In Darkness (22 page)

I just dig, and once I start, I can’t stop.

Soon after Biggie took me into the crew, I was hanging out at a corner near Boston territory. I was on the lookout; shorties always get the lookout when they’re starting coming up. I didn’t have a gun, then. My job was to ring Biggie if anything went down. I had a cell phone in my pocket. It felt cool, like I was a real chimère. There wasn’t anyone I could call with it – it only had Biggie’s number and he never put much prepay on it. But sometimes I took it out and held it to my ear and pretended to talk to someone – real high roller, that was me, shot caller.

Right then, though, I wasn’t on the phone. I was sitting against the wall in the dust and I was throwing my pwen up and down, up and down, catching it in my hand, and it made this smooth
thunk
sound when I did.

Tintin walked round the corner and stared at me. He had this bandage on his chest; it made him walk kind of funny. He was wearing baggy pants and I could see his Calvin Klein boxers. He had this, like, little goatee under his bottom lip. It wasn’t really growing right, but it was cool anyway. There was a gold chain round his neck and he had on a baseball cap. I thought he was looking dope, even though he wasn’t much older than me. Me, I was just a shorty in a T-shirt and jeans, throwing my stone.

Tintin stood over me.

— What’s that? he said. He looked pissed.

— What?

— That. In your hand. What is it?

I looked at the stone.

— It’s just a stone, I said.

I don’t know why I said that. I guess I could see in Tintin’s eyes that he wanted it. I put it back in my pocket.

— Bullshit, said Tintin. It’s a pwen. Biggie said you had one. How’d you get it? You steal it?

I guess my mouth fell open.

— No. Dread Wilmè gave it to me.

— Yeah, said Tintin, and I’ve got a watch from Toussaint l’Ouverture. You expect me to believe that? Where’d you get it, Shorty? What makes you so special, huh?

I started to lever myself up, but Tintin kicked my hand out from under me, and I went down on my ass.

— I think maybe you’d better give it to me, said Tintin. I got shot and I don’t want to get shot again. A pwen would protect me.

I should have given it to him – I could see in his eyes that he was the kind of guy who would hurt me for refusing him – but for some reason I felt angry.

— No, I said.

Tintin took a deep breath. He didn’t say anything, just seized me by my T-shirt and pulled me up. He punched me, but his fist hit my belt buckle, and he went:

— Fuck!

He clutched his hand with the other. He came at me hard, grabbed me with his good hand, and headbutted me, only he didn’t aim it right, or maybe I ducked, and it was his nose that hit my forehead. I reeled back – my head was ringing – but he staggered into me, nearly fell over. He was holding his nose, and there was blood all over his hands, dripping over his mouth.

— Mother
fucker
, he said. His voice was thick and trembly. That stone
is
protecting you, right? You give it to me.

— No, I said.

— Man, you’ve got a death wish, said Tintin.

He kicked at me, but I took a step back and he went down hard on his back. The whole front of his shirt was covered in blood now. It looked like I’d kicked his ass bad, and I hadn’t even hit him once.

Tintin got up, and there was murder in his eyes, I’m telling you. Then I saw something out the corner of my eye – a reflection maybe, a flash of light – and I turned my body the tiniest amount. All this was happening without me thinking at all, and I saw a car drifting slowly down the road. It was a Ford, I think, gentle, gentle, gentle, like a boat, making no sound at all, or at least I wasn’t aware of any, and sticking out the car window was something long and dark.

I pushed Tintin hard in the chest and he went down again. This time I heard his head hit the ground and I could smell his blood, and it seemed like the moment went on forever.

— Motherf— said Tintin.

Then I couldn’t hear him, cos it was all just the
boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom
of guns, like a drum ’n’ bass beat. I didn’t have time to go down; I just stood there waiting to die, like the Notorious B.I.G. in the song. I was ready, man. I couldn’t describe to you how it felt, or what I saw. It seemed like I didn’t see anything apart from the sun on the chrome of that car, the fire from the barrels, and I don’t even know if I saw that, or I just imagined it afterward.

A moment later, the car was gone. There was a buzzing noise in my ears; it sounded like,
bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
. Tintin said something to me from down on the ground, but I could only see his lips moving, I couldn’t hear anything. I couldn’t smell blood anymore. Instead there was this smell like something burning and metal, all mixed together, and underneath it the smell of toilets. I looked down and I saw that I’d pissed myself. I could feel it, too, this spreading warmth in my crotch, on my thighs. I figured I should be embarrassed, but my head was just full of this voice going, you’re alive, you’re alive, you’re alive. All I could hear was buzzing and all I could see was the sun in the sky. I didn’t think I’d ever seen anything better.

Then I saw Tintin’s hand wave at me, like he was saying to give him a hand.

I put out my hand and I caught his and pulled him up.

He said:

— . . .

I put my hands to my ears, then did this shrug and spread my hands out to show I couldn’t hear.

He leaned in close.

—
Holy shit
, he shouted.
Holy shit
.

— Yeah, I said. It was all I could think of.

— That was cold, he said.
Cold
.

I stared at him.

— You saved my life, said Tintin.

He was looking at me with this strange expression. No, not at me – he was looking past me.

— What? I said.

I don’t know if he heard, but he pointed behind me and I turned round.

That’s when I saw it. The wall behind me was full of bullet holes, great big craters in the plaster. There was a window that was shot out, bits of broken glass everywhere. Above my head, to either side of me, all bullet holes. But none of the bullets had hit me.

