Free The Corner by David Simon/Ed Burns Page B

chest. “I’m a man.”
    The others ignore him, but little Dena, watching from a chair near Ella’s office, makes her way slowly across the room. She smiles broadly, intrigued by the free weights and DeAndre both. The girl bends her little body over the bar and tries a lift. DeAndre stoops behind her and curls the weight up and over her head.
    “Girl, you strong,” he announces, helping her set the bar down. He lifts her in the air, and she beams a smile. He spins her around, his face alive with joy. “She stronger than you, R.C.,” he laughs, as Dena hugs him.
    Ella watches, pleased. For all his bluster, DeAndre is good with the little ones.
    More roughnecks arrive. Huggie and the twins, Arnold and Ronald, bound through the doors, excitement glowing on their faces. “Got that cat,” Arnold announces, proudly, piquing R.C.’ s interest.
    “Yeah. We got that cat been hitting our coop,” Ronald boasts.
    “What cat?”
    “Cat been getting our birds,” Ronald says. “Huggie killed it dead.”
    “Yeah, what you do?” R.C. asks.
    “Caught that cat and threw it in with Shamrock’s pit bull. Tore his ass up,” Huggie says proudly.
    “Shit, that ain’t nothin’,” R.C. says, punching a hole in their glee. “You shoulda got DeAndre.”
    “Oh, yeah?” Ronald says, a little hurt. “You should of heard that bitch scream.”
    “DEANDRE,” R.C. roars, “DEANDRE, COME HERE. YO, TELL THEM WHAT YOU DO WHEN A CAT GOES AFTER YOUR BIRDS.”
    DeAndre puts Dena down and slowly joins the boys.
    “Go on, tell them,” R.C. urges.
    DeAndre smiles. “This cat been around my coop, trying to get in. I saw him and went and got this pair of thick gloves, the kind my uncle uses with the crabs, real thick so you can’t get scratched. Then I trapped that motherfucker. He tried to get me but he couldn’t get through the gloves.”
    DeAndre has seated himself on a table. The other boys, R.C. included, are silent as DeAndre’s enthusiasm for his tale catches hold of them.
    “He was tough,” DeAndre says. “I broke his legs, broke each one. Then I tied him up and hung him from this tree …”
    His voice drops, drawing the others closer.
    “… got me some lighter fluid, squirted that sucker down, then hit him with a match. Fucked him all up.”
    “MAN, YOU A CRAZY FUCKER,” R.C. shouts, while Tae and Manny bang the table in approval.
    “Damn,” Ronald says, admitting admiration.
    Ella has stopped working with the little children. Frozen by DeAndre’saccount, she is slow to respond. “DeAndre,” she asks finally, “why did you do that? That cat was only doing what it has to.”
    “Miss Ella, a cat gotta do what a cat gotta do and I gotta do what I gotta do,” DeAndre answers, nonchalant. His response touches something deep within the other boys and they howl approval.
    “You sick, boy,” R.C. says, elated with it.
    “Cat killed my birds,” says DeAndre with finality. “Cat gotta pay.”
    Ella shakes her head. She has known DeAndre most of his life; she’s seen him as a lovesick puppy, chasing her Pooh up and down Fayette Street, working through the agony of that first childhood crush. She’s seen him running the streets, getting into more and more mayhem as he has grown. She knows DeAndre is clever and open and capable of wonderful moments, like before, when he had Dena Sparrow laughing with delight. She also knows he can, if the idea suits him, torture and burn a cat.
    The phone rings and Ella steps back into her office. Good news, thank God. Tito is home in California, having gone no farther than a long, all-night drive down the coast. Ella gets the word from her daughter, hangs up and sighs, visibly relieved.
    “Miss Ella?”
    Little Stevie is at her office door.
    “What, Stevie?”
    “Can we take the football out on the playground?”
    “If you bring it back.”
    He races off and Ella leaves the office to spend the rest of the afternoon with the younger children. The older boys soon depart, off on