Brooklyn Bombshells: Part 2

“We will, Bernice. We will,” Butch assured her.

Chapter Five

It was either a coincidence or a sign that karma was coming to bite her in the ass. At this turbulent moment in her life, Charlie’s hooptie refused to start. She shouted and cursed the old car and even slammed her fist against the steering wheel.

Claire sat in the passenger seat quiet and confused. Is everything gonna be all right? Had she made the right choice by defending Charlie and leaving home with her? Right now, Charlie looked like a lunatic and Claire thought her head was about to spin around and green slime would soon spew from her mouth.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck everything!” Charlie shouted heatedly, banging her fist against the dashboard and against the window.

“What we gonna do, Charlie?” Claire asked.

“I don’t f

uckin’ know, Claire!” Charlie snapped at her.

Just then, a few rapid taps on the driver’s side window startled Charlie. She was about to spin around and shoot with her hand reaching for her gun, but she quickly recognized who was at her window. It was two neighborhood drunks, Mike and Cooler. Charlie rolled down her window to see what they wanted—probably looking for a handout.

“What y’all two lowlifes want?” she asked impolitely.

“We heard ya car not starting. Want us to take a look?” Mike asked. He had a wide, hopeful, innocent grin that said he could be trusted. But he couldn’t. The hood nicknamed him “Smash and Grab Mike,” because if he was experiencing alcohol withdrawals he was known to pick up a bottle and smash someone—anyone—across the head and grab whatever cash and valuables they had on them. A few smash-and-grab licks in, he preyed upon the wrong target. Sixteen-year-old Kaizer emptied his clip into a man old enough to be his granddad. Mike’s bony body drank in those hot slugs and miraculously survived.

“What, you a mechanic now, Mike?”

“I worked on many cars back in my heyday,” he replied.

“A’ight, see what you can do,” said Charlie, popping the hood. “Don’t try no shit, Mike. I’m watchin’ ya slick ass.”

Mike and Cooler, the two parking lot mechanics, went to see what they could do to bring the old junk some life—maybe work their magic on the engine for some spare change.

Charlie leaned back into the seat and turned to her sister. “We ain’t got nowhere to fuckin’ go, Claire. Even if they do get this started, what next?”

Claire pressed her lips together, almost as if she didn’t want to bring something up.

“What? You got something to say, Claire, then say it!”

“I might know a place for us to go.”

“Where?”

“I can call a friend.”

“Then what you waitin’ on? I’m not trying to sleep in this car tonight,” Charlie said, sitting up in her seat.

While Mike and Cooler desperately tried to get the car started, Claire pulled out her cell phone and dialed a number. Charlie didn’t take her eyes off her sister. She hoped that Claire could come through for her. Charlie had burned all her bridges and she had no one to call.

“Give it a go, now, Charlie,” Mike said to her.

Charlie turned the key, trying to bring the engine to life, but the car continued to stall. It was coughing and choking. It damn near sounded like it was dying.

“Fuck!” cursed Mike. “We gon’ try this one more time.”

While they were doing that, Claire had gotten in touch with her friend. They were chatting on the cell phone and Charlie was listening to the conversation closely. It would be gravy if Claire could find them somewhere to stay until she could make some moves.

Claire ended the call. Her expression was flat. Charlie didn’t know if it was going to be good news or bad news.

“So, what she say?”

“She said it’s cool.”