Then he was in the backyard, stepping over muddy puddles, going through the rain toward the alley leading to Ingersoll Street.

***

In the alley he saw them coming. There were three. They seemed to appear from nowhere; but he knew they’d been waiting in a doorway, waiting until he was halfway down the alley.

They were coming slowly. In the semi-darkness he squinted through the curtain of rain, focusing hard on their faces. He told himself he didn’t know these three, he’d never seen them before.

As they came closer, one of them showed a gun, not aiming it, just lifting it for display. Corey sighed, then looked behind him. Sure enough there were two more coming from the other end of the alley, and one had a gun.

I think we got a problem here, Corey said to himself.

He lifted his hands shoulder high, palms open. Then he turned, faced the two and walked toward them. They came to a stop and stood waiting for him. The one with the gun was tall and heavy and looked in his middle twenties. Corey had never seen him before. The one who stood beside him was colored, also tall, not quite so heavy. Corey peered at the Negro man and decided he’d never seen him before.

Walking slowly toward the two, Corey heard the footsteps of the three coming in behind him. He kept the same pace, but lengthened his stride just a little to give himself more time before the three arrived. He came to where the two were waiting and pasted a grimace of cold fury onto his face, aiming it at the colored man.

Corey said to him, “I been lookin’ for you, Creighton.”

“My name ain’t Creighton,” the colored man said.

“Don’t gimme that—”

“He said his name ain’t Creighton.” The one with the gun spoke quietly, then raised the gun so that the muzzle was just a few inches away from Corey’s chest.

Corey didn’t seem to notice the gun. He showed his teeth to the colored man and said, “You’re Creighton, and you and me are gonna talk—”