Scott Turow - The Laws of our Fathers

'Yo, Saint, 't's 'up?' they all demanded.

Gorgo indulged a moment of macho bashfulness. 'Ainnothang.' But soon he was persuaded to share his exploits. 'Just jacked some lames for ten large.'

'In you ride?' There were a lot of shorties – Unborns and Tiny Gangsters – around now, listening, inquiring. They were incredulous that Gorgo had pulled the stickup in his own truck. It would make him identifiable, open to reprisal.

'Yay, foo', I ain hidin from no Goobers. Name is Gorgo.'

'Fat,' these kids all said. But they were flying in a minute. Two Goobers rolled down in different cars, shooting between the buildings from the avenue a hundred yards away. For an instant, as the birds rose, as the kids shouted 'Incomin' and 'Dustin' and dashed for cover, Nile was by himself on the bench, stumped by the resonating sound, which in the open air was somewhat less dramatic than he would have imagined. Eventually, he heard Gorgo screaming, 'Getyo 'self down!' War! he thought, huddled behind the bench. Insane, he thought. The gunfire lasted only a few minutes. From high above, up in T-4, he heard the answering shots as the cars out on Grace Street roared off.

'Ain gone light up no one from so far. Punk asses!' Gesturing in defiance at the departing cars, Gorgo strode back and forth across the bench in splendid white hightops with fancy laces. He was thumping his chest, rallying his fist, screaming. His satin jacket flew around him and a solid gold.45, four inches across with a diamond in the barrel, swung from his neck. On the bench, one corner was newly splintered by gunfire. He looked below to explain to Nile. 'They-all just trippin. Now they gone tell they homes how they ripped the Sissies, but I got all they loot.' Gorgo reached into a bulging pocket and pulled out the bills which he had taken at gunpoint from the Gangster Outlaws. His smile disclosed that he was missing a front tooth. 'It's on now,' he said, meaning there would be shooting for weeks afterwards, which there was. Gorgo was sixteen, seventeen, by Nile's estimate, and crazy. His Tec-9 had come from somewhere and he wore it upside down, slung from the shoulder, like a soldier in a war flick. They said he would kill anyone. The crazy life! That's what they called it, the bangers. The crazy life. Nile loved it. These kids were ex-treme.

War, Nile thought for days afterwards. When he was little, a shorty whizzing in his bed every night, war was what terrified him. There was a war out there which he somehow envisioned: artillery fire and the smoke of bombs, the percussive flashes of light and magnesium flares, the sick odors of smoke trailing on the air. War would take him, break his tiny body. War could not be held at bay, could not be kept outside the door. Eddgar wanted war. And Nile was terrified. And now here, amid the guns, these brave warriors, Nile was thinking, Yeah. He was thinking, Cool. It was way weird. But still. So cool for Gorgo to be standing there pounding his chest, like, 'I don't care, live or die, I don't care, I'm here screamin.' Nothing made any more sense than that. No future. That's what Gorgo was screaming, No! to the future. For him it did not even exist. Cool, Nile thought for days. Cool.

After Nile nearly got snuffed that day, Hardcore had Lovinia look after him when Core went off to do his stuff. She was like Hardcore's secretary is what you'd say. Carrying messages. Keeping things straight. She was just so cute and shy. Nile always talked to her, tried at least. At first he could barely get her to say her name. She had one of those dos, a lot of straighteners and stuff, the front plastered out into bangs that looked like sheet metal, and the back formed into a high roll with a little white bow. They'd sit there on one of those broken benches in front of the IV Tower like two frogs on a stone. Not a damn thing to say. This was one of the things in life Nile was purely worst at, making conversation. With girls, he was a lost cause. But even on the job he was like constipated. Some POs were pretty good with clients. Ninety-nine percent of these kids didn't want to tell you shit to start, afraid you 'd jam them with it later, knowing they couldn't make themselves sound right anyway. With Nile, they all sat there, chewing gum, or looking at their fingers, slouched over in the chair, sort of tip-tapping their Nikes and hoping to figure out what little they had to do to get it over with. Nile kept the radio on, just so the silence wasn 't so bad. He'd read questions off the form. Health? School? Have you looked for work? 'Talk sports. Ask them about the Traps, the Hands. Ask them about songs on the radio.' There was all kinds of advice. None of it did Nile much good. With Bug, he was stuck with the dumb and obvious.

'School?' he asked. 'You go to school?'

'Nn-uh, not hardly. I don't dis my teachers none. Some fool be crackin up, I turn round and tell him, ' 'Shut yo mouth, punk, we all learnin somethin here.'' But you know, I get tired with it, man. Cause they all the time just tryin to turn me out. On account there all them Goobers round.' He didn't understand what Bug meant. 'You know, they in my face, man, bout how I can't bring no strap with me to school.' A gun, she meant. 'Now I don 'thave no weight, how I gone get one block from that school without my ass gone be smoked? All them Goobers waitin for me. On account of my big brother Clyde?'

'Clyde around? He BSD?'

'Top Rank BSD, uh-huh,' she said. 'He slammin. He on vacation.' 'The Yard? '

'Uh-huh. Doin twenty-forty. Some damn Goobers come right up here, representing and carryin on. Right here, be standin twenty feet from where you be. Shit. Clyde popped they ass. I begged him when I saw him takin off with that gat, say, ' 'Whatchoo doin foo'. This Goober's dusted, man, he flyin on some shit.'' He say, ' 'Leave me be, girl, I cain't let this sucker do that shit right here in my house. True Saint, man, he don't bar none.'' So what kin I say? I go down there see him lots. Ride time on them weekends? All us g-girls goin. He doin okay, seem like. But I sure miss him. He out in twenty oh seven, man, make me cry, he talk bout twenty oh seven like it be tomorrow. Anyway, thass how come them Goobers be lookin for me.'

He didn't even bother with the obvious: Get out of BSD. They all said the same thing. 'BSD, man, that's me, man.' And Nile understood. This gang-thing, people didn't get it, white people, grown-ups, however you'd say. But like Bug, man, he could see she needed BSD. It was food to the hungry, someone to look at her and say, 'You cool.' All the time: 'You cool. We be for you, girl, homegirl. You be silly, you be crazy, girl, we be for you.' People didn't see that. They said 'Gang' and like freaked. Gats and Blood. Dope. Holy shit! But it was like sweet at the center, like candy.

Nile didn't know when he started in thinking about Bug. It was sort of an accident almost. He talked about her at work. She was on a juvie probation. Nile knew the guardian's PO, Mary Lehr. Bug had gotten busted selling. Cop named Lubitsch pinched her and then didn't come down on her because she wasn't really a case. Juvie pro. That was like nothing.

One day they were there on the benches and Bug was telling him about her father. He'd spotted her on Lawrence yesterday and took her down to Betty's Buy-Rite, bought a ribbon for her hair. He always did like that, Bug said, getting her things.

'Who-all Eddgar anyway, man?' she asked then. "That you daddy? You ravin bout Eddgar all the time.'

'Bullshit. I do not talk about him all the time.'

'Uh-huh,' she answered.

Who was Eddgar? God, man. That was another question Nile could never answer.

'Yeah, he's my father,' Nile said eventually. 'He somebody big-time?'

'He's big-time. He's sort of a politician, you'd say. He was a preacher to start.' 'Preacher?'

'He was trained that way. He never preached.'