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Mugwump"When we come back around this corner, you better not be standing here." The harsh voice came from the window of the cop car that idled in the street. Mugwump stared back at them with contempt etched across his young face. "This year two-five, po po," he watched them with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his baggy jeans. A look of wonder spread over the cop's face. He reminded himself of who this boy was, that he really didn't belong out here on the corner with the hardcore crowd who's future only held bars and lockdowns. "This is my corner boy! Better you should learn that now. Didn't you see all the little drug dealers start hauling ass when I pulled up? This is my corner. A hard lesson that you gonna learn if you standing here when we come back." "See," Mugwump said. "You can't put shit like that in the air no more. This corner just as free as I am." "Woooooo, weeeeee," the cop's chest heaved as he exhaled. He fixed Mugwump in a hard stare before he spoke. "Maybe." He paused to say something to his partner. A cop hat sat on the dashboard and Mugwump took note of the short, military haircut affixed to a too large skull and hard, lifeless eyes that bristled in the dark night. A grimace stretched across a severe face that looked like it was supposed to pass for a smile. "You got a choice to make. Play with your freedom or play with god. I don't see you winning – either way – if I pull up around this corner again and you still here. You better find your place boy. Holla!" The cop car pulled off. "Cops ain't shit," Mugwump yelled after them. When he saw the police car disappear around the corner, the denizens of the night materialized from the darkness as if by the wave of a magician's wand. A few of them sauntered over to Mugwump. "Man, you better stop fuckin' with po-po like that!" Triage was the oldest drug dealer on the block. He was born Leonard James but his real name was Triage. He was lifelong. That's what he always said. "I'm lifelong in this game." That was his answer to any question of his street sensibility. He wore a pair of baggy jeans and an oversized New Jersey Devils hockey jersey with a thick gold chain around his neck. His ball cap was twisted at angle on his head with a gang of braids hanging down the nape of his neck. Mugwump felt a pang of envy when he noticed the fresh, new pair of Timbaland's that Triage was playing. "Just 'cause you ain't holdin' nothin' don't mean that they won't beat you down," Triage said. "Go head on," Mugwump said. "I ain't done no-thing!" "Like you need to, nigga!" Joe and Togs led a group of dealers who held court on the corner of Headland and Sunrise. This corner was the hottest spot in the city and every smoker in the area knew it. Unfortunately, so did the police. "Ain't you been watching T.V. nigga? For, like the past 400 years!" Joe and Togs slapped hands and even Mugwump had to join in on the laughter. "They will fuck you up for standing too Black up in this joint," Joe finished. They all looked up and down the block, as if searching for some silent cue that the police would come speeding back around the corner. They all knew the routine. Every night, like clockwork, the police would swing by to check on the corner, just to remind everyone that they were the long arm of the law. Every dealer on the corner what time the slinging would have to stop and they learned to fade into the folds of the darkness until the police finished their tour. It was all a street game, an urban version of hide-and-seek that they played nightly. Everyone of them knew – except Mugwump. Mugwump didn't do drugs; either selling or buying. It was a weakness that he never wanted in his life, even though most of his friends liked to get high and called him a nerd. One day he had explained to them why he stayed away from drugs but his reasons fell on deaf ears and soon they began calling Mugwump a hood preacher, which pleased him to no end. A preacher. An injustice reliever. A young man who would spit in the face of the authority that ruled using racist wrongs. Not that he was violent – Mugwump wouldn't credit himself with being able to whoop a horsefly in a hurricane – but he did find himself harboring violent thoughts which manifested themselves through his abrasive, biting tongue. He talked a good fight. Mugwump was a living paradox. He attended Tillman High School and was a serious student, vigorously scrapping for every 'A' he could get, taking every class that the programs of study allowed. He could have graduated from high school when he was a junior but instead he stayed in school and began taking classes that would prepare him for college. So he had set tongues to wagging when he began to hang out on the street corner with the thugs. The drug dealers, many of them that he went to school with, had threatened him the first night he started hanging out but Mugwump showed no fear, even when they claimed they smelled 'pork' when they saw him. "I ain't no po-po," he told them. "So what you want out here then? You straight?" "I don't do drugs," Mugwump said. "In any form or fashion." "You in the wrong place then homie." Suddenly, a police car came cruising up Headlands. "Po-po," A voice yelled out. Instantly the corner was cleared, leaving Mugwump standing alone when the black and white stopped at the curb. "What you doing out here son?" It was a Black cop. The one they called