Xavier didn’t know who this dude was—probably contracted by Slick Eddie. Possibly Romello—hell, he didn’t know. He had far too many enemies to pinpoint who’d sent this crazy-looking fool. One thing was sure: Tall and Husky had made it known that he was here for Xavier.
When Xavier arrived at the crib he found Alfonso lying on his bed, crying. He automatically jumped to the wrong conclusion.
“Noah didn’t hit you, did he?”
Alfonso raised and shook his head no as the waterworks continued.
When he’d arrived home Xavier had noticed a distinct smell in the air, like somebody was burning something. But the neighbor next door was always out burning something or other in his backyard, so Xavier had paid it no mind.
He sat on the bed and rested a hand on his little brother’s back to console him. “Dude, what’s wrong with you?”
Alfonso buried his face in the pillow, bawling and pointing to the bedroom window looking out on the backyard.
The stench of something burning was becoming suffocating. Cautiously Xavier moved to the window and was hit by a very disturbing scene. He had to wipe his eyes in disbelief as he stared at Noah standing out in the yard over a pile—what Xavier could make out—of burning clothes, with a Bible underneath his left armpit and what looked to be a small can of lighter fluid in his right hand. It was one of the craziest sights Xavier had ever witnessed. There were no words.
“He caught me wearing the clothes that you bought me last semester instead of the ones he’d paid for,” Alfonso explained, raising his teary face from the pillow.
Xavier just stood there. He couldn’t move. His dad had taken this thing to a whole other level of insanity. Pure craziness. Xavier didn’t know too much about the Bible, but he was sure that this kind of behavior didn’t exist between the covers.
Xavier said to no one in particular, “Clothes—they’re just clothes.”
“Dad said you hid your clothes from him and when he finds them he’s gonna burn them like he’s doing mine,” Alfonso said, dropping his face back into the pillow and bursting out crying.
Xavier was going to have to be extra careful about going in and out of the empty bungalow to change his clothes. To be truthful, Xavier didn’t know how he would react if he came home and all of his designer clothing was billowing into the sky in puffs of black smoke.
As he watched his father reading from the Book and squirting fluid on a raging fire, suddenly his mother, Ne Ne, was beginning to look like a saint to him.
6
FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 5
9:00 P.M.
Against his father’s wishes Xavier had gone to pay his last respects to his homeboy Felix Hoover. Noah tried to explain to Xavier that stuff like that happened to people like Felix because he hadn’t been saved through Jesus Christ. Tried to explain that Felix was a thug and people like that belonged to Satan.
This morning, to Xavier it’d seemed like over a million people had attended Felix’s home-going. And of course, Second Street had been everywhere, showing solidarity by wearing shirts with Hoover’s face on them, paying tribute to a fallen soldier. With so many thugs present, nobody expected anything funky to jump off. The Detroit Police Department had made a conscious effort to show a heavy presence to discourage rivals from getting cute and trying to start anything. Almost every student from Coleman High had turned out to say their goodbyes.
Now everybody was at the State Theater cutting loose and kicking back to the jams the DJ was spinning at the memorial celebration. Every place in the theater had a magnificent view of the dance floor.
Xavier had taken a few dollars of the money given by Billy and splurged. It felt good to have a new pair of kicks on his feet. He had the loot and could’ve gone hard at the mall, but he didn’t. A crispy pair of white Nike Air Force 1s, some blue Levi’s, and a nice navy blue full-zip Nautica hoodie were all Xavier had purchased. Of course he’d have to make a pit stop at his stash spot and change clothes before going home. But it was what it was.
Xavier was too hyped and paranoid to sit down. Instead he, Dex, Bigstick, the Runt—as they’d started calling Simon Templeton—and some wannabe thug named Linus Flip, who was sucking Xavier’s socks every chance he got, were on the dance floor.
Flip had transferred to Coleman from Northern High yesterday. Xavier had known the dude from back in the day. He was a pretty big boy. At two hundred fifty pounds, Linus stood about six-foot-six, with a powerful upper torso and chicken legs. With skin the color of tar, a long forehead like Frankenstein’s monster, and bugged-out eyes, Flip couldn’t be anything else but a thug.
