Fire in the Streets (21 page)

“You want it bad, huh?” he says.

I glide toward him, riding on the wave of concern he's casting my way. “What?”

“You heard me.”

I shrug. I don't sit, because he is and right now I think maybe it's good to seem tall.

“Jolene told me how you tried to fight,” he says. “She held you down so you wouldn't jump into the spray.”

“It happened fast.”

“Instinct is fast,” Raheem says. “That means something, don't you think?”

I don't know what he's getting at. “Why is it weird? Everyone else shot back. I would have too.”

“But you didn't have a gun.”

“No.” I narrow my eyes at him.
And whose fault is that . . .?

Raheem bumps a fist on his knee. “Well, let's do something about that.”

It's a long drive out to the training center. The longest car ride I've ever been on in my life, and the farthest from home I've ever been, too, I'm pretty sure. Jolene says we're going to a farm beyond the outskirts of the city. She's driving up front, with Raheem riding shotgun and me in the backseat. I look out the window at the city scenery going by. Then the buildings get smaller and the trees get thicker and suddenly we're in the countryside. It looks like it looks on TV, only wider.

Soon we're out among farmlands. The fields are fallow now, but from underneath the snow poke brown, shaggy remnants of plants. We drive through a cornfield, a soy-bean field, another cornfield, and a pumpkin patch. I know because Jolene narrates the plants that will grow there as
we go through different ones. I'm glad, because I was wondering, but I never would have asked.

When we get there, Jolene parks the car inside a rusty old red barn. She hops out of the car, and I move to follow suit. Raheem leans back and grabs my arm, stopping me.

“Before we do this, promise me you'll stay in school,” he says quietly. “No matter what.”

It's cruel of him to ask for such a promise at this moment, when everything I want most is right at my fingertips. Maybe he knows. Maybe it was his plan all along.

“I promise,” I tell him.

“Okay, then.”

J
OLENE PLACES THE HEAVY GUN IN MY
hands and molds my fingers into place. Her hand over mine is cool and steady. My palm stings. Sweat and anticipation.

“You feel that?” she says.

“Sure.” I try to shrug her hand away. I'm ready. I can do it.

She holds me firm. “Slow. One step at a time,” she says. “It's not enough to learn to shoot. You're going to have to learn to fight.”

“I already know how.”

I learned to fight on the living room carpet, when one of Mama's boyfriends realized I had grown breasts. It only happened the one time, and I won, but I can't look at that rug without thinking about it.

“Raheem's going to stand behind you the first time. You have to feel the gun kick before you learn how to counter it.”

I nod. My finger curls into place around the trigger. Raheem's hands land firmly on my upper back.

“He won't let you fall, okay?” Jolene says. I glance back at him, the grim set of his lips, the concentrated furrow above his nose. She didn't have to say it. I know. Raheem would never let me fall.

I tried to burn that rug once. Set a match to the edge of its fibers till it caught and watched it start to glow. The flames rose, lapping like it could lick itself clean. Maybe me along with it. Raheem caught me, put it out with a bunch of white powder from the kitchen. Baking soda, I guess.

“Are you ready?” he says now, just as I feel the fire rising around me.

“Yeah.”

Raheem gives me this nod, and while there's no way he actually knows what I'm thinking, it's like he does know. The way he always knows.

“Lift, aim, shoot,” he says. “It helps to think about something you really want to destroy.”

I heft the gun to shoulder height and suddenly the reality ahead of me grows much bigger than any of the moments before. I've waited so long to be standing here.

The raw stuff that just spills out sometimes, can no longer be contained in the little box I call me. So when I stand there, feeling it, all heavy like the weight of the world
balanced on my fingertips, there isn't a thing to be done but give it voice. Tiny explosions in my hand, one by one. Shooting. Shooting, till every bullet is dislodged and the trigger clicks, spent. My shoulders rock against Raheem's steady hands.

“Good,” Jolene says. “That's good, Maxie.”

I
TELL NO ONE ABOUT MY FIRST TASTE OF PANTHER
training. Not Sam. Not Emmalee or Patrice. I can tell by the way we did it that it's supposed to be kept private. A thing between Raheem and me. I can see it clearly now, and I know he thinks he won that round. I'm still in school and now I have to stay there. But it was something, shooting that gun. It still feels like a fresh start for me. I'm happy.

I don't even mind doing the envelopes today, at least until Hamlin comes in talking about how one of the suburban Panther satellite offices was raided last night.

“I don't understand it,” Hamlin says. “Fred Hampton hasn't visited that office in six weeks. Minute he shows up, cops storm the place.”

“They're tailing him,” Leroy says.

“Yeah, we know that,” Hamlin says. “But this raid wasn't spontaneous. They showed up all ready to bust in. In force.”

“Like they knew he was coming,” Leroy finishes.

Hamlin shrugs. “It follows.”

Leroy sits thoughtfully, arms crossed, drumming his fingers on his elbow. “Then I guess we need to start taking measures.”

“So you're saying . . .” Hamlin prompts.

“I'm saying, we've got to get more careful about our information.”

“Like maybe there's a leak.” Jolene sighs.

