on his desk. Looking heavenward, the psychiatrist said, “What’s this world coming to? Our children are being handed over to predators, and society wonders why they become criminals and sexual deviants. You poor children don’t stand a prayer,” the doctor said to Shane.
Sniffling and wiping away crocodile tears, Shane looked sadly at the psychiatrist and nodded a silent agreement.
Later, the social worker drove Shane to the youth center where Tariq had been placed. She assured him that both women who’d abused him had been arrested. “If I had it my way those two child molesters would remain behind bars for the rest of their deviant lives.”
Shane had to bite down hard on his inner lip to keep himself from breaking into an enormous grin,.
Tariq was in the TV room. Shane snuck up behind him and placed his hand over Tariq’s eyes. “Guess who, my nigga,” he said and then gave his brother a big bear hug.
Shane and Tariq were right back where they’d started, but they were together and that was all that mattered.
CHAPTER 14
Shane and Tariq finally got a day pass from the Children’s Home.
Tariq spent his four-hour pass visiting Shiree, and Shane went looking for the closest crap game. He found one on the corner in front of a deli on Chester Avenue. When the police swooped down, everyone was caught unaware. There was a chorus of cuss words as the young men were ordered to lie on the ground with their hands behind their heads.
The police, frustrated with breaking up never-ending crap games at the same location and seemingly with the same players, lawlessly filled the participants’ pockets with enough crack vials to get them locked up and off the streets for at least six months to a year.
“Man, I’m a juvenile. You can’t take me to the Round House,” Shane grumbled as he was being driven toward Eighth and Arch Streets.
Being almost six feet tall, and lanky, which made him appear even taller, Shane didn’t look like a juvenile. Treating him like an adult, the police filled his pockets with enough of the illegal substance to ensure that Shane served some hard time.
“Show me some ID,” the cop shot back.
“I ain’t got no ID, I’m a juvenile. What kind of ID am I supposed to have?”
“Man, talk to the judge in the morning,” the police officer said as he shoved Shane in the police van with the others.
“I can’t sit in no jail overnight. My little brother is waiting for me.” Shane sounded distraught. He knew Tariq would be wondering where he was and would soon start to trip. “Well, can I make a phone call when I get to the Round House?”
“Yeah, tomorrow,” the cop added, laughing uproariously at his own remark.
“I can’t wait until tomorrow. I’m a juvenile and you have to let my people know where I’m being detained.”
“All right, who’s your people?” one of the cops asked, amusement in his voice.
Shane didn’t have any people and he didn’t know Shiree’s phone number, but he knew the number of the Children’s Home.
He rattled off the number. “Ask the lady at the front desk if Shane Batista lives there.”
“Front desk? What kind of place is that?”
“It’s the Children’s Home.”
“Man, you saying your tall ass lives in that orphanage up in Germantown?”
“Yeah,” Shane said, now embarrassed.
“Oh, so you ain’t nothing but an orphan?”
Shane silently seethed.
“I don’t believe you,” the driver said. “Any of y’all know any orphans?” he asked the group.
There was a chorus of “Naw…nope…I don’t think so…I know some foster kids…”
“But don’t none of y’all know no orphans, right?”
“Right,” the group chorused.
“Well, let me introduce you to the first orphan any of us ever met. What’s up, Orphan?” the cop said to Shane and for the rest of the ride Shane was referred to as “Orphan.”
“I said my name is Shane.”
“Man, fuck you and your orphan ass. You should have been at the orphanage with
Sniffling and wiping away crocodile tears, Shane looked sadly at the psychiatrist and nodded a silent agreement.
Later, the social worker drove Shane to the youth center where Tariq had been placed. She assured him that both women who’d abused him had been arrested. “If I had it my way those two child molesters would remain behind bars for the rest of their deviant lives.”
Shane had to bite down hard on his inner lip to keep himself from breaking into an enormous grin,.
Tariq was in the TV room. Shane snuck up behind him and placed his hand over Tariq’s eyes. “Guess who, my nigga,” he said and then gave his brother a big bear hug.
Shane and Tariq were right back where they’d started, but they were together and that was all that mattered.
CHAPTER 14
Shane and Tariq finally got a day pass from the Children’s Home.
Tariq spent his four-hour pass visiting Shiree, and Shane went looking for the closest crap game. He found one on the corner in front of a deli on Chester Avenue. When the police swooped down, everyone was caught unaware. There was a chorus of cuss words as the young men were ordered to lie on the ground with their hands behind their heads.
The police, frustrated with breaking up never-ending crap games at the same location and seemingly with the same players, lawlessly filled the participants’ pockets with enough crack vials to get them locked up and off the streets for at least six months to a year.
“Man, I’m a juvenile. You can’t take me to the Round House,” Shane grumbled as he was being driven toward Eighth and Arch Streets.
Being almost six feet tall, and lanky, which made him appear even taller, Shane didn’t look like a juvenile. Treating him like an adult, the police filled his pockets with enough of the illegal substance to ensure that Shane served some hard time.
“Show me some ID,” the cop shot back.
“I ain’t got no ID, I’m a juvenile. What kind of ID am I supposed to have?”
“Man, talk to the judge in the morning,” the police officer said as he shoved Shane in the police van with the others.
“I can’t sit in no jail overnight. My little brother is waiting for me.” Shane sounded distraught. He knew Tariq would be wondering where he was and would soon start to trip. “Well, can I make a phone call when I get to the Round House?”
“Yeah, tomorrow,” the cop added, laughing uproariously at his own remark.
“I can’t wait until tomorrow. I’m a juvenile and you have to let my people know where I’m being detained.”
“All right, who’s your people?” one of the cops asked, amusement in his voice.
Shane didn’t have any people and he didn’t know Shiree’s phone number, but he knew the number of the Children’s Home.
He rattled off the number. “Ask the lady at the front desk if Shane Batista lives there.”
“Front desk? What kind of place is that?”
“It’s the Children’s Home.”
“Man, you saying your tall ass lives in that orphanage up in Germantown?”
“Yeah,” Shane said, now embarrassed.
“Oh, so you ain’t nothing but an orphan?”
Shane silently seethed.
“I don’t believe you,” the driver said. “Any of y’all know any orphans?” he asked the group.
There was a chorus of “Naw…nope…I don’t think so…I know some foster kids…”
“But don’t none of y’all know no orphans, right?”
“Right,” the group chorused.
“Well, let me introduce you to the first orphan any of us ever met. What’s up, Orphan?” the cop said to Shane and for the rest of the ride Shane was referred to as “Orphan.”
“I said my name is Shane.”
“Man, fuck you and your orphan ass. You should have been at the orphanage with
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