The Gun Page 3

  “Wasn’t kid stuff when I went hungry at lunchtime ’cause you stole my money,” Len snapped.

  Tyray noticed both boys were staring at the cast on his broken wrist. His heartbeat quickened slightly, and sweat began to form on his brow.

  Just then, Cedric and Shamar rode over on their bikes. Shamar began laughing when he spotted Tyray. “Hey Hobbs, you looked so funny layin’ on the floor in the cafeteria after Mercer clocked you.”

  “He got beat up at school?” Len asked Cedric excitedly. “Did you see it happen?”

  Tyray felt his stomach twisting into knots. He could see what was happening, but there was no way to stop it.

  “Yeah, I was right there,” Cedric said, getting off his bike. “This little dude, Darrell Mercer, smallest kid in our class, pounded him, and that’s how he got his wrist busted. You shoulda seen him. He was rolling on the floor cryin’ like a baby. ‘It’s broke, it’s broke!’ ” Cedric’s last words were a screeching imitation of a child’s voice.

  “Didn’t happen like that,” Tyray protested.

  “Yeah, it did,” Shamar said, laughing. “You got beat down. Mercer took you down proper.”

  Raucous laughter erupted from all four boys. The sound was sharp and piercing, stabbing at Tyray like bee stings.

  “You better watch your mouth,” he snarled. “I can whip all y’all. Ain’t no doubt about that. I can do it, bad wrist and all. So don’t be playin’ me, all right.”

  The boys looked a bit edgy, watching him carefully from a distance of about six feet. Until last week, his threats had always worked, making kids cower in fear or simply run away. But now no one was running. The sight of him writhing on the floor of the cafeteria had weakened his game. Because Darrell had taken him down, others thought they could do it. Tyray could see it in their eyes. They were sizing him up.

  “You ain’t gonna do nothin’,” Cedric barked. “Except maybe cry again.” The four boys cackled loudly at Cedric’s comment. Tyray’s pulse throbbed in his neck.

  “Stop laughin’ or I’ll take all y’all down,” he screamed, spit flying from his mouth.

  But they kept laughing. “It’s broke. It’s broke,” Len said, dancing around in mock agony.

  Tyray had to do something. He could not stand it anymore. With his good hand, he grabbed the kid closest to him, Cedric Hodden, and hurled him to the ground. “You like that?” he yelled, turning to challenge the other boys. “I got more where that come from.”

  Cedric scrambled to his feet and brushed the dirt off his jeans. “Man, I’d whup you bad, only I don’t fight crippled people with busted hands. I ain’t a punk like you.”

  “Let’s teach this punk a lesson,” Len said. “I’m tired of him runnin’ off at the mouth.” At once, the four boys closed in, cautious to avoid Tyray’s good hand. As they circled, they snickered with excitement, unnerving Tyray. If they had been ganging up on him with anger, it might have been easier to bear, but they did not even respect him enough to take him seriously. He had become a joke, a fool. He had become a nothing.

  Len and Eddie grabbed Tyray, hooking his arms behind his back. Together, Cedric and Shamar yanked off his jacket. Tyray struggled to free himself, but together, the four boys were stronger.

  “Throw it up there, on the roof of that building,” Eddie said.

  “Get off of me!” Tyray growled, but he was powerless in their grip.

  Cedric grabbed the arm of Tyray’s jacket and tossed it onto a nearby roof, but it fell back to the ground. “Try again,” urged Eddie, standing behind him.

  “Get off!”

  Tyray’s mouth was completely dry. His heart raced, and his muscles trembled and strained, but he could not escape. At one point, he managed to free his leg and kick Len in the chest, but the boys overpowered him. As he struggled, Tyray remembered how he once tossed a kid’s T-shirt into a toilet during gym class. The boy had cried like a baby while others laughed. Tyray could almost see the boy’s face as he watched Cedric fling his jacket into the air.

  On his second try, Cedric was successful. The jacket snagged on a jagged brick near the apartment roof and hung there. The boys released Tyray, shoving him to the ground and applauding Cedric’s throw.

  Tyray landed on the asphalt with a thud, partially rolling on his cast. A jolt of pain shot into his arm like a hot knife, causing him to wince.

  “Look at him,” Len roared. “He’s gonna cry!”

  “How’s it feel to get paybacks?” Shamar laughed.

