Raven

  “Could be pneumonia,” the EMT says. “Can take a healthy young person from ten to zero in a few hours.”

  I’m afraid to ask what number Zin is on that scale. He looks pale, sunken. Like he’s lost thirty pounds overnight. Like Josh when he was close to the end.

  I look at the EMT. “He told me he once got really sick, back in his home country. It was never diagnosed, but he thought it was tuberculosis.”

  “Shit!” The EMT reaches for a face mask.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  The white hospital halls, with their fluorescent lights, are a labyrinth of nightmares. If there is a purgatory, this would be it. Any moment a door can open with an announcement of death.

  Zin is under quarantine. I can only see him through the glass in the door, and even then, there are all these machines in the way.

  Touch and go. It’s too soon to know if the antibiotics will work.

  I keep hoping I’ll turn around and Carlo will be there. If Zin doesn’t recover, Carlo would’ve been able to save him.

  But Carlo is gone.

  I take out my cell phone, call Viola, get her voice mail. I call Mig. His girlfriend answers.

  “Hey, it’s Nicole. Is Mig there?”

  “He’s in the hospital. They’re telling me he has blood poisoning. I have no idea how it happened.”

  Oh my God.

  All of them. It’s happening to all of them.

  And it’s my fault. I convinced them to change without thinking of possible consequences. Even Kim must not have known.

  I should’ve told them to run. I shouldn’t have let them take the risk.

  What have I done?

  Zin’s words echo in my mind. Some of us have more than we deserve. And if there’s any justice in this world, we’ll have to pay for it.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  On the fourth day the doctor tells me that Zin’s taken a turn for the better.

  I want to cry with relief. The doctor starts to walk away, but I catch his sleeve. “Can I see him?”

  “No. He’ll be in quarantine at least two more days.”

  Fine. I can wait. I’ll wait for days or weeks, as long as Zin is okay.

  He can see me through the square of glass in the door. I wave. He gives a weak smile.

  I press a paper against the window. I LOVE YOU.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Mig’s arms are outstretched, and I walk into them. We’re outside of Viola’s hospital room.

  “Are you ready to see her?” he asks.

  “Not yet. Is she really as bad as you said? Are you sure she can’t go into remission?”

  “I’m sure. We won’t have her for much longer. Go on. She’s been asking for you.”

  I want to burst into tears. “I’m not sure if . . . ” Maybe I shouldn’t see her. Maybe she’d want me to remember her in her beautiful days, not sickly and near death.

  But no, I’m not going to be a coward. I do want to see her. “I’m ready.”

  I walk into the room. The sight of her is a shock, but I force myself to smile. Viola has wasted away to little more than a skeleton. Her blue eyes are protuberant in her sunken face. Her skin is almost translucent.

  Carlo saved her from this once. And she loved him forever.

  When she sees me, her eyes flicker just enough to register surprise. “Nic.” Her hand reaches out to grasp mine.

  “Hi, Viola.”

  Her voice is a weak rasp. “Does being mortal always feel this shitty?”

  I smile, but I can only think of how unfair it is that Viola has ovarian cancer, a disease that modern medicine has yet to conquer, while Mig and Zin have recovered.

  “I wish Zin could be here too,” I say. “He’s still under quarantine. I guess they told you.”

  “Tell him I love him.”

  “I will.”

  The tears are rising inside me, but I won’t release them. I don’t want to cry for her before she’s gone.

  “It’s okay if you have to cry,” she says gently.

  I tremble as tears flow out of my eyes. “S-sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” There’s strength in her frail hand. Amazing, but I feel like she’s holding me up.

  “I hope you forgive me. I didn’t know this would—” My voice breaks.

  “There’s nothing to forgive. We knew something like this could happen. It was worth taking a chance.”

  I don’t know if she’s just being kind, or if she really doesn’t have regrets.

  “Could you pass me the water?”

