Christ’s sake.” CJ demanded.
“You remember those boys who always hang out at the place your Mama works at, the Barnes’ house?”
“What about them?”
“You remember the time we played football with them?”
“Yes, I do,” Strong said in anticipation.
“Well, it’s one of them.”
“What are you talking about? Make sense.”
“I don’t know their names. It was one of them.”
“If you don’t start making sense, this little visit is over,” CJ concluded, confused.
“What I’m telling you it was one of them who did the knife on the dealer.”
Worn out from this mental game CJ declared, “It took you four fucking years to dream that up—you, one of the rich white boys, and the Guatemalan hanging out in an alley on the West side of Stamford? Right, that’s it?” and he stood up and said derisively, “See you, Cuz.”
Curtis Strong started to walk away when Billy Stevens stood up and said, “He needed drugs, I was his dealer, the Guatemalan was my source. That’s the God’s truth CJ. I am not lying!” he concluded.
Strong stood still for a long minute; he looked at Stevens.
The guard joined in again, “Fellas, if you are going to continue talking, you need to sit down, OK?”
“Got it,” Billy said, and he sat back down. Strong paused a moment and then sat down. There was an uncomfortable silence as Strong tried sorting this out.
“What were you doing dealing drugs? You didn’t do that,” Strong said.
“Well I don’t any more. I was just getting started. The white boy was one of four regular customers I had,” Stevens told his cousin.
“One of them a druggie? No way,” Strong said emphatically.
“I don’t know about now, but then he was one screwed-up kid,” Billy said, adding, “He had no idea what the fuck he was doing with the drugs. He’d take the crack, and I’d have to babysit him all night. The stuff really screwed him up.”
“What happened in that alley,” CJ demanded.
“That was the regular place I’d meet the Guatemalan. The kid was so hot for the drugs that night he came with me. I couldn’t shake him. The Guatemalan got pissed. Started hassling him. Wanted to see the color of his money. For twenty-dollar hits, he gives the kid a lot of shit. Kid has this knife on him, pulls it out with one hand and says, “Give me the fucking crack.” With his other hand, he pulls out a couple of twenties. The Guatemalan lunged for the money. I think the kid thought he was coming for him, and he plugged the thing in his chest. As soon as he did it, he took off,” Stevens said.
“What did he tell you when you saw him again,” CJ asked.
“I never saw him again. He never came around again.”
“I mean you contacted him, right? Told him what happened to me, right?” CJ questioned hard, looking at Billy for an answer that wasn’t there.
“No, I never did,” he said, dropping his head. “I was so damn afraid; I did nothing for months, for maybe a year after that. I didn’t know his name—he’d only come to the corner where I hang. He never came back. Hell, he never even recognized me from the football game at Barnes.”
“Why didn’t you find out; there had to be some way to find out which one it was. What were you doing after I went away?”
“Not a thing. School, home, the hoops. School, home, the hoops. Moms thought I was just feeling down about what was happening to you,” and he looked up and faced Strong, “And I was, CJ; I was hurting for what you were going through. I knew you were doing it for me, and it wasn’t me who killed the dealer.”
“Shit,” CJ said, “Now what am I supposed to do. I’m no better off.”
“I know, the Barnes’ family looking out for your mother all these years. I know, but I couldn’t go there and ask Mrs. Barnes for a list of the boys who visited that day, could I?” Stevens said. And now more resigned he added, “But I can’t handle it any longer. I’ll do whatever you want. I figured I’d
“You remember those boys who always hang out at the place your Mama works at, the Barnes’ house?”
“What about them?”
“You remember the time we played football with them?”
“Yes, I do,” Strong said in anticipation.
“Well, it’s one of them.”
“What are you talking about? Make sense.”
“I don’t know their names. It was one of them.”
“If you don’t start making sense, this little visit is over,” CJ concluded, confused.
“What I’m telling you it was one of them who did the knife on the dealer.”
Worn out from this mental game CJ declared, “It took you four fucking years to dream that up—you, one of the rich white boys, and the Guatemalan hanging out in an alley on the West side of Stamford? Right, that’s it?” and he stood up and said derisively, “See you, Cuz.”
Curtis Strong started to walk away when Billy Stevens stood up and said, “He needed drugs, I was his dealer, the Guatemalan was my source. That’s the God’s truth CJ. I am not lying!” he concluded.
Strong stood still for a long minute; he looked at Stevens.
The guard joined in again, “Fellas, if you are going to continue talking, you need to sit down, OK?”
“Got it,” Billy said, and he sat back down. Strong paused a moment and then sat down. There was an uncomfortable silence as Strong tried sorting this out.
“What were you doing dealing drugs? You didn’t do that,” Strong said.
“Well I don’t any more. I was just getting started. The white boy was one of four regular customers I had,” Stevens told his cousin.
“One of them a druggie? No way,” Strong said emphatically.
“I don’t know about now, but then he was one screwed-up kid,” Billy said, adding, “He had no idea what the fuck he was doing with the drugs. He’d take the crack, and I’d have to babysit him all night. The stuff really screwed him up.”
“What happened in that alley,” CJ demanded.
“That was the regular place I’d meet the Guatemalan. The kid was so hot for the drugs that night he came with me. I couldn’t shake him. The Guatemalan got pissed. Started hassling him. Wanted to see the color of his money. For twenty-dollar hits, he gives the kid a lot of shit. Kid has this knife on him, pulls it out with one hand and says, “Give me the fucking crack.” With his other hand, he pulls out a couple of twenties. The Guatemalan lunged for the money. I think the kid thought he was coming for him, and he plugged the thing in his chest. As soon as he did it, he took off,” Stevens said.
“What did he tell you when you saw him again,” CJ asked.
“I never saw him again. He never came around again.”
“I mean you contacted him, right? Told him what happened to me, right?” CJ questioned hard, looking at Billy for an answer that wasn’t there.
“No, I never did,” he said, dropping his head. “I was so damn afraid; I did nothing for months, for maybe a year after that. I didn’t know his name—he’d only come to the corner where I hang. He never came back. Hell, he never even recognized me from the football game at Barnes.”
“Why didn’t you find out; there had to be some way to find out which one it was. What were you doing after I went away?”
“Not a thing. School, home, the hoops. School, home, the hoops. Moms thought I was just feeling down about what was happening to you,” and he looked up and faced Strong, “And I was, CJ; I was hurting for what you were going through. I knew you were doing it for me, and it wasn’t me who killed the dealer.”
“Shit,” CJ said, “Now what am I supposed to do. I’m no better off.”
“I know, the Barnes’ family looking out for your mother all these years. I know, but I couldn’t go there and ask Mrs. Barnes for a list of the boys who visited that day, could I?” Stevens said. And now more resigned he added, “But I can’t handle it any longer. I’ll do whatever you want. I figured I’d
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