IA: Initiate (12 page)

The picture was of a much younger Mr. Tesla with a full head of hair. He was standing next to a woman who was slightly taller than he was. The two looked happy and content, Naz thought, and he assumed the woman must have been Mrs. Tesla but was afraid to ask. Looking at the picture made Naz think of his mother and of Dr. Gwen’s loss, and this often put him in a somber mood. Whenever he sat at the table, he always sat with the picture facing away from him. But the picture had a purpose. Knowing it was there was a constant and stark reminder to him of the harsh realities of the Exclave, and every day it kept him mindful of what he faced in his world.

Dr. Gwen’s words were still on Naz’s mind when he walked into MeeChi’s after his therapy session. He walked right past Antonio as the bird bobbed his head up and down in excitement.

“Naz is here. Naz is here,”
said Antonio.

“Oh, hey, Tone,” said Naz, looking back at the bird as he walked to the booth.

Tone didn’t respond. More often than not Mr. Tesla was busy on the store floor, checking inventory, greeting and attending to customers, or assisting his employees. But unless it was an emergency or absolutely necessary for Mr. Tesla to be on the store floor, he always made his way to the booth when he thought Naz was coming, which was usually just after school let out. When Naz walked in the booth that day, Mr. Tesla was busy working at his desk.

Without even looking up, Mr. Tesla said, “And who are we today? Sam, Naz, or …”

“Naz, Mr. T,” Naz replied, cutting Mr. Tesla off.

“And Mr. Tesla will do … Naz,” retorted Mr. Tesla. “And you need to teach that stupid bird of yours some manners.”

“Mr. Tesla! He’s not stupid, he’s stubborn, and the last time I checked, on the certificate you gave me, his last name was Tesla.”

“That can be easily rectified. He doesn’t even greet the customers anymore. And what’s with all those weird, new sounds that he makes: a siren, a phone ringing, a dog barking? Last week several customers ran out of the store because they thought the smoke alarm went off, but it was only Tony. Did you teach him all that stuff?”

“Tone, Mr. Tesla … Me? I can’t make sounds like that.”

“Tone, Tony, what’s the difference? He won’t answer to either one. Did you get my list today?” Mr. Tesla pulled a cell phone out of his pocket. He looked at the phone as if it were a foreign object and began shaking his head.

“Always do. You can trust the technology, Mr. Tesla. It works.”

“These things are amazing.” Mr. Tesla continued fiddling with the phone.

It was Naz’s idea that all of the Market Merchants he worked for should send him a list of the items they would be exchanging with one another in a text message. The merchants would have the goods prepared for Naz to transport by the time he arrived. Depending on the size of the load, Naz would then determine the mode and speed of transportation. The merchants had surprised Naz with a brand new bike for Christmas two years earlier, and he sometimes used this as well. But Naz’s favorite mode was his legs and his favorite speed was running—fast.

Naz took off his book bag and placed it under the table.

“By all means, make yourself at home,” said Mr. Tesla.

Naz smiled and looked down at the bundle on the floor next to the door. “Anything breakable?” asked Naz as he walked to the refrigerator.

“No, but still be careful. There are some small electronics.”

Naz looked in the refrigerator and pulled out a red soda pop and a ham and cheese sandwich that was wrapped in clear paper and said, “Fuel.”

“Don’t be bashful; help yourself.”

This had become the daily routine for Naz and Mr. Tesla. There were only slight variations in the meal Mr. Tesla prepared for Naz, and their verbal jabs and/or pleasantries with each other. Naz sat on his usual side of the table where he couldn’t see the picture, unwrapped the ham and cheese sandwich, and began eating.

“Any homework today?” asked Mr. Tesla.

“I suppose.”

“Plan on doing it?”

“Maybe I will, and maybe I won’t, depends on if I have time.”

School came easy to Naz. It was boring to him. He hated it and did just enough to get by. He knew if he half-paid attention in class, did well on all his tests, quizzes, and classroom assignments, he would pass all of his classes, and that was good enough for him. To him, homework just wasn’t a priority. Mr. Tesla, along with Dr. Gwen and all of Naz’s teachers would always say Naz wasn’t living up to his potential. Naz wondered, what was his potential? He barely knew who he was, how could he have any idea what or who he wanted to be. So he lived day-to-day, in the moment, as he liked to say. He didn’t put much stock in structure or rules that he viewed were only there to constrain him.

Between running back and forth to school and running for the Market Merchants, Naz used up plenty of energy; therefore, he could eat like a horse. He ate the ham and cheese sandwich in less than two minutes, put the bundle of goods on his back, and headed out of the booth with the soda pop in hand.

“See you in about two hours, Mr. Tesla.”

“Be careful, no more knife fights.”

Naz gave Mr. Tesla a thumbs-up.

Before Naz left the store, he put some sunflower seeds in Tone’s cup and bid the bird farewell. He waited for Tone’s reply, but again the bird was silent. Naz chuckled.

Naz took different routes to the various merchants and never the same route twice in a row if he could at all help it. That way, the gang leaders and drug dealers who tried to recruit kids his age to gang bang and sell drugs, and anyone else who was interested in his dealings couldn’t get a bead on him.

