No Way Out Page 8

  Mr. Harris didn’t budge. He stood there, blocking Londell’s view of Harold, his legs slightly apart, his back straight, his shoulders perfectly squared. To Harold he was like a superhero, unmovable, powerful, unafraid.

  “This is my business, young man,” said Mr. Harris. “This is my neighborhood and Harold’s with me. So I’m right where I should be. ”

  Mr. Harris leaned in close to Londell, who shifted in his seat. “Now I suggest you get movin’ and take that stare of yours somewhere else. ”

  Londell smirked as if Mr. Harris had said something amusing. But Harold could see a flash of surprise in Londell’s dark eyes. Maybe even a touch of fear.

  Just then Jupiter sprinted around the corner. He stopped when he saw the two men facing off. A brown paper bag peeked out from the waist of his baggy jeans. He glanced back at Harold and then at Mr. Harris.

  “What’s goin’ on?” he said.

  “Get in the car, Joop,” Londell snapped.

  Mr. Harris stepped back, giving Jupiter just enough room to climb in next to his brother. Then Londell rolled up the window and pulled away from the curb. As the car passed, Jupiter’s eyes met Harold’s. He looked worried, like he wished he could stay behind.

  “C’mon. Let’s go,” said Mr. Harris, putting his arm protectively around Harold’s shoulders.

  That was awesome! Harold thought with a smile. He knew Londell would be furious, but for the moment, Harold didn’t care. Mr. Harris had stared Londell down. Harold still couldn’t believe it.

  “You be careful of that one,” Mr. Harris warned. “He’s got some fire in him. And who was that other boy?”

  “His younger brother,” Harold said.

  Mr. Harris shook his head with anger.

  “I swear, this neighborhood hasn’t changed since I was your age. ”

  “You grew up around here?” Harold asked.

  Mr. Harris nodded. “Three blocks from here. This place was crawling with dealers back then, too. ”

  “How’d you know he’s a dealer?”

  “Am I wrong?” Mr. Harris replied knowingly.

  “No,” Harold admitted, grateful Mr. Harris didn’t ask him any questions about Londell.

  Chapter 9

  Monday afternoon, Harold waited for Cindy at her locker. Unable to sleep the night before, he’d imagined this moment for hours, but his stomach still trembled when their eyes met.

  “Cindy, I meant what I said to you the other day,” he said, handing her money for the bandages she’d bought for Grandma. “It’s still me. I haven’t changed at all. ”

  “Harold, where’d you get this money?”

  “Please, Cindy, just take it. It’s yours. ”

  “Whatever you’re doing, Harold, you need to stop,” Cindy demanded, dropping the money as if it burned her fingers.

  “I can’t, Cindy!” he snapped. “It’s too late for that now. You were right about Londell, but I needed money to help Grandma. It was stupid, I know. But there’s no walkin’ away. I’m trapped. ”

  “Harold, you gotta tell someone before you get hurt,” she urged, touching his arm. “I’ll go with you. Maybe we can tell the police or Mr. Mitchell—”

  “Listen, I know you want to help, but you gotta stay out of this. This is my problem,” he said, adjusting his backpack.

  “Harold—”

  “I’m sorry, Cindy. But I gotta go,” he said, forcing himself to walk away before he allowed his problems to swallow her, too.

  “Harold! ” she called.

  * * *

  Forty-five minutes later, Harold

  stepped off the bus and headed toward the abandoned playground. Dark, angry clouds gathered in the gray sky overhead, making the streets seem more desolate than ever. Harold pulled his jacket tightly around himself and walked up the block, glass crunching under his feet as he passed beneath the broken streetlights.

  Londell’s car was parked at the playground. Jupiter and Keenan stood nearby. Harold was relieved that Bug wasn’t there. At least he’s safe, Harold thought. At least one of us is safe.

  Jupiter and Keenan backed away as Harold approached the car, as if he had a disease they didn’t want to catch.

  “Get over here,” Londell growled, grabbing Harold by the collar through the driver’s window. “Who was that man yesterday? Actin’ like he was your daddy. ”

  “He’s nobody,” Harold murmured. “He’s just a neighbor. ”

  “He’s lucky I didn’t shoot him right there in the street. You better keep your mouth shut, boy. ’Cause he can’t save you. Nobody can. ”

  I know, he thought miserably.

