Panga

The Lincoln slowed to a stop in the middle of the intersection, as the darkly tinted window lowered. “Yo, Lamont. Whassup?”

“Hey, Rasheed. All good.”

“You know where to find me if you ever want to have some real fun.”

“True that, Sheed,” said Lamont, sarcastically.

288

 PANGA

“Hey, your big brother still hangin’ with that sweet thing, D?”

“Yeah, they cool.”

Pablo’s eyebrows perked up at hearing her name.

“Too bad. Same goes for her. She can call me too if she ever… you know.”

All three of the Lincoln’s passengers chuckled.

“In your dreams, Sheed,” retorted Lamont, as the chuckles turned to shrieks.

“Ooh, listen to Little Man Lamont, talkin’ trash! I always knew you had potential, boy. But, whatever. Say hey to Marcus. And be sure to give D a kiss for me.” Rasheed opened his mouth wide and wagged his thick tongue slowly from side to side. The mirror polished chrome rims started rolling away toward Century Boulevard, as with his thumb and fingers, Rasheed gave some sort of gang sign out the window—before resuming the patrol.

“I hate those guys,” said Pablo.

“Yeah,” concurred Lamont. “Me too.”

Reaching the basketball court, they stopped to watch the kid shoot. Being from Guatemala, he was much better at soccer than he was at basketball. Pablo turned to whisper into his friend’s ear. “Lamont, this kid’s terrible.”

“Yep. He kinda sucks. But we didn’t bring a ball.”

Javier had been stationed there by Alonzo—as an additional lookout—in case Reggie had backup gang members in the park. He was instructed to keep dribbling and shooting baskets. But as Lamont and Pablo quickly observed, actually making the baskets was unimportant.

Javier wasn’t to leave the court; he was told to keep an eye out for any Black men in the park who seemed to be interested in the transaction that was about to go down on 128th Street. If he started kicking the ball, or dribbling soccer 289

 STEVE BLINDER

style, it would be the signal to Enrique—devised by Alonzo—that they had company.

Lamont asked if they could play with him but gathered from the confused expression that the kid didn’t understand English. Pablo took over. Javier hesitated a moment. This scenario, the greeting by these two strangers—albeit kids about his age—was not provided for by Alonzo.

This dude seems cool. But his Spanish is different from mine. Must be from Mejico. The negro—no way he’s a threat—he’s too small.

I don’t see Alonzo. He’s supposed to be across the street somewhere, but I can’t quite see everything. A couple of those parked cars are blocking my view. I’m glad Señor Alonzo is trusting me. It’s important to all these guys. I gotta come through for Alonzo. Hell, I gotta come through for Hector!

Alonzo told me to try to not talk to anybody. I think the negro doesn’t think I speak any English. We can keep it that way. But I better answer the other kid. It might be suspicious if I don’t…

There. Across from the park. Something just moved. The curtains, upstairs. There it is again. That must be Enrique, the other lookout besides me… Mierda. I’m not sure if I feel better or worse that someone is watching me. These guys are both smaller than me. I guess I can run up and grab the ball from them—and kick it—if I see something…

Scanning the park again, Javi saw that it was clear—just the three of them. He handed Pablo the basketball.

290

CHAPTER 34 – Enrique

May 16, 1995 – 4:59 PM

Compton, California

  Over the years, the cocksureness of the Bloods’

neighborhood leader had not diminished. It was common knowledge, amongst the citizens of Compton, as well as the police, that in addition to over a decade of almost daily crimes, he had in fact twice gotten away with murder. In these streets, there was no shortage of individuals who would not be disappointed if harm came to Reggie Washington.

One of these people was Enrique Chavez. Besides Raul’s claim to have witnessed the murder of Oliver Jefferson, Enrique was the only other eyewitness to have appeared at Reggie’s most recent trial. However, his testimony ended up turning into somewhat of a fiasco for the prosecution, as, on the stand, he failed to retell any of the details of the night of the murder, only repeating the words, ‘no recuerdo.’ In the days leading up to his appearance as a witness, the threats on the life of Enrique’s son, Pablo, by members of Reggie’s gang, effectively erased Enrique’s memory of what he saw.