GONE BEFORE DAYLIGHT
Two days later my cell phone rang, and a voice said, “Two a.m. tonight. The parking lot behind King Chicken. Come alone and unarmed. And don’t wear no colors.”
I did as I was told. It was a cool night, and I wore jeans, a shirt, and that tight, fuzzy blue sweater Gramma had given me for Christmas (so it would be easier to see that I wasn’t carrying). When I got there, the parking lot was empty. The moon was almost full, and the smell of fried chicken was in the air. I stood in the middle of the lot with my hands hanging loosely at my sides.
A broad-shouldered figure walked slowly around the side of the building, casting a moonlit shadow, warily looking to the left and right. It was William. He took out a gun. Even in the dark I could tell that it was a Glock.
“Turn around and put your hands against the wall,” he said.
I faced the wall and felt the hard end of the gun barrel poke the small of my back. With his free hand William patted me down.
“You alone?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
He stepped close, poking the Glock into my ribs. “I ought to shoot you right now,” he muttered in a low voice. “What do you think you’re doing? Trying to get us both killed?”
“No.”
“Then you must be stupid,” he snarled. “Seeing my sister, sending word you want to meet Rance. What do you think he’s gonna do to me when he figures out what’s going on? What do you think he’s gonna do to my sister?”
We’d find out soon enough. A black Range Rover slowly pulled into the lot. The windows were as dark as its body, and it had big shiny rims. Still facing the wall, I looked over my shoulder and saw Big D get out of the car. I remembered him from the day they almost shot Snoop. In the moonlight, I could see the tear tattoos at the corner of his eyes.
“Keep facing the wall,” he ordered, and slid his hands up and down my arms and legs and around my torso, just as William had a few moments before. These guys weren’t taking any chances. When he finished, he clamped a meaty hand on my shoulder and spun me around. He was holding a gun.
“You, me, and William gonna get in that car,” he said. “You try anything funny, I’ll blow a hole right through your spine.”
I started toward the car. William walked ahead, and Big D behind, his gun pressed against my back. When we got to the car, I reached toward the rear door.
“No.” Big D poked me. “In the front. Passenger side.”
I did as I was told and got in the front. William got into the driver’s seat and held the Glock low in his lap, aimed at me. The temptation to turn around and look at Rance was great, but I controlled myself.
Then I smelled something sweet and flowery.
“What the?…” William smelled it too, and turned around.
I didn’t have to look to know that they had Tanisha. My stomach knotted. Why did they have to bring her into this? But at the same time, I knew exactly why.
“Turn around,” a voice said.
I turned. Tanisha was squeezed between Big D and Rance Jones. Rance had grown a goatee since I’d last seen him. Tanisha was wincing, and I could see why: Rance was pressing the barrel of a gun into her ribs.
“Now turn back around so I don’t have to look at your ugly Disciple face again,” Rance grunted.
I turned and my eyes met William’s. His were filled with rage that I had brought this upon his sister and him.
“Talk,” Rance said.
“Why’d you have Jamar kill Marcus?” I asked.
A slight gasp came from the backseat, and I suspected that Rance had jabbed the gun harder into Tanisha’s ribs. “Who else knows?” he asked. “And tell the truth or she dies.”
“One other person,” I said.
I heard a click and knew Rance had cocked the gun. “You sure about that?”
A pulse in my forehead throbbed painfully. Every muscle in my body was tense. I heard a sniff and a brief sob, as if Tanisha was trying to fight back tears. But I had to believe Rance wouldn’t shoot her. Not with William there. It had to be a bluff.
“Well?” Rance demanded.
“You kill her, and I’ll tell the Disciples about Jamar,” I said. “You kill me, my friend will tell.”
I didn’t think a shot would follow, but if it did, I would grab William’s gun and kill Rance, or die trying. Because I wouldn’t want to live knowing I was responsible for Tanisha’s death.
But the shot didn’t come. At least not yet.
“Maybe I don’t believe you,” Rance said. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you right now.”
