Читать книгу Street Chic - Anthony Whyte - Страница 6

CHAPTER 1

Sheryl Street sat in a rental car staring through dark shades at the crowd of people entering Ortiz funeral home next to Fort Tryon Park, uptown Broadway. Feelings of whether what she had done to bring her this day was right or wrong ran amok in her troubled mind. Through her torment she saw them gossiping. Most of them she knew, they were from her old neighborhood at 179^th Street and St. Nicholas Av.

Emotions were being displayed on the sleeves of everyone who was in the place. She could see the tear-stained faces even though their eyes were hidden by designers’ shades. Sheryl didn’t know if she wanted to deal with facing them, but she knew she had to attend.

A few more minutes went by and Sheryl took a couple of deep breaths. After adjusting her makeup, she got out of the car. Slamming the door shut, she turned and checked her appearance through the window. Her confidence was jarred and she slowly walked across the street. She was on her way to pay respect to the memory of Candace and Claire Osorio, her adopted sisters.

However, instead of showering her with hugs and greetings, mourners outfitted in black were waiting to rip her to shreds. Their deadly looks met her every shaky step. A bevy of mourners and character assassinators outfitted in distress drabs, pointed fingers while staring her down.

Digging her three-inch heels, black patent leather pumps into the floor, Sheryl held her head high without returning their threatening glares. She could feel the angry stares penetrating through the clothes that she wore. It didn’t help that she had to keep adjusting her top because her thirty four C’s were threatening to pop out. The outfit felt a little snug for any wake, especially this one, but it was all she had brought with her.

“That chica really looks chic,” a mourner said.

Street glanced to see the face and caught a nasty snare from a young girl on the arms of her boyfriend. They snickered and rudely pointed their fingers at her.

“Yeah that’s the cop that cause all this,” the boyfriend scoffed.

Clothes weren’t her only undoing. A change of mind could be costlier. She struggled with the decision she had made to attend. Sheryl did not plan on being at the wake, but changed her mind at the last minute. Entering Ortiz funeral home she immediately heard the dissent and started regretting her decision.

“She got some nerves!”

“That skank, that whore, she deserves a beat down!”

The voices of angry relatives and friends rang in her head, and Sheryl glanced at the door, wanting so badly to change her mind. Maybe she could go outside and explain her side of the story. Tell family and friends who no longer wanted to speak to her about all the pain raging inside of her. She felt like running away from it all, but Sheryl had to face up. There was a force stronger than any she could resist and it swept her in through the doors, and passed the angry rants behind mean stares greeting her.

Inside the small hall was set up like the inside of a small church. There were rows of benches on either side. Sheryl’s presence caused tension to crackle like electricity in a lightning storm. Holding her breath, Sheryl Street stood in the eye of the controversy and felt her stomach muscles tightening.

Open chatter dogged her every move. She glanced without staring back and bit her lips. She released a heavy sigh while holding on to her emotions. Sheryl felt like breaking down and crying while making her way through the throngs of mourners. They turned their heads in the direction of the altar when she got close.

On top of the altar, two red urns filled with ashes sat on a stand filled surrounded by burning candles. The urns contained the remnants of her enigmatic adopted sisters Candace and Claire Osorio. Sheryl stared for a beat when she saw the photos on the wall behind. Her tears flowed easily. She cried looking at video footage of the sisters playing basketball. Sheryl’s conscience fell on her like a ton of bricks. She was directly involved in their deaths. Sheryl felt sorry for having come back. Still she had to face Mimmy, the woman who had raised all three of them. There were women here who used to greet her with hugs, now openly scoffed at her.

“Murdering cop, she really got some nerve showing her face round here after killing her own sisters,” one woman in the tightest black dress said.

“But they weren’t no flesh and blood,” another noted.

“Mimmy raised them all didn’t she?”

“Boy, Mimmy’s coming soon. She’s bound to kick that tight-butt bitch outta here,” another suggested.

Their men stealing sips of liquor from a flask, stared at her backside, accentuated in a tight, dark Armani pantsuit. Lecherous stares from men whose wives and girlfriends despised her, greeted Sheryl with guarded pleasantries.

“I know you had to do what you had to do,” one older man said, letting his eyes rove over her body before continuing. “Especially with you being the law and all,” he smiled tastelessly, leering at her breasts.

