“Who sold him the stuff?”
Roam was black, tall, gangly and when he filled out, would be a looker. Sniff was white, overly-thin, short and had acne. Park had been Mexican-American, medium height and already handsome, if he’d reached an age, he’d have been a knockout.
I knew from my work with him that Roam was sliding across the edge. I never knew if I was going to get through to him. Every day I went to King’s, I held my breath, hoping he’d be there as that was the only indication that what I was doing was working.
Roam’s black eyes stared at me but he didn’t say a word.
I put my hand to his chest and shoved him against the wall of the building, next to Park’s body. Then I got in his face.
Roam was fifteen, but five inches taller than me and, if he tried, he could take me.
He didn’t try.
“Who sold him the f**king dope?” I demanded.
“Don’t know his name.”
“Can you take me to him?”
Roam’s eyes moved, quick as a flash, surprised but not wanting to show it.
“Law,” he said and that was all he said and I knew he could.
“Tonight. You take me to him,” I said.
Roam’s face went hard and I knew why. Roam and Park had been friends since they could remember. They knew the bad times at home and the better-but-still-shit times on the street. Sniff had come later. New on the street, Park had taken him under his wing. The three had been inseparable ever since.
Until now.
“Yeah,” Roam agreed and I knew why he did that too and that wasn’t going to happen.
“You aren’t getting involved. You show me who it is and then you’re a shadow.”
“Law,” Roam repeated.
“No, Roam. This isn’t a discussion.”
“Ain’t no place for white bitches. These people’ll f**k you up,” Roam told me.
“Don’t worry about me. And don’t call me a bitch, it’s rude.”
What could I say? I was still the adult in the situation.
That night, Roam showed me who it was.
I didn’t go after him. I wasn’t that stupid.
Instead, I followed him and I planned.
I also went to Zip’s Gun Emporium and bought a gun.
Zip was as old as time, white, short, wrinkled, skinny and mostly bald except for about a dozen long, white hairs that were attached randomly to his skull.
Zip watched me as I handled the guns in his shop, making my decision.
“You ever held a gun?” he asked.
“Nope,” I answered.