The Dying Ground (18 page)

Heads dropped and the casket made its way up the stairs. The crowd flowed behind it as Cissy, Regina, and I entered the church. As I took my seat I looked around to see who had made it inside. My eyes fell on a woman covered in black, a veil obscuring her face: Billy’s mother, Delores. She sat stoic, facing forward, while two heavyset women wept openly at her side. Reggie and Crim sat where Felicia should have been. I
knew, wherever she was, it was killing her to miss Billy’s funeral.

My eyes made another sweep and landed on Alixe, sitting next to Chantal and Patrice. She looked out of place, bewildered by the pageantry for a person who didn’t rate in her world. I wondered why she was there.

Holly slid into the seat beside me as Reverend Mimms took the pulpit. “How many of y’all tired of coming here”—he paused—“for this? How many of y’all tired of laying these young men to rest?”

“Uh-huh, go ’head now,” Mrs. Johnson said at my side. “Tell ’em, Preacher.”

I glanced over at Alixe again to find her eyes sweeping the room and then focusing on the pallbearers. When she got to Holly she found me staring intently at her. She returned her focus to the pulpit.

Once Reverend Mimms finished his opening, Regina rose and took her place. She said defiantly before she began to sing a cappella, “This is from my girl. I had to represent her today no matter what any of y’all think.” She looked at Billy lying in the casket and said simply. “Felicia loves you.” Then she inhaled deeply and began to sing.

“You’re my morning star/Shining brightly beside me/And if we keep this love/We will last through all eternity …” She held the last word and her voice reached the rafters of the church. I saw a tear slide down her face as the choir charged in with the chorus, still unaccompanied by music. As they faded out to a steady hum, Regina turned to Billy. It was obvious to everyone watching that she wanted him to hear Felicia’s message, wherever he was.

She belted another verse and then the choir thundered through again and pulled several people from their seats. I saw Gra’mère drop her head and tap her feet as if she were in physical
pain. Cissy put her hands to her face, but tears managed to make their way through. Holly placed his hand on her knee to offer comfort, and I was glad he sat close enough to provide it. Regina rocked back and forth while the choir boomed behind her.

Regina and the choir breathed new life into Natalie Cole’s “Our Love” as she sang to represent her friend, Billy’s heart, who could not show her face. There was barely a dry eye in the church. Once she finished, Reverend Mimms had to guide her back to her seat. Daddy Al rose to meet them halfway and let the sobbing Regina collapse in his arms. Through it all I continued to watch the casket. Regina’s song was so powerful I half expected Billy to wake up and stand.

The funeral progressed, but not once did I see Billy’s mother shed a tear. Even when it came time to view the body she managed to hold herself together. She walked alone, shrugging off the arm offered by the funeral director and her companions. The church was silent as she stood quietly before the casket, staring at the body of her son. She didn’t lift her veil, but she pressed her fingers to her lips and touched Billy’s forehead. She glanced at him one more time and then walked through the side door of the church.

The women followed, then Reggie and Crim, who stood shoulder to shoulder at the head of the casket. Reggie leaned forward and whispered into Billy’s ear. I hoped the message was from Felicia but something told me it wasn’t. Crim finally pulled him away, but not before turning to glance into the faces of the congregation. He paused on Emmet, Malcolm, Clarence, Bilau, Mosley, Holly, and then me. He held my gaze and Holly’s until Daddy Al leaned over and glanced down the aisle at the both of us. Once they departed through the side door the funeral director moved up row by row to allow everyone to go up and view the body.

When our turn came my grandparents remained seated,
as did Mrs. Johnson. I moved forward, feeling like I was walking in sand. I knew people were talking and moving beside me, but I could not hear them. The colors surrounding me were faded, the voices muted until it was just a tunnel with me at one end and Billy at the other. I was him, save for a grandfather who continued to pull me back from the edge.

