Warpath

“Yeah. That’s the one.”

“Shit. I hope not.” Buster shakes his head dismissively. “I hope it wasn’t Phat Urban. They hustle fools like you. Straight up rob.”

“I doubt they will anymore.”

“What’s that mean?” His eyes keep darting to the Official Rail Station Clock. Seven minutes until he thinks his train is leaving.

“Change of subject,” I say. “Tell me about the Carnivore Messiahs. Specifically a guy named LaTrell they call Thuggie.”

“No.” Firm. “I ain’t snitchin’ on the mother fuckin’ Carnivores. No.”

“Listen to me. Over the weekend, members of the Carnivore Messiahs did a drive-by on the wrong house. They killed the grandmother of a cop—”

“Yeah.” Buster interrupts. I despise that. “They blasted some old white woman. Tryin’ to cap some guy called Green Fro. I live in Three Mile and I know that shit.”

Andre Moss. Green Fro. I get it.

“Yup. Now this Fro goofball is dead.”

“Yeah. They get it right.” Six minutes.

“The gunman is dead. His buddies in the car were arrested.”

“So you don’t need me. Later.”

He turns and I catch him by the shoulder. Yank him back. Gun barrel to his sternum. We’re so tightly pressed together I can smell his sour breath. People looking at us might think we’re embracing. He tries to shrug away. I mash the gun in more.

“I’m through fucking with you,” I say, close enough for the heat from my breath to dry out his eyes. “You’ve got no problems selling your friends up the river to save your own ass. Now you’ll do it to these guys or I’ll go right back to the Phat Urban store and tell them I took that shirt for you as payment for information you gave me about the Carnivore Messiahs.”

“You did do that—”

“Yes, Captain Obvious, I did. But the difference here is I wasn’t plan

ning on telling them that. But now, I’ll just stuff you inside the rail—which doesn’t stop between here and Three Mile High—and speed back to the store. Think I’ll get there first? I do. I’ll walk in, kill one of them, announce to the world it was all for you, the known snitch.”

His eyes begin to register what it is I’m saying.

“Of course, I’ll be sure to tell them you live in Three Mile High and work at that chicken shack. Shit, Phat Urban will tell somebody who will tell somebody who will tell somebody in the Carnivores. Does that gang have a set in Three Mile High? How far you think you’ll make it before they find you? Do you think they’ll just execute you in some alley, or do you think they’ll take the Mexican approach and stuff you in an oil drum and set you on fire?”

Buster stares at me for a second. That second stretches out into an ugly eternity as he calculates what he thinks he can do. A lot of gangs branch out like chain restaurants. The chains are called sets. I’m sure there are a few goofballs up in Three Mile High who think they’re Carnivore Messiahs. They’ll be more than happy to wait on the platform as Buster gets off there.

“What you want?” he asks. Eyeballs the Official Rail Station Clock. Four minutes.

“Info.”

“Look. Thuggie just rose up out of the ashes from the ’hood. Word is that one day, back when he was just a punk named LaTrell, a high-rankin’ member of a Crip set just walked up to him to start a fight. I forget what they say about the Crip ’cept he was known for just fuckin’ up fools. Just found some guy, rival gang or not, and threw down. But that day he walked up to Thuggie, got in his space, and wanted to brawl. And Thuggie straight up just jacked the dude right then and there in the throat with a knife. The Crip never saw it comin’. One second he’s picking a fight with some stranger, next second he’s stabbed in his neck. Dead.

“Word is that Crip’s name was Thuggie. And when LaTrell found out his name, he took it as his own. Just to show everybody what’s what. And he does shit like that. No one love him, not even his mama. No one like him, not even his mama. Everybody fear him, including his mama.

“I heard from people that Green Fro hustled an old woman walkin’ through his streets. Bitch was mindin’ her own business. But then Green Fro come up and says he’s disrespected ’cuz he ain’t know who this bitch is so she must be new. And new blood on the street pay him for protection. So he rob her. Took her purse, her rings, earrings and some pearl necklace that meant the world to her. Done deal. Turns out the woman is Thuggie’s grandma or aunt or some shit. She tells the family and word gets to Thuggie. Thuggie gets Green Fro’s address, tells some of his new boys to go earn they way into the gang, they fuck it up and blast the wrong bitch, they go hit the right house and now whatever you said. They dead or arrested or whatever.”

He shrugs away and I let him. Hide the gun before someone else sees it.

“That’s what I know.”

“Fine,” I say. Crack my neck. “Where can I find Thuggie?”

“Don’t know. For real.”