The old man looked at Makai thoughtfully, as if measuring him somehow. “You didn’t do what they convicted you for, did you?” he asked slowly.
Makai felt like there was enormous weight in this question and that the man would somehow know if he was lying, not that he had any reason to do that. “No, sir, I didn’t do it.”
Mr. Miller hummed thoughtfully. “Couldn’t have been easy. At any point, I mean.”
Makai sighed and shook his head minutely. He’d rather not think about any of that stuff.
“If you don’t mind me asking, I’ve not read any of the news I’m sure I could find if I went on the internet, so… a recap maybe? Just so I know what’s bullshit and what’s not when I hear people gossip.” Then he seemed to rethink his words and frowned. “Of course, I won’t go telling tales myself or tell anyone anything you say here. Not my business. But I can curb some of the wildest of the rumors.”
Makai considered this for a moment and blew into his hot coffee. He could understand Mr. Miller’s reasoning and wouldn’t mind having someone tell people when they were too far off the mark. Makai knew about gossip and how it spread and changed forms, until none of the story had any truth in it.
He took a sip and looked at the old man. “My dad died when I was fifteen, and in a couple of years, my brother was deep in the gang stuff. I tried to keep my mom afloat, mostly. Worked and went to high school and such.”
Mr. Miller nodded with genuine sympathy in his gaze. “Sorry for your loss.”
“Thanks.” Makai drank some more coffee, trying to form the words he needed to. “I was dating this girl then, and I was going to meet her one night. This was when I’d just turned twenty. Anyway, I walked the usual route through her neighborhood and came across one of the better-known gang guys bleeding out in an alley.” Makai hated how his mind tried to take him back to that moment. He cleared his throat and forced himself to continue. “I tried to see if there was anything to do. That was my first instinct. There wasn’t, he was dead, but not… it’d been recent. Anyway, someone else came by, called the cops, and they took me in. By then, the local precinct knew who I was. Not because I’d been in trouble, but because my brother had been, and I’d picked him up and such, when he got thrown in jail.”
Mr. Miller nodded slowly. “So, they saw a kid who knew gangs, and that was it?”
“Yeah. Apparently there was enough evidence somehow. The detective working the case was this horrible old man who….” He couldn’t make himself say the words, explain it more. Not when his heart was already on overdrive and his whole being was trying to nudge him into flight-or-fight.
“One of those racist bastards?”
Makai snorted bitterly. “Oh yes.”
“Somehow they convicted you and you went to prison,” Mr. Miller prompted when Makai stayed quiet for a bit too long.
“Right. I was supposed to serve twenty years. They made an example out of me, I think. It was… I guess I just decided to adapt to the situation. I knew there was no way out for me, so I took things as they came, and….”
They drank coffee in silence, until eventually Makai could calm his heartbeat enough to not feel like he was dying when he spoke.
“The old bastard retired, and someone looked into some of his old cases for whatever reason. There were several of them that seemed… off, somehow. Turns out he’d planted evidence in some cases and made some disappear in others.”
Mr. Miller cursed under his breath. “Dirty cops… should be shot, each and every one of them.”
“Don’t disagree with you there.” Makai looked out of the window. It looked like a private parking lot and a patch of garden were the only things there. “In my case he’d bypassed some DNA evidence. Completely chose to ignore it and hid it just in case. Turns out the guy who did the killing was part of my brother’s gang. Also turned out—and remember this was ten years into my sentence—that I’d been basically set up by my girlfriend, because she had the hots for the guy who killed the other guy.” It still stung to think of her, even as a side note, so he chose not to. She didn’t exist, as far as Makai was concerned. Hadn’t since her letters had stopped coming altogether after his first few months inside.
Mr. Miller let out an ugly hissing sound, but Makai knew it wasn’t directed at him.
“Without the DNA evidence, I could’ve rotted in jail for the duration, or maybe I would’ve been paroled at some point. But anyway, they nailed the right guy, let me out, gave me a settlement, and here I am.”
Those were the bare bones of the story. All he wanted to tell, more than he wanted to remember, for sure.
“I’m so sorry it happened to you, truly am. Never would’ve guessed that’d happen to you or your brother. How is he these days?”
Makai sighed quietly. “He’s been in the gang for almost fifteen years now. Been in prison couple of times for stuff he definitely did do. He’s got a few kids with different women. Lives the gang life. He’s my brother, but the Nakoa that existed when our dad still lived is long gone. I don’t keep in touch with him at all.”
“Don’t blame you. Sometimes you gotta make your own family. Choose people you want to call that. Make something out of worthy folks, not the ones who share your blood.”
Makai nodded, feeling a bit choked up. He knew this, knew about chosen families, but he hadn’t had people to choose to bring into his. Not really. The closest had been a cellmate he’d had for two years, who had then been released after his time was served a few years back. Kaos had been a good kid, not innocent, but the crimes that had put him in prison had been committed out of desperation.
Kaos had written to Makai a few times, but Makai had told him to live his life. If his friend was still out there, he’d be twenty-six now. Makai hoped he was alive and on the straight and narrow like he’d promised in his last letter.
“Well, I know Benny was as good of a grandpa as he knew how to be. His family… they weren’t very demonstrative. I don’t think your mother ever heard she was loved or anything. But if you need an ear, I’ll be here, at least until my ticker signs out for good.” Mr. Miller tapped his chest and smiled wryly.
Makai nodded again, feeling like he should say something but couldn’t.
“Though, if you come across that Frankie Matthews again, be a bit cautious. He’s got a temper and a racist streak a mile wide. Most people probably see you as whatchamacallit these days, white-passing? Or maybe Hispanic or something. To folks like him, you’re black as Obama.” The twinkle in Mr. Miller’s eyes told Makai that he knew Obama was biracial, much like Makai, and that he also knew racists didn’t care either way.
