Whispers in the Night by Brandon Massey Page B

sneakers did a flurry and he caught stride with me into the parking lot, even passed me. The kid was fast for his age.
    He puffed out his little chest. “I don’t need a bus, fool.”
    Fool? I bent down to pop him, but he hollered and the buff dude came outside the building. I patted him on his head, threw him into the back of my ride, and pulled off.
    I headed down Wilshire. He crawled from the backseat to the front. “I’m hungry! Look! Burger King.”
    Burger King was up ahead on the right. He demanded that I pull over and feed him, like that was my job. I stayed in the far left lane and raised my eyebrow at him. His big old round Martian eyes looked at me like he dared me to pass up Burger King.
    I said, “You’d better stick your head out the window, open your mouth, and try to inhale, because that’s as close as you’re gonna get to eating a hamburger in my car.”
    He lowered one of his bushy eyebrows, narrowed those big old eyes, and glared at me, like he was going to do something.
    â€œWhat? Am I supposed to be scared or something?”
    All of a sudden, the wheel of my ride jerked hard to the right. My car shot across two lanes and cut in front of an MTA bus. The bus slammed on its brakes and skidded. It blasted its horn and came within inches of my back bumper. Every passenger on the bus along with the bus driver yelled and cussed at me through the window. I tried to brake and swerve, but my ride jetted up into the Burger King parking lot, bounced over the curb, sideswiped the drive-through sign, and came to a skidding halt in front of the plastic Burger King talking head. My window rolled down by itself.
    The plastic head said, “Have it your way at Burger King. May I take your order?”
    I caught my breath and said the first thing that popped into my head. “Oh, shit !”
    The plastic head said, “That’s not on our menu. Try up the street at McDonald’s. I hear they serve nothing but oh, shit burgers.”
    Nehemiah started cracking up. He crawled over me, stuck his head out the window, and started talking to the plastic king head like they knew each other from way back.
    â€œWhassup, King Homie? Whatchu got cooking today?”
    The head said, “Hey, Neh, what’s up, partna? Where you been?”
    â€œJust hanging low, you know how it go.”
    Cars behind me started blowing their horns. I couldn’t even drive off because my ride wouldn’t move. And I still felt like I was about to shit my pants.
    â€œWhat’d you do to my car?” I tried to push Neh off me.
    â€œWait, Negro. I ain’t ordered yet.”
    Nehemiah ordered two of everything on the menu. He turned to me. “You hungry?”
    â€œNo! I ain’t hungry.”
    He said to the plastic king, “Give my daddy a Whopper.”
    When he said whopper he stomped his sneaker down in my lap and crushed my balls. I muffled about twenty curse words and threw him back into the passenger seat. I balled up my fist. He pointed at the plastic king. “They got a camera in his eye.”
    I checked myself, muttered a few more four-letter words, and drove up to the window. Three teenage girls ran to the service window, handed me the food, and blew kisses at Nehemiah.
    â€œHe’s sooo cute.” They looked at me. “Ooh, is this your daddy?”
    Nehemiah giggled and lied, proudly. “Yeah.”
    â€œI’m not his daddy. Look, I just want to get out of here. How much for the food?”
    â€œFor cute little Neh, it’s on the house.” They blew him more kisses. He batted his big old eyelashes down over his big old eyes.
    I screeched off. Halfway down the block, the smell of that Whopper started tearing up my stomach and hunger pains hit me so hard, I almost couldn’t drive. “Give me a damn bite.”
    He threw a Whopper at me. “Told you you was hungry.” The little arrogant squirt laughed like he had some