‘So you wanna go yourself, go on,’ Marcus said. ‘But someday you’re gonna be in your cell, some bitch greasin’ yo ass, sayin’ to yourself, “Maybe I made a mistake. Maybe I shoulda had Marcus come along.” ‘

  Saiquan still wanted to take a piece off Marcus and get on his way, but Marcus was making some sense. Thing made the most sense - you can’t do a drive-by when you don’t got a car. And if he tried to cap Jermaine on a street corner or in a schoolyard or wherever, a cop could catch him, or one of J’s boys could smoke him in the back while he was running away, and he’d wind up dead or in a chair like D.

  ‘Whatever,’ Saiquan said. ‘But you only gonna drive. I ain’t havin’ yo cracked-up ass shootin’ no motherfiickin’ guns.’

  Saiquan followed Marcus down the short hallway into the bedroom. Marcus opened the closet, dug under a pile of clothes, and took out a big box of guns and dumped them onto the bed.

  ‘Shit, what you got, a fuckin’ store here?’ Saiquan asked.

  ‘I didn’t tell you?’ Marcus said. ‘I been dealin’ chrome to kids. You know, junior high, that kinda shit. There a lot of new gangs comin’ up, kids and shit, know what I’m sayin’, and they all need weapons. They money to be made, my man. Take one you want.’

  ‘They all clean?’

  ‘Shit, yeah.’

  ‘I ain’t playin’, man. I ain’t takin’ a piece from yo’ ass, get picked up, they take me down to the station and go, “How come you shot up that cop last week?’”

  ‘The guns’re clean, man, they clean. They imported from South Carolina.’

  ‘So how you know they ain’t shot nobody down there?’

  ‘Just take a piece, man and shut the fuck up.’

  Saiquan started looking through the pistols and handguns -picking some up and checking them out. It was true what Marcus had said - Saiquan hadn’t held a gun since before he went away last time, three and a half years ago. He played with a few more, then picked up a white-and-gold one.

  ‘Figures you’d take the bitchiest-ass piece I got,’ Marcus said. ‘You hit somebody with that ho gun the bullets bounce off, know what I’m sayin’? Gotta take something has some power, yo -make sure when you hit a man he go down way he suppose to.’ He grabbed a shotgun. ‘Check out this shit. Now that’s gonna do some damage. Yo, or how ‘bout this?’ He held up a black semi. ‘SIG two twenty-six. Got ten shots, and shit fires hard. Or maybe you likes my man the Tauras? Got ten plus one and got a spot for your pinkie to rest on. Or, wait, wanna do some serious damage, here we go.’ He had a MAC-n . ‘Now we gettin’ there, yo. That shit, you put a hole in a man you could stick yo’ fist through.’

  Saiquan checked out a few more, then picked up a Glock nine-mill.

  ‘Hope you remember how to aim that shit, man,’ Marcus said, smiling with his shiny braces. ‘Yo’ hand don’t look too steady.’

  ‘It’s cool,’ Saiquan said, pressing the trigger again. ‘You got a clip?’

  Marcus reached into another box and gave Saiquan the ammo. As Saiquan loaded the gun, Marcus said, ‘Yo, better take more, case you need some backup, know what I’m sayin’? You ain’t shot a gun in a long time, so you prolly gonna be doin’ some serious missin’.’

  Saiquan took another clip and tucked the gun under his belt.

  ‘Yo, hold the piece like that, better make sure you keep the safety on that shit,’ Marcus said. ‘That shit go off you gonna have a big damn pussy to piss outta.’

  ‘Let’s just get the fuck outta here,’ Saiquan said.

  ‘Wait, what you gonna cover up with?’

  ‘What you mean?’

  ‘Shit, you been upstate too damn long, nigga. You forget they got somethin’ called witnesses? What happens somebody sees yo’ nigga ass smokin’ J? Some little old lady ID’s you and shit, goes, “Yeah, that’s him. My glasses don’t work too good, but that’s him.’” Marcus laughed. ‘And I don’t want none of them Crips niggas seein’ my ass neither. They know I’m doin’ this shit, they gonna be diggin’ a grave for my ass real quick, know what I’m sayin’?’

  Saiquan realized Marcus was right.

  ‘So what you got?’ Saiquan asked.

  ‘See, you lucky you got me comin’ ‘long,’ Marcus said. ‘ ‘Cause you need my brains, that’s why. I’m like the fuckin’ Wizard and you the fuckin’ Scarecrow. I think of shit you never think of. You don’t got me, witness ID’s yo’ ass, and ‘fore you know it some nigga at Riker’s got you up against the wall, you feelin’ his dick jammin’ all the way up to yo’ stomach like the shit’s gonna pop a hole out yo’ belly button.’

