Homecoming Weekend: A Novel (Zane Presents) by Bunn Curtis

Author:Bunn, Curtis [Bunn, Curtis]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: STREBOR BOOKS
Published: 2012-09-04T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

LET THE CHASE BEGIN

Jesse and Don

Instead of taking a nap, Jesse had Don take him to Kappatal Kuts next to the 7-Eleven on Brambleton Avenue, across from campus. He did not have time to get a haircut before leaving and Don pointed out that he looked like a “rag-a-muffin.”

The barbershop almost immediately became a staple in the community when Junius opened the doors in 1988. He brought in talented barbers Sporty and Kevin Rodgers and it was on. Kappatal Kuts was a fixture, the place to get that fade tightened up or to hang out and hear some of the most radical and hilarious social commentary from workers and clients alike.

The Friday night wait was long, which gave Don time to catch up with Bert, who came over to meet him there. And it allowed them to absorb the madness that comes with many urban barber-shops.

The DVD man came in offering bootleg versions of the latest movies, followed by the cake lady with a cart of red velvet, pound and chocolate cake slices for sale. Then there was the seafood man, who came in, believe it or not, with frozen shrimp in sandwich bags.

“Being here right now is tripping me out,” Jesse said. “I feel like I’m nineteen years old again. The barbers may have changed, but the energy is still the same. And I wish Charlie Wong’s was still across the street. That was my Chinese food spot.”

On the TV was Jeopardy, the game show. Patrons and barbers were struggling to answer questions, which started ten minutes of side-cracking jokes.

“Man, y’all ain’t gonna answer none of dem questions,” Macho, a barber, said in a deep, deep Southern accent. “You need to watch Jeopardy For Da Hood. That’s a show you might answer a question or two.”

His client egged him on.

“So, what kinda questions would they be on Jeopardy For Da Hood?” he asked.

Macho jumped right on it. “Questions like, ‘How many rounds does a nine-millimeter hold?”

The packed shop erupted in laughter.

“Or, ‘If you have one hundred dollars’ worth of food stamps and steal fifty dollars’ worth of food stamps from yo baby daddy, how many food stamps do you now have?” another client chipped in.

“How about, ‘How many baby mommas does the average drug dealer have?’” another client contributed.

“I got one,” another barber shouted. “What is the ratio of baking powder to cocaine in an ounce?”

And on and on it went. Finally, Laurie Hunt, a classy female barber in the shop from New York, jumped in. “You all need to stop,” she said. “If you heard white people making these jokes, you’d be ready to kill somebody. Remember last week, when those teachers in Georgia used slaves in a worksheet for math word problems? She could have used anything in the world, and she used slavery with some black kids. And you all were personally offended, as you should have been. So, I know you’re joking. But let’s joke about something else.”

“Ah, Laurie, lighten up,” Macho said. “Deez jokes are for present company only.

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