“So why didn’t it work?” I asked.
“Three reasons,” he said, and he ticked them off on his fingers for me. “First, we had to waste too much time fighting with gangs from LA and New York. They had their own plans for Pittsburgh. Second, the kids here proved to be a lot more territorial than we’d expected, took us forever to get them to even talk about working together, let alone to actually do it. And third, the cops were slow to respond, but when they did, they came after us with a vengeance. I think they brought in some people from LA, got some excellent advice about gathering information, turning some of our people, finding out what we were planning to do and when, that kinda stuff.”
“And,” I said, “if you’ll forgive my stating the obvious, sending the head man away for a while.”
He smiled at that.
“Best thing ever happened to me. First six months in, I pretty much just tried to prove what a bad ass I was.”
“That where you got the body?”
He smiled again.
“Prison will get you buffed, no doubt about that. I’d always stayed in shape, just had more time for it in jail.”
He shifted a little in his chair and picked up a pencil from his desk and began moving it around in the fingers of his right hand.
“After those first six months, everybody knew not to mess with me, and, actually, I was at loose ends. Mostly out of boredom, I got my GED and then took some computer classes. The computers were in the prison library, and sometimes I’d pick up a book while I was waiting my turn on the machine. Next thing I knew,” and he grinned broadly, “I was educated.”
“And when you got out, you came back here.”
He nodded.
“Saw some very old brothers in that prison. One guy was sixty-seven, looked eighty-seven, been there since he was twenty-nine. Told me when he was my age, he thought he was the toughest mother-fucker in the world.”
He stopped for a minute.
“Man spent over half his life in a cell.”
He put the pencil down and looked right at me.
“Long story short, JB? I decided to make amends as best I could. I was a part of creating the mess in this city, now I wanna be a part of making things right. Started off working in the schools, eventually I got a grant to start a center, and the city gave me this building, ‘cause it’d been burned out in one of the riots. It was an eyesore and nobody else wanted it, but it was perfect for me. Close to the high school, pretty much on the border between the Gates and the Links. Center wasn’t much early on, mostly just a place for kids to hang out when they didn’t have anywhere else to go. I got most of the furniture as hand-me-downs from local schools and libraries, and a couple of businesses gave us their old computers. Pitt’s education department signed on to help us start an after-school tutoring program. The college kids get credit for spending a few hours a week here. Couple weeks ago I got Gateway to donate some new computers.”
“I saw the boxes,” I said.
“Yeah. Must’ve come in last week. I was in Harrisburg, trying to get some more grant money.”
“Any luck?”
He scowled and said, “Don’t get me started on our esteemed state legislators. They could fund this place for a year on what they spend on snacks at their committee meetings every week.”
“So were they forthcoming?” I asked.
“Not at first,” he said. “But I wore them down.” He paused and then said, “You know, it’s funny, but I’m doin’ some of the same stuff now that I did when I was trying to organize the gangs around here. I mean, what I did in Harrisburg last week was mostly use my powers of persuasion, trying to convince those idiots to give this place some money.”
He stopped and pressed his knuckles up against his forehead for a minute.
“But let’s talk about Anthony. You know where he lives?”
“I haven’t been to his house, but, yeah, I know the area.”
“Okay, then you know he’s gotta walk about five blocks to and from school every day, all of it through Links territory. In that neighborhood, you’re either a Link or an enemy, ain’t no in-between.”
“So,” I said, “back to my original question. You think Anthony’s better off staying in the gang?”
“Don’t get me wrong, JB. The gangs are bad, but short-term, they can offer protection to a kid, from the gang itself, if nothing else. I’m tryin’ to get these kids to change their focus, to think about the gangs being a positive force in the community. But until that happens, well, Anthony can’t just resign from the gang, you know?”
I thought about that.
“Who’s in charge of the gangs?” I asked.
“With the Gates, it’s sort of a triumvirate, three guys who make up a sort of council. I’ve had some success working with them. If Anthony were a Gate, things might be a little easier.”
“But he’s not,” I said. “So who’s the boss with the Links?”
“That would be Tyrone Nichols. Everybody calls him T-Man. And let me tell you, he is a mean little fucker. Anytime I’ve brought up the possibility of the Links and the Gates cooperating with each other, he just shuts down, refuses to even discuss it. In fact, I’m pretty
