“You held your own the night your father died, right?”
“Because I was trying to protect her.”
“And now you’re fighting for us,” Patriot said as if the two things were just so simple and comparable. “Look, no one’s saying that you’re going to love and care for us like you did Shannon. All respect, man, but I ain’t looking for a man to love. But we’re a brotherhood, you know what I mean?”
With Patriot, I did. With Axle and Butch and everyone else, I couldn’t say for sure. But I suppose that if I gave it the effort, if I gave it my best shot to be involved and be a part of the group, then things would work out as they were supposed to.
“I’ll do my best, man,” I said with a hint of a smile. “I’ll do better. That’s my promise. That I will do better.”
“Good, man,” Patriot said. “Because we’re here.”
We turned underneath a bridge, toward a dirt road. Butch and Axle went ahead slightly, though still in view. In our headlights, I could see many of the Hovas standing there with their black headbands, their wife-beater shirts, and their jeans with pistols visible.
They must outnumber us by about a dozen. If they wanted to, they could just execute us right on the spot.
“Keep in mind,” Patriot said. “They’re going to test you. This is your first dealing with them face to face since your father’s death, right?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“So they’re going to push you. See if you’ll crack. See if they can get away with shit on you. Just a heads up.”
Well, this should be fun.
I got out of the van, took a deep breath, and walked forward with my hands by my side. I made sure my chest was up, the better to project confidence, and make it clear to the Hovas that while I might be new, I wasn’t going to just weakly accept whatever they wanted.
Their leader, a man my father and I had known for some years by the name of Jerome, came forward to meet me. Jerome had a firm handshake, tattoos across all his fingers, a now-graying beard, and sunglasses I didn’t think I had ever seen him without.
“Mr. Carter,” he said. “Or should I say, little Lane.”
Remember what Patriot told you.
“All respect, Jerome, but it’s President Lane to you,” I said.
“Oh, OK, I’m aware now,” Jerome said with a chuckle. “But your pops was the only man I ever saw as President, you know what I’m sayin’? So you’re just little Lane to me, buddy.”
I took a deep breath, choosing to ignore the insult.
“We have five grand in cash,” I said, motioning to Axle and Butch. “Show us the guns.”
“Show us the cash.”
“Axle!”
“On it,” Axle said as he came forward with two of the bags. He unzipped one, revealing several bricks of twenties.
“You’re going to give us all the twenties? No Benjamins?” Jerome said. “The fuck kinda shit you think you’re gonna pull on us?”
I refused to bite my lip, knowing it was a hint of weakness. Still, the feeling of fear was powerful—I didn’t think Jerome would order an open fire, but there was definitely the concern that shit could go down at any second.
“You want the cops asking you why a bunch of ghetto black dudes suddenly parading around with some hundreds?” Axle asked, perhaps the only person among all of us who could have gotten away with saying that without getting shot. “Or you just wanna blend in and not raise any more eyebrows than you have to?”
Jerome looked over at Axle but kept his body right in front of mine. I never stopped looking at him, nor did I back down, even though most people would have at least followed his gaze. But there was a sneaking suspicion that doing so would mean I was following his lead in some fashion, and I wasn’t about to do that.
“I hate your motherfucking smartass, Axle,” Jerome said.
He looked at me.
“Get ya twenty of our rifles.”
