“What about you, homie? You recoverin’ all right and everything?”

“Well, my arm is workin’ again, if that’s what you mean.”

“Yo, when I saw that cop’s face on the news—” Quan stops talking. “Nah, never mind, never mind.”

“What about him, man?”

Quan looks Jus in the eye. Then he leans closer, beckoning Jus to follow suit. “You know that cop they say I popped?”

How could Justyce forget? “Yeah. I do, actually.”

“That asshole who opened fire on you and Manny? He was dude’s partner.”

Jus almost falls off the chair. “Castillo?” he says. “Tomás Castillo was Garrett Tison’s partner?”

“Yup.”

“How do you know that?”

“Tison was there the night I…uhh…”

“The night you shot Castillo.”

“Allegedly.”

Jus sits back in his chair to let it all sink in.

“You good, dawg?” Quan says.

“Huh?”

“You lookin’ a little shook over there.”

Should Jus tell him? Nothin’ to lose, right?

Jus takes a quick peek around and leans forward. “Can I tell you something crazy?”

“I’m listenin’.”

“Well, like a week before you…before Castillo died, dude arrested my ass. My girl was drunk, and I was tryna get her home, but he thought I was carjacking her. Put me in cuffs and wouldn’t let me say a word.”

“So the muthafucka got his just deserts.” Quan cracks his knuckles.

Justyce takes in Quan’s tough-guy expression and orange jumpsuit as the power of his words, and seeming lack of remorse, settle into Jus’s bones.

Jus leans forward again. “Tell me why you did it, dawg.”

Quan’s features harden. “Why I did what?”

“Quan, I know you confessed. You don’t have to act innocent with me.”

“I don’t know what you talkin’ about, man.” Quan crosses his arms.

All right, then. Different approach. “Okay, new question: Why would someone do what you’re accused of doing?”

Quan shrugs. “If that’s what someone’s told to do, they do it.”

“Who would tell someone to do that, though?”

Quan turns away and Jus can see he’s about to lose him again. But Jus really needs to know because now there’s a new question on the table: Who’s to say Garrett Tison’s quickness to pull the trigger wasn’t caused by seeing his partner killed by a black kid? It’s no excuse, of course. But Jus knows the effects of trauma are real: he watched his dad lash out at his mom for years.

“Wait, forget that ‘who would tell’ question. I just really need to understand, Quan. I got shot and Manny’s dead because Garrett Tison thought I had a gun. Now you’re tellin’ me he was there when you kill—I mean, when his partner got shot?”

Quan’s eyes narrow. “Whatchu trying to say, man?”

“I’m not trying to say anything, Quan. Just put yourself in my shoes. All of this shit is foreign to me.”

For a minute, nobody says anything, and Jus is sure his coming here was a mistake. But then Quan starts talking. “Aiight, listen up: where I come from, resistance is existence, homie. Every day I woke up in my hood coulda been my last. You wanna survive? Get wit some niggas who won’t turn on you, and y’all do whatever it takes to stay at the top, you feel me? My dudes…they’re like family to me. They’ve got my back as long as I have theirs. Somebody tells you to make a move, you make a move. No questions asked.”

Jus shakes his head. “Not buyin’ it, dawg. Don’t forget I grew up right around the corner from you.”

“Last I checked, your way got you capped and Manny killed,” Quan says.

Jus can’t really respond to that.

“I know you all about gettin’ ahead and everything, Justyce, but you gotta face reality at some point. These white people don’t got no respect for us, dawg. Especially the cops. All they ‘protect and serve’ is their own interests. You just gon’ continue to bend ya knee after they proved that shit by killin’ ya best friend?”

Again, Jus has nothing.

“Can’t even say I was surprised when I heard, man,” Quan continues. “You and Manny were good dudes, and y’all still got a raw-ass deal. That’s why I wanted to see you. Talk. I got a counselor here, but I can’t tell that white lady none of this shit. She won’t get it.”

Jus nods. “You know what, Quan? I feel you.”

And he really does.

“It’s fucked up—there’s no escaping the BMC,” Quan says.

“The BMC?”

“Yeah. Black Man’s Curse. World’s got diarrhea and dudes like us are the toilet.”

“Guess that’s one way to put it.”

“Let me tell you when I learned: my second time in juvie, I was fourteen. There was this seventeen-year-old rich white boy there, Shawn. Dude had got up in the middle of the night and stabbed his dad like eight times.”

“Damn!”

“Right? They tried to get him on an attempted murder charge, but homeboy’s lawyer got some doctor to come in and say dude was sleepwalking. And the shit worked! Judge dropped the charge down to simple assault. Guy got sixty days at a youth development campus, then got to go home.”

“You serious?”

“Yup. Meanwhile, they locked my ass up for a year on a petty theft charge cuz it was my ‘second offense.’ Prosecutor actually referred to me as a ‘career criminal’ at the hearing.” Quan shakes his head. “I think that was prolly the moment I gave up. Why try to do right if people will always look at me and assume wrong?”

Justyce can’t respond to that. He knows Quan committed actual crimes, whereas his only error was reaching to turn the music down, but Jus has to admit he’s thought that same thing—what is the point in trying to do right?

“So what do I do, then, man?” he asks, surprising even himself with the question. “What’s the alternative?” He swallows the next thought: Winding up in jail doesn’t seem like the way to go.

Quan shrugs. “Well, as a wise man once told me, the solution is twofold: first, you gotta use the power you already got, man. People fear dudes like us. When they fear you, they don’t fuck with you, feel me?”

Jus doesn’t feel Quan, but he nods anyway.

“Second, you need to get you a crew to roll with. There’s strength in numbers. Matter fact…You should give Martel a call,” Quan goes on. “He’s like a big brother to a lot of us. Taught us everything we know.”

This makes Justyce’s heart race. He knows exactly who Martel is and what he’s about (hello, Black Jihad?). The last thing he wants is to get involved with some gang leader. “Nah, man, it’s cool. I’ve learned plenty from you.” He peeks over his shoulder at the exit again.

Quan grins. “I’ma give you Trey’s number. He’ll put you in touch with Martel.”

“You really don’t have to do that, Quan. I promise you, I’m all right.”