  I hold up the glass and fit the straw between her lips. She sucks it for a few moments. “Don’t be sad, Nic. I’ve had a good three hundred years. I’m not afraid to die.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.” Her smile is radiant, and for a second I recognize the old Viola. “I have a feeling Carlo’s waiting for me. And you know he doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  “Is it the universe’s birthday again?” I ask, stepping out onto the roof. The night tastes of Hudson breeze and city smoke.

  “The universe can’t have a birthday twice in one year. Tonight is something totally different. Let’s call it an interplanetary party.”

  I laugh. “As long as I’m invited.”

  Zin grins. “Wouldn’t be a party without you.”

  He pushes two lounge chairs together and we both stretch out, looking up at the stars.

  I breathe the night in. If there is a divine force out there, I say to myself, this is how I’d want to speak to it—through the stars.

  Thank you for Zin being well. Thank you. Thank you.

  “Mortality surprises me, Nic. I’ve got this quiet inside me. I never thought I’d say this, but I feel totally peaceful. I hope this feeling lasts a long time.”

  “I hope it does too.”

  Happy as I am at this moment, I doubt I’ll ever totally be at peace. I can’t, knowing that Josh is on the run and might encounter the Heng Te. But I’ll live with that, because I carry him in my soul. Maybe perfect peace isn’t meant to be part of the human condition. Who knows? I only know that I am so grateful to have Zin by my side.

  “You should be careful crossing the street,” I tell him. “You’re not immortal anymore.”

  “I’m being careful. I’m living in a whole new way because I intend to stick around for a long time.”

  “You’d better.”

  We lay there in silence, falling into our thoughts.

  “I wonder if Kim will come back,” he says eventually. “I’m worried about Chen.”

  The last time I saw her, she’d just rushed us out of the club after changing Zin, Viola, and Mig. She told us she was going to face the Heng Te, whatever the consequences.

  “I hope she gets back soon for Chen’s sake, and for the Toprocks,” I say. “Chen’s lost his fire. We need the old Chen back.”

  “Yeah. Everything has changed so much, huh?” I can hear the sadness in his voice. “Whenever I walk into Evermore, I keep expecting to see everyone. I still don’t think it’s hit me.”

  “I know what you mean. . . . I guess it’ll take a while.”

  I miss the others too, especially Viola, whose spirit was the most beautiful part of her. But I can’t imagine how it would be for Zin to lose most of his family in such a short period of time. I know he’s grieving, and he prefers to grieve alone. But he knows I’m here when he needs me.

  “Mig’s doing a good job of running Evermore,” I say, changing the subject. “Do you think he’s going to keep it going for a while?”

  “I think so. He sees it as a way to honor Carlo. And guess what?”

  “What?”

  “He asked me if I’d manage it with him. Picture me as a manager, and only twenty years old.”

  “You’re way too inexperienced. Maybe in a few years.”

  I hear him chuckle.

  As I look up into the night sky, a feeling of calm spreads over me. And I know that Zin and the stars are more than I’ll ever
need.

  I turn on my side, and we smile at each other. Even in the darkness there is a glow coming from him, a light that burns hot and bright like a lithium battery. That light was never the Jiang Shi. It was always Zin.

  DRUGS. DEALS. SURVIVAL.

  GIVING THE DRIVER HIS CASH, I RAN INSIDE THE BUILDING and hit the button. Sonny buzzed me up. He was standing in the doorway of his apartment in sweat pants and a wife-beater. “Get in here.”

  The apartment was huge, with sleek tiled floors, leather couches, and a hot entertainment system. I barely sat down when Sonny said, “Carlos got jumped tonight when he was making deliveries. They fucked him up, took the stuff, and made him cough up the names of the customers he was delivering to.”

  “You talked to Carlos?”

  “No, his girl called me. Them bitches who messed him up told him to give us a message: ‘Darkman’s in town and he’s shutting us down.’ ”

  “Darkman? He some sorta comic character?”

  “Whoever the fuck he is, he knows who we are. Carlos can’t hold in a fucking fart.”

  “Shit, I got warned about this.”