Hamlin nods in agreement. It's like he's been saying for months now. I've heard him. “And it seems like it has to be someone who knows all about our business,” he adds. “Not many people are kept up on Fred's movements.”

“They're not held secret, either, though,” Jolene says. “Anyone can overhear a phone call, a conversation.”

As one, they look over like they're just remembering that I'm there. I'm not even pretending not to listen anymore.

My face wrinkles into a scowl. “I don't talk to no pigs.”

Leroy smiles. Jolene laughs. “Honey, no one is accusing you.”

“I'm not worried about anyone close,” Leroy says. “But there's a lot of new people up in here day after day. Coming and going.”

“Well, we need to start telling a few people. Be vigilant.”

I can do that, I think to myself. I can be vigilant. A germ of an idea starts sprouting in me. I see everything that happens around the office. I hear everything and listen to everyone. If there really is a traitor, I probably know him. There might be clues I know already. Suddenly my belly tightens with excitement. I want to find the traitor and bust him. That would be a sure ticket into the Panther ranks.

R
AHEEM THUMPS IN THE DOOR, CARRYING
a flat plastic-wrapped box. The scent of tomatoes and garlic curls around my nose.

“I scored a send-back,” Raheem says. I grin, because the timing of the treat could not be more perfect.

“Hmmnnn.” Mama rolls over on the couch, planting her face in the cushion.

“Cool.” It's all I can do not to run and grab it out of his hands. My stomach is so cramped. I uncurl my legs and slide toward the table. Set out plates, napkins, forks.

Raheem opens the box, and the smell is overwhelming. I lean my face into it. “Oh, yeah.”

“Let's dig in,” he says.

Mama's pretty well zonked on the couch. All the more pizza for us, I figure. We settle into it, and after a few minutes
of no sound but us devouring slice after slice, Raheem extracts a small white bakery sack from his bag. He smiles proudly and pulls out a strawberry cupcake, which he lays in front of me.

“What's the occasion?” I say, smiling slyly.

Raheem grins. “I'm not a total doofus,” he says. “I remember when it's your birthday.”

“Happy birthday, Maxie.” Raheem hands me a package wrapped in week-old Panther newspaper. It's large. I have to hold it with both hands and it flexes beneath its own weight.

“Wow.” The package is bigger than my lap, drooping over my knees. I hold it there, trying to remember if I ever opened a present this size before.

“What are you waiting for?” Raheem nudges me. “Open it.”

I tear into the paper, which is wrapped triple thick. My fingers brush buttery fabric and my heart rises. But I don't let it leap. Not yet. My excitement hangs suspended; I need to actually see it before I can believe in what I feel.

I shove the paper back, and sure enough, it's real. I pull it out and hold it up. A Panther leather jacket. One of my very own.

“Raheem,” I gasp. The jacket is beautiful. It shines in
the lamplight. Three buttons. A hemline that'll fall to my hips. Horizontal pockets at the waist. Rounded-smooth lapels. Seam lines under the arms, around the waist, and down the middle of the back.

“Oh, Raheem.” My eyes are dazzled by the coat, but I drag my gaze to him. He's smiling softly, watching me. “How long can I keep it?”

His face tightens. “It's yours.”

“Really?” It's too hard to believe. “How?”

“The usual way.”

All I can do is stare at him.

“I bought it for you, Maxie.”

“We can't afford this,” I whisper.

“My problem, not yours,” Raheem says.

“I don't want to be a problem.” I want the jacket desperately. But I don't want to be a burden.

“I didn't mean it like that.”

I fold the coat on my lap. “Raheem—”

“I got it cheap, okay?” he admits. “Jesus, Maxie. Just take the gift. You gotta learn to be polite.”

I can't help being curious. And I sure as heck can't help my big old mouth. “I'm sorry,” I say. “I just can't believe it's really mine forever.”

Raheem nods. He gets it.

I hug it to me one last time before I put it on. My
arms slide in and it fits like it was tailor-made for me. “Wow.”

“Looks good on you,” Raheem says.

I run to the bathroom mirror. I can barely believe my eyes.

I
T'S SATURDAY, EARLY, BUT I CAN'T WAIT. I RACE
down to Emmalee's apartment. Knock on the door. She opens it, looking sleepy. “What?” she says. And then she sees me.

“Holy cow, Maxie.”

“For my birthday,” I squeal.
I'm going to be a Panther! A real live full-on Panther! Well, I don't know if this means they'll let me start training, but at least I look the part.
“Can you believe it?”

“Not really,” she says. “But it looks good. Let me try it on.”

I shrug out of it and hand it over 'cause that's how we do. Nothing will stop it being mine, and mine forever. The jacket looks nice on her, but seeing her in it makes it so obvious that it's exactly right for me.

“Raheem has good taste,” she says, handing it back. As if she knows I can barely stand to part with it for a moment.

“I'm going outside,” I tell her. I have to be seen in the jacket. “Want to come?”

“Nah.” She yawns. “It's too cold to be out.”

I don't care about the weather. I slap on my purple mittens and run out to tell the next person on my list.

Sam comes out of the clinic and glances both ways before he starts like he's about to cross the street.

“Sam!” He flinches and turns toward me. I rush up to him. “Check it out.”

“Hey,” he says.