Stand Your Ground: A Novel (36 page)

But there was no reason to tell these guys that. In fact, there was no reason for me to hang out here much longer. I’d only been at Big Red’s a few minutes, but this was not what I thought it would be. I’d come here expecting to maybe find a couple of guys to hang out with. But while on the outside I looked like I had a lot in common with these guys, I guess I really didn’t. I mean, I didn’t think
every
black person in America was bad. I just didn’t like thugs. But it felt like this crowd thought every black person was a thug.

Still I stood there for a while, put in my time. They were honoring me, so I had to at least make it look good. My second round of beer brought a new group of friends. Guys kept coming by, patting me on the back, telling me how proud I’d made them, saying there needed to be more men like me.

“What’s up?” someone said as he gave me another slap on my back.

Turning to face him, at first, I thought the guy was white. But then, after a quick scan of the olive tone of his skin, I figured he was Hispanic.

“My name is Carlos,” he said, holding out his hand.

“What’s up?” I responded, giving him a handshake. Everyone else had come up to me in groups of two and three. But Carlos came alone. “So, you’re part of—I paused for a second to look around—“the Defenders?”

“Yeah. I retired from the force two years ago.”

“Oh,” I said, hoping my surprise wasn’t in my voice or showing on my face. It’s just that this guy didn’t seem to fit in with this all-American, all-white gathering. But I guess every group had to have a token.

“So, you’ve had quite a time, haven’t you?”

I shrugged. “I really wish it had never come to this. Wish there had never been a trial. But there was such social pressure; the DA was just trying to be politically correct.”

He agreed with a nod. “But like everybody said, the law was put on trial once again and you won.”

“No,” I said. “We won.”

He chuckled. “No, I think it was
you
.” Then he took a long swig of his beer. “You showed the blacks; you and your lawyers set the example, showed everyone that if they try to bust that law, there will be a price to pay. I bet you Marquis Johnson’s parents got that message. Especially his mama.” He didn’t wait for me to respond. He just laughed out loud and walked away, leaving me standing there alone.

Out of all the guys, that dude made me the most uneasy. It was time for me to get the hell out of Dodge.

I grabbed a third beer and texted Andre:

I’m ready. Where are you?

Two seconds later, his text came back:

Meet me out back. Crowded up front.

I replied:

Great. Really ready to go home.

Then:

Car running, I’m waiting.

I began my round of good-byes, starting with Buck.

“You’re not leaving already,” he said. “We’re just getting started. We haven’t even done our tribute to you.”

“This was tribute enough. And you know, my wife, she’s pregnant, any minute. Gotta get home,” I lied, figuring none of these dudes had paid enough attention to know that Meredith’s due date was still three months away.

“Oh, yeah.” Buck slapped me on the back and I almost keeled over. “Maybe you’ll bring another boy into our world.”

I didn’t know what he meant by “our world,” but I knew that I didn’t want Billy growing up and being like the guys I’d met tonight. I mean, yeah, I agreed with their views—America was our country and there was too much changing. But I wasn’t trying to put anyone else down or out. I just believed that as white Americans, we should be lifted up.

I kept my sentiments to myself, though, as I hugged my way out of there. They all embraced me as if they’d known me for a long time. Everyone called me brother, extended their good wishes, and invitations for me to join them again soon.

“Yeah, maybe once the baby is born,” Buck said.

I glanced around, checking for Carlos, wanting to say good-bye to everyone. But when I didn’t see him, I shrugged it off. I wasn’t going to wait around for him to come out of the bathroom.

With a final general good-bye to everyone, I made my way to the back, found the exit, and stepped outside into the day that had become night.

I inhaled, then exhaled, feeling relief. Feeling like I’d just left a place where I never should have been.

I’d only taken a single step, I was sure of that.

Just one step.

And then, one blow.

One blow to my head. Made me dizzy, made me stumble, made me fall to my knees, then collapse all the way to the ground.

I didn’t even know what hit me. I wanted to scream, but all of the pain kept me silent. If I could just reach for my head, and hold it, then maybe . . .

A foot. No, a boot—in my mouth. A boot in my mouth that filled my mouth with blood. I swallowed, I gagged, I swallowed what felt like small stones.

But right after that, I had no more thoughts. At least not thoughts of what was happening. All I could think about was the pain. From the fists and feet. Everywhere. Jabs and jolts. All over me.

It was blow after blow after blow.

Strike after strike after strike.

From the front. The back. The side. And the other side.

I writhed on the ground, struggling to get away, but there was nowhere to go. Because everywhere I moved, there was another fist. Another foot. Another blow waiting for me.

Maybe if I’d been able to see, I’d’ve been able to fight. But I could see nothing through my swollen eyes. Saw nothing but the blackness of night. And the blur that came from my tears.

I was crying, though that wasn’t my intent. The tears just came. Just came with the pain.

Then the pain was almost gone. I could hardly feel it anymore. The fists were still beating. The feet were still stomping. But it had gotten to where hurt didn’t hurt anymore.

That was when my senses shifted. To sound.

I heard nothing. Except cracking and crackling.

What was that?

Crack.

Crackle.

My bones?

My bones!

There was nothing I could do but lie there and swallow stones that were seasoned with my blood. And listen to the cracking and the crackling.

I heard death coming.

I needed to do something. Something to dodge death. So I concentrated. Breathe in. Breathe out. In. Out. Breathe. Breathe.

But that was getting harder and harder to do.

And then it stopped. The fists, the feet, it all stopped.

