by Kim Johnson
I swing my flashlight, see nothing around except Quincy’s eyes meeting mine. He looks away so the light doesn’t blind him.
“Over here.” I tap the vent.
I hand him my flashlight.
“Shiiiit.”
“Is right.”
Inside the vent is a gun.
PILLAR OF SALT
Two screws are loose. It’ll be easy to bust open. Quincy reaches for the vent.
“Wait.” I stop Quincy’s hand. “Let me think first.”
“This’s the whole point we’re here, right?”
“Yes, but maybe we shouldn’t be the ones who find it.” I roll my head from side to side, stretching my neck. The urge to grab the gun still itches, but the pause gets me to think more like a cop, rather than a girl who wants her brother back.
“The thought of leaving it here is hard,” I say. “We gotta do it, though.”
“This wasn’t covered in one of your workshops, was it? Like, I didn’t sleep through a section on how to not get caught up.”
I release a smile.
“We should call Beverly when we get out of here,” I say.
“You sure?”
I sit for a minute. Think of all the scenarios. If I touch the gun, then it’ll look like I planted it. This gun could mean nothing, or it could mean bringing back Daddy and Jamal.
“We gotta wipe up our prints, too,” I say. “Run over everything we touched on the ground, the conveyer belt, the walls.”
Quincy takes his top shirt off, leaving his sleeveless undershirt on. I scoot back on my knees as I wipe my side down. Duck out the space and run over the belt.
By the time we’re done, we’re both drenched. Coughing at the dust now stuck in our lungs.
“Thanks for being here,” I say. “I wouldn’t have been able to move that belt. It doesn’t feel good leaving evidence, but if it’s been okay this long, we might be fine.”
“Yeah. We should be—” Quincy stops.
The sound of a truck parking, an engine rumbling. Then turning off. Voices carrying, getting closer toward us. Searching for something outside, just like we were an hour ago.
“We’ve got company,” I whisper.
“Back down here.” Quincy points to the narrow gap we crawled out of a minute ago.
Something in me knows I can’t trap us back in that small space again. And if these people find us, we’ll have led them straight to the gun.
I scan the building. The thumping of my heart in my ears gets faster and faster. Light-headed, I lean on Quincy’s arm. Scan the space, studying all the large windows. Then I see an office, and it looks like another exit that I must’ve missed the first time I was here.
“There,” I whisper.
Quincy nods. We head through the office, test the back door. I slowly push on it, expecting it to stay locked, but it opens. Quincy moves to exit. I look back through the building.
“Wait,” I say. “We could stay here, see who it is. Last time I went running out there, I ran right into guns being drawn.”
Quincy squeezes my hand.
We squat, wait it out. A few minutes later the door opens.
Someone’s here.
“Go,” Quincy’s voice chokes out at me. “I’ll stay. Cause a distraction if it looks like we’re in trouble.”
I shake my head. I won’t leave him here.
He begs with his eyes. I don’t budge.
Chris and Justin enter the building.
Quincy and I exchange glances.
Quincy creeps closer to the door. I follow behind as he nudges it open a crack. His T-shirt clutched in his hand, so he doesn’t touch the knob. My breathing gets shallow as I lift my phone and press record.
I swallow hard, hoping this won’t be a full-on crew of people entering.
“It’s not here, man.” Justin stalks around the room. “This place has been searched up and down by cops.”
“I don’t care,” Chris says. “Angela’s phone was found in here. That means she was in here, and we’ve gotta get that gun.”
I squeeze Quincy’s arm. He nods back.
“Maybe Scott got it back,” Justin says. “Just call him.”
“I’m not doing jack with him.”
“You act like he’s the one who killed Angela.”
“Maybe he did.” Chris’s voice is ice-cold.
“That’s fucked up, man. He’s your friend. Why blame him when you know it was Jamal’s black ass? Cops’ll find him.”
“How do we know he’s still running? Maybe Scott got rid of him, too,” Chris says. “Scott’s the one keeping secrets. He knew I was meeting Angela early.”
