Leaving: A Novel (47 page)

Durrell’s nose was bleeding and he’d stopped fighting. He just turned to the side and protected his face. But Love hadn’t gotten all the fight out of him yet. He jumped up and went after Turrell, but Turrell ran away with his skates in his hands.

“I hate you!” Love yelled. The crowd laughed, and some applauded. “I hate you!”

Love stood in the center of the circle by himself now. He felt the throbbing of his swollen hands and the pounding in his head and his burning knees, but he felt good, better than he’d ever felt before, like everyone there had given him ten dollars, a hundred times over.

*   *   *

A WEEK AFTER
the fight with Durrell and Turrell, the older kids of the neighborhood took Love into their set. Even Durrell’s older brother, Murrell, had to tolerate him because the OGs liked him. It was an OG known as Soda Pop who had given Love the name Pit Bull at the fight, and Soda Pop brought him to their crib the next time he saw Love on the street.

The crib was an abandoned room on the sixth floor of the corner building. The laughing demons in the darkened doorway were sentries for the crew, tweakers who got free rock for watching the entrance. Now they nodded to Love and cleared the center of the hallway as if he were a rap star coming out to the stage. He had free passage into the tunnel and up the stairs. Next he’d run up the stairwell, two steps at a time, until he reached the fifth-floor landing, where another guard stopped him and used a walkie-talkie to let them know he was coming. They always radioed back saying exactly these words about him: “He cool.”

When he got to the door, he knocked once, paused, and then three times quickly, for 13th Street, Ace Trey. Ace Trey controlled the blocks from 11th to 14th, High Street to Fruitvale. All the pushers went through them, including David, although he saw them simply as the only suppliers in the area, like Lucky’s was the only supermarket.

In general, it was safe to claim Ace Trey anywhere on the East Side of Oakland. The rivalry with West Side had started before anyone could remember, but Carlyle, another member of the set, explained that it had to have started around the time the Cypress Freeway went up, when many of the people left West Oakland and built up East Oakland. Love knocked the secret code and Onion came to the door, named so because his smell alone was enough to keep people out. He was over seven feet tall and had a cut-eye look, as if he thought you’d called his mama out of her name. Only people in the set knew how nice he was. He opened the door, looked straight over Love’s head, and put his hand to his brow.

“I thought I heard someone knocking.” He turned back into the room. “You guys hear something?”

“I’m here,” Love yelled from below him.

“That! You hear that? Like some sort of mosquito. Oh well.” He began to close the door, and Love pushed against it.

“Oh, it’s Pit Bull.” Onion grabbed Love and swung him up on his shoulder like a plank of wood and then dropped him in the kitchen.

The next best thing after getting in the crib was going around and tapping everyone on the fist. Carlyle was in the kitchen making pancakes on the flat iron burner. Carlyle was always cooking, and Love was always hungry, so they naturally became good friends. Carlyle gave him a tap and then Love went into the living room. The windows were boarded up and the room was lit from each corner by a naked bulb, casting long shadows across the walls. Web and Sam, two Lebanese brothers, played dominoes at the table with their girlfriends, Sandy and Letreece, whom everyone called Puke for her bulimic tendencies. Love went over and tapped each one of them.

Murrell sat on the couch with his shoes up on the windowsill, smoking a jay and listening to his headphones. He was eleven and used to be the youngest member until Love was let in. Love walked over to tap him, but he closed his eyes.

“What the hell’s that, Snapple!” Soda Pop yelled at Murrell as he came out of the bedroom, five of the older members behind him.

Snapple shrugged. “What?”

“Pit Bull, get back in here. You can’t let this punk dis you like that.”

Love turned slowly, knowing that even coming back was like calling Murrell a punk.

“I didn’t do nothing, Pop,” Snapple said.

“You best watch yourself. Pit Bull gonna catch on to your shit and take you like he did your brothers. Now give him some love.”

Snapple tapped Love’s fist with a covert hardness as Soda Pop walked past them. Snapple didn’t wait for Love to tap him back.

“You two are going on a mission,” Pop said. “You’re going to get me a chili burger from Adam’s.”

“I can do it on my own,” Snapple protested.

“So can I,” Love said.

