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part 4 of the story

The Eye

Eric Burbridge

    “Yeah, I’m good.”
    Potts got a text from Sherry; she needed to see him at the restaurant. Jesus, what did she want? He told Tiny to look out for Smith and get him an Uber if he needed it and put it on his tab. He left and headed straight for Chinatown.

*

    There was a time when Potts enjoyed the scenic bus route from the Northside to Chinatown, but the message changed that. What was this all about? Sherry wouldn’t tell, her mom would disown her. That was unlikely, destroy a tight knit family like theirs over a Black guy, even a mixed one...no way. He called Sherry again walking through the crowed street to Ju Chen’s, no answer. He didn’t know what to think, but whatever was going on, he was about to find out.
    Potts paused under the canopy that extended from the entrance to the curb and took a deep breath. Whatever was cooking smelled delicious. Ju Chen sat at the table midway between the front windows and the hallway to the back. The expression on her round wrinkle-free face was that of a woman concerned, but not yet scorned. That was the best Potts could figure. Her chef uniform was spotless as usual. She stood and greeted him with a half-smile. “Sit down, Potts, and I’m being nice. I should and feel like slapping the shit out of you.”
    That damn, Sherry told it, why? “I don’t know what to say, Ju Chen.”
    “I do...and you’ll listen. I not with the interracial stuff. You know that, right?”
    He nodded and the words got caught in his throat; he cupped his hand over his mouth and coughed. “I’m sorry to cause a problem, but Sherry is grown and it just happened...”
    “Happen, my ass! You probably mess with her when she was seventeen, under age.” Her eyes narrowed.” I’m not stupid as you think, Potts. The longer I look at you the more pissed I get. You fool, you don’t know who I know. The easy way to solve your treachery and deceit would kill my daughter.”
    Potts knew the rumors she was a close associate of the Triads, but let them tell it so was everybody in Chinatown. “Ju Chen listen, I have so much respect for your feelings and policy toward interracial relationships, I, we couldn’t think of a way to bring it to you.”
    “I been watching you, Potts. Oh slick, Potts,” she clinched her fists and slammed it on the table.
    A chill ran down his spine. Embarrassed, he looked around at people turned their heads like they didn’t hear anything. He noticed three muscle bound Asian guys with blacked out sunglasses, close chopped haircuts staring at him. The smirks on their faces meant one thing; he was in their sights. Would he walk out of there alive or what?
    “See those guys, asshole? Those my doctors, when they finish with you, you be shittin’ between your toes and fartin’ out your nose. Every time that big dick you brag about gets hard your ears will flap so hard, you’ll think your head gettin’ ready to take off, you sick motherfucker!” She dabbed the sweat off her brow. “But I’m a reasonable woman...you do what I say and you be alright. First you say you love her...”
    “I do!”
    “Shut the fuck up! You propose to her, if she turns you down, I’m fuckin’ you up. Two, she get pregnant, I’m fuckin’ you up,” she hissed. “And, you better not break her heart. She breaks yours, understood?”
    He nodded. “But I don’t get it, she divorces me and I’m off the hook?”
    “Yeah, provided she love somebody else her age and race.” Ju Chen smiled. “Now get your ass out. Now!” She shouted.
    Potts shot out his seat and hurried to the door.