Holly stood before me, gazing into Billy’s face like he was searching for answers. I knew Holly still loved Billy, just like I did, and admired the way Billy had stayed focused and true to his profession. I also knew that the murder touched him deeply. Billy was supposed to be exempt, his reputation and his way of doing business a safeguard in a ruthless environment. If they didn’t work for Billy, someone at the top of his game, how could Holly hope to stay alive? Before Holly moved off he touched his heart lightly and made way for me.

I looked down to see a picture of Felicia stuck in Billy’s lapel, the only piece of her present. I moved away quickly, leaving Cissy and Regina to fend for themselves, and rushed out the side door and stood in the parking lot. It was filled to capacity but I managed to find a spot in a far corner. Daddy Al found me moments later.

“You alright, son?”

“No.” The tears I’d been holding finally slid down my face. I felt like a five-year-old crying at my grandfather’s side.

“Let it go. Let it go.” He put a hand on my shoulder and turned his body to give me as much privacy as I needed. While I cried I didn’t know if the tears were for Felicia, Billy, or myself.

“It wasn’t suppose to be like this.”

“Like what?” There was a touch of anger in his voice. “Like what? Did y’all think the game you was playing could cheat death? I look at all these young people here, and the way every last one of you is mesmerized by this. And as long as y’all don’t
see”—he shook his head and dropped his voice—“we don’t stand a motherfucking chance.”

Over his shoulder I saw Alixe staring in my direction. For once the bravado was gone from her face. I thought I saw compassion, but I wiped my eyes before I let my grief tell me another lie.

I
t took over half an hour to wind the mile to Mountain View Cemetery. We finally made it up the hill to the burial site. The road around the grassy area overflowed with at least three hundred people. At the top of the hill a line of white chairs was set up for the elderly. Billy’s mother sat in the middle, still veiled and quiet.

The buzz of the crowd dropped to a low hum as the cemetery pallbearers navigated their way to the open grave. The casket was placed atop metal lifts as Reverend Mimms took his place in front of the mourners.

He presented the folded blanket to Billy’s mother and opened his Bible. As he talked a gentle breeze, a whisper, kicked up and sent a tumble of leaves across the hill. Reverend Mimms closed his Bible and turned to the pallbearers. The leader slipped on a pair of work gloves and placed his hand on the crank. As the first creak of the casket was heard, a shriek penetrated
the crowd. And before anyone could say anything, Billy’s mother was at the graveside on her knees.

“My baby, oh, Lord, my baby! Billy, Billy, oh no, baby, oh no!” While she wailed, Mimms and the funeral director tried to pull her away, but she was planted as sure as the grass.

“They killed my baby. Oh, Lord, help me, help him.” She convulsed in tears, her head dropped onto her chest. Her arms flopped at her side, loose enough to allow the two men to lift her with the help of Emmet, who’d rushed forward. Her grief and the closed casket sent another wave of tears through the crowd. I felt my face burn hot with them.

Once the casket disappeared the crowd started to wander away, back to life, back to crime, back to the day-to-day that had brought Billy to his end.

As I walked I glanced here and there, hoping to spot Felicia hiding out, but she was nowhere to be seen. Reggie and Crim had also skipped the graveside, much to my relief. Their presence and Charlie’s disappearance was too much dynamite in one place.

“Cette pauvre femme.” Gra’mère
walked at my side. “If you have children you pray every night that you never have to bury them. Oh, my heart is with her.”

“Lady Belle, you alright?”

“I’m fine, Redfield. It’s just not right.” Daddy Al reached out and took Gra’mère’s hand in his, and she leaned in a little closer to him. Cissy took his other hand.

“Holly, you got a minute?” Emmet had slipped up to us while I watched my grandparents. Malcolm and Clarence stood behind him.

“Yeah, wassup?”

“You know anything about Charlie?”

“You saw the same thing I did. Her brothers rode up in his car.”

“Man.” Emmet wiped his brow. “Who brought those nig-gas to town?”

“They came to get their sister. Charlie was talking to any-and everybody about waxing her.”

“She still in the cut?” Emmet asked.

“Far as I know.”

“What’s the word on your side?”

“Ain’t nobody saying. What about you?”