  Londell pushed Harold away in disgust. Then he handed him three paper bags and a slip of paper. “Get going, boy. You got a long night ahead of you. ”

  Three? Harold thought. I’ll never make it home in time! He knew there was no point in arguing; Londell didn’t care about his problems.

  Harold shoved the bags into his backpack and headed in the direction of the first address: Shawn’s house.

  Please don’t let little Maria be there, he prayed.

  Harold passed by Jupiter, who was rubbing the scar on his hand and staring at the ground. Harold thought he looked ashamed.

  Twenty minutes later, Harold stood on Shawn’s clean porch. Large drops of rain pattered on the sidewalk as he raised his hand to knock on the door. Twice he stopped himself, checking the street, making sure Maria was inside.

  This is wrong, he kept thinking as his stomach churned. I don’t want to do this.

  Suddenly the door opened. Shawn stepped outside, pale-faced, barefooted, and extremely anxious. His button-down shirt was hanging out of his pants. Inside the house, the television blared loudly. There were no sounds of dinner being cooked. The car was missing from the driveway.

  “You’re late,” he barked. “Gimme my stuff. ”

  Harold sighed and reached into his backpack. “It’s a hundred bucks,” he said.

  “Where’s Londell?” Shawn asked, glancing down the block.

  “He’s not here,” Harold answered, pulling out the bag.

  “Tell him I’ll pay him tomorrow,” said Shawn, his fingers twitching at the sight of the paper bag. Harold took a step back.

  “C’mon, kid. Londell knows me. He’ll understand. ”

  “I need you to pay me now,” Harold insisted.

  Suddenly Shawn lunged forward, slamming his fist into the side of Harold’s forehead. Harold stumbled backward, stunned. For a moment, everything went dark and his ears rang loudly from the punch.

  “What’re you doing, man?!” Harold exclaimed, shaking his head. Shawn lunged again, swinging wildly. Harold ducked, avoiding the blow, but the man kept coming like an enraged animal.

  Crunch!

  Shawn’s fist landed squarely on Harold’s nose. Blood gushed instantly, spilling down his face and onto his shirt, dripping like thick red paint on the white porch.

  “Gimme it!” Shawn growled, groping for the bag in Harold’s hands.

  He’s gonna kill me! Harold thought. He could taste something salty spilling down the back of his throat, filling his mouth. Harold coughed and spat a wet clot of blood.

  “Take it!” Harold shouted, dropping the bag and holding up his hands to protect his face. “Just lemme go!” His voice gurgled and he coughed again, spewing more blood.

  Shawn fell to his knees and ripped the bag open, revealing several small glass vials filled with what looked like white powder.

  For a moment, Harold was frozen, shocked from the pain in his head and the sight of a grown man kneeling on a bloody porch clutching a bag of what Harold knew was poison. Pure poison.

  Then Harold snapped.

  With a burst of adrenaline, he took off running, down the front steps and onto the street. He ran through the rain like his life depended on it, his panicked heart hammering in his chest. His crushed nose throbbed, and tears streamed from his eyes, mixing with rain and blood and sweat. His legs burned and shook, but he
kept on running, as fast as he could, for as long as he could. The world passed by in a blur of cars, houses, people, traffic lights, corners and stores, until he finally arrived at the only place he could think of going, the only place he truly wanted to be, despite everything: Home.

  Harold burst into his apartment, dropping his backpack on the floor, and headed straight into the bathroom, locking the door behind him.

  “Harold!” Grandma shrieked, but he didn’t answer. He stared aghast at the bathroom mirror. A ruined version of himself gazed back. His nose was purple and swollen. Dark blood had caked beneath his nostrils, covering his chin and staining his T-shirt. A painful lump was forming on the side of his forehead.

  What am I gonna do?! he thought.

  “Harold!” Grandma shrieked again, banging on the door. “You get out here this instant!”

  “Just gimme a minute!” he shouted back.

  Harold peeled off his clothes, turned on the shower and climbed into the bathtub, letting the hot water stream down his face. A pink pool sloshed over his feet.