Supercop. He was well known in the hood for his dislike of Black folks. Emmett 'Supercop' Jones was the most notorious officer on the force and he didn't particularly care how many Black folks he broke in the pursuit of his duty. Supercop kept tabs on the corner hoodlums and he knew that Mugwump wasn't one of them. This kid was one of the good ones, not dirtied by the low expectations of these brainwashed, soon to be jailbirds; yet here he was, late at night on the corner at the wrong place, at the wrong time. Yet Supercop knew that the call of the streets had ruined more than one life, exchanging promises for prison sentences; he hoped that he could make this kid see the light. "My daddy been gone a long time," Mugwump said. "He's one of those statistics. A deadbeat dad. A morally corrup man." Mugwump paused. "You ain't him, are you?" Supercop bit down on the bitter response that sprang to his lips. Here, Supercop mused. Here is our future. Even the young, Black man who took advantage of the educational system would succumb to the lure of the streets. This kid was a carbon copy of Supercop's nephew, Paul, a good young man with as much street smarts as book smarts. Yet this knucklehead was out on a street corner late at night. A place where souls go stagnant. "Real smart," Supercop eyed him. "One of them smart asses." He leaned out the window. "If I was your daddy, I would whoop your ass for being out here on this corner. You know what's going on out here. Get yourself home and off my corner son." Mugwump watched him. "If I get out of this car," Supercop said. "There will be some real issues before I get back in." Mugwump raised both of his hands over his head. "Ahhh," Supercop said. "That's the pose right there. Black man spread. Ever since Kunta we've been taking that stance. Physically, symbolically… whatever name you want to put to it. Racially!" He leaned back in the front seat of the car and nodded his head. "Niggas!" he said. "But not all of us though, I'm glad to say. Some Black folks know how to live and learn. The rest are just niggas." Mugwump smiled. "Is that you son? Are you a nigga?" "All that, because of where I'm standing?" Mugwump pointed at the ground. "From where I'm standing, that makes you something too. An officer… or an overseer. Depending on the system you work in. And me? I can't see much difference between the two." An angry scowl crossed Supercops face as he reached down and wrenched the car door open. He stepped onto the sidewalk when Mugwump spoke. "What you got? A nightstick or a whip?" Supercop paused with his hand on his baton. He looked up and down the block and saw lights shining from nearly every house on the street. He knew that there were many eyes looking out at him from behind the curtains and glass – not that he cared what they saw, only what they could say on the evening news. He stood in front of the open car door and glared at Mugwump. "You got a smart mouth boy. Real smart. Let me tell you something though." In a flat, menacing voice he said, "You better get off these streets and back into school before something bad happens to you." Supercop stepped up until his face was inches away from Mugwump's. "All kinds of things happen out here, Donyell." Mugwump's head snapped back when Supercop called him by his real name. "Remember that shit," Supercop continued, "before you come out your mouth like that again. Because you might come up short." Mugwump was speechless. How did Supercop know his name? A shiver of apprehension ran up his spine but Mugwump had a mission and enough faith in himself to stand tall. This was the road he wanted to travel, to take a stand for what he knew to be right, no matter what force he would have to face and he knew that if he backed down now meant he would be backing down forever. "Souls can stagnate, you know," Mugwump answered the menace on Supercop's face with a poetic verse he remembered from a school text. "When your ideals get all dull and void, spiritual growth ceases and your very existence becomes routine." Supercop arched an eyebrow, puzzled. "That's why I'm here," Mugwump explained. "So my soul won't ever, ever stagnate. Just like my daddy." Mugwump looked him in the eye. "That ain't you is it?" Supercop's body tensed as if he had been struck. His eyes narrowed to slits and his knuckles cracked as his hands balled into fists, causing Mugwump to wonder if he had pushed the cop too far. Sparks of anger shot from Supercops eyes as he fought to calm himself, fighting to control the anger that he rarely kept contained. Usually, Supercop would have spilled some blood on the ground if anyone had spoken to him like that, all it would take was the slightest hint of any harsh remark and this kid was really pushing his luck. "You had your chance," he hissed. "Next time, you do down with all the other thugs." With that, he made his way back to the police car, turned and fixed Mugwump a steely glare before climbing into the front seat. After mumbling something to his partner the car pulled away from the curb and drove away down Headlands. After that confrontation, Mugwump's presence on the corner was accepted and he received an education of street life that settled deep inside of him. He felt a connection to his Blackness, a belonging that made him stand stronger and made him resolve more than ever to make his life count, to live with a purpose – to make a difference. The street corner taught Mugwump many life