The Dying Ground (16 page)

Holly slapped the bill of Crowley’s cap. “Calvin T. Appropriate to the situation.”

“Rap always is, baby.”

We watched Crowley and company disappear toward Fairyland, a park for kids on the shores of Lake Merritt.

“Mind if we go back over to Flea’s? Regina gave me the keys yesterday.”

“What for?”

“Ain’t no telling what we might find.”

Holly squinted his eyes to shield them from the sun. “You starting to suspect your girl?”

“Naw.” But my answer was weak, my confidence shaken by the loud silence that came with Felicia’s absence. “I just feel like I need to keep busy before I go crazy.”

“Cool. You drive.”

W
e pulled up at Felicia’s apartment just as Reggie’s Impala came charging down the street.

“Got damn, them niggas here already,” Holly said.

We exited the Cougar and stood on the grass of the Victorian. Reggie drove over the sidewalk and parked his car at an angle on the grass. The Impala’s bumper rested casually against our knees.

“Here we go,” Holly said, as Reggie bounced from the driver’s side with a chain wrapped around his left hand.

He was wearing his Crip uniform, as was Crim, and we could tell from the look on their faces that they hadn’t slept all night. Reggie led the way, walking right up in Holly’s face. “Where my sister at?”

“That’s what we trying to find out,” Holly answered coolly. There was weariness in his voice, a weariness that came from playing cleanup in other people’s lives: his mother’s, his crewmen, his uncles, and mine.

Reggie turned to me, and I could smell the mustiness on his body. On closer inspection I saw yellow rings under the arms of his T-shirt and stray hairs escaping from his cornrows. His breath was stale but his eyes were alert and focused on me in concentrated anger. “Square padna, how my sister get caught up?”

“She was with Billy the other night, not too far from here, and someone jacked them at the light. The police think Flea was there. The passenger door was open and one of her shoes was in the car.” I paused. “Ain’t nobody seen her since.”

“Regina said something about some niggas looking for her.”

Holly and I looked at each other, astonished that Regina had revealed that information.

I sighed. “Some of Billy’s boys think Flea set him up for a hit.” Crim stepped forward at my choice of words, and I took an automatic step backward. Holly moved in closer.

Crim spoke for the first time, in a raspy-dead voice that probably haunted many of his victims. “Wh-wh-where my sister at?” Since Crim had never spoken in my presence I was surprised to hear his stutter.

“We were hoping she called y’all.”

“We ain’t heard from her. I ain’t seen Flea in a couple of months.”

“Wh-wh-wh-who was looking for her?” Crim stepped even closer.

“Some of Billy’s boys.”

“You trying to protect somebody—”

Before I could answer, Holly said, “This motherfucker got a death wish.” I turned to see Charlie’s black Bronco at the corner light.

Time stopped.

Instinctively, Holly and I backed toward the open doors of
the Cougar. I watched the Bronco hoping it would turn left, but I knew that would never happen.

After growing impatient, Charlie maneuvered around a car and ran through the red light and right up behind the Impala.

“Where that bitch Felicia at?” were the last words we heard before Holly and I dove into the Cougar and left Charlie to his fate. The dumbstruck look on his face almost made me feel sorry for him.

Almost.

Through my rearview mirror I saw Reggie drop to the ground without even acknowledging Charlie and sweep him off his feet with his legs. As Charlie fell backward, Crim aided his fall with a series of blows right in Charlie’s neck. Charlie’s hands went up to protect his face while Reggie lashed him with the short end of the chain.

Just as we hit the corner we saw Charlie gasping for air as the two of them threw him in the back of the Impala. Reggie jumped into the driver’s seat while Crim tumbled into the Bronco. If any neighbors had happened to look out of the window, the sheer fury of the beating would have made them retreat.

Holly and I rode in silence, too stunned to speak. Neither of us were strangers to violence, and despite the murder rate there was still something cartoonish about Bay Area crime. The participants still hoped to escape with a little something for the sunset, while the L.A. equivalent never expected to survive any of it.

As I turned into the Nickel and Dime I noticed for the first time that my hands were shaking. “Flea’s brothers scare the shit out of me,” I said.

I never drink and Holly could probably count every drink he’s ever had on one hand, but we both walked into the bar with the same thing on our minds: liquor.

Daddy Al was there, working a crossword puzzle, while the Three Wise Men played dominoes.

Paulie was behind the bar, serving a lone customer at the far end. It was a slow day so only one waitress, Vicki, was on duty. The stage was empty, the band’s equipment shoved against a wall covered with rows of aluminum foil.

On our way to the bar we stopped to greet the four old men.

“Hey, Daddy Al.”

He didn’t look up from the puzzle. “You working tonight?”

“I’m off.”

The bones slapped heavily as Soup Can dished it out to Tully and Potter.

“How’s everybody?”

They mumbled responses as I moved away. We took a seat on the street side of the bar. “Paulie, give me two beers.”

He placed the mugs in front of us and reached under the cash register for three slips of paper. “Messages.”

