Larceny Read Free Page A

teeth, purple lips, and a need for a fresh pack of Newports, I assumed that he didn’t smoke.
    Jovan interrupted the young waitress as she continued to tell us about damn near everything the restaurant had.
    â€œExcuse me. We would like to be seated outside on the patio if you don’t mind,” he said.
    The young waitress looked at Jovan as if to say “Why in the hell did you cut me off like that?” I liked that in Jovan: a sense of aggressiveness.
    When we were seated, I thought I’d add a little humor to the situation. “Thanks. For a minute I thought she was gonna tell us how the place was built and give us a grand tour,” I said.
    We both laughed, and then Jovan said, “You better be quiet, ’cause here she comes with the menus.”
    â€œShhh. I thought she already told us the whole damn menu.” We both laughed again.
    I liked that about Jovan: he carried himself very well. I could see that we were starting to connect and feel a little more comfortable with each other.
    Â 
    Â 
    Jovan
    Â 
    Bilal Davis. All I could do was think back and reminisce about the last time I saw Bilal. It was the winter of 1985, and I had just turned 15 years old. He was from Northeast D.C., over there on Sixth and K, across the street from Wilson Elementary School, an area which would later be known as the Gold Mine that helped D.C.’s biggest drug dealer, Ray Edmonson, rise to multimillion-dollar status.
    My grandmother lived a few blocks over on Ninth and G, right across the street from Golden Elementary and Sherwood Recreational playground. This is where all the major players and future NBA stars played basketball—people like Sherman Douglas, who played for the Boston Celtics, Curt and Charles Smith, Lawrence Morton, and Michael Gram. On weekends, some of the players from the Georgetown Hoyas would play against local drug dealers in exchange for certain gifts.
    My favorite was to see Big Fat dunk on any and everybody that got in his way. Sometimes my big cousin Poochie and Uncle Bobby would go over to play, and I’d watch them, along with almost every pretty female from around the way. The playground was always packed with pretty females, but as usual, they were all too old for me, and besides, pussy wasn’t the first thing on my agenda back then.
    It was a cold day in November of ’85, and I was at my grandmother’s house, bored as hell. No one else was there but grandma and me. My father was a smooth nigga, and he wasn’t around that much. He was mostly outta town on some type of business—at least that’s what I thought. As I got older, I came to find out that he was on the run for some bank robberies he did back in the late ’70s. This is why, when he came by grandma’s to see me, he wouldn’t stay long, but he’d give me a few dollars, throw a couple of jabs at me to make sure I knew how to fight, drop me a few jewels, and step off.
    The one jewel that stayed with me the most was when he’d say, “Trust no one, master your condition, and keep all suckers in the bounds of moderation.” Of course, I wouldn’t understand any of this shit until later on in life when it became reality.
    Â 
    Â 
    Sonya
    Â 
    Jovan ordered baked salmon filet with sun-dried tomatoes and a side order of creamed spinach, along with a glass of freshly squeezed grapefruit juice. I could see from his order that Jovan was very alert toward his health, which was something that we both had in common. I wondered if he drank occasionally, like myself. That would be a plus.
    When it was my turn to order, I got a seafood salad with blue cheese dressing and a side order of steamed shrimp, along with a glass of lemon ice tea.
    â€œGot a big appetite, huh?” Jovan asked me.
    â€œYeah, I was in a rush this morning and wasn’t able to eat a thing.”
    A slight grin came on his face. “So that’s why you took my invitation to lunch.