The boys were holding down a small area in the right far corner of the dance floor. The place was packed. Standing room only. The group stood watching guys and girls sweating hard and breathing heavy on the dance floor, getting it in to Beyoncé’s “Drunk in Love” track.
And as usual Dex was getting clowned about his gear.
Xavier said, “Dex, homeboy, with all of the crotch-hugging pants you’ve been wearing, you can’t possibly be looking to have any babies in the future.”
Linus almost fell on the floor laughing.
Everybody cracked up laughing, except for Dex. He defended the sky-blue blazer, stretch pants that looked like they were camouflage, white shoes, and black man-bag.
“Skip all y’all,” he said to the group. “And, X, you wouldn’t know style if it threw on a set of Bigfoot monster truck tires and ran over your melon.”
Runt laughed. “Now, Xavier, that was funny.”
Bigstick said to Runt, “Fam, what’s funny is Dex over there thinking that the women are gonna be on his shoes because of that outfit. But what fam fails to realize is that the man purse makes him look real sweet.”
Xavier slapped Bigstick five. “I’m hip—all those colors, looks like a paint factory threw up on you.”
Linus said, “Xavier, you’re a real funny dude, a straight-up fool. Forget Kevin Hart, you should be out there making that money.”
Dex was quick to call Flip out. “Damn, brah, that crap wasn’t that funny. Get up off his socks.”
Everybody laughed at Linus Flip. He might’ve been a pretty big boy, but Xavier knew he had massive self-esteem issues, which caused him to go there on Dex.
“Dude, you don’t know me like that,” said Linus, trying to look intimidating.
Dex was a short guy, but a punk he wasn’t. “You spoke on me. Fool, if you can’t take it, stay out of it.”
Xavier could tell this was getting heated. And before he had to beat the brakes off Linus for trying to put his hands on Dex, Xavier broke it up. “Linus, one thing you should know if you hang with us, you will get clowned, you feel me?”
Linus shook his head super quick. He didn’t want any one-on-one confrontations with Xavier. He already knew about Xavier’s inner gangsta and he wasn’t about to go there.
But before they could finish their convo, Brenda Sanders walked right up to them with a couple of her ghetto girlfriends, and started going in on Xavier.
Dex was the first to fire a shot. “Looks like the weave queen and stretch-mark crew is here.”
“No you didn’t, boo-boo,” Brenda said to Dex. “I know you ain’t trying to roast nobody while carrying a purse.”
Brenda looked like she had gone to a Third World basement salon before the funeral. The ty-zillion braids were gone, replaced by blond and black horsehair that cascaded down her back and twisted into a fabulous ghetto ponytail. She had on a too-tight body dress which made her pregnancy look like she was trying to hide a Spalding basketball. Her shoes were scuffed big-time. Her homegirls looked horrible too—wearing dresses that were too little, and equally ruined shoes.
Xavier, Runt, Bigstick, and Linus Flip were laughing hard at Dex’s silly behind.
One of the girls on Brenda’s left said to Dex, “All those colors you got on—what, you get dressed in the dark, boyfriend?”
The girl on Brenda’s right chimed in, “Girl, he looks just l
ike a pack of Starburst.”
Dex came back something ferocious. “That’s good, y’all able to see colors. Now if I can get you three chicks to stop skipping class and spending all seven periods in the lunchroom, you just might start looking like girls again. The rolls on the back of y’all necks look like packs of hot dogs.”
Xavier could hardly catch his breath from laughing so hard.
The activity on the dance floor was hot and heavy, with the DJ spinning another one of Beyoncé’s hits. The music was loud, but Brenda was much louder.
“How’s my baby daddy doing?” she said to Xavier, as she rubbed her stomach. “Don’t worry, little Xavier Jr., we’re not going to let your dad ruin any of your Christmases. Because he will be paying child support.”
“What do you want?” Xavier asked. “Why you always up in my face?”
“Because the baby I’m carrying says I can be.”
“Oooo,” Xavier’s boys responded.