lessons. Soon he was laughing with the hood, arguing with the hood, and sometimes, even rapping with the hood. There was never a shortage of a wannabe rapper stepping to the spot with some lyrical wordplay that needed street corner validation. Mugwump tripped them all out when he first spit because he rapped about subjects that no one else knew about and he would end up having to explain what his flow was all about. He put feeling into his subject matter; whether it was the first runaway slaves, Thomas Jefferson's black children, Caligula, Joe Frazier, internal oppression – but they would all laugh and tell him how corny and whack his shit was. Mugwump laughed with them, accepting their laughter as an invitation into a world where his bond was his words. He took a step toward manhood on the corner. One day, he looked over at Joe, Tugs and Triage, each in his own slinging position, good vantage points from which they could spot the police from each direction. Mugwump bust out with some rhymes:
Mugwump finished with a flourish, one hand on his crotch the other raised in a fist. Triage said, 'Whack, jacked and corny as all hell!" "And that's real," Joe and Tug agreed. "Ya'll don't know nothing about my higher flow," Mugwump said. "It's my pontification of expressed alliteration, allegorical content and meteoric skills…." "Po-po!" came the lookout cry. In a matter of seconds the street was empty, except for Mugwump, who stood alone when the cop car pulled up. The cop who had warned him off the corner earlier that night regarded Mugwump for a moment. He took his hat off and slammed it on the dashboard before he finally spoke. "Now didn't we have a conversation earlier," he pushed the car door opened and stepped out onto the sidewalk. He slammed the door shut and stepped toward Mugwump, regarding him as if he were a nuisance that could easily be remedied. Mugwump stole a quick glance at the cop who was driving the car but he couldn't make out a face. The cop stood over him waiting for a response. "That was a command," Mugwump said. "Like Moses or something." "True. It was a command. An order. What? You think that commands don't apply to you? Commands apply to you to. So why are you still standing on my corner?" "I'll obey God," Mugwump replied. "And god you ain't." "Now that is funny," The cop moved in closer. "But you don't know do you?" He paused. "Let me ask you something. Did you not notice that all the little drug dealers scatter whenever we come by? The power to make niggas disappear. Now that is the power of god! Houdini can't even pull that one off," the cop burst out laughing. He reminded Mugwump of his Uncle Jaycee. They were about the same height and complexion with that same glint in their eyes. But the similarities ended there. His Uncle Jaycee had a calm demeanor and a slow, ingratiating smile that came from his soul while this cop was tripping. "This corner ain't no church though," Mugwump said. "Can I get an Amen?" "You're welcome," the cop said. He studied Mugwump for a moment and when he spoke next his voice took on a different tone. "Didn't I tell you to get off this corner before I came back? You really don't know do you?" Mugwump had an idea. "So what," he said. "So what?" the cop was incredulous. "Do you know who you're talking to? So what? This is so what!" A sharp, right punch landed in Mugwump's midsection and dropped him to his knees. "With your smart ass mouth." "Leave that boy alone, po-po!" A voice protested from somewhere in the vast darkness of the alleyway. "Ya'll always fuckin' with somebody, you dirty bastards," another voice pitched in. The cop glanced up and down the block, gave a quick check of the alleyway but quickly turned back to the fallen Mugwump. "See," he said. "Now you've gone and got the natives all restless." He grabbed a handful of shirt and yanked Mugwump to his feet. "Now get the fuck off of my corner." The cop was nose to nose with him, spittle flying from his mouth while he glared with barely contained rage. This is it, Mugwump reasoned. Now I'll find out how far my belief will take me. Can I really stand up. He measured his words before he spoke. "It takes a punk, bitch to punch somebody behind a badge. I bet you beat your kids like that too, huh? So what?" A guttural roar rang out and he slammed Mugwump against a brick wall and shot another blow to his stomach. Pain exploded throughout his entire body; he had never been hit so hard in his entire life, and Mugwump collapsed to the pavement. Agony rocked him as he lay, groaning, face down on the sidewalk. Sucking air through gritted teeth, he tried to will the pain away but his stomach felt as if the punch had passed through his gut and ruptured his backbone. "Get off that boy, you cop muthafucka!" A chorus of dissenting voices rang out in the night and the cop scanned the alley in an attempt to find the source. "Somebody need to beat on ya'll like that!" "A brother can't even stand outside now! Bitches!" Mugwump pushed himself up to one knee. A slow anger was building in him. His stomach felt as if something had been knocked loose and the pain was not lessening. The cop stood over him, yelling back at the disembodied voices. "Shut up!" I can find each and every one of you so you better back your nose up out of this business. You better mind your own. Because this could be you next!" A roar of discord answered from the darkness and the cop seemed agitated by it. Mugwump felt empowered by the