*

    Ju Chen took a deep breath and relaxed to lower her blood pressure. What good would her revenge be if she were dead? She smiled when the door closed behind him and gave the thumbs up to the three medical students who frequented her establishment. They liked her and when she offered them a free lunch to put on dark shades and stare at a guy, they laughed. They were an admitted group of practical jokers; it was fun.
    Potts betrayed her trust, but she couldn’t be the emotionally charged woman scorned. Her revenge will be a well-crafted work of art. That son of a bitch will have ulcers for the rest of his life. A good bluff that would be an Oscar winning performance. Too many people said that she had close associations with organized crime, but the reality...her contact was the usual street tax/protection all businesses paid. A closer relation than that was for fools, but if she were to ask a favor out of respect for her family that had been there seemingly forever, it wouldn’t be a problem. But then she would owe them. Sherry was damn near grown when Potts had her, she hated that, but it was not worth going into that kind of debt. Sherry had gotten a little loose since being with Potts; she knew of guys she was probably sleeping with, but she loved Potts more. When she tells her daughter she knew all along would be priceless and worth recording. She checked her phone, a full charge; she would need it. She adjusted it to the holes in her breast pocket to capture every deceitful word her daughter would say. She forgave her, she was young and stupid herself once upon a time, but she’d have a good laugh playing back this true confession moment in the future. Now the lens was perfectly aligned. Sherry would walk in the door any minute.

*

    “Special Agent Neal.”
    “Neal, this Nate Potts, remember me?” Potts wiped his forehead; the humidity was killing him. The faster he walked the worst it got.
    “Yeah, I can’t forget you. I wish I could, but...”
    “That’s nice of you, Neal.”
    “I have this disdain for your kind, but anyway get to the point.”
    “You said call if I need you, well I’m calling.” Potts was concerned with the silence. “Hello, you there?”
    “I’m here, Potts, I wasn’t ready for your kind of BS, not today.” She sighed, “But it’s my job.”
    “I need to relocate as soon as possible.”
    “Hold.”
    “Hold, for what?” Potts shouted. How long would this take? He met Neal once. She looked like one of those FBI agents on TV. Good looking with a full head of blonde hair blowing in the wind, sharply dressed, well-built and knows everything with the soothing authoritarian voice. She hated him as soon as she set eyes on him.
    “I’m back, Potts, is your life in immediate danger or what, you ducking bullets?”
    “No, but I have a situation.”
    “Situations,” Neal snapped, have levels of priority like everything else. “Is this another created situation that’s convenient for your situation, Potts?”
    “No...but it’s complicated.” He didn’t like the way she sounded.
    “There’s a lot of red tape in situations, Mr. Potts.”
    “Look at what I helped with...a potential terrorist criminal act.”
    “By a group of writers shooting the shit after a few drinks, in my opinion? But that was up to the U.S. Attorney and the DOJ.” Neal said. “I’m only the CI Administrator, your handler will be in touch.”
    “May I ask how long will that take on average?”
    “On average it could take months,” Neal giggled under her breath, but he still heard her. “Here’s a piece of advice, Potts, be careful whose daughter you sleep with, Chinatown can be a dangerous place.”
    How did they know about Sherry? Did they know he sold drugs too? “I don’t know what you are talking about.”
    “Sorry, but you think we don’t vet our CIs, Mr. Potts? Again, your handler will be in touch.” The line went dead.
    Potts heart sank. What does he do now? He was lost in a situation of his own doing. The solution; go along with Ju Chen’s ultimatum, for the time being.

