That 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.
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.