“Wait, you’re not serious, are you? Thought we were supposed to stick together.”
“He stole that gun. Used it out at the march and got that girl killed. Angela would still be here if he hadn’t done it.”
“No. Angela would be here if she wasn’t messing around on you.”
Chris shoves Justin.
“Sorry. Your new theory doesn’t make sense.”
“Just keep looking. Whether it was Jamal or Scott, my uncle needs that gun. If it’s found by the cops, he could be in big trouble.”
“You hear that?” I whisper to Quincy, who’s texting on his phone. “What’re you doing?”
Quincy shows me the phone. He’s texting Beverly.
Found the gun.
In a vent at the Pike building.
Behind the belt table.
Chris and Justin searching for it now.
Get outta there!
“Quincy,” I whisper. “We can’t get caught in here.”
“I know. Come on, let’s go.” He grabs my arm.
I nod in agreement. We gotta bounce.
We creep to the exit door as they are occupied looking under the forklift. I turn the handle slowly, scoot out. Quincy follows. We close the door behind us. My neck tense from straining in one spot, eyes blinded after moving from the darkness to the outside.
“Run on three.” Quincy counts down with his hands. Then whispers, “Run.”
Mama said my biggest weakness is I don’t have self-control. She joked about me being like Lot’s wife from the Bible. That I’d be just like her, turning my back to watch when God said not to. The burning flames of the city too tempting to watch. Then she turned into a pillar of salt. But when Quincy says “run,” I run. Fast, like I’m being swept by the wind. Don’t stop until we’re safely in the car.
There’s a moment of panic when he starts the engine—no way Chris and Justin don’t hear us—but then we’re peeling out and flying ninety miles an hour down the highway, quickly taking an exit when we see a fleet of police cars coming toward us. When they race past us, I gulp.
Then turn to look back.
COMING HOME
After a quick shower, I meet Quincy outside my house. We sit close on my porch; he wears a borrowed shirt of Jamal’s. My leg leans into his as we try to sort out what we know so far. Our fingers dangle next to each other’s. They touch, and a warm zing goes off inside. A soft smile escapes from Quincy, but we don’t speak. Too much at stake right now.
A truck speeds toward my house. It’s Steve.
As Steve parks, I bite my lip. I’m light-headed and dizzy. We can bring Jamal home now.
I text Jamal.
Steve’s here.
We found the gun.
He’s going to help.
Meet us at the house.
Everything’s going to be okay.
I pray I’m right.
* * *
Fifteen minutes later, the back door creaks. Jamal’s hands are shoved in his pockets, his thin white hoodie draped over his head. I wrap my arms around him like I haven’t seen him in days.
Home feels normal again. Until he takes his hood off. His face is stormy, as Daddy used to say. All his feelings trapped in his body—wind, rain, heat, thunder—all spinning inside.
Quincy comes down the hallway and jumps on Jamal. They hug. Wide smiles, half hugs before doing their handshake routine.
“Man. It’s good to see you,” Quincy says.
Jamal gives his first wide smile. “Thought I’d be dead, huh?”
Jamal’s joke falls flat with Steve, who chuckles uncomfortably. Jamal sizes Steve up. In many ways, Jamal and I are the same. He’s better at hiding it with a big grin, while at the same time he’s judging your weakness.
“This is Steve.” I fumble around, letting go of Jamal when the creases around his eyes settle. “From Innocence X.”
“Pleasure, man,” Steve says as he gets up to greet him. “You don’t know what it means to finally meet you in person.”
I don’t move until Jamal takes a seat in our family room. The boarded-up window still not replaced. His shoulders slump back and dig into the couch. I’m filled with hope, lightness inside, watching Steve and Jamal meet for the first time. The knots riding up my throat relax, and I can breathe normally.
Steve looks at me, asking for my permission to begin. I nod, taking a seat next to Quincy, who keeps his hand softly around my side. Jamal’s face looks suspect about this situation here, too.
