Lovers & Haters (5 page)

These were just some of the factors that Xavier was mulling over after he exited a corridor that spilled out into a main hallway. He was a couple of feet away from the library when he looked up into the smiling, raggedy mouth of the enemy. Dylan Dallas was standing there, fists at his sides and balled tight, pants sagging, and wearing an arrogant smirk on his face—that's because he had his boys with him.

Xavier thought to himself,
Oh boy, this is all I need right now
. But he wasn't about to back down. It wasn't in his DNA. And he was sick and tired of this guy being all up in his grille.

“So if it ain't Master Splinter and five uglier versions of the black Mutant Ninja Turtles,” Xavier blazed.

Dylan laughed off the joke. “Boy, you're a real funny dude—a regular LL Cool J version of Kevin Hart. I told you we'd meet back up. That Sebastian thing—your little interference that day cost D-Day some loot. We just gonna take that out your behind today, funny man.”

“Time to finish what we started, homeboy,” Knuckles said.

Danger, Trigger, and Dirty just stood there trying to look as menacing as possible.

The bell rang and students began exiting their classrooms and filling the hallways.

“Make your move,” Xavier brazenly said, with his arms stretched out in an inviting gesture. “To tell you the truth, I'm about tired of you fools walking around here like you own the place. And everybody knows that y'all are the rodent population to the real gangs walking these hallways.”

Dylan made his move and Xavier was ready to counter when Felix Hoover walked up—about six feet, two hundred pounds, navy blue hoodie, fresh jeans, some sweet Cole Haans, and six hard-core gang members from the Second Street crew behind him, ready to put in work.

“What's poppin'?” Felix asked Xavier, with a mischievous grin on his face. He turned to Dylan. “This looks like your style—six on one. You never gonna learn.” He smiled at Xavier. “Lil Hunter, are you all right?” Then he said to Dylan, “Anybody gotta problem with Lil Hunter, gotta problem with Second.” The boys behind Felix threw up their set.

Dex wasn't a part of any gang. He was Xavier's homeboy and always had his back. He walked out of the crowd and went to his locker. He popped the lock and opened the locker, and to everybody's surprise, the freckle-faced boy came out with a broken table leg that had a sharp, jagged edge at the tip. Students made room as Dex started warming up with the weapon like he was a Major League baseball player inside the on-deck batting circle.

“I gotcha back, X,” Dex said.

Dylan's face showed signs of stress. He shook his head and smirked. “I swear, nephew, you must have a guardian angel watching your back.”

“Yup,” Knuckles agreed. “But one day that angel is going to turn her back and you're going to take that ass-whooping.”

Dex pointed his table leg at Knuckles. “And when she does we'll be here.”

Xavier tauntingly smiled at Dylan. “Like I said not too long ago, it's your move . . . Master Splinter.”

The crowd of students cheered and whistled when Dylan and his goons turned to walk away. At one time or another, Dylan had shaken down most of the students at the school.

“This ain't over, Xavier,” Dylan said.

“It soon will be,” Felix threatened. “Second Street is gonna smash you D-Day clowns.”

“Everybody, break this crap up and get to class,” Doug said, directing traffic with his hands. “Felix, you and your boys better skedaddle before all of you find yourselves on a permanent suspension—you already got one foot out the door and the other one on a banana peel.”

Dex had snuck the table leg back inside his locker.

“If I see anybody standing around, they're going to the principal's office,” Doug warned. He looked at Xavier. “I see we are going to butt heads.”

Xavier looked at the immense size of Doug's cranium. “That's a battle I would lose.”

“Mister Funny Man,” Doug replied, “get to lunch and stop causing problems.”

Xavier was laughing when he turned around and saw Samantha and one of her silly friends shaking their heads at him.

Xavier smiled and winked at Samantha.

She sweetly smiled at him and said, “I told you, you're a bad boy.”

Xavier laughed. “And like I told you before, you know you like bad boys.” He watched with pure infatuation. She was feeling him and he knew it. She was just playing hard to get.

He turned his attention to Dylan. Something had to be done about those D-Day cats, and quick. Xavier had no idea what it would take to get this knucklehead off his back. Obviously smashing him in the parking lot would only escalate the beef. It was just too much to think about right now.

