If I Grow Up (11 page)

Staying in the misty shadows, I took the dark side streets home. There was no telling who might see me if I walked down Abernathy Avenue. By the time I got back to Frederick Douglass, the mist had soaked my hair and seeped down under my collar, chilling me as it crept down my back. I was crossing the yard when my cell phone rang. It was Jamar.

“Come up.”

“What's up?” I pretended not to know.

“Something happened to Marcus,” he said.

I slid my hand inside my jacket and felt the grip of the .44. There was always a chance Jamar wanted me dead too. It could have been him who'd tried to kill me at the bus stop the night before.

I climbed up the stairs slowly, stopping and checking before going around each corner. By the time I got to the fifteenth floor, most of the Disciples were already there, talking in hushed voices and looking agitated. Terrell came over to me.

“They got Marcus,” he whispered. “We're squadding up. They got to fall. Jamar got some AKs. We're gonna hurt them twice as bad.”

“
Who
got Marcus?” I asked.

“Who do you think?”

All around the room, gangbangers were talking war. Then Jamar strutted in, his arm in a black sling. When our eyes met, he looked away.

“We going to war, right?” said Jules.

“Shut it and listen up,” Jamar barked. “We ain't going to war. Least not right now. Marcus got shot by some crazy hype.”

“You whack?” said Terrell. “Everybody knows Marcus. Ain't no hype anywhere would touch him.”

“Look, I'm telling you it was some hype,” Jamar insisted. “Marcus got soft. He lost respect. It ain't the same as it used to be.”

“So what're we gonna do?” Bublz asked, nervously chewing a fingernail.

“Nothing,” Jamar said.

A puzzled hush settled over the group.

“Only now you're in charge?” I asked.

Jamar locked eyes with me, then looked around the room. “Anyone got a problem with that?”

The other Disciples averted their eyes and shook their heads silently.

“All right,” said Jamar. “Then it's back to business as usual. Nothing changes. Only I give the orders from now on.”

Terrell and I started down the stairs. I waited until we were almost to the sixth floor and then stopped him.

“I gotta tell you something,” I said in a low voice.
“You gotta swear not to tell anyone else, understand? This is on our blood oath. It's the most serious thing I'm ever gonna tell you, and if you tell a soul, it'll probably get me killed.”

Terrell nodded and gave me a curious look.

“You were right before,” I said. “Marcus wasn't killed by a hype. You and I know darn well that if some hype did it, the first thing Jamar would do was have him killed.”

Terrell's eyebrows jumped as he realized this was true. “Then who?…”

“Jamar.”

Terrell's jaw fell open and his forehead wrinkled. “But—”

I held up my hand to stop him. “I was there. It was an ambush. Jamar doesn't know I saw him.”

My friend's face went stony. “You don't want to tell the others?”

“They won't believe me,” I said. “Or some will and some won't, and then we'll have a war among ourselves.”

“Folks know you don't lie.”

I shook my head. “This is too big. They won't know what to believe. They might think I'm trying to take over. That after Jamar I'd be next in line. Besides, if anyone tells Jamar, he'll have me killed for sure.”

Terrell's eyes wrinkled slightly. “Why you telling me?”

“If anything happens to me, I need you to know why, and to do what's right,” I said.

The next morning, I got up early and went out unarmed for the first time in months. It was too soon for the funeral notices for Marcus to start going up in the stairwells. I walked to Munson High.

At the entrance, I was stopped by Mr. White, the fat, bald assistant principal whose stomach fell over his belt. “DeShawn, what an unexpected surprise,” he said. “What brings you to school today?”

There was no point in lying. It was the first time I'd been to school in two weeks. “Just want to see my girl, Mr. White.”

“At least you're honest,” he said. “Go to my office and wait for me there.”

I did as I was told. He showed up about twenty minutes later, sat down, and typed on the computer. “Let's see. Ah, here we are. In the past two months, you've missed twenty-seven days of school. Not exactly a stellar attendance record, is it?”

I didn't answer. I'd already told him why I was there.

Mr. White scratched the side of his face. “School's
not supposed to be a place where we come just to socialize, DeShawn. And you can't learn very much when your attendance averages one day a week.”

I nodded.

“Do you have a job?” he asked.

“No, sir.”

“May I ask what you do with your free time?”

We both knew exactly what I did.

Mr. White picked up a pencil and tapped it against his desk. “You're from Douglass?”

“Yes, sir.”

“There's a boy in your grade from over there. Extraordinarily bright.”

“Lightbulb.”

“Sorry?”

“Raydale,” I said. “Raydale Diggs.”

“You know him?”

“He's working at King Chicken,” I said. Lightbulb had worked his way up to the counter. He knew the price of every item by heart, and no matter how complicated the order, he automatically added it up in his head and calculated the tax and change. The manager constantly had to remind him to use the cash register anyway.

