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  “I don’t want to wait that long. We’re not going to wait that long.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because yesterday you and Michael went to visit your friend’s grave. That’s why. Do I need another reason? Elijah, he was shot in his back outside his home!”

  He tried to say something, but she cut him off with a raised hand. “I don’t own this house, and we’re on a month-to-month lease, so we can leave whenever we want. There’s really nothing holding us back, Elijah. I’ll miss church and Pastor Fredericks, but he’s already connected me with a new church in Buffalo. And you don’t even seem interested in basketball anymore.”

  “I’m not. I want to be—because I want to go to college, and I don’t want to let Sam Lehigh and you down—but I don’t want to play anymore. I’m sorry. I’ll have to find another way to go to college.”

  “Elijah, I don’t care about any of that right now.”

  “Maybe I can join the army, like Banks. Or work and save money. Maybe I can—”

  “Elijah, come here, Son.” She set the folded boxes on the counter and opened her arms. “Just let it go for now, and we’ll figure it all out together. Okay?” She wrapped her arms around him and felt his tears trying to force their way out, through the protective layers he’d built up in the course of learning how to deal with all he’d been through so far. Some of them were things he hadn’t yet told her about. “We’ve got two weeks to pack and get ready. After that, we’ll start over again in Buffalo. It’s going to be fine. You’ll see.”

  “I thought he’d come, Mom,” said Elijah.

  “Who, Son? Who did you think would come?”

  “Dad.”

  “Oh, Elijah.”

  “I thought if my team made it to the end of the tournament, to the championship, he’d come and watch me play. I thought I’d see him in the crowd, and he’d be proud of me. I don’t know why I thought that, but I did. I said it over and over in my head until I believed it. That’s how stupid I’ve been.”

  “Son.”

  “But he wasn’t proud of me, Mom. He didn’t come back.”

  “Let me tell you something about your father that I’ve never told you before,” she said. “Maybe I should have. Maybe if I had, you wouldn’t have spent so much time getting your hopes up, and then blaming yourself.”

  Elijah looked up, waiting to hear.

  “When I met Will Thomas, your father, I knew he was a good enough man, but I didn’t know how scared he was. All I saw was this big, strong, handsome black man who used to come into the restaurant where I worked as a waitress. Every day he’d wear a T-shirt with his tool belt slung over his shoulder, and I swear I felt dizzy on my feet whenever I looked at him. That’s how handsome he was; it was the same for the other waitresses, who used to fight over setting his table.”

  “And you got it?” asked Elijah.

  “No,” she said. “I had the seats along the counter, where all the old men used to sit. Except, one day Will walked right past the hostess station and took a seat at the counter. He sat there every day for two weeks before he asked me out.”

  “And you said yes?”

  “I sure did. And six months later I was married and pregnant, but Will Thomas was nowhere to be found.”

  “I thought you said he left when I was two?”

  “That was the last time he left, but not the first. He’d go away for a week at a time on these construction teams. Jobs that were a hundred or so miles away.”

  She paused, remembering. “At first it was hard, but I got used to it. There was enough money, and there was you—you were a wonderful baby. But…the one-week jobs became two- and three-week jobs, and there wasn’t as much money coming in. That was when I figured it out.”

  “Figured what out?”

  “There was no out-of-town construction job.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He was still working around town, but living with another woman. Pretending to be far away. He made the whole thing up.”

  “Why?”

  “That’s what I wanted to know. I was twenty-two years old, Elijah, and with a baby. I went into the restaurant where I used to work, because I thought I might be able to pick up a few shifts and make some money. But when I got in there, guess who I saw, sitting at the counter talking to the next twenty-two-year-old waitress? That’s right. William Thomas.”

  “Did he try to explain?”

  “Yes, he did. And I was dumb enough to listen. That’s why you’ve got a picture from when you were two, because I took him back.”

  “Still, it doesn’t sound like he was afraid.”

