Ikher jumped awake to a loud banging. Rubbing his face and looking around, he found the disturbance coming from an officer banging his nightstick against the cage.
“Fuuuck man,” the tattooed man across from him muttered as he woke. The man in rags had flipped to his other side while Ikher was asleep but didn’t move at the noise.
With both awake, the cop switched from banging to tapping the nightstick between the cage bars. Chills crawled over Ikher’s skin. The officer looked at them like a lion trying to pick out the runt of the herd. The officer licked his lips and smiled when they both shrank from his gaze. Satisfied his audience was at attention, he reached in his chest pocket and unfolded a piece of paper. HE squinted as he read it.
“Why-Bara Ick-her?”
“That’s me,” Ikher said raising his hand.
“Let’s go,” the cop said, unlocking the door.
Exiting the cage, he followed the officer back to the room with the plexiglass door.
“Whybara Ickher,” the cop said, leaning on the wall.
He tapped the nightstick against it every few seconds. The same balding officer from earlier that night sighed, got up, and retrieved the drawer with Ikher’s things in them.
“Am I being processed?” Ikher asked as he checked his phone, only to find it dead.
“Nope, you’re released,” the cop said, and pointed to the double doors at the end of the hallway.
“Really?”
“Yeah, unless you want to go back in the cage,” he said, his lips spreading into a sickening smile.
“No. No thank you,” Ikher said and took a step back before turning and walking toward the doors.
“Hey Ick-her,” the cop called and Ikher turned and see the officer aiming his nightstick at him like a gun. “See you around.”
“Umm, okay,” Ikher stammered, before turning and doing his best not to run down the hall.
Exiting the double doors, Ikher stepped out into the cold early morning air. He hustled out of the side street and onto the sidewalk by the main road. Glancing back, he didn’t see anyone following him from the police station.
Now he needed to get home. Luckily, he had paid attention riding with Janine, so he sort of knew where he was. Unluckily, this police station was on the opposite side of Oak Grove, close to Newfield. Rubbing his hands together in the cold, Ikher weighed his limited options.
Since his phone was dead, he couldn’t call someone or even a taxi for a ride. His wallet was at home, so he couldn’t pay for a taxi or even use a payphone to call someone. Though, the payphone wouldn’t have helped because he only had his mother’s number memorized.
He had no intention of calling his mother at this hour for a pick up from a police station; which left him the only option to get home: on foot. Sighing, he started walking. His elation at being released dampened by the officer’s threat, the morning chill, and the long walk ahead.
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A knock at the door stirred her from sleep. Rubbing her eyes, Nancy woke in a stiff bed covered by a warm blanket with a sliver of light peaking across her from the curtained window beside her. That sterile antiseptic hospital smell assaulted her nose.
Memories came flooding back: making it to her car but not being able to drive, calling Maurice, who then called emergency services, the ambulance arriving and taking her to the hospital. Maurice made it to the hospital and lied that he was the father so he could get into the delivery room.
The arduous delivery lasted most of the night and she was in this room for recovery afterward. Shirley, being premature, was taken to the NICU for checkup and testing. Maurice parted the window curtain, letting in more light. The door opened, and a nurse rolled in a bassinet with the sleeping baby swaddled inside.
“Here she is,” the nurse said as she placed the bassinet next to the bed and checked Nancy’s IV bag. “How are we doing, mom?”
“A little tired."
“I don’t doubt it after last night,” she said, patting Nancy’s hand.
“How is she?” asked, looking at Shirley.
“All her numbers are good and she’s a good size despite being a little premature. We want to keep her for a week, maybe two, just to monitor and make sure she’s okay for you to take home.”
“But she’s whole and healthy?”
“Whole and healthy,” the nurse said with a smile. “Would you like her?”
“Yes, please,” Nancy said, sitting up to take the swaddled infant.
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
“You can keep her for a bit. We want to see if she’ll nurse when she wakes up,” the nurse said as she turned to go. Nancy nodded, running her finger along Shirley’s pudgy cheeks.
“Well, there is no denying she’s yours,” Maurice said from over her shoulder. “So much her mother’s child, she had to arrive early.”
“Oh, shut up,” Nancy said with a laugh.
“May I?” he asked and Nancy nodded, lifting the little girl for him to take.
“You heard her say ‘If you’re not early, you’re late’ so many times you took it to heart, didn’t you?” Maurice whispered to the baby as he cradled her in his arms, swaying.
Nancy shot him a glare he ignored. He paced back and forth next to the bed, examining her before his eyes lit up and he got that stupid grin on his face.
“A treasure troll.”
Nancy squinted at him. “What?”
“She reminds me of one of those treasure troll dolls my sister had.”
“Give me my child if you’re going to be an ass,” she said with her hands out.
“I wasn’t being mean,” Maurice said, turning away from her with a hurt look. “I was an ugly baby. My sister was too. We looked like prunes.”
When Shirley stirred, Nancy beckoned him. “Regardless.”
“Fine,” he said with a huff. “Don’t worry, little troll, you’ll grow into your face,” he whispered not so quietly as he handed her over, earning him another glare from her mother.
Nancy unwrapped the now squirming Shirley and pulled her gown up to let the baby attempt to nurse.
