Anatomy of a Girl Gang (9781551525303) (4 page)

Do not start shit with other crews. Violence and gang wars are useless and costly. If you have a problem with someone
from another gang, talk it over with the Black Roses
.

Everything you do is in the best interest of the Black Roses. Everything the Black Roses do is in your best interest
.

Never call any of us by our real name. Never let anyone know your real name. We use our street names only
.

Never bring anyone to Black Roses HQ without requesting specific permission ahead of time. Never let anyone know where Black Roses HQ is located
.

Zero tolerance for drug consumption. If you are found to be using crack, cocaine, meth, or heroin, you will be ejected from the gang
.

Love your Roses as you love yourself. No fighting within the gang, no backstabbing, lying, stealing, cheating, or scheming against fellow gang members. Stick together!

................

Can you agree to follow each and every one of these rules as they are written? Mac asked.

Yeah, I think so.

You think so? Or you can?

I can.

She raised her pale eyebrows and looked over at Mercy.

Mercy pursed her glossy lips, studied my face for a moment, then nodded.

Your new name is Kayos. Kayla doesn't exist anymore. You will be known only as Kayos from now on. Do you accept your new name?

Yes. I covered my grin with my hand and tried not to look
like a total moron. My whole face felt hot, and I blushed.

Now go memorize these rules by heart and come back when you're done.

Seriously?

Is that going to be a problem?

It's just that I …

What?

I, um, I'm really bad at memorizing stuff.

Well, here's a chance to challenge yourself. She shoved the list into my hand and turned away.

I looked at Mercy for help, but she was busy fiddling with her phone and waved me away without glancing up.

I found a quiet spot near the back of the ferry and curled up in one of the seats. I read the rules out loud over and over and then recited as much as I could from memory, whispering under my breath. It felt like it took about three hours, for real. But it couldn't have, because the whole voyage is only an hour and a half, right? I watched an old lady trip over somebody's guitar case, and a hippie-granola help her up. Then the chimes, and the announcement came on,
We are nearing the Tsawwassen Ferry Terminal. It is now time for all vehicle passengers to return to the vehicle decks
. My time was up. I would have to wing it, and if I fucked up, well, at least I had tried.

When I got back to their table, Mercy was painting her nails black, and Mac was reading the newspaper. They looked up at me standing there, and for a second, it seemed like they didn't recognize me.

Then Mercy snatched the sheet of paper away from me.
Alright, Kayos, let's hear the blood oath.

And then the worst thing that could have happened did. My mind went blank.

MERCY

She stood in front of us in the ferry's Coastal Café, all ready to recite the oath, and then this wave of redness spread up her neck and into her wide, freckly face, and it looked like she just fell apart inside. She looked so … empty. I wanted to help her, somehow. I looked at Mac. Mac looked at me. Kayos just stood there staring straight ahead, her big turquoise eyes getting all watery. Two little kids ran by our table, screaming, holding their paper cups like torches.

Let's go outside, I said. Too many people around here.

Alright, get to it, Mac said when we were all standing on the outer deck. She lit a cigarette and so did I. Kayos took a big breath, then began. She looked so nervous and unsure, just like that scared little fourth grade punk-ass kid we'd known her as. But she recited all the rules almost word for word, and I sort of felt like clapping at the end, but I didn't.

Good, Mac said. Now, sign your name to it. She pulled her jackknife from her back pocket and dropped it into Kayos's hand.

What? In blood? She laughed.

That's why it's called a blood oath, I said.

She stared at me for a second. Then she opened the knife and made a quick slit across her finger. She didn't even flinch; it was as if she'd done it a hundred times before. Mac and I smiled at each other as we flicked our butts over the side of the boat. Kayos wrote a big K at the bottom of the page in her blood.

Down for life? Mac asked.

Down for life. Kayos handed the paper to Mac, and Mac folded it neatly and slid it into her backpack. Then both of us gave Kayos a monster hug and told her she was our sister now, and we would love her and protect her forever.

