Grant Freemon
The streets are familiar, even to eyes that haven’t studied them in decades. The wary stares, something I long ago stopped noticing, I, too, now do. The fast shuffle of hands, deals made, agreements come to, and then a separation of bodies, as each party goes back to their own slice of hell.
I haven’t walked down Chapel Street in a long, long time.
But I do it now in clothes I paid for—not stolen.
In shoes I tried on in a store—I didn’t roll some other kid for them.
A barber styled my hair, not a kid in an alley, and the wallet in my back pocket—filled with legitimate ID, and credit cards that weren’t lifted from some other poor soul’s pocket.
Times sure have changed, and with them, my comfort and confidence in a life that wasn’t likely to fuck me over.
But the lessons a kid learns on the streets tend to stick. And the faces, most of the time, remain the same.
“No fuckin’ way!” Shuby, a boy I knew forever ago—now a man—starts my way, his hands balled together and sweat stains marking his dirty tank. He wears jeans two or three sizes too big, and checkered shorts beneath.
Jesus, I forgot how low we used to wear our pants.
“Say it ain’t so!” He walks straight past me, then around me, before coming back to the front and running the tip of his tongue across his teeth.
One of them is gold. “Free Bird flew back home. The fuck!” Faster than I remember, he throws his arm out and yanks me in for a hug, laughter bubbling from deep in his chest, his heart hammering against his diaphragm.
With excitement, maybe. With vigilance, mostly.
“It’s not often one of my boys comes back around.” He inches away, only to drag my hand into a familiar shake, one I haven’t practiced in years. Hell, if muscle memory doesn’t have our palms connecting, anyway. “It’s like I’m seeing a ghost, G. You got my heart pitter-pattering.”
“It’s good to see you, Shube.” There was a time in my past when I held genuine affection for Caleb Shuberman.
We were as close as brothers back then. We would have killed for one another.
Died for the other. Fuck, there were more than just the two of us back then, but those who are no longer around proved just how far they’d go for the rest of us. “You look good.”
“Yeah?” He pats his flat stomach. “Doing what I can to keep the ladies flowing. Not all of us got to marry the likes of Layla Tompkins. You took the prettiest one, G, so the rest of us are out here dealing with the scraps.” He settles back on his heels and looks me up and down.
“I’d like to think you’ve come to say hey, but I wasn’t stupid back in the day, and I ain’t stupid now. ”
“Did you hear about the Bay shooting on Monday night?” My head pounds with an ache I haven’t escaped since the phone rang.
My stomach curdles with the dread I’ve felt from the moment I found out my baby got mixed up with the likes of Benjamin fucking Saxon.
“Two vics. One deceased, one rushed to the hospital.”
“Yeah, I heard.” His face is more weathered than mine; his tan significantly darker.
Lines bunch between his brows from years of sun exposure I managed to escape.
“I don’t hang out over there much these days, but I heard about it.
Just a couple of kids. Jesus,” he chuckles, “back when we were their age, it felt like we’d already experienced the world.
Now, when I think about teens, all I see are babies. ”
“Yeah, well, my baby was the one who ended up in the hospital.” Rage pulses in my veins and prickles the tips of my fingers. A desperate hunger throbs in my blood, a lusting for violence pulling me back to the boy I used to be. “My daughter, Shube. My fucking child.”
“No shit.” He drops his hand on my shoulder. “I didn’t know, G. I had no fuckin’ clue, or I’d have paid better attention. She okay?”
“She died. For a minute,” I rasp. “Her heart gave out, and the doctors had to bring her back. I just…” I shake my head. “I don’t know where to look. I don’t know who did it. I don’t know why they didn’t have better aim. They were there for her good-for-nothing piece of shit boyfriend.”
“Fuck me…”
“They got him. But they tagged her, too. So now I need answers.” I bring fiery eyes up and stop on the man I once considered my best friend. My brother in arms. “I need to know who did this, and then I need them not to be breathing anymore.”
“You got it.” He squeezes my shoulder. “I’ll ask around and see what I see. Who’s the dude?”
“The boyfriend? Benjamin Saxon. You remember Torrence Saxon from back in the day? That shady-ass motherfucker who—”
“Shot you in the back for a dime bag and thirty bucks.” His jaw tightens with the memory. “You’re telling me your baby girl was dating that prick’s… what? His kid? And you let it happen?”
“I never told her what that family meant to me, and Torrence was dead before Ben was old enough to walk in a straight line. He never said shit to me, and if he said anything to my daughter, she never brought it up. I figured the kid was blind to the history, and even now, I have no proof he knew otherwise.”
“And now he’s dead?” Shube whistles between his teeth. “Like father, like son. They live by the streets, they die on them.”
“I guess…” I draw a heaving breath. “I don’t know who did it.
The cops aren’t saying too much, and the folks on the news only report what they see and the shit they make up.
Last I knew, my baby girl was safe in her room, so I took my wife to bed and slept like a fuckin’ baby.
Next thing, cops are asking questions, and doctors are telling me about her heart.
About how her injuries were too serious, so it gave out.
How they zapped her back and repaired the damage to her spleen.
They say she’s out of the woods now, but she considered herself in love with this kid, Shube.
She fuckin’ cries for him. I need to know who did this, but I don’t have the same contacts I used to around here. ”
“I do. It’s okay, G. I gotchu.” He reaches into his back pocket, bypassing the 9mm on his hip and snagging his phone instead.
“I’ve got a friend who hangs in high places, so I’ll check in with him and see what he knows.
” He swipes his phone to unlock it and taps on a name to start a call.
But then he hesitates, his eyes coming back to mine.
“These things don’t come free, G. If I’m asking him for a favor, he’s gonna need payment. ”
I dig my hands into my pockets and swallow. “I know. I’m good for it.”
“He won’t want cash.” He brings the phone to his ear. “He knows who you are, G, and he knows you work with numbers. I know for a fact he has a bunch of dirty money, so if you have the skills to wash it…”
“I do.” I drop my gaze and exhale. “I’ll pay my debt, so long as he delivers answers.”