  Knowing exactly what that felt like, Saiquan said, ‘So what you got, stockin’, ski masks . . . ?’

  ‘Naw, I got somethin’ better ‘an ‘at shit.’

  Saiquan followed Marcus out toward the front door. Standing on a chair, Marcus reached up to the top shelf of the hallway closet, saying, ‘Remember when we was, like, twelve years old and shit, we used to go trick-o’-treatin’, except when they answered the bell, we took out blades and robbed their asses?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Saiquan said, wondering if he was making a big mistake getting in with Marcus.

  ‘Lucky I saved up all my old costumes, man - come in handy tonight.’ Marcus held out two masks. ‘So who you wanna be, Batman or my man Casper the Friendly Ghost?’

  Marcus’s ride was a lot hotter than Saiquan expected. Shit looked brand-new - shiny silver on the outside, fine suede seats inside.

  ‘You likes, right?’ Marcus said when Saiquan got in next to him.

  ‘It’s a’ight,’ Saiquan said, playing it down, not wanting to make the man’s head any bigger than it already was.

  ‘A’ight?’ Marcus said. ‘Shit’s fine, yo, and you know that’s the truth. I seen this shit double-parked on Canarsie Road, no Club, key in the ignition, like the muthafucka be sayin’, “Take my car -please take it.” And I’m goin’ to myself, “This shit gots to be mines.” So I went, stepped on the gas, and drove that shit away. Check out the leather steering wheel. It also got ten speakers, six-speed active transmission, LCD, cruise control, and a whole lotta other cool shit.’

  Marcus turned on the engine and started blowing AC out the vents even though it was a cool night outside and they didn’t need it.

  ‘Cops better not have this shit in their computers,’ Saiquan said.

  Marcus laughed. ‘Computers - that shit’s funny. The fuck you know about computers, man?’ He turned on the stereo and reggae started blasting.

  ‘I know they can bust your ass - that’s what I know,’ Saiquan said over the music.

  ‘Chill, mon,’ Marcus said, with a stupid Jamaican accent. ‘You gots to learn to chill, mon.’

  Saiquan turned the music down, then said, ‘I ain’t playin’ around, yo. Them computers can bust yo’ ass hard, yo. Nigga Leon on my block - he got busted that way. They caught his punk ass on radar, ridin’ around the Bronx and shit.’

  ‘Radar?’ Marcus said. ‘What the fuck you think we on, Star Wars}’

  ‘That’s what they usin’ now. Got the Lojack shit built into the car. Shit comes up on the screen and they know where you at.’

  ‘Lojack,’ Marcus said. ‘Man, I think you the one been smokin’ some crack today.’

  ‘How you know this car don’t got no Lojack in it?’

  ‘ ‘Cause I had the car a week already. Shit. They had Lojack in it don’t you think they woulda busted my ass already?’

  This was probably true, Saiquan realized, but he still had a bad feeling. Shit was gonna get fucked-up. He didn’t know how, but it would.

  They drove out of the lot onto Seaview Avenue. Marcus had the pedal down, getting to the intersection at One Hundred Second Street, then jammed the brakes.

  ‘Maybe J be hangin’ at the playground on Hundred Third tonight,’ Marcus said. ‘Maybe we pop him quick and I be back home to see the rest of The Tuxedo.’

  They drove to Avenue K and stopped around the corner from the playground. Marcus put on his Batman mask and Saiquan put on Casper the Friendly Ghost.

  ‘Let’s do it,’ Marcus said.

  As they drove up the block, Saiquan saw a group of Crips brothers in blue do-rags standing on the sidewalk in front of the playground. Marcus slowed down, maybe going fifteen miles per hour. The brothers were still too far away for Saiquan to see their faces.

  ‘You see J?’ Saiquan asked, surprised that his voice sounded shaky.

  Marcus squinted, leaning over the steering wheel. ‘Can’t tell. That might be him there in the back.’

  Saiquan opened his window, realizing his hand holding the gun was shaking.

  The Crips brothers saw the BMW coming down the block and some of their hands went under their shirts.

  ‘I don’t see him,’ Saiquan said.

  ‘Me neither,’ Marcus said.

  Marcus and Saiquan took off their masks, then Marcus sped up, honking the horn five times fast, a signal of respect to his fellow gang members. Saiquan showed his respect, nodding once as the BMW passed by.