F
riday afternoon saw Xavier sitting on the porch steps at the crib with his head buried inside the pages of
Hamlet
. Ne Ne had kept both boys out of school. Alfonso had had a ten o'clock doctor appointment for a regularly scheduled examination. She was too trifling to take him. So she simply delegated her responsibility to Xavier and gave him enough cab fare for both ways. Besides, Ne Ne was suffering from a massive hangover and wasn't about to get out of bed to run her baby boy anywhere. She and Nate had been hanging tough last night, partying and drinking well into the wee hours of the morning. But when she finally managed to crawl out of bed in the early afternoon, all she could do was run to the kitchen and cook her boyfriend breakfast. Once the two of them had eaten, they started drinking again, with the volume of the stereo cranked up so loud that Xavier had retreated outside in order to concentrate. An hour later, his mother and her annoying boyfriend had followed him out on the porch. Ne Ne was sitting on Nate's lap in a steel fold-up chair. They were kissing, as she laughed at Nate's dumb jokes like a silly little schoolgirl.

She and Nate were smoking Newport cigarettes like the manufacturer had made an announcement that they would discontinue the brand. Xavier, who was old enough to understand that his mother was selfish and didn't care about his education, wasn't blaming Nate. Xavier hadn't learned about escorting his brother to his doctor appointment until this morning, and wasn't going to do it, but Ne Ne had played hardball. If he didn't bend, the penalty would be him not getting to hang out at the State Theater tonight for teen night.

Ne Ne had Montell Jordan's old hit “This Is How We Do It” rocking the house. Xavier knew it was wrong, but he liked how quiet the crib was when the lights and gas had been turned off a few days ago. Somehow, Ne Ne had pulled a hocus pocus move, coming up with the money in order to get the service restored.

She and Nate were now celebrating with the music bumping so tough that the front window panes of the small bungalow were vibrating, and to add to Xavier's growing frustration, his mother was in full view of the neighbors, behaving like an irresponsible teenager. His English teacher, Ms. Gorman, would be testing them on the material in a few days and Xavier wasn't settling for anything less than an A. The more he tried to tune them out, the louder they got.

The angry tension inside Xavier's body was boiling to the point where he was gritting his teeth. They were seriously disrespecting his study mode. Xavier was moments away from clocking out when the two teenaged grown folks broke for air. He didn't even have to turn around to know that they were looking at him, but when he did, he saw that Nate had an idiotic expression on his face. Puffing on his cigarette, Nate appeared to be sizing Xavier up to say something dumb.

“Yo' mama tells me that you're some type of wannabe thug nerd,” Nate said as he took a drag on the cigarette.

Nate stretched out to about six foot one, the scale probably billing him at a solid 260 pounds. His head was clean like the smooth surface of a crystal ball, but the nappy Rick Ross beard had to go. Nate's most striking feature was his magnificent midnight complexion. He was also one of those misinformed idiots who thought that material possessions were all he needed to be a man and gain the respect of his peers. His thing was blue jeans, sometimes jogging suits, and the latest Air Jordan sneakers.

Xavier turned around, totally ignoring Nate, and tried to refocus on retaining as much of the material as he could. Reading and understanding Shakespeare's work was difficult enough, but answering crackheadlike questions from a man with the IQ of a head of lettuce made comprehension seemingly impossible.

“Xavier Franklin Hunter”—Ne Ne said his full name like he was in hot water—“don't be rude, answer the man.”

Xavier took his own sweet time about addressing the punk, thinking that if he'd been asked a question by a real man, then he wouldn't have had a problem answering it. He turned back to Nate and immediately felt sick to his stomach. The young girl hoochie uniform that his mother was wearing wasn't age-appropriate, nor was the material produced to batten down the girth of a full-figured woman. Her skintight shorts revealed almost everything—Xavier almost threw up in his mouth a little—booty cheeks slightly exposed and showing off thighs where cellulite seemed endless. Xavier was up on how extremely curvy people hid their lumpy bodies behind black material. This wasn't helping his mother. Ne Ne had on a black cami fitting her like a glove and accentuating her generously chubby midsection.