SLY GIRL

I been livin in the Downtown Eastside bout six months by this point. Mostly on the street. Sometimes in squats, at tricks' places, once in awhile at a hotel if I could afford it. I seen these girls around, three of them. Always together, walkin fast, wearin all black. One was big and tall, a redhead, lookin some kinda tough, one had pale yellow hair to her shoulders, shark's eyes, a thin face, and the other one wore leather boots, big gold hoops in her ears, raven hair to her bum. She was a skinny Indian. Not Indian like me though, but Indian from India, eh. I knew these girls sold crack, H, and Oxy. Everybody knew that. Yeaah, I bought off them a few times. Their stuff was pretty good, but their prices … not the best.

I'd think on them girls sometimes, while I sat in the alley beside the Army & Navy Department Store, bout to shoot up or just on the nod, whatevers. Them girls would be rentin my headspace a lot of nights. I was curious about them. Who they were. What their story was. Who they were workin for. There ain't too many decent-lookin girls down here, if you know what I mean, so when you see some, you notice.

VANCOUVER

Puddles explode as heavy boots tramp through them. Neon lights reflect off my streets, off the water, off sharp, ever-scanning eyes. I've watched these three grow up; but they're not so old. I have watched them flip upside down on monkey bars, in a grassy park. I have seen them skin their knees and blow bubbles and make crowns of dandelions and necklaces of shells. I have seen their mouths fall open in wonder at the size of a tree, the vibrant violet of a sea star, a flock of geese stopping traffic on the bridge they call the Lions Gate. I have heard them tell their mothers they love them. But they don't do that anymore, they don't do any of that. Now they rob and steal and sell people their medicine. Their breath hangs silver in the air as they smoke cigarettes and walk fast—too fast—through these streets. My hardest streets. Where the people lie and cry and die in the alleyways, every single day. Did I know these girls would be here? Doing this? Maybe. But what could I do about it? What can I do but watch? And contain it all.

I know they still want to be loved. I know there is fear shining in the corners of their eyes. I know there are others who will become what they are.

Z

my namez Z. ima graf wryter. graffiti iz aRt dEzyne
NOT
$treet cryme!!! my aRt iz all ova di$ citee & aLL up & doWn mayneland BC. u problee $een $uma my werk. bin throwin up Z, throwin up
i love you
, throwin up mad colorz all ova chinatown all ova DTE$ cuz u know dem $ad a$$ junkie$ need $um colorz in der live$. dey need $um1 2 tell dem
i love you
. cuz tru$t me, ain't nobudee tellin dem. $o i make sum aRt 4 dem. cuz dey got real uglee live$, u know? i been approached by a few crewz. do Z wanna joyne dem? na uh. Z got her own thang goin on. i know dey ju$t wanna find out my $ecretz. Bcuz i can do mad upsyde downz, i get up in da Heaven $potz. dey $ay, grrl, dat $hit iz fre$h! dat is ri$kee bizness! howd u get up in dere? i say, how u think? cuz ima $tealthee a$$ muthafucka!!! lyke how i get up toppa billboardz, on monUmentz, trucks, trainz, & alla dat $hiznit. itz FUN. nobudee gonna fynd out my $ecretz tho. Na uh. Z workz alone.

i pict up my 1st $pray can when i wuz 12 & paynted my old $k8board. a year l8r i wuz catchin my 1
^st
tagz, now my $tuff iz all ova. prolifik Z, dat$ me!

i kinda ran away frum hOme. i go back $umtimez @ nite when evrybudee's $leepin. i took off cuz i quit hi$kewl & den my parentz brainz XplOded. i quit $kewl cuz my teacherz $ed i can't be a graf aRti$t for a career. dey $ay dat$ no kinda career. $ame w/ da parentz. dey ju$t don't under$tAnd. dere lyke frum another planet or $um $hit. & my $i$terz R megAbitches. dey nevR leev me alone. call me a queer & a dyke & a boy &
awwwww fuck it. my parentz R alwayz tryin 2 set me up w/ dese chineze boyz. i tell dem, I DON'T LYKE BOYZ!!! but i don't $ay it out loud. i yell it in$yde my hed in$ted.

i go out @ nyte, do my aRt, den go hOme & sleep & eat in da daytyme when evrybudeez @ werk & skewl. itz aiight. 4 now. i don't wanna B a product of my eNvironment. i want my eNvironment 2 B a product of me.

