I held my hand up to Fatman who stood on McGraw next to the Alryashi Store. Fatman’s real name was Benjamin Carter. Though, no one dared call him that. Just Fatman. He was known as the CEO of Asbury Park, and almost everyone there had a constant buzz, which you could almost always trace back to Fatman.
I looked back at McGraw and Fatman was gone. In his place were two big grunts named Marshall and Toni. They took people’s money; took people’s pride. They’d robbed me one time for an Adidas tracksuit my mother bought me. I had walked past them on the sidewalk, and they bumped into me.
“Do I know you?” Marshall said.
I shook my head no.
“Yeah, I think I do. You were messing with my little cousin, weren’t you?”
“Wasn’t me” I said. “I didn’t mess with nobody.”
“Right” he said, lifting his shirt to flash me the pistol tucked in his waistband.
Marshall and Toni grinned at each other. They left me in my boxers and undershirt.
Surprisingly, they left my shoes alone, maybe they thought that was just a step too far. They told me to walk, and I backed up slowly until I hit the corner of an abandoned brownstone and took off. I ran all the way home, leaving their laughter behind me.
Now I was standing in front of those two again, but they didn’t remember me at all. Or if they did, they didn’t care. I told them I was looking for Fatman.
“He’s busy. Beat it” Marshall said.
“Come back later” Toni added.
My mouth opened, but their stares pushed me away and I headed back down Anchorage, passing right through Lumley Street. When I was young, I’d asked my mother about my father, and she told me exactly who he was, and exactly where he lived. Right there on Lumley Street, in a small house with a large driveway. For a long time, I used to stand there on that corner, smoke, and watch the house. Occasionally, I’d get a glimpse of my father. We don’t look alike at all.
I asked my mother if he knew what I looked like. She shrugged and said, “Probably not.”
His other son is Fatman. I’d seen him there a few times too. They probably have a good relationship. I don’t look like Fatman either… I must take after my mother. My name is Elo Brooks.
I looked over at my father’s house as he sat and smoked on the porch. He’s a lot older than my mother. I’d guess he’s about sixty, maybe fifty with the added age from the cigarettes.
He and my mother met at the MGM casino. He’d had a hot hand that night and the money and drinks eventually got to them both. My mother was the bartender there and he waited until she got off work; they sat there and drank just the two of them. They shared the night, and then later he told her he had a wife and a son at home.
When he found out she was pregnant with me he stopped coming around. She still runs into him sometimes at Church or the Spartan Foods around the corner. They haven’t spoken a word to each other since before I was born. My mother always tells me that she got a very good trade out of the situation: me for him.
She got angry when she found out I’d been going to Lumley Street. Told me that there are better things to do than chase after people who don’t want to know you. I thought about it and asked her. “Is it really that wrong to chase after people?”
As I stood on the corner, there was a commotion way down Lumley Street. A car revved its engine and shot down the street in a blur. My father had gone inside just before another car pulled up to the house. Fatman, Marshall, Toni and a few others got out of it. Fatman paced back and forth in the driveway. I stepped closer to the house.
They started to talk but I couldn’t hear them, standing there, I just looked at Fatman. In that moment something about his face reminded me of my own. I had known it before, but now it was there: a reminder that he was my brother.
Somehow, I crossed the street and now stood at the edge of the group. I locked eyes with Fatman. He sized me up as he marched over and said. “The hell do you want?” and with one arm, pushed me a few steps back. Marshall came up to his side and reached into his waistband. He pulled out the pistol and pointed it right in my face.
“Hold up hold up” Fatman said and put his hand up to Marshall. Then he looked at me again.
“Do I know you?” He asked.
They looked at me, but I didn’t know what to say. My eyes darted back and forth from Fatman to the barrel of the pistol. Then a sharp gunshot erupted from a couple of streets down that drew everyone’s attention. They all moved towards the car, besides Marshall, who still held the gun in front of him, daring me to move.
“Let’s go” Fatman pressed, grabbing his shoulder.
Marshall shook his head. “I remember him now. Got him good a while back. Robbed him. He probably wants to kill me. Bet if I turn my back, he’ll piece me right here.”
Fatman looked at me again and his face changed. The anger was gone, now he just looked tired. He slowly pushed Marshall’s hand down until the pistol was facing the ground.
“He ain’t looking to kill you” Fatman said. “Look at his eyes. He ain’t like that. Now come on.”
They hopped in the car and swung out of the driveway. It took a few moments until I heard it: cars screeched and then gunshots.
I covered my ears and walked away quickly leaving Lumley Street behind.
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