ghetto chants that bombarded the angry cop. His people were standing up for him. Time for him to stand up. With one foot under him, Mugwump launched himself toward the cop and bought his fist squarely into the officer's jaw, which sent him crashing to the ground. There was a shocked second of silence as the cop lay still on the concrete, not moving at all, but the eerie quiet was shattered when Supercop emerged from the police car. He took in the entire scene in a swift glance and pulled his nightstick from his belt as he made his way around the front end of the car. "Shit!" Mugwump said as Supercop rushed toward him with the nightstick brandished like a club. Instinct screamed at Mugwump to shrink away, to try to fend off the blows that were surely coming but he disregarded those voices. Instead he put his hands down to his sides and stood tall. The nightstick came down hard on his shoulder and a blast of pain jolted him but Mugwump refused to fall. The next blow connected with the side of Mugwump's head and this time he went down in a heap with his head cradled in his hands. Supercop took a moment to put his nightstick back in the holster before kicking him in the ribs. "Boy, you are more than crazy! You don't hit no cops!" "I'm bleeding inside," Mugwump groaned and spit out a glob of blood. "Well here come some more," Supercop said. Mugwump's body was lifted off the ground with the force of the kick and he rolled over on his back and gasped to the sky. Supercop was moving slowly toward him with a maniacal grin spread across his face. What happened next stunned Mugwump. Supercop went crashing, headfirst into the brick wall and Mugwump looked up to see Triage standing there with a tire iron in his hand. "Now muthafucka!" Triage raised the metal bar overhead, preparing to strike again when Supercop lunged at his legs and tackled him. Triage tried to wrestle with him but Supercop was bigger and stronger so he quickly overpowered the young man. Using a forearm bar across Triage's neck, Supercop swung and hit him with a powerful blow to the face that nearly knocked Triage out. A second blow was on its way when Joe and Tug came flying from the alley and tackled Supercop. The two young kids battle with the much bigger man but he was quickly gaining the upper hand. Even in his injured state, Supercop was still hard to handle. He shoved Joe away from him and grabbed Tug by his neck and dragged him to the ground. Before he could do any damage to Tug, Laylo emerged with a rock in his hand, which he bought down on the back of Supercop's head. Jayrat and his boys came in behind Laylo and soon there was a crowd of thugs flailing away on Supercop. A vicious kick to the face and Supercop flopped against the wall and then blows began to rain on him, pinning his body upright and holding it there while more punches battered him. When he finally went down, a cheer erupted from his attackers as they stood over him and a few people spit on him. A crazed yell rang out and they turned in time to see Bama running toward them with a metal trashcan raised over his head. Supercop had inflicted many cruelties on Bama, often, it seemed purely for his own amusement and now a path magically opened as Bama rushed toward the prone figure and smashed the garbage can across his face. Mugwump fought against the sense of vertigo that washed over him. The wail of sirens could be heard in the distance and the crowd quickly dispersed, leaving him on the corner with the two beaten police officers. Blood leaked from the corner of his mouth as a coughing jag seized him. He pushed himself up against the wall and fought to manage the pain that throbbed in his side. I gotta get outta here! The wail of the sirens grew closer. Mugwump struggled to his feet but lost his balance and fell into the alley. The ground swam beneath his feet and he couldn't seem to focus so he concentrated on trying to put one foot in front of the other. The alley! He grabbed that thought out of the air and hung onto it. The alley! He reached out for the darkness in attempt to seize the night and lurched toward it like a drunken zombie. Its safe. In the alley. A sudden burst of energy pushed him forward but again he lost his balance and crashed into a pile of garbage at the side of the store. "Shit!" His scream echoed into the silence of the dark but only night noises responded; the solid contacts of windows slamming shut, the sound of wood meeting wood as doors were firmly closed… the sirens of the police drawing even closer. End of the alley. Mugwump struggled to his feet and was instantly hit with the odd sensation of dizziness and darkness swirling through his vision. He spotted a green dumpster further down the alley which his mind grasped and held as his safe haven from his troubles. "Got to make it," he felt blood flooding into his mouth with every word but he forced himself down the alley toward the safe, green dumpster. The sirens stopped in front of the store, tires screeched and orders were barked into cop radios as the crime scene was cordoned off. Mugwump made it to the dumpster. "Safe." The word tumbled from his lips as he fell behind the dumpster and darkness began to invade his vision. The last thing he saw before he lost consciousness was a cop standing in front of him, greatly obscured by the giant barrel of a gun. The last thing he heard was a gunshot.
Nane Quartay -- Author of:
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