Ride or Die (4 page)
Authors: Solomon Jones
Keisha looked into his eyes, searching them for the lie she believed was there. She couldn't find it.
“And what are you about to do?” she asked.
He reached out and held her fingers between his own. “I'm leavin', Keisha,” he said gravely. “I'm walkin' away from my father's business.”
Keisha could hear in his voice that he was serious.
“Why would you do that?” she asked, hoping he would give her the answer that she wanted.
Jamal's eyes took on a faraway look as he tried to find the right words.
“My mother hated me âcause I was too much like my father,” he whispered. “My father couldn't love me 'cause he ain't know how. So if I gotta choose between love and hateâbetween them and youâI'm takin' you, and I ain't lookin' back.”
He took her chin in his hand and turned her face toward his own.
“I'm makin' my choice, Keisha,” he said earnestly. “I need to know if you gon' make yours, too.”
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There was a lull in the shooting, and John Anderson felt like he was in the midst of a dream.
As the police officers' hands guided him away from the car
where he'd given his speech and he listened to the garbled sounds of shouting voices all around him, he could feel that he was in the eye of a storm. And it was troubling, because he knew in his spirit that the thunder and lightning were about to begin anew.
where he'd given his speech and he listened to the garbled sounds of shouting voices all around him, he could feel that he was in the eye of a storm. And it was troubling, because he knew in his spirit that the thunder and lightning were about to begin anew.
Earlier, he had come there in the belief that trouble was what he wanted. But he wasn't so sure anymore. He was, after all, a man of peace, he thought as the officers pushed him through the crowd. But as the moments stretched out, allowing him to see things clearly through the mounting confusion, he realized that he hadn't known peace in forty years.
As he absorbed the various sights around himâa woman running with a baby, an injured man lying on the asphalt, one car crushed against another, police officers shouting into radiosâhe saw the same type of confusion that often raged in his mind.
Thoughts from his past cropped up on a regular basis, challenging the very essence of who he was. These were the thoughts that mocked him for the sermons he preached, and the service he rendered, and the faith he claimed to hold dear.
These thoughts grew into action. And every day, they caused him to fail when his faith was tested. There were tests of the flesh, and tests of his convictions, tests that repeatedly showed that he, like any man, was driven by his desires.
But while other preachers proclaimed that their desires were in line with God's, John Anderson knew that the desires that drove him were anything but godly. They were sometimes downright wicked. And if he'd learned anything on this day, it was that wicked desires bred wicked results.
The police moved him past the car, too slowly it seemed, in an effort to get him away before the shooting resumed.
When it did, John turned, and for the first time recognized the police commissioner on his right.
But as John opened his mouth to shout a warning, the sound of his voice was swallowed up by the thud of a bullet, smacking against flesh like the sound of wood against bone.
John watched the police commissioner fall to the ground in a heap, and in the next moment John was pushed down next to him.
As he lay there, behind the open door of a police car, he prayed that there would be no more death today.
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Keisha sat on the couch and stared across it into the face of the man she'd fallen in love with as a child. It was a face that had matured over the years.
But the boy she'd known was still there, in that face. He lived in those smoldering eyes. She could see him still, staring at her across the playground and speaking without words.
He was saying that the dreams they'd shared as children were going to live or die based upon what happened in the next few moments. There would be no more playground sunsets or secret kisses. There would be no more childhood laughter or shared innocence.
Right here, right now, in the dank air of a basement, Keisha would have to make a choice that only a woman could. And she didn't know if she was ready for that.
“What you thinkin' about?” Jamal asked.
“I'm thinking about the freedom I told you I wanted,” she said thoughtfully. “And I'm wondering why it doesn't seem that important now.”
“Maybe you just scared,” he said, taking her hand in his.
Keisha looked up into his face. “Why would I be afraid?”
“âCause now you gotta do more than just talk about bein' free. You gotta decide if you really want to.”
“Suppose I'm not ready to decide now?”
“Then I guess you already made your decision,” Jamal said sadly.
Keisha wasn't sure what she wanted. But she knew what she didn't want. She didn't want to watch her parents' marriage break under the weight of the ministry. She didn't want to spend the rest of her life wondering what could have been. And most of all, she didn't want to lose Jamal.
“Why can't we just stay here and be together?” she said with upturned eyes.
“'Cause people who don't follow my father's orders don't live long.”
“Where will you go?”
“I don't know,” he said, stroking her hair.
Keisha looked straight ahead and spoke, almost to herself. “How can you live your life, knowing your own father would want to kill you?”
“How can you live in a place where they talk about love, but you never see it?” Jamal retorted.
“How do you know what I see?” she asked saucily.
“'Cause if you saw love, you wouldn't be tryin' to get it from me,” Jamal said, matching her tone.
“If you loved me, you wouldn't talk about my family that way,” Keisha said.
“This ain't about our families, Keisha. It's about us.”
Jamal got up slowly from the couch and walked across the basement floor.
“But since you want to make it about families, let me tell you 'bout mine,” he said quietly.
He paused to allow his mind to unlock the memories.
“My mom was a college girlâa good girl who met my pop one night in a club. He told her he was a businessman. She believed him.