  “Elijah, that man, your father, has started and walked out on several families. Whenever the responsibilities became real, he left. I found that out a little too late, I guess. I would feel sorry for myself, except that I got to keep you. So the name William Thomas doesn’t make me angry or sad; it makes me feel grateful that I got to be your mother.”

  After a moment, Elijah said, “I’ve got half brothers and sisters?”

  She nodded. “If you decide you want to find them, I’ll help.”

  “Okay, I’ll think about it,” said Elijah. “But why didn’t you tell me?”

  “The truth? I guess I was hoping he’d come back, too. Which, I suppose, makes me the stupid one again.”

  ELIJAH FORGED AHEAD with Banks’s list, which was as good a distraction as any. And there was the added benefit of avoiding Money. But as much as he enjoyed the power washer with its cooling back spray, he dreaded the awful weighted-down lawn mower, which Banks had specially prepared with a forty-five-pound plate and a twenty-five.

  Banks watched from the front porch as Elijah fought with the ridiculous machine. Cigar in mouth, he offered no help other than the occasional disparaging remark. Put your back into it. Come on, cream puff. You’re better than that.

  Most of Elijah’s efforts to get the impossible thing to move were of no use. In the end, it was a combination of willpower and brute force that coaxed it into motion. First, the rubber wheels rocked back and forth in their hard-packed, shallow ruts. Elijah felt the movement and pushed even harder, gritting his teeth, not caring if spit flew from his mouth and flecked his shirt and arms.

  “You got it!” shouted Banks. “Keep pushing.”

  Veined muscles jumped beneath his skin, sneakers scraping the dirt for traction, and still he pushed harder.

  “It’s moving,” said Banks. “Dig, dig, dig!”

  Elijah’s body poured sweat. His stomach tried to convulse from the superhuman effort, until, on the second-to-last pass, the push bar sheared in half. He tumbled to the grass, panting and heaving like a broken workhorse.

  “Not half bad.” Banks inspected him for injuries, grinning around his cigar. “Put this thing away and then meet me in the basement. I need some more help with my shadow box.”

  —

  BANKS’S WOODSHOP WAS a model of organization. Every tool hung on the wall on its own peg, with a thick black outline to let him know if anything was missing. The surface of his bench was clean and freshly oiled, and the concrete floor was spotless. There was only one problem—Banks. In short, he had no clue what he was doing and was relying more and more on assistance from Elijah.

  “I put a new blade on.” Banks touched it to show him. “Like you said. It cuts better, but everything is still coming out wrong. The joints aren’t square.”

  Elijah studied the defective pieces, and then the saw. “It’s not the blade; you have to get the fence straight, like this.” He took a tape measure and squared the fence to the blade, taking care to measure at both the front and back teeth. “Now try it.”

  Banks fired up the machine and ripped out new pieces. They checked the fit together.

  “Good,” said Banks. “Thanks.”

  “What was that last part?” Elijah shook his head. “I didn’t quite hear you.”

  A faint grin. “I said thanks, but don’t push it.”

  “You say that l
ike it hurts.”

  “That’s because it does.” Banks laid the pieces out, and Elijah handed him a bottle of wood glue. “It’s painful to be indebted to a smug kid. When’s the big move?”

  “Next week,” said Elijah. “Just enough time to finish your project. Who knows? Maybe you’ll get lucky and pull out a D.”

  “I’d be very happy to earn a D. Did you decide about playing basketball for the new school?”

  Elijah shook his head. “The guy from Syracuse keeps calling. He wants to set up a visit.”

  “Wouldn’t hurt to check the place out.”

  “I don’t know. What if I don’t play?”

  “You don’t owe them anything. Check it out.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Sure. I would.” Banks handed Elijah another plain white envelope. “Here’s your pay, and there’s a note from Kerri in it. She made me promise not to forget.”

  —

  THE NOTE SAID to meet at the coffee shop at six o’clock. It also said no rain checks and that he’d better not stand her up. Elijah smiled as he read it, and then hustled home to grab a quick shower and a change of clothes.

  His mother caught him on his way out the front door. “You just got home. Where could you possibly be going?”

