The Old Neighborhood (44 page)

He looked at me with his eyes bold and bloodshot. Just over his shoulder, Angie shuffled to her feet and hurried off down the alley, shivering, screeching, and clawing at her sopping wet hair. There was the smell of piss, saliva, and drenched sex. Ryan's lips spread and he bared his teeth--one eye tooth grew down on top of the other like a second skin. He was sneering, frowning, and grinning all in one, and then I understood—he'd done it for me. That was how he'd paid her back for what she'd done to me, and I knew then that he was sick beyond all help. He was gone. So far gone from what he'd been the day I met him all those years ago when we were just scared little boys. And I knew he'd never be able to get back to that, like it'd been deleted from his insides. I was sure then that there was nothing in store for him but ugliness from there on out, and he was prepared for what was to come. All of it emblazoned on that pale, acne-scarred mug. That copper fuzz dangling off his square chin. That glossy, black three-quarter trench coat.

We smoked a few more squares, then I dipped over to Hyacinth's. She wasn't home, and I didn't know how I could explain it to her anyway—how that horrible act Ryan'd just done to that poor, old junky whore was an expression of love, and how it made me feel nothing but rage and disgust. I couldn't grab hold of one single thing in all of it. Not one single person or moment to throw my broiling rage at. I just wanted to hold Hyacinth in my arms and not tell her a damn thing. Just hold her and feel all that pure love between us—all that great, giant blue lake of love there, and just be quiet with that for a while 'til it all passed or got swallowed up. But she was gone, probably at volleyball practice, or at a girlfriend's house painting each other's toenails. But there was a kind of solace in that, too. 'Cause at least she was far away from all of that ugliness. Far away and safe.

•

THERE WERE A COUPLE
big busts higher up on the food chain, so we had to go buy a few ounces from the North Pole Moe's connect up by Howard and Ridge. We'd held on to some loot, and Mickey decided to let us buy an ounce of our own as a reward. It was early evening. Mickey drove and Chief rode shotgun. I stared at the light glinting off the back of Chief's blond, curly box cut. All three of us rode in back. They'd beat me to the call, so I rode bitch. We passed a spliff around as Cyprus Hill's “Hits from the Bong” oozed from the stereo. It was a Friday night, and when we pulled onto Howard off Sheridan, there were cars backed up all the way from Paulina. The sidewalk buzzed. A tall black hooker slinked past. Her black weave had blonde streaks curled down past her shoulders, and her huge hoop earrings jostled as she clanked past in tall green heels.

“Your first ounce,” Mickey said. “Remember your first
ounce, Chief?”

Chief just shook his head and smiled.

“You boys are coming up in the world. Next thing you know, you'll be moving a key,” Mickey said, smiling.

Chief laughed.

“The way this money's coming, who knows, Mickey?”
Ryan said.

“Ambitious motherfuckers, these three,” Mickey laughed to Chief. “You ever here Joey talk about science and his crazy ass ideas? This fuckin' kid...Dumb as you or me, but he knows about shit you ain't ever even dreamed of. Tell him some of that crazy fucking Einstein shit you're always yakking about.”

“Ok….” I said, wanting to jam an icepick straight through Mickey's fat head. “So there's this new shit out there they just discovered called antimatter. It's like the parts of an atom except it's made out of all opposite parts—like, you remember learning about electrons?”

“Yeah,” Chief said, looking straight ahead.

“Well, electrons got a negative charge, right? Well there's this new thing, it's a kind of antimatter called a positron. It's got the same exact mass and made of the same thing as an electron, except it's got a positive charge…”

“Ok.”

“The tripped out thing about it all is that if a positron and a electron ever collide, they annihilate each other.

“Annihilate?”

“Yeah, they destroy each other. They just explode into energy. But you know, like nuclear power, like when they split an atom and made the A-bomb and all that shit. It's called nuclear fusion and fission, right?” He nodded. “Well, when an electron and positron collide, the energy in that annihilation is one hundred times more powerful than an atom bomb.”

“It's like they was meant to meet like dat,” Chief said in an empty tone. “Perfect enemies. Nemeses.”

“Yeah,” I said, surprised he'd even listened. “Something
like that.”