  ‘Nigga prolly be home right now,’ Marcus said. ‘We could go by his crib and check it out.’

  ‘What we gonna do,’ Saiquan said, ‘knock and he come to the door and say, “Oh, good, people here to kill me, come inside”?’

  ‘Naw, naw, it ain’t like that, man. I was just by his crib last week. Motherfucka never know nothin’s up when he sees my ass. And you’re with me - so what? He don’t think you gonna pop him neither.’

  ‘I don’t like it, man. I wanna do it drive-by.’

  ‘Yo, thought you wanted to take care this shit tonight.’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Then fuck’s yo’ problem? W e drive around all night lookin’, maybe we find him, maybe we don’t. But we go to his crib, he be there, we take care this shit right now, yo, know what I’m sayin’? Drive-by, smoke him in his crib - long as we get him dead, what difference it make? And we do it in his crib - nobody sees nothin’. N o witnesses rat on yo’ ass, no nothin’ goin’ wrong.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Saiquan said, ‘but what if he got niggas there with him?’ ‘Then we get him in the car with us,’ Marcus said. ‘Say, “Kemar and Manny need to see you, told me to come get you,” some shit like that. He get in the car with us, you plug him, we drop his ass on the street someplace or in some landfill, and we on our way.’

  Marcus’s plan made sense, but Saiquan didn’t feel like giving him props.

  ‘Whatever, man, whatever,’ Saiquan said, staring out the window.

  Marcus turned the reggae back up, singing along. When they got to Flatlands Second Street, Marcus turned the stereo off and pulled over, double-parking near the corner.

  ‘This it?’ Saiquan asked.

  Marcus didn’t answer. He took out a Baggie filled with crack. ‘The fuck you doin’?’ Saiquan asked.

  Marcus put the rock into the pipe and lit up.

  ‘Yo, put that shit out.’

  Marcus held the flame under the pipe and the crack started sizzling.

  ‘I told you, I ain’t gettin’ into no crazy crackhead bullshit tonight.’ Saiquan tried to grab the pipe, but Marcus turned quickly toward the driver-side door, blocking Saiquan with his right elbow as he took a hit from the pipe.

  ‘Motherfucka,’ Saiquan said, and he pressed the barrel of the Glock hard against the side of Marcus’s head and had his finger on the trigger.

  Acting like he didn’t even feel the gun - or if he did he didn’t give a shit - Marcus held the flame under the pipe again and took another hit.

  ‘I’m countin’ to three,’ Saiquan said.

  Marcus closed his eyes, smiling, getting high.

  Saiquan clicked the safety off. ‘One . . . two . . . You think I’m playin’? Driving around with rock in a stolen car - I must be crazy. . . . Two and a half. . .’

  Marcus kept smiling, saying, ‘Ah,’ a few times under his breath. Then he opened the door, tapped the pipe against the side of the car a couple times to clean it out, then said to Saiquan, ‘A’ight, let’s do it.’

  Keeping the gun against Marcus’s head, Saiquan said, ‘Do what? You takin’ my ass home.’

  ‘We at J’s crib, man. That’s it right over there.’

  ‘You think I’m goin’ in with you now?’

  ‘Come on, yo - you wanna get this shit over, right? Man could be dead already, we ain’t sittin’ here bullshittin’.’

  Saiquan didn’t move the gun.

  ‘I know you want me to go in that house with you,’ Marcus went on. ‘I go in there all shaky, I might fuck shit up, but now I’m cool, I’m real cool, and we can go get this shit done, know what I’m sayin’?’

  ‘You ain’t shootin’ nobody,’ Saiquan said. ‘Why it matter if you shaky?’

  ‘A’ight,’ Marcus said, and then he licked his lips a few times. ‘But what if I smash up the car and shit? See, you didn’t think about that. I be needin’ rock I be drivin’ swervy and shit, might crash into a lamppost or a tree or whatever; then the cops come and everything gets fucked-up. You don’t want that shit happenin’, right?’

  ‘Whatever.’ Saiquan lowered the gun. ‘But I’m tellin’ you - you fuck this shit up, I poppin’ yo’ ass too.’

  Saiquan put on his Casper mask and opened the door.

  ‘What you doin’,’ Marcus said, ‘goin’ trick-o’-treatin’?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Leave the fuckin’ mask in the car, yo. You think J gonna open the door, he see us with masks?’

  Saiquan tossed the mask onto the backseat.

  ‘See, you lucky you got me here,’ Marcus said. ‘I ain’t here I bet you be doin’ a lot a stupid shit tonight.’

