The Old Neighborhood (8 page)

I headed out of the alley after dinner one night. On my way through the dark gangway, I could hear the shuffle of sneakers on concrete and the clank and pank of the game. I opened the gate and saw six kids leaning against the garage across the alley. They watched Ryan play one on one against a kid I'd never seen before. He was thin and taller than me. He wore a tan shirt with a logo I'd never seen, dark green jean-shorts, and Puma sneakers. I walked around the game to where the rest of the kids stood.

“Who's that?” I asked Mario.

“That's the new kid,” Mario replied, whipping his long hair out of his face. “He just moved into the apartments over there.” He nodded toward the large apartments down the alley that faced onto Olive Ave.

The new kid looked Oriental. He had black, slicked-back hair tied up in a pony-tail, and he was good. He was beating Ryan, bad—seven-zip.

“Where's he from?” I asked.

“California, right?” Mario asked, looking at the girls, who were all giggling and whispering.

“Uh huh, Ca-li-for-nia,” Hyacinth said, throwing exuberant emphasis on each syllable. She twirled her finger through her hair and watched the game. My throat tightened, and my palms itched, and I wanted to play real bad. I didn't know why, but I already hated this new kid.

The new kid ended up winning, 11-2.

“Good game,” Ryan said as they shook hands. “Damn, you beat my ass.”

“Naw, good game,” the new kid said as he wiped the sweat from his forehead, then slid his hand along his gleaming hair.

“Aye, you meet Joe yet? He's my best friend,” Ryan said, nodding toward me. “Aye, Joe, this the new kid. What you say your name was?”

“Angel,” the kid said.

The girls muttered, “Angel, Angel,” and giggled.

“What's up,” I said, nodding to him. Then, I grabbed the ball out of Ryan's hands. “We shootin' for captains or what?”

All the boys got in line to shoot at the long, crooked crack in the center of the alley. I shot first and made it. Ryan shot and missed. I grabbed the rebound and shoved a hard bounce pass to Angel, who caught it by his chest. He glared at me. His mouth hung open, and his dark eyes dampened. Then, he shot and made it.

“Shoot for first pick,” Ryan said, passing the ball to Angel.

Angel took it and shoved a hard pass to me. We glowered at each other again. My heart pattered, ready to drop the ball and unload fists into his mug.

“Go ahead,” Angel urged.

My heart thumped in my chest. I turned and shot a long, arching one that clanged off the side of the rim. We picked teams, and everyone knew who was guarding who. I stood with my back to the garage, said, “Check ball,” and bounced it to Angel. He caught it, looked at it, and passed it back to me. I faked left and went right, then surged past Angel and shot one of my runners that banked home. I jogged back to the far line and smiled at Hyacinth. She grinned back and revealed the small gap in her front teeth.

Angel dribbled the ball towards the check line.

“Naw, we play keeps around here,” I said, then snatched the ball from him.

I checked the ball to Angel, then faked a pass. He leapt at it, and I giggled as he stumbled. I put up a shot from right there and instantly knew I'd missed, so I darted to the side of the hoop I thought it'd clang towards. Angel slashed for the rebound, too. The ball jolted high off the rim and arced downward. We both leapt and collided in mid-air, but I had more inertia and toppled him sideways, snagging the ball with both hands before I landed. I then took it out to the side. Angel trailed me. I stopped, then drove straight at him. He stood his ground. I dug my shoulder into his solar plexus, and he stumbled. I bounced back and passed to Mario. Suddenly, Angel cut in front of the pass and stole the ball.

He dribbled back to take the ball out and reset the play, and I followed him. He cut right quickly and surged past me. I pursued as he drove in and went for a lay-up. I swooped in, leapt up, and blocked the shot from behind before I landed full-force onto his back. We tumbled and crashed into my garage with a thunderous boom. Angel spun under me and with his back against the garage and pushed me hard in my face and chest.

A bubbling rage ignited in my shoulders, and I stood up and pushed Angel as he got to his feet. Then, I punched him in the cheek. Mario jumped between us, but Ryan shoved him out of the way.

“Naw, let 'em fight,” Ryan sneered.

