“So he calls me and says he got more for me to be doing. Says he’s coming over. We sit in his car. He tells me some heavy shit, man. Fuckin’ like a flick. I ain’t getting into it now. But heavy. Then he says I’m gonna be watching this ratty-ass apartment building for him and see if this weird dude cuts out. And then, man, the fuckin’ glass explodes and he gets shot in the neck. Blood spits out, like a motherfuckin’ hydrant. Shit, I start yelling. Then there’s another one and another one. I’m fuckin’ kissing the car seat. I look up at him. His eyes are open but they look dead. He says, ‘Take the notebook and get the fuck out.’ I see it sticking out of his pocket. He says it again: ‘Take it and get the fuck out. Go.’ With all this blood comin’ out of his mouth, like he’s drinkin’ it. So I grab it and fly. And someone takes a fuckin’ shot at me. It hits the street, man, and these pieces go flying. One got me almost right on my fuckin’ bone-man.”

Starrell put his hands on his head and drew in another deep breath.

“I start to run. I don’t know where the fuck I’m going. I think there’s some fucker behind me, but I ain’t stopping to check it out. I go past the school and remember that what’s-his-name, that Jamaican-man, the teacher there—”

“Lannie.”

“Yeah, Lannie. He leaves this window open so the crew can get in and play roundball. So I check the window. It’s open. I crawl in and it’s dark. And I feel all this moist shit on my shirt. Fuckin’ buggin’. I run through the school. Ain’t nobody playin’. I go down to the basement. See this room with all this equipment stuff. Close and lock the door. I fuckin’ waited for I don’t know.”

“Probably an hour.”

“Yeah, a fuckin’ hour. My heart was fuckin’ bombin’. Got this little window there, so I read the notebook. It was the stuff he told me. Then I got out. By the alley where the crew did that guy’s sister. Didn’t see nobody. So I ran here … . Man, he must be dead.”

“He ain’t,” Jameson said. “Saw it on the news. He’s all shot up, but they got him in a hospital. He’s crit, ain’t awake. And I know who the fuck he is. So whatcha doing for him?”

“Nigger, I don’t even know. Helping him find somebody. In some strange motherfuckin’ places. But then he told me some wicked shit tonight.”

“What shit?”

Starrell took out the notebook, which he had tucked inside the waistband of his nylon sweatpants. Jameson grabbed for it. Starrell pulled it back. He saw Jameson’s computer was on the table near the kitchen. The screen was lit.