harold said.

  “Go home to your foster mom. Run! You hear me? Run!”

  Bug took off down the block and Harold watched as his yellow backpack disappeared out of sight. Then Harold ran to the bus stop, wiping his chin with his T-shirt.

  He pays him in cheeseburgers, Harold thought angrily. He told me he looked after Bug, but he’s using him. Just like me.

  Harold paced the sidewalk, watching for the headlights of the bus, praying he’d make it home in one piece.

  What’ve I done? he
thought desperately. What’ve I done?

  Chapter 8

  Forty-five minutes later, Harold staggered into his apartment building. The bus was late, and he knew Grandma would be angry

  What am I gonna tell her? he thought, making sure there was no blood on his chin. I’m running out of excuses.

  He walked down the hall and noticed his apartment door was open. Then he heard someone crying. Harold dropped his backpack and ran inside.

  “Grandma?! ” he yelled. She was lying on the kitchen floor, clutching her leg and shivering. Her crutches were strewn next to her, and blood trickled from her wound, soaking the white bandage. Cindy was kneeling beside her. Tears streamed down her frightened face.

  “Harold!” Cindy cried. “She fell! I heard her yelling from my apartment!”

  Harold dropped to the floor. “Don’t move, Grandma. It’s okay. I’m here. ”

  “Where were you?” Cindy whispered, shooting him an accusatory look. “She was calling for you. ”

  “Oh, Grandma . . . I’m so sorry,” he wailed.

  “I’m okay,” Grandma said slowly, pressing her hand to her forehead. Her eyes were slightly glazed, and she slurred her words. “I needed something to eat . . . must’ve slipped. I don’t remember. ”

  “Should we call an ambulance?”

  Cindy asked. He could hear the terror in her voice.

  “I don’t know!” Harold cried, staring helplessly at Grandma’s pained face. He tried to remember what the doctors at the hospital told him, but his mind was a blur of panic. “I don’t know what to do!”

  This is all my fault! he thought. I was supposed to be here! Harold raced down the hallway and banged on Mr. Harris’s door.

  “Please!” he pleaded. “Please be home!”

  “What’s wrong?” Mr. Harris said as he opened the door.

  “Grandma fell!” Harold yelled. “She’s on the floor!”

  Mr. Harris ran to Harold’s apartment and crouched beside Grandma. “Can you move?” he asked softly, touching her leg.

  “I think so,” she answered. “I’m a little dizzy. ”

  “Harold, get me some juice from the fridge,” Mr. Harris commanded, his voice calm and focused. “Cindy, bring me a pillow and blanket. ”

  Cindy rushed to Grandma’s room and returned with her pillow and comforter. Harold’s hands were shaking uncontrollably. He grabbed a glass and filled it with orange juice, spilling much of it on the counter.

  “Here!” he said, handing it to Mr. Harris. “Should I call an ambulance?”

  “I don’t think we need to,” he replied as he propped up her head with a pillow and covered her with the blanket. “Go into the living room with Cindy and wait there. She’s gonna be okay. She just needs to get her blood sugar up. My aunt was the same way. C’mon, Mrs. Rose. You need to drink some juice. ”

  Harold and Cindy paced in the living room while Mr. Harris calmly talked to Grandma.

  “Where were you?” Cindy whispered, her voice a mixture of anger and worry. “What happened to your chin?”

  “It’s nothing,” he replied. There was no way he could tell her the truth. “I fell. ”

  “Harold, I need your help,” Mr. Harris said after a few moments.

  Grandma seemed more alert, and Mr. Harris gently sat her up. “Now just put your arms around my neck,” he said as he crouched in front of her, locking his arms around her waist. “On the count of three now,” he continued, hoisting her up off the floor.

  Harold picked up her crutches and together they led her carefully to her bedroom. Then Mr. Harris had Harold bring her a plate of sliced apples and cheese, which she ate hungrily, while he cleaned and changed her bandage.

  “I’m so sorry,” Harold said, guilt stabbing at his chest. “I’ll never be late again. I swear it. ”

  “We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” she said in a sad voice. “I need to rest now. ”

  Harold was furious at himself for talking to Londell, for ever thinking he could trust him.

  All I wanted to do was help. Instead, I’ve made things worse, he thought as he turned off the light and gently closed her bedroom door. And yet there was no way to escape Londell. He’d be waiting again Monday with more drugs to sell. Harold’s head pounded with stress.

  “She’ll be fine,” assured Mr. Harris as Harold stepped into the hallway. “I’ll be by tomorrow to check on her, and to take you to the grocery store. ”

  “Thanks,” Harold said, his mind spinning. “Sorry. For bothering you, I mean. ”

  “It’s not a bother,” he replied. “I’m just up the hall if you need me. ”

  Harold changed his T-shirt and went back into the living room. Cindy was sitting on the couch. He could tell she was waiting for him.

