Push Comes to Shove (Zane Presents) - Softcover

Oasis

4

31 ratings by Goodreads

9781593093006: Push Comes to Shove (Zane Presents)

Softcover

ISBN 10: 1593093004 ISBN 13: 9781593093006

Publisher: Strebor Books, 2012

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In this fast-paced multicultural drama, an honest family works to survive the pitfalls and struggles of economically fraught times.

An entertaining cautionary tale for today’s economically fraught times

The bills are due again for Greg “GP” Patterson, but this time, they won’t get paid. He and his wife are facing robbery charges after a simple assault gone bad. After a few days in jail, the Pattersons risk losing their children forever.

Luckily, Aunty Jewels bails them out, but GP must make some serious moves if he is to provide decent shelter for his family again. A visit to Squeeze, a villainous loan shark, leads to killer interest rates and a murderous default penalty. Nevertheless, GP accepts the terms.

When he gives Jewels the loan money to flip in a high stakes credit card scheme, she gets robbed for every single dime. Now GP has to figure out how to pay his debt and gain the respect of his family again, but Jewels has already figured out how to make everybody pay.

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About the Author:

Oasis is a craft expert and certified creative writing instructor. He is the author of Duplicity, White Heat, and Push Comes to Shove and the CEO of Docuversion, a full-service editing firm. To learn more, visit him at OasisNovels.com.

CHAPTER 1

GP decided that tonight his family would eat good for a change. He eased the Renault Alliance to the order box; it stuttered and backfired every inch of the way.

“Welcome to Wendy’s. May I take your order?”

He shut the car off so that he could hear. “Excuse me...uh, could you run that by me again?” He could hear the cashier suck her teeth through the speaker, as if she was annoyed.

“Good evening, how may I help you?”

“Gimme six number sevens with large fries...and extra cheese. Make the sodas orange, no ice.” He thought about how Kitchie loved Dave’s chicken. “Uh, let me get two spicy chicken sandwiches and four baked potatoes with cheese. I guess that’ll be cool.”

“Would you like to try our apple turnovers this evening?”

Fuck it. “Yeah, why not? Gimme six and six large chocolate Frosties.” He waited a few seconds for her response.

“That’ll be forty-eight twenty-three at the pickup window. Thank you for choosing Wendy’s.”

GP tried to start the Renault. “Come on, baby, crank up for Daddy.” The engine strained but wouldn’t catch. He pumped the gas and rubbed the dashboard. “Come on, girl. I need you now more than ever.”

He turned the key again. The engine backfired, then came to life. With three vehicles in front of GP, his order would be ready in a matter of minutes.

His car sounded like a Harley Davidson outside of the pickup window. An attractive cashier rolled her cat-like eyes and shook her head. Derelict. She turned her lip up with attitude as she passed him three large bags and two drink-holder trays.

“That’s forty-eight twenty-three.” She smirked and stared at GP.

GP secured the drinks on the front passenger seat, then stomped the gas pedal. The Renault backfired.

The cashier all but jumped out of her skin.

With the power-steering pump broken, it was a difficult task for GP to make the sharp left turn. He jerked and tugged the rebellious steering wheel until he yanked the car onto Euclid Avenue.

He stuck a fry in his mouth and smiled. GP knew that, on this April Fool’s Day, he would be the cause of three beautiful smiles.

Four city blocks away from his home, the Renault had had enough. The engine light came on right before the car stalled.

“Come on, baby, I thought you loved me.” He coasted to the curb. He tried to restart the engine but it refused; it only made a clicking sound.

If he started his journey on foot now, he would make it home long before the food was cold. With a bag between his teeth and two in his hand, he reached for the door handle but hesitated when he saw a Cleveland police car pull up behind him.

“Fuck me!” he mumbled, then lowered the window with a pair of vise grips. Damn cashier could’ve let me slide. Ignorant chickenhead didn’t have to call the cops.

Miles dropped his skateboard on the sidewalk, then stepped on it with an Air Force 1 sneaker.

A fragile image appeared in a screen door behind him. “Miles...Miles, baby, you hear me?”

He removed the headphones from his ears as his broken arm remained at rest in a sling.

“Miles, baby?”

“Huh?” He turned toward the house as his mother walked out onto the porch.

“See if you can find your brother. It’s dark. I’m starting to worry; this isn’t like him.” She adjusted the belt of her housecoat and folded her arms.

“Jap is probably somewhere standing next to a tree, testing his camouflage gear. Better yet, he might be with one of his weird friends on some type of mock-military scavenger hunt.”

“I’m serious. Don’t tell me what you think; do like you were told. We have to get a fitting on him in the morning for his graduation gown and cap, and I want him home.”

“Okay, Ma. I’ll check a few places on my way to work.” He started off on the skateboard.