  An old woman peered from an apartment window just below where Tyray’s jacket hung. “What’s the matter with you boys? What kinda fools are you, throwing clothes on my roof? You all need a good thrashin’. Now get outta here. If you don’t stop your hollerin’ and fightin’, I’ll get the cops after you, I swear I will!”

  The boys scattered, leaving Tyray alone on the ground holding his wrist, his face covered in a layer of dirt and sweat. Tyray imagined how pitiful he looked lying on the ground holding his wrist, his jacket dangling from the roof like the carcass of a dead animal. For a moment, Tyray sat in silence, anger swirling in his chest like flames from a wind-driven fire.

  But anger was not the only emotion Tyray felt. Somewhere deep inside, he also felt a knot of sadness and shame. Years ago, his father taught him there was no room for such feelings, that men were not supposed to cry. It was a lesson Tyray practiced every day. Forcing back bitter tears that threatened to gather in his eyes, Tyray stood up and brushed the dirt from his clothes.

  In the distance, he heard the squeak of an old bicycle approaching. Turning quickly towards the sound, he recognized the figure on the bike even though he was at the other end of the block. It was Darrell Mercer.

  Darrell biked towards Tyray for an instant but then quickly turned up an adjacent street out of sight. In seconds, the sound of the bike was gone. Tyray knew Darrell worked at a nearby grocery store. He wondered if he was on his way to work. Or maybe Darrell heard about what happened and decided to come to laugh at him too.

  “Too late, Mercer,” Tyray said bitterly. He looked up at his jacket and saw that the old woman continued to watch him.

  Tyray felt even more humiliated standing in his undershirt beneath the old woman’s gaze. There was no way he would go home without his jacket. If he did, his father would punish him. The jacket was relatively new, and Dad did not take kindly to clothes being lost or ruined.

  “Whatcha starin’ at me for?” Tyray shouted. “Just throw down my jacket.”

  The woman scowled and shouted back, “Don’t you be givin’ me orders, you fresh-mouthed thing. From what I’ve seen, you best not be givin’ orders to nobody. Now you show me some respect, and I might be able to help you,” she said.

  Tyray lowered his head in frustration. The sadness in his chest seemed overwhelming. Never had things been this bad. Now even old people were disrespecting him.

  “Please, lady, I just need to get my jacket so I can get outta here,” Tyray muttered.

  The woman went back into her apartment and returned with a broom, which she used to reach the jacket. After a few seconds, she managed to dislodge it, and the jacket tumbled to the ground with a thud. Tyray raced over to where it fell and put it on quickly. Eager to get away from the old woman, he left without a word.

  “Kids today,” she grumbled as he walked away.

  Tyray was in a hot sweat when he reached his street. His mission now had even greater urgency. There was no way things could be right until he got a gun. Though he would terrorize Shamar, Len, Eddie and Cedric with it, his first target would be Darrell Mercer. He was the one who had caused Tyray to lose respect. He was the one who made it unsafe for Tyray to walk in his own neighborhood.

  Of course, Tyray would not kill Darrell. He would just scare him, make him cower, make him beg, cry, and whimper. And if something happened, if a mistake occurred and Darrell got hurt, that was okay too.

  Darrell had to pay.

  When Tyray got home, his father was waiting.<
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  “Where you been? Where you get off comin’ home this late? Whatcha been doin’ all afternoon, huh?” Dad threw questions at Tyray like swift punches.

  “I been lookin’ for work,” Tyray said.

  Dad grabbed his son’s shirt front and shoved him against the wall. “Liar! No-good liar! If you been lookin’ for work, tell me who you talked to.”

  “Uh, the guy . . . the guy in the pizza place,” Tyray stammered.

  “What guy? What pizza place?” Dad thundered.

  Tyray searched his mind frantically. He pulled a name out of nowhere, knowing if he mentioned a real place, Dad would check. “Pop’s Pizza place,” he said.

  “I never heard of no such place. Where is it?” Dad demanded. “Tell me where it is, boy.”

  “I . . . I don’t remember,” Tyray said.

  “Liar!” Dad shouted, still clutching Tyray’s shirt. Dad raised Tyray’s face until it was just inches from his, “You tell me the truth!”

  “All right,” Tyray said in a shaky voice, “I was just hangin’ out with some dude, shootin’ hoops and stuff.”