  “To meet a friend at the coffee shop.”

  “I see. And does this friend have a name?”

  “She does.”

  “Well.” His mother stood with her hands on her hips, smiling. “And did your other friend, Michael, find you?”

  “No, why?”

  “He came by. I told him you were at Mr. Banks’s house. He was upset about something. Said he’d come back, that he had to talk to you.”

  “Okay,” said Elijah. “I won’t be out too late.”

  THE DATE, IF IT EVEN WAS ONE, didn’t go as Elijah had expected. For starters, Kerri brought a dozen manila envelopes filled with her research. She spread the folders on a café table while Elijah ordered and waited for their cappuccinos.

  “I can’t wait to tell you,” she said when he returned.

  “Tell me what?” Elijah pushed a folder aside to make room for their drinks.

  “Okay, so I know my father spilled the beans about being in Special Forces, but did he tell you he was an expert in unconventional warfare?”

  “What?”

  “Wikipedia says it’s an attempt to achieve military victory through acquiescence, capitulation, or clandestine support for one side of an existing conflict. But really, it’s destroying your enemy by using his strengths against him. Here’s a cool example; it’s not military, but it really happened.” She opened one of the folders, which contained photocopies of an old Superman comic titled “Clan of the Fiery Cross.”

  “In the forties, this guy, Stetson Kennedy, wanted to stop the Ku Klux Klan, but everyone told him it was impossible. So he went undercover and learned the Klan’s secrets. Then he approached the guys who wrote the Superman comics.”

  “You lost me. Comics?”

  “They did a whole multi-episode thing about Superman fighting the Klan. The story revealed the Klan’s secrets and made fun of the Klansmen. It worked so well that by the end of the series, Klan enrollment was down to almost nothing, and people were showing up at rallies just to mock them.”

  “That’s true?”

  “Yep.”

  “And that’s unconventional warfare?”

  “It’s just an example. My father still can’t tell me everything about the things he did. But the principles are the same: gather intelligence and find your enemy’s weak point. Then—and this is the really cool part—you destroy him by turning his own strengths against him.”

  “And you’re telling me this because…”

  “Because we can do the same thing with Blood Street Nation. They can’t be harder to take down than the Klan. The Klan killed thousands. Lynched people. Corrupted our own government.”

  “But why?”

  “What do you mean why? Didn’t they threaten you and your mom, and kill your friend? Aren’t those good enough reasons?”

  “For me they are, but not you. You’re not involved. That’s good. Aren’t you leaving for college anyway?”

  “Not for three more weeks. Listen, you don’t have to worry about me, Elijah. It’s sweet and all, but I’m nineteen, and I’m dead serious about this stuff.”

  “I know, but…”

  “Hey, you took your team all the way in the tournament, right?”

  He nodded, not sure of the connection or of how to slow her down.

  “You had to be pretty focused on that goal to achieve it. That’s how focused I am with this. You have basketball; I have this. I’m going to go to college to study forensics and criminology. When I’m done, I’m going to join the FBI. This is kind of like practice. Get it?”

  “No.”

  Kerri continued, undeterred. “See these folders? I’ve worked out a whole plan. Just hear me out, okay?”

  “Sure, but tell me this: do I have a part in this plan?”

  “Of course.” She beamed. “It’s a great one, too. Lots of research involved, but you’ll love it. Promise.”

  AT HOME, ELIJAH got to work researching the links and pdfs Kerri had given him. He read everything he could find on Banks’s Special Forces unit, about which there was precious little. Apparently his division was so special that it didn’t even have a name. Instead, there was a list of known conflicts and an even longer list of alleged ones. But he hit gold with a free pdf version of the The U.S. Army/Marine Corps Counterinsurgency Field Manual, a massive volume of explicitly detailed information on how to dismantle terrorist cells and enemy governments.