“You think you’re playing Jamar,” I said, “but it’s the other way around. He’s playing you.”
There was an uncomfortable silence. In the front seat beside me, William cast an uncertain glance back.
“Keep talking,” Rance said.
“Did he and that gun-dealer friend of his try to get you to buy three AK-47s?”
“How…,” Rance started to ask, then caught himself. “So what?”
“They had six,” I said. “Jamar wanted to make sure the Disciples got the other three.”
Silence again. Then Rance said, “Doesn’t matter.”
“How can it not matter?” I asked. “He’s gonna keep selling you and the Disciples ammo and guns and let you keep shooting at each other forever.”
“No, he ain’t,” Rance said. “’Cause there ain’t gonna be two gangs much longer.”
“Jamar know that?”
“He will when I want him to,” Rance said.
“What makes you think you can trust him?”
“He’s proved himself.”
“By ambushing Marcus?” I said. “What did he have to lose? Now he thinks he’s the boss.”
“He’s done worse.”
Darnell, I thought. “That’s why he threw that shorty out the window?”
“Not just any shorty,” Rance said. “Marcus’s nephew. See? He’ll do anything I say. And that’s all he gotta do. Now that Marcus is gone, there’s just gonna be one gang around here. Mine.”
I took a deep breath and chose my next words carefully. “There’s one thing you need that Jamar can’t deliver.”
“Oh, yeah? What’s that?” Rance sounded amused.
“Loyalty,” I said.
Another silence. Then Rance said, “Well, that might just be because there’s a rotten apple in the barrel.”
I felt the gun against the back of my head. “Get out,” Rance said.
“Don’t!” I heard Tanisha gasp.
“Shut up,” Rance growled.
“Please!”
“Shut your mouth, Tanisha,” William grunted. “I told you a hundred times not to mess with this fool. It’s your own fault you didn’t listen.”
The gun was still pressed against my head. I was trembling from head to foot and felt light-headed, like I was going to be sick. Rance had every reason to kill me. This was the end. I was about to become just one more dead gangbanger.
“Get him out,” Rance snapped.
William reached across me and pushed open the door. “Out, punk.”
“You can’t!” Tanisha gasped.
“I said shut it,” William grunted.
“I got his baby,” Tanisha whispered.
Everything stopped. William twisted around in his seat and stared at his sister. I felt the pressure of the gun barrel slowly ease from the back of my skull.
“You lying to save his sorry butt?” Rance asked.
With the gun no longer pressing against my head, I turned and scowled at her.
She stared back at me with eyes glittery with tears. “It’s true.”
The shock on my face must have been obvious.
“Ha!” Rance laughed harshly. “Surprise, surprise.”
William cursed under his breath.
Tears spilled out of Tanisha’s eyes and rolled down her cheeks.
“How come you didn’t tell me?” I asked.
“I was going
to,” Tanisha said with a sniff.
William gave Rance a long, steady look.
“You don’t know how lucky you just got, punk,” Rance said.
Big D frowned. “You sure?”
“It’s gonna be all one gang anyway,” Rance said, aiming his gun at my face. I stared down the dark nothingness of the barrel. It was a .45. “You get one chance to prove your loyalty. Mess up and you won’t get another, understand?”
I nodded.
Rance gestured at the open car door. “Go home and don’t say nothing to no one. The Disciples are gonna find out soon enough anyway. You stay in line and do what you’re told, and you and your girl and that little baby’ll be okay.”
Knowing I was lucky to be alive, I walked home in the moonlight, thinking about Tanisha. Now what? I wasn’t like Terrell. I couldn’t abandon the mother of my child. And that meant there would soon be two more mouths in our family to feed—Tanisha’s and the baby’s. My fate was sealed. There was only one way I could take care of a family that big.
Ahead, the red and blue lights of police cars flashed. As I got closer to Douglass, I saw a small crowd and bright beams of light sweeping the ground in front of my building. A dozen police officers had cordoned off the area around the bench. Some were keeping people away, while others flashed lights at the building, searching windows for anyone who might want to throw something down on them. Inside the cordoned-off area were men wearing street clothes—detectives—including Patterson.
