The Old Neighborhood

by Bill Hillmann

  “That’s a lie,” Vicky said, rolling her eyes.

  “Call it whatever you want,” I said, sitting down. “I saw the guy take his last breath.”

  “Tough guy….” She took a short, forced puff off her cigarette and blew it out slow, then looked at me with what was supposed to be a sultry glance. Then, she smiled and revealed the braces encasing her yellowish teeth. I just grinned over at Angel. He giggled.

  “Hey, Vicky…” Angel said, cocking his head to the side with his crazed, toothy-smirk. “Do you like to look cool smoking cigarettes?”

  “What?” Vicky barked sharply, straightening.

  “You puff just like Marilyn Monroe. Did you know that, Vicky?” Angel mocked her girly voice and held an imaginary cigarette in his fingers. Ryan and I cracked up.

  “Angel...” She rolled her eyes. “Shut up... God, you are so stupid.” She spliced her chunky arms across her chest.

  The air stirred, and a tremble rattled up through the metal grate exhaust vents embedded in the sidewalk right between Ryan and the alley. Angel hopped off the sill and stepped towards her. She backed towards Ashland smiling playfully.

  “What?” She smiled nervously. The makeup cracked on her cheeks.

  “I wonder,” Angel said as he took a large, sweeping step and placed his foot between her sneakers. Then, he leant close. “How much attention do you really like? As much as Marilyn did?” Angel whispered. Then, he tilted his head as if he was about to kiss her.

  Vicky backpedalled atop the iron grate on the sidewalk and smirked defiantly. Then, she sucked a quick toke and blew a cloud around Angel’s smug smirk. Samantha squealed triumphantly as she followed them. Ryan and I sat up on the edges of our sills, watching.

  A deep, subterranean bellow erupted upward through the grate as a subway train howled past. Vicky’s skirt caught like a kite and swooped up, elevating above her hips and exposing her panties; they were white with lime-green piping and two little green hearts intertwined above the crotch. She shrieked. Angel stumbled backward, and his short ponytail fluttered upward like a single feather in a brave’s headdress. Vicky’s half-smoked square dropped from her fingers as she spun and dashed off. It descended a few feet, then levitated in the updraft before the smoldering-red ember disintegrated. A spray of sparks splintered into an upward spiral like a dust devil of fire.

  Vicky ran down the sidewalk squealing.

  “Angel! You asshole!!!” Samantha screeched as she chased after her friend.

  Angel sauntered back toward his sill. I reached my hand out as he passed and he slapped me five.

  “That girl can’t take a hint,” I said.

  “Did you see those pasty drawers?” Angel asked, sighing as flopped on his sill ledge.

  “If a spark woulda caught in her hair, dat bitch woulda exploded wit’ all dat hairspray!” Ryan added.

  “I wouldn’t be havin’ dis problem if you wouldn’ta stopped fuckin’ her, Ry,” I said.

  “Man, I didn’t fuck that hoe!” Ryan shot back and grabbed his crotch. “I’d end up with crabs fucking wit’ her.”

  “Ah, you know you got that shit,” Angel sang.

  “Naw, but what’d it smell like?” I grinned at Ryan.

  “Hmmm...” Ryan looked downward and scratched his chin. Then, he sniffed his fingertips, and his eyes darted to mine. “Tostitos!” He shoved his index and middle finger under my nose. “Wanna smell?”

  I pushed his hand away, laughing.

  Angel scooted way back in his sill and sparked his lighter. I leaned over and looked in his shadowy, concrete cave. His bony face creased in the dark as he giggled. Then, he brought the wood-based bowl to his lips. The flame bent and dipped into the metal cup. He sucked deep, and that ashy stench of two-day-old resin eased out.

  “Your ass can’t wait, man? Monteff’ll be here any second,” Ryan whined from his seat.

  Just then, there was the throttling ramble of a V8 on Hermitage. I shot to my feet and craned my neck to see down the dark block. Then, tires screeched, and a splash of headlights washed over the façades of the apartments down at the corner.

  “It’s just that crazy ass brother of yours,” Ryan said, standing beside me. He waved it off and drifted back to his sill.