MERCY

We need some more members, Mac said. The two of us sat at our kitchen table smoking cigarettes, chopping crack. I'm sick of this shit.

What? Chopping?

Yeah, chopping. Chopping, cooking, inhaling these fuckin fumes. Dealing with dirty-ass junkies, fuckin crackheads and their fuckin dirty change, talking to pigs, standing out there on the corner getting drenched, risking our lives, all of it. All of it. You know?

Yeah.

We need someone who can be our narco girl. Someone who deals with all the prep and the running and slinging. Then
she
can be out on the corner all day while me and you go after the bigger fish, the cars, the ATMs, you know, the easy stuff. Instead of freezing our asses off all damn night to sell three-dollar rocks.

What about Kayos?

Nah, she don't know enough about it to do it alone. And she sticks out too much right now. She's a fuckin Shaughnessy chick, Merce, she'll get picked out in an instant. And you know what else? She ain't controlled enough to do it. Someone looks at her the wrong way out there, she'll fuckin curb stomp em. That'd be bad for business, know what I mean?

Yeah, I guess it would, I laughed.

We need someone chill. Street smart. You know anyone else? Anyone trustworthy?

Let me think. Someone trustworthy … down here … Nope. Not a soul.

I'm serious.

Me too.

She crushed her cigarette into the ashtray and glared at me.

Give me some time to think about it, I said. A few faces floated in my mind. A couple of hang-arounds I knew from the neighbourhood, some chicks I was in the group home with, but most of them were gone now.

She nodded, lit another smoke, and slid open the window beside her. Cold air rushed in and wrapped around my throat. Did you see that new mural in Blood Alley? Mac asked.

No.

Fuckin beautiful, man. Brilliant.

Oh yeah?

Yeah. The writer just signs it Z. Do you know who that is?

Nope.

I've seen some of his other work around. It's really good. I'm gonna see if I can find any of his stuff for here.

Really?

Yeah, it'd look awesome on one of these walls. Trust me.

It came as a bit of a shock to me that Mac had spent a chunk of our profits on original art. I never realized she was that into art, and I'd known her for seven years. Made me wonder how much there is to know about a person, and if you can ever really know anyone at all. Mac didn't draw or paint, but I think she secretly wanted to. We had repainted the house the month after we moved in, and she really got into choosing the
colours. She had all these paint swatches lying around all over the house. She'd hold one up to the window and say something like, It looks different in the afternoon light. Or, does this colour remind you of blood or ketchup?

Both, I'd say, and walk out of the room, leaving her hunched over a hundred little squares of red.

The only room she didn't choose the colour for was mine. I painted it a deep purple. It was the exact same colour my room had been when I was little, living with my dad and brother in Surrey. My dad told me once that purple had been my mom's favourite colour, so then it became mine too. She died when I was three so I never really knew her. Hit and run. I remember the thick white lines of the crosswalk. Groceries all over the road. Then some stranger scooping me up and covering my eyes, and then I didn't see my mom ever again. My dad didn't talk about her much, so I had a hard time remembering her. We had fun in Surrey, though, me and Ranj and Dad. We were a good team, for a while.

Even though I knew those days were long gone, something about being in that purple room made me feel like a kid again, like magic existed and people were honest, and dreams could come true. Like the world was good and so was I. Stupid, I know.

Mac wrapped up the last packet of crack and reached for the piece of paper beside me. So, what's on the wish list this week? She read from it: An Escalade—black. A Lexus SC 430—white. A Porsche Cayenne—silver. Not bad. Wanna go pick them out later?

Sure.

Through Mac's Uncle Hank, we'd been hooked up with a car-theft ring run by Lucifer's Choice. They contracted us out and gave us a new list every two weeks. There were usually three to five cars on the list; model, make, colour, sometimes the year, although it was safe to assume all the buyers wanted this year's model. Then we'd cruise around the city in our little beat-up Honda Civic hatchback, smoke, listen to gangster rap, and find the cars.