Nate paid attention to Xavier's crunchy black hooded sweatshirt, faded blue jeans, and dinged up Nike Air Force 1s. “Those played out clothes you're wearing can't be earning you any play time with the ladies.”

Xavier set him straight. “Education is my top priority. I'll worry about getting fresh later.”

Ne Ne started in on Xavier. “You got it all backward, my son. There's no
later
without money. You always talk about college—well, guess what, Mister Joe College—tuition and school books cost money. Them financial aid folks are real select about who they give their money to. You get in the street and earn the change you need.”

“That's
selective,
” Xavier corrected.

Ne Ne pointed her finger at Xavier. “Boy, don't you correct me one more time, you hear?”

“I'm with your mother. What are you reading there?” Nate looked at the cover of the book. “Shakespeare is not going to teach you about surviving in the real world. You can get that out your mind.”

“What do y'all have against education?” Xavier asked both of them flatly.

Ne Ne allowed Nate to answer. “There's a time and a place for education—and it's after you get that paper, because this world ain't going to give a crap about your education if you don't have that bread.”

“That's where you're wrong, man,” Xavier responded. “My reality isn't yours. I have a little brother that I have to set an example for. Now excuse my back because I have to go study.”

Nate took another pull from the Newport, scooped it from his mouth between his index and middle finger. He curved his lips upward like he was the coolest dude on the planet and blew out the smoke.

“I ain't through talking to you, young buckaroo,” Nate said, flicking the burning butt out into the yard and rubbing a hand over his mouth. “Doing your homework—that's admirable. Good for you, kid. I used to be just like you—smart, went to school, did the work. But being a model citizen ain't gonna put no paper in your pockets. I got a clue, dropped out, and went into bidness for myself.”

“The name is Xavier. I don't know who buckaroo is.”

Ne Ne was playing in Nate's knotted beard when she jumped in. “What I tell you about your smart lip, Xavier? Be respectful.”

There was a huge tree in their front yard. Reddish orange and yellow leaves had fallen in a gorgeous autumn blanket across the front lawn. Xavier was more concerned about the still burning cigarette that was mixed in with the dried leaf litter. Devastating fires had consumed properties and taken lives, started by careless idiots like Nate. So Xavier got up and removed the butt from the grass, stepping out the flame on the narrow walkway leading to the porch.

“A responsible young man—I can dig it,” Nate said. He let his eyes roam lustfully over Ne Ne's body and then returned his gaze to Xavier. “Listen, young buck, I'm gonna be around a while, so you might as well get used to me. I ain't trying to be a daddy or nothing, but if you find yourself in a jam or needing a little cash, come see me. I'll front you.”

“Don't play yourself, homeboy. I don't need anything from you, especially advice. I have a father to take care of that.”

Ne Ne cut loose with a disrespectful laugh. “Your daddy? Now that's a hoot. When was the last time you heard from him?”

Xavier said nothing. They were pushing his buttons and he was trying desperately to bite his tongue.

She cuffed Nate's bald head in her hands and deviously looked at her son. “Xavier, listen to Nate. He's a real man—not at all like your trifling daddy.”

“Talking about being disrespectful,” Xavier said, standing on the walkway by the first of three cement steps, fist balled up and waiting on Nate to cosign. “No disrespect, Ma, but if you lay down with that trifling man, now what does that make you?”

“Good one, Xavier,” Ne Ne said, surprisingly calm. She even laughed it off while easing out of Nate's lap. “I'm gonna answer your question right now.” She reached for a thick stick that was leaning against the far railing, about the length of Xavier's leg. “If you won't respect me, then I'll beat it out of you, buddy.” Ne Ne raised the wood and took a few steps in Xavier's direction.

Xavier didn't flinch, not even when he saw the club barreling toward the top of his skull.

Her thought was that she'd given birth to him. It had furnished her with the exclusive right to return Xavier back to the Holy Sender, and Ne Ne almost did, but Nate stepped in and grabbed her swinging arm—midair—be-fore she could deliver a splintery good night to her son.