  Rich’s Dodge raced up, then eased to a stop half-way down the block. My mouth suddenly dried with anticipation. I stepped out to the curb and strained to see through the bright headlights. There was a shadowy figure in the street; it looked small next to the wide 4X4 truck. Rich hung his head out the window and said something—just a whisper. Suddenly, a black streak leapt out of the window. It was quick, thin, and long, like a snake strike. A slashing crack rang out, followed by a whimper. The shadow reeled, then disappeared into the parked cars. Swift footsteps slapped the sidewalk pavement. I stepped back from the curb to intercept it. Who the fuck is it? Some PG3? I squeezed my fists closed and bounced on my tip-toes. The foggy figure swept up towards us. Its arms and legs flailed wildly. Rich’s Ramcharger paralleled alongside it in the street smooth, keeping pace with his prey.

  I’m just gonna crack dis mothafucker when he gets close. Then, the gray glob was a guy—a black kid. As he was just a few feet off, I realized it was Monteff. He clutched the side of his trimmed ’fro. Deep-red blood bubbled up through his fingers. He locked his horrified eyes on mine.

  “What de fuck, Joe!”

  My hands dropped at my sides. My fists unfurled as Monteff gusted up. His pants blurred into a white whirl as he dashed past us. He bent a left into the ER tunnel. Ryan and Angel stood with their mouths agape, stupefied.

  Rich’s Ramcharger bounded to a screeching halt in front of the sills. Heavy metal bore out his open window like a gigantic death-rattle on amphetamines. His arm hung down from the window, and he gripped the handle of his wood-blade Samurai sparring sword; its glossy, oak blade was bowed slightly. He aimed it downward. Dark fluid dripped along the wooden blade.

  Rich panted. Blood-red veins swelled around his eyes. His wet teeth gleamed inside his overgrown beard and mustache.

  “What up, little brotha!!!” Rich called out as he brandished the wooden blade like some boorish relic of the Germanic hordes. “Whyn’tchu catch dat nigger? We coulda had some fun wit’ him!”

  “Stupid motherfucker,” Ryan sighed, defeated.

  “Rich, man, dat’s my fucking friend.” I clutched my throbbing head with both hands. How the fuck am I gonna explain this.

  Big James’s deep voice bellowed out of the tunnel. Rich put it in gear, and the engine surged again. The truck rocked back before accelerating, then squealed a right onto Ashland. Big James emerged at the mouth of the tunnel with his heavy Maglite clanking at his side. His neck swelled as he craned to see the truck, then he snapped his head around, and his eyes flashed at us.

  “Hey, get over here you three,” he yelled. We broke down Hollywood.

  Big James only chased us for half the block, and we stopped running when we turned the corner at Hermitage.

  “Man, what the fuck was dat all about?” Angel asked, swallowing deep, heaping breaths.

  “Fuckin’ Rich, man. He’s gone crazy ever since Sy died,” I pleaded. “He thinks every fucking nigger’s the one who shot him.”

  “He started some shit now,” Angel said, wincing as he leaned over at the waist and gripped his Dickeys at the knees.

  “Man, naw. We’re cool,” Ryan said, rising calmly. He heaved a deep breath. “But we might have to move on your brother now.”

  “Man, what the fuck?” I spun on Ryan. A trembling shiver rushed through my arms. “Fuck that.” I shoved him in his sternum.

  He pushed me back. Angel dove between us and pressed either hand into our swelled chests. I craned my neck over Angel and glared at Ryan.

  “That’s my fucking brother, man!”

  “Look, Monteff is Crew!” Ryan demanded. “Crew comes first. Next time I see your brother, I�
��ma give him a mouth shot!”

  “Man, you’re fucking crazy… That’s my fuckin’ brother,” I said, knocking Angel’s hand away. I reached out to grab Ryan by the throat.

  “Look, just chill, alright,” Angel pleaded. He caught his balance and shoved me hard. “We’ll see what happens tomorrow, alright?” He looked me in the eyes.

  “That’s my fuckin’ brother, Ryan… My fuckin’ brother.”

  “Whatever, man…” Ryan frowned. “Whatever.” He flapped his hand at me as he spun, and then he walked away towards the north—to the darkness of those blocks.

  Angel walked with me. We crossed Hollywood and turned down the alley we shared—it was empty, dead. The stale-yellow light glimmered off the cracked-up concrete. The garages loomed and seemed to lean out over the alley and leer down at us in quiet judgment. We stopped out behind my garage.

  “What the fuck am I supposed to do, man?” I sighed.

