At school the next day, he found Reaper and demanded his fifty bucks. Respect crept into Reaper’s eyes. He paid up and invited Bobby Ray to a party, where he met the brotherhood. Wolf was sixteen, a Denzel Washington look-alike with two girls hanging on his arms. Lardo weighed over two hundred pounds and had a nervous laugh. White Boy gave a nod of greeting without looking away from a computer game. Bouncer rocked on the balls of his feet and looked ready for a fight.
It didn’t take long to get hooked on what the gang had to offer. The problem was, Bobby Ray didn’t like carrying what had killed his mother. Every night after he made a delivery, he’d dream about Mama in a cheap motel room. She’d be sitting on rumpled sheets, her body emaciated, her face ravaged by guilt and shame. She’d cry and hold her hands out to him. You know I love you, baby. You know I’m gonna come back. Don’t you? He’d wake up in a cold sweat, heart pounding, tears still wet on his cheeks.
The fourth time it happened, Bobby Ray raked his hands through his hair and sat on the side of the bed, fighting down nausea. If he said no now, Reaper would see it as a challenge to his authority. Reaper had earned his name by getting away with murder. Bobby Ray knew explaining his aversion would reveal his weakness, something he couldn’t do with the guys he hung out with now. He wanted their respect. But he wanted it on his own terms.
He needed to think, and he did that best when he was out wandering the streets after dark. Pushing the curtains aside, intending to climb out the window of his foster parents’ apartment, he spotted a guy dressed head to foot in black, tagging the wall across the street. Bobby Ray sneered. One letter and a number? That was the best he could do?
Bobby Ray stared at the tagger’s work, his mind flashing with ideas of what he could have done with a couple cans of spray paint.
The adrenaline rush came along with the ideas. Heart racing, he started making plans. He saw a way to stay in the gang while steering clear of the drug trafficking.
Bobby Ray hugged the wall and inched along the narrow ledge on his toes. He reached the drainpipe and climbed, hand over hand. When he could grip the edge of the roof, he pulled himself up and swung over. He got a running start and leaped the narrow alley, dropping and rolling onto the neighboring roof.
A fire escape took him down the other side. He spent the next few hours checking out graffiti. Most was messy, clearly done in haste. A few pieces impressed him, though Bobby Ray knew he could do better.
He had ideas that would blow minds, make people talk. It would have to be a high place, a risky place, a place where the piece couldn’t be easily buffed by city workers.
All Bobby Ray had to do was get his hands on a few cans of spray paint, and he could show Reaper what a real gang tagger could do. Bobby Ray’s delivery days were over. He’d be in the gang with all its assets, without taking part in the gang’s real business.
Suspended in a climbing harness, Bobby Ray hung over the side of the building. He pulled a can of red spray paint from his pack and worked fast. Lardo paced on the roof, keeping watch on the streets below. He swore. “Did you have to pick a place where anyone and his brother can see you?”
Bobby Ray laughed. He had to take risks to establish his reputation. The higher, the better. “Another two minutes.”
“Cops! Two blocks down!” Lardo hauled on the rope.
Bobby Ray gasped and swore as the harness cut into his groin. “Wait!” He swung to one side and grabbed hold of a pipe. Pressing against the brick wall, he went still. He had dressed in black for a reason. No one would see him unless they looked up. Cops usually kept their eyes at street level, not four stories. He calculated how long it would take to have Lardo get him to the roof and then to stow his gear and paint supplies in the backpack. He stayed flush with the wall and looked down without moving. The squad car slowed, shooting a beam of light against the wall.
Bobby Ray spit out a profanity. “Pull me up!” He gritted his teeth against the hard pinch of straps as Lardo yanked on the rope. A can of paint fell out of his backpack. It exploded in front of the squad car. The beam of light swung up. Turning his face away before the spotlight pinned him, he felt Lardo yank hard, and he grabbed hold of the wall and swung onto the flat roof.
Unsnapping the harness, Bobby Ray reached for his backpack. “Forget it!” Lardo groaned. “Come on!” He ran for the stairs. He stopped and looked back.
Bobby Ray told him to be cool. “They didn’t see you, bro.” He stuffed his gear into the backpack and tossed it onto the roof on the other side of the alley. He moved back far enough to get a running start and sailed across, hit hard and rolled to his feet.