  Elijah lay on the couch with his mother’s laptop propped on his chest. He read for three hours straight, what he learned made his half-baked plan with the gun embarrassing. He’d had no clue what he was doing, and he thanked God he didn’t have any blood on his hands. He didn’t actually believe Kerri was going to take on and dismantle Blood Street Nation, but neither did he see the harm in playing along. Besides, it was interesting, and it was better than sitting back and doing nothing.

  —

  HIS MOTHER FOUND him asleep on the couch with the laptop still glowing. “What on earth are you reading?”

  Elijah peeled his eyes open and took in his surroundings. “It’s from Banks. An army thing. What time is it?”

  “Eleven at night,” she said. “Don’t you hear that phone ringing? It’s sounded off at least three times.”

  He dragged himself off the couch and picked up his cell without bothering to check the caller’s identity. “Hello?”

  “It’s me, Michael.” A heavy bass line pumped from a subwoofer in the background. There were voices, too.

  “What’s up?” Elijah thought about the dozen different meanings behind that simple question. How did he mean it? Not friendly, but not unfriendly, either. The way it was with people who used to be good friends but had grown apart. No, that wasn’t true, either. Complicated was the way to put it.

  “Listen,” said Michael through the static of a weak signal, or maybe a hand cupped around the phone. “I think I found out who shot Dylan.”

  Instantly Elijah’s heart began thumping its own dangerous bass line. “Who?”

  “I can’t talk here; it ain’t safe.”

  “Where are you?”

  Elijah heard street noise in the background. Someone cursing. Whatever was going on, it didn’t feel right. Michael was in some kind of trouble. He just knew it.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow and tell you when we can meet.” Michael sounded different, too, shaky and panicked.

  “I’m working tomorrow. How about you say what you have to say right now? Tell me where you are.”

  A pause. The line went dead.

  —

  BEFORE GOING TO Banks’s house in the morning, Elijah quickly covered the two blocks to Michael’s house and banged on the door. He waited, and then knocked again. Just before giving up, Michael�
��s mother answered the door; her eyes were ringed with heavy bags, and she looked like she hadn’t slept in days. From her fingers, a cigarette trailed smoke like a warning flare.

  “Elijah.” Her voice was as taut as a wire, and he guessed she’d been up all night. “Come on in.”

  “Hi, Mrs. Henderson.” He stepped into the living room, covered in white pile carpet. Several pairs of Michael’s sneakers were neatly lined up against the baseboard, like a collection. Above them, framed family pictures hung on the wall; the center picture showed him, Dylan, and Michael, all ten years old, at a swimming pool. The sun lit up beads of water on their skinny arms. They looked happy.

  Elijah made sure to step on the welcome mat. “Is Michael here?”

  “He told me he was spending the night at your house.” She took a drag on the cigarette and closed her eyes for the briefest moment. “But I’m not surprised. He’s been telling me all kinds of things, and only half of them true.” She grabbed an ashtray off a nearby bookshelf, and almost dropped it.

  “Do you know where he might be?” But even as he said it, he knew the answer.

  “No.” As she stabbed her cigarette into the tray, the weariness drained from her features and was replaced with fear. “He’s in trouble, I know that. I’m afraid for him, Elijah. You’ll tell me where he is, won’t you?”

  “I don’t know where he is, Mrs. Henderson.”

  “But you’ll find him, won’t you? Please, find him and bring him home to me.”

  “I will, Mrs. Henderson.”

  She set the ashtray down and took his hands in hers. He could see in her eyes that she was close to tears. “Do you promise?”

  “I promise,” he said. But the world was too dangerous for promises like that. “Goodbye, Mrs. Henderson.”

  Thirty minutes later, Elijah checked the Battlegrounds, Antonio’s, and even the courts behind the high school. But Michael was nowhere to be seen. Defeated, he moved on toward Banks’s house, silently cursing Mrs. Henderson for having made him promise. He couldn’t be responsible for anyone else. Look what had happened to Dylan after Elijah had said he would keep an eye on him. What could he do for Michael, who never listened to anyone? Michael, who was in deep with Blood Street Nation and claimed to know the identity of Dylan’s shooter.