Angel and I squared-up. His face was all tied up in a knot, and he rushed me without warning. He flung quick fists that smacked me in the head and face; they felt like speeding little stones. I swung wild and missed, and he peppered me as I stumbled sideways. I reached out and grabbed his shirt, and he kneed me in the sternum. All my wind jettisoned from my mouth and nostrils. I collapsed to my knees on the concrete, awestruck at how fast he was, and how he'd delivered all those blows without hesitation or even thinking about it. I gripped my chest, and he wacked me with a hard punch on the side of my head.

“Are ya done?” he asked.

I was about to say
‘
yeah' when Lil Pat stormed out of the gangway. He plucked me up off the ground by my collar and shoved Angel away from me. He bent down and looked me in the eyes. His beard and mustache were scruffy and dirty. Fried chicken was all over his breath.

“Joey, don't you let that little spick whoop you,” Lil Pat said and clouted me across the cheek. “Now get in there God damn it!” He shoved me towards Angel. I closed my eyes, squeezed my fists, and started swinging haymakers.

I stormed forward. My hard, looping punches landed and drove Angel into the wooden plank fence across the alley. Angel smashed against it hard. Then he bent over at the waist and covered his head. I lumped him up nasty. He crumpled and curled into a ball at my feet. These little whining sounds poured out of him. Suddenly, it struck me: this poor kid just came out here trying to make some new friends, and now look at him. Look at me. Lil Pat walked up and grabbed me by the shoulder.

“Atta boy, Joey. Don't ever let nobody whoop you in dis alley,” he said. Then, he patted me on the back and walked me away from Angel, who laid there curled-up and whimpering.

Lil Pat grabbed the basketball from the ground where it had rolled to a stop and shot. Angel stood, stumbled, and ran towards his house.

“Well, you don't gotta worry about him no more,” Lil Pat laughed.

I looked over at Hyacinth who was watching Angel with her hand over her open mouth. She scowled at me and shook her head. Then, she huffed off towards her house, and the other girls followed. A blue rust bucket pulled in to the mouth of the alley at Hermitage, and we all flinched at its bright, rectangular headlights. Lil Pat walked over and got in, and it eased slowly through our court.

Most of the kids left after that. I didn't feel like playing anymore and sat against my garage. A headache set in. After a while, it was just Ryan and I. He sat down next to me with the ball under his bent legs.

“What was that all about, man?” he asked.

“I don't know,” I replied.

“He's an alright kid,” Ryan said, shrugging.

“Yeah.” I looked down the empty alley where he'd run. “He probably is. Thanks for letting us get it over with.”

“No problem.”

“He gave me a fat lip,” I said, rubbing the bubble along my lower lip.

“Imagine the way he feels,” Ryan replied, arching his red eyebrows.

“Yeah,” I said, and looked down the quiet, narrow alley.

“Alright, man, I'm gonna head home,” Ryan said as he stood. “You OK, right?”

“Yeah, I'm fine,” I said, standing up slowly. “Aye, if you see that kid around, man, tell him I'm sorry, OK?”

“Alright, man. I'll tell him.”

We shook hands and Ryan disappeared down the alley. I stood there alone feeling sick to my stomach. Then, I went in through the gangway and up to bed.

CHAPTER 6

LOW RIDER

I KNEW MY BROTHER WAS A KILLER.
I saw exactly what he'd done. I couldn't lie about it to myself, and the horror of that followed me, always. I loved him—he was a very good big brother to me. Hell, I adored him. It all had me wondering strange things, like if it was OK to kill people. If they shoot at you, then maybe it is. But if they're running away, then maybe not. But what if they came back again next time and didn't miss and killed you? And what was Lil Pat supposed to do, hold the guy there at the pharmacy until the cops showed up? Citizen's arrest, like in that movie
Police Academy
? It didn't work there, neither. I knew the right answer was there, hovering in front of me, and I'd grapple for it in my dreams and sometimes in the days I'd talk with Ryan.

“I've been dreaming about that Assyrian guy again,” I said.

“That sucks,” he answered.

“Ever think about him?”

“Sometimes. Pretty gross seeing him like that, huh?”

“Yeah it was. I never thought I'd see a dead body up close like that.”

“I guess it was gonna happen sooner or later.”

“Yeah. I guess so… You think he deserved it?”