Sheryl Street eyed him uneasily, pursing her lips while assuaging the urge she felt to deck him. She managed to hold back the impulse and nodded politely. Others in the crowded church grimaced walking by Street. They looked her up and down, cutting their eyes when they realized who she was. Sheryl walked down an aisle that appeared longer because of the tension. She wanted to pay her respects, but felt thick walls of resentment slowly closing in on her.

While waiting on a queue to get a closer look at pictures of the Osorio sisters, open whispers spilled around her. Sheryl felt sympathy for what she overheard in her quietness. She stared at the pictures of the girls. Closing her eyes and saying a silent prayer, Sheryl became caught up in a moment. It transferred her back to the time she first met Mimmy and her daughters. Sheryl was ten years old.

She had been living in an immigrant neighborhood in Opa Locka, on the outskirts of Miami, with her mother, Carmen, a Cuban immigrant. Her mother’s boyfriend, Gilbert, would visit frequently and sometimes stay over. He was Haitian. Carmen was dependent on prescription drugs for her survival due to a bipolar condition. Often her mother would visit the local clinic and return at the end of the day with her prescriptions. One such day, Sheryl bade her mother goodbye and left for school. She knew her mother would be at the clinic all day and wouldn’t be back until later that day.

That evening Sheryl waited patiently for her mother to come back from the clinic. She had hurried home from school and had not eaten. It was almost ten in the evening and her mother wasn’t around. The following morning Sheryl awoke in a frantic mess. She had been unable to sleep very well through the night, and had forgotten to eat.

Even thought she was hungry and tired, Sheryl dragged herself to school. She raced home with anticipation beating in her heart. That evening Sheryl went to bed feeling depressed. The next day she still had not heard from her mother, and she still had not returned from the health clinic. After couple more days with no words or messages, Sheryl felt that her mother would never come back.

Gilbert eventually came by and she quizzed him about her mother’s whereabouts. He provided her with no real answers. He was upset that she had his girlfriend had left without telling him, but he was irritated that he had to stay with her daughter. Gilbert guessed that she was at a friend’s home, but Sheryl didn’t seem to know exactly which relative’s home she would be living in. Sheryl remembered her mother threatening that she may have to survive without her. Her mother may have really wanted to leave but Sheryl never took her seriously. Gilbert, from his guesses never took her words seriously either. Now they both realized it was more than idle chat.

Sheryl and Gilbert knew they were waiting in vain, but eventually developed a step-family relationship. Sheryl never knew her natural father. Gilbert told her he lived a short distance away from Opa Locka in the town of Little Havana. She stayed with her stepfather until, claiming he could no longer care for her. He brought Sheryl to live with Mimmy, his sister, in Washington Heights, New York City.

Sheryl was thirteen and puberty had already set in. Mimmy helped her a lot in understanding what she was going through in her maturing young girl cycle. In this respect, Gilbert was right to bring her to his sister. Mimmy was kind to her when she was most in need of it.

Without even a goodbye, Gilbert went back to Florida. Sheryl was left with Mimmy and tried to fit herself into a two bedroom apartment with two self-centered daughters and their drunken father. Candace and Claire were young and pretty and hated sharing their room with Sheryl. They got away with everything and often blamed anything that had gone wrong on the newcomer. The sisters always stuck together against her.

Sheryl replaced her dark shades and turned to walk back. She saw Mimmy coming toward her and stayed frozen in place. She had thought about what she would say and gone over the routine over and over in her head. Sheryl saw the older woman’s heavy make-up. It did nothing to hide the pain and exhaustion wearing her down. Sheryl stopped to let her by but Mimmy held her ground and didn’t budge. For what seemed like an eternity, the large woman’s cold stare shot mercilessly through Sheryl like laser beams, tearing up her insides, and leaving her twisted in knots.

“I’m so sorry this had to happen…” Sheryl offered. Her emotions spilled over and her voice trailed.

After an eternity, Mimmy hobbled by without saying anything. Sheryl watched the familiar limp as Mimmy sauntered away. The woman who had raised her since she was ten and taught her to be the best at whatever she wanted to be turned her back on her. Sheryl watched Mimmy’s gait. The robust woman had lost a step or two. It came from spending all those years being a nanny, and taking care of white kids on the upper west side. It was also that she had lost something special. Her two daughters had been her reason for living.

