Leave lookin’ the crib over for last.”
“Sure,” Gunner said. He made it seem as if he was giving something up, when in fact he was getting exactly what he wanted.
“What’s the other thing? You said you had a couple favors to ask.”
“Yeah. I did. It’s about Michael Clarke. Cube.”
“What about him?”
“I hear he’s got a nasty disposition, that he’s a real ballbuster, and all that. He cut up Toby’s lawyer, I understand.”
Behind Smalltime, Rucker let a smirk slide onto his face. “Sho did,” he said.
Smalltime shrugged again, not knowing what to say. “Lady said the wrong thing. He scratched her a little. That’s Cube.”
“Uh-huh. That’s what I mean.” Gunner met the big kid’s eyes directly, reducing the conversation to a one-on-one exchange between them. “I want you to tell that little prick that if he ever tries anything like that with me, I’ll kill him. Not loosen a few of his teeth or blacken his eye—I’ll turn his head three hundred and sixty degrees and break his fucking neck. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“I understand you even crazier than I thought, talkin’ like that ’round us,” Smalltime said, gesturing toward Rucker and Mullens as if they were an army of thousands. “Tellin’ us how you gonna fuck up one of our homeboys, an’ shit.”
“I’m only telling you what I’ll do if the little sonofabitch fucks with me first. I don’t want any trouble with you or any Blue, but if somebody decides they want a piece of me, they’d better want it bad enough to die for it, because I’m not going to play. I’ve got a job to do, Harold, and I can’t do it and watch my back, too. That’s all I’m trying to tell you.”
“Cube got a mind of his own, man. Don’t matter what nobody say, he gonna do what he wants to do.”
“Do me a favor and tell him anyway,” Gunner said. “And if he doesn’t care to listen, that’s his privilege. And his funeral.”
Mullens and Rucker stood at Smalltime’s side while the big Blue thought it over. They were waiting for the word, any word, that would release them to take Gunner apart, like guard dogs straining at the leash.
Only the word never came. Instead, Smalltime shrugged one final time and said to Gunner, “I’ll tell ’im. If I see ’im ’fore you do.”
“Thanks,” Gunner said. “You three have been a lot of help.”
The kind of help, he thought to himself as he walked away, any sane man would have preferred to do without.
chapter seven
G unner’s cousin Dell Curry was an electrician, not a Bible scholar, but he was known to attend 10:30 Mass at Transfiguration Catholic Church on Martin Luther King Boulevard and Third Avenue with something akin to regularity, and that made him the closest thing to an authority on Scripture Gunner could find in his address book. Del had had all of Sunday night and a good part of Monday morning to interpret Deuteronomy 19:18-19, the Bible verses Claudia Lovejoy had claimed her hot-tempered phone caller had used to make whatever point it was he was trying to make, and so Gunner called him from a dis-repaired, off-brand pay phone following his meeting with Smalltime Seivers and company feeling certain that his cousin had come up with something by now.
“Like I’ve got nothing better to do,” Del said. The phone made him sound as if he were voicing his complaint from a lunar command module on the wrong side of the moon.
“Well?”
“You could have looked this up yourself, you know. All you had to do was read it; the verse is self-explanatory: ‘And the judges shall make diligent inquisition: and, behold, if the witness be a false witness, and hath testified falsely against his. brother; then shall ye do unto him, as he had thought to have done unto his brother; so shalt you put the evil away from among you.’ Get it?”
Gunner didn’t respond.
“Aaron, there’s no mystery here, man. It means what it says. The punishment for offering up false
“Sure,” Gunner said. He made it seem as if he was giving something up, when in fact he was getting exactly what he wanted.
“What’s the other thing? You said you had a couple favors to ask.”
“Yeah. I did. It’s about Michael Clarke. Cube.”
“What about him?”
“I hear he’s got a nasty disposition, that he’s a real ballbuster, and all that. He cut up Toby’s lawyer, I understand.”
Behind Smalltime, Rucker let a smirk slide onto his face. “Sho did,” he said.
Smalltime shrugged again, not knowing what to say. “Lady said the wrong thing. He scratched her a little. That’s Cube.”
“Uh-huh. That’s what I mean.” Gunner met the big kid’s eyes directly, reducing the conversation to a one-on-one exchange between them. “I want you to tell that little prick that if he ever tries anything like that with me, I’ll kill him. Not loosen a few of his teeth or blacken his eye—I’ll turn his head three hundred and sixty degrees and break his fucking neck. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“I understand you even crazier than I thought, talkin’ like that ’round us,” Smalltime said, gesturing toward Rucker and Mullens as if they were an army of thousands. “Tellin’ us how you gonna fuck up one of our homeboys, an’ shit.”
“I’m only telling you what I’ll do if the little sonofabitch fucks with me first. I don’t want any trouble with you or any Blue, but if somebody decides they want a piece of me, they’d better want it bad enough to die for it, because I’m not going to play. I’ve got a job to do, Harold, and I can’t do it and watch my back, too. That’s all I’m trying to tell you.”
“Cube got a mind of his own, man. Don’t matter what nobody say, he gonna do what he wants to do.”
“Do me a favor and tell him anyway,” Gunner said. “And if he doesn’t care to listen, that’s his privilege. And his funeral.”
Mullens and Rucker stood at Smalltime’s side while the big Blue thought it over. They were waiting for the word, any word, that would release them to take Gunner apart, like guard dogs straining at the leash.
Only the word never came. Instead, Smalltime shrugged one final time and said to Gunner, “I’ll tell ’im. If I see ’im ’fore you do.”
“Thanks,” Gunner said. “You three have been a lot of help.”
The kind of help, he thought to himself as he walked away, any sane man would have preferred to do without.
chapter seven
G unner’s cousin Dell Curry was an electrician, not a Bible scholar, but he was known to attend 10:30 Mass at Transfiguration Catholic Church on Martin Luther King Boulevard and Third Avenue with something akin to regularity, and that made him the closest thing to an authority on Scripture Gunner could find in his address book. Del had had all of Sunday night and a good part of Monday morning to interpret Deuteronomy 19:18-19, the Bible verses Claudia Lovejoy had claimed her hot-tempered phone caller had used to make whatever point it was he was trying to make, and so Gunner called him from a dis-repaired, off-brand pay phone following his meeting with Smalltime Seivers and company feeling certain that his cousin had come up with something by now.
“Like I’ve got nothing better to do,” Del said. The phone made him sound as if he were voicing his complaint from a lunar command module on the wrong side of the moon.
“Well?”
“You could have looked this up yourself, you know. All you had to do was read it; the verse is self-explanatory: ‘And the judges shall make diligent inquisition: and, behold, if the witness be a false witness, and hath testified falsely against his. brother; then shall ye do unto him, as he had thought to have done unto his brother; so shalt you put the evil away from among you.’ Get it?”
Gunner didn’t respond.
“Aaron, there’s no mystery here, man. It means what it says. The punishment for offering up false
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