  How am I gonna explain this? What am I gonna do about Londell?

  Harold stood in the shower until his shaking fingers wrinkled like raisins and there was no hot water left. Then he climbed out, put on his filthy clothes, and walked into the kitchen.

  Grandma was standing at the sink, leaning on her crutches. His backpack lay open on the table. Two paper bags sat on the counter.

  “Grandma, no!” he screamed. In her hands were several glass vials. The fine white powder poured down the drain.

  “Sit down!” she boomed. “You sit down, Harold, and don’t you say a word to me!” She was furious.

  “Is this what you’ve been up to?” she hollered. “Drugs, Harold? Drugs? My God, child. I knew something was going on with you, but this?” she yelled, shaking an empty vial at him. “In my house?!”

  “I’m sorry, Grandma!”

  “Sorry?! ” Grandma shouted. “Look at you! Is this what you want to be? Is this how I raised you? I called SuperFoods today. You quit last week! You’ve been lying to me all this time so you could sell this?!” She slammed the vial down into the sink with a loud thud. “Shame on you, child!”

  “I was trying to help. I swear, Grandma. ”

  “Don’t you dare say that to me,” she fumed. “Ain’t no help comes from this poison!”

  “But I saw the hospital bills! I know how much we owe! I know about

  everything!”

  Grandma stepped back as if his words hurt her. Then her eyes widened.

  “What are you talking about, child?”

  “I read the letter! I know I have no guardian! And if you can’t afford to keep me—”

  “Harold, what are you saying?” Grandma whispered, her voice softening. “My God, child. Is that was this is about?”

  Suddenly, Harold thought about Londell. He looked at the clock. It was 6:30. Londell would be waiting for him. And now, Harold didn’t have the money or the drugs.

  I know where you live. I know where you go to school. I know you ain’t got no daddy to run home to. Londell’s words growled in his head.

  He’s gonna come for me. And if he comes here . . .

  Harold looked at Grandma and the empty bags on the counter.

  I gotta protect her, he thought.

  Harold turned and raced to the door.

  “Where are you going? You sit down, Harold!” she yelled, turning on her crutches.

  “I can’t,” he groaned. “I’m sorry, Grandma. You don’t understand. I gotta go. ”

  Before she could react, Harold opened the door and took off down the hall.

  “Harold!” she screamed. He heard a door click open as he rushed past, but he didn’t stop.

  I gotta go back to the playground, he thought. If I don’t, Londell’s gonna come here.

  * * *

  It was dark and pouring when Harold reached the bus stop. Moments later, the bus appeared, and he dragged himself aboard. He knew he looked terrible. He caught the bus driver staring at his blood-splattered shirt. A woman in the front row glared at him and clutched her pocketbook as he walked by. He kept his head down and moved quickly to the nearest seat.

  Harold’s knees shook uncontrollably as the bus lumbered forward. He had no idea what Londell would do to him, but he had to go to the playground. Otherwise, Londell would come to the apartment for him, and someone else could get hurt. Maybe Grandma or Cindy.

  How did I get here? he thought. Why did I ever trust Londell? Tears swelled in his eyes as he thought about Grandma teetering on her crutches, her hands covered in white dust. He’d never seen her so angry.

  I’ve lost everything, Harold sobbed. Grandma will never forgive me. Neither will Cindy. And now I gotta face Londell. Alone.

  Harold got off at 25th Street and headed toward the playground. He could see the red brake lights of Londell’s car, like angry red eyes in the darkness.

  Keenan hurried toward him. He looked worried.

  “Londell’s waitin’ for you,” he said urgently, glancing at Harold’s swollen face and filthy shirt. “What happened, man?”

  “You should get outta here,” Harold said. “Go home, Kee. ”

  “You know I can’t leave. Londell will kill me. ”

  You and me both, Harold thought as he kept walking, forcing himself forward.

  “You’re late,” Londell barked as Harold approached the car. “Looks like you had a rough night,” he added with a laugh. Jupiter sat beside his brother; his eyes locked with Harold’s. “I ain’t got all night,” Londell continued, holding out his hand.

