didn't even mind the dull, fluorescent light which cast everything in its pallid glare. She tugged at her ill-fitting soccer shorts, hating the way they hung on her and gave her the figure of a boy. A smile curled on her lips at the memory of the note from a boy in her class. She lifted up the back of her doll's dress to check on the folded piece of paper tucked in there.
Dear Lyonessa, Will you date me? You are very cute. I like how you wear your hair. I love you. Do you like to play with me. Do you love me? Reese
Scrawled on a piece of paper that had red hearts along its border, she had the note memorized. Reese had given it to her at recess. Lyonessa suspected that he might've tried to kiss her if the teachers weren't hovering nearby. She blushed at their all-too-audible 'aw' s and didn't give him an immediate reply. She smiled — a wistful, unsure thing — and folded the note. Reese left, grinning ear-to-ear.
Such was the tumultuous love life of a seven year-old.
Not that she could share any of this with Grandmomma. If she had, she'd have received an earful about being too young. And he was Anglo. Her brother, Lonzo, was just crazy enough to go up to the school and threaten Reese.
'Can we go now?' she said in her native tongue.
'One minute, baby.'
'We're going to be late.' She brushed her hair behind her ear at the thought of Reese. Though she hated soccer practice, it kept her out of the house. Away from bodies pressed in so tightly together that she had to step over three to go to the bathroom at night. On the field, she could run free. It felt like flying.
Garlan played with his ring. Like a wedding band he never got used to, he was always aware of it. It fit snugly on his fingers most days, but sometimes it had enough give to it to allow him to slip it over his knuckle. And back again. Over his knuckle. And back again. With the ring came responsibilities, duties, and obligations. With the ring came times where he had to do things he wasn't quite down with.
The teal-colored PT Cruiser with black-tinted windows circled the lot, a slow-cruising shark lured by the chum of innocents. The speakers of the truck boomed from half a block away. Its fortyinch rims, like the vehicle itself, paid for in cash, knowing the attention such a purchase would bring. Sometimes Garlan wanted to be seen.
The Van Dyke he sported accentuated his sharp, angular face and the triangle shape of his face. Small twists crowned his head, marking the beginnings of a thick mop of braids on top. The color of cooked honey, his eyes contained a practiced hardness. He wasn't a dumb man. At the ripe old age of seventeen, he'd accumulated quite the resume. A bid in juvey for grand theft. Several assault charges. Possession with intent (plea-bargained down). He was good with his hands — the fresh scars over the knuckles of his right hand attested to that — but he got by on his wits. Knowing when the risk was too high. Knowing when to cut his losses. Knowing when to pay attention to his gut.
His gut screamed now.
A thick plume of endo smoke filled the cabin of his truck. Garlan wished that Dred had sent Mulysa on this little mission as this was certainly more up his crazy-ass alley. No, instead Dred sent him and he could only guess at why since Dred never played anything straight… especially how he went after his enemies.
Garlan took another deep hit then passed the joint back to the knuckleheads in the back seat. Colvin was yet another in the line of would-be princes of the street put down like the mad dog that he was by King. What was left of his splintered crew was immediately scooped up by and consolidated under Dred. Noles was a slack-jawed plate of hot mess who only sprang to work when he knew someone in charge of his wallet was around. One of Colvin's white boys, with hair in a Caesar cut, a razor-thin goatee with and a random growth of a beard only over his Adam's apple. With his ill-fitting dress shirt only sometimes tucked into jeans, and a jacket he always wore when on the corner no matter how hot it got, he dressed like a redneck business executive.