“They dated for a minute, and when he got her pregnant, she found out what his business really was. She hated him for how he made his livin', and she made sure I ain't see him, 'cause she ain't want me to turn out like him. Problem was, she hated me, just like she hated him.”
“That summer I spent comin' down here to see you? I had to sneak down here, 'cause I knew she ain't want me nowhere near my pop.
“When she heard what I was doing', she sent me down South. When that ain't work, she bought me back home. When I got popped the second time for hustlin', she told me what her eyes had told me all my life. She said I wasn't shit. She said, if I wanted to be like my father, I could go 'head and do that. Then she put me out her house, and told me to forget I was her son.”
Jamal turned and faced Keisha, and she thought she could see the reflection of his tears.
“You ask me how I know you don't see no love?” he said quietly. “I know, 'cause I can see it in your eyes. They look just like mine.”
Keisha got up from the couch and threw her arms around his neck. He wrapped his arms around her waist, and the two of them hugged one another in an effort to squeeze away their pain.
Keisha kissed Jamal's cheek, released her embrace, and turned away from him.
“I want to be with you, Jamal,” she said, biting her lip. “But there's so much I want to do with my life. I've been working with this lady at my job who says I have a good eye, and I could probably work in fashion.”
She turned to him. “I want to do that, Jamal. I want to see the world. I want to make a mark.”
“And you can't do that with me?” he said with resentment.
“Haven't you ever wanted anything, Jamal?”
“Yeah,” he said, his voice cracking. “I wanted you.”
The words struck her like lightning, making her forget everything that had come before.
And when she looked into his eyes and saw the depth of his love for her, she knew that her decision had been made. Yes, she wanted the freedom to choose her own path. Yes, she wanted the chance to succeed. But more than any of that, she wanted love. And she knew that she would get that from Jamal.
She kissed him gently on the lips. “I want you, too,” she said tenderly.
Placing her palms against his face, she put her lips against his ear.
“Tell me what I need to do to come with you.”
In the quiet, damp air of the basement, Jamal sat her down on the couch, and began to lay out the plan of escape he'd been formulating since the night before.
“I'ma have to act like I snatched you like my pop told me to.”
He pulled back his shirt to reveal the gun he was carrying in his waistband. “I'ma have to use this.”
She looked at him with a question in her eyes, and he took her hand in an effort to answer it.
“Touch it,” he said, guiding her fingers to the barrel of the gun.
She did, and at once felt something awaken deep inside of her. It was an excitement that was almost sexual.
Her lips parted slightly, and her mouth watered with anticipation. She was finally going to taste the world she'd always seen around herâa world that was reflected in the dim light that played upon the gun's gray steel.
“I'ma carry this gun,” he said with a sly smile playing on his lips. “But I want you to know my gun belong to you.”
Keisha felt herself blush at the underlying message.
“I want you to understand somethin' else, too,” he said, stroking her cheek.
“What's that?”
“No matter what happen in the next few hours, no matter what it look like I'm doin', I want you to understand that I love you. And I would never let nothin' happen to you.”
She placed her hand against his, and guided it along her face. “I know.”
Jamal kissed her tenderly. Then he pulled out a cell phone and called one of his father's people to say he had the girl.
As he spoke, Keisha could hear the shooting outside begin anew. The sound of the bullets made her feel alive.
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Lynch crouched behind the car where Reverend Anderson had stood and listened to the high-pitched whine of bullets as they ricocheted off nearby parked cars. From where he was kneeling, it was hard to tell whom the gunman was targeting, or if he was aiming at all.
He knew that the shooter was on a rooftop, and that it was his job to remove him.
He watched as panicked protesters ran one block east and charged onto Philadelphia's main thoroughfare, Broad Street, stumbling into rush-hour traffic.
He saw cars swerve and crash to avoid fleeing people as screams pierced the air and bodies were flung skyward. And when the crumpled wrecks had filled the intersection and the injured lay moaning in agony, he watched traffic back up in all directions, leaving the crowd trapped between twisted metal and flying lead.
As the gunfire continued, residents of the block shut their doors and huddled inside. Police were pinned down near their vehicles.
Children cried for their mothers. Husbands called to their wives. And Lynch jumped out from behind the car where he'd been hiding. He ran full speed toward an alley on the north side of the street.
Children cried for their mothers. Husbands called to their wives. And Lynch jumped out from behind the car where he'd been hiding. He ran full speed toward an alley on the north side of the street.
Once there, he pulled his weapon and looked down the alley to see if there was clear passage to the other side. But he couldn't see anything beyond the weeds and trash in front of him.
“Dan two-five!” he yelled into his handheld radio. “Get me some more units on Dauphin Street!”
The sound of sirens filled the air in response to his call. But even if backup could get there, they'd have to abandon their vehicles and make their way to Dauphin Street on foot.
Lynch didn't have time to wait for that.
Holstering his gun, he covered his face with his arm to shield himself from the tear-shaped leaves that whipped back at him as he pushed through the trash-strewn alley.
As he passed through, he peered to his right, through the man-sized weeds, and saw children staring out at him from a kitchen window. Their faces were etched with the same emotion that pervaded the nearby streetsâfear.
Just across from them, on the other side of the alley, he found what he was looking for. Removing his gun from its holster, he stepped over knee-high trash and pushed through a dry-rotted wooden gate to an abandoned house.
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