Takedown (9 page)

“Stop, Jessica. You know the deal with me. You've always known it. If you're not comfortable, you're not locked into this.”

“I know, but . . .” She sounded defeated. “I know. It just doesn't fit, Darren. You're not one of them. You have so much talent. You don't need them.”

“I need
you
.” Maybe it sounded dumb, but it was true. With Jessica by my side, I felt like Superman. I could do anything.

Even take down a kingpin.

I kissed her again. She melted in to me, her arguments falling away. Part of me wished she was stronger, that she could get up and walk out of here. It was the smart thing to do. But she couldn't do that. And I couldn't either.

*  *  *

At some point we both fell asleep, because it was after five when I opened my eyes. I sensed Jessica was awake too.

“When do you have to be home for dinner?”

“I have to be at my aunt's at six.” She groaned. “I should leave now.” But she didn't move from my arms. “I'm dreading it.”

“Why?”

“It's our first Christmas without my cousin Valerie.”

I'd heard about what happened to Valerie Mays. She was a senior at our school who'd died in a car accident a few months back. She used to hang out with Jessica. I hadn't realized they were related.

“I'm sorry.” I didn't know what else to say.

“It's okay. It's just that my family . . . it's like there's this black cloud.”

“Must be hard losing someone so close.”

She was silent for a moment. “My family says it was her time, that God meant for her to go when she did. They think that if it wasn't a car accident, it would've been something else. But I don't
think it was fate. Valerie had so much more to do. So many plans.”

“It's easier for people to believe in fate. If you think it's all planned out ahead of time, then you don't have to wonder if you could've changed it.”

“What do you think?”

“I don't know.” I thought about it. If fate did exist, then for some reason my dad had been assigned a tragic one. I hoped it wouldn't be the same for me. “I'd like to think we make our own.”

White Chris-mas

They called him White Chris

Though his skin was so black

Some other inmates

They went on the attack

Time for a prison break

That's how it's got to go

Christmas Eve was the day

Bare feet in the snow

He slips past the guards

Mom's gift around his neck

A pendant of St. Michael

White Chris he will protect

Outside the brick walls

A canister is hid

Put there by a friend

Then a lighter is lit

The flames spread like fear

The flames burn like tears

The walls of juvie burn

The flames of wasted years.

White Chris sits on a hill

Watches the fiery sight

“Merry Chris-mas to all

And to all a good night.”

Y
ou're supposed to start a new year optimistic, but I was unsettled as hell.

Now that we were in business again, the customers had flooded back. Night after night, Cam and I stood out there, putting ourselves on the line. I told myself that it was worth the risk, that what I was doing with Prescott meant something. But then I'd see a car drive by slow or a suspicious guy hanging around, and I'd wonder if I should get out while I still could.

“How's your girl?” Cam asked. “Whenever I see you guys, you're all happy and shiny and shit. Makes me wanna throw up.”

“She's the Diamond Dust and I'm the addict. I'm hooked, begging for my next hit.”

“You lucky dog. I'm still waiting for you to introduce me to her friend, or even her ugly aunt Milly. I'm too horny to be picky.”

“I'll see what I can do.” I wanted to help the guy out, but Jessica's friends were pretty classy, and I couldn't see any of them going for Cam.

I wished I could be with Jessica instead of freezing on this corner. Now that we were back at school, we had a lot less time together. We'd hung out every day over the holidays, and I was going through withdrawal.

“Re-up time,” Cam said.

Vinny got out of his warm and toasty car wearing a long fur coat. He might as well wear a sign saying
Drug Dealer
or
Pimp
. I bet it was made from ferret or some other exotic animal. Maybe someone should sic PETA on his ass.

“Yo, Darren.” We pounded knuckles and I gave up the money, subtle like. Not that subtle mattered much when everyone, including the cops, knew what was going on here and on every other corner. “Been a good night, huh?” He slipped the thick wad of cash into his jacket.

“Real good.”