Lightbulb was leaning against a tree, wearing blue coveralls. He’d recently been fired from King Chicken for not understanding that the customer is always right, even when the customer is wrong. Now he was working the night shift for a janitorial company, washing bathrooms in office buildings from six p.m. to two a.m.
I stopped beside him. “What’s going on?”
“Jamar got himself shot,” Lightbulb said. He’d grown taller and huskier, and his voice had dropped. But that wasn’t the only way he’d changed. He wasn’t the same goofy guy anymore. He’d grown quieter and sullen. As if he knew life was passing him by and there was nothing he could do about it.
I felt a chill. “How?”
“Don’t know.”
But I had a feeling. “You seen Terrell?”
He shook his head. We watched while they wheeled a body bag toward an ambulance parked on Abernathy. The police and detectives stayed bunched together, sweeping their high-powered beams around as they made their way back to their cars. One of the beams swept in my direction, temporarily blinding me. I shielded my eyes and saw a figure step toward me.
“Hey, DeShawn,” Patterson said. “How does that song go? ‘Another one bites the dust.’ Who do you think’s gonna be next?”
I didn’t answer. Instead I went inside and up to Terrell’s apartment.
“Who is it?” Mrs. Blake asked from inside when I knocked on the door.
“DeShawn.”
She came to the door wearing a robe, her hair in curlers. She looked older and more worn-out than ever, but I doubted she was much past thirty-four. Now that Laqueta was dead, the apartment was neat and orderly. Even though it was past two a.m., the TV was on loud.
“Terrell in trouble?” she asked in a low voice.
“No, ma’am,” I said. “Is he here?”
She pointed down the hall to his room. I knocked on the dented metal door.
“Who’s there?” Terrell called from inside.
The door wasn’t locked. I pushed it open. Terrell was sitting at his desk with his feet up and headphones on, playing Grand Theft Auto. He nonchalantly slid the headphones off. “Yo, s’up?”
I closed the door. “Why?”
“Why what?” He pretended he didn’t know what I meant.
“You know what I’m talking about,” I said. “Where’s your gun?”
Terrell quickly glanced at the door. “Keep it down. My momma’ll hear.”
“She’s gonna hear plenty soon enough,” I said, lowering my voice. “Now where is it?”
“Threw it down the sewer,” Terrell hissed. “You think I’d be stupid enough to keep it?”
“Why not? You were stupid enough to use it.”
Terrell’s face hardened. “He killed Marcus. No way he was gonna lead the Disciples. I made sure of that.”
“You tell anyone he killed Marcus?” I asked.
Terrell shook his head. “You told me not to.”
“So when were you gonna tell them?”
Terrell didn’t answer.
“You didn’t just kill Jamar because he killed Marcus,” I said. “You killed him to prove to everyone that you can lead the Disciples.”
Terrell gazed steadily at me. “So? What’s wrong with that? It’s a dog-eat-dog world, right? Besides, Jamar deserved it.”
“There’s just one problem,” I said. “Jamar was working for Rance.”
Terrell’s eyes widened. “For real?” Then his astonishment turned into certainty. He balled his hand into a fist. “Then he really deserved it.”
“True that,” I said. “But what do you think’s gonna happen when Rance finds out you killed Jamar?”
Terrell’s eyes darted to the left. “But I didn’t know.”
“You think that’ll make a difference?”
My friend’s mouth hung open, and his eyes widened. He looked scared. “What am I gonna do?”
A half-open bag of Georgia peanuts lay on the desk. Suddenly I knew the answer. “Go away.”
Terrell’s eyebrows dipped. “You serious?”
“You stay, I can’t guarantee you’ll be alive this time tomorrow.”
“Where am I gonna go?”
I pointed at the peanut bag and said, “Get packing. You best be gone before daylight.”