“Told ya,” Mickey laughed. “Motherfucker thinks he's a astrophysicist or something.” Then, he swung his head around and glanced at Angel. “Aye, Kung Fu, how'd you like dat 8-ball?”

“Loved it,” Angel replied.

“Just as good as the other shit, right?” Mickey eyed him in the rearview mirror.

“Better,” Angel said as a slick smile slid across his lips. “Had me running around the room with my underwear on my head.” We all laughed. “And it was my old He-Man underwear, too.”

“This fucker's insane, ain't he?” Mickey said, glancing at Chief and pointing his thumb back at Angel. “I don't know how you guys put up with him over there.”

“We need him, that's how,” Chief said bitterly.

“What? The GDs? Fuck 'em, they'll be dealt with accordingly,” Mickey said, then wiped his salivating mouth.

“It's awful hot over dere, Mickey. They say they're coming for me,” Chief said.

“Tommy, of course they're coming for you. They've been coming for you ever since I made you chief, alright,” Mickey snapped. “You signed up, now deal wit' it. There's plenty of young brothers who'd love to take your place.” Ryan dug his pudgy index finger into his ear and wiggled it.

“I ain't scared, Mickey,” Chief replied, looking out the window. “You know I ain't scared to die. But, Mickey, we got to start bringing the heat to school.”

“No. How the fuck you gonna get 'em past the metal detectors?” Mickey barked.

“The Stones get 'em in,” Ryan piped in.

“Next thing you're gonna tell me, you've been bringing that BB gun to school,” Mickey said. Ryan went to speak, then rubbed the tip of his nose. Chief sighed and stared out the window.

“I told you, you ain't bringing no heat to school. We can't afford to lose a brother or a piece. Not right now,” Mickey spat. “I'll pick your ass up every fucking day from now on. I'll bring the whole fucking arsenal if it'll make you happy.”

There was a silence.

“They ain't never fucking shot in the school, OK?” Mickey said.

“Mickey, I don't want to die if I don't have to,” Chief replied
.

“Waa waa waa! Maybe we'll get rid of one on the way out. Would that make you happy?”

“Hell,” Chief replied. “Why not? They're probably gonna rush us anyways.” Chief removed the false vent and put it on his lap.

A hot shot of fear gushed through me as I realized how right Chief was. Five white hoods in the same damn Lincoln we'd been rolling in for years now. It was so obvious to me then. Of course we'd get rushed floating through the Jungle on a Friday night. The street buzzed, and people ushered everywhere—almost all of 'em black, some young, some old, but all with that same bright hunger in their eyes.

As we neared the Red Line stop, crowds of people poured out of the station on their homebound commute. Then, this wiry, light-skinned black guy cut through the current of people. He wore a white hoodie and chomped a wad of gum. The two knots of his jaw muscles flared like the jaw of a Thoroughbred horse. I knew him from somewhere. I knew him. He never looked at the Lincoln, just stepped straight toward it as we eked along Howard. He flipped up his hood so it enveloped his trimmed scalp, and a shadow swallowed his face. He dug both his hands in the front waist pocket of his hoodie. His hands—the knuckles littered with white scars. D-Ray?

Chief was cool as he reached into the stash. He pulled out the nickel-plated 9mm and cocked it quickly.

“I said on the way out, psycho,” Mickey said. “Roll that fuckin' window up.”

“Ah, fuck,” I said with a strange calm in my voice. No one but Chief and I noticed the guy.

“Mickey!” Chief shouted.

“What!” Mickey roared back.

A gleaming, black, snub-nosed revolver emerged from the white hoodie pocket. D-Ray stepped right up to Chief's window and squeezed a shot from the hip. Mickey floored it, swerving the Lincoln into oncoming traffic. Another pop, and a white splash washed over Ryan's window, then the glass broke and descended. Chief twisted in his seat and shot through the gaping window. Time nearly froze. My vision focused and magnified on D-Ray's chest. The black glob of the bullet pressed into the flat plane of D-Ray's hoodie. It pushed deep into it without breaking the cloth, twisting the fabric into a vortex. His mouth gaped—a circular void. His head tilted down. A black hole opened as the bullet sunk into his heart. Dark-red blood burst and exploded into a globular spray. The car jolted forward. I turned and watched through the back window as D-Ray's shoulders wilted inward. He collapsed to his knees, and his gun clattered in the gutter. I gasped a deep breath, and something tacked against the back of my mouth. It fluttered against the opening of my throat. I turned to see gray and white feathers floating in a cloud around the back seat. Hundreds of 'em slowly sauntered downward. The cold wind poured in through the gaping window, swirling and pushing them around.