I share with Jamal and Steve everything Quincy and I learned. That when we left the Pike, the police were searching for the gun. I just hope Chris and Justin were caught out there, too. Just like I was.
“Gun or not, I got you, Jamal,” Steve says.
“I got you, too, man.” Quincy gives Jamal a dap. “Forever.”
“I’m gonna ask you a few questions,” Steve says.
“I can’t go public,” Jamal says. “This might just be a case to you, but it’s my life. If I go in, I can’t trust I’m coming here of this alive. I don’t know what that gun means yet.”
“I’ve been in touch with my dad. He’s flying here tonight. We’re taking your case on, along with your dad’s.”
My heart swells. Steve hadn’t shared that with me yet. Quincy squeezes my hand.
“Thank you.” Jamal presses his palms to his heart. “That’s good for my dad.”
“It’s good for you, too,” I say.
Jamal shakes his head. “We don’t know what’s gonna happen when the cops find that gun. I can’t risk my life. My freedom. They could plant evidence, even if I’ve never seen that gun in my life.”
“I will do everything I can to protect your family,” Steve says. “Jamal, you think you can keep running for the rest of your life? Hide out forever?”
Jamal looks at me because he’s willing to take that chance.
“Tell me what happened at the Pike,” Steve says.
I’m expecting Jamal to jump up, resist. But he doesn’t. He’s been waiting to tell his story.
Jamal repeats what he’s already told me. Except now he definitely thinks Chris killed Angela. I’m not so sure. Steve takes notes feverishly, hanging at the edge of his seat, listening to Jamal, and asking more questions.
Steve glances at me as I fidget. He takes a long pause and gestures at me to share my suspicions.
“But you don’t think the boyfriend killed her, Tracy?” Steve asks.
“Ex.” Jamal’s jaws clench a bit, and his voice goes tight. His eyes dull. I know that memory from the Pike must be flashing through his head. The night he lost Angela.
“Chris said he suspected Scott, but that doesn’t mean he knows. Chris’s uncle is still sketchy.” I play the audio I recorded. It’s hard to hear, so I turn it all the way up. We huddle around my phone.
Steve rubs his hands over his freshly cut fade. “I wonder if Chris shared that in his police report.”
“When I confronted Chris at the cemetery, his thoughts were scattered, but he didn’t claim he saw Jamal kill Angela—he just blamed Jamal. With the gun, Mandy’s story, Chris blaming Scott, Jamal could get his story out there and convince people it’s the truth.”
“I’m not going in until I’m confident I can prove I’m innocent.” Jamal’s about ready to jump out of his seat right now and run back to the shack.
The front door slams open. Mama hollers for me by the entrance as she steps into the house with Corinne. I look at the clock above the mantel. Nine. Mama’s back from visiting Daddy and gone to Monday choir practice already? Steve’s biting the inside of his cheek when Mama zeroes in on Jamal on the couch. She rushes Jamal like she’s trying to tackle him.
Jamal can’t speak because Mama has him all tangled up in her arms—kissing him and hugging him.
It takes me too long to notice that Mama’s not alone.
ALL OUT OF OPTIONS
Beverly’s hands are filled with grocery bags. Quincy stands, holds steady by me as he studies his sister. She stays standing in her police uniform, watching Mama hug Jamal. For a moment, there’s joy in her eyes. She keeps the bags in her hands and goes to meet him, too.
“Jamal. You’re safe.” She side hugs him. Jamal is tense, overwhelmed.
Beverly pauses, catching herself from being lost in the moment. She’s back on duty. She can’t drive away and pretend she didn’t see Jamal. The law doesn’t work that way.
Mama looks to me, then Steve. Jamal checks Beverly out; she’s between him and the door. His gaze moves to Corinne, who’s watching shyly. Like she’s not certain what to do. The room goes quiet when Mama sees our expressions.