  “Shit, man. I don’t know.” Angel shook his head and glanced away. “Man... I don’t fucking know.”

  “Fuck.” I raised both hands to my head, then I squatted down on my hams and closed my eyes

  “Your brother’s too old for that shit. You said he’s moving out de neighborhood, right?”

  I opened my eyes and looked up at Angel. He stood with his arms folded over his stomach. “Yeah, but not soon or anything.”

  “Look,” Angel said as he slid his hands onto his hips, “I bet this shit blows over.” He looked up the alley.

  “I hope so, man.” I stood up and reached over the gangway gate, unlatched the lock, and pushed it open. I stopped and looked back at him over my shoulder.

  “Will you go over there with me tomorrow?” I asked.

  Angel looked down. “Yeah,” he flinched. Then, he shook his head and looked up into my eyes. “Yeah, I’ll go wit’ ya.”

  I nodded and walked into the gangway. The gate swung shut with a sharp bang.

  “You’ll see, it’s gonna be cool. We’ll just tell dem mothafuckas at de Dead-End-Docks dat your brother didn’t take his meds and thought Monteff was a transsexual pedophile,” Angel yelled to me as he walked down the alley. I could hear his laughter over my own until it all faded to nothing.

  •

  THAT NIGHT, I dreamt I was a little kid. Alone. All the lights were slowly clicking off downstairs in the house. I rushed to get upstairs, where I could hear Ma running a bath. The water roared and clapped into the tub. Her little black and white TV happily buzzed. I got to the base of the stairs and looked in the tall mirror that was part of the old-fashioned mahogany coat rack. The last light went out, and the mirror sunk and swirled into a deep tar black. A magnet-like force sucked me towards it. I tried to pull away, spun, and climbed the stairs. MA! MA! MOM! HELP ME! MOMMY!!! The force swelled stronger, and I clawed my fingernails into the carpet, frantically crawling upward. I strained with all I had. I started to scream. Suddenly, from the mirror, a beast rumbled a deep, crackly growl that swallowed my scream. It squeezed a wide claw around my ankle. I turned, and the tar had elongated. It stretched into the shape of a brown-maned monster. Its wide skull morphed slowly into several furred forms: a bear, a buffalo, a lion. It bared a row of small, sharp, white teeth. Then, I awoke panting, sweat-soaked. It was an hour before I slept again.

  CHAPTER 12

  CIVIL WAR

  I WOKE UP GROGGY and laid in bed a long time, just watching the room brighten with the day. Snoop Dogg ambled low from Rose’s room down the hall, and it made me sick to think of Rich hating blacks so much. They’d been part of the family before me. I didn’t know a world without them. Every memory, every day—my sisters, my family. Skin tone had never been something to divide, and it hadn’t meant anything until I got older. That’s when people started trying to explain to me about adoption and how they weren’t really my sisters, when I knew all along they were—on a level no words could touch. But hatred comes from all sides; no one is immune. We live in a confusing world.

  I finally got up and called Angel, and we planned to meet on the corner. I stepped out the front door as Rich headed up the porch steps. His eyes lit up when he saw me, and he sprung right in my face.

  “I got dat nigger good last night, huh?” He mimicked the swing of his sword, and I received the blow from the imaginary wooden blade.

  “Owwww…,” he grimaced in ecstasy. “He was bleedin’ everywhere and screamin’ like a stuck pig!”

  “What the fuck, Rich? That was my friend!” I yelled. Pin-prickles swarmed along my neck.

  “Who? That nigger? The one walkin’ down my street like he owned it?” He flailed his arms and legs wildly like a cartoon pimp. “That nigger won’t ever be your friend.” He jammed his index finger stiff into my solar plexus. I snatched his hand and shoved it away. Then, I stared into his beady, blue eyes.

  “Look, I tried to warn you, little brother, but your day’s coming. Them niggers are gonna get you, and it ain’t gonna be pretty.”

  I brushed past him and went down the steps, flicking him off.

  “Quit talking like that. The girls’ll fuckin’ hear you,” I said, making it to the sidewalk.

  Rich just stood on the porch in front of the door. He folded his arms over chest, and a deep, hacking laughter rumbled from his gut.

  Angel met me at the corner, and we headed over, quiet and scared. Looking back, I can see how good a friend he was to me—how obvious it was what was waiting for us.

