Between Lovers by Eric Jerome Dickey Page A

the man chiseled in muscles, running with an angry lover’s stride.
    As she passes my car, she grunts, glances toward me with a cry of help in her eyes. Our eyes disconnect and her pace doubles. Muscle man isn’t a sprinter, but he’s not giving up. He huffs and puffs by my car, sounds like a charging bull with asthma.
    â€œIs he assaulting—”
    â€œWait, Pops.”
    She does another move that would leave Jerry Rice in awe; fakes left and cuts to the right, moves like butter. He tumbles to the left, rolling and screaming in frustration as he hits asphalt palms first, scraping layers of skin from his flesh and ripping his OAKLAND POLICE jacket.
    I tell my old man, “It’s the police.”
    In a voice that carries fear, memories from cultural abuse gone by, he asks, “You have a camera?”
    â€œNot with me.”
    â€œDon’t leave. Make sure she’s not abused. Bear witness, just in case her civil rights are violated.”
    â€œYes sir, I know what to do. Know what to do. I’m watching, I’m watching.”
    â€œTake down any information that might be pertinent, no matter how trivial.”
    â€œI remember all you told us to do. Stay out of it until it’s calm. Take names, everything.”
    Police cars swarm from everywhere. She’s trapped at a fence that walks the perimeter of the overpass. Surrounded by anxious men. Lights on the tops of ten cars are flashing in celebration.
    Pops asks, “What they doing to the girl now?”
    â€œShe’s still trying to get away. Shit ... I mean shoot, she threw a shoe at the cops.”
    â€œShe knows better.” His voice fills with worry.
    â€œShe threw the other one. Clocked a cop in the eye.”
    â€œAre people out?”
    â€œPlenty. Cars are stopped. People have run out of the houses. Lots of witnesses.”
    â€œStill, say a prayer. Say a prayer.”
    I pray. Pray that that woman is Nicole’s lover. Pray that she’s Ayanna. Then all of my problems will be solved, courtesy of the taxpayers and a crowded five-by-nine at the Free Hotel.
    Guns are drawn.
    She lowers her head in surrender.
    Then she looks to the sky before she turns, puts her hands on the fence, spreads her legs in surrender. She leans forward, the arch in her back forcing her backside to curve toward heaven, her pose reminding me of the humble way Nicole positioned herself to receive me as we showered yesterday morning. Her amorous posture as she broke down, wailed, and let her tears of confusion flow like water.
    That woman is crying too. Just like Nicole did in the shower.
    I tell my old man, “She’s in the police car. Looks like the other cops are laughing at the one who couldn’t catch her. He’s gonna be the laughingstock of the PD today.”
    â€œOur sheep is okay.”
    â€œAs okay as she’s gonna be for a while. They didn’t do anything extreme.”
    â€œGood, good. You think it was drugs?”
    â€œEither that or RWB.”
    â€œRWB?”
    â€œRunning While Black.”
    I readjust my earpiece, let a few anxious drivers go by before I start driving again, those flashing lights putting nonstop rainbows in my rearview mirror, and wonder if that was a sign from above, if that was real, or if that just was me chasing Nicole. If that was a sign telling me that Nicole was about to surrender. That I just need to run after her a little longer.
    His voice is shaken. “But what was I saying?”
    So is mine. “You were telling about the eligible and desperate women at church.”
    â€œWe have a lot of eligible women. Pretty women. Very pretty. And intelligent like you would not believe. Two doctors: one is a psychologist and the other a dentist.”
    â€œI could use both. They take coupons?”
    I laugh. He doesn’t.
    â€œSon, this thing with Nikki, I admire your tenacity, but your efforts may be misplaced. Call me old-fashioned, but somewhere