  Harold took a deep breath. “I don’t have your money,” he said. “I don’t have your drugs either. ”

  “What’d you say?” Londell growled, stepping out of the car. His dark eyes flashed with rage.

  Harold stumbled backward into the street, raising his hands to protect himself. “I don’t have your money, Londell. It wasn’t my fault. That dude Shawn, he attacked me. He took the bag. ”

  Londell was starting to look nervous. “What about the other two bags?” he asked.

  “They’re gone,” Harold answered, his voice cracking. He couldn’t mention Grandma.

  “What’d you mean, gone?” Londell said anxiously.

  Jupiter jumped out of the car. “C’mon bro, chill out,” he pleaded. “You know how these junkies be. It ain’t his fault. ”

  “Shut up, Joop,” Londell spat, storming up to Harold.

  “Londell, please,” Harold cried. “I’ll pay you back! I’ll figure something out, I swear!”

  “There ain’t no paying back,” he snarled. “I need that money now!” Before Harold knew what was happening, Londell grabbed him by the throat and whipped him around, slamming him up against the car. Harold gasped as Londell’s grip tightened around his throat.

  “Please!” he wheezed. “Don’t hurt me, man!”

  “Get over here, Joop. Help me hold this fat boy down,” Londell snarled.

  “Bro, c’mon!” Jupiter cried. “Just let him go. I’ll cover for him this time. You know I been savin’. ”

  Londell released Harold, who collapsed into the street, grasping his neck. He tried to get up, but Londell shoved his white sneaker into Harold’s chest, pinning him to the ground.

  “Come here, Joop. Teach this boy a lesson. ”

  Harold’s body was trembling. “Please!” he cried, covering his head. “I’ll do anything you want!”

  “Shut your mouth, boy! Joop, get over here. Now! ”

  Joop shook his head and backed away, his eyes wild with fear. “Londell, c’mon man! I don’t wanna hit him!”

  “Do it!” Londell ordered.

  Chapter 10

  Screech!

  Suddenly a car skidded to a stop behind them. Harold heard a door open and the quick thud of steps. Then a man’s scream pierced the darkness.

  Harold scampered to his feet and turned back to see Mr. Harris land a crushing punch into Londell’s
cheek. His head snapped back with the blow, and he sank to the asphalt. Londell tried to stand, reaching for something in his belt, but Mr. Harris hit him again. His fist struck like a hammer into Londell’s jaw.

  Londell sprawled forward, and a small black handgun slipped from his fingers and slid just a few feet from where Harold and Jupiter were standing. Londell stretched for it, but Mr. Harris grabbed his arm, twisting it up behind his back so he couldn’t move.

  “Joop!” Londell roared, trying to escape. “Get the gun!”

  Jupiter stared at the gun and then at Harold and his brother. Keenan stood in the shadows nearby, his mouth open in disbelief.

  “Get it!” Londell barked.

  “Don’t listen to him, son. ” Mr. Harris said firmly. “That’s not an answer for you. Your brother’s made his choice, but you don’t have to go down that road. ”

  “Joop! He ain’t a cop. Get the gun. Do what you gotta do!” Londell boomed, trying to free himself. Mr. Harris yanked his arm, and Londell shrieked in pain.

  Jupiter flinched at the sound, stepping forward slightly. His face was twisted in agony, his eyes on the gun. Harold saw his hand reach out then, the jagged line of his scar faintly visible in the darkness.

  A police siren wailed in the distance.

  “Don’t do it, Joop,” Harold said, moving in front of Jupiter, blocking his path. “It don’t have to be this way. We used to be in school together, bro. We still can be. ”

  “Get the gun!”

  Jupiter stared into Harold’s face, studied his bloodied nose and swollen eyes. He shook his head sadly. “It’s all wrong. It ain’t supposed to be like this. He’s my brother. ”

  “Shoot him!” Londell struggled to break Mr. Harris’s grip. The siren grew louder.

  “Go home, Joop,” Mr. Harris said, pinning Londell against his car. “Working out here is a game you can’t win. You’ll end up dead before you’re twenty-five. I’ve seen too much of that. Just walk away while you still can. ”

  “Shoot him! ”

  “C’mon, Joop,” Keenan urged. “Let’s get outta here. ”