Xavier was getting heated. Nobody ever talked to him this way. He felt completely disrespected by Brenda. He’d never put his hands on a girl and wasn’t going to start now. But she was pushing him to the limit.
Heather Larkin stepped out of the crowd of dancers, strands of hair matted to her brow by perspiration, and walked over to put an arm around Xavier’s neck. She smiled at the three girls like Xavier was all hers.
Heather’s gear was nothing spectacular—hand-me-down city—long, flowing, solid gray skirt, a white button-down blouse, and plain black shoes. Tiny sweat droplets beaded the lenses of her glasses.
Heather’s move had been done so slick it surprised everybody. Xavier didn’t have time to react.
The chick on Brenda’s left spoke up first. “Oh no she didn’t.”
With her hands on her hips, the girl on the right asked, “Who’s this chick?”
Brenda finally spoke up. “Boo-boo, you better take yo’ arms from around my baby daddy’s neck and skip your little private school outfit outta here. Can’t you see grown folks are handlin’ some bidness.”
Heather teased Brenda with a smug smile and said in a sultry voice, “Well, when I recognize you as being grown, I will do just that. But let me tell you a little something my mother told me: Just because a baby is carrying a baby doesn’t make her grown. It exposes her for the weak and insecure girl that she really is.”
“Oooo,” everybody around mocked in unison.
“No she didn’t,” Brenda said to her girls.
Heather attacked Brenda’s two girlfriends. “You two oompa loompas need to understand that your Hummer H3 bodies can’t fit into clothes”—Heather slowly rubbed her hands down her curves—“made for high-performance sports cars.”
Brenda and her two girlfriends had had just about enough.
They started removing their earrings and shoes in preparation for combat. To keep it one-hun’ed, they were about to whoop Heather’s behind.
Xavier bossed up. “Y’all know my rep and how I get down for mine. Gonna ask you one time—ain’t asking again. Get away from us. Right now!”
The fire in Xavier’s eyes told the girls that he wasn’t playin’. The three of them didn’t waste any time putting back on their crusty shoes and moving on.
The lights had been dimmed to create the perfect atmosphere for slow dances. Recessed lighting illuminated the dance floor as couples got their cake on, slowly twirling and twisting to a slow-grinding, old-school R. Kelly tune.
Xavier put a hand around Heather’s waist. “I like the way you handle yourself, ma. Real smooth, clever. The kind of chick that would hold a man down.”
Heather giggled and whispered something naughty in Xavier’s ear and grabbed his hand to lead him away.
Dex stepped to Heather. “This dude got plenty of honeys, girlfriend. Don’t you want a man who dresses like me?” He sounded like he was player-hating.
Heather said boldly, “If I wanted a little colorful candy-stick of a man I’d go to the candy store. Now step off, twerp.”
“That’s what you get,” Linus Flip said sarcastically.
Bigstick was next to chime in on Dex. “Damn, fam, you got dissed, son.”
Runt even clowned Dex. “So far that new look of yours ain’t earning you no shine time with the girlies.”
Dex looked like somebody had thrown a pie in his face. Something was up with Heather, but he just couldn’t figure it out. Girls loved him for his buffoonery. None of them had ever styled on him like this girl had done.
Heather was leading Xavier away when Dex shouted over the music for Xavier’s attention, pointing at the dance floor.
Xavier had to keep a lid on the angry monster of jealousy inside of him as he looked out and saw Samantha and that baseball-playing punk on the dance floor getting it in to a jazzy, up-tempo track by Bruno Mars. He wanted to go out on the dance floor and pile-drive that wimp, straight snatch homeboy’s spine out of his throat. Instead he chilled. After all, Samantha had walked away from him. Not really knowing if the baby was his or not.
So the way Xavier saw it, if she wanted homeboy—mo’ power to her.
Heather whispered something in Xavier’s ear that put a huge smile on the boy’s face.
They walked out of the crowd and headed to a nice, cozy dark corner.