Mimmy was a Haitian immigrant who had married a man, Carlito Rafael Osorio from Santiago in the Dominican Republic. The family wasn’t rich, but Mimmy did everything she could to provide for her daughters. Candace and Claire Osorio were really popular teens. They felt they had to keep up with the latest in fashion and be current with all the new trends. It was this craving that Mimmy sought to fill, but always seemed to be coming up a little short.

Neither sister tried hard in the classroom. They were average students who attended George Washington High School. Tall and athletically inclined, the sisters played sports and helped garnered many championship titles for the school. They excelled in basketball, baseball, and tracks for the school. In the Heights, the sisters were famous. Judging by the attendance in the church, the Osorio sisters were still revered and love.

Sheryl Street felt pangs of guilt streaming through her body as Mimmy Osorio knelt down, made the sign of the cross and quietly prayed. She still felt the same urge to run away like when she first walked in, but Sheryl also felt glued to her seat. She bowed her head, wordlessly begging God for absolution.

“There’s no friend we have like Jesus and only He can grant you forgiveness…”

Sheryl looked up at the preacher with her mouth wide open. Suddenly her head hurt and she began to sweat profusely. Slowly, she got up and tiptoed to the exit. A series of nodding heads following her to the door.

“That’s right! You better ease up outta here pig!”

“Yeah, that’s it bitch, get to stepping!”

Their nasty comments chased her. She walked out to tiny droplets of rain. By the time she reached her car, it was coming down in buckets. Sheryl hastily jumped inside the comfort of the rented car and sat shaking her head. Slipping the key in the ignition, the engine hummed, drowning her sobbing. She heard honking and looked up to see what the clamoring was about.

Melanie Delgado, another childhood friend, had showed up with enough fanfare to stop any show. Cuban and connected to gangsters from all over the globe, Melanie was sitting in the black stretch. The dark tinted window came down. Melanie was screaming with a haunting greeting.

“Had ya fair-share, cop-bitch? Ya can’t take it anymore, huh? No one wants ya ass around here anyhow. Ya know the way outta town bitch-cop…!”

Sheryl Street stared at Melanie and a group of well dressed men. Without saying anything in response, she slipped her shades on. Sheryl gunned the powerful engine and took off with nowhere special to go. She knew she had to get away.

Coming back to the city had proven a point. There was no further need to stay. But maybe there was one more thing she needed to do. She had wanted to talk to Mimmy. Her telephone calls had gone unanswered and she had never got a chance to say her piece. Now it didn’t seem likely to happen. Mimmy was too bitter. It was time to go, clear her head and try another time.

She found herself going up the familiar steep hill. These were her old haunts. Sheryl guided the car through the neighborhood she knew all too well. She looked at Mimmy’s apartment building. It was where all the kids from the neighborhood used to congregate on the steps. Sheryl remembered the last time when they all gathered at the steps.

“Yeah, here comes Orphan Annie,” Melanie teased.

Sheryl’s cheek smart from the jibe, but she held herself in check. Instead she countered with a question about school.

“I’m going to Florida for college. Where are you headed Melanie?”

“If I’ve gotta live in Florida, it won’t be for no school, ya heard? After graduation I’m through with this school stuff. I’m gonna make me some money. It’ll be all about the money for me,” Melanie said.

“Melanie’s right. School’s helped me enough already. I think I’ve learned how to count my money,” Candace smiled.

“I agree with them. You’re wrong Orphan Annie,” Claire surmised. “But it’s good that you’re going to college in Florida. Maybe you might find a relative or someone for you.”

That night, Sheryl had difficulty sleeping in her hotel room and couldn’t wait for the morning. When it came, she hurried through showering. After slipping into the same dark skirt outfit, Sheryl spent a lot of time at the make-up stand trying to cover the dark circles around her eyes. She wanted to face Mimmy one more time. Stopping at a café for breakfast, Sheryl couldn’t keep her mind off Mimmy. During her second cup of coffee, she read about the ordeal in a local daily newspaper.