“It's calm out? Nothing suspicious?”

I shook my head. “It's cool.”

“No cops bugging y'all?”

“Nah.”

“Good. Cops are flashing their badges all over the place these days.”

“If they think they can touch our man DT, they're stupider than I thought,” I said.

Vinny slowly grinned, reminding me of the Joker in
Batman
. “The cops don't think DT's got the balls to hit back. They're wrong. One of them should be wearing a bulletproof vest tonight, know what I'm saying?” Then he went over to Cam to make the exchange and headed back to his car.

I stared after him, reeling. I couldn't believe it. Tony had put a hit out on a cop.

And I knew who that cop was.

Prescott.

It had to be him. He was the public face of the investigation. He was the one who'd gone on TV and threatened to take the kingpin down.

Slow down
, I told myself. Maybe Vinny was blowing smoke. Was Tony really loco enough to go after a cop? It would put him at the top of the department's hit list, and that was the last thing he needed. Everybody knew cop killing was out of the question. That
shit only went down in Mexico. Besides, Tony's priority was the turf war with the Bloods, wasn't it?

A customer came up behind me looking for a hit, and I almost jumped out of my skin. He handed me the money and I signaled Cam.

We did another couple of deals. The bad feeling in my gut wasn't going away—it burned like an ulcer. Cold sweat broke out all over my body. I had to get in touch with Prescott. Not tomorrow. Not later tonight.
Now.

Problem was, I wasn't allowed to leave my spot, and I couldn't do it without Cam knowing. If you had to piss, you pissed in the alley. But the cell phone Prescott had given me was tucked under my mattress at home.

I had to risk it.

“Cam,” I said, approaching him with a hand on my stomach. “Yo, I ate some bad Chinese.”

He made an “ew” look. “You're all sweaty, man.”

That was the upside of freaking out. It made for a convincing case of the shits.

“I gotta go home for a minute,” I said, half doubled over. “You got this covered?”

“Yeah. Go.”

I bolted down the alley and across the lawn, trying to keep to the few trees and shrubs that were growing there. I hoped the
shade would disguise my identity. I didn't want anyone to see me running and wondering what I was up to.

I got to my building. Nobody was in the lobby, luckily.

When I hit the apartment, I went straight to my room and locked the door. I dropped to my knees, reached under the mattress for the phone, and pressed #1 for the only number it ever dialed.

The phone rang several times, then Prescott's voice mail picked up. It was Monday night. Was he watching TV with his wife or rocking the twins to sleep? Couldn't he still answer the damn phone?

The voice mail beeped. “Be careful. Tony put a hit out on a cop. I think it's you.” I shoved the phone under my mattress, and bolted out of the apartment as my mom hurled questions after me.

When I got back to my corner, I was out of breath.

“Feel better?” Cam asked, hanging back like I was contagious.

“For now, yeah.”

All that sweating had made me cold and shaky inside my jacket. I hoped I had it wrong. I hoped I'd taken Vinny too seriously and scared Prescott for nothing.

I didn't want to think of the alternative.

T
hat night I stared at the clock. Prescott didn't call me back on the secret cell. Didn't text. I knew it didn't mean anything. He was probably sleeping, snoring like a freight train or pacing the twins' bedroom, a screaming kid on each arm.

I must've drifted off, because my alarm woke me. I did my morning routine, then grabbed my choco-latte on the way to the bus stop.

“You look like shit,” Trey said.

“Thanks.” Count on Trey to tell you the truth. I sipped my drink. “So what's our forecast today?”

Trey liked it when I asked about the weather. “Sunny and cold. Risk of flurries tonight.”

As Trey dove into the five-day forecast, Biggie and Smalls bounced up to us, giddy about something.

“Crazy shit about that cop!” Smalls said.

I held my breath, like I was at the top of a roller coaster waiting for the plunge. “What cop?”

“You know, the one who's been messing with Tony,” Smalls replied. “He's dead. Somebody shot him up outside his house.”

