Ray Ray Sampson didn’t talk much. Didn’t have to. He came up a shooter. Still had the swagger. And brains to go with it. They found him in a stash house a block and a half from where Marcus lived. Ray Ray was sitting on a green-and-white couch, surrounded by three men with guns. Marcus didn’t know two of them. The third was a lean shooter with eyes like coals named Jace. Ray Ray was slipping rubber bands around stacks of cash as he spoke.
“What is it?”
Cecil pushed Marcus forward. “Nigger got something to tell you.”
Ray Ray cocked his head and looked at Marcus, who didn’t look away.
“What’s your name, Little Man?”
“Marcus.”
Ray Ray nodded at James. “And you?”
“James Robinson. Marcus is my brother.”
Ray Ray tossed a packet of cash on top of a pile on the table. “You a baller?”
James nodded. He was sixteen and already well over six feet.
“Where you play?”
“Orr.”
“Shit.” Ray Ray looked around. His men laughed. All except Jace, who unwrapped a stick of gum, folded it up, and put it in his mouth.
“You gonna play college?” Ray Ray said.
James was scared. Like he always was anytime he wasn’t playing ball. Marcus could see his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he mouthed the word “DePaul.”
“He gettin’ a scholarship,” Marcus said, and felt the weight as the room turned.
“How old are you?” Ray Ray said.
“Thirteen,” Marcus said.
“You look older.” Ray Ray smiled at the lie. Marcus smiled at the smile. His eyes moved to the black gun on the table. Ray Ray picked it up.
“Ever handle one of these?”
Marcus shook his head. His own lie. Ray Ray laid the gun back down, butt facing toward Marcus.
“Pick it up, child. Get a feel.”
Marcus took up the gun. The weight of it caused his hand to drop. Cecil laughed.
“Sorry-ass nigger can’t hold a fucking gat.”
“He all right,” Ray Ray said. Then he leaned forward. The room leaned with him.
“You want to shoot that thing?”
Marcus nodded. He had the gun in both hands now.
“Sacred thing, Little Man. First time you pull that hammer back.”
Marcus looked down at the gun, now an extension of himself.
“You thinking you could shoot someone?”
Marcus nodded again.
“Who you like to pop, Little Man?”
Marcus turned a cool set of eyes on Cecil. Ray Ray smiled a second time.
“Little Man don’t like Cecil.”
“Gonna shoot him in the head.”
Snickers all around. Cecil reached for the piece in his belt. “Motherfucker.”
Ray Ray held up a hand. Jace and another stepped in.
“Take it.”
They took the gun off Cecil.
Ray Ray stood up. “How you been treating your people, Cecil?”
“I treat ’em right.”
Ray Ray grabbed Cecil by a handful of dreads. A couple of beads skittered across the floor and rolled into a shadow. “Not what I’m hearing, Cecil.”
“Ray.”
“Quiet now.” Ray Ray released his lieutenant, voice soft, two fingers flat on Cecil’s forehead. Like a blessing.
“Hear tell you like to slap people down.” Ray Ray searched Cecil’s face, finding all the familiar fears. “Quick with those fists when the boy’s twelve. That how old you are, Marcus? Twelve?”
“Thirteen.”
Ray Ray spread his hands, pleading for a little help. “How we gonna expect these young ’uns to be loyal to someone who whips ’em? They been whipped enough, I’m thinking.”
Ray Ray turned back to Marcus. “You want to shoot him in the head, Little Man?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Not so easy as you think.”
Marcus was used now to the gun’s heft and held it out at arm’s length.
“Gimme the gat, Marcus.”
Ray Ray took the gun and nodded to his men. They grabbed Cecil by the arms and dragged him into a corner. Ray Ray racked the slide and handed the piece back to Marcus.
“When you ready.”
Marcus gripped the gun in both hands. He didn’t feel his legs as they moved him across the room and wondered if that was part of it. Jace had Cecil on his knees, turned so he was facing the wall. Marcus smelled something sharp. A hand touched his shoulder.
“Hold on, Little Man.” Ray Ray stepped between him and Cecil. “You pissin’ yourself?”
They dragged Cecil to his feet. His jeans hung low and were dark with stain. They all laughed. All except Cecil, whose mouth was moving with no sound coming out. All except Marcus and James, who stared at Cecil and the gun in Marcus’s hands.
Ray Ray pushed Cecil back to the ground. “Shoot this nigger.”
Marcus stepped up. James floated at the edge of his vision. But Marcus was beyond that now, in his own world of space and light. No past, no future. Just him and the gun. He touched the barrel to the back of Cecil’s head. Cecil jumped. Ray Ray’s men regripped. Cecil’s silent muttering had become small, sniffling cries, and Marcus suddenly wanted it to be over. He steadied the gun, wrapped a finger from each hand around the trigger, and pulled for all he was worth. The hammer came down with a dry snap on an empty chamber. Cecil fell over on his side, sobbing. Ray Ray took the gun from Marcus and leaned close.
“Straight-up killer, my Little Man. That’s what you are. Now, what have you come to tell me?”