I’m finally home. I sit on the edge of my bed, peel off my socks and come apart. After the anger comes tears.
I’m angry because that’s how I push away feelings. Once the rage is spent, sadness returns— and it’s worse tonight because I shot a boy.
He was facing me down, gun pointed—saw the Kevlar vest and knew to take a head shot. We both fired—he missed. Now he’s dead.
Maize, my collie, senses my mood. She comes over and leans her body against my legs.
I wonder if the kid had a dog and if that dog was missing him now—weird. I don’t think about the parents—the ones who lied for him and refused to cooperate. I just wanted him off the streets and now he’s dead.
The phone rings. It’ll be Roz, my partner. I told her I was fine, but she saw through the lie. I don’t want to pick up, but if I don’t, she’ll keep on phoning.
“Ya, Roz.”
“You in bed?”
“Naw—getting there—kinda.”
“Good. I need you down here.”
“Where’s here?”
“Main and Tecumseh—we’re in for round two.”
“Don’t do anything—I’ll be there in twenty.”
“Roy, I think you better try for ten.”
“Hang tight.”
I’m out the door and into the car, dressing while tromping the accelerator. Last thing I want is Roz playing hero.
It’s turf warfare now—Crips versus Bloods—winner take all.
Jose was gang leader. It’s not rocket science to figure the Bloods are trying to make their push—catch the Crips while they’re off balance and drive them out.
I’m on the thruway gunning the Vet, cranking it past 120. The jumbled mosaic of lights ahead seems impossibly far. Suddenly, as if without moving, I’m there. I spot Roz’s red Camaro by the park and pull in, my front bumper almost touching hers.
“Where’s the action?”
“Don’t know—saw ten Bloods head for the river, another dozen take the path to the Band shell.”
“Damn! Could be either place. They’ve got no idea where the Crips are.”
Gangs like the Crips seem dumb. They have no imagination—always hanging out in the same spots no matter how many times they get busted there. Now Jose’s gone, they could be anywhere. They might not be at the river or the Band shell—they might be—
“Damn! How stupid can I be? They’re not hunkering down—they’re after me.”
Roz’s eyes grow wide. “You think they’d try a hit at your house?”
“Don’t think it—know it.”
Lex Villacrez is next in line, right after Jose—he's crazy and reckless. Taking out a cop is lame, but he’d risk jail time just to avenge Jose.
“What are you going to do?” she asks, her face flushed as the hunter’s Moon above us.
“I’m not going to sit around and be prey for Lex—he’s out for blood—I’ll give him a target. C’mon, follow me back to my place.”
We retrace my route and all I can think about is Maize guarding my empty house. I feel my fingers squeezing the wheel and see Lex and his skinny neck. I try not to think any further.
Ten minutes later, we’re sitting around the corner in Roz’s Camaro—the Crips would spot my Vet in a heartbeat. The street’s deep in shadows and totally still. Neither of us talk—we don’t need to—we know the drill.
I like Roz—we don’t talk—both of us too scared to get close because of the job. We spend each day minding gang bangers with guns, the way teachers watch a classroom—only these kids don’t push pencils.
“You okay?”
She gives me a scowl, but I can see the lines of worry, the crinkled crow’s feet round her eyes—the tight lips. I smile.
“You’re one tough broad.”
“Don’t forget it,” she smiles, and stares a second longer than necessary.
She’s beautiful and hard. I feel tension coil and uncoil inside me and figure it’s lust, not fear—at least, that’s what I tell myself.
The neighbors are asleep in their beds, oblivious to the drama beyond their walls. They lock their doors, thinking they’re safe behind fragile windows. But Crips carry Glock 17’s—eighteen rounds that go off far too easily after the first shot.
One stray burst and there’s a massacre. I hope there won’t be one tonight.