Then the tall kid took my card. I had a small moment of hope, but that quickly went away.
“What I just say? You deaf?” The tall kid let the card fall out of his hand and down to the sidewalk. “Ain’t nobody talking to you.” He stared at me as he stepped on the card, grinding it beneath his foot. “Now get, ’fore I beat yo’ ass.”
I managed to avoid getting killed at BeeBee’s house. That, in hindsight, was a major success. I should have quit while I was ahead. A saner man would have gone home, but I made the unfortunate decision to stop by my office. That was when my luck ran out.
By the time I got over there, it was dark.
I found a parking space in front, because there was never a demand for parking in front of my office, day or night. I pulled into the spot, turned off the engine, and opened my car door. As soon as it was open, I heard yelling coming from the alley that ran behind the Fourteenth Street buildings.
Glass broke. Somebody screamed.
There was a narrow path to the alley between my office and the building next door. I pulled out my cell phone and dialed 911 as I ran toward the noise. When the operator answered, I slowed a little, telling her who and where I was, but kept going forward.
She wanted me to stop and wait, but I didn’t.
Three kids stood over Hermes’s brother in the back of the Northside Roastery.
Nikolas was on the ground. A broken computer monitor sat nearby. One arm was bent. His other arm tried to protect his head from another blow as he struggled to crawl away.
I didn’t think anything through. No plan. I just had to stop it. “Police, get your hands up in the air.” I held up my cell phone like it was a badge and put my hand on my hip like I was about to pull a gun. In the darkness and shadows of the back alley, I hoped that nobody could tell that none of it was real. I kept barking orders at them as I moved closer.
They didn’t stick around. The trio took off down the alley, and within seconds they were gone.
“Nikolas.” I crouched next to him, but anticipating another strike, he whimpered and tried to get away. “It’s Justin Glass. You’re going to be OK. Lie still.” I lowered my voice, calm. “Lie still, Nik; help is coming.”
I put my hand out. I tried to provide a gentle touch to reassure Nikolas that I wasn’t a threat, but as I reached for him the alley flooded with flashing lights and sirens. I turned and was blinded.
Somebody yelled at me, but I didn’t understand. “What?” I asked to a jumble of commands. Then a sickening flash of clarity as two police officers rushed toward me with their guns drawn: I was a black man, crouched over a downed white man in a dark alley. This was how it ends.
“I’m Justin Gl—” I managed before a thick white cop drove me into the pavement. He rolled off as the other drove his steel-toed boot into my side. Pain shot through me. I screamed and tried to turn away. “I’m the one who called—”
“I said freeze.” Another kick to the side, harder and even more painful than the first. The bone cracked, and it felt like I’d never be able to force another breath inside me. Then a knee drove into my back as someone got on top. I thought my spine was going to snap in two. My face was pressed hard into the asphalt. I tasted blood as my arms were pulled back. Handcuffs were put on my wrists.
“I’m Justin Glass.”
The officer leaned in close, still on top of me, breathing hard. “Don’t care who the fuck you are, homey,” he said. “You’re under arrest.” Then he grabbed my head, pulled it back a few inches, and slammed it down.
CHAPTER NINE
I was released from jail and into the custody of my father, United States congressman Arthur Glass. Buster, my father’s chief of staff, and Lincoln were also there in the otherwise empty reception area.
Lincoln winced as he looked me over. “You look like shit, man.”
“Thank you for stating the obvious.” I walked toward them, limping. Fire shot up my side with every step. My lip was swollen, and my forehead was cut.
I knew that I had blacked out, but I wasn’t sure for how long. When I woke up, the cops were in the process of pushing me into the back of a squad car. The trip to the jail was dizzying, and even now my head was in a fog. “Nikolas OK?”
“Probably saved his life,” my father said.
“You’re a certified hero.” Lincoln smiled.
Buster, a short man who was built like a wrestler, took my arm and guided me to a row of seats along the wall. “Best if we all talk before we go out there.” He nodded toward the exit, always handling the situation and playing the angles. “Every news outlet in the area is outside, waiting for you to say something.”
I shook my head as I sat down. “I don’t want to say anything.” My throat was dry. “I want to go home, see Sammy, and get some sleep.”
“Can’t do that,” Lincoln protested. “We got an opportunity here. We can introduce you to the people, create your brand, and lay the groundwork to make public safety and police accountability a big part of your campaign.” He pumped his fist. “People have been waiting for this.”
“My campaign?” I looked at my father for clarification, but he just rolled his eyes.
In addition to being a state senator, Lincoln had also taken it upon himself to lead and grow the Glass family’s political machine. He cultivated family members and relatives to occupy various elected positions throughout Saint Louis and Saint Louis County. No position was too small or insignificant to get his full attention and support.
Every year, neighborhoods were filled with lawn signs touting the candidacy of somebody named Glass. The signs were all the same color, same font, and same logo. He had an army of volunteers ready to lit-drop, phone-bank, and work the polling places. It was meant to be intimidating, and it was. Saint Louis was a land of political dynasties, and ours was one of them.
“This is solid.” Lincoln pointed at me. “People need to see what the police did to you, all banged up. Tomorrow you’ll be clean and rested, and that’s no good.” He nodded, agreeing with his own plan. “Michael Brown, Eric Garner, Alton Sterling, Philando Castille, and now you.”
“Hardly.” I raised my hand, anger rising, but I wasn’t sure whether I was angry at Lincoln or the police—or both. “All those guys are gone.” I closed my eyes, trying to focus through the pain. “I’m lucky I wasn’t shot tonight, but . . .” I faded. My breathing slowed. Every breath hurt. “I’m not doing the politics thing tonight or tomorrow or the next day. What part of that don’t you seem to understand?”
“When we were little, you talked about it all the time.” Lincoln put his hands on his hips. “You and me, just a darker shade of JFK and Bobby.”