Even though my body ached and I staggered about with groggy unsteadiness, I was determined to prevent my big brother from ruining his life by making this most horrible of choices. I steadied myself and began to move quickly up Myrrh and Willowbrook, pass the Heritage house, which stood out dark and forbidding amongst the shadowy cluster of palm trees surrounding it. The faint flutter of a police copter overhead mingled with the distant wail of squad car sirens brought me a slight sense of dread for several minutes before I regained enough composure to proceed. After about fifteen minutes or more, I saw the tricked out Lincoln roar past me down Willowbrook, seemingly back to our house.
I could have walked back home if I'd wanted to, but instead I hailed down a passing taxi in order to get to our place as soon as possible. By the time the taxi pulled up along the curb to our home, I could see both of Montel's homeboys' rides as well as Leon's car parked on the street, not far from each other. I hurriedly paid the driver his fare and sprinted with breakneck speed up the winding sidewalk and across the steps. When I entered the house, Montel stood alone, without his homeboys who had obviously been waiting for him in the car, in the living room area. Sitting on the couch next to Mama was Leon. Miss Shante sat in a chair across from them.
I stepped to Montel, motioning with my head for him to take a walk with me outside into the night where he could reconsider his motives. He brushed me off nonetheless.
"Cee, I got this, dawg. I know what I'm doin', all right. You just take Mama and Shante next door to Shante's crib while I handle my business with old Leon here. After that, everything will be gravy." Montel cracked the knuckles on his thick fists loudly while glaring at Leon, who in turn glared back with equal animosity.
I shook my head defiantly after hearing Montel's words. I then reached to take hold of him but stopped just short of touching him.
"Do what I said, Cee," he reiterated.
Mama was talkative and unmovable at first, but after some heavy duty coaxing by Miss Shante, she reluctantly left with me and Miss Shante, still demanding to know what actions concerning Leon would be carried out in her absence.
As we exited the house, I just had to see for myself what was going down. Perhaps there was a chance I could still talk Montel out of doing something stupid. So I told Mama and Miss Shante to go ahead while I stayed, returning back into the house.
Montel's eyes were locked with the older, burly Leon. "Look, Leon, I really don't wanna go there with you, Cuz, but you're making it real hard for me not to. That's my mother you've been putting your hands on. I'm telling you to your face that you're never gonna hit my mother ever again."
Leon stood before Montel, moving only slightly as he slowly twirled a toothpick back and forth in between his sun chapped lips. Then he took the toothpick from his mouth and moved just a bit closer to Montel. "What goes on between ya Mama and me is our business and is of no concern to you or nobody else." Leon stood mean mugging the young, chiseled man-child in front of him. He really didn't want to tangle with the ex-con in all honesty. He even backed up a few paces as a result. Unfortunately for him, this was what his adversary was waiting for.
The two men stood their ground, watching and waiting, waiting and watching, as the chestnut encased grandfather clock ticked away loudly. Then the inevitable happened; quick, fast and in a hurry. I didn't even see it coming, leaving me no time to try to play interference.
There was the rumble of muscular bodies colliding together violently, while simultaneously crashing into furniture all across the room in the process. When the tumultuous thirty-five seconds finally ended, Montel rose up staggering briefly, but of no worse for wear except for a split bottom lip, which leaked crimson as he wiped it clear upon the back of his hand. The same, however, could not be said of Leon as he lay groaning on the floor in a beaten, bruised and bloodied heap.
I had to admit, I was somewhat relieved by the fact that Montel had decided to go man to man with Leon versus straight out shoot him.
"This didn't have to happen like this, Leon, but you left me no choice, man," Montel said gently as he collapsed down on the floor, leaning his broad back against the wall opposite the prostrate form of Leon. "Lord Jesus, have mercy on my soul! I come to you now seeking your face for forgiveness and mercy."
I couldn't believe it as I stood there listening to Montel begin to pray for forgiveness.
"And while you wash me in your blood, sweet Jesus," he continued, "please remember poor Leon here for he's your child, too. Give him a mind to praise your name, Father."
The look on Leon's face was that of a stunned man; a man who couldn't believe that his enemy was praying for him. I was stunned too as I watched Montel hang his head and close out his prayer.
Slowly he rose to his feet and walked over to Leon who was still lying there. He bent down and took the big man in his brawny arms and hoisted him like a baby, carrying him over to the couch where he placed him down onto its soft cushion. He went out onto the front porch where scores of neighbors had gathered around outside of their homes, apparently drawn by the loud arguing and fisticuffs. Eventually, after realizing nothing more was going down, the two dozen or so neighbors shuffled back inside their homes, leaving Montel alone with his thoughts.
"S'up, big homie?" I asked while taking a seat on one of the wicker chairs on the porch that was facing the street. "Looks like you gave Leon a serious beat down back up in the crib."
Montel paused before saying, "I feel like a failure, Cee. I really do."
"A failure? You ain't no failure. Now when you were riding around with your homies earlier, loading up gats, now that was dumb. But this here tonight was long overdue. When you were inside the pen I would've fought Leon a long time ago, but I was just too young, that's all. But even still I stepped to him about it."
Montel chuckled momentarily. I knew it made him proud of me to hear that even as a little boy I had heart just like he did.
"Yeah, you're my li'l brother for sure. Never let anybody disrespect Mama.
Sirens shrieked in the far distance, growing closer with each wail. It was the paramedics and the police. I felt a lump raise in my throat.
"Cee-Lovah," Montel said.
"Yeah, what up?"
"No matter what my reasons were for beating Leon down, this is strike number three for me. I've been to prison two times now; once for two years when you were very young. And no doubt the ten year sentence that I just did is gonna count against me. So you already know what time it is. So just keep ya head up and live for God like I seen you doin' thus far and everything will work out fine for you in this life. I'm glad that you've had a chance to experience a li'l bit of what not to do."
"You talkin' crazy, dawg," I said, brushing off the reality that my brother could very well be headed back to jail. "It ain't like you just killed somebody or something. You just had a fight, that's all."
"That's all it takes in Los Angeles County for a felon like me, Cee-love. Face it, Cuz. I'm gonna be arrested on assault and battery charges most likely. I'm going down for the long haul this time for sure."
"Whatever, dawg. . .whatever." I refused to accept Montel's assessment of the situation.
"Just give Mama and Shante my love and be a positive role model for this old hood."
In no time, the noisy, flashing lights of the emergency vehicles were upon us. Tens of dozens of assorted paramedics and LAPD officers scurried all across our modest front lawn in an effort to get up the steps and into the front door. Quickly, the rescue workers went to work on the battered Leon before lifting him onto a white sheeted stretcher and whisking him outside the door and into the waiting ambulance.
As the ambulance sped away in a spectacle of blue and red brilliance, Montel was already handcuffed and being read his Miranda rights by a black clad LAPD cop whose partner eyeballed me warily as I watched my brother being taken into custody. Before his head was pushed forward into the back seat, Montel said to me, "Be strong, Cee. You got this."
I rushed off of the porch toward the squad car, but was blocked by a cop. "Get back up on that porch, kid, before you end up taking a little ride downtown yourself. Comprende'?"
I stopped in my tracks, staring over the short, stumpy policeman's shoulder, watching the squad car melt away in the darkness of the distant Compton street. The cop made a caustic remark before leaving, to which I paid little attention to before returning to the front porch where I plopped down onto the wicker chair in an unpleasant medley of emotions. I had once again lost my brother.