Free 145th Street by Walter Dean Myers Page A

answered.
    “Why?” came out of me before I could stop it.
    “Because that’s the way it goes!” Clean said. “He got to be messed up!”
    I could see that Clean was getting off with everybody standing around trying to cop a plea for Monkeyman. We split the session and I was still hoping that things would blow over. For Monkeyman’s sake and for Peaches’ sake, too.
    The next day Clean got busted bringing a knife to school. If you bring any kind of weapon to Bunche it means an automatic suspension and then you have to go through the bring-in-your-parents bit to get back in. When Mr. Aumack, the principal, called the police, Clean got mad and walked out of the school. But before he left he sent word that he’d be waiting for Monkeyman when we got out at three-fifteen.
    Three-fifteen came. When we looked out of the windows, we saw about a dozen Tigros outside. They were all wearing their black do-rags and some of them had jackets with their tag on them.
    Mr. Aumack called the police again and in a few minutes the whole block was filled with squad cars. Their lights were flashing and police were snatching everybody wearing Tigros gear. One of the Tigros spotted Monkeyman and got up in his face. He said, “When we catch you we’ll cap you.”
    “How about tomorrow night, eleven o’clock in Jackie Robinson Memorial Park?” Monkeyman said.
    “Bet!” the Tigros dude said. “Tomorrow night in the park. Be there, sucker, and wear something that’s going to look good at the autopsy.”
    “And bring your whole posse,” Monkeyman said.
    Whoa. Monkeyman had called out Tigros big-time. I grabbed his arm and we started walking away.
    If you’re going to get into somebody’s face you got to know they got a mind somewhere behind their eyebrows. Then maybe they’ll do some heavy thinking and settle for a chill pill.
    “What you doing, Monkeyman?” I asked.
    “What’s got to be done,” Monkeyman said. “Just what’s got to be done.”
    The word bounced around: Be in the park to catch the go-down at eleven. Some kids said they didn’t want any part of it.
    “Let’s kidnap Monkeyman,” Fee said. “He don’t show and nothing can happen.”
    It was all gums and teeth because nobody really knew what to do. I was all for dropping a dime to 911 but everyone else said no.
    “I’m going to be at the park,” Peaches said.
    Fee said he would be, too. So did Tommy Collins, Debbie, LaToya, Jamie, and me. I didn’t want to show, but Peaches made it clear that anybody that didn’t would be punking out.

    We hadn’t seen Monkeyman all day and rumors were that he had left town.
    “Maybe he’ll show at the last minute with an Uzi and start blowing away all the Tigros,” LaToya said.
    Nobody said anything when we headed up the hill to the park. I wondered if everybody else could hear their heart beating. I was wearing my sneakers, ready to run if I had to.
    When we got to the park there were maybe twenty-five guys in their Tigros gear and ten girls.
    My knees got real loose and I was having trouble swallowing.
    “Where Monkeyman?” Clean asked. He was wearing a heavy jacket and had his hands in his pockets. “Where Monkeyman?”
    “We thought he was here,” Fee said. I noticed Fee’s voice was kind of high.
    We waited for another ten or fifteen minutes with all the Tigros posse calling us suckers and stuff like that. I was hoping they didn’t turn on us.
    “Yo, here he come now!” A girl pointed toward the uptown side of the park “Who he got with him?”
    I turned and I saw Monkeyman coming down the street. He had a man and a woman with him. The man looked old. Monkeyman brought them right over to where we were and I recognized his grandfather. I didn’t know the woman.
    “Hey, this is my grandfather,” Monkeyman said. “His name is Mr. Nesbitt. And this is my godmother, Sister Smith.”
    “What you bring them for?” Clean said, edging closer to Monkeyman.
    “They came to see you mess me up!”