  We got to the Dead-End-Docks at noon. The bright, white sun was high—there was nowhere to hide from it. They played three on three. Somebody’d replaced the milk crate with a rusty rim already bent and warped from people dunking on it. There were a dozen guys out—all of ’em blacks of different shades, except Ryan. He stood shirtless—his deep-brown freckles lined his pale skin. His sweat-dampened scalp glistened bright orange. It was a slow, subtle shift in race. The Mexicans, Puerto Ricans, and Asians slowly evaporated until one white boy stuck out like a flare struck in the dead of night.

  Ryan saw us approach and stepped over to meet us. He frowned a little and looked down, bashful and embarrassed. Then, he reached out his hand, and I met it with mine. I could see just then how thick his wrists were—almost twice as thick as most.

  “Hey, man... I’m sorry about last night, alright?” he said. His deep-green eyes were still and calm. He pulled me close and patted me on the back with the other.

  “Yeah, it’s cool, man,” I said, hugging him back. “It was all fucked up.”

  “Hey, Joe, but look, man.” Ryan leaned in to whisper in my ear. “Be careful today. Everybody’s acting shady.”

  “Whatchu mean?” I said, pulling back and peering nervously at the others. None of them looked our way.

  “I don’t know, man. Just be careful, alright?” Ryan urged. I looked into his fiery eyes.

  “You got my back, right?”

  “You know I do.”

  I walked up by the fence. The basketball panged. Shoes scraped pavement.

  “Who’s got next?” I asked.

  Three guys raised their hands but said nothing. BB popped off the fence and stepped up to me. He squinted in the mid-day sunlight.

  “So what happened last night, Joe?” BB said. “Your brother done kicked some shit off, huh?” He cupped his hand along his brow to shade the sun.

  “Man, my brother’s gone nuts,” I said loudly. “Shit, you remember that day when me and Leroy were going at it, and he jumped out all crazy?”

  “Ahh yeah... I remember that day. That was a good-ass fight.” BB grinned. “Hell yeah. Aye, remember that fight, Tank? With Joe and Leroy?”

  Tank glared at us both but said nothing. His muscularity seemed to grow every day. In the midst of the game, his shirt off, sweat gleamed off his dark, black skin. His wide, slumped shoulders and the thick mounds of his traps swelled. He looked like he’d stumbled onto a bottle of steroid pills and swallowed
’em all in one gulp.

  “How’s Monteff?” I asked, glancing around for him.

  “Ah, he’s alright. But don’t worry, you’ll be seeing him shortly,” BB said, smiling. “Ah, look, here he come right now.”

  I turned to see Monteff walk out of his gangway gate in a white Dago T. He sneered and stepped fast and hostile. There was a large white bandage taped to the side of his head, and he walked directly to me. His thin arms trembled.

  “Hey, Monteff. Man, you alright?” I asked.

  Monteff stopped a couple of feet from me, looked down, and shook his head. “Now, I’m only gonna ask you this once: was you in on it?” He shot his wet eyes up to mine.

  “What?” I took a step back. I heard the basketball bounce to a roll as the others slowly stepped towards us. Their forms crowded my periphery—mountainous.

  “You set me up, mothafucka?” Monteff shouted. Spit burst off his trembling lips.

  “What’re you talking about?” I said, shrugging my shoulders and raising my palms up. “You know my brother’s nuts.”

  “Put it on the Crew…” He looked down and ground his molars. “Naw… you know what? All you honky mothafuckas was in on it! Fuck this Crew! I’m Stones now!” He threw up the Five.

  T-Money must’ve come out of the gangway after him, because I didn’t see him ’til just then. He swooped up next to Monteff. Then, he yanked on the brim of his Padres cap and licked his lips. I went to say something; I don’t even remember what it was. T-Money’s fist sprang at me. I lunged backward. His arm stretched out long and straight like a spear. His fist crashed into my eye socket so quick I didn’t blink. His knuckles struck my eyeball. I felt it suck up into the socket, and it got stuck there deep in my skull. I stumbled back and clutched my face. That whole side of my mug flexed hard, and suddenly the eyeball popped back out into place. I couldn’t see anything out of that eye. With my good eye, I saw several fists shoot up and crack down on my head and face from all sides.

  “What the fuck!” Ryan yelled, then he reached his hand out and grabbed T-Money by the throat. The others swooped in like a swarm of hornets.