Junie held his fingers up like a gun and squeezed off a few rounds.
"Nah, nothing like that," Parker said. "Yet. He said we should just make our presence felt."
"A'ight."
Jonathan Jennings Public School 109 – named for an early governor of Indiana – was a no-tolerance zone for the drug trade, not that the fact stemmed things beyond creating a neutral zone of sorts between the two major crews, Dred and Night. Dred's lieutenant, Baylon, had been tasked by Dred with establishing a west side beachhead which started with control of the Breton Court condominiums. Night's crew, helmed by Green, Baylon's equivalent in Night's organization, held down the Breton Court corner along with three of his boys and staked a claim to much of the west side of Indianapolis. Boys was the right word: all of the street games were run by would-be men who had "teen" in their age. Except for Green. Green was eternal. It was rare for a higher-up such as Green to be seen on street level, though if anyone would, it would be him. There was no getting in Green's head, he simply was who he was.
Junie pulled his car into the parking lot of PS 109 and adjusted the rearview mirror so that he could get a full view of the situation. He had barely gotten Green's crew into sight when Green's baleful stare locked onto him. It was almost as if Green's grim countenance, his haunting eyes in particular, filled the mirror. Junie snatched his hand back as if burned.
"Everything all right?" Parker asked.
"Yeah. I just wanted to get up before we do what we do." Junie reached under his seat and pulled free a rolled sandwich bag thick with chronic. Two prerolled blunts sat on top. It was well known that Junie always held a bag filled with weed at almost all times. By his account, he simply liked to carry enough to have a party any time. He was a sharing kind of guy. Truth be told, he lacked the patience and dexterity to roll a simple blunt and often had folks roll him a couple as thanks for his generosity. Junie sparked one up then and without hesitation, passed it to Parker. "Pass me my business and pop that glove box for me."
The act itself, being treated as an equal by Junie, got Parker up as much as the weed itself, but he retained his sense of cool. He handed him back the blunt and reached across to the glove box. It fell as open as Parker's jaw at the sight of the Taurus 85. "That live?"
"They all live, remember that. You better tuck that away if you're gonna step with me."
"Baylon said no beefing, just be a presence."
"Then we'll be a strapped presence. I'm like a Boy Scout up in here. Always prepared. If shit jumps off, I want to be able to hold more than my dick, you feel me?"
Cognizant of ever-present eyes, Parker kept the gun below the window line and slipped it into the large pocket of his oversized jeans. The pair exited the car escorted by a cloud of smoke. Parker's stride changed immediately. More than just the newfound weight in his pocket altered his gait. No, his entire bearing was different, like he'd gone from boy to man for real. He imagined himself as taller, harder, like one of those dieseled brothers in lock-up. His eyes narrowed as if daring any passing motherfucker to fuck with him. Yeah, the gun juiced him like he'd been popping Viagra all evening, and when he glanced over at Junie, he realized he'd found the secret to Junie's reckless, Chief Swinging Dick stride.
Decorative red posts lined the curb in front of the entrance to the Breton Court rowhouses, now seats for Green's men. Green stood, a proud tree shading his men under the umbrella of his presence.
A Mexican family had purchased the gas station/convenience store as well as the restaurant beside it. The convenience store doubled as a fast food kiosk and, knowing their demographic, served Hispanic and Jamaican dishes. Marbles, two stores down in the mini-strip of shops, catered to folks' soul food needs. Strolling down the sidewalk fresh from a run to the convenience store for some burritos and Jamaican patties, King's steps hitched as he came upon the panorama. His street-smart eyes analyzed and broke down the scene.
The name of the older of the two who crossed the street from the school's park eluded him. They walked toward the Breton Court condos from the east side keeping pace with King's approach from the west. No one needed reminding who was at the center. Green had been around as long as anyone could remember and stayed in because he had three things working in his favor: he was smart, he wasn't greedy, and he wasn't ambitious. Green always seemed to be someone's lieutenant, the shadow advisor/enforcer to whoever wore the crown. Yet he had little interest in the throne itself. Despite the warmth of late summer, Green kept a regal demeanor. A chinchilla fur coat rested atop his suit, gold like leaves in fall, which matched his pair of Robert Waynes. The duo passed Green's crew without comment, slow-stepping in front of them, chests puffed out in a preening dare to action. Like a fine conductor, Green's sole reaction was to hold out the palm of his hand; his well-trained orchestra didn't so much as flinch.
Suddenly, the name of the older one came to King: Juneteenth Walker. They'd come up together, though Junie ended up doing a nickel in juvey rather than complete high school. Whether he realized it or not, Junie had the fallen crest of a man who'd been broken by time lost, reminding King of the man who was too old to be in the club: he had the right dress, talked the right talk, but had the air of being rather… pathetic. He stopped directly in King's path.
"You on my corner," Junie said to King, but for Green's benefit. King remained close-mouthed as if too good to speak to them. "I'm talking to you, motherfucker."
"Excuse me?" King neither broke his mild stare nor stepped away.
"You heard me, motherfucker. Do you know who I am?"
"I know who you are, Junie."
Junie's heart swelled despite the use of the nickname, part with pride as he believed his name had began ringing out on the streets and part jacked up on adrenaline and weed. He spared a glance at Parker to see if he'd heard the same thing. Parker's hand itched, wanting an excuse to pull his newfound manhood. King displayed no emotion other than his eyes saying that he could care less what they thought of him. He was mindful of the territory boundaries. Gray zones were the most dangerous. To the west, Dred. To the east, Night.
"I heard there was a misunderstanding over real estate over here," Parker said in a poor man's stagewhisper.
"You heard wrong," Junie said. "We expanded into unclaimed territory. Think of it as a market correction."
"Excuse me." King pushed the cold, coiling temper of his down to a deep place. Well, a deeper place. Unlike them, he had real responsibilities and folks who depended on him and didn't have the time or patience for machismo posturing so he moved to step around them. Green glared with baleful and empty orbs.
"Punk-ass bitch," Parker said to King's passing side. "That's what I thought."
"We'll finish this later," Junie echoed.
"I highly doubt it," King said.
Life came down to crossroad moments. Staring at Junie, waiting, eyes heavy with contempt, King had no interest in this little street performance, no matter whose benefit it was for; however, he wasn't going to be pushed around in his home court. He neither sought the street nor any of the foolish sense of self it engendered. But he could and would handle his business.
"What'd you say?" Junie asked.
"If I have something to discuss," the cold thing slithered up King's gut, through his throat, and found a home in his mouth before he could control it again, "I doubt I'll take it up with some scrub nigga. Your boy here talks too much shit. Ain't got no call to be talking to me like that, but now you done had your say, you want to be a man, you free to step to me any time." His back stiff with resolve, King waited for Junie to make the next move though he hoped for a quiet resolution. He just wanted to put his head up for the evening. The younger one had the natural youthful swagger brought by easy access to guns and leading to reckless courage, but Junie was a punk and would always be a punk.