I had to find the one cop in the precinct that knows MiMi. But maybe it’s better this way. Nic’s been gone longer than normal. MiMi’s bound to have questions, and maybe Officer Hunter can help give her answers.
“I want to file a missing person report.”
Hunter blinks a few times, stunned. “Who’s missing?”
The knee starts again. “My sister, Nic. Nicole Marie Murphy.”
Hunter taps a finger on top of the table, creating his own spastic beat. I try to follow his melody, but he’s all over the place. “How long has she been missing?”
“Since Friday.”
“Friday? Your grandma didn’t mention any of this when I saw her at church yesterday.”
I take in a deep breath. “She don’t know yet. Nic does this thing where she fades, just to get some space from MiMi. Figured I’d give her the weekend to breathe. But this is the longest she’s gone without chopping it up with me.” I pause as Hunter rubs his thumb across the lip of his cup. “Where’s your notepad? Aren’t you supposed to be writing all of this down?”
Hunter pushes away his cup and folds his hands together. “Your grandmother’s good people, so I need to give it to you straight, Jay. I . . .” He breathes deeply through his nose. His face scrunches up like he’s solving a complicated math problem in his head. “The streets talk. I know that Nicole is Javon Hockaday’s main girl, and Javon doesn’t necessarily keep the cleanest nose.”
I wait for more, but Hunter continues to stare at me, as if the silence says everything. “And?” I ask.
“Unfortunately, when you roll with trouble, trouble rolls with you.”
“But Nic’s not trouble,” I bark.
“I didn’t mean it like that. What I’m trying to say is . . .” Hunter pauses and takes a breath, like he’s about to speak to a kid who just lost his puppy. “I just really wish she hadn’t gotten mixed up with Javon. I know the guys here. They take their merry time to help out people they assume intentionally got caught in the fray. Especially when there’s already so much going on. Jay, we got over twenty missing black girls in our county alone. Three homicides over the weekend that this precinct is currently investigating—one right in your neighborhood. The Ducts, right? I can add your sister’s name to a list, but it might take me a while to get a strong team going. Hopefully, she’s lying low. Has she done that before? When anything in the neighborhood got a little dicey?”
Dicey? Hunter’s acting like Nic’s hiding out from a playground bully when she could be somewhere hurt, trying to get home. Or maybe too scared to come home. I leap from my seat, almost knock the card table on Hunter’s lap. “If she was blonde with blue eyes, it’d be another story, right?”
Hunter sighs. “Are you even listening to me? I want to help, and I will. But I may not have the manpower right now to snap my fingers and make her appear.”
“Yeah, or maybe you just don’t even feel like trying.” I always assumed that there were some dirty cops doing Javon’s bidding, and Slick Ross here’s proving me right. I shake my head. “Thought you’d be different, bruh,” I say. If I had the balls, I’d spit at his feet. But I’m pissed, not stupid—he’s the one with the gun.
Hunter flinches. “If I didn’t care, I’d be spitting lies at you—brother.”
I swat my hand at Hunter, make my way to the door to escape his stale snacks and even staler concern.
“Let me do what I can, Jay—but talk to your grandma. She needs to know,” Hunter says to my back.
I snatch open the door without another word. I’ve done enough talking.
Seven
NOTE TO SELF: NEVER LISTEN TO A GIRL WHO WEARS UGLY Christmas sweaters unironically. Riley’s suggestion to speak to the cops did nothing but send me crashing into another wall. That Rick Ross wannabe dismissed me like I stood in his way of watching Monday Night Football. Yeah, he went to my church—he even had the same extra dose of melanin as me. But it didn’t matter. Homeboy still bled blue. He proved his allegiance when he tried to pin Nic’s disappearance on Nic herself.
I hitched my way back home from the precinct, ready to crack skulls and get answers the way that someone from Javon’s crew would. But thug fits me as well as a Halloween costume from five years ago. No matter how much I want to storm up to Slim and Quan and give them the business until they spill everything they know about Nic and Javon, I still scurry past their stoop and retreat to my bedroom. I need to prove Hunter wrong. Not everyone from the Ducts is on a fast track to a rap sheet. If I want to find Nic, I have to use my wits and not my emotions. I plop on my bed. Stare at the ceiling like a game plan can be found up there. The more I try to think of something, the more Hunter’s words seem to dance around my light fixture: Talk to your grandma.
Damn. Maybe he’s right. There’s only so many stories I can spin about Nic’s whereabouts. Besides, MiMi might think of something that I didn’t. Or couldn’t. Even after years of leading Nic’s damage control committee, there’s still a part of me that’s hoping for the Pre-Javon Nic. The one who tried to shield me from Mom’s downward spiral so I wouldn’t love her any less. But MiMi saw through Mom’s shiz, just like she sees through Nic’s. MiMi would be able to take her mind to the darkest corners to find where Nic might be hiding.
I don’t get a chance to rehearse my talk. On cue, the front door opens, signaling MiMi’s return home. She doesn’t crack a smile when I walk to the living room, wave hi. Not even a fake one. She takes a seat on the couch, begins unlacing her heavy work shoes.
Okay then. “You look tired. Want something to drink?” I offer.
“I want you to have a seat with me.”
My stomach climbs to the back of my throat. The last two times MiMi asked me to sit with her like that, she was telling me Dad died and that Mom was locked up. “I’m good,” I say. “I have homework, so—”
“I’m not asking, Jay.”
I sit in the loveseat across from her. Maybe if I’m far enough, whatever she needs to tell me won’t stick.
MiMi places her elbows on her knees and leans forward, just like Mrs. Pratt when she’s ready to get all up in your bidness. “Where’s your sister?”
It doesn’t matter how far away I am—MiMi’s question knocks me right in the ribs. I open my mouth to spit another story about Nic and Sterling, but the lie sits heavy in my chest. So much so, I brush a hand across it to make sure my heart’s still beating. Talk to your grandma.
“Before you spin whatever you’re about to spin,” MiMi begins, “know that the school called to inform me that Nicole hasn’t taken a step inside that building since last Wednesday.”
I look down at my shoes. The top of my sneakers got scuffed sometime during the storm of this weekend. The storm I had to weather alone. Old Jay would make some smart-ass comment about Nic being blissed out of her mind. But New Jay’s realizing that whatever’s happening with Nic might be out of her control. That maybe Nic isn’t coming home any time soon. That maybe he needs to lean on MiMi to let that sink in.