  “Oh yeah? You got chores to do around here, and you waste time messin’ with your friends? Your grades are slidin’, and you’re out all day shootin’ hoops?”

  “Dad, it’s Saturday,” Tyray pleaded.

  “Don’t you talk back to me, boy. I know what happens on these streets, especially to kids like you who don’t have no sense. Now, you listen real close. The next time you go out, you tell me where you’re goin’ or you won’t see sunshine for a while. And another thing. If the next report card ain’t a whole lot better than the last one, you gonna get a beatin’ you’ll never forget, you hear what I’m sayin’?” Dad said, shaking Tyray for emphasis.

  “Yeah, Dad,” Tyray muttered.

  With that, Dad pushed him away as if Tyray disgusted him so much he could not stand to see his face. Tyray hurried to his room and flopped down on the bed. Staring up at the water-stained ceiling, Tyray wiped his eyes, trying to fight off the tears that were gathering. Nearly ten years had passed since Tyray had really cried.

  He was about five years old then. It was a bitter winter evening, and sleeting rain was pelting the front window when Tyray found a stray black puppy crouched against the house. Tyray wrapped the puppy in his jacket and brought it inside. Mom wanted to let Tyray keep the puppy, but Dad snatched it up and tossed it back into the wet cold and slammed the door after it.

  “Don’t need no stinkin’ animal clutterin’ up the house,” Dad had growled. “We already got enough people livin’ here, and enough bills to pay.”

  That night, Tyray lay awake for hours hearing the cries of the whimpering puppy mix with the crash of rain and wind. By morning, a thin layer of ice had formed on the roofs of buildings. Tyray went looking for the puppy. He did not find it for three days, and he only found it then because of the smell. That had been the last time Tyray really cried, and that was over a dead, muddy bundle of fur in a dirty alley.

  “It’s gonna be all right, little man,” Warren had said when he spotted Tyray leaning over the lifeless body.

  Pushing the memory from his mind, Tyray folded his arms over his chest and resolved not to cry.

  He hated feeling so weak. He hated Bluford and all its students and teachers. He hated Darrell Mercer and what he had done to his life.

  And that night, for the first time ever, Tyray hated himself.

  Chapter 4

  Could things get any worse? Tyray wondered. It did not seem possible.

  Tyray lay on the bed so full of anger that he could hardly keep his body still. And he felt near ready to explode. The only thing that gave him comfort was the idea that it was all going to change. As soon as he got a gun.

  Just then there was a soft rap on Tyray’s door. “Tyray?” Mom called out from the hall.

  “Whadya want?” Tyray moaned, refusing to get up from his bed.

  “May I come in, honey?”

  Tyray rolled his eyes. It angered him when his mother treated him like a child. Reluctantly, Tyray swung his legs over the side of the bed, got up, and let her in. “Whadya want?” he repeated. “I got stuff to do, and I need to concentrate.”

  “I’m just worried about you, Tyray. You seem real unhappy,” Mom said. “I don’t like to see my baby like that.”

  “I’m fine,” Tyray said. “Don’t worry about me, Mom.”

  “You sure? Because if there’s something you need to talk about, I’m here.”

  “I got nothin’ to say,” Tyray replied, looking down.

  “Honey, I love you. You know that. I’d do anything in the world for you,” Mom said, moving slowly towards the door.

  “Don’t call me honey, okay?” Tyray muttered.

  Mom reluctantly left the room, and Tyray almost felt sorry for her. She was just as scared of Dad as he was. Yet she stood by Dad, allowing him to rule the family even when she knew he was wrong.

  When Tyray was a boy, he watched from a darkened hallway as his father yelled at her. “You don’t sweet-talk no one, you understand me, woman?” Dad fumed.

  Mom whimpered. Tyray looked closer and saw that his father had her by the hair, and every time he wanted to make a point, he gave her a sharp yank.

  “You don’t sweet-talk no butcher, no fool come around sellin’ insurance, nobody, understand?” Another, harder yank. Mom’s head jerked back. This time she did not even whimper.

  “You’re my woman, understand? I don’t want no mess from you,” Dad said with a final yank of her hair.

  “Gil, I never did anything for you to be jealous about. Never,” Mom cried.