*

    The weeks following the interview with Smith passed without incident. Thank God. That gave me a chance to strategize my next moves concerning Potts, Ju Chen and Parole Officer Smith. The first, turn off the phone and let, if any, messages pile up. Second, concentrate on my writing. I had a ton of ideas and experiences from behind bars to keep me busy forever. Finally, with my grandmother’s recipes being of such interest to Potts that meant a business opportunity. Sell it to somebody. Expungement of my record would have wait, worrying about that would make me sick. My parents left a pile of bills and other first-class mail to go through. I guess I shouldn’t complain, either pay the utilities or pay rent and the utilities. I finally got through half the pile before leaving it alone for a while. Several express mail packages came, but stated, don’t open until your birthday. Who would know I opened them early? Nobody, that brings ‘bad karma’ and who wants that? I was excited and proud of all the thoughts I put on paper, now I need to decide what length would they be. Several flash fictions, three short stories, a novelette and two novellas. With hard work and concentration, the project of a publishable collection should take a year at most.
    I looked in the mirror and rubbed my week-old beard. I needed a line too, but that would have to wait, the beard had priority. It felt good not to be under surveillance; I watched the Sunday baseball games in my underwear and drank only a couple beers. I thought it wise not to smell like last night’s whiskey when I go to the MCC. I knew when I play the messages at least one will say report Monday morning.
    I was right. Dr. Irving sat me in her chair and prepped me for another exam. “As you can see, I’m still short of help.” She peered into the machine. “Everything looks okay and vanity got the best of you and you took off the patch.”
    “Well, doc, you’re right. It didn’t itch, but it got on my nerves.” I exhaled when she retracted the scope. “What now, can I wear shades?”
    She sighed, “Everybody I examined today asked that, of course.” She rolled her chair over to the desk and scribbled whatever doctors scribble. “Between me and you, Bipp, they killed ‘The Eye’ program forever. That came from DC. Their preparing for lengthy litigations and the private side of the corrections department is pissed. The government abandoned them...it might be some money in it for you.”
    I shrugged. “That I don’t believe...the feds giving former inmates anything but a free hole in the ground is nothing but a pipe dream, but thanks for the info, doc.” She smiled with those bedroom eyes and that made me wonder. Would she give me some if I ask? No, she had to be ovulating. The best thing for me to do; finish the process and get out of there.
    “If you weren’t a former inmate, pretty Bipp, it would be me and you.” She handed me a folder. “Take that to the chief’s office, Haraway is waiting. Take the elevators on the right to the penthouse,” she laughed. “Enjoy your new life.”
    Whatever that meant, I’ll guess I’ll find out when I get upstairs. The penthouse where the executives played was restricted; no inmates. What changed that? When the doors opened the room looked like those executive suites in the movies, leather furniture, fancy tables and a long table with brunch food. A smooth feminized male voice instructed me to fix a plate, Mr. Haraway would be with me shortly.
    I ate like a horse and a loud belch later a large wooden double door opened and an average build and height guy in a white jump invited me into an office that the POTUS would envy. I sat at a huge real wood desk and before I got comfortable, the wall behind it opened and Haraway entered. He had to be at least 6'10". He was the whitest white man I had ever seen. My money said he might have been a former pro football player. He had a beer gut, but the rest of him was solid as a rock. The long silver blonde hair was a surprise, usually correctional personnel were bald. He didn’t smile. “Hello, Mr. Bipp,” He sat and typed something in his computer.
    “Hello, sir.” I said, with caution. Please don’t tell me my probation has been revoked. Those almost clear blue eyes seemed to look through me. The authoritarian voice was probably mandatory for the position.
    “Inmate: Milo Bipp #234715.” He hit a button on the keyboard embedded in the desk and read, smiling occasionally. “Good record, but it says here you punched out a known rapist.” He nodded. “Sounds good to me. Well, Mr. Bipp, you ain’t in any trouble so don’t sweat it. I’ll get to the point. I know you’ve heard the controversial stuff about ‘The Eye’ and the class action suit and what have you?” He waited for an answer.
    “No, to be honest I haven’t been out long...so I didn’t pay attention. What difference does it make anyway, I got screwed, I’m innocent?” I chuckled at the statement. “Who isn’t, right?” he laughed himself.
    “Right, but you’re no longer on probation. You’re done, you’re a free man, Mr. Bipp, congrats. Your record will be sealed and my advice I would get a lawyer to apply for complete pardon and all that other stuff they do.” Haraway stood and extended his hand. “Good bye, Mr. Bipp and good luck.”

