50
Dre and Michael couldn’t sleep. It was no wonder. Michael dropped across one of the twin beds while Dre paced the room like a caged tiger. He couldn’t get the image of Souljah Boy out of his mind.
Neither could he forget about his healing.
Michael, for his part, was boiling over like a pot that was on high heat and full of steam. He had thought about things and thought about them. There was only so much thinking he could do. Michael got up and opened the small window in the room, welcoming the gentle evening breeze.
He flopped back down on the bed and put his hands behind his head. He watched Dre pacing. He tried to keep his nerves under control because Dre’s pacing was making him want to scream.
Instead he said, “Dre, I used to be a masochist.”
He felt like a man in a confessional. Relief swept through his body at the release of the words.
Dre stopped pacing. He leaned his lanky frame against the wall. He stared at the crucifix hanging on the wall. Then he turned to Michael. “Yeah, I know that. Are you looking for absa . . . absa . . . what’s that word?”
His voice trailed off for a minute while he thought about it. “Are you looking for absolution?”
Michael smiled. “Naw, man, I already received it. It sort of rained down on me.”
Michael glanced at the crucifix and saw the image of a tortured man, hanging in agony, but through it all he felt the man’s honor, bravery, and something else. He tried to think what it was that he was feeling.
Humility. Christ had been a humble man.
And through his pain and agony he had shown great power. This man had shown him his power. He just hadn’t known what he was seeing at the time. And if that was the case, it had to mean that despite how it looked, everything was going to be all right.
“How did you know? Michael said.
Now it was Dre’s turn to smile. “Let’s just say I lived with you, son. It don’t make no difference what you was, Rebound. It’s what you are now and maybe what you will be that’s the sum of the total, brother. You know what I mean?”
Michael looked at him. “Thanks for the love, Dre.”
“No doubt it’s your props. You’re not the only one who’s not what they appear to be.” Dre didn’t elaborate, and Michael didn’t push it.
“I saw Rashod,” Michael said, changing the subject.
“You went to the morgue?”
“Yeah, I saw him there, too.”
Dre gave Michael one of his what-the-hell-are-you-talking-about looks. He sat down on the bed across from him. Michael rose from his bed. “Do you mind if I light one of these candles?”
“Naw.”
Michael lit the candle and returned to sit across from Dre. “Rashod’s body is in the morgue, but his spirit isn’t.”
“You’d better put a spin on this, Rebound, cuz I ain’t feeling you.”
Michael sighed. “His spirit ain’t at peace, Dre, because he needs our help, and this ain’t done.”
“The hell it ain’t,” Dre said. Then he clamped a hand to his mouth, remembering where he was. “Sorry, I ain’t mean to say that, but you know what I mean.”
Michael nodded.
“It’s over. That punk cop Lonzo is down for the count. That’s all there is to it.”
Michael smiled. “Is that so? Then why are we here?”
Dre clamped both hands to his head and shook it, as though he could free himself. “Lay it out, man. Straight up. After all, we’ve got all night. Souljah Boy showed up on the roof of the Lenox Terrace apartments as a spirit, not a man, and he’s as real as I know, so just break it down, brother. It looks like I ain’t going nowhere.”
Michael untied his sneakers. “You heard about the other fifty boys that were murdered?”
“Who hasn’t? Man, you think the toy cop did them, too?”
Before Michael could answer, a distinct voice called out both their names. “Rebound? Dre?” The voice belonged to Rashod. They had both heard him.
They turned in the direction of the door, where the voice had come from. They saw Rashod, hovering and flickering just like the lit candle.
“We ain’t got time to be tripping, so listen up. The toy cop ain’t all there is, Dre. There’s more. We gone have to get ready to hold court in the streets, cuz there’s a new kid on the block, and a few Glocks and Uzis ain’t going to kill him.”
Dre rose from the bed. He stared at the image of his dead brother.
Rashod stared back. “Are you feeling me, Dre?”