much your grandmother meant to me, Sasha. I am terribly sorry for your loss, I really am.”
Sasha looked him in the eyes and simply said, “Thanks.”
Javier looked at Keesha and said, “Good to see you. Glad you can be here for Sasha.”
Keesha nodded. Then she said, “You going over to the memorial at the school?”
“I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”
He gestured for them to lead the way. But when they turned to walk to Fifty-fifth Street, Sasha looked toward the intersection and froze, her wide eyes terrified.
And from deep inside her came a gut-wrenching moan that turned into a wail.
Coming toward them, having just turned the corner, was a medium-size black male in baggy jeans, his head covered by the hood of his black sweatshirt. When he looked up at the sound of the scream, the hard face of Xavier “Xpress” Smith was clearly visible-and, judging by its shocked expression, clearly caught off guard by the crowd at Sasha Bazelon’s house.
Javier thought Smith’s eyes-now huge-looked particularly bloodshot.
He’s hopped up on something…
“He’s come back!” Sasha then cried out, and she started bawling uncontrollably.
Keesha, holding her arm, struggled to keep her from collapsing to the ground.
Yvette, gesturing wildly at Xavier Smith, exploded: “That bastard stuck a fucking gun to Sasha’s head last night! Made her go down on him in front of her grandmother!”
The eyes of the crowd were all on Yvette. Everyone was either not sure they’d heard what they thought they’d heard, or was processing the incredibly awful news.
“What?” Paco Ramirez asked.
“It’s true!” Yvette said. “Almost killed Sasha, too!”
Then the eyes turned to Xavier Smith. He’d already started walking away from the group. Now, glancing over his shoulder-and looking guilty as hell-Xavier Smith bolted across Ridgewood.
“And that no-good nigger just tried to get Sasha again!” Keesha screamed.
Yvette started running. “Don’t let him get way! C’mon!”
Oh, shit, Javier thought. “Yvette, wait!”
When she didn’t, Javier took off after her.
Two male teenagers ran to a small red Ford pickup truck. They got in and, tires squealing, roared up the street.
Almost everyone else took off to follow Yvette, who was furiously sprinting.
Everyone but Keesha, who now sat on the sidewalk consoling a sobbing Sasha.
“See?” Sasha said. “He said he would. Anytime…”
A crowd at least twenty strong closed in on Smith, who now ran down the middle of Fifty-fifth Street. Barely dodging a Chevy sedan, its horn blaring and tires squealing, he then bolted across Beaumont Avenue, looking as if he were going to take a shortcut through the asphalt parking lot of Shaw Middle School.
There was a small group by the door to the school, looking at and adding to the makeshift memorial for Principal Joelle Bazelon. They turned and watched Smith approaching, then saw the angry mob that was chasing him-and fled the school grounds.
Xavier Smith turned to look over his shoulder, and as he glanced back he tripped on the uneven surface of the parking lot. He went down fast and hard, hitting the asphalt face-first. It dazed him.
The crowd, still led by Yvette Iglesia, caught up in no time.
They circled Xavier Smith. He remained motionless.
“Not much of a bad ass now, are you?” Yvette yelled between gasps for breath.
“We’re sick of your shit, pendejo!” Paco Ramirez said-and suddenly, angrily, began kicking him.
Others immediately joined in, shoes and boots striking him on his back and legs. Some of the girls were throwing their weight into their kicks, their arms swinging with the exertion.
Smith recoiled. He pulled into the fetal position, protecting his face with his arms.
Oh, shit! Street justice! Javier thought.
The punk’s getting what he deserves. But…
The rest of the crowd joined in, and Javier could see that the frenzy was building on itself.
They’re going to kill him!
And then their lives are really ruined…
Smith managed to roll over and reach underneath his sweatshirt. He pulled out a chrome-plated, snub-nosed. 32-caliber revolver.
He waved it up at the crowd. “Back off! Now!”
The circle of angry teens instinctively took a couple steps backward.
Two of the older males pulled out knives. And another-Javier recognized him as the driver of the pickup, which he now saw was parked close by-came up to the circle carrying a baseball bat.
Xavier Smith jumped to his feet, but stayed in a crouch as he cradled his torso with his left hand.
They must have fractured or broke some ribs, Javier thought.
Smith waved the pistol at the crowd.
Then one teenage boy in the crowd laughed. He taunted him: “Woohoo! You crazy, Xpress!”
Smith aimed the pistol at him as the boy went on: “You got only five, maybe six bullets in that gun. There’s a whole lot more of us than that!”
“And you ain’t getting no chance to reload,” said another teenage boy.
Smith jerked the pistol to aim it at him.
Then a teenage girl added, “Yeah, you can’t shoot us all!”
He aimed the gun at her.
Then another laughed and said: “You must be snorting too much of your own shit!”
Suddenly, someone in the crowd behind Xavier Smith threw a broken red clay brick, one that had once been part of the old school building’s wall. It struck Smith square in the back of the skull, causing him to crumble to the cracked black asphalt. He dropped the pistol as he went down. The gun bounced twice but did not go off.
As the circle again closed in on Smith, a lone hand reached down and grabbed the gun. The pistol disappeared into the mass of teenagers.
Now they are going in for the kill! Javier Iglesia thought.
“That’s enough!” Javier shouted. “Stop, or you’ll kill him!”
“So?” one teenage male in the crowd shouted in reply.
“Yeah, after all the things this shit has done to people?” another voice added.
The beefy Javier started muscling his way into the circle, grabbing elbows and pulling shoulders. He forced open a path to the center. Just as he reached the limp and bloodied body, Javier saw an elbow swinging toward him. He failed to duck in time, and the elbow caught him in the corner of his right eye.
“Shit!” Javier screamed out in pain, instantly covering his injured eye with his right hand. He swung his left hand over his head. “Goddamn it, everybody just fucking stop! Yvette, get them to stop!”
Paco Ramirez stepped next to Yvette Iglesia and waved his arms at the crowd. “Hey, everybody stop! Who hit Javier?”
It took a moment for the momentum to slow-there were a couple last kicks at Xavier Smith-but finally the crowd stood still. And stared down Javier.
Javier said, “Listen to me! You kill him, you’re going to run from that the rest of your lives-”
“It’d be worth it!” a male teen in the crowd shouted.
Javier went on: “It’s not worth it, is what I’m telling you. You need to let him get arrested, get charged with murdering Principal Bazelon.”
“No cops,” Paco said. “No way.”
The reward! Javier suddenly remembered.
Let that rich guy Fuller turn him in…
He said: “Take Xpress in and get that ten-thousand-dollar reward!”
Yvette looked at her brother, and her face lit up as she said, “That’s right!”
Then she looked at the crowd and said, “Javier’s right! This piece of shit actually is worth something. And we can share the reward with Sasha.”
