“My God,” she said with disdain. “Kody, why do you want to take other people’s property? That’s not right. People work hard for what they have. You can’t just—”
“Mom, can you drive faster, I think I’m bleeding to death.”
“Oh,
I didn’t respond and she didn’t drive any faster. When we finally got to the hospital, well over an hour had passed since I was shot. We were made to sit in a waiting room. There were four people there: two New Afrikans, one Chicano, and one American. The American was called first. She had a cold. Mom went off.
“You stupid motherfuckers, don’t you see my son has been shot!? You mean to tell me that a white woman with a cold is more important than my son with a bullet in his back? What kind of damn hospital are you people running here?!”
The receptionist, an American, was dumbfounded. Totally speechless, she sat safely behind the partition, thankful for her seclusion from Mom. Mom kept at it until two American doctors wheeled out a wheelchair and rolled me back through the double doors.
First I was X-rayed, then led to a room with a bed to await the results. The entry hole, they said, was very tiny and didn’t seem to have done too much damage. I explained to the doctor about the numbness and he said it was a symptomatic response to shock and delay of treatment. He added that he doubted if it would be permanent. Mom sat on the side of my bed and gazed out the window.
“Yes, officer,” I heard a female voice say, “he’s right in here.”
“Thank you,” said a scratchy, still unseen voice.
Then in through the door came two American soldier-cops, one with a clipboard, the other with a Winchell’s Donuts coffee cup. The one with the clipboard was older, redder, and more go-with-the-flow. His face was like worn leather, hair gray and managed as if he had just had it styled for a V05 commercial. The younger one was straight off the beach, a surfer-Nazi from hell, all jittery and gung-ho, eager to make his bones in the department. I could tell right away that a conflict existed between these two. New versus old, traditional versus contemporary, professionalism versus personalism. I decided to have a little fun.
“What’s your name, son?” asked Clipboard.
“My name, sir?” I asked, as if not overstanding the question.
“Yeah,” Donut Cup snapped, “your name. You know, the legend you were given at birth?” His tone was pushy like “all you people are so stupid.”
“Oh, yeah,” I said, “my name. Kody Scott, sir.” I was careful to be nice and respectful to Clipboard, while agitating Donut Cup with my feigned stupidity.
“Where did this incident take place?” asked Donut Cup.
“Incident?” I asked right back, looking from Donut Cup to Mom for an interpretation of “incident.”
Donut Cup turned his head.
“Where were you when you were shot?” asked Clipboard with all the ease of a family doctor.
“I was standing alone on the bus stop at Adams and Western.”
“Southeast, northwest?” asked Donut Cup.
“No,” I began, as if he had it all wrong. “I was not at Southwest College, I was on Adams and Western.”
“On which side of the street were you standing?” asked Clipboard.
“On the Adams side in front of the gas station going toward downtown.”
“That would be the southeast corner, then,” said Donut Cup, trying to hammer his point home.
“I just always thought it was the corner of Adams and Western,” I said, trying to look perplexed. Donut Cup turned a shade darker.
“What happened while you were standing on the bus stop?” asked Donut Cup.
“Well,” I began, imitating an old man by rubbing my chin in deep thought, “I wasn’t really standing
Donut Cup went flaming red, grabbing his head with both hands as if he were trying to stop from going mad. Mom put a hand over her mouth to suppress a laugh. Clipboard, ever-patient, just waited to rephrase the question.
“Look,” said Donut Cup, his face a stricken mask of anger, “all you have to do is answer the questions as we ask them. If you can—”
“Whoa, whoa,’ said Clipboard, turning full around to face Donut Cup, “if you’d let me ask the questions you would be better off.”
“Yeah, but—”
“Ahh,” said Clipboard with an upheld hand, waving Donut Cup to silence.
“Now, uhh, Kody, as you were standing behind the bench on Adams and Western,” he began and paused for a second to turn and look at Donut Cup as if to say “this is all you got to do.” Then he turned back to me and simply said, “What happened?”
“A brown Monte Carlo came by traveling eastbound.” Now I looked over as Donut Cup as if to say
“Which window?” asked Donut Cup.
We both ignored him.
“—and hollered something and began shooting.”
“What was it that the shooter hollered out, do you remember?”
“No, sir. But I think it was some sort of gang language.”
“Do you gangbang, Kody?”
As if he had just committed blasphemy in front of the Almighty, I said, “No!” with a look of are-you-crazy? Mom rolled her eyes to the ceiling and turned her head.
“Why do you think they wanted to shoot you?”
“I don’t know.”
“What kind of car was it?”
“A brown Monte Carlo.”
“What year, do you know?”
“Seventy-four or seventy-five, I think.”
“Any distinguishing marks, dents, primer, paint defects?”
“Yeah, now that I think of it, there was a huge, gray primer spot on—”
“The quarter panel?” said Donut Cup excitedly.
“Yeah, yeah, that’s it.” Fuck it, I thought, may as well send Donut Cup all the way out into left field.
“Oh my God,” said Donut Cup to Clipboard, “Jimbo’s out.”
Mom was shaking her head as if to say “unbelievable.”
When the soldier-cops had completed their report and were walking toward the door, I decided to use one of my old acting skits, which I had seen on an old TV show.
“Officer, officer,” I said faintly, my voice barely audible.
“Yes, son?” answered Clipboard.
“You… you will get them, won’t you, sir?”
And then just like in the movies Clipboard solemnly said, “Yes, son, we’ll get them,” and they left the room. Shit, that little episode threw me for a loop. Mom began right in on me.
“Boy, why you lie to them police like that? Don’t you know they gonna find out that you were lying?”
“Mom, I ain’t hardly worried about the police looking for me for lying. Besides, if I had told them the truth I would be going to jail for attempted robbery. assault, and possession of a gun. So I had to lie.”
“I don’t understand you kids today. Guns, robberies, and gangbanging. Where is it leading to? You don’t even know, do you? You are just a blind passenger being driven wherever the gang takes you. Kody, I don’t even know you anymore. You’re not the fine little guy that I used to know. I just don’t know what to do with you. You got Shaun into this shit, now he’s locked up for the rest of his young life. When are you going to realize that you are killing me? Kody?”
I was faking like I was asleep so she would not see how effective her talk was. I was the same old person she used to know, wasn’t I? Yeah, sure I was, I tried to convince myself. But if I were still that fine little guy, why
