Drop Shot

Chapter 32

Lucinda Elright was big and warm with thick, jiggly arms and an easy laugh. The kind of woman that as a child you feared would hug you too hard and as an adult you wish like hell she would.

"Come on in," she said, shooing several small children away from the door.

"Thank you," Myron said.

"You want something to eat?"

"No thanks."

"How about some cookies?" There were at least ten kids in the apartment. All black, none over the age of seven or eight. Some were using a paint set. Some were building a castle out of sugar cubes. One, a boy about six years old, was sticking his tongue out at Myron. "Not homemade, you understand. I can't cook worth spit."

"Actually, cookies sound good."

She smiled. "I do day care now that I'm retired. Hope you don't mind."

"Not at all."

Mrs. Elright went into the kitchen. The little boy waited until she was out of the room. Then he stuck his tongue out again. Myron stuck his tongue out back. Mr. Mature. The kid giggled.

"Now sit, Myron. Right over there." She knocked various paraphernalia off the sofa. The plate was full of the classics. Oreos. Chips Ahoys. Fig Newtons.

"Eat," she said.

Myron reached for a cookie. The little boy stood behind Mrs. Elright so he couldn't be seen. He stuck his tongue out again. Without so much as a backward glance Mrs. Elright said, "Gerald, you stick your tongue out one more time, I'll cut it off with my pruning shears."

Gerald rolled his tongue back. "What's pruning shears?"

"Never you mind. Just go over there and play now, you hear? And don't you be causing no trouble."

"Yes, ma'am."

When he was out of earshot Mrs. Elright said, "I like them better at this age. They break my heart when they get a little older."

Myron nodded, pulled apart an Oreo. He didn't lick out the cream. Very adult.

"Your friend Esperanza," Mrs. Elright began, grabbing a Fig Newton. "She said you wanted to talk about Curtis Yeller."

"Yes, ma'am." He handed her the article. "Were you correctly quoted in this article?"

She lifted her half-moon reading glasses from her hefty bosom and scanned the page. "Yes, I said that."

"Did you mean it?"

"This wasn't just talk, if that's what you're getting at. I taught high school for twenty-seven years. I've seen lots of kids go to jail. I've seen lots of kids die in the streets. Never said a word to the newspapers about any of them. See this scar?" She pointed to an immense, fleshy bicep.

Myron nodded.

"Knife wound. From a student. I got shot at once too. I've confiscated more weapons than any damn metal detector." She put her arm down. "That's what I mean when I say I like them younger. Before they get like that."

"But Curtis was different?"

"Curtis was more than just a good boy," she said. "He was one of the best students I ever had. He was always polite and friendly and never caused a lick of trouble. But he wasn't a sissy either, you understand. He was still popular with the other boys. Good at all kinds of sports. I'm telling you, the boy was one in a million."

"What about his mother?" Myron asked. "What was she like?"

"Deanna?" Lucinda sat a little straighter "Fine woman. Like so many of them young mothers today. Single. Proud. Did whatever she had to to get by. But Deanna was smart. She set rules. Curtis had a curfew. Kids today don't even know what curfew means anymore. Couple nights ago, a ten-year-old boy got shot at three in the morning. Now you tell me, Myron – what's a ten-year-old boy doing out on the streets at three in the morning?"

"I wish I knew."

She waved a hand at the air. "Anyway you don't want to hear no old woman rambling on."

"I got time."

"You're a sweet man, but you're here for a reason. A good reason, I think."

She looked at Myron. He nodded but said nothing.

"Now," she continued, slapping her thighs with her palms, "what were we talking about?"

"Deanna Yeller."

"That's right. Deanna. You know, I think about her a lot too. She was such a caring mother. She came to every open house. She loved parent-teacher conferences. She basked in all that praise we heaped on her boy."

"Did you talk to her after his death?"

"Nope." She shook her head hard and let out a sigh. "Never heard from Deanna again, poor woman. No funeral. No nothing. I called her a couple of times, but nobody ever answered. Like she fell off the face of the earth. But I understood. She'd always had it rough. From the start. She used to be a street girl, you know."

"I didn't know. When?"

"Oh, a long time ago. She doesn't even know who Curtis's father really was. But she quit. Got herself cleaned up. Worked like a dog, any job she could get. All for her boy. And then, just like that…" She shook her head. "Gone."

"Did you know Errol Swade?" Myron asked.

"Just enough to know he was trouble. In and out of prison his whole life. He was Deanna's sister's boy. The sister was a junkie. Ended up dying of an overdose. Deanna had to take Errol in. He was family. She was a responsible woman."

"How did Errol get along with Curtis?"

"Actually, they got along pretty good – considering how different they were."

"Well, maybe they weren't so different," Myron said.

"What do you mean?"

"Errol got him to break into that tennis club."

Lucinda Elright watched him a moment before she picked up a cookie and began to nibble. A small smile toyed with her lips. "Come on, Myron, you know better than that," she said. "You're a smart boy. So was Curtis. What would he want to steal way out there? It don't make sense, robbing a place like that at night. Think about it."

Myron had already. He was glad to see someone else had the same trouble with the official scenario. "So what do you think happened?"

"I've thought a lot about it, but I don't really know. Nothing makes much sense to me about that whole night. But I do think Curtis and Errol were set up. Even if Curtis decided to steal – and even if he was dumb enough to break in to this club – I can't believe he'd shoot at a police officer. A boy can change, but that's like the tiger changing his stripes. It's just too incredible." She sat up, adjusting herself on the couch. "I think some fool thing happened at the rich white club and they needed a couple of black boys to take the fall. Now, I'm not that way. I'm not one of those who think the white man is always plotting against the black man. It's just not in my nature. But in this case I don't know what else could have happened."

"Thank you, Mrs. Elright."

"Lucinda. And Myron, do me a favor."

"What?"

"When you find out what really happened to Curtis, let me know."