“So could I,” Soda Pop said, “but you two are going together, to keep an eye on each other. Here.” He handed Snapple some cash and both boys headed downstairs, Snapple moving too quickly for Love to keep up.

“Come on. Pop wants his food fast.” Love did his best to catch up as Snapple yelled questions to him.

“Where you live at before?”

“Cranston.”

“West Side? You a traitor.”

“No,” Love said, losing his breath.

“You better not be.”

“I’m not.” They reached the hallway on the first floor and ran through the addicts blocking the passage.

“What your daddy do?” Snapple asked.

“He’s a m-u-s-i-c-i-a-n.” Love spelled it exactly as Marcus had taught him.

“What’s that?”

“A musician.”

“He ain’t no musician.”

“He is so.”

They got onto the block and Love ran faster, but so did Snapple.

“What about your mama? What she do?”

“Slow down.”

“I thought you was fast. You want me to slow down for you? All you got to do is ask.”

He slowed to a walk, panting hard himself. Love caught up to him.

“Everyone know what your mama do,” Snapple said.

“So?”

“Never mine. You too young to understand.”

“No I ain’t.”

They turned left on East 14th, past the Army Supply and Bait Shop.

“What your mama do?” Love asked.

“She a nurse.”

“What about your daddy?”

“He in the air force. He fly jets.”

“Hornets?”

“No, fool. Airplanes.”

“I ain’t no fool.”

“Yes you is.” Snapple spit near Love’s foot.

“You a F-O-O-L,” Love spelled.

Snapple stopped and bent over in exaggerated laughter.

“What?” Love asked.

“You can’t even spell fool.”

“Yes I can.”

“Fool is F-U-L.”

“No it ain’t.”

“It is so. What you know? You cut school too long. You don’t even know your ABCs.” Snapple began to walk quickly again.

They reached the parking lot for Adam’s, a small burger joint with a single row of stools behind a glass wall.

Snapple stopped at the corner and put his finger close to Love’s face. “You got to stay outside and guard my back in case some dudes come looking for me.”

“Who?”

Snapple waved his hand in front of his nose. “Damn, dog. Now I know why they call you Pit Bull. That breath smell like Purina Puppy Chow.”

Love pulled his lower lip out and tried to smell his own breath.

“Just be on the lookout for any angry-looking dudes.”

Snapple went inside and got in line at the counter while Love stood to the side of the glass door and surveyed the parking lot. The street was busy, and cars came in and out of the lot every few seconds.

When Snapple came out of the restaurant with the food, he walked straight past Love, who had to jog again to catch up. Then he slowed down, and when Love got out in front a little and led the way, Snapple stepped on the back of his shoe and gave him a flat tire. Love turned with his fists clenched.

“Oh, sorry, dog,” Snapple said. “I didn’t mean to. I thought you was speeding up. Here, let me get you some candy for that. I’ll go get you some candy from a store I know.” Love looked at him for a moment, the anger swelling and then receding inside him.

“Come on, you…” Snapple mumbled something that sounded like “pussy.”

“What?”

Snapple smiled, “What? Come on, I’ll get you candy.”

Love followed him to a liquor store five blocks away. He was angry at Snapple but didn’t know what to do, like when his mama slapped him on the head.

Snapple took him inside the store, and they stopped in front of the candy shelves directly across from the counter.

“Get what you want. You can get ten candy bars.”

“Ten?” Love couldn’t help but smile.

“Yeah. I got to get something to drink from the back for Pop.” Snapple slipped away toward the refrigerated section. Love picked up and replaced different candy bars from the shelves while the owner, a large West Indian man, watched him closely.

“You going to get some of that candy or just touch all of it?”

Love looked at him and then went back to picking out his candy. He knew that he couldn’t eat ten candy bars at once, so it would be important to get some that he could eat right away and some that wouldn’t melt. He couldn’t get too many chocolate bars, but he didn’t like hard candy except for the kind that tasted like sour apple. He also wanted to get something for his little brother, something he could suck on like a Blow Pop, but he didn’t know if Snapple would consider a Blow Pop a whole candy bar or just half, since they cost less. Just as he put back the sucker and picked up a pack of gum, there was a large crash in the back.

