Scott Turow - The Laws of our Fathers

'I didn 't say that, man. Did I say that?'

'Girl can see what you thinkin too easy, man.' She turned, her huge eyes full of the world. 'I's just try in to help you, man.'

‘I know.'

She stepped back his way. 'Don't say nothin to him, man. Hurt me bad.'

Wo,' he said.

It was all too late by then anyway. By then, Nile had started thinking about her. She was fifteen. Sometimes he'd hit on that number, he'd think, Whoa. He'd shake his finger at himself. Fifteen. Cradle robber, he'd think. Jailbait. It didn't really matter, though. He was swept. It was in his head. Like it always was. Captain Sex in the Head. Even when he got with a girl, that was where it was mostly. Not that he was like a virgin or anything. Nile had fucked four girls. He remembered their names and everything about it. Before Bug, he would count them up each day, as if there might be a surprise. He thought about each time at least once a day, except for one girl, Lana Ramirez. That was a total thing for Nile, it had gone on months and he could only remember the sort of general idea of being with her. She was a big girl, red-headed, she worked in the place where Nile was a messenger. They'd have a few pops after work, she had her own place, they would fuck. That was love for Nile, that was definitely total love. She moved to Miami. He wrote her and tried calling once or twice. But what the fuck? He'd wonder, How'd she get away from me? It seemed impossible. He 'd been her slave. Slave.

Sometimes in the middle of the night, when everybody gets weird thoughts, Nile would think, Eddgar doesn't. Like that. That clear, man. Eddgar doesn't. Who ever told Nile that? Well, who had to? He'd been around the guy for nearly twenty years now, and so far as Nile knew, Eddgar'd never been interested – not girls, not boys, not mountain goats. The guy was like immune. Well, that was Eddgar's problem. Not his.

His problem was the money. Hardcore would never let up about it. It was like this circle. Nile would explain what Eddgar had explained to him. First, BSD gets a political organization going, a legitimate presence. Then they have a voice. Then Eddgar can help them be heard. On Kan-el. So it always came back to the money.

'Where that fuckin loot, Jack?' In Core's head it was like a job he'd do when he got ten large. You couldn't tell him the money wasn't for him, it was for organizing, because he already had the organization. He could snap his fingers tomorrow and say, 'Yeah, you-all, better do this registering-to-vote thang.' But until they saw the money, they weren't going to start. Core was always giving face. No letup. If Nile said he'd make changes in a report for Core or some other Saint, if he said he'd talk to somebody about a pending beef Core would give him a big 'hmpf' and say, 'Same as you gone get us money.'

So one day Nile – he was crazy, he knew he was crazy – but one day Nile said, 'It's going to take a while for the money, because we had to spend it on something else, so why don't you do this other part, you know, you and T-Roc, work on this voter thing, there's an election in the fall, then you 'll be started, you 'll be going good, and I'm sure the money will come through.' Core just stared, that look, his street cred, which boasted he was a stone killer.

'No,' said Hardcore. He said 'No-o-o' many times. 'You spent my money? Now idn't that somethin? You spent my money. Ain nobody spend my money but me.'

Nile tried to reason with him. It wasn't his money. It was political money. It was walking-around money. It was for political organizing and Core hadn't organized and Eddgar hadn't given him the money. But Core was like a tracking dog, or a mosquito, or a shark. Something that smelted blood. 'Where all hell my money gone to?' He must have asked that seventy times.

'Ordell -you want the money, I'll get the money back.' This was maybe the most ridiculous thing Nile Eddgar had said in his entire life and Hardcore knew it, like he knew everything else.

'Damn motherfuckin right, you get my loot back. Get out my face, man. Just stop comin round here till you got me that money in you dogs. Gone get me a new PO. I ain down for no more this friendly shit, like you some homie. You ain no homie. Get you ass far away, motherfucker, fore I do somethin I ain s 'pose.'

So where was that going? When Nile came back a few days later, Core ripped him up again.

'What you doin here, no money in you hand, told you go.'

‘I don't want to go,' said Nile.

They were in front ofT-4, where Core held court. All the little Unborns with their close haircuts, looking like pebbly sandpaper, watched this exchange; a covey of Rollers, hats turned three-quarters, kept an eye on them too. Hardcore was looking straight at Nile now, his brown eyes overfull. Hardcore had a face. He had wrinkles and little brown marks. He had a scar over his nose, and the teardrop beneath his eye. Hardcore's face said Time.

'Mmm-hmm,' said Core. And Nile knew he'd told him way too much now.

'How it is,' Hardcore said a few days later, 'is I got this little thang I need for you to be doin. Need you to take me somethin over in the jail.' Ordell had a way, when there was something he wanted – he lowered his face so his eyes rose to you like dark suns. Eddgar did it, too, funny as that was. Core was up on 17. Central, he called it, like it was some military command or police headquarters. It was really just some old lady's apartment that BSD like essentially stole.

'Just this here one time,' Core said. 'We tight, you know. Then, you know, this whole money thang, man, that be back in the days, we go do our commu 'ty organizin shit, vote for you daddy and who-all. Right?'

Core never said what Nile was supposed to do. But Nile knew, he wasn't that out of it, he knew it wasn't good. And he took a pass. The first time. Just made a face like, 'Get a grip,' and walked out. But of course Hardcore was back at it the next week.

'Bug gone show you,' Core said this time, when Nile finally asked what he had in mind. Hardcore scratched his face and looked away, down to the street, where he could see his trade at work. From this apartment on 17, he looked right down on the intersection of Grace and Lawrence, a one-way street where he could observe Tic-Tac coming from every direction. Core was a genius, Nile thought suddenly as he saw the point of being up here.

Finally, Nile said, 'Show me.' 'Homegirl gone show you, I said.'

'I'm not saying I'll do it. I just want to, you know, kind of see.' 'See if you gone get gaffled?'

'The whole thing. How I'll feel. I want to kind of figure the whole thing.'

'You ain gone get cracked. You get cracked, man, first word out you mouth gone be Hardcore, ain that right? Ain that how it is? You gone lighten the load, man. So, I ain gone let you get cracked.' ‘I just want to see.'

'Lovinia show you.'

So she walked him down the street, to one of the crummy buildings on Lawrence, broken-down three-flats, brick buildings with boarded windows and lawns scuffled away to dirt. This was one of Core's stash pads. Lovinia led him along, three steps ahead of him, talking to herself.

‘I done tol' you,' she said. 'You think you way past cool, and I done tol you.' She shook her head sorrowfully.

The building was empty. On the first floor, one door was broken in, just smashed in half, the wood veneer broken off in crazy pieces. This was a crackhouse. Tic-Tac was in and out of here once a month. The acerbic reek of the smoke remained, even though this week, with the last raid only days past, the place was deserted. There was no electricity and the broad old stairwell in the walk-up was lit solely by a window on the fourth floor which wasn't boarded. They moved upward through the cone of falling light. The railings had been ripped off the walls, the light fixtures stolen, the carpet runners, even some of the hardwood from the flooring, had been scavenged. Gang signs were written in paint and marker on the walls. At the fourth floor, Bug stood with her finger across her lip. She wanted to see if they'd been followed. After quite some time, she led Nile back down to the second-floor. There were heavy padlocks installed on each front door of the four apartments. Bug opened one of the middle ones with a key.