“They ain’t stoppin’,” said Long. “They turnin’ around.”
The Nissan had U-turned and was now accelerating back in the direction of the school. Long could hear the driver, the one named Jeremy, called himself J-2, going through the gears. And then he saw James Coates, ugly like his cousin but crazier by an inch, leaning out the window of the passenger side, smiling at them, laughing, as they came up on the school. And then he saw the gun in his hand, and saw a puff of smoke come from it just about the time he heard the pops. Long froze; he couldn’t make his hand go to the Glock and he couldn’t move his feet. He felt his friend Lil’ J tackle him to the ground.
As he went down it looked all jittery, like one of those videos where the camera can’t sit still. Long saw the troops diving for cover, a lookout on his bike pedaling like it was the devil behind him, and he heard more shots and it was as if he could feel them going by. There was a metallic sound as a round sparked off the flagpole, and Long put his head down and covered his ears. When he uncovered them, there was just the laughter of James Coates and the music they were listenin’ to. Under all that was the sound of their four-banger struggling up the street as they sped away.
The troops were slow getting up.
Jones released his hold on Long and rolled off of him, standing to his feet. Long brushed the dirt off his clothes as he stood. He locked hands with Jones and pulled him in for the forearm-to-forearm hug.
“My boy,” said Long, his voice sounding high to his own ears.
“You know I got your back.”
“Better tell everyone to pull it off the street for a while. All those shots, you know someone’s bound to call up the police.”
“I’ll do it. We could use a break our own selves, too.”
It shamed Long that his hands were shaking. It shamed him that he had frozen up the way he had. He buried his hands in the pockets of his jeans. He was embarrassed now, standing next to his friend, as he’d just been bragging about daring a motherfucker to come by here and start something tonight. And here he was, trembling like a kid. He hadn’t even been able to pull his gun.
“They surprised us,” said Jones, as if he could read Long’s mind. “You didn’t even have no time to think on it.”
“I knew they was stupid,” said Long. “But I didn’t know they’d be so bold.”
“They need to be got,” said Jones.
“They will be.”
“You know where they stay at?”
“I know this girl who does,” said Long. “And I’m gonna remember that car.”
ARNICE Durham lived in a nice town house her son Dewayne had bought for her in the Walter E. Washington Estates near the Maryland line. She had given birth to Mario when she was sixteen, and Dewayne came, by another man, when she was twenty-six. Arnice was now creeping up on fifty but didn’t feel it. Her friends told her she carried her age good.
She had always took care of her body. Though many of her men smoked and used drugs and alcohol, she did not. She was also a regular at church. It was true that she had been poor and looked ghetto most of her life, but that changed when Dewayne started earning the money that he had been bringing in the past two years or so. With Dewayne’s cash she bought furniture for her new house, and clothes and jewelry, and she made two trips a week to the hair salon and had her nails done while she was there. Money kept you young. Anyone who said different ain’t never had none.
She let Dewayne and his friend Bernard into the house. Dewayne kissed her on the cheek, and she said hello to Bernard and asked if he was wanting on something to drink. She had told Dewayne that his friends were always welcome here.
They went past the slipcovered furniture and wide-screen TV of the living room into the dining room, where a scale was set in the corner along with a cash counting machine. Durham used his mother’s place for work – bagging up, scaling out, packaging, and counting – at night, mostly, when it wasn’t smart to burn the candles in that house on Atlantic. She knew to let his troops in whenever they came by, long as they went and called ahead first. And she knew not to talk to the police about anything, anytime.
Arnice Durham never questioned her son about his business, and she didn’t question her own involvement in it, either. Wasn’t any opportunity where Dewayne had come up, and the people in those schools where he went had barely taught him how to read. He was out here now, making his way the best he could, and he was doing fine.
She did worry about Dewayne’s safety, though, and she prayed for him regular, not just on Sundays, but every night before she went to bed. She prayed for her first son, Mario, too, but for different reasons. The Lord would watch over both of her sons, because at bottom they were good. This was something she believed deep in her heart. Sometimes, also, she said prayers of thanks for the life Dewayne had given her. She knew she was blessed.
Dewayne was seated at the dining-room table, running money through the cash counter. When he was done he read the number on the display and handed Bernard some bills. He stood and backed away from the table.
“You hear from Mario, Mama?”
“No,” said Arnice. “He’s all right, isn’t he?”
“Oh, yeah, I saw him today; he looked fine. Just checkin’ is all; thought he might have rolled on by.”
“He might be stayin’ up with that boy Donut.”
“All right then. Let me get on back to my place.”
Dewayne smiled at his mother. She had deep brown, loving eyes. She wore a new dress and she had a necklace on, spelled “Arnice” out in diamonds, all of the letters hanging on a platinum chain.
“You driving me to church this Sunday, Dewayne?”
“I’ll pick you up like always.”
He kissed her good-bye and left the apartment with Walker.
Dewayne tossed Walker the keys to the Benz as they walked across the lot.
“Drive me home, Zu. You can check on everything when you come back into the city, hear?”
Walker said, “Right.”
Walker drove into Maryland on Branch Avenue, headed toward Hillcrest Heights. Durham kept an apartment there, near the Marlowe Heights shopping center. The building he lived in looked kinda plain, but inside his crib Durham had it all: stereo and flat-screen TV, DVD, everything. It was real nice.
The rule was, you kept your business in the city, in the neighborhoods you came up in, but you lived outside of town. You needed to get out of the city to breathe, but you couldn’t get no love in Maryland or Virginia on the business side. There wasn’t no good way to get a bond, and you got charged with somethin’ there, you’d do long time. Plus, there was the PG County police, who had a rep for being ready on the beat-down and quick on the trigger. The only thing those states were good for, on the business tip, was to buy a gun. So you lived in the suburbs and you did your dirt in town.
Durham’s cell rang and he answered it. Walker made out that Dewayne was talking to Jerome Long, and when Dewayne was done, Walker asked him what was up. Durham told Walker about the drive-by over at the school, and who had done it.
“What you want to do about that?” asked Walker.
“Nothing now.” Durham slid down low in his seat. “I don’t want to think on it tonight.”
He tried not to, and closed his eyes.
STRANGE got up out of bed without waking Janine and went to the window that fronted the street. He knew he had dozed some and he could not remember hearing Lionel come in the house. There was