“It's all over the news,” Trey said, adjusting the strap of his Batman backpack. “His name was Edward Prescott.”

I sucked in some cold air, then coughed. I couldn't afford to show what I was feeling. “That's hardcore. Didn't think cops were on Tony's hit list.”

“Everybody's saying it's because he went on TV,” Smalls said. “The guy kept talking about cleaning up the neighborhood and pushing out the dealers. Pissed off Diamond Tony for sure.”

Biggie nodded. “One cop down, one for the people.”

They thought Prescott's death was a victory for them, for all of us. I curled my hand into a fist, tempted to smash their faces. But instead I pounded fists with them. “One for the people.”

On the way to school, I played along. I had no choice. But my mind was far away. I kept hearing the twins crying, with no daddy to rock them down.

At school, my mind was too messed up to concentrate. I had
this sick feeling that Prescott's death was my fault. If I hadn't helped him get to Pup, he wouldn't have been on TV and on Diamond Tony's radar. Had he even gotten my message?

I felt a stab of panic. Tony would've had guys tailing Prescott. They could have seen me with him. If so, my days were numbered. But I hadn't met with Prescott for weeks—hopefully Tony had made the decision to take him out since then. If Tony knew I was a snitch, he would've had me killed by now.

Unless he'd wanted to take Prescott out first.

I ditched school at lunchtime and walked the streets. I saw deals going down left and right, little baggies and cash slipped from hands into pockets. I saw plainclothed officers sitting in cars. I saw a couple of Diamond Tony's lieutenants scoping the hood, more vigilant than usual.

Tony probably expected a swarm of cops to rain down on his people. Maybe some of Prescott's buddies would bust a few heads. There'd be no point, though. It wouldn't bring him back. It wouldn't give him justice.

Something in the air around me changed. I knew that feeling, and I knew better than to ignore it. I glanced over my shoulder. An old Ford was circling the block and heading back my way. I heard the
vroom
as the driver pressed harder on the gas.

Instinct took over.

Run.

I darted for the projects. The car swerved, then barreled onto the sidewalk and across the lawn—after me. I ran at full blast, but it was right behind me.

Run, run, run!
I felt the car driving on my heels, like it could mow me down any second. Two other cars came at me from both sides—cop cruisers. What the hell?

The car behind me suddenly braked, and somebody jumped out. Shouting. I stopped running and put up my hands. Relief flashed through me.
It's just the cops. Not Tony.

They came at me all at once, knocking me to the ground. I threw out my arms to prevent my head from hitting the pavement, and pain shot through my wrists.

A fist slammed into me, then another. I struggled to protect myself, but they were on me, shouting at me to stay down.

I didn't get it. If they wanted to make a show of bringing me in, fine. But did they have to hit me so—

Then it happened. I felt hot hell coursing through me.

It was like I'd been set on fire. My body shook, and I couldn't control it. The pain was all through me.

Die. I was going to die.

They were yelling at me to stay still, let them cuff me, give them my name. I could only shake and groan. They kicked me
again and again, and I knew that if I didn't stop shaking they'd Taser me again and I'd be dead.

Finally I was cuffed and brought to a cruiser.

An officer said in my ear, “This one's for Prescott.” Then he smacked my head into the car and pushed me into the backseat.

T
he cops put me in Interview Room One and left me alone for a few minutes, wanting me to sweat. I put my head on the table and tried to rest. My whole body hurt from that goddamned Taser. They had no right to use that shit on me. I worked for them, didn't I?

Finally two cops came in. One was fat, his pants pulled up around his gut. The other was Asian with spiky black hair.

“Hello, Darren Lewis,” said the Asian guy, reading my name off his clipboard.

My eyes flicked to his badge. “Chang. You the one who Tasered me?”

“No, our beat cops did. That's what happens when you run.”

“I wouldn't have run if they'd been in a cop car or flashed some badges.”

“From what I hear, you didn't give them a chance to talk to you,” said Fattie. “You took off.”