“Would you like some privacy?” Maurice asked.
“Not unless this offends you.”
“Just being polite,” Maurice said and returned to the couch in the corner, littered with reports and folders. Nancy examined the baby girl, struggling to get the hang of nursing. ‘No denying she’s yours,’ Maurice had said, and it was partially true.
Shirley’s wispy blond hair and greenish eyes marked her as Nancy’s. But her father’s eye shape and light tan skin meant she would be a constant reminder of him. A buzz from behind prevented her from brooding for long.
“Hey, okay, I’ll be right down,” Maurice said into the phone.
“Your loves?” Nancy asked over her shoulder as Maurice closed his phone.
“Yes, do you mind if they visit?”
“Of course not.” Maurice rose and made for the door, but stopped when Nancy grabbed his wrist. “Ma’am?”
“Maurice, thank you,” she said, squeezing his wrist. He returned her smile and put his hand on hers.
“You’re very welcome. I’m glad I could help,” he said as she released him. He was almost out the door when he turned around with that stupid grin on his face. “Though you might try calling 999 before me next time.”
He winked and ducked out the door before she could reply. She rolled her eyes and sighed before looking down at her daughter, who had fallen back asleep, still attached to her breast. Shirley fussed a bit when Nancy detached her, but remained asleep. Sighing, Nancy relented that Maurice was correct; Shirley did look like one of those treasure troll dolls.
“Probably your father’s genes,” Nancy said before she stopped, shook her head, and took a deep breath. Exhaling, she looked down at her daughter for a moment before kissing her forehead. “I won’t demonize you because of him. You’re mine and you’re going to be amazing.”
A smile crept up from the corner of Nancy’s mouth. Her father had fought tooth and nail to prevent her, a woman, from taking over the company. It took her deal with Jared to get married and having a son for Nancy to take what was hers. Her father thought that having a grandson meant the boy would succeed her, but Nancy had a better plan.
“Your grampa’s going to spin in his grave because you’re inheriting everything from me.”
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The sun was just above the mountains four hours later when Ikher turned onto his street. He was cold, his feet were sore, and he was starving, but that was all forgotten when he opened his door.
His house was ransacked: drawers opened or pulled out, their contents on the floor, the kitchen table turned over, and his couch was upside down with the back cut open in several spots. Wandering in a daze through the house, he found the same, or worse, everywhere.
The bathroom and spare room received similar treatment, while his bedroom was worse. The dresser drawers were all removed, most broken, and their contents strewn everywhere. His bed was stripped to the frame, the mattress and box spring cut open worse than the couch.
They were looking for evidence. Drugs or money and they’d found both. The latest brick from Arthur was absent from the top of the closet. As was the money he’d stashed in the dresser's bottom, almost nine thousand dollars.
His chest tight, Ikher dropped onto the bed frame and put his face in his hands. Everything was gone: his savings for school, his money for utilities and food, everything. The last year of his life had just vanished.
A knock at the front door yanked him from his despair. He stood, but then sat back down, not in the mood for guests. The knock continued, making Ikher squint at the bedroom door. They’ll get the hint.
His breath caught in his throat when he heard the front door open. None of his neighbors had ever just walked into his house. Goose pimples popped up all over him, and his eye grew huge.
Was it the cops back for him? The smaller cop had been upset that he didn’t have more drugs or money. Were they here to beat or kill him? Was that what the officer at the station meant when he said ‘see you around?’
His chest tightened when he heard footsteps in the front room. He got up and slunk to the window. Glancing out, he didn’t see anyone. If he could make it into the park, he had a chance of getting away.
The footsteps started down the hallway. It was now or never. Turning the latch, Ikher pushed the window up, which produced a high-pitched wood against wood whine. His stomach twisted. That’s it. Closing his eyes, his whole body tightened as he waited to be shot or for them to come in and get him.
“Ikher?”
It was Janine. He slumped against the wall, relief washing over him.
“Back here,” he said, turning to lean against the wall as she opened his bedroom door.
“Holy shit,” Janine whispered, taking in his bedroom.
“Yeah,” Ikher nodded as she stepped around his strewn and broken things. “The cops busted me.”
“Are you okay? They didn’t hurt you, did they?” she asked, taking him by the arms, her eyes huge and panic in her voice.
“No, I’m okay.”
She squeezed his arms and nodded.
“This was unnecessary,” she said.
Ikher sighed and sat down on the bed frame. Janine looked around the room one more time before she put her hand on his shoulder.
“You’re gonna recover from this. Come on,” she said with a smile and gestured down the hallway.
“Janine, I dunno if I’m up for a barbecue. I’m sorry.”
“I’m not gonna let you sit here and mope all day. Besides, your attendance is mandatory,” she said, beckoning him.
He sighed and following her out and into the kitchen. She righted his kitchen table and pulling over the chairs.
“But first, have a seat. I need to talk to you.”
She patted the chair nearest to him before taking the one on the other side of the table.
“Um, okay,” he said as he sat. “What about?”
Janine crossed one leg over the other, tossed thin braids over her shoulder, and laced her fingers on her knee. She smiled with her chin up and a slight tilt in her head.
“About your future in the drug game.”