“What the fuck is dis shit?” Ryan shouted.

I realized it was Ryan's new coat. He'd turned towards me as the second shot fired. I grasped hold of his shoulder where the feathers spewed out.

“Ah, fuck, am I hit?” he squeaked. I tore his coat open—no blood, no hole.

“Naw, naw, you're good. You're OK,” I assured him.

“You sure?” He slid his hand inside his puffy coat.

“Yeah, it just clipped your coat,” I said. Suddenly, I realized the bullet's trajectory must have passed right in front of our faces. Angel reached up and stuck his finger in a hole in the off-white fabric of the interior above the door he sat beside.

“You kill that motherfucker?” Mickey asked, squealing the Lincoln around the corner at Clark.

“Yeah, he's dead,” Chief answered.

“Yeah,” I said. “He caught it in the chest. I think it was… It was D-Ray.”

“Motherfucker…,” Chief grimaced, panting. “I been trying to kill dat nigger for years.”

“You alright, Angel?” I asked.

Angel bent over so his head was near his knees. The Lincoln roared through the streets. Parked cars flew past the windows. Small jets of air slipped through the cab and jostled the feathers into the front seat.

“I felt it,” Angel said in a shaky voice. “The wind from the bullet.” He rolled down his window and retched into the cold. Gray and white feathers gusted out over him and landed in his damp black hair.

“Man, I just bought this motherfucker!” Ryan yelled, gripping the puffy duck feather coat. “A hundred'n'fifty bucks! God damnit!”

“Man, just be happy you're alive,” I shouted.

“Uh-oh. Ryan, your boys are getting a little shaky back there,” Mickey said, grinning as the car crept though the back streets, south towards Edgewater. “Come on, boys, is that the first time you been shot at?” Ryan cracked a smirk. The rest of us were silent. Angel kept his head out of the window. “First time you been around for a little murder?” Mickey nudged Chief. He didn't respond.

“Ahh, you guys ain't no fun,” Mickey said, dusting off some feathers that had landed on his shoulder. “Look at dis shit, it's like a fuckin' snow globe.” Mickey hacked on a feather. “One last snow before summer.”

No one else laughed. Mickey let Chief out near the Morse Red Line stop and dropped us off at the sills.

“I'll just have 'em swing through with it,” Mickey said, then pulled off down the alley. “Come by the house tomorrow.”

Ryan nodded as we stepped to the sills and collapsed in our spots. I hated the idea of Mickey with our product; who knew what he'd cut with and how much he'd cut, but I was sure he'd step on it. Then, when somebody got sick, he'd say, 'That's what you get when you fuck with niggers.' The Lincoln wobbled through the potholes of the side alley toward Bryn Mawr. Glass still clinked off the window frame and onto the pavement.
Fuck, Mickey's the worst nigger I know.

Angel was still sick and leaned against the wall. His head hung, and he spit now and again.

“Do you believe that shit?” I said.

“Fuck yeah I do. Look at my fucking coat,” Ryan sneered in disgust and pawed at his deflated shoulder.

“Man.” I shook my head, then looked over at Angel. “You alright, man? Maybe you should just go home, bro.”

“Naw, man,” Angel said, then spit again. “I ain't going home now.” He looked up with blood-red eyes.

“What's the problem, bro?” Ryan asked. “We're all OK.” He looked at me and raised his hands out at his sides. “And we got one less Flake to worry about. One a their fucking shooters, for Christ's sake.”

“Man, it's war again, bro, and these D's ain't playing around,” I replied.

“Man, you don't even know what it's like at school, bro. We got that shit on lock,” Ryan said. “Tell him, Angel.”

Angel looked over with the worry all lined up across his forehead.

“Both you motherfuckers are acting scary,” Ryan said, disgusted. “Man, come on.”

“We ain't scared man. It's just like, like you don't even see how serious this fuckin' shit is, man! These motherfuckers are gonna be gunnin' for us now. They're all killers, man,” I pleaded.