Then, faint sounds of steps. How many steps? How many men? Or was it the clicking sound of a woman’s heels that I heard?

I tried to figure it out. Needed to know so that I could tell the police . . . or God—whoever came first.

Now there was nothing but quiet.

Except . . .

The sound of something falling. And rolling toward me.

Through the slits in my eyes, I saw a little bit of light. And then felt a hand, maybe two, roll me onto my side. Now I could see.

It was rolling toward me.

A bat.

Someone knelt down beside me.

A man. Or a woman. Maybe one. Maybe two.

With a towel, he/she/they wiped the bat clean.

And then, he/she/they leaned over me. “Enough” was whispered into my ear.

I struggled to keep my eyes open, but I couldn’t anymore.

It became black. And I lay there, waiting for the white light to come. Like the stories that had been told before, my life flashed. In just seconds, I saw every scene, every moment that was important to me. My father, my mother, my brother. And then Meredith, Billy, and my child to come.

Thoughts of all of that love. All of that wasted.

But my last thought, my final thought, the thought that took me to the other side . . .

Enough!

And then my world ended.

T
he district attorney announced today that the case of the
State v. Wyatt Spencer
is officially closed. Of course, that was just a formality since Wyatt Spencer was found fatally beaten on October twenty-fourth, three weeks ago. There are still no leads on what happened to Spencer when he left Big Red’s on that Friday night. His driver was waiting for him in the front of the club and there are several witnesses who saw his driver out there. It was the club owner and Spencer’s driver who discovered Spencer beaten behind the club.

“The police have no idea why Spencer was in the back of the club, nor have they ruled out that this may have been a random assault and robbery since Spencer’s wallet and cell phone were missing. But there is still that question of the baseball bat that was found near his body. As you know, a baseball bat played a major role in Spencer’s trial, in which he was accused of shooting seventeen-year-old Marquis Johnson. The district attorney has always claimed that the bat was planted by Spencer, and so it was a curious piece of evidence at Big Red’s that just might be a coincidence.

“Meanwhile, in related news, Spencer’s widow sent out a formal thank-you to all of the employees of the Cheesesteak Castles. She
thanked them for their support, assured them that the business will continue, and gave them all a bit of good news. We all found out at the beginning of the trial that Spencer’s wife, Meredith, was pregnant. Well, she told the employees that she’s pregnant with twin boys. So though she is still in mourning, the widow does have those new lives to look forward to.

“This is Clarissa Austin reporting. Back to you in the studio . . .”

S
tand Your Ground
is so different to me. And while I will always be thankful and grateful for the support of my family (especially my mom and my sisters), friends, and all the professional people who take care of me with every book that I write, this time I want to acknowledge the people who specifically helped me put these words onto the page for
Stand Your Ground
.

So major, major, major thank-yous to:

LaJill Hunt: You said, “Victoria, you need to write this book.” And because of those words, I did.

Lauren Spiegel: Before the first word was written, you really challenged me to make this a full story. I hadn’t considered showing both sides. I’m so glad you talked this through with me.

Sally Kim: I was shocked when I first heard your suggestion of this title! So obvious, so perfect!

Nakea Murray: Whew! Without the Philly hookups, this story wouldn’t have been right! Thanks for reminding me that in Philly, cheesesteaks are way more important than hamburgers!

Manny Brown: Without apology, you looked me straight in my eyes and told me what the ending had to be. I was really scared to write it. But because of you, I wrote the right ending, not the “girlie” one.

Deon Browning of the Browning Legal Group: I will always be so grateful for the time that you spent with me discussing the legal ramifications and the legal proceedings. Thank you for not getting too technical—just helping me enough to tell the legal part of this story well. I don’t think you will ever know how important your conversation and contributions were.

ReShonda Tate Billingsley: Only a dear friend can say “Take that crap out!” And only a dear friend can receive those words. I needed to hear that when I wrote one of those angry scenes. You helped me to step down from my Angry Black Woman pedestal and tell a truer story. Thank you for caring enough to tell me the truth.

Liza Dawson: You were the first person to read this from beginning to end. And your words of how much you enjoyed this story allowed me to (after months and months and months) finally exhale.

Miya Kumangai: Your patience is amazing. Thank you for going through this book with me word for word so that we could get it right!

Cheryl Y. Powell, Rhonda McKnight, King Brooks, Tiffany Tyler, Princess F. L. Gooden, Michelle Lindo-Rice, and Candy Jackson: You were the first to read
Stand Your Ground
when the galleys became available. I have never been so afraid to let people read a book I’ve written. (I know, duh—I write so people can read, right?) But I just didn’t know . . . and you all helped me TO KNOW! Thank you for your enthusiasm for this story. It means so much to me.

Yolanda Rodgers Howsie: My Soror who said, “This book is important. We need to get the buzz going now!” Thank you for all of the great ideas—including those videos!

My Sorors of Delta Sigma Theta: I told you the premise of the story, and you said, “We’re ready! Let’s roll!” Your support always brings tears to my eyes. Truly! Because of God and Delta Sigma Theta, I’m able to continue my pursuit of my passion. Thank you for believing in me—always!

And finally, the most important thank-you goes to the readers. All of you who picked up this book. Whether it was because you’ve read my work before, or you just wanted to read this title, I thank you for trusting me enough to spend your money on this gift that God has given to me.

Now, I have to get started on my next book. After writing
Stand Your Ground
, though, I think my writing will never be the same . . .

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