We outside
That's the text Francis had been waiting for. He grabbed his phone and his backpack and headed for the front door.
"I'll be back later," he said as he closed the door behind himself. Francis wasn't really concerned with whether or not his mother heard him. It's not like she was going to stop him from going. She would just nag him for as long as he chose to stand there listening. Why not postpone the interrogation and lecture until later?
Francis ran his fingers through his blond hair and sighed as he approached the old black Honda Civic that awaited him. He made his way toward the back and was slightly surprised when the window rolled down.
"Nah Beck, you got shotgun."
Beck was the nickname Francis got from his friends. When he first moved to the neighborhood in ninth grade, his reputation as an outstanding soccer player made its way to the ears of old and young alike. Initially, some of the neighborhood kids started calling him David Beckham to ridicule him. By his sophomore year, it had caught on, and he was being called D.B. and D. Beckham. Francis began to embrace it by the following summer, so he started introducing himself as D. Beck. By the end of his senior year, everyone but his parents were referring to him as Beck.
Francis sat down, closed the door and fastened his seatbelt.
"You ready bro?" asked a voice from the back of the car.
"Whatchu mean? Ain't I here? Man let's go." Francis kept a lighthearted tone, although he was actually a little nervous. As the car began to move forward, he mentally took note of what was going on. Shadow was driving. He held the unique distinction of having the darkest complexion of anyone Francis had ever seen. Dro was in the back behind Shadow. "Alejandro" was entirely too formal for him, and he had specific tastes when it came to marijuana. Behind Francis was Bumpy, who was nearly as dark as Shadow. During early puberty he fought a losing battle with acne, but by his last year of high school nobody would've been able to guess because his face cleared up so well.
Shadow, Beck, Dro, and Bumpy, he thought. Shadow, Beck, Dro and Bumpy. Yeah it's about to go down. Shadow, Beck, Dro, and Bumpy. What's up with the dro anyway?
"What's up with the dro?" he asked aloud looking to his left at Shadow.
"I look like I got it?" Shadow asked with a slight chuckle. "You know Dro got the dro. Duh."
"We was waitin on you to light up," Dro answered. "You know you act like a crybaby when we start without you. Here." Dro leaned forward and handed Francis a lighter and an oddly shaped device. It was a pretty familiar sight - a cigar that had been emptied of its tobacco and filled with marijuana. "You can even spark the blunt this time Beck."
"Bout time," Francis said, smiling as he put the blunt in his mouth. He lit it effortlessly and took a quick hit, and immediately started coughing.
"Oh no, no, noooooo," Bumpy protested over the sounds of coughing and laughing. "If you can't even take the first hit without coughing like a punk you gotta give up the blunt. I can feel you messin up the rotation already. Pass it to Shadow, then pass it back here."
"Aight," Francis coughed as he handed the blunt to Shadow. He was a little embarrassed, but he knew it could've been worse. These guys were his friends and they all joked with each other like that. He changed the subject. "So how's it gonna go?"
Shadow took an extended puff and then handed it back to Francis, who in turn handed it to Bumpy. Shadow, suppressing the urge to cough as well, then spoke in a muffled breath. "So we're going to Goldstein's house. A few blocks up. His house looks EXACTLY like yours Beck, so you should already know your way around it. It should be pretty easy. Kick the door in, hit the master bedroom and grab whatever you can in FIVE MINUTES, aight? We ain't got time for you to snoop around and try to take the scenic route. You gotta be in and out. I'ma spin the block one time slow and by the time I get back y'all should be done. Dro's gonna stay by the front door behind the bushes so he can look out and he'll be on the phone with me. If either one of us sees something we relay the info to the other. Bumpy's gonna run in with you. Whatever y'all can fit in two hands should be enough."
"What about the neighbors?" Bumpy asked.
"Don't worry about the neighbors," Dro replied. "Everybody in that part of the neighborhood is still gone for Christmas break. There's only one family on the end that didn't go out of town, and both of them work until late. Goldstein and his wife leave the house Monday through Thursday at 7:30 like clockwork. I swear that block is a ghost town."
You sure about that? Francis thought. The initial nervousness was fading, yet he still couldn't shake the feeling that something might be wrong. Maybe I'm trippin ... it's gotta be stage fright. Kinda like the first soccer game I played in high school. Yeah, that's it. Adrenaline. He briefly thought about the time he spent in martial arts classes. He got the same feeling before each match - excited, but uneasy. His train of thought was interrupted by a tap on his left shoulder. Without looking, Francis reached and received the blunt, this time taking a more appropriate drag.
"Now THAT'S how you're s'posed to hit the blunt," Shadow said as he put his right hand out to get it from Francis. "I bet your daddy got better etiquette than you." His comment was met with laughter from the backseat. Francis managed to barely chuckle.
"My dad's a square. He ain't real like that," he answered. I wish he was cool like that. He began thinking about how his father had worked long hours for the last few years. Francis would see his dad leave for work early in the morning and he wouldn't see him again until the end of soccer practice. Weekends were a coin toss; any given Saturday his dad would have to go to the office or meet with clients. Francis sometimes longed for the simpler days when he lived in the smaller house and he saw his dad more often, but he knew his dad worked hard for them to have their current house.
"Your dad IS kinda cool though," Dro said. "My dad didn't put me in sports or anything like that. He was always drunk and high when I got home from school. He wasn't tryna leave the house if he didn't have to."
