Xavier had been like a big brother to all of us. He helped Corey leave chopping it up alone. Put him on his feet for real. Corey had moved in with Xavier and Xavier’s uncle and it all went up from there. Then one night while he slept in the old spot downtown, Xavier pulled a gun on Corey. Corey took his dope and split. What wasn’t certain on either side was the hows and whys of what had occurred. Xavier said he was rolling and it had been a practical joke. Corey thought the joke was on Xavier and that the coolness of the steel and light sleeping saved his life. I swear, Kalo, he said, ] I opened my eyes because I thought that coolness was your lips. But I knew you weren’t there. That’s the only reason I’m still here.
Xavier and Corey were hit with first-degree murder charges together. Nothing made sense. Most people around were well aware they had fallen out. Everyone was confused. What we all also knew, including the police, was that Lil’ Merc had recently killed Xavier’s cousin, Roy St. Martin. So the way it turned out for Lil’ Merc wasn’t a surprise to anyone. Nor was it a surprise, the epic showdown between the underworld and the heroic police department it had already become in the media. The reporters and the police did not hide their alliance. People were killed every day in New Orleans; rarely did someone pay for it.
“Child…that boy loves you.” Jazz, Xavier’s sister, said one night the summer before. We were at Mike’s, our favorite bar.
“Love, Jazz? That nigga is fucking everything moving.”
“Be that as it may, he’s still in love with you. Mark my words.”
All the girls were crazy behind Corey, even before we officially tbecame a couple, I knew this. One of the strippers, Panda, in particular. There was also the doctor’s wife, who had a coke problem and a craving for young men.
Corey gave me money all the time. Just because. We had always been cool and I was a good girl, he said. Always working, trying to take care of myself. He didn’t mind helping me out. It was small stuff, like my cell phone bill, or a few hundred dollars here and there. He never expected anything in return for it, never even asked me out.
Jazz and I decided to pop a couple pills and soon we were rolling. I remember watching Corey move about the club. Everybody had something to say to him, and the dudes who didn’t like him, knew better than to make it known. Mike, the owner of the bar, was a Jameson too. Every time I caught Corey’s eye that night, he smiled at me.
I felt beautiful and wild. There was a vibe in the room. It felt like being in the center of everything that was real. The center where the darkest aspects of life are always present, right below the surface, and ready to blow. Jazz and I moved away from the bar because the ecstasy was working and we felt like getting into the crowd.
We weren’t quite fucked up but feeling good. I was sitting on a bench smoking. Jazz stood next to me and there was another girl sitting on the back of the bench, her feet resting on the seat next to me. The beat was going hard.
“Nah, I don’t like that.” Jazz said. “Come on. Let’s move.”
I saw them as soon as Jazz said it. Two or three dudes with bandannas tied on the lower half of their faces. Everything slowed a little. I saw the orange flame then I heard them. Shots. Back to back to back. It sounded like two or three every half second. I froze. The girl sitting on top the backrest fell backwards onto the floor. People ran everywhere. I fell on the ground and crawled under a table. The shooting quieted and those remaining in the bar bolted to the exits. I made it into the parking lot and found a distraught Jazz standing out front. As soon as she saw me, she began to scream.
“What?” I yelled at her.
“Your legs, Kalo.”
I looked down. They were covered in blood. It was all between my toes.
“That girl. She got shot,” I said.
Kristina Kay Robinson 