Linus drove his well-maintained burgundy 2001 Pontiac Grand Prix through the dark streets. The boys were now heading to an after-party at a house on the west side. LaMarcus Russell was a center for the Coleman High Wolverines basketball team, and the house on Hubbell Street, where the after-party was jumping off, a block east of the abandoned Thomas M. Cooley High School, belonged to him. His parents had saved up enough money to buy a house in Bloomfield, and as a gift for his eighteenth birthday, they’d given their only child, LaMarcus, the 950-square-foot brick colonial.
It took Linus a minute to find a parking spot. Street parking had been dominated by cars belonging to teenagers getting their groove on inside of LaMarcus’s well-lit crib. Xavier, Bigstick, Dex, Runt, and Linus were joking and laughing as Linus carefully maneuvered his car into the only spot available, in front of a fire hydrant. The Detroit Police Department was on a tight budget and this area would sometimes go weeks without seeing a single squad car. Linus knew this and that’s why he wasn’t sweating a parking violation.
Linus had made his way out of the car and was standing on the sidewalk, as Xavier moved the front passenger seat forward to let the rest climb out of the back.
Runt was the last one getting out when out of nowhere drove a black GMC SUV with the windows rolled down on the right side. Suddenly what sounded like a shot rang out, replacing the noise of the loud rap music coming from the party. The fight-or-flight response kicked in and the boys bolted every which way. The SUV slowly rolled forward as the driver pursued the intended targets.
Xavier wasn’t sure what was happening, so he hid and pinned himself down in front of a vintage red Toyota Camry in the driveway of a house. But then Linus mounted some nerve and came out from his place of concealment, spotting a brick, picking it up and throwing the thing with all of his might at the SUV, splattering the windshield, and catching the goons off guard.
As the driver panicked and punched down on the accelerator, the SUV lurched forward and took off, burning rubber up the street.
Linus called out to Xavier, “You all right?”
Xavier finally came from behind the Toyota. “Did anybody get a look?”
Dex walked out of his place of concealment. “Nah, I was too shook to leave my hiding spot.”
Runt emerged from the shadow. “The windows were too tinted to see anybody inside.”
“I don’t think we should go to this party anymore. Let’s get out of here,” Linus said.
The boys weren’t going to stay around and wait for the SUV guys to come back, so they jumped in the whip and bounced.
7
MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 8
10:00 A.M.
Even though Xavier was sitting at his desk surrounde
d by students in Mr. Burke’s world history class, the boy’s mind was a gazillion miles away. He wasn’t listening to the lecture about the rise and fall of Mesopotamia.
Xavier couldn’t front; Linus had saved all of their butts Friday night. It had all gone down so fast that no one was even thinking about getting a license plate number. And even if anyone at the party had witnessed the shooting, they wouldn’t dare come forward with any information.
This had to be the same SUV that had been involved in Felix Hoover’s murder. He had no idea why they were gunning for him.
Was this Slick Eddie’s handiwork? Xavier didn’t have the slightest idea.
But somehow he knew that this thing was just getting started. Those boys weren’t playing. Fear had never been a factor with Xavier, but now he was starting to get a little worried. There was no place for him to hide if those boys grew brass ones and tried to creep on him in the school. The few students who belonged to Second Street had dropped out after Felix was killed. There was nobody packing the hardware. The football team was only good for Xavier if the foe wanted to go heads-up by way of a good old-fashioned, spit-flying brawl.
There was a knock at the door.
Doug popped his head in and asked, “Excuse me, Mr. Burke. Can I have a moment with Xavier Hunter, please?”
The teacher looked at Xavier. “You can go, Mr. Hunter.” Mr. Burke glanced at his watch. “In any event, if you don’t return for the rest of today’s class, finish reading chapter five for homework.”
In the hallway Xavier asked, “What I do now?”
“I just have a few questions to ask you in my office,” Doug said.
Doug and Xavier were walking toward the north stairwell when a loud, piercing female scream resonated from the south stairwell.
Xavier dropped his history book and took off toward the scream like he was security. He beat Doug there and was horrified by what he discovered. Doug made it seconds later and cringed as they both stared down the staircase at Brenda Sanders’s unconscious body. Girl was sprawled out and wasn’t moving. Doug moved down the steps with urgency, as Xavier took out his cell and dialed 911.
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