Two had the name Clarence Mann and the same phone number. The third was from Crowley, and it simply said
San Francisco. Nine o’clock. Tower Records. Marin boys.

I grabbed the phone from beneath the bar and handed it to Holly. He paged the number and we waited as the Isley Brothers wailed from the jukebox.

The phone rang before they got to the end of the song. “The Nickel and Dime…. Yep. Hold on.”

Paulie handed the phone to Holly and walked away. He busied himself with dirty glasses, eager not to hear a word of the conversation.

“This Holly…. Nuthin’ yet, man…. We’ll be in The City tonight. … Cool. … Tower Records. … Yep, nine o’clock.”

He hung up, and we drank in silence. Behind us, the front door opened. I saw Black Jeff framed in the doorway.

“Wassuper?” His slang swung back and forth between hiphop and skateboarder at unchecked intervals.

I gave him a pound. “What you doing so far from Rasputin’s?”

“Oakland’s my town, baby. I’m just letting y’all use it.” He turned to Holly. “You hear? Funeral tomorrow.”

“When you hear that?”

“This morning. His mama want it over as soon as possible. She ain’t gonna wait for Felicia to show. Anyway, C.M.E. Cathedral, on Telegraph near Fortieth.”

“You’ll be there?”

He tapped his heart with his fist. “Without a doubt. Your girl got twelve hours to show or she’ll miss them putting him down.” I knew he was giving me info to pass to Felicia in case we were in touch.

“Peace,” he said, and headed toward the bathroom.

“Peace,” Holly and I offered back.

We could only hope.

A
trip across the Bay Bridge at ninety miles an hour, and we arrived in North Beach about five after nine. I wore a coat. As always, the twenty-mile difference between the East Bay and San Francisco meant a temperature difference of at least fifteen degrees. Add the fog and the icy winds sweeping through the Golden Gate, and we were cold. In a phenomenon unique to the Bay Area, it was possible to experience three different weather fronts within a forty-mile radius.

Inside Tower Records the aisles were crowded with late-night shoppers, couples, and teenagers out on dates. Clarence and the Samoans browsed the R&B section. From a distance I could see him having a heated conversation with his two silent pillars.

“That’s some odd shit, him and them Samoans,” Holly said, under his breath.

“Man, I thought I was the only one who thought so.”

Holly and I laughed as we made our way down the aisle. Rap was in the back of the store under a wall of surveillance mirrors and security cameras.

Two White boys in khakis and bomber jackets conversed over Public Enemy. Chuck D was angry enough to get the bulk of his sales from the people he railed against.

“Wassup?” Holly stepped to the taller one, who continued his conversation as if Holly wasn’t there. Holly’s reputation was well known in Oakland but his physical appearance did little to alert those without knowledge of his background. The White boys made the mistake of labeling him a mark a little too early in the evening.

“Wassup?” Holly repeated.

The taller one turned around. “Wassup with you?”

Holly grinned, the same grin he’d locked on Smokey two days previous. The boys were already over the line and neither one of them had any idea.

“I’m Marc.” Holly used the name to let me know he knew what they thought of him.

“No names, Marc. We don’t fuckin’ know you. Didn’t they tell you …?” He turned to his friend. “Jesus, this shit out of Oakland gets more amateurish every day. Who was that last idiot?” The man continued to speak as if Holly wasn’t there. At the same time Holly’s grin grew wider.

“Sorry about that.” Holly managed to mimic the nasal tones of the guy’s speech. “I’ll just call you Guy then. Is that cool, Guy?”

“Whatever. Let’s get out of here. You know your way around The City?”

“Sure.”

“Alright. Two blocks. Dead-end street. There’s a tunnel boarded up on one end. Park your car away from the street and walk there.”

He turned his back and walked away. Holly called after him, “That’s perfect, Guy.”

Guy didn’t know how perfect it was. We followed them out, Clarence and his crew not too far behind.

I parked illegally and slanted my wheels to keep the car from rolling down the steep hill. Guy and his friend were just where they said when we arrived. They looked up as we approached and went back to their conversation. Something important. Something about a movie. Holly let them get to the description of the last half before he slapped Guy across the side of his face with the barrel of his gun. It took the partner a moment to register what had happened, but by that time Guy was on the ground clutching the side of his head and trying to keep Holly’s fist away from his mouth.

“You think you can talk stupid to me, motherfucker?” Holly yanked the man up on his feet as the Samoans dropped from up above. They had taken another route, the top of the tunnel.

“Hey, I’m sorry. It was precaution—”

“How long you been fucking with Charlie?”

“Who?”

Holly whacked him again. “Charlie Carl, you know who I’m talking about.”

“He just started coming around. We had to send him away. He was bullshit. He sold us bogus shit. I think you broke my nose.”

“I don’t give a fuck about that. What kind of bogus shit?”

“Drugs. It was shit, but we knew where to find him.”

Bingo.

“Who else you know?”

“Nobody.”

Holly raised his hand.