?An' if I was so sick that I was laid up in a hospital an' a nurse had to wipe my ass would I have to say thank you to her too?? Socrates watched Howard's back get straight. Howard was strong,and tough too. But for all his weight and youth he wouldn't have been able to prevail over twenty-seven years of studied violence.
Socrates could feel the fight gathering in his shoulders. The tick down along his spine that had almost set him against the police was throbbing again. There was no dizziness or weakness now. All Socrates had to do was straighten up like Howard had and there wouldn't be any question anymore about who was right or who was in charge.
?Hey, man,? the ex-con said instead of altering his posture. ?I'm sorry. It's just that I don't know how to act when people get all in my business.?
?We were tryin' t'help.?
?I know. I know. An' I appreciate it. But you know when the shit come down I only know one way to be.?
It wasn't much of a thank you but it was enough to smooth out Howard's feathers. The fat man nodded, considered the ex-con's words and then shrugged his acceptance.
?Leave Darryl wit' me, Howard. I'll bring him out over to there tomorrow.?
The big man nodded and rose to leave. He rubbed the boy's head and walked out through the kitchen. Socrates followed him to the threshhold and watched him walk to his old Impala. At the last moment Socrates went out to his gate and waved as the Impala drove off.
?Why you wanna be tellin' my business all over the place, Darryl??
?Huh??
?Howard. Marty. Why you wanna tell them I was in jail??
?I told the MacDaniels too but they said that they couldn't stand in the way of the law,? the boy said. ?That's why I asked Howard if I could go live wit' them.?
?But why you wanna go tell Marty, man?? Socrates asked.
?They killed my daddy up in jail,? Darryl said. ?I didn't try an' get him out. I didn't know.?
Cassandra Tuthill and her family lived at Stanley and Airdrome. Darryl and Socrates left home early and got to her house at just a little after seven in the morning.
?Yes?? Mr. Tuthill, a grayish looking Negro, asked at the door.
Socrates, his big hands on Darryl's shoulders, said, ?Mr. Tuthill? My name is Socrates Fortlow. I'm Darryl's, um, Darryl's uncle.?
?I don't know Darryl.? Mr. Tuthill was small with sloped shoulders. He was wearing a brown suit with a vest and tie. He'd missed a small patch of hair in his morning shave and he was squinting.
?Darryl pushed your daughter at school,? Socrates said. ?He got punished but I brought him over here to apologize. Because you got to answer for what you did wrong. That's what I know.?
Tuthill blinked twice and then took a pair of glasses from his breast pocket. He looked closer at the skinny boy and closer still at the man with the philosopher's name.
?Cassandra,? the gray father called without taking his eyes off of the man and boy standing at the front door.
The girl was a study in round and brown. She wasn't at all heavy but her dark eyes were like big marbles and her head was a pretty ball. The blue dress and yellow sweater set off her dark skin. Her cheeks were apples. Socrates couldn't help but smile.
?Yes, Daddy?? she said. Her eyes turned sullen when she caught sight of Darryl.
?This boy has something to say to you, honey.?
?I'm sorry, Cassandra,? the boy said immediately. ?I'm sorry I pushed you. I didn't mean to hurt you or nuthin' an' it won't happen no mo'.?
?Uh-huh,? the girl said. She was just about to turn away when her father stopped her.
?Cassie,? he said.
