Free Numbers by Dana Dane Page B

worked.
    “I’ll punch you in your mouth,” Numbers threatened.
    “Do it,” Tee said, stepping up the stairs through the game to the landing where Numbers stood.
    It wasn’t really the comment about his father that bothered Numbers; Tee had just gotten on his last nerve. He was always trying to act like he was tough, and Numbers wanted to put him in hisplace once and for all. Everyone else started talking loud, trying to get Tee and Numbers back to the game. They’d been loud for the last hour, and now the noise had climbed to its peak.
    Numbers balled up his fist, ready to make right on his promise to punch Tee in the face. Jarvis was standing up against the wall, finishing up his last Twinkie, amused that someone made his friend so heated that he was ready to fight. Numbers knew that was why his friend was smiling, but he didn’t care. All he cared about right then was putting a whipping on Tee.
    Face-to-face, Tee and Numbers stood about an inch apart.
    “What?” Numbers challenged.
    “What you wanna do?” Tee replied.
    “What you wanna do?”
    They began to bump and push each other, going around in a circle, neither wanting to throw the first blow.
    Bam!
    “STAY WHERE YOU AT, DON’T RUN!” an authoritative voice commanded. Someone was busting through the thirteenth-floor hallway door.
    Numbers and Tee did the opposite; they dispatched their tiff and sprinted behind Jarvis, who had kicked open the roof door and bolted out onto the roof and into the sunset. Jayquan was fresh on their heels, and after Waketta grabbed up her money, she followed in their tracks. Broz’s fat ass didn’t even bother to run, he just sat there conceding his capture. The uniformed officer hurried up the stairs after the delinquent kids—straight past Broz. “Don’t move!” he said, heading to the roof.
    No sooner had the pink-faced officer stepped onto the roof than Broz wobbled his chubby ass down to his twelfth-floor apartment.
    Jarvis, Numbers, and Tee darted across the graveled rooftop toward the attached building, 68 Cumberland Walk, with Jayquan and Waketta not far behind. The distance between the roof-accessdoors was about 250 feet, give or take. Jarvis was starting to slow down. He had put on some extra weight eating all the junk food.
    “Keep running, Jar, don’t slow down!” Numbers shouted. He was about to pass Jarvis.
    As they approached the 68 roof access, the door swung open. It was another uniformed cop. He was taller than the other, and overweight. He was breathing heavy and his white face was blushing red.
    “Oh, shit!” Jarvis cried out, sliding to a halt on the gravel. Numbers almost ran into his back. The police had them sandwiched in. There was no place to run—they were caught. Numbers knew if his mother found out about this, he would get the ass whipping to eclipse all ass whippings. She had warned him to stay out of the stairwell gambling, but of course he was hardheaded and didn’t listen. Now he’d have to pay the piper.
    The taller officer, Lockhart, still breathing deeply, said, “See, Tommy, I told you these little monkeys always run.”
    His nightstick drawn, Officer O’Doul was breathing heavily as well. “Okay, you little monkeys—over there.” He pointed to the roof’s edge.
    Numbers and his friends were led to the wall with a few nudges from the cops’ nightsticks. Left to right, they were lined up: Jayquan, Waketta, Jarvis, Numbers, and then Tee. Numbers looked at each of his friends’ faces. Fear was evident on all of them.
And rightfully so,
he thought. Numbers knew cops were grimy. He’d learned it firsthand with the Crispy Carl incident.
    Officer O’Doul stood back watching while Officer Lockhart paced in front of the kids, twirling his nightstick. He was finally getting his original pink-white color back in his face. “Well, we have a dilemma here,” he spoke with a heavy Irish accent. “We only have two pairs of cuffs, and five of you. So two of you are coming with