A prickle runs up my neck. Jamal breaks the stillness to take a small bag from Corinne and lift her up.
“You’re back.” Corinne hugs around his neck.
“I been here this whole time, Bighead. Where you been?”
My eyes water. I inch closer to Mama and Corinne all loving on Jamal. Warming myself with their happiness. It doesn’t seem to matter that this moment won’t last. We fool ourselves into thinking that as long as we’re huddled together and Beverly holds those bags, we can go on like this forever. I eye Steve, willing him to fix things. He gives me a nod. He’s going to try.
Steve approaches Beverly. “I’m from Innocence X and will be representing James Beaumont. Jamal is my newest client, though. Did they find the gun?”
“Jamal also?” Beverly’s heard about Steve, but for Daddy, not Jamal. We all know this is big. She’s too shocked to speak. She nods, confirming they found the gun.
Beverly turns to us.
“I have to take Jamal in.” She puts the grocery bags down. “I came by to question Tracy about the gun, but I can’t walk away after seeing Jamal.”
The room changes the moment Beverly’s hands are free.
“Beverly, let’s listen to what Jamal has to say.” Mama has her arms wrapped around Jamal, pleading.
“I ain’t going in!” Jamal raises his voice for the first time, and that quietness that kept everything calm vanishes.
“I’ve known you forever.” Beverly extends her free hand to Jamal. “I’d never want to hurt you, but I took an oath. You know you can trust me.”
“Like my pops? Like how yours went down? I ain’t going in. You’re gonna have to shoot me.”
I can’t help a gasp escaping.
Beverly shakes her head. “It doesn’t need to be like that. I’ll call in some of my guys I trust. Newer ones. Have enough people to—”
“No.” Jamal stays firm. “I ain’t going in. I don’t trust your people, Bev.”
“If you won’t come with me, I’ve got to call it in.”
“Then call it in, Officer Ridges. Because I ain’t leaving this house.”
Beverly winces at Jamal’s formality. Corinne clutches Jamal as we all watch in disbelief. It’s like the world is ending right in front of me. Jamal trusted me, and I failed
him.
“But what about that gun? Chris and Justin at the Pike.” Quincy waves her off. “Now what’s he gonna do? Every officer out there’s looking for him. You think they’re going to bring him in alive, like they did Dad?”
“Don’t talk about Dad.” Beverly grimaces.
“I know exactly what officers do when they think somebody’s guilty. Even if it means taking down everyone around them.” Quincy taps his leg.
“I’m not doing this with you right now, Quincy. I know you don’t like it, but I’m trying to do better. Be better. Change things my way.”
“How’s taking him in bring justice to Angela?” I say. “What happened at the Pike?”
“Chris still claims Jamal killed Angela,” Beverly says. “Says he was out at the Pike looking for evidence. Angela wasn’t murdered with a gun, so they don’t think it means anything. They’re…they’re still convinced it’s Jamal.”
“Spinning it.” I give Beverly a scowl. “The last time this happened to us, my daddy was dragged, jailed, sentenced, and sent to death row in less than a year. What should Jamal have done?”
“Damn, Tracy,” Beverly says. “I don’t know.”
“Do you think Jamal’s guilty?”
Beverly doesn’t answer me.
“You’re supposed to be a cop. To protect and to serve.” I pause, deciding if I should say more. I can’t hold it in. “It doesn’t mean you can’t think for yourself.”
“You think I don’t?”
“What about your dad? Do you think he deserved to die? That he was guilty?” I can see how much the memory pains her. Quincy winces as her eyes begin to tear.
“He first taught me how to shoot, right there on that field.” Beverly points down the road from the thicket of trees toward Tasha’s neighborhood. “I’m a cop because of what happened to my dad. He wouldn’t want fear to control me. I couldn’t think of anything else that would make him prouder than to protect our family. I don’t know what happened with your dad or Jamal, but they deserve justice like everyone else. If I can help be a part of bringing justice, the right way, I want that.”
