their clothes, but the routine of their life together left a sour taste in his mouth.
'His family spoke to him, begged him to find a new wife, but he was not to be consoled. Love, he believed, could only be caught once. To ask for it a second time was to be greedy. Nor did he wish to let go of the love he had. Sitting in his house refusing to come out, his heart was no longer among the living. His friends had another woman brought to his house. They pleaded with him to take her, to end his solitary and dreary existence. 'The past is done away with and you can't return to it. Let the dead stay with the dead and the living with the living. Love remains in the heart.'
'There was truth in their words, the young man recognized, but the time to let go, to give up, had not yet arrived. He examined his fields and cattle and declared them worthless and left his world behind. He walked until he could walk no further, finding himself in a strange land among a strange people. There he built for himself a house. But still he was not ready to return to living.
'After another sleepless night, he decided better to go to the Land of the Dead. Again he marched, this time until he reached a place of total darkness. The shadow chilled him to his very core. He forgot what the heat of the sun as he strode his fields felt like on his back. But he kept walking. Passing through it, he came to a river and stopped. No birds sang out. No voices of man whispered among the trees. No animal disturbed the grass. A crone of a woman sat on the bank, a straw hat low on her face.
''Why are you here?'
''I've come to see my wife. Life has nothing left to offer me without her.'
''You are not a soul. A living man cannot cross.'
''Then I will wait until I die.'
''Death won't come for you. You are cursed. All love that enters your life will die. However, because of your suffering, I will allow you to cross for a moment.'
'The crone pointed to the water and it became shallow. The young man crossed without turning around. Whispers came to him like a gentle breeze, the spirit of her an unseen dancer. The brush of lips against his neck. The embrace of the wind. In his heart, he held a song, the song of her, and then fell into a deep sleep. When he woke, he was among his people once more. He reclaimed his cattle and his fields. He began to work because work was all he knew. And then he called upon his friends for he found a life again. That was the way the old people told the story.'
'I don't get what you're saying.'
'Life is hard, but this is all there is. Bitches die and sometimes you need your boys to see you through. Now you get your head straightened out, your mind back in the game, and then go back to work.'
Wheeling himself backward, not breaking his eyeline with Baylon, Dred stopped at his side door. He knocked three times and crossed his arms, waiting with a self-satisfied grin. A woman opened the door and posed in the entrance way, wrapped inside a long trenchcoat. From the judicious way she held the coat, she obviously wore nothing underneath it.
'She's straight-up jump-off, ready whenever you call and has no problem with whatever freaky shit you can imagine. Ain't that right, baby?' Dred ran his hand down her leg.
'You should know.'
Dred left the two of them alone in his office for some privacy. Baylon shoved everything from the desk. She spread herself on it obligingly. Determined to lose himself in her, he dropped his pants and climbed on top of her.
And thought of Michelle.
Baylon had no desire to be an everyday brother. He was tired of living in other people's shadows. His paper wasn't as long as he'd like, definitely not enough to be his own man or have his name ring out. Which meant he never had the effect on women that a King, a Griff, or a Dred might've had. Griff was his boy, one of the few who remained by his side and he knew how Griff did: his deep penetrating stare as if you were the only object in his universe and he saw through you; the hard jaw set and resolute, ready for anything to jump off; his head tilted to the side, only slightly, endearing himself enough to make you lower your guard, followed by a quick wink to let you know he had you. It worked every time, girls and dudes alike. Which was why Baylon was convinced to bring him in. It was Griff's turn to step up since he was so convinced that he was ready.
'You vouch for him?' Dred was new on the scene. No one knew much about him. He had a way of being in the right place at the right time and assembled an efficient crew which allowed him to remain in the shadows. All anyone needed to know was that he had the right connect. His stuff was always on point. His cheap prices allowed him to carve out a huge swath of territory quickly, and no one questioned his main two enforcers, Night and Green.
'He's my boy.' After the incident with Michelle, Griff was the only one who came around Baylon and he never forgot that. Not that his other friends set out to shun him; they just suddenly came up busy and involved in their own lives. Some afraid of what folks might say about them should they roll through. Griff didn't give a fuck about what anyone thought.
'He don't look like he played no football.' Night was a hood rat through and through. He grew up in the Phoenix Apartments, from back when it was called the Meadows. It was all he knew. As soon as he got a little money, he moved his mom out to Allisonville, but he stayed at the Phoenix as if some invisible cord tethered him. Word on the vine told of Green practically raising the ambitious young thug before passing the crown onto him. Though no one understood why Green didn't simply rule himself.
'Did so. For Northwest,' Griff said with the sting of injured pride.
'Shit. I thought you said he played high school ball. The only thing Northwest knows how to do is lose.'
'Yeah, you won't hear him deny that. Other teams consider Northwest's homecoming game a home game.' Baylon tried to keep the mood light. With so many brothers in a room all out to play hard, it wouldn't take but the wrong word, tone, or lingering stare to set someone off.
'What position you play?' Dred asked.
'Running back,' Griff lied. He was a kicker, but they would have run him off the block for bragging about being a kicker. 'What do I have to do? Shoot someone? Get beat up?'
'You run your mouth too much.' Night's eyes bore a thousandyard stare into him.
'We work at a whole different level,' Dred said. 'You can put all that gangsta bullshit out of your head. We about real power.'
'So he in?' Baylon asked.
'We'll see.'
They walked toward Dred's black Escalade. It neared midnight, but the moon burned bright and full.
'What the-' A blindfold dropped over Griff's eyes. He swung his arms wildly, though Night smiled as he bucked. 'Showed heart,' he would say later.
'Be cool. You want to blow this?' Baylon whispered. Griff stopped struggling. 'Once you in, you in. Ain't no backing out later.'
The truck rumbled along, the four men riding without conversation. The sounds of traffic faded and soon the settling silence discomforted Griff enough for him to shift toward the door. His hand trailed along the hand rest to the door handle, assuring himself that he knew where it was. The car stopped. The other three doors opened and slammed shut. Furtive voices consulted one another, though Griff couldn't make out any words. Then nothing. Tense. Jackhammered heart. The sheen of uncomfortable sweat under his armpits. The door swung open and two sets of arms grabbed him and dragged him out.
They removed the blindfold.
They faced a ruined building, the stones of its wall remained as if a wrecking ball had been taken to it. At the center was a clearing where a fire raged, a series of snaps and sputters spat embers into the air. Shadowed figures took post, guarding against all intruders. Wearing a long black and purple robe, Dred threw powder into the flames. A cloud of smoke rose. The isolated puffs took form, morphing into a face which turned to Griff with a mocking gaze then dissipated.
Baylon escorted Griff to a small wall and sat next to Night. On the wall were scrawled a couple of names, only one of which wasn't crossed out. Rellik. Positioned in front of the wall, an oblation of food and drink on a table before a stone with a leopard pelt draped across it.
'The Etai Ngbe. The Leopard Stone,' Baylon answered the unasked question.
'What is all this?' Griff asked.