“God damn you,” the owner yelled. “What you doing in the back there?” He ran around the counter and up the aisle. At the same moment, Snapple materialized from another aisle and went up to the counter where all the scratch-off lottery tickets were locked up in large rolls of silver and gold.

“Shit!” the West Indian man yelled from the back of the store. “Why don’t you watch what you’re doing?” Snapple lifted himself up on the counter, reached over to the cash register, and pushed all the buttons. The register rang and the tray opened.

“Hey!” the owner yelled and came running back up the aisle. Snapple grabbed as many bills as he could, jumped off the counter, and darted out the door.

“Run,” he screamed to Love, and laughed. In an instant, Snapple was gone, but the owner reached the door and blocked Love’s way. He grabbed Love by the biceps and yelled after Snapple, “I’m going to kill you, you motherfucking rat!”

He lifted Love up by his arm and dragged him behind the counter. With his other hand he dialed the police on the phone.

“I’ve just been robbed and I have one of the rats, and I’m going to kill him if you don’t get over here fast.” He hung up the phone and took a gun out from under his counter. He pointed it at Love.

Love had never stared up the barrel of a gun before, and he was frightened, not by the knowledge that it could kill him as much as by the knowledge that it would make a very loud sound right in his face.

“Get down on the ground.” Love sat down. “Now lay down on your stomach, over here.” Love lay on his stomach, and the man stepped on his back with one heavy foot as he counted the money left in his register.

“What’s your friend’s name?” he demanded. Love could hardly breathe under the weight of the man’s foot. He didn’t answer, and the man pressed down even more.

“What’s his name, you little shit?”

“Murrell.”

“Murrell what?”

“I don’t know.”

“You worthless piece of shit. You know you’re going to go to jail and be beat up every day by murderers and rapists. The police are going to come get you and take you away and you’ll never get out alive. You’ll rot in jail and then you’ll rot in hellfire forever. Kids like you go to hell.”

Two policemen eventually showed up. They walked in slowly with their hands on the butts of their guns.

“You called us?”

“He’s back here,” the owner said. The policemen came around the counter and cuffed Love with a plastic twist-tie device as the owner explained what happened.

“You should lock him up for good,” he added. “These kids are just going to get into more trouble if you let them out. They’re a plague on society and us hardworking people.”

“All right,” the policeman said, lifting Love up and walking him out of the store. “We’ll make sure he doesn’t bother you again.”

They threw him in the back of their police car and got in.

“I didn’t do nothing,” Love mumbled from under his tears.

“What’s your name?”

“Ronald LeRoy. L-e-r-o-y.”

“What was your friend’s name?”

“Murrell.”

“Where does he live?”

Love shrugged, though he knew Snapple lived at the crib.

“Where do you live?”

“Terrace Apartments.”

The cops drove him home, and one of them walked up the stairs with him.

“This it? This where you live?” Love nodded. The policeman knocked. There was no answer and he knocked again.

“You live with your parents?”

Love nodded.

“Know where they’re at?”

Love shook his head. The officer took a deep breath and let it out loudly. The radio on his shoulder spewed information and he talked back into it, then faced Love.

“I guess I’m going to have to take you to CPS. You’re too young to be on your own. And without any shoes on either.”

“I have a key.”

“Well, your parents shouldn’t let you out by yourself and then not be home. I’m supposed to take you with me.”

“No,” Love cried. “I’m not going.” He shook his head. He’d heard of kids in his building being taken away from their parents by the cops and never coming back.

“Hey, hey.” The policeman laughed. “It’s okay. Stop crying. I can’t take you now, anyway. I’ve got to go.” He looked up and down the hallway and then took out a piece of paper from his belt. “Tell me what your parents’ names are.”

“Lida and Marcus.” Love wiped his eyes and spelled their names for the officer.

“Okay. I’m going to leave you here, and then I’m going to send somebody out from CPS. Now, you understand that if you do anything like this again, if you even go into his store, I’m going to take you to jail. You understand?”

Love nodded. The cop cut off his plastic handcuffs.

“Okay. Now go on inside.” Love waited for the cop to leave, but he didn’t move. “Go on,” he said. “I just want to make sure you get in okay.”