“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 al 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-stil -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’l fuck you up,” Roam told me.
“Don’t worry about me. And don’t cal me a bitch, it’s rude.”
What could I say? I was stil 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 fol owed 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 skul .
Zip watched me as I handled the guns in his shop, making my decision.
“You ever held a gun?” he asked.
“Nope,” I answered.
“You buyin’ it for protection? To put in your purse?”
“Nope,” I repeated.
Zip watched me some more. “Goin’ after your ex?” he asked.
“Nope,” I said again.
Zip’s eyes got wide for a fraction of a second then they narrowed. “Goin’ after someone else?”
I looked at Zip.
Then, I don’t know why, maybe I needed to talk about it, maybe I needed someone to talk me out of my plan, but, for whatever reason, I told Zip about Park.
Then I told him about my plan.
Then he stared at me for what seemed a long time.
Final y, he walked down the display case, opened one up, pul ed out a black gun and said, “Glock 19, nine mil imeter. It’s light, it’s dependable and it’l fit in your purse.”
Hal elujah.
“Sold,” I said.
“Got a shooting range out back. Every day, you’re in here for at least an hour. Every day, I’l give you the hour free and I’l teach you. You don’t go on the street until you can handle that gun. Then I got some boys I want you to talk to. They’l show you how to handle yourself. Be here tomorrow at six.”
I was a little shocked but I wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth so I nodded.
“Let’s fil out the paperwork,” Zip finished.
Zip made me practice shooting until my arms ached.
Sometimes, one of his boys, Heavy or Frank, would come get me and take me out and they’d show me other things.
They taught me about knives (mostly, how to avoid them, but also how to handle them). They also taught me how to scrap; how to punch; how to duck; how to drive; how to use stun guns, tasers and mace; how to be quiet; how to be invisible; and how to disappear.
Most importantly, Heavy taught me, “You get in a tussle, go for the gonads. Always.”
It was good advice but I didn’t expect to get that close.
I expected to be a nuisance.
I was going to use guerril a tactics.
And I did.
I fol owed Park’s kil er and, while he was off making a sale, I used one of Zip’s knives and slashed al his tires.
Sure, it might seem sil y and immature but you make a drug sale, you want to get away and make another sale, not cal AAA.
Then during one of Park’s kil er’s sales, while hidden, I threw a smoke bomb at them, interrupting the sale and freaking everyone way, the hel , out. I didn’t expect he lost his customers; drug addicts would get over a freak out when they needed a score. Stil , it would aggravate the dealer and that was what I was after.
Then I fol owed Park’s kil er some more and saw his supplier.
Then I fol owed his supplier.
Then I slashed his tires.
I did this a lot, messing with their heads, doing stupid, annoying shit that got right up their noses. My favorite was the plastic wrap I attached back and forth on the doorway when the dealer was taking a break from destroying people’s lives and banging his girlfriend. When he was done, he walked through the plastic wrap on the door and, for a second, had no idea what he’d walked through. He’d started yel ing and carrying on, throwing his arms everywhere, plastic wrap clinging to him.
I watched the whole thing and nearly pee’d my pants laughing.
During the day, I listened to the kids.
At night, I eavesdropped on the dealers, the suppliers and the junkies.
This was how I learned the street, or part of it anyway.
I paid attention, I memorized faces, names and places and I spent a lot of time with Zip, Heavy and Frank.
And I widened my net.