THE GANGSTA DISCIPLES
The next afternoon, I assembled what was left of the Douglass Disciples in the yard. It was three p.m. and a couple of them were puffy faced, as if they’d just gotten out of bed.
“What’s this about?” Jules asked with a yawn.
“The future,” I said.
“Where’s Terrell?” Bublz asked.
I said I didn’t know.
Out on Abernathy the black Range Rover pulled up to the curb. You could feel a change in the air. All over the yard it got quiet. As if everyone knew who that car belonged to. Mothers began pulling their children away. Old folks pushed themselves up with their walkers and canes and started hobbling toward their buildings. Just like those old cowboy movies where the townsfolk scattered when the bad guys rode in. Even before the Range Rover’s door opened, Jules was reaching into his jacket.
“Don’t,” I said.
“But they’re Gentry,” Bublz sputtered.
“Let’s hear what they have to say.”
Jules stared suspiciously at me. “How do you know they want to talk?”
Big D and William got out first, taking their time and looking around. Antwan got out next. It was the first time I’d seen him since middle school, but I wasn’t surprised that he was a Gangsta. Finally Rance got out. With Big D and William in front, he walked slowly toward us. Rance had told me earlier by phone that he wanted to meet outside in the daylight. So everyone could see everyone clearly.
“I come in peace,” Rance said.
“The hell you do,” Jules challenged him. “After you killed Marcus and Jamar?”
“Didn’t kill neither of them,” said Rance.
“Then you had them killed,” Tyrone said.
Rance shook his head and gestured at me. “Tell them.”
“Jamar killed Marcus,” I said. “Terrell killed Jamar.”
Jules screwed up his face as if he didn’t understand. The rest of the Disciples looked stunned.
“Jamar killed Marcus because he wanted to take over the gang,” I explained. “Terrell killed Jamar in revenge.”
Tyrone looked uncertainly from me to Rance. “What’s this all about?”
“Joining forces,” Rance said. “What’s
the point of us killing each other? I need new territory and you need new leadership.”
“You expect us to just start wearing Gentry Gangsta colors?” Jules asked defiantly.
“No, I propose a new organization called the Gangsta Disciples and mix colors,” Rance said. “Black and green.”
Bublz bit his lip anxiously and gave the rest of us an uncertain look. “What do you think?”
“Like we have a choice,” Jules grumbled, and spat on the ground.
“You got a choice in who heads up your part of the organization,” Rance said.
That was a smart move. There was a short silence. Then Tyrone nodded at me. “I think it should be you, DeShawn.”
SEVENTEEN YEARS OLD
“Been spending most of our lives living in a gangsta’s paradise.”—From “Gangsta’s Paradise” BY Coolio
BAD TO THE BONE
The sound of Simon crying in another room woke me. The baby’s cries were like a little bird’s squawks. Sunlight pressed against the red and green curtains Tanisha had hung over the windows. Still half-asleep, I lay tangled in the deep blue sheets and listened to my son bawl. Simon was three months old. Sometimes I wondered what he would be like. What he would look and act like. Everyone said he would grow up to be good-looking like his parents. If he grew up.
Picking up the heavy, gold Rolex from the night table, I saw that it was 3:54 p.m. I took a bath, then checked myself in the mirror. A few hairs were finally starting to sprout from my chin. Back in the bedroom there was a message on my phone. Rance wanted to see me. I was to come alone. I slipped on some clothes and slid my gun into the waistband holster.
Out in the living room Tanisha was sitting on the couch giving Simon a bottle. Even without makeup she was a beautiful girl. The flat-panel, HDTV was on, and mother and son seemed transfixed by the rapidly changing colors and images.
“Going out,” I said. Without taking her eyes from the screen, Tanisha nodded.
Before leaving the fifteenth floor, I went down a few doors and into another apartment. Inside, half a dozen people were sitting at the Ping-Pong table, wearing white masks, filling Baggies with weed and vials with rock. Jules was watching over them. He gave me a nod. Everything was okay.