Mr. White shook his head sadly. “So much wasted potential. They talk about inner-city crime. But the real crime is what happens to boys like him and you.” He glanced at the computer and back at me. “You're not here to make any trouble?”

“No, sir.”

“You can talk to your girlfriend at lunch and in the hall between classes, but I don't want any reports of you hanging around where you're not supposed to be.”

“Yes, sir.”

“If you ever decide you really want to come back to school in a serious way, I can help you.”

“Thank you, sir.”

 

“Get your brother to arrange a meeting between me and Rance,” I said. Tanisha and I were standing in a doorway outside the cafeteria. It was raining, but as long as we stood close to the doors, we wouldn't get wet.

“Are you crazy?” Tanisha said, hugging herself for warmth.

“Serious as I can be.”

“He'll kill you.”

“Maybe not.”

“Maybe definitely.”

“It's important, Tani.”

“Not as important as you staying alive,” she said.

“Tell him we can meet somewhere neutral.”

“He won't do it.”

“Tanisha, you gotta
make
him do it.”

“I can't.”

I moved close and put my hands on her hips, holding her steady and looking into her eyes. “Tani, you ever want the day to come when you and me can be together?”

Her eyes began to glitter. “We can't be together if you're dead.”

“We can't be together while I'm alive, either,” I said. “Unless you help me.”

 

Walking home, I became aware of a car slowly moving along Abernathy. My hand automatically went to my waist, then I remembered that I wasn't strapped. I glanced out the corner of my eye. It was a dark green Crown Victoria, a favorite among undercover cops. In a way that was good news, and I relaxed. It was unlikely that a cop would take a shot at me.

The window went down. “Hey, DeShawn.” It was Officer Patterson, wearing a green plaid jacket. “Congratulate me. I made detective.”

I kept walking. He had to be crazy to think I'd speak to him. If anyone saw us, I was a dead man.

“Looks like we're both rising in our respective organizations,” Patterson said.

At the corner, I stopped and waited for traffic to pass. But I didn't look at him.

“Meet me under the rail-yard bridge in twenty minutes,” Patterson said. “We need to talk.” The Crown Vic pulled away.

Twenty minutes later I walked toward the bridge. I'd taken a roundabout route through abandoned buildings and over backyard fences, so I was pretty sure I wasn't followed. The rail-yard bridge was low and made of stone. It was dark and damp and rat-infested under
neath. Even homeless people wouldn't sleep there.

Patterson was standing in the shadows. No sign of the Crown Vic or anyone else. I walked in and stopped half a dozen yards away from him. Water dripped from the ceiling into puddles, and I thought I heard rats scampering in the dark corners.

“I won't keep you long,” Patterson said. “I know what would happen if anyone in your crew found out.”

I looked around uncomfortably.

“No one's coming,” Patterson said.

“You're taking a chance too,” I said.

Patterson smiled. “You never struck me as a cop killer, DeShawn. Just another lost kid who's run out of options. How old are you?”

“Sixteen.”

“How old do you think Marcus Elliot was?”

It might have sounded strange, but I'd never thought about it. “Twenty-seven? Twenty-eight?”

“Try twenty. He would have turned twenty-one next month.”

The news surprised me, just as Patterson knew it would.

“It's all about the pose,” Patterson said. “But I guess you know that's not what I want to talk about. You know that Jamar's playing both sides against the middle? Making a fortune selling guns and ammo to both the Disciples
and
the Gangstas.”

I'd known that for a long time. “How come you don't bust him?”

“Certain people…people a lot more cynical than me, seem to think that we're better off letting gangbangers kill each other. It's a lot cheaper than putting them in jail, and it becomes a problem only when things get out of hand.”

“Like when shorties shoot pregnant women?” I said.

“Or innocent bystanders get caught in the cross fire,” he said.

“Like my mother.”

Patterson nodded. “Mothers, little kids, the kind of stuff that makes the news. And then people have to pretend they're outraged and they're gonna do something about it. That is, until something else comes along and grabs the headlines. People have short attention spans. All it takes is a hurricane or a political scandal to make them forget last week's tragedy. Especially when it comes to the projects. All these young women with two or three children by different fathers. All these fatherless boys running around wild, killing each other. People think it's a shame, but no one really knows how to fix it. So they'd just as soon pretend it doesn't exist.”

“If you believe that, why'd you bother becoming a cop?” I asked.

“So I can sleep at night. How you sleeping these days, DeShawn?”

I looked around again, letting Patterson know that I was ready to go.

“We could work together,” Patterson said. “No one has to know. You help me take down Rance Jones and his top lieutenants. Then we go after Jamar. You'd be arrested on some fake charge so it wouldn't look like you were the snitch. When the time is right, we could move you, your gramma, sister, and those kids some place new. Some place where you could get a fresh start.”

“That's what you're offering me? A fresh start?”

“Marcus Elliott didn't live to be twenty-one,” Patterson said. “You're sixteen, DeShawn. How long you think you're gonna last?”

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.”