  “Huh? Who warned you?”

  “Monfrey. Said there was some shady niggas around. I didn’t take him serious.”

  I was all about Alyse then, I remembered. Damn, I was right that women were a distraction.

  I said, “Anybody new in the hood can tell that Carlos is probably running for someone. That skinny cat ain’t sly. So we don’t know how much Darkman knows about us. He could’ve been lying low for weeks, getting ready to strike.”

  I heard Sonny swallow.

  “We gonna hold it down,” I said. “First thing we have to worry about is that he knows the names of some customers. He might try to sweet-talk them into buying from him. We gotta get to them first and let ’em know we still the best deal in town.”

  “I been all over that. Carlos’s girl told me the names of the three customers he gave up, and I spoke to them. They’ll get their next hit half price. We cool with them.”

  “Good, you stay on it. We have to remind our peeps that we still their number one. Keep ’em happy. I’ll deal with the other side of this. I’m gonna find out who this Darkman is.”

  “And then what?”

  “We wait for him on the battlefield.”

  I found Rob Monfrey the next morning on a park bench, smoking up.

  “Ty, what it be like?”

  “We got trouble.” I scanned the bench for bird shit and sat down.

  “I know. Heard they fucked up Carlos.”

  “Uh-huh. Tell me everything you know about this Darkman.”

  “All I know is, he used to run a big-time operation down in Miami. Don’t know why he came up here. The guys working for him, they from Miami too.”

  “I hope he bought them return tickets. They try to sell to you?”

  “Yeah, last night. One of ’em saw me smoking. Asked where I got the stuff. Said I found it in a mailbox. He said he’d sell me some real cheap. I told him I don’t smoke regular like. He said, ‘Yeah, right,’ and walked away.”

  “I like how you handled that. But next time, do it different. If you stay visible, one of those guys is gonna approach you again. Let ’em know you can’t afford to pay for no weed. But if they need shit done, you can swing that.”

  “Sounds like you asking me to be a spy.” Monfrey grinned. “I like it, son.”

  “Make yourself mad helpful to them. I want you to find out everything you can about their leader and their operation. Find out Darkman’s real name, how many men he got working for him, where he goes to eat—anything.”

  “Easy peasy.”

  “You a natural, Monfrey, but these guys are dangerous. If you think they suspect you, get away from them fast—got that?”

  “I got you.”

  “You can name your price for this job.”

  “PlayStation 3?”

  That was the thing about Monfrey. He had no fucking idea how much he was worth.

  “PlayStation 3, ten of the hottest games, and a pair of Jordans. How about that?”

  He slapped my hand. “We got a deal.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  I didn’t go to school on Monday. No time. I had to secure my ops, and that meant talking to every member of my team, from the big players to the small-time runners, to make sure there weren’t any cracks.

  I was straight-up with my peeps. We had a competitor and we had to be ready. Since I didn’t want to leave anything important on an answering machine, I called each one until I talked to them. I didn’t go see them face-to-face. I wasn’t gonna make Darkman’s job any easier by leading him to my peeps.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  My work was just getting started. I stopped by a few choice spots: pool halls, take-outs, barbershops, delis, bars—all places where they knew me. Places where new faces would get noticed. Places where I could ask questions and get the straight-up goods.

  I learned enough about my enemy to start a profile of him on my Palm Pilot.

  Darkman:

  • late twenties

  • first name Kevin

  • cocky

  • Miami Crip connection

  • family is big in Miami drug scene

  • brought three guys with him from Florida (two black, one Hispanic, probably Cuban)

  • has a high-maintenance girlfriend named Leanne

  The question bugging me the most was why he was here in the first place. If he was so big in Miami, why did he leave?

  Maybe the stories about him being a Florida big shot were made up. Or maybe his family was running the show and he decided to go off on his own. Maybe he came to Brooklyn because he had something to prove.

  One thing was for sure: If Darkman thought he could just come to BK and crown himself a kingpin, he was wrong.

