chapter
38
Forty-eight hours.
That’s how long Wiz and I had been hiding out in the abandoned warehouse. Out of all the times for Wiz’s raggedy car to break . . . I mean, I didn’t think it would get us far, but I at least thought it would get us out of the neighborhood. Now we had no transportation, no money, and no hope.
We’d managed to scrounge up some food, but I was ready to go. We’d heard that Monster’s boys were still looking for us. Terry, one of his runners and a friend from the hood, had told us when we went out to find something to eat last night. Wiz didn’t need to convince me not to talk to Monster, because at this point, we both knew there was no talking. The jacked-up part about all of this was that we were the ones that were robbed, but Monster didn’t care about the why. If you had his product, you were responsible for his product.
“You think . . .” I paused before putting into words the thoughts that had been on my mind since the shooting. “Do you think Monster sent those dudes to shoot Paco?”
Wiz shrugged. “I don’t know. I thought about that. But why would he steal his own product?”
“To put us on the hook for it,” I replied.
At this point the worry had worn Wiz down. His eyes were puffy and red. We’d been sleeping on the floor for the past two days, so that, coupled with not knowing if we were going to walk outside and get blasted, was taking its toll.
We sat in silence, then he lit up and said, “Look, man, I’m about to get some money. That’ll buy some kind of way to get out of town.”
“Where are you going to get it from?” I asked.
“I called Portia,” he said, referring to his on-again, off-again girlfriend. “She said her mom has a couple pieces I may be able to pawn. It should be enough for one bus ticket.” He looked at me and I knew what that meant. My boy was about to bounce. I would be on my own.
“Nah, man. I get it,” I told him. “You do what you gotta do.”
I could tell this was a decision he’d been wrestling with. And I should’ve known something was up because he’d spent an hour last night on the phone with Portia. Usually, Wiz had no problem talking to her in front of me, but he took the conversation to the back of the warehouse.
“I’m sorry, man,” Wiz continued. “It’s just . . . I have dreams . . . and running from Monster the rest of my life is a nightmare. Working for Monster the rest of my life ain’t it. Portia is the only tie I have here, and she ain’t even somebody I want to spend the rest of my life with, so I need to just go. I should’ve been gone. You know I don’t share this with nobody but you. But this ain’t the life I want. I wanna go and be somebody. I want a life that my family didn’t even dream of.”
The anguish in his voice made me sad. At least I had Jamal. Wiz had one brother on death row. His other brother had been killed when we were twelve, and his parents had both overdosed.
“Nah, B. I feel you,” I replied.
I’d long given up on my dreams. My only dream now was to get to a point where I could take care of my brother so that he didn’t grow up in the foster care system. Because the chances of a little black boy being adopted were slim to none, and slim didn’t visit our hood.
“Well, look,” I told him, “I’ll roll with you over to Portia’s. Maybe she can get us something to eat because I’m starving. And then we’ll split up.”
“What are you gonna do?”
I shrugged. “I’ll figure something out. You don’t have to worry about me.”
“You sure you ain’t mad?” he asked.
“Nah, man. Not at you.”
I couldn’t be mad. If I didn’t have my little brother, I’d be long gone, too. We gave each other the brother hug and then headed out the door. We took back alleys and out-of-the-way sidewalks, headed to Portia’s house. She lived in Fifth Ward, too. But by the time we finished dipping and darting down all these alternate routes, it had taken us almost an hour to get to her house. As soon as we got to her door, she waved us around to the back.
“What kind of trouble y’all in?” she hissed as she looked up and down the street to make sure we hadn’t been followed. She quickly closed the door, then pulled the curtains shut. “Word on the street is that Monster is after y’all.”
“Bae, I told you, we got robbed,” Wiz said, planting a quick kiss on her lips. “Somebody stole Monster’s money and guns, and now we on the hook for it.”
Fear filled her face. Portia grew up in the hood, too, so she knew what happened to people that messed with Monster’s money. “Dang,” she said. “I’m sorry to hear that. But what y’all gonna do?” She ran her burgundy braids around her fingers, like she was trying to calm her nerves.
“I’m just gonna get what you told me you can get for me and then I’m out,” Wiz said.
“Okay,” she said, reaching into her pocket, then handing him a handful of jewelry. “I don’t know how much you can get for it. Most of it is just costume stuff. But a few pieces are from when my mom used to date that drug dealer. So they ought to be worth a little bit.” She stared Wiz in the eye. “You know how I feel about this, though, Wiz.”
He leaned in and kissed her again. “I love you, baby. I’m sorry. I’m gonna just put it in the pawnshop, and I promise you, I’m gonna send you the money to get it out.”
“You better,” she said. “ ’Cause my mama will kill me if she finds this out.” Portia’s mother was in Los Angeles, taking care of her grandmother, so I guessed Portia was hoping she could have the jewelry back before her mother returned.
“Well, I appreciate it. You could be saving my life, Bae,” Wiz said. In that moment I wished that I had taken the time to have a girl. But my entire focus had been on Jamal, and the few chicks I hung with were nothing serious.
“Hey, Portia, you got anything to eat?” I asked her. “We’re kinda hungry.”
“Kinda is a big understatement,” Wiz said.
She looked at me and nodded her head. “Yeah, there’s some bologna in there I was frying. Y’all want a sandwich?”
She might as well have said she had a T-bone steak grilling. A bologna sandwich sounded delicious.
“Word. I’ll take a couple,” I said.
“Y’all gonna have to take them to go, though, because . . .” She didn’t even have to finish her sentence as she headed to the kitchen. We all knew that Monster’s bullets had no name. So as long as he was looking for us, she didn’t want to become a statistic.
We followed her into the kitchen. She quickly made us sandwiches, wrapped them in plastic wrap, then threw that, along with some chips, fruit, and cheese, into a brown paper bag. Even though she was helping, I could tell Portia wanted us out of her house as fast as possible. And of course, I couldn’t blame her.
“Be careful, Bae,” she told Wiz as she walked us to the door.
He kissed her again, this time a lot more passionately. I wondered if she knew this would be her last time seeing him.
“I will, and I’ll call you when I get where I’m going.”
“Where are you going?” she asked once we were on the other side of the door.
“I’m not going to tell you that.” They stared at each other, and she just nodded in understanding.
“I love you,” Wiz said.
“I love you, too,” she replied. “Trey, you be careful.”
We made our way back around to the front of the house. I was just about to tell Wiz goodbye when a familiar Cutlass came rolling by. We knew it was Don’s because of the extended spinners and loud royal-blue paint, which only he had. Before either of us could say a word, the window rolled down. We took off running down the side alley and the car gave chase. I went one direction; Wiz went the other. But I knew he was fleeing just like me—as if his life depended on it.
I had never felt such fear. Images of my mom . . . of Jamal . . . my grandmother . . . all of those shot through my head.
Please, God, just let me live!
When I heard tires screech, I stopped running. I was out of breath as I turned toward the sound. I was able to see that the Cutlass had come to a stop in front of the alley where Wiz had run.
That alley was a dead end.
I stood frozen, trying to debate what to do. And then I heard it:
Pop. Pop. Pop.
Those three gunshots would stay with me forever. I knew that Wiz was gone. When I heard the tires screech again, I took off. I ran, jumped a fence, then ran again.
I approached the Metro bus stop just as a bus was coming. I remembered my Metro pass in my back pocket and pulled it out.
“Excuse me,” I said, jumping in front of the lady who was getting on the bus with three kids.
I bounced onto the bus, went to a back row, and slid down into my seat, praying and fighting back tears for my friend.