*

    I didn’t know whether to scream or jump for joy when I stepped out of the Metropolitan Correctional Center. Freedom, finally! The scandal they described on the news should infuriate the people, but it wouldn’t, not paying attention too long is what got America where it is today. Now my job is to take advantage of this situation and contact a lawyer also. I reminded him a full pardon had priority over a monetary reward. Those few dollars the plaintiffs would get won’t be much and Big Brother would still be watching.
    I made myself a promise to stay home and write and maybe even apply to a doctoral program somewhere. Organization of my place and new furniture would be inspirational.
    For the past two weeks I did quite a bit of online shopping. I had everything situated perfectly. I placed my birthday presents on the new glass cocktail table; in a couple of days, I’d open them. But in the meantime, all the work I did made me work up an appetite for female companionship. Lindsay called several times; I told her I was busy and talk to you later. But I felt more comfortable with her than a stranger. But we’d have to meet at her place in the make shift apartment in the huge stock area in the rear of the store. Since that day I saw her ex-husband, I did not want him knowing where I live. I got the feeling from her calls there was something she wanted to share. I missed her and I hated it. Call her now and get it over with.
    “Hello.”
    “How are you, do you time to talk?” She sounds good.
    “Not on the phone, Bipp. Come over, I need to see you,” Lindsay said, with excitement in her voice. “And I’m by myself...I figured you saw the Jewish guy here right about the time you were due, right?”
    Damn, how did she know? “Right, I don’t need drama Lindsay, I’ve had enough over the past year. You know that.”
    “I know...he’s gone and he will not be back. We don’t have kids and he ain’t paying alimony. It’s done. Come by and let’s start back up where we left off.”
    “Okay cool.” I was happy; I couldn’t get over there fast enough.

*

    Two weeks of living and working in the rear of a shoe store was not the traditional love nest, but it worked just fine for us. I shouldn’t have been a pushover, but a powerplay back and forth with her didn’t make sense. We loved each other. We spent as much time as possible eating and lovemaking. How long would it last? And soon thereafter the owners of the franchise offered her the opportunity to buy the store. She declined; I was shocked. “Any more surprises?” What better time to drop that on me then over a basket of her chicken wings?
    “Other then, I want to open a food business of some sort...no.” She smiled, probably waiting for the next question.
    What do I say? Was she telling the truth, should I join her in a small way by sharing my family’s food enhancer? Maybe. She was a magnificent cook; she didn’t need it, but I’ll let her be the judge of that. “Sounds like those people like you a lot and they want to make you rich to say the least. You sure about that decision?”
    “Yeah, absolutely and I could use moral support even though you’re a writer.”
    “You got it. You mind sharing the plan or at least some of it?”
    She sighed, a sign that wasn’t as positive as I would like so I didn’t bother to ask for further details. “I’m still working on it, but it’s past the fantasy stage. I want to start small, of course, but I want to stay small too. Serving a couple dishes that are special but not rare, not a Sunday dinner dish...I’m working on it.”
    It wasn’t easy leaving to go check on home, but I finally left. She held on like I wasn’t going to return. I assured her that was the least of her worries.

*

    I gave the clerk in the mail complex the late two week notice and juggled all the accumulated packages to my place. Instead of putting it off I got to work opening and organizing the mail. I expected a letter from the MCC people, but nothing so far. But my parents sent a few souvenirs and left messages on the machine, that was good. Since today is my birthday, now let’s see what’s what. I carefully peeled open the envelope. A nice fat cashier’s check would be right on time. The contents were pieces of blank typing paper covering a thin stack of paper that turned brownish yellow around the edges. There were water marks from cups or glasses. I separated the sheets...it was a group of recipes. Helen’s heavenly delights was on the top and the others were stuck together, but I managed to pull them apart without ruining them. Humidity was the enemy. The phone rang. “Hello, Milo, how are you doing honey and happy birthday.” That was a surprise and her timing was perfect.
    “Thanks, mom.”
    We talked for over an hour about everything. They said their prayers had been answered when I told them about the jail situation and relieved when I sorted the recipes alphabetically. My grandmother would roll in her grave if I or somebody else in the family didn’t put them to good use.
    “Make money with this stuff, son.” They said and they’d be in touch. That was the plan. I checked the frig and only half a bottle of the flavor enhancer was left. Now it was time to pull out the recipe and get to work. This was new to me, but if I follow the instructions, I’ll be successful. The question remains; what should I do with the results and who do I share with? I opened a beer and tuned to the local jazz station and made a grocery list. Lindsay had a plan and I believed it was a good one; her organizational and management skills were excellent, but she was a dreamer and a novice in the food business. It would be a while before she took the final commitment. Ju Chen was the logical choice; she was like a mother to me. Logic will prevail with a side of caution; that would be prudent.