  I was thinking of all this when I walked through the door at 11:30 that night. Mom wasn’t home, lucky for me. I needed to be alone to do some serious planning.

  There was a postcard on the kitchen table.

  Hey Ty,

  How about them Giants? What a great game last night!

  I’m missing your letters. Don’t forget to write when you get time.

  Your dad

  Anything about a sports team was our emergency code.

  Dad wanted me there ASAP.

  ONE LABEL CAN

  BRAND YOU FOR LIFE.

  Friday night. Me and my girls, Q, Marie, Vicky, and Melisha, arrived at the dance twenty minutes after it started. Screw being fashionably late—we wanted to go through security as fast as possible so we could hit the dance floor.

  Or, as Marie said, we wanted first pick of the ass.

  We’d been a group since junior high, when the five of us ended up in the same class. Q, Melisha, and me already knew one another. Vicky and Marie were newbies from other schools and sticking together. It actually started with a school yard beef; word got to Marie that Q had made fun of her hairstyle in front of some guys. Instead of letting my best friend get jumped, which I heard was the plan, I went to Marie and Vicky to plead Q’s innocence. They not only believed me, they gave me props for going up to them and went over to meet Q and Melisha. We’d all been tight ever since. To this day, Q says she never said that about Marie’s hair, but knowing Q’s views on the importance of good hair, I never believed her.

  It’s amazing how we all stuck like glue, especially considering Marie was a member of the Real Live Bitches. She got recruited in freshman year, when the RLB was scrambling to counter floods of Crips coming in. They’d tried to recruit all of us that year, but we made them back off by playing innocent and weak, qualities the RLB hated. Marie was the one who got up in their faces, and after fighting some members, she decided to stop resisting her destiny and become a Bitch herself.

  Unlike most of the RLB, Marie still hung out with nonmembers whenever she felt like it. In fact, she told me once that the main reason she joined was for a shot at some hot guys. You see, she
was mad horny.

  To my surprise, the gym was crowded when we walked in. Probably with freshmen, but I didn’t care. At least there were people on the dance floor. We hit it immediately, cheesy colorful lights flashing around us.

  The music wasn’t half bad for a school-hired DJ, though we only heard the clean versions of songs, like Akon’s ode to strippers, “I Wanna Love You.” We sang along using the real lyrics, and had a good laugh dancing with imaginary stripper poles.

  Within an hour the gym filled to the max, and I couldn’t help scanning for Eric, cute dean’s office guy. I’d promised myself that if he showed up, I’d make a point of talking to him, if only to prove to Q that I wasn’t a punk.

  I didn’t see him. What I saw instead was a bunch of kids displaying gang colors, mostly flags and bandannas they’d smuggled in. I looked at my watch, wondering how much dancing we’d get in before trouble started.

  When the DJ got on the mike to do shout-outs, I walked off the dance floor to take a breather and a drink at the fountain. As soon as I caught my breath and reapplied my lip gloss, I’d go back to my friends.

  “Hey, I know you,” someone shouted in my ear.

  He materialized at my elbow, like out of nowhere. He seemed bigger than I remembered, maybe because he wasn’t hunched in a chair. Six feet tall at least, with broad shoulders filling out his Pistons jersey. Sean John jeans hung loosely around his legs, held up by a belt with a silver buckle.

  I felt a smile coming, but I kept it subtle—no way I was going to let on that I’d been hoping to see him here.

  “I know you too. . . . ” I said as if I didn’t remember his name.

  “It’s Eric Valienté.”

  “Julia DiVino.”

  He leaned closer. “Di-what?”

  “DiVino. It’s Italian. But I’m Puerto Rican on my mom’s side.”

  He smiled. “I didn’t know I was messing with no Puerto Rican.” He rolled his Rs like he spoke Spanish. Sexy.

  I could hear my heartbeat, separate from the music, pounding in my ears. Eric Valienté was giving me sensory overload. We had to stand really close to talk over the loud music, and it was messing with my hormones.