“Give me that,” Nate ordered, yanking the stick away from her. “What the hell are you trying to do—get yourself arrested?”

“Ain't no child of mine gonna be talking to me like that!” Ne Ne yelled as she tried to lunge at Xavier.

Nate grabbed her by the arm and sat her down on the chair. “Cool down. I'm sure the young buck didn't mean anything.” Nate looked at Xavier like he wanted him to apologize to his mother. “Did you, Xavier?”

“I don't owe any apologies, period-point-blank. Nobody is gonna style on my dad”—he looked at his mama—“not even her. You feel me?”

Ne Ne was hot and ready to jump off and show Xavier a thing or two. Nate had to sit on her lap to keep the two apart.

She struggled to get loose. “That good for nothing loser—tell me when was the last time he did something for you. When was it, Xavier—tell me?!” Ne Ne shouted at the top of her lungs.

“Somehow, I got a feeling that you did something to make him go away,” Xavier shot back.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Exactly what I said. My dad didn't just go away on his own.”

“You don't know what you're talking about!” she screamed. “I suggest you drop that tone and that little gangsta attitude of yours. I pay the bills up in this piece. If you're that grown get the hell out of my house!”

The family squabble was so loud that a few of the neighbors peeped from behind open doors to see what was going on.

Aware of the audience, Nate said to Ne Ne, “Y'all chill out. Stop putting the bidness out in the streets and go back in the house—the neighbors are watching.”

Ne Ne went off, straight ghetto style. “To hell with the neighbors. They can kiss my crack.” She strained and struggled to push Nate off. “Get off me, Nathaniel!”

“What in the devil is going on out here?” their next-door neighbor, Billy Hawkins, asked, coming out his front door. Billy was a cantankerous old Vietnam War veteran who was pushing his mid sixties. But you couldn't really tell because of his youthful appearance. He had a head full of curly black hair, a honey complexion, soft brown eyes, no facial hair, and a body in decent shape for an old guy. No matter what time of year it was, for some strange reason, Billy always liked to dress in green hospital scrubs and combat boots. He walked across his grass and right up to the action.

“Old man,” Nate said, “I got this handled. You can go back in the house.”

“Young fool,” Billy said to Nate, while fishing around inside his pocket for his knife, “I'm gonna ask you one time to get off her—ain't asking again.”

Nate slowly stood to his feet and raised his arms out to both sides. “Or what, old fart? This is my house. I can handle anything jumping off over here. This is a family matter and doesn't concern you.”

“It's mighty funny that I never seen you over here until today. Don't remember you being present when Ne Ne Alexander over there signed the lease agreement with me to rent my property here.” Billy had a permit to carry a concealed weapon. And he carried a pistol on him at all times, but the knife was his weapon of choice. Billy had been trained in the Special Forces, was an expert at guerrilla warfare and had been awarded the Medal of Honor for his bravery while fighting in the jungles of Vietnam during the war. He specialized in hand-to-hand combat and was no stranger when it came down to skillfully handling a bayonet knife in battle. Even after the war was over, Billy kept an illegal switchblade in his pocket.

Xavier wasn't really down with knives or guns. He understood that most people carried weapons for protection but to him it was wrong. He'd seen many innocent people hurt or killed because of recklessness.

Xavier understood best the amount of damage that the old man could easily inflict on a civilian. He'd seen it firsthand one night when three idiots wearing ski masks tried to stick Billy up after he'd pulled up into his driveway. Two of the men went to the hospital and one went to the morgue.

Billy put his hand inside his pocket to ready the blade in position. “I know little pissant parasites like you. Vermin who meet women from broken homes, infest, and try to run the house. Sad excuses for men who don't have a pot to piss in, nor a house with a window to throw it out. If you want trouble, boy, you got the right old man.”

“Let's do it, old dude,” Nate arrogantly said, like knuckling up was second nature.

Billy took a couple more steps toward the porch. That's when Xavier grabbed his friend and mentor around the waist. As much as Xavier wanted to see Billy wipe up the floor with Nate, even ignorance deserved to be saved.

“Mr. Hawkins,” Xavier said, “this dude is not worth it. Don't even waste any jail time on him—that's what you would tell me, right?”