You don't get it Dro. My dad was always gone. Always chasing a check. Why couldn't he be like his own dad and hustle? My granddaddy was known in the streets. He was real.
"Watch, Beck probably gonna say his dad ain't real like his granddaddy or even his great granddaddy," Bumpy teased.
"It's true though."
"Why, cuz your great granddaddy was black? Hahaha boy you trippin. If he was so real how come he went and married a white woman? How come your granddaddy married a white woman? How come your daddy married a white woman?" Bumpy was closer to Francis than the other two guys and had better insight into his mind. He knew Francis had self esteem and identity issues. They would talk about it seriously every now and again privately, and the joke would find a way to manifest itself occasionally.
"Like you said, my daddy ain't real like the two before him." Francis knew Bumpy was trying to reason with him, but it didn't matter. Francis always identified with his "black side", although most people would argue there was none. With blond hair and blue eyes, you couldn't get much more Caucasian than him. Francis figured his father was ashamed of his ancestry and heritage, which probably prompted the move to a more upscale neighborhood. Still, Francis was determined to fulfill what he thought was his destiny - he had to live the same kind of street life his grandfather used to tell stories about. He had to earn his stripes.
"Get ready we're almost there," Shadow said as he slowed the car to a stop. "Aight, so I'ma turn this corner and drive right there by the house. I'ma stop and y'all three gotta get out right away. I'ma dip and hit the corner. Dro, the bushes by the door are big enough to cover y'all from one side. You stand there and watch the blind area for anything. Beck and Bumpy, y'all already know what to do."
"Should I dial right now?" Dro asked.
"Hold on, lemme check for this text real quick," Shadow answered. He looked at his phone and seemed pleased. "My cousin stays right across the street from Goldstein. He said the Lincoln Towncar definitely pulled out of the garage at 7:30 this morning, just like it did yesterday, and just like it did Monday. Old folks have routines like that, I'm tryna tell ya. The only thing they done different in the last two months is they put some decent tint on the Lincoln. And they're old Jewish people, so it ain't like they gotta worry about the laws."
"Sounds like a green light to me," Francis said, trying to conquer his negative feelings with excitement. "Where's the Peach Tea?" he asked rhetorically. He grabbed his backpack, which had been sitting on the floor, and reached inside. He pulled out a small plastic 8oz. bottle and offered it to the backseat. Bumpy took it, and Francis handed another one to Dro. Francis held one out to Shadow, who silently declined with a polite hand wave. "You sure bro? Aight. Guess I'll drink yours too." Everyone except Shadow downed their drinks almost instantaneously. Bumpy and Dro handed their empty bottles back to Francis, who put the three bottles in his backpack. He then quickly drank the leftover bottle that would've gone to Shadow.
"Dro, go ahead and dial," Shadow said. He continued looking at his own phone until it lit up, then he swiped across the screen to answer and switched it to speaker. "Put yours on speaker and turn the volume down." Dro complied and Shadow pushed off with the car.
Here we go. Francis could feel his heart rate climbing. The car began moving again, turning a corner and then speeding up. Francis recognized the destination almost immediately. Although he had never been on this particular street before, it was the only house that looked exactly like his.
"Aight go," Shadow said as he stopped the car. "Hurry up. We ain't got too long." The other three quickly exited and walked up to the front door, and Shadow drove away immediately. As they got to the front door, Dro stepped over to the left and turned so that his back was to the bushes. He had a clear view of the street.
"Aight Shadow everything's clear," he said into his phone.
"Get it poppin then. I just hit the corner. I'ma try to creep long enough for y'all to get done."
Francis nodded as if Shadow could see him through the phone. He took a deep breath. A million thoughts were running through his mind simultaneously, and many of them seemed to be out of place considering what was going on. He thought about the various extracurricular activities his dad wanted him in - soccer, martial arts, basketball, and track. He remembered his dad always complaining that he needed to be occupied. Then he thought about his mom. She was such an airhead. All she did was cook, clean, and complain. She nagged like she had a degree in it. He thought about all the arguments he got in with his parents, but he couldn't pinpoint how they started.
For a split second he recalled the day Shadow first suggested that they run in Mr. Goldstein's house and take his stash of jewels. His granddaughter Sarah attended their high school, and she showed up with a new pearl accessory each semester. Earrings, a necklace, bracelets, she always had something. Shadow and Bumpy said that Mr. Goldstein was different from the other guys who worked at the fancy jewelry stores because he owned several pieces of jewelry for himself. Sarah had also unwittingly revealed that he keeps a stash in his room because she saw him hide a birthday present for her mom there once.
"Come on Beck," Bumpy said.
"Yeah, I got it." Francis looked up at the doorpost and noticed an emblem on the right side. He'd seen one before but he couldn't remember what it was called, just that it was something Jewish. He thought again about soccer and martial arts, then he planted his left foot firmly on the ground and raised his right leg. He drove his foot into the door. The feeling was encouraging. He knew it would only take a few tries. He kicked again, this time harder.
"Put some force in it Beck" Dro advised.
Ignoring him, Francis began kicking harder and faster. His heart was going at full speed now, but everything seemed to happen in slow motion. He saw nothing besides the door, and he heard nothing besides his foot stomping into it. The door was clearly weakening. Francis and Bumpy were poised to run inside as soon as the door caved. He gave one final kick and it gave way, revealing an old man standing in a defensive pose only a few feet away with a Mossberg 500 pointed directly at Francis' torso.
He heard a loud bang.
