I stop in the hair section. Shove some gel in the belt of my paints which is covered by my t-shirt. I approach the check-out counter with a candy bar I intend to purchase with change I’ve scrounged from the seats in the Cadillac. Jenkins heads towards the exit a few feet away.
“Hold on ya’ll,” the manager addresses both me and Jenkins. “Whatcha got in ya pants?” he asks me, then yanks the gel from behind my belt.
“And you! Long black hair there. What’s in ya pocket?”
“Nothin’.”
“Oh yeah?” and the guy walks over to Jenkins, shoves his hand down his pocket and yanks out some mascara. “What the fuck’s this? You some kinda faggot?”
“You can’t do shit unless we leave the store with it!” Jenkins comes back.
“Get the fuck otta he-ah!”
I take a quarter out of my pocket, “I’m buyin’ this Mallo Cup.”
“Get the fuck otta he-ah! All y’all fuckin’ freaks! An’ I wanna see y’all git in ya cah, and drahv away and don’t come back! I’m callin’ the Harahan Police Depahtment if I don’t see y’all walk otta he-ah and drive off in y’alls’ cah!”
We walk out to the Cadillac. “Let’s just drive down the parkin’ lot ta Winn Dixie,” Jenkins suggests.
“We better just leave,” I respond.
“Fuck that asshole...! My grandma gave me money for groceries. Just gonna get some cheap shit and some Dixie and we’ll be outta there in no time.”
We all get in the Cadillac, me at the wheel. I start it, put the transmission in ‘drive’ and move toward the exit. Then I take a sharp left and head to the Winn Dixie.
I sit in the car while Jenkins and Frank go in. Then the two of them are walking out of the grocery store. Frank’s got a couple six packs of Dixie Beer in cans under his arm. They get in the Sedan Deville. Jenkins inspects some cello-wrapped bowls of day-old gumbo mumbling, “This stuff looks good.”
As soon as we’re in the car Frank, in the back seat cracks one of the beers and takes a big gulp. “Yeah...,” he exhales as a Harahan Police cruiser pulls up beside us.
“Everybody ott the cah!” A cop yells in a classic Jefferson Parrish accent standing next to my driver’s side door. “An’ ah wanna see some ah dee!”
Frank sits on the hood of the Cadillac after handing the cop his California Driver’s license.
“I hate this place...!” Frank is venting his frustrations. “This whole motherfuckin’ backwards-ass state...! I hate the whole fuckin’ shithole!” He’s yelling loud enough for a few shoppers to stop and turn their heads.
“Here’s the deal,” the cop starts. “Ain’t no problem havin’ ah open containah in ya cah out he-ah in the Parrish. If this was New O’lins, be diff’rent. But he’s uh minah,” now pointing at Jenkins. “He’s gonna hafta come back tuh the station with us.”
Jenkins walks handcuffed toward the Harahan P.D. cruiser.
“Why don’t ya do ya little punkah walk fo’ me boy?” the cop laughs.
“What the fuck?” Frank smirks.
Photo by CirrosisAguda
