It was a dope-ass thing to be a part of.

    Yeah, I’m in here now and prolly ain’t getting out no time soon, and yeah, that happened sooner than I anticipated…

    But at least I’m alive.

    That may not seem like much to you, but it’s more than I thought possible.

    It’s also more than either Manny or Dr. King can say.

    I do hope you’re keeping that Dream alive, though.

    Somebody has to.

    Write me back cuz I feel like I just told your ass too much.

          Sincerely,

     Quan

   This part should probably be a snapshot. That’s definitely how it stands out in Quan’s mind. Snapshot: Two Dudes on the Roof of an Abandoned House—The End of the Beginning.

   He was maybe five months into the organization—and that’s really what it was. An organization. There were meetings: one, Wednesday nights; one, Saturday mornings. There were rules: no underage drinking—which had been the catalyst for Trey’s sobriety; no tobacco usage; no hard drugs: “ ‘lean,’ pills, and all that opioid trash included”; no “dumb shit,” as Martel put it: theft (petty or grand), traffic violations, unnecessary fights, unprotected sex (“Some li’l girl come up in here telling me one of y’all got her pregnant, it’s gone be hell to pay.”).

   Then there was business. And contrary to popular assumption, Martel Montgomery was not a drug dealer.

   He sold weaponry.

   Arms.

       Quan started out on security detail like all the new recruits. But when it emerged that he was a bit of a math whiz, his assignments shifted (way quicker than he knew was typical) to counting money. Making sure the right amount had been paid, and then separating each person’s cut and stuffing envelopes for distribution to the crew members.

   And everyone took an instant liking to Quan, largely because he was good with numbers and suggested a minor tweak to the sales model that increased profit by seven percent.

   After a group ass-whuppin’ that left him with a black eye, sprained wrist, and bruised ribs (I tripped and fell down the stairs, he’d told his probation officer. Always worked for Mama, so…), Quan had been lovingly welcomed into the fold.

   He still more or less kept to himself, though.

   Looking back, for the life of him, Quan can’t figure out what possessed him to be so…

              open

   with Trey the night the two boys wound up on the roof of an abandoned house. Yeah, Dwight had come in drunk and gone on a rampage. Yeah, while Dwight had been yelling and throwing shit and making ridiculous accusations about Mama and “conjugal visits” to Daddy, Quan had secreted Dasia and Gabe away to the hiding place Dwight was never lucid enough to think of (dumbass). Yeah, Dwight had threatened Quan and Quan’d had to flash the .22 cal he always wanted to use but knew he couldn’t.

       But none of that had been new.

   In fact, that exact scenario had happened three times in the five months since Quan joined the Black Jihad. And every time before, he’d just…left. Sometimes he’d take a walk to cool off. Clear his head.

   By the time he got back home, Dwight would either be passed out or gone. (Quan did find him crying his eyes out at the kitchen table once, but he tries not to think about Dwight being human. Too confusing.)

   Other times he’d swing by Martel’s to see if he had anything for Quan to do, or he’d go to Brad’s or DeMarcus’s to “shoot the shit” and watch movies or play video games.

   But outside of that first-ever conversation Quan’d had with Martel, he never really talked about his problems at home.

   Why this night was different, Quan still isn’t sure. Maybe it was because he changed his mind en route to Brad’s and took a right at the top of the hill instead of a left. Maybe it was because as he approached the end of this new-to-him street, he saw a couple.

   He watched as the guy gently took the girl’s hand and pulled her into a loving embrace.

   And they rocked. Side to side.

   Then they unstuck their upper bodies from each other…

              and kissed.

       Quan felt like a creep, but he couldn’t pull his eyes away. Other than in movies, he’d never seen anything like it.

   Maybe it was because as the couple broke apart, the guy caught sight of Quan (staring) and called his name.

   It was Trey.

   And Trey could always tell when something was…off.

   Not just with Quan.

   With anyone.

   Dude had a

        sixth

          sense.

   (Shit was eerie.)

   Trey did his all-seeing eye thing—looking at Quan head to toe, Trey’s brow pulling down in the process—and said,

              Trin, I’ll see you later, okay, babe?

     before watching the girl head up the walkway to the house.

     Then he turned to Quan and said,

     Ey, come on with me, bruh.

    (Quan complied, as usual.)

   They took a few more turns and wound up at a house that looked like it hadn’t been lived in for years. Quan followed Trey around the back, up onto a back porch that looked ready to crumble, and inside through a sliding glass door.

   It was dark inside but

       maybe seeing

          the mattress

     and duffel bag

     in the corner

     of an empty room

     and coming to realize

    this was probably where Trey slept—

          lived—

   made Quan a little more emotional than he typically allowed himself to get.

   Maybe that’s why when they got to the roof and Trey pulled out his trusty vape pen (which was dying…because the house didn’t have electricity, Quan realized. What would Trey do when winter came? It didn’t get that cold in Georgia, but there were nights here and there…) and asked Quan what was up, Quan