“Miles, baby...”

He stopped and faced her again. “If you don’t let me go, I won’t have enough time to check on Jap and make it to work on time.”

She removed a prescription slip from her housecoat. “Drop this off at the drugstore, and I’ll pick it up in the morning. I’m getting low on my heart pills.”

He hurried up the steps, took the slip, and kissed her cheek. “See you later, Ma.”

She grabbed a hold of his cast. “Why don’t you get yourself a car? You can’t afford to get too many broken arms on that thing.”

He followed her gaze. “I love my board, Ma. I’m gonna ride until I’m an old man.”

“You’re still a baby to me; you ain’t considered young no more.”

The officer surveyed the car and shined his flashlight toward the back seat. “What seems to be the problem tonight, sir?”

GP had replaced the large order on the front passenger seat. “Damn thing conked out on me. Four cylinders are supposed to run forever.”

The officer looked at the beat-up car from front to rear. “What year is this?”

“It’s an eighty-five.” GP was starting to feel comfortable.

“Twenty years old is forever for a car.” He pointed at the Wendy’s bags. “Looks like you’re going to be late for dinner.”

“Yeah, I’m pushing it.”

“Well, you can’t leave it here overnight.” He shined his beam on a No Parking sign. “It’ll be towed by morning...which is probably the best thing for it.”

“This is all I got.”

“Come on; let me help you push your headache to that lot.” He pointed.

The officer wiped his dusty hands on a hanky after they had rolled the car onto the lot. “Wendy’s doesn’t sound like a bad idea.”

“Not at all. Thank you, officer.” GP pointed his feet in the direction of home.

Kitchie Marie Patterson glared at GP through a set of powerful brown eyes. “Let’s talk...in the bedroom.” She led the way.

GP shut the door behind himself. “Before you start, Mami, I only wanted to do something nice for you and the kids.”

“There’s at least fifty dollars’ worth of food in there, GP. You stole it, didn’t you?” She shook her head with disappointment.

“You and the kids deserve the world.” He stroked her almond cheek; she turned her face away. “I can’t give it to you right now, but one day I will. Until then it frustrates me to want y’all to have things that are beyond my reach.”

“Then get a job—a real job. You don’t have to quit your hustle but get a job, GP. How far do you think we can get on your hopes and dreams alone? This is the real world we’re living in; not some animated world like them cartoon characters you’re banking our future on.” She thought for a few seconds. “Now you’re to the point of stealing again. Yeah, you made the kids happy tonight and saved me the humiliation of throwing some bullshit together, but what’s gonna happen to their happiness—” She pointed toward the living room. “—when you get yourself in some trouble?”

“You act like I steal for the sport of it, Kitchie. I steal for one reason: because we really need something, and I have no other alternative of getting it. I felt like we needed to sit down tonight and share a decent meal with each other, like a regular family.”

“A real nine-to-five will make that possible every night, Papi Chulo.”

He heard something else in Spanish that he didn’t quite understand, but understood she was trying to take this conversation to a place he wasn’t willing to go.

“Listen...my work is honest; it’s what I love to do. I don’t want to go back and forth with you. This isn’t what I intended. All I want to do is see your beautiful smile as much as I can.” He lifted her chin with a finger. “Let’s eat. The food is getting cold. I got your favorite.”

She bit her bottom lip. “Chicken?”

“Dave’s spicy chicken sandwich. Now let me suck on them Puerto Rican lips of yours.”

She stood on her tiptoes to reach his six-foot height, then kissed him on the mouth. “I wish you would shave and get your hair braided; it looks like you gave up.” She pulled back. “GP, you can’t keep stealing whenever it’s convenient for you. One day stealing is gonna get you in some trouble you’re gonna catch hell getting out of.”

“Or get me out of some trouble I’m already catching hell with.”

Greg Jr. took a bite from the double classic. His seven-year-old teeth barely plugged the cheeseburger. “Daddy, I need my own bike. Secret’s bike is hot pink with that stupid, flowered basket on the handlebars. Everybody makes fun of me when I ride it.”

Secret was trying her damnedest to suck the Frosty through a straw. She gave her jaws a break. “Stay off my bike, then, since it’s stupid and pink, punk. I don’t like sharing it with you anyway, you little—”

“Hey, kill the name-calling.” Kitchie stopped chewing and frowned at Secret.

“Little man.” GP squeezed Greg Jr.’s shoulder. “Bear with me; I’m gonna get you the best bike in the neighbor—”

“Don’t be doing that, GP. It ain’t right.” Kitchie swallowed her food. “Okay, fine, tell him you’re gonna get him a bike. But don’t be making these fantastic promises that you can’t deliver. You’re doing terrible in the delivery department. Don&rs...

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