*

    Discipline is key to any successful outcome of putting my plan in place. I treat this like a job: eight to noon work on the food enhancer, noon to four write my stories. Perfect, now get started. Two weeks later I accomplished my goals. The food enhancer tasted like grandma’s and I e-mailed the stories to multiple editors.
    I decided to sit down with Ju Chen and discuss a plan that included her if she were interested, no outside investors, no friends or family. She was smart enough not to want unnecessary drama.
    When I walked into the restaurant it smelled good as usual, but there sat Nate Potts shoving food in his face like there was no tomorrow. His jaw dropped when he saw me and waved me over. He had that nervous grin on his face with his buck teeth showing. He wiped his mouth and extended his hand. He trembled slightly. “It’s good to see you, Bipp. I knew that was you I saw at the Dragon Strip. Sit down, sit down.”
    “Hello Potts.” My hands grabbed his throat. I squeezed, spit flew out his mouth and he grasped for breath. I partially avoided an upper cut that grazed my chin, but I held on ringing his neck. Ju Chen shot out the kitchen.
    “No, Bipp, no!” She grabbed my hands. “Let him go.” I did and he coughed, spit and headed for the door as fast as he could. “Listen to me, don’t hurt that fuckin’ rat.”
    “Okay...okay.” I took several deep breathes and sat quietly for a minute, and for the next half hour, she filled me in on what was going on with Potts and her daughter. I knew Potts lived dangerously, but he was crazy to mess with Sherry. Whatever Ju Chen had in store for him...better him then me. Why waste more of my time kicking his ass. Stick to the plan; it will work. “On a positive note, it’s good to see you and I have a business proposal if you’re interested?”
    “No, Amway.” We laughed and she got quiet. “I hope it’s what I think.”
    “Knowing you, you read my mind.” She nodded with a smile. “But I need you and your expertise in the business to market my family’s food enhancer. What do you think? But this is between me and you. So...”
    “Of course, Bipp, you, my son.” A big smile covered her face. “Almost.”
    “I got all the legal documents in motion, attorney’s and the like.” I started to tell her Potts broke in my place, but I’ll drop that on her later.
    “Your boy, Potts wants it and might do anything to get it. He can break it down and make it himself. He still a pharmacist or something like that, right?” She asked.
    “Yeah, but I’m one step ahead of him and he won’t get it, trust me; and don’t share with Sherry. I know I don’t have to tell you that, but still, I feel better saying it.”
    “No problem, I don’t tell her business stuff. Between me and you, Sherry is sick of Potts and I believe her. A school girl crush, but I dropped something on him where he’ll be lookin’ over his shoulder for a long time.”
    “Ju Chen, please don’t do anything stupid.”
    “No...of course not. I believe he a fed informer, but I can play with him, right? A small game of terror in his mind.”
    “That’s cruel.” I shook my finger and she smiled.
    “I can’t prove it, but he a rat and that what got Brian put away too.” She smiled. “That was the only younger guy I ever wanted to fuck and now he dead, so Potts deserve what he get.” Her phone chimed; it sounded like a text message. “Speak of the devil,” she turned her phone around and there was a middle finger with the caption...fuck you and your daughter I’m gone!! Ju Chen laughed, “Good, well my son, Bipp, let’s get down to business.”

Enjoy the Eric Burbridge story “The Eye” in the April, May, June & July 2023 issues of cc&d magazibe...

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