Melle had become one of Colvin's top earners, the little man due to be promoted. A young hothead in a wife beater and baggy blue jean shorts, with the scarecrow build of a krumper. He had shaved off his wild, unchecked Afro because FiveO could identify him from blocks away. Both jacked up, wild-eyed, and too eager to make a rep for themselves, they were the latest in a seeming endless procession of would-be soldiers. Like much of their crew, these two had run in a leaderless direction, in desperate need of an anchor. Squatting from building to building, as random movement made it hard for the police to track them, they lived strictly day-to-day. Sure, they could work a corner, run off a wayward, crew sling whatever product they could get their hands on, and generally take care of what business they knew about, but they, like many other rootless boys, waited for someone to step up and take the reins. Garlan considered starting a franchise called Rent-a-Thug. Maybe Hoodrats 'R Us.
The PT Cruiser circled the parking lot again.
Lyonessa bounded after her grandmomma. A halfdozen people mingled at the entrance door as she pushed her way through. Grandmomma stopped to chat. Again. Lyonessa swatted the air before her nose, brushing the cigarette smoke from her face. The gangly man in the plaid shirt and white hat nodded and backed away before tamping it out against a brick column. Tipping his hat to her, he then crushed the remains under his boot heel. That made her grin.
The bright-colored, slow-moving car caught her eye. It was the second time she'd seen it pass. She liked those kind of cars because they looked oldtimey.
Lyonessa tugged at her grandmomma's dress.
'Let's go, Grandmomma.' There was a hint of whine to her voice. If they didn't leave soon, they'd be late for soccer practice. They still had to load and unload the groceries into the car and lug them into the house. Maybe if Lonzo had stopped by things would go faster. Or he could take her himself. But he rarely seemed around much these days.
Her tongue ran to the gap in her teeth. The third tooth lost this month. No tales of tooth fairies were spun around her house, though she often heard her classmates ridicule each other about believing in fairies. Reese once was the victim of such barbs, but he smiled his two-missing-teeth smile and pulled out five dollars and said 'I believe in this.' He reminded her of Lonzo when he did that. She'd go to soccer practice, maybe see Reese, maybe smile at him. It would be a good day.
'Come on, Grandmomma.'
'Madre Dios,' her grandmomma said with feigned exasperation. She smiled at her granddaughter, understanding the secret language of girls and confident that she had raised a good girl with a good heart. Not a fast one like some of the other girls in the neighborhood, even at such an age.
The PT Cruiser circled again.
This time the man in the plaid shirt took notice and stood up straight against the brick column. Everyone seemed suddenly attentive and oddly tensed, as if an electric current passed through them all. Lyonessa clutched her doll to her chest.
The tinted back window of the car rolled down. The next thing Lyonessa knew, a body slammed into her, knocking her to the ground. The report of thunder boomed, followed by loud pops, louder than any firecracker. The man in the plaid shirt reached into his belt and then his body jerked three times, invisible strings tugging at him like a toy on the fritz, before he collapsed. Lyonessa hated the way his hat tumbled from his head.
'You do one of ours, we do one of yours!' a voice cried from the van. The words had an ugly tone to them made worse by the slightest trace of a southern drawl.
Not sure what he meant, Lyonessa kept her head down. People scattered in a torrent of screams and more bangs, but two bodies had her pinned. She dropped her doll but tried to remain as still as Grandmomma. Her fright made it hard to breathe. Why wasn't Grandmomma moving? Why wasn't she coming after her and scooping her up and holding her close like she did whenever she was scared?
A pair of rough hands grabbed her and pull her to her feet. Lyonessa lashed out in frenzied struggle, slapping at the grip the man had on her wrist. The men smelled of sweat and bad smoke, eyes half-shut as if bored. They shoved her into the van.
'You tell Lonzo,' the first one stood in the open rear passenger door shouted to no one in particular. He sort of reminded her of her pastor, the way he shouted and paused as if waiting for a response.
They knew her brother, but they sounded so angry. Lonzo would calm them down and make everything all right. He had that way with people. The white one put his hand on her knee. At first she thought it was to get her to settle down. But the way he stroked his fingers up and down her leg made her more scared. The man in the front seat looked sad, disgusted, as if he had a plate of food he didn't like but was forced to eat.
The old-timey car pulled off.