“Nothing. He didn’t even have funk with anybody about territory. Billy was cool with everybody, looking to get out of the game after he hooked up with that girl.”

“You think she set him up?” Holly asked.

“Either that or Charlie’s trying to throw heat on her because he was living foul. Unless he’s dead ain’t no reason why he couldn’t be here today.”

I disagreed. I knew two blue-wearing reasons why he couldn’t be there.

“You know, Charlie was fucking with White boys from Marin, and he conned ’em out of some dope. I don’t know if Billy knew about it or if they knew about Billy,” Holly offered. “You ridin’ if we get word?”

Emmet never hesitated. “The second we know who did it, I’m riding on anybody.”

Clarence moved up, flanked by the two Samoans. “Fellas.” He nodded to all of us. “Billy was solid. This shit here ain’t right. Y’all need me, you know where to find me.”

Emmet gave him a pound.

“I’ll be in touch wit’ you. Feds trying to take me out of the game. They got leeches on my phone line—”

“I hear ya, man. They been filming all day.” Emmet slipped on his shades.

Everyone stopped talking as Smokey approached.

Smokey stood directly in front of Holly. “Two of my boys,
White boys, said they met up wit’ some folks from Oakland the other night. San Francisco. Tower Records. You know anything about that?”

“Should I?” Holly countered.

“That’s three times, motherfucker.”

“Come wit’ it then, fool. You ain’t done shit yet.”

Smokey looked toward the Feds lining the hills behind the grave. “You been lucky every time.”

“It ain’t luck. You a trick.” Emmet, Clarence, and Malcolm laughed behind Holly. “Born a trick, gonna die a trick.”

“We’ll see.”

Holly turned to his audience. “Ask him why his only son call me daddy. Matter of fact, ask that nigga why his son look like me!”

The group gathered around Holly broke into loud raucous laughter, laughter inappropriate and too sharp for a funeral gathering.

“Oh, you just saying anything now, huh?” Smokey tried to keep his composure while people snickered all around him.

Smokey had one child, a four-year-old boy named Kevin who cringed whenever Smokey was around. His mother, Cynthia, had an on-again, off-again relationship with Holly. Her interest in Smokey’s rival peaked whenever Smokey neglected her or their son or greeted her with fists and open hands. I’d seen her with Holly more than once with sunglasses that barely covered the bruises on her face. She was a nice girl, pretty even, but pathetic.

“What? You don’t believe me?” Holly laughed again. “Ask your woman. Or ask your son who his daddy is.”

Sweat beaded on Smokey’s forehead. His anger was apparent to all of us. “Just name the place, Holly.”

Holly extended his hands out at his sides. “I’m wide open.”

“Gentlemen.” Reverend Mimms stepped up to defuse the
rising tensions. “Y’all wouldn’t be thinking of upsetting Mrs. Crane any more than necessary, would you?”

A look toward Billy’s mother squashed the drama instantly. Smokey moved away, as did the crowd that had gathered. Reverend Mimms followed.

“Everybody looking for bloodshed behind this,” Holly said.

“And there will be plenty,” Emmet answered.

“I give it to midnight,” Clarence threw in.

“Yeah.” Emmet slipped on his sunglasses. “And I hope for that broad’s sake she ain’t the cause of it.” He looked at me over the top of his sunglasses. “’cause she won’t be spared.”

Felicia was officially marked.

I hear a voice at the edge of my dream, far off and muffled by the sound of rain, a heavy, thick rain that turns the intersection of College and Alcatraz into a pool of red, oozing blood. The street is deserted, as if it’s the dead of night, but it’s broad daylight. The sun blazes so hard that when the rain hits the pavement it sizzles like lava.

Billy is sitting on the curb, shoeless, his ankles caked with dried mud. He looks on as the red water washes into the storm drain. His car is parked in the middle of the street with the passenger door open and hanging from the hinges.

Felicia’s tennis shoe lies near the front tire, sparkling white as usual, despite the mud. A stream of water envelops the shoe and moves it toward Billy. He snatches it up before it reaches the gutter.