Naz’s first stop was a half mile east into Section 29 where he would drop off and pick up at Piccolo’s for Ibrahim Moussa, the tall, dark-eyed, stringy-haired proprietor who had first helped set up Naz’s unique arrangement with the Market Merchants, now known as the Market Quadrumvirate. From there it was two miles north into Section 30 to Mercado’s, owned by the eccentric Mercel Cardonias, the most successful of the merchants in the Quadrumvirate. Next Naz would take a break and pick up Meri from Higginbotham, which was about a mile-and-a-half southwest of Mercado’s and a mile southeast of Bellarusso’s, which was Naz’s last stop before returning to MeeChi’s.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

BELLARUSSO
’
S

Bellarusso’s
was owned and operated by Richelle Bella and Frances Russo. Richelle and Frances had a special place in their hearts for Meri and wouldn’t let Naz run his errands there without her. There were always two bundles packed when Naz arrived: one for him and a smaller one for Meri. And they always paid Meri instead of Naz. For all intents and purposes, it was Meri’s account, and Naz was just there to help her. Naz didn’t mind. He thought it was good for her. She now had her own money, and the responsibility made her even more mature than she already was. But when Meri, Richelle, and Frances began to discuss the possibility of Meri making some shorter runs on her own, Naz made it clear that was out of the question. Naz figured that he could take care of himself, but even in broad daylight the Exclave was a no-win scenario for a nine-year-old girl carrying potentially valuable goods, commodities, and money on her person.

* * *

“What took you so long?” asked Meri as she stood on the school steps and removed her ear buds.

“This is the same time I got here yesterday,” replied Naz.

“Right, late!”

“I thought I told you to wait …
inside
the school.”

“You did, but it’s boring in there. There’s nothing to do once chess club is over, plus it’s more exciting out here.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of.”

From Higginbotham to Bellarusso’s, Naz walked for the first time. The fifteen- to twenty-minute walk gave him and Meri a chance to talk about what happened at school that day, Miss Tracey, and anything else they wanted to talk about.

Once Naz and Meri arrived at Bellarusso’s, no matter where Richelle and Frances were in the store or what they were doing, they always found their way to the front. They were anxious to see Meri, give her a big hug, and ask her a series of questions. Naz didn’t mind so much that they ignored him. What bothered him most was that it took so long. Naz had one rule for working for the Market Merchants, especially when Meri was with him. He absolutely had to be home before sundown; the Exclave was no place for two kids—or anyone else for that matter—to be on the streets at night.

When Naz and Meri walked into Bellarusso’s that day, Frances was working one of the registers, as she often did. When she saw Meri, she immediately left her register, ran over, and greeted her with a big hug.

“How’s my Firecracker?” Frances asked.

“Fine, Miss Russo, how are you?” asked Meri.

“Girl, I thought I told you to call me Miss Francy.”

“You did. I just keep forgetting.”

The customer at the register was noticeably losing his patience.

Moments later, Richelle appeared from nowhere, also giving Meri a big hug. “You guys are a little late,” said Richelle as she looked at her watch.

“I told you,” said Meri, looking at Naz with a sardonic grin.

The two ladies turned to see Naz, as if they had just noticed him for the first time.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Naz, I didn’t see you standing there,” said Richelle.

“We should’ve known,” said Frances. “It’s always the weakest link,” she continued referring to Naz in a half-joking manner. “We ladies have to stick together, you know.” She winked at Meri.

The two ladies had been best friends as far back as they could remember. They started Bellarusso’s with the insurance money Richelle received after her husband had been murdered over fifteen years ago. Frances never married. Between the two women, they had seven children—all boys and all working at Bellarusso’s. It was no wonder they took such a liking to Meri.

“How was school today?” Richelle asked Meri.

“
Our
day was good,” said Naz, before Meri could answer. “And I think
we
should all get back to work.” He pointed to the gentleman who was just about ready to lose his temper at the register. “Because I wouldn’t want to be
late
for my last delivery.”

They all turned in surprise and looked at Naz. Frances walked back to her register to finish assisting her customer, all the while nodding her head in approval. Richelle and Meri stood with their mouths open. This was a first. Naz usually never spoke up or out about anything.

“The silent soldier grows up,” said Richelle. She reached behind the counter and pulled out a small bundle and handed it to Meri. She then reached in her apron, pulled out a small envelope, and handed it to Meri. Naz reached behind the same counter and pulled out a larger bundle and put it on his back.

“Ready?” Naz asked as he looked at Meri.

She nodded.

“Remember, us ladies have to stick together,” said Richelle.

Meri nodded again as she and Naz walked toward the door.

“Be careful,” said Richelle.

Frances waved from her register as the two walked out waving goodbye.

“Wait!” said Meri as she set the bundle down on the ground and put the envelope in her sock. “You should do that all the time,” she continued, as she stood up and put the bundle on her back.

“Do what?” Naz asked.

“You know, talk up. Stick up for yourself.”

“I always stick up for myself.”

“No, you always stick up for me. There’s a difference.”

He thought about what she said and shrugged his shoulders. “Wanna run?” he asked.

“How fast?”

“That’s up to you. But remember your heart condition.”

He was trying to use reverse psychology to goad her into running, but it wasn’t necessary. They both knew the doctor said running would make her heart stronger, and she enjoyed running almost as much as he did.

“Let’s go,” she said, ignoring him.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

SPOOKED