Nineteen
Got a friend with ’em tonight,” said Short Man Monroe, steering the Supra toward the three boys. They were just turning to run, trying to get their footing in the wet street. He was almost on top of them now.
“That’s Antoine Meadows’s little brother, Short,” said Jumbo Linney. “Antoine runs with that crew on O.”
“I don’t give a fuck who it is,” said Monroe.
He braked at the head of the alley, kept the Supra running, leaped abruptly from the car. He pulled his Glock from the waistband of his Lees, jacked a round into the chamber, and looked back into the car. Chink Bennet was already slipping between the buckets and settling in behind the wheel.
“Go around the corner,” said Monroe. “We’ll close ’em up on both sides. Jumbo, use my other gun, man, it’s under the driver’s seat.”
“I don’t need no gun, Short,” said Linney.
“Yeah, you do. That little mothafucker Chief waved one at me just the other night.”
“Short—”
“I’m gone.”
Monroe ran into the alley, the gun at his side. Bennet hit the gas, peeled out, hooked left at the next corner. He was giggling as they made the turn.
Chief Meadows, P-Square Willets, and Mooty Wallace bolted into the alley. Mooty was the fastest of the bunch, and his fear had made him jet. Mooty was way out front.
“Buck right, Mooty!” yelled Chief, and Mooty bounded over a low fence.
He was gone into the darkness of a yard and through it quick, out onto the next street west. He stopped behind a parked car, watched the Supra blow by, saw a fat man in the passenger seat and a little boy behind the wheel. He ran in the direction of his house.
“Chief!” said P-Square, running beside his friend. He had pulled his Spiderman action figure from his sweatpants pocket and was gripping it tight. “He comin’, man!”
Chief looked behind him. Tyrell Cleveland’s enforcer was running straight at them through the rain. Demon had some kind of white mask on his face, covering his nose.
Chief looked ahead. The Supra had pulled in front of the alley and blocked the exit down the street. A big man and what looked like a kid were getting out of the car.
“P-Square,” said Chief. “Buck right!”
P-Square turned, slipped, slid onto his side. He scrambled back to his feet. He ran toward the nearest fence. He tightened his fist on his Spiderman and left his feet. It was a good jump; he knew he would clear the fence.
“Peter Parker,” said P-Square Willets. “Fly!”
Something punched him in the back. He heard a popping sound and felt pain. He saw pink wet things spooling from his chest. He saw the black ground rush up to meet him.
He said, “Gaaaa.”
He said nothing after that.
At the sound of the gunshot, Chief Meadows ran into an open yard and slipped in the mud. He slid onto his chest. He stayed there and began to crawl toward the house. A dog was growling somewhere around the outside of the house. The lights in the house had gone off at the sound of the shot. It was dark in the yard, and that was good.
Chief heard someone giggling back in the alley. The giggling got louder, and so did the growl of the dog. Tyrell’s enforcer called Chief’s name.
God, why, help me, I didn’t do nothin’ wrong to nobody for real; I didn’t mean nothin’, God.
Chief couldn’t hear nothin’ of P-Square. P-Square had gotten away, that’s what it was. P-Square was fast like Mooty, and he could sky. P-Square was little, but he was braver than—
The dog, a rottweiler, leaped from the shadows.
Barking insanely, it ran toward Chief, its eyes catching the light from the spotlamp hanging off the next-door house. Chief’s blood jumped, and he was up on his feet. He turned without thought and ran out of the yard, seeing the dog behind him, closing in on him, then seeing the dog yanked back by its chain.
Chief stood in the middle of the alley. He leaned over and placed his hands on his knees to catch a breath.
“Lord,” he said. “Thank you for that chain.”
When he stood up he saw Tyrell’s enforcer, smiling at him beneath that mask, standing just ten feet away.
“Dog scare you, man?”
Chief twitch-smiled back. “Yeah. I’m... I ain’t ashamed to admit it, man, I’m afraid of dogs.”
“Got to conquer that fear, Chief.” His smile faded. Tyrell’s enforcer head-motioned to the yard on the other side of the alley. “Check out your boy, nigga.”
Chief looked over, saw P-Square lying facedown, not moving at all, his jacket all torn and shit in the back.
Chief began to cry.
“Aw, look at you. Funny how you ain’t mockin’ me now.”
There was a siren coming from far away. The siren, the rain, and high-pitched laughter. Chief couldn’t stop crying.
“Let’s go, Short,” said a deep voice behind Chief. “We gotta be gettin’ outta here, man.”
“Step to the side, Jumbo. You too, Chink.”
“Short—”
“Do it, man.”
Chief heard footsteps moving off behind him. Chief peed his pants.
Chief said, “I ain’t mean nothin’, man. I was just playin’, see? Look here.” He pulled his .22. from his waistband. “This thing here, it can’t even fire no bullets, man, for real.”
“You pullin’ that gun on me, Chief?”
“Nah, man, I ain’t pullin’ nothin’.” Chief tossed the gun aside. “See? C-c-come on.”
“W-w-where you wanna g-g-g-go? Wanna g-g-g-go see your f-f-friend?”
“Momma!” cried Chief, and the alley flashed white.
Twenty
Dimitri Karras was chopping out lines when the martial theme music for the eleven o’clock edition of Eyewitness News began blaring through the speaker of Donna Morgan’s nineteen-inch set. Karras slid the mirror over to Donna.
Donna pushed a beer can aside and fitted a burning cigarette in the U of the ashtray. She used the empty casing of a Bic pen to inhale the coke.
Donna held the plastic tube out to Karras and said, “You ready for a bump?”
“Hold on a second,” said Karras, who was squinting at the television screen.
Donna looked at the picture on the set: in the foreground, a solemn reporter holding a microphone and speaking into the camera; in the background, uniformed police, police types in suits under raincoats, wet streets, ambulances, ambulance workers moving slowly, a small lump beneath a sheet.
Karras picked up the phone and punched numbers into the grid.
“What’s wrong?” said Donna, but Karras didn’t answer.
“Marcus?” said Karras. “Hey, man, it’s me. Turn on channel nine.” Karras kept studying the broadcast, and after a while he said, “Yeah, that’s just a block south of the store... I know it, man. They weren’t much more than little kids. No, they haven’t released the names. Thought you’d want to know... No problem. Listen, I might not make it back to the apartment tonight. Yeah, you too.”
Karras cut the line.
Donna said, “You okay?”
He took a moment and said, “I’m fine.”
“Here,” said Donna offering him the Bic. “Do this, Dimitri, you’ll feel better.”
Karras looked down at the snow trailed out on the mirror. “Not right now,” he said. “You go ahead.”
Tyrell Cleveland put down the phone. He leaned back in his armchair and looked into the fire. He ran a finger down his cheek.
Antony Ray squatted on the hearth, used a poker to lift a log off another. Flames curled upward through the space.