Mourners gathered outside a funeral home in order to get a glimpse of the detective whose bullets caused the deaths of her adopted sisters. “I’ve cut all ties to my former adopted daughter, Sheryl Street, before she killed my babies…’” Mimmy Osorio, the woman who raised Sheryl and her sisters Candace and Claire Osorio, said after learning that her daughters were killed in a fiery stand-off with police in South Florida. The girls, both twenty-three years old, were accused of a wave of shoplifting and were being sought by the NYPD for the murders of key witnesses involved in the case against them. Detective Shirley Street headed a team of investigators that included members of the NYPD larceny squad and detectives from the Dade County in Miami. For over a year authorities had been searching for the sisters who grew up in Washington Heights and were local high school basketball and volleyball stars. Somewhere along the line their lives took a whirl into the land of crime. The deaths of the two women have left questions. Detective Street has known the victims since she was eight years old. The victims were…

Shaking her head, Sheryl couldn’t read anymore. She left the tearstained daily on the breakfast table. Sheryl put on her shades and headed to the parking lot. She turned the radio on and quickly changed the station from a newscast. The light, melodic jazz calmed her nerves and cleared the frown she wore.

Sheryl gazed unexcitedly out the window, driving back across the George Washington and riding along 178^th Street. Approaching the old neighborhood, she eased her foot up off the gas pedal. Her mind raced to recollect all the memories that quickly fell back into place.

Mimmy had tried to provide the best for all the girls, and was mostly out of the home. She worked as a nurse’s aide in a Jewish hospital in Staten Island. Mimmy used to travel back and forth from Staten Island to Manhattan to give her daughters the best. They were her only children and even though the marriage ended in disaster. Her husband and father of her girls, walked out with a younger woman. Mimmy worked hard to help the girls forget him. She went out of her way for the young Candace and Claire.

They would get anything they wanted and Mimmy always obliged. A month after Sheryl was residing with them they wanted a new volleyball set for all their friends to play with at the park. The sisters were fourteen and hung out with older friends in front of the building. Mimmy clearly didn’t like their friends but she went out of her way to run to the store and get them the set.

“I told you she…” Candace started, but Claire cut her off.

“But Mimmy, you said you were gonna…”

As soon as Claire started, Mimmy reached into her bag and pulled out a ball. The girls jumped and screamed, clearly excited by the sight of the volleyball and net. Jacque was a good friend and would be in the midst of everything, came running from next door.

“Wha’ happened?”

“Oh she got it, the whole set,” Claire cheered.

“Mimmy, you’re the best,” said both girls in unison and Jacque started rejoicing with them.

“Now, we could go to the park, huh Mimmy?” Candace asked.

“You can. Please be careful. And please come back before it gets too dark.”

“Let me go with y’all. Y’all two gonna need some protection,” Jacque said.

“Not from no sissy…” Claire said.

“C’mon girls, play nice…” Mimmy said.

“It’s okay Mimmy, Jacque can handle himself,” Jacque said, his hands on his hips.

“You need to stop!” Candace said, waving her hand.

“You can play with orphaned Annie over there,” said Claire, pointing at Sheryl.

“Since our uncle left, she’s been acting funny you know? Retarded…”

They both giggled and ran off. Mimmy called out after them.

“Claire, Candace, listen up both of you; I spent my last dollar buying that damn ball. I don’t wanna hear about y’all losing it. Y’all understand?”

“Yes Mimmy,” the sisters responded in unison.

“Lord, I have spoiled them rotten. What can I say, they’re mine,” Mimmy smiled. “Sheryl, please, you and Jacque follow my girls and watch out for them. Make sure nothing happens to them. I’m gonna see what’s inside the fridge for dinner.”

Jacque stared at Sheryl and they both nodded. Candace and Claire always have their way. They hurried to play with their new volleyball.

“We know the perfect spot,” Candace said, pointing to an area in the park with trees that had low hanging branches.

Claire was the oldest by two years and the leader of the pack. Candace always stuck with her sister through thick and thin. They were tall and beautiful and not only went everywhere together, but the sisters also did everything together.

When they arrived at River Bank Park, it was crowded. A group of young white kids picnicking grudgingly watched Claire and Candace setting up the volleyball net. Snickers and sneers were thrown in the players’ direction. Sheryl and Jacque played on one side while Claire and Candace teamed up. Sheryl and Jacque played hard but the sisters were very tall at an early age, agile and athletic.

