Hawk was looking at Major.
“What we need now,” Hawk said. “Deep thinking.”
“Talked with Goodyear and Shoe last night,” I said.
Hawk’s eyes moved calmly between Major and the Raiders in the stands.
“They said that Major didn’t kill Devona.”
“How ‘bout Tallboy?” Hawk said.
“Major killed Tallboy because Tallboy came in on them drunk and waving a gun.”
“So,” Major said, “Hawk, my man, what’s happening?”
“Let’s see,” Hawk said.
“You come to get me? You and the Mickey?”
“Me,” Hawk said.
“So why you bring him?”
“Didn’t bring him,” Hawk said. “He come on his own.”
“Make you look like a fucking Tom,” Major said.
“You invited me, boy,” Hawk said. “You got something in mind, whyn’t you get to it.”
“Good move,” I said to Hawk. “Placate him.”
Hawk grinned.
“What you smiling for?” Major said. “I don’t let no one laugh at me.”
Major paused and looked at the gang members in the stands. They were all standing now, motionless along the top row of seats. He was playing to them. He looked back at us.
“You know the fucking law, Hawk. Respect. You like made the fucking law, man. Respect. You don’t get treated with respect, you see to it.”
“Heard maybe you backshot a fourteen-year-old girl,” I said. “Hard not to dis you.”
“Fuck you, Irish. I didn’t shoot no sly. But if I do, what you know about it? You don’t know shit. You live in some kind of big white-ass fucking house, and you drive your fancy white-ass car. And you don’t know a fucking thing about me. You live where I live, and what you got is respect, and you ain’t got that you ain’t got shit. Don’t matter who you spike or how, you get respect. Hawk know that. Am I right or wrong, Hawk?”
“Never had to backshoot a fourteen-year-old girl,” Hawk said.
“You think I shot her, you think what you fucking want. Everybody know you, Hawk. You the man. You the one set the standard. Well I be the man now, you dig? I set the standard. All of them”-he jerked his head toward the gang members-“they looking at me. I want them here, they here. I let someone dis me, he dis them. That mean some sly got to bite the dust.” Major shrugged elaborately. “Plenty of them around,” he said. “You know why I the man? I have to do one, I’ll do one. There some brothers bigger than me, some Homeboys real strong fighters like John Porter. But he ain’t the man, and they ain’t the man. I the man. You know why? ‘Cause I crazy enough. I crazy enough to do anything. And everybody know. Maybe somebody got to die. I willing. I step up. Ain’t afraid to die, ain’t afraid at all. I die what I be losing?”
Major paused.
Hawk waited.
“So you be thinking I lined Tallboy’s wiggle, then you wrong. But if I wanted to I would have and I wouldn’t give a fuck what you or the flap or anybody thought ‘bout it.”
Hawk was perfectly still, and perfectly relaxed like he always was in this kind of moment. But he was different. He didn’t, I realized all at once, want to kill Major. I knew he would if he had to, but in all the years I’d known him I’d never seen him want or not want. Killing was a practical matter to Hawk.
“You didn’t kill her,” Hawk said, “who did?”
“Hawk, you and me the same,” Major said. “It got to be done we step up. Ain’t afraid to be killing, ain’t afraid to be dying.”
Major was playing to his audience, and, I realized, he was playing most of all to Hawk.
Quietly I said, “How many guns, you think?”
Hawk said, “Besides Major, probably two or three. Kids have them, pass them around. Kid with the raincoat probably has a long gun. One with the jacket probably got one.”
“What you talking ‘bout?” Major said. “You better be listening to me.”
“We arguing which one of us going to fry you,” Hawk said.
“You, Hawk.” There was something almost like panic in Major’s voice. “You and me, Hawk. Not me and some flap-fucking Irish.”
I was scanning the crowd in the stands. Hawk was right. Only two of them wore coats that would conceal a gun. Some of them might have it stuck under a shirt or in an ankle holster, but the good odds were to fire at the ones with coats first.
Major raised his voice. “John Porter.” Around the corner of the grandstand came John Porter with Jackie Raines. John Porter had her arm and he held a revolver to her head. Jackie’s face was pinched with fear. She walked stiffly, trying not to be compliant, but not strong enough to resist John Porter.