I noticed something, though: my shadow behind me was pinned to the wall by these bullets; it had been killed and good. It was weird, looking at my own shadow all full of holes. I wondered, if your shadow gets shot, is that bad luck? Is it like dying in a dream? I took a little step to one side, and for a moment I feared that my shadow would stay stuck to the wall where it had died, and from then on I would walk everywhere with no shadow and old women would make the sign of the devil at me. But that didn’t happen. My shadow slid with me along the wall, and now there were no holes in it, none at all.

— How did they miss you? said Tintin.

I touched the pocket with the pwen in it.

— I don’t know, I said.

— Man, said Tintin. The stone. Biggie said you was the kid Dread saved. I didn’t believe it. Now I do. No wonder you got a stone.

He held out his hand for a high five.

I was looking at the blood all over his face, shocked, and it took me a while before I realized he wasn’t joking. When I slapped his hand, it made a noise like a gunshot very, very far away.

I looked at his face.

— You broke your nose, I said.

— Yeah? he said. You pissed yourself.

I started laughing, and then he started laughing, and then we were both bent over, holding our stomachs, laughing so hard we cried. We held each other’s shoulders and we laughed and laughed. The sound of a car engine interrupted us. We looked at each other and ran deep into Route 9 territory. We kept going till our breath ran out, then we sat down and waited to breathe again, and when we did, we started laughing again.

After we finally stopped laughing, Tintin lifted his shirt and wiped the blood off his face with it.

— Guess the stone wants to stay with you, he said. Sorry I tried to take it.

After that, we were best friends.

It was that simple.

Tintin was my friend, but he was one crazy mofo, too. A few months after we got shot at, he picked me up in Biggie’s car.

— I’ve been collecting, he said, but now I gotta go out of the Site, make a delivery. You want to come for a ride?

A delivery meant heroin, I knew that, but I didn’t know that Tintin was a delivery driver.

— You’re leaving the Site? I asked.

— That’s what I said, isn’t it?

I stared at him. I’d never left the Site – at least, not since  the soldiers killed Dread Wilmè and put the whole place on lockdown.

— Well? said Tintin. Are you coming, or what?

— Shit, yes, I said.

I jumped in the car and Tintin gunned the engine and we shot off down the road. When we got to the UN checkpoint, Tintin rolled down his window. He handed a pass to the blanc soldier on duty.

— This pass says one, said the soldier in French.

— My brother’s sick, said Tintin. I got to take him to Canapé-Vert.

The soldier leaned down and looked through the open window at me.

— Doesn’t look sick to me, he said.

— It’s malaria, said Tintin.

The soldier pulled his head back, like he thought I was a mosquito or something.

— You got papers for him? said the soldier.

Tintin leaned over me and opened the glove compartment.

— Yeah, they’re in here somewhere, he said.

He started pulling out all this stuff – papers and trash and a torch and other things. He dropped some of the papers between the seats and started trying to fish them out.

— Forget it, said the soldier. He waved us through.

— You’ve got a pass? I said to Tintin as we pulled away from the checkpoint.

— Yeah, Stéphanie got it for me.

— Can she get more?

— Maybe, I don’t know. But Biggie wants only one person to do the deliveries. Right now, that’s me.

He put the pass back in his pocket and I looked at it longingly as he did so. That pass was freedom.

We turned onto a bigger road and started climbing the hill toward where the rich people’s houses were. I wound down my window and pushed my head out, and I felt the breeze on my face. It was a feeling like freedom. I yelled, like:

— Whooooop!

Tintin laughed. He yelled, too, so we were like two wolves in that car. Then he saw this dog on the side of the road, limping. It was a mangy dog, a stray. Tintin swerved the car toward it, and he leaned over me and howled:

— Arooo! Arooo! Arooo!

My stomach did a dance as the car fishtailed, and I grabbed the steering wheel without thinking.

— Don’t! I said.

Tintin laughed again. He wrenched the wheel back from me at the last moment and the car squealed on the tarmac, skidded back onto the road. The dog looked at us as we passed, like it wasn’t even surprised. Tintin kind of punched the air and revved the car hard.

— This is freedom, man! he said. We can do whatever we like.

My heart was beating –
pit-PAT, pit-PAT, pit-PAT, pit-PAT
– in my chest and everything seemed brighter and more colorful, like everyday things were lit with neon. This car went past us going the other way, and as it drifted by its wipers went off, spraying soapy liquid onto the windscreen, into the air, light sparkling through it, and I thought it was like the car was a whale, something big and alive, blowing air and water through its blowhole, cruising.

I looked over at Tintin. He was grinning, trying to make out like it had been a joke with the dog, but I knew it wasn’t – I could see the coldness in his eyes behind that grin. I knew him, and I knew he’d have killed that dog if I hadn’t been there.

That was the thing about being with Tintin. Sometimes I’d look at him and it was like he’d forgotten to put the shutters over his eyes, and I’d see down inside right to his soul, and see how much he was hurting. He was unprotected, is the best way I can say it. His manman died when he was little, and there was anyen about him that could keep bad stuff out. I figure that’s why he wanted my pwen, cos maybe it would have been like a shield for him.

He
is
unprotected, I mean. I forget that there’s still a present, out there where there’s light. When I think of Tintin leading Route 9, I think, shit, they’ll have some fun, but a lot of people are going to get hurt. The thing about Tintin is, it’s like . . . it’s like he’s got no skin, right? Like, everyone else, they walk around and they’ve got skin all over them to keep out the sun and the rain and the dirt. Tintin’s got none of that. He’s just cartilage and muscle and veins, something out of a horror movie, no barrier between him and the sharp edges of the world. He feels
everything
, and it hurts him. So he hurts other things first, so they can’t get to him.