  “Is she gonna be okay?” Cindy asked. Harold plopped down wearily next to her. “Yeah. I think so. ” He said, unable to look into her eyes. “Thanks for coming over and for those bandages. I’m sorry, Cindy . . . sorry about everything. ”

  “Harold, what happened to you?” she said. He could feel her staring at him.

  “Nothin’,” he said, leaning back and folding his arms over his head the way he did when he had a bad headache. Anything to hide his face. “The bus back from 25th Street was running late, that’s all. ”

  “25th Street! Is that where you were? Is that where you got that cut?”

  Harold shrugged. He didn’t want to lie, but the truth was so ugly he couldn’t speak it. And then there was Londell’s warning not to talk. Harold knew Cindy was safer if she didn’t know anything.

  “So it’s gonna be like that? You’re not even going to talk to me after all this?” Cindy asked, her voice rising in frustration. “You know, Harold, I don’t even know who you are anymore. I mean, I used to think I could trust you with anything. You were the only guy I could say that about. ” She paused, sighing as if what she had said hurt her. Then she got up and walked toward the door. “But now you’re different. You changed since you started talking to Londell. I don’t even know what to think now. ”

  He wanted to reach out to her, tell her the truth about everything, and ask her not to leave him alone in the living room. But the words stuck in his throat. Instead, he forced himself to look at her face and stare into her piercing amber eyes.

  “I’m still the same, Cindy,” he managed to say. “Remember that, no matter what happens. I didn’t change. ”

  * * *

  Saturday morning, Grandma was unusually quiet. Harold had expected her to yell at him for being so late last night, but she didn’t. Instead she kept watching him, a concerned look on her face.

  “What happened to your chin?” she asked over breakfast.

  “Nothing,” he replied. “I fell. At work. ”

  Grandma looked at him skeptically. “You know you can talk to me, child. If something’s wrong, if you’re in some sort of trouble . . . ”

  “I’m fine,” he replied quickly. “Really. ”

  “Harold, I know these past few weeks have been hard on you,” she continued, looking up at the faded photograph of her husband. “I know I haven’t been myself, with all this nonsense with my leg and my diabetes. But things’ll get better, baby. I’m feeling stronger every day. In a few weeks, I’ll start my physical therapy and I’ll get back on my feet. And I’ll make sure I test my blood from now on. ”

  Grandma reached across the table and grabbed Harold’s hand. “We’re gonna be okay,” she insisted in a strong, clear voice.

  Harold forced himself to smile. “I know,” he lied, touching the painful cut on his chin.

  * * *

  Later that afternoon, Harold headed to SuperFoods with Mr. Harris.

  Harold was glad it was the weekend when Mr. Marshall was off as they made their way through the produce aisle, filling their cart with fruits and vegetables. Harold tried to listen as Mr. Harris explained which foods were best for Grandma, but his mind kept wandering.

  Whenever he closed his eyes, he saw Grandma lying
helpless on the cold kitchen floor, little Maria staring at him with her accusing eyes, Londell’s knife flashing in the darkness. They were nightmare images Harold couldn’t escape, even with Mr. Harris at his side.

  “You okay?” Mr. Harris asked as they unloaded their groceries at the checkout counter. “You’re awful quiet today. ”

  Harold nodded sadly. “Just tired, I guess. ”

  He liked Mr. Harris a lot. The man made him feel safer, just by being nearby. But he also made him sad inside. No matter how helpful Mr. Harris was, he was just their neighbor. He couldn’t solve their problems. He’d move away at some point, Harold figured. Then he and Grandma would be alone again.

  Harold remembered the Family Services letter and shuddered. It was just a matter of time before Grandma wouldn’t be able to care for him. And then what? Harold wondered.

  “You wanna shoot some hoops after we’re done here?” Mr. Harris suggested, snapping Harold from his thoughts as they left SuperFoods.

  “Okay,” Harold replied, stopping dead in his tracks.

  A familiar gold Nissan was parked at the curb in front of them. Londell was sitting in the driver’s seat. He stared right at them, his mouth curled into a sneer.

  Oh God! Harold thought, looking nervously at Mr. Harris. He wanted to run back into the store, but he couldn’t move.

  Mr. Harris seemed to know something was wrong. He glanced at Harold, then at Londell.

  “Who’s that, Harold?” he asked, his voice suddenly serious.

  Harold shook his head, unable to speak. His eyes locked with Londell’s.

  “Harold, look at me,” Mr. Harris persisted. “Who is that?”

  Again, Harold said nothing.

  Then Mr. Harris put down the groceries and walked over to the car.

  What’s he doing? Harold thought with a flash of panic. Londell’s gonna kill him!

  “Something I can help you with?” Mr. Harris boomed, staring Londell dead in the eye.

  Londell looked at him suspiciously.

  “You like staring down kids?” Mr. Harris challenged.

  “Mind your business, old man,” he hissed.