I shrugged. I really was telling the truth.
“What about it, boy? Where yo’ daddy?”
Sam scowled up at Coogler. “Willie Jay ain’t my daddy.”
Coogler sneered at me then gazed up at the porch, trying to see through the screen door. “So you won’t mind if a take a look around?”
“Martha said we can’t let nobody in the house when she’s not home.” I said.
Coogler spat again, off to the side of the porch. “This is official police business, gal.”
He removed his foot and climbed the stairs to the front door. I whispered to Sam, “Go next door and call Miss Vee. Hurry!”
As soon as Coogler walked inside the house, Sam took off like a shot.
I tried to go back to my book like everything was normal.
Coogler’s heavy boots slowly moved from room to room. I didn’t flinch. But I knew if Sam didn’t make it back before Coogler returned to the front porch, he might consider it suspicious enough to put us both in the back seat of the cruiser and off to the police station. I remembered Mario Jackson. I wouldn’t let that happen. I knew the only chance we stood of staying alive was to avoid getting into that cruiser in the first place.
Hurry, Sam.
My edginess turned to panic when I heard the screen door from the kitchen open with a long, slow squeak and quickly slam against the doorjamb. Coogler was looking out in the back now. Was he looking in the utility shed? All I could think about was Willie Jay’s rule that kids should be seen and not heard. A rule he reinforced by locking us in that shed out back, cigar burns, and threats to throw us into the alligator-laden swamp out behind his house.
Sam, please hurry.
It was quiet now. Coogler was probably headed across the backyard for the shed. I was too scared to leave the porch and peep in the backyard. He would be back inside the house at any minute and there was no sign of Sam. I didn’t want to be alone with Coogler, especially in the police cruiser.
Come on, Sam.
Finally, I saw a small ball of chugging arms and legs. Sam came sprinting across the cul-de-sac from next door. He ran so fast, his legs reminded me of the spinning limbs of one of those cartoon characters on TV. Only a few seconds more until he made it back to the front porch beside me. I blew a sigh of relief. Sam jumped the small hedges at the edge of the driveway, his eyes full of excitement at having made it back. He crossed the lawn just as Coogler rounded the side of the house.
“Hey, boy! Stop!”
Sam froze in his tracks. Coogler hustled in and snatched Sam up by the back of his collar, his feet barely touching the ground. I had visions of Mario Jackson and my instincts kicked in.
“Leave him alone!” I dropped my book and raced over to Sam. “Get your hands off him,” I yelled. I yanked at Coogler’s arm trying to free Sam.
“Where you run off to, boy?” Coogler asked.
“I just went to look for my ball, that’s all.” Sam struggled against the man’s thick paunch.
I pulled at Sam’s arm, trying to wrestle him away. A few seconds later, Coogler’s thick, hard palm slapped me across the face. The hot, stinging force sent me flying backward to the ground. “Stay out of this, gal. This between me and the boy. Now tell me where you ran off to.”
Sam was still squirming. Coogler’s strong grip unyielding. I shook the burn from my face and watched as Coogler grabbed a billy club from his waistband.
“NOOO!” I screamed.
Coogler threw Sam to the ground. He raised his arm and brought down the club in a quick hard crack against Sam’s head. This time, I jumped to my feet and lunged for the billy club from behind as Coogler pulled back his arm to swing at Sam again. Although I didn’t weigh much, I was tall, as tall as Coogler. The surprise of my body on top of his caught him off guard. Coogler stumbled. I straddled his back. One hand around his neck and the other trying to keep him from hitting Sam again. He almost had the upper hand. He flung his stick behind his head, narrowly missing my head.
He still held a tight grip on Sam. I fought with everything inside me to keep Sam alive. Coogler zigzagged trying to shake me from his back. I held on, digging my nails into the flabby flesh of his neck. Sam twisted and contorted himself, trying to get free of Coogler’s grip. The tables were turning and now the fat cop was struggling against two squirming bodies instead of one. Sweat poured off Coogler’s head, but I ducked his billy club again and leaned in toward him. This time, I bit down on his ear so hard I could taste blood and the salt of his sweat.
“Aaaaah!” he screamed. Coogler staggered backward and I nearly fell off his back.