The games got more intense and Jacque struck first, sending the ball out of bounds one too many times in the midst of the picnickers. The girls chased the ball another time when Candace spiked it too hard. One of the kids standing around grabbed the ball and threw it in the direction of another member of the group.

“Give it back!” Claire demanded, walking toward the group.

“Why y’all want to mess around?” Candace asked excitedly.

“Hold up, Candace. Wait a minute. You know your temper, girl?” Jacque was shouting running after the girls as he and Sheryl followed, trying to keep the peace.

“Yeah, and if I don’t, what?” the boy holding the ball replied and tossed the ball to another boy when Claire took a few steps closer.

She watched the ball being tossed around in the group. The routine continued for five minutes. They were all tired of waiting for the ball to be returned.

“Give me my ball or else…” She preened, strutted, and started her head-wagging routine.

“Or else what…? What’re you gonna do?”

Claire reached for her ball and one of the guys shoved her. She made another attempt. This time he shoved her so hard, she fell backwards and hit her head. Jacque rushed to her help her.

“Jacque is she alright?” shouted Sheryl.

Jacque knelt next to the fallen and unconscious Claire. He checked her pulse as if he was a paramedic then shot a mean stare, batting his eyes at the guy who had pushed Claire.

“You mean, lily, white bully. I oughta…”

“Listen you lil’ black fag, I’ll kick your teeth in if you so much as look this way again. Why don’t you and your girlfriends go on your side of the park…?”

“Hey, what’d do to my sister?” shouted Candace.

“I done told y’all, you are not welcome on this side.”

The group laughed as Candace and Jacque tried their best to resuscitate Claire. It seemed like an eternity. Candace shook with fear but bravely gave her sister mouth-to-mouth, trying to revive Claire. It was a procedure she had learned in swimming class. Candace gently shook her sister. The cobwebs seemed to clear from Claire’s dazed mind. Close to tears, she and Jacque were able to finally help Claire to her feet.

“Claire, Claire…”

“Who got the ball?” asked Claire.

“Forget about the ball, are you…” Jacque started.

“Forget it? No way, Mimmy told us not to lose that ball,” Claire said, jumping up and brushing herself off. “I’m not leaving without our ball,” she said, blinking rapidly and shaking her head.

“Oh girl, why don’t you just forget that damn ball,” offered Jacque, dragging Claire back from the picnickers.

“Jacque you’re such a sissy…”

“Shoot, I’d rather be a live sissy than a dead brave boy.”

“Hold up, why we walking away? We ain’t leaving without my damn volleyball,” Claire said, brushing off Jacque.

“He got our ball,” Candace firmly said, pointing to the white teen.

He was smiling, proudly holding the ball. They walked over to where the group of kids stood sunning and guffawing.

“Uh oh, here they come again…” one of them said.

“They must want some more,” another laughed.

“Give me back my fucking ball,” Claire yelled.

“Ooh… Or what…?”

“She gonna break your heart with them tears…”

The group broke out in laughter.

“I’m gonna ask you for the last time…”

“Or what…?”

“She’s gonna blow your dick… Ha, ha, ha…”

“Yeah bitch, do this…” the boy taunted.

They were laughing so hard, the kid with the ball didn’t see Claire swing. The blow caught him in the soft of his throat, catching the boy off guard. He staggered, choking.

“Shit, th-th-this bitch just hi-hit me…” he said coughing up blood. He wiped the red liquid trickling from his mouth.

There was no chance for a recovery. Claire was on him, hitting him hard with another left, and a right. Her Reeboks landed in his groin, leaving him doubled over.

“Whoever wanna clown c’mon step up.” Claire said, recovering the ball.

She tossed it to Jacque. Candace moved in behind her while Jacque cowered next to Sheryl.

“It wasn’t me…” a kid screamed when Claire rushed him.

“Kick his ass Claire! Who they think they is anyhow…?” Jacque hollered, puffing up his chest.

“I wasn’t down with it from the jump,” one said.

“It was not my idea… He did it,” another said pointing at the teen spitting blood.

Claire stared at the teen cringing with his bloodied lips and felt something surging through her veins. She was the victor and he was the vanquished. This thought caused a surge of power to rush through her frame. It made her feel like she had super powers. Claire smiled and walked away.

“Damn girl, you punched his ass out. He was so dazed his homey had to help him out. What do you have in those fist of yours, girlfriend?” Jacque snickered.