A bout of sudden nausea sent him scrambling to the bathroom. The sink looked like someone tried to wash their abortion down it. Junie reached into his waistband and fished out the grip of his auto. Stainless steel, it was the most expensive gun they had. He flipped the safety then tucked it in his waist, the tail of his shirt covering it. He'd been punked, and that didn't sit well with him. He needed to come back on Green. He had built the corner down off McCarty Street into a real spot, had carried his demotion by proving himself. He had earned his way back up to Breton Court. But he still needed to step up, let his name ring out for real by taking out Green.
He had to correct a situation.
"Sounds to me like everything keeps coming back to Breton Court and the Phoenix," King said.
"How you figure?" Lott asked.
"Breton Court seems to be the flash point, but everything seems to come from the Phoenix."
"Like it's at the heart of the web." Lott followed King's thought.
"The dragon's lair," Merle said.
"But what about the fiends?" Wayne asked Tavon.
"They fell out. Sick or somethin'."
"Who?"
"My people them, down in Li'l Nam. We rode the Black Zombie blast. Knocked everyone right the fuck out."
"Except you?"
"I… got watered." Tavon studied his plate, not meeting anyone's eyes. Even fiends knew shame when they got played at their own game. Things didn't get much lower than that.
"They out for real? You call for an ambo or something?"
"Nah, I-"
"So let me get this straight: you got all worked up cause some fiends got knocked on they asses? Shit, I thought you had a real problem."
"I'm telling you, this was different."
"Look, here's my card." Wayne slipped his card across the table. "Outreach has a 1-888 number. Where they stay at?"
"Penn and 24th."
"Tell you what then. You go back there in the morning and see what's what. You got a problem, call 911. Either way, call the number and check in with me. The person on call will get me the message. I'll come out. I don't hear from you, I'm still coming out, but I'll be pissed."
"You smell that, Sir Rupert? He reeks of the dragon's breath."
"What's with the dragon shit?"
"The dragon… he's wide awake now."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Green was on it. There was no getting inside Green's mind. His was the primal thoughts of nature unbound. Elemental. A force of nature. The ways of a dragon were easier to understand. Most people assumed him to be a soldier, a corner boy, a thug in clean vines. Those things they understood. Those things – however violent, however toxic, however shallow and dehumanizing – wouldn't leave them screaming in the night. Green was Green. And Green was eternal. So when the bug-ridden girl – with too-thin arms but whose body wasn't too far removed from the voluptuous beauty she'd once been – ambled towards him, he was unmoved. To the casual observer, it might have seemed that pussy was pussy, easy to get, and thus none especially swayed Green. She could display her wares in the sauntering suggestion of seduction in order to mooch a vial, but it would do her no good. On a good day, he would ignore her with a glare of casual disdain which would freeze the blood in her veins. On a bad day, well, the streets ran rampant with tales of Green on a bad day. He was on it. If ambitious fiends tried to run game on him, if daring street thieves raided his stashes, or simply if fools just came up short, miscounting money or just losing shit cause they were careless, Green was on them. Eyes on point, never faltering.
There was a time when he enjoyed this time of the morning. The world was still fairly dark, but with the hint of sunrise, the day was still full of promise and imminent hope. Dew, an equal-opportunity shroud, blanketed windshields and grass. His blood afire against the cool of the fading night, he used to be at his most creative, his most alive. Now the mornings drained him. So much work left undone and yet to be done. Those fleeing the dawn's light still left a mess in their wake, and the day served only to remind him that night would once again return.
"Fellas, time to tool up," Green said to the latest bunch of workers he supervised. His was an ancient and dark voice, the sound of twigs snapping like brittle bones. Somehow he'd been relegated to middle management, too far separated from the pulse of the streets, too far from the thrill and experience of life; but he had found ways to make up for it. Supervising from street level, for one thing.
"What's up?" a young, rock-faced soldier asked because he was ready to call it a night.
"Just some business I have to settle. Make sure we have no other surprises."
• • •
The gray sky lightened with the rising sun. The street lights hadn't turned off, obstinately clinging to the embers of night. The Durham Brothers pulled into a side street on the other side of the bridge that crossed the creek that separated Breton Court from the rest of housing addition. Their long and ample limbs jutted ridiculously from the Ford Focus which creaked noisily when they exited. Pressing smooth their outfits, one last primp before their engagement, they shambled along the sidewalk, then veered off as they got to the bridge, careful to remain out of the direct line of sight from Green. They cut through the yard of the house they parked in front of, whose backyard opened onto a sloping hillside that terminated at the creek. The bridge wasn't the largest by any stretch, little more than a culvert, but it would suffice.
"He out there," Marshall said.
"I didn't see anyone, but, yeah, I can feel him." Michaela closed her eyes, double-checking the odd stirring in the core of her being.
"You think he can feel us?"
"He Green, ain't he?"
"Yeah, but we're in our-" Marshall started.
"Place of power. True." The bridge became an echo chamber whenever a car rumbled along it. The murky creek water lapped at the edges of the embankment, riffles of current thinned by the lack of rain. Overgrown with weeds, overturned grocery carts divided the channel. The yellow and brown of fallen leaves blanketed much of the embankment, blown under and trapped by the mild breeze. Michaela shuddered with her own chill. "But Green's outside. It's all his place of power."
"Be a good time to hit him. Late fall. Winter's only technically a few days away. Close enough."
"Not much of a plan."
"We hit. Hard. A lot. What more do we need?" Marshall blew out a snot rocket then wiped his porcine nose with the back of his hand.
"You're right. Ain't no plan at all."
The siblings did a fist bump.
"Let's do this."
Octavia Burke drove because she never trusted Lee's judgment behind the wheel and idly turned onto Georgetown Road from 86th Street. They had opted to grab a bite at the Thai House and then head back to Breton Court to do some follow-up interviews. Georgetown Road was one of those confusing streets. Remaining Georgetown Road until it crossed Lafayette Road, "Georgetown Road" picked up again a street light south on Lafayette Road and the winding street they continued to travel on became Pike Plaza from the corner strip mall for the few blocks until the street wound past a Meijer at which point it became Moller Road. Moller Road and High School Road were the east and west boundaries, respectively, of Breton Drive, the side street leading to the world within the isolated world of Breton Court.