  Shaking his head, Saiquan got out of the car, and then he and Marcus headed along the sidewalk toward Jermaine’s with their hands deep inside their jacket pockets.

  Saiquan followed Marcus up the stoop. The house wasn’t too fancy - it was skinny and looked kind of run-down - but it was still a house, and Saiquan felt the same way he did when he was in Marcus’s crib, thinking, This shit just ain’t right. Why don’t I got no house? Why don’t I got none of this shit? Saiquan didn’t know Jermaine too good because J was just coming up when Saiquan went away last time, but he knew J was just a punk-ass street hustler, five years younger than Saiquan, and it was totally fuckedup that the man had this big motherfucking house all to himself and Saiquan had nothing.

  ‘Stay back there, till he open up,’ Marcus whispered.

  Saiquan stood with his back against the house. He had his piece out in his hand. It was quiet except for some dog barking somewhere.

  Marcus rang the bell. Nothing happened. He rang it again.

  ‘Yeah,’ somebody inside said.

  ‘Yo, it’s Marcus.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Marcus, man.’

  Locks turned. The door opened. A second later Marcus was pressing his SIG into Jermaine’s upper lip and mustache.

  ‘The fuck you doin’, man?’ Jermaine said.

  ‘Get the fuck inside,’ Marcus said, forcing Jermaine back into the house.

  Saiquan went inside too and said to Marcus, ‘Yo, put that shit away, man.’

  Marcus had the piece in Jermaine’s mouth now, and Jermaine was biting on the barrel with his gold front teeth. Marcus pushed Jermaine up against a wall in the living room.

  ‘Yo,’ Saiquan said, ‘you hear what I say?’

  Jermaine was a tall dude - not b-ball tall, but still tall, like sixtwo. He had braids like Marcus’s, but shorter.

  ‘Why you pop D?’ Marcus was saying to Jermaine. ‘Huh? Why the fuck you pop him, bitch?’

  Jermaine tried to speak, but he couldn’t with the gun in his mouth. Saiquan was aiming his Glock toward the back of the house, maybe toward where the kitchen or staircase was, in case some of Jermaine’s boys were home. Now Saiquan’s arm was shaking badly, and it was hard to keep the gun steady.

  Marcus was going, ‘Why you pop him, man? Why you fuckin’ pop him?’

  ‘Maybe you take the gun out of his mouth he can tell you,’ Saiquan said.

  Jermaine’s upper lip was bleeding. Marcus removed the gun and said, ‘Talk, nigga.’

  ‘Fuck you,’ Jermaine said, spraying blood and spit. ‘Punk-ass bitch.’

  Marcus whacked Jermaine across the face with the gun, and Saiquan heard bone crack. Blood gushed from Jermaine’s nose.

  ‘Fuck you, man,’ Jermaine said. ‘I’m gonna fuck yo’ punk asses

  up - ‘

  ‘Shit’s funny, man,’ Marcus said, smiling. Then he said to Saiquan, ‘You hear that shit, man? He gonna fuck our asses up.’ Then, back to Jermaine, ‘How you gonna fuck anybody up when you gonna be six feet underground?’

  Jermaine tried to grab Marcus’s piece, but Marcus yanked his hand out of the way, then came down hard with the gun against the side of Jermaine’s head.

  ‘You best answer my motherfiickin’ question,’ Marcus said. ‘Why you pop D?’

  ‘Yo, you gonna pay for this shit,’ Jermaine said.

  Marcus whacked Jermaine again, this time in the mouth. A gold tooth popped out and more blood sprayed.

  Marcus laughed. ‘That shit’s funny. Maybe I should do that again.’

  ‘The fuck’s wrong with you, man?’ Jermaine said, spitting blood. ‘I told you - I didn’t do shit.’

  Marcus came with the gun again against Jermaine’s mouth. More blood splattered, but no more teeth came out.

  ‘You gonna have to have a closed casket, man,’ Marcus said. ‘Mama ain’t gonna be able to kiss you good-bye.’

  ‘Don’t talk about my fuckin’ mother, bitch.’

  ‘I can talk about whatever the fuck I wanna talk about, pussy. Know why? ‘Cause I got the chrome in my hand and you just the sorry-ass sucka ‘bout to get popped, that’s why.’

  ‘Fuck you.’

  This got Jermaine another whack across the face. He screamed, putting his bloody hands over his eyes.

  ‘You got two fuckin’ seconds to answer my question, bitch, or I’m gonna pump ten into you real quick.’