“Man… I don't know. I guess he did. He coulda killed somebody shooting like that. Coulda killed Mickey or Pat.”

“I can't believe they chased him right off. Those two are crazy as fuck.”

“Yep. Hahaha… Down for their crown.”

“Ha, yeah I guess. Ever think you're gonna have to kill somebody one day?”

“I don't know. Mickey says my dad killed some people. A Royal and somebody else…”

“They say my old man was pretty bad, too…”

“I tell you what, if anybody ever tried to hurt my family, or hurt you, I'd kill 'em over that.”

“Me, too…” I said and exhaled a long breath. “Me, too.”

•

ONE DAY, LIL PAT PICKED ME UP
alone after collecting. Ryan wasn't there that day; he'd gone to visit his dad in prison. Lil Pat pulled in front of the house and sent me in to grab a Ministry tape. He said it was in his closet, so I ran down there and dug around the disheveled shelves. I dipped my hand into a shelf in his closet and pricked my index finger on something. I recoiled and gripped my hand. A small bead of blood bubbled up along the grains of my fingerprint. I sucked the blood from it, then squeezed my fist together until it stopped. I lifted a dirty t-shirt, and a needle, like the ones Ma used for her insulin shots, sat inside. There was a little ball of brown powder in a plastic bag with a foot-long piece of rubber tubing lying next to it. I'd heard about hard drugs from Officer Friendly when he came to St. Greg's, and it scared me that Lil Pat was using them. I couldn't differentiate between heroin and crack, but I knew that needles were really bad.

I found the tape, ran upstairs, and got in the car. He pulled away as I gripped at the pain in my fingertip.

“What happened?” he asked.

“I pricked myself on something.”

“What?” He glanced at me. “What was it?”

“A needle.”

“Aw, Jesus, let me see.” He grabbed at my hand and looked at the pink fingertip. The blood persistently rose in a small red dab.

“Are you OK? How do you feel?”

“I'm OK. It's OK.”

“Jesus. You got to be careful, kid.” He sipped his Miller tall boy.

We drove to the beach and parked in a space facing out to the lake. The sun began to set behind us as we listened to Ministry's hard, industrial beats. Finally, he clicked it off.

The lake was choppy. White froth appeared as the dark waves  crested.

“Pat, was that drugs in the bag? The brown stuff?”

Lil Pat reclined in his seat and killed his beer.

“Kid, I done seen a lot of things in my life. I done things….” He sighed heavily. “You don't know what I done, kid…. You'll never know.”

He snapped the tab on another beer. We sat there for a while, quiet. He gazed way out across the lake like he was floating somewhere. Some place safe. Some place where things were simple. Fishing, or just walking in a forest in the U.P. hunting grouse. I almost said it—told him what I'd seen—but it got all welled up inside. I wanted to tell him he was a good person. He was a good brother. But, where he was, I don't think he could have heard me.

•

I FINALLY GOT UP THE NERVE
to head over by Ryan's house. He hadn't come by that day, and I was lonely. I'd completely avoided the Dead-End-Docks since the fight with Leroy. Ryan'd said he'd smoothed it all over and that no one was mad at me, but my brother should never come back around again. Ever. I knocked on Ryan's front door. No one home except the three dogs that barked and snarled at the square of glass in the oak door. Their puffing snouts pressed against it and fogged their faces.

I walked around back a little nervous. Maybe they were just telling Ryan that they weren't mad so they could get me to come back. When I rounded his garage, I saw a huge shack way over at the far-end of the alley. It was made out of scrap wood, and kids swarmed around it like ants. BB stood atop the 12-foot dumpster near the Ace Hardware loading dock throwing down scraps of 2X4 and plywood to T-Money and a few others. Ryan's prickly, copper scalp emerged out of a square hunk of gray rug at the entrance of the shack. He crawled out. The shack stood waist-high, but it was all slanted and disjointed. Part of the roof was made out of an old refrigerator door, and there was a tan tarp that flapped in the breeze in back. As I walked up, Angel crawled out after Ryan. I hadn't counted on that, and my head swirled uncomfortably as Ryan walked up. He greeted me with a hand shake, and Angel stepped up beside him and smiled awkwardly. His thin lips trembled a little at the creases, and his dark hair was all sprinkled with white dust.