  Dad slapped her then. It had been many years ago, but Tyray could still hear the slap. Mom fell with the force of the blow, and Tyray remembered sucking in his breath. He waited to see what Mom would do. Would she grab a frying pan and whack Dad over the head? Grab her things and take Tyray and Warren to Grandma’s house? He waited for her to do something. But she did nothing. The next morning she made fried eggs and bacon just the way Dad liked them, as if nothing had happened.

  Tyray hated his father for that slap. And part of him hated his mother too for not doing anything, and for allowing him to slap Tyray countless times. Sure, she was scared of Dad. Tyray knew that. But she should have done something, Tyray thought. Anything.

  On Monday morning, the phone rang before Tyray left for school. Mom answered it. “That was Mrs. Hodden,” she said. “She wanted to apologize for what her grandson did Saturday.”

  Tyray felt his face burn hot with shame. “I don’t know what she talkin’ about,” he said bitterly, struggling to maintain a few shreds of pride in front of his mother. “She just talkin’ crazy. I heard that lady drinks all day, so she probably all drunk or somethin’.”

  “She said four boys grabbed you, and her grandson was one of them—”

  “Shut up!” Tyray screamed, clamping his hands over his ears. Then he closed his eyes and struggled to calm down. His mind raced with images and sounds— Darrell Mercer’s face, Cedric’s laughter, his jacket being torn off him and thrown into the air, his father’s booming voice.

  His mother stared at him, her expression a mixture of sadness and concern. Just seeing her made him feel worse. He felt as if the entire world were somehow trying to insult him. Without a word, he rushed out. All that kept his feet moving was the gun. Once he had it, everything would get better, Tyray reassured himself as he made his way to Bluford.

  After school, Tyray resumed his search. He went down to 43rd Street and found Jupiter James, Londell James’s younger brother. If anyone had a gun, it would have to be the James brothers. Londell always seemed to have guns around. And from what Tyray heard in the neighborhood, Jupiter was following in his big brother’s footsteps.

  “Hey, whassup?” Tyray greeted Jupiter, trying to appear cool.

  Though they had spoken a few times before, Tyray knew a lot about Jupiter. His mom dealt drugs, and his father had been stabbed to death in a dis
pute over stolen goods. Londell served time in prison for attempted murder, and Jupiter already had a rap sheet a mile long. Tyray had hassled people for years, but it was mostly kid stuff compared to what the Jameses did. But all that was about to change.

  “Whatcha want, boy?” Jupiter barked, eyeing Tyray warily.

  “Uh . . . I’m Tyray Hobbs,” he stammered, his voice cracking slightly.

  “So?” Jupiter said. “Am I suppose to know you or somethin’?”

  “I’m lookin’ for a gun,” Tyray blurted, feeling foolish.

  “What makes you think I’m the local arsenal, fool?” Jupiter asked.

  Tyray hesitated. Up until a week ago, no one spoke to him in such a way, no one except his father. For an instant, Tyray wondered if he could overpower Jupiter and steal a gun from him. The two were nearly the same size. But then Tyray remembered Jupiter’s reputation and his own broken hand. Now was not the time to fight.

  “With your brother and all,” Tyray began, “I just—”

  “I ain’t my brother,” Jupiter scowled. “And I don’t know you. Maybe you’re workin’ with the cops, tryin’ to bust me.”

  “No. I just need a gun.”

  “What for?” Jupiter asked, a sneer on his lips. “You looking to join a gang? ’Cause you look more like a Boy Scout to me.”

  “Naw,” Tyray said, swallowing hard and trying to ignore Jupiter’s comment. “I got a score to settle. Some guys at school are hasslin’ me, and I need to protect myself.”

  Jupiter glared at Tyray for several seconds before he finally spoke. “Know what, bro? You scare me. You got a psycho look in your eyes.”

  “Look, I need a gun and I need one now. You gotta help me. This one guy at school, he took me down, and now the whole school is doggin’ me.”

  Jupiter paused thoughtfully. “Lemme look around. You know it’s gonna cost you.”

  “How much?”

  “Fifty,” Jupiter said, “and that’s only for a cheap gun. Nothin’ fancy.”

  “Fifty?” Tyray groaned. It was the same price Bones had mentioned. In all the excitement to get a gun, Tyray forgot about the money he would need to pay for it. He wouldn’t admit it to Jupiter, but he only had about two dollars to his name.