“I’m not doing this with you right now, Quincy. I know you don’t like it, but I’m trying to do better. Be better. Change things my way.”

“How’s taking him in bring justice to Angela?” I say. “What happened at the Pike?”

“Chris still claims Jamal killed Angela,” Beverly says. “Says he was out at the Pike looking for evidence. Angela wasn’t murdered with a gun, so they don’t think it means anything. They’re…they’re still convinced it’s Jamal.”

“Spinning it.” I give Beverly a scowl. “The last time this happened to us, my daddy was dragged, jailed, sentenced, and sent to death row in less than a year. What should Jamal have done?”

“Damn, Tracy,” Beverly says. “I don’t know.”

“Do you think Jamal’s guilty?”

Beverly doesn’t answer me.

“You’re supposed to be a cop. To protect and to serve.” I pause, deciding if I should say more. I can’t hold it in. “It doesn’t mean you can’t think for yourself.”

“You think I don’t?”

“What about your dad? Do you think he deserved to die? That he was guilty?” I can see how much the memory pains her. Quincy winces as her eyes begin to tear.

“He first taught me how to shoot, right there on that field.” Beverly points down the road from the thicket of trees toward Tasha’s neighborhood. “I’m a cop because of what happened to my dad. He wouldn’t want fear to control me. I couldn’t think of anything else that would make him prouder than to protect our family. I don’t know what happened with your dad or Jamal, but they deserve justice like everyone else. If I can help be a part of bringing justice, the right way, I want that.”

Jamal unwraps Corinne’s arms from gripping him and hands her to Mama.

“So, this how you want it to go down?”

“You gotta go in,” Beverly says.

“Or what? You gonna shoot me? Drag me? I can’t believe you’d be the one to do that, too.”

In the distance is the faint sound of police cars. They reach closer, overwhelming, pulsing loud and echoing across the fields. I can feel Jamal panicking inside.

Because I’m panicking, too.

IT GETS WORSE

Beverly steps outside to talk to the officers. When she comes back, her face looks drained. Officer Clyde follows her, stepping cautiously inside our home. He has his hand by his gun. Beverly motions for him to ease up, and he relaxes his hand.

“Sheriff Brighton’s here now, Jamal,” Beverly says. “Let’s bring you in before things get complicated.”

“I’m not going in,” Jamal says.

“I’ll be representing Jamal.” Steve cuts between Jamal and Officer Clyde. “Give me and my client a minute.”