"Oh yeah!" The man imitated the cry from the Kool-Aid commercial.
Had's face didn't register a flicker of emotion. Only a quizzical gaze as if not understanding any of it, then returning to their trek, moved by whatever unfelt wind filled his sails. If he had the words to describe his emotions or reason for accompanying Percy, they like most everything else went unvoiced. His small hands tugged at Percy's side then pointed to a boy on a cell phone.
"Why'd you have to tell her that?" A scrawny white kid in a wife-beater tank top shouted into a cell phone. Despite the heat, he wore over-sized blue jean shorts and a wool cap. Wisps of red hair sprouted along his jaw line and the sun deeply freckled his skin. The boy pled in a tone usually reserved for a girlfriend going emotional on a guy or a buddy about to bust his alibi. Then, in that way moods could swing without warning, the boy turned angry. He paced back and forth, a caged animal about to buck. "All right, motherfucker. I'm going to come over there and kick your ass."
The boy darted into his house and cut out the backdoor into an alley. Hopping the fence, he dashed through another yard in time to meet another white dude as he exited his house. Blackhaired, thin in the face, a toothpick to one side, his well-worn Reggie Miller jersey showed off his sleeve of tattoos down each arm. He spit out his toothpick. The two veritably snarled as they charged one another. The sleeve-tattooed boy ducked under the freckled kid's lunge, grabbed his legs, and took his feet out from under him in a backyard UFC move. Once the freckled kid hit the ground, the house whose yard he had cut through emptied, as did the house the sleeve tattooed boy came out of.
Chaos erupted all about Percy, Had, and Kay, who remained motionless, not drawing any attention to themselves. Kay bared his teeth and gums, barking rapidly then snatching at the air with his jaws. A feral glint in his eye warding off the encroaching madness.
"Come on, let's get you out of here before you get hurt." The voice came from behind them, but Kay knew him by smell and calmed as he neared. Lott had the sullen appearance of someone used to spending too much time alone.
"Lott. We're on a quest," Percy said, barely able to contain his excitement.
"Later, little brother. It's getting a little crazy out here."
A wood-chipper truck stopped in the middle of the street, held up by the melee. A mailman kicked his feet up in his truck, drinking a pop and watching the show. Someone shouted "they're coming to arrest your ass" as the police, an ambulance, and a fire truck pulled up.
Emotions over-crowded Lott's brain. Nostalgia. Guilt. Shame. Loss. Parts of him no longer wanted the obligations of friendship because it reminded him of old times, which was too much for him to handle. They knew who he was, what he was, and how he did things. They cheered him on as he rampaged through life. They exalted his exploits and not-so-secretly thrilled then encouraged him to greater heights of violence. Then they dropped him when he became inconvenient to them though called on him when they needed him. He wanted to bray about being used, perhaps muster up the energy to play the martyr, but he could only manage enough to feel sorry for himself.
Percy knew the neighborhood. Black folks, white folks, Hispanic folks — united by their ubiquitous poverty more than anything else — settling into isolated pockets within the community. Living mostly comfortably, sometimes not so, among each other. He also knew the houses on the block.
And he believed even houses became ghosts haunting neighborhoods.
Set away from the street and somewhat distanced from the surrounding houses, as if they shrank away from it preferring to crowd the rest of the block, the two-story house at Michigan Street and Dearborn Avenue loomed over the intersection. An old Tudor-styled home with a spire as a turret. Two stone, winged lions guarded its entrance. The entire property was fenced by razor wire, designed to echo the women's facility just west of it. That was how the house appeared to most, but when Percy walked by it, out the corner of his eye, or perhaps though a disturbance in his spirit, the house was greater. A many-roomed mansion, three stories. A red castle with flourishes of turrets. An egg-shaped keystone with a tower, the illumination of a winter's solstice within its sacred geometry.
"You sure this is the place?" Lott asked.
"Aren't you? You knew it, too."
A fact Lott couldn't argue. "We got to clear this fence. You up for it, Percy?"
"What about Kay?"
"Can't he wait here?"
"He needs to go with us."
"Okay." Lott eyed the dog, who lowered itself as if trying to shrink. "I'll carry Kay."
They scouted the perimeter of the house. The property took up much of the block with the alley behind it littered with rocks and overgrown shrubbery. A poplar tree grew barely within the property, thick, low-lying branches stretched over. Percy lifted Had up to the branch. Scrabbling up with a natural grace, the small boy scampered along the branch and landed in the yard before either Percy or Lott could tell him to wait. Percy grunted as he hefted his bulk up, heaving a massive leg over the branch, which bent in quiet submission to his mass. Taking advantage of the lowered branch, Lott scooped up Kay and began to slide onto the branch, as Percy slid along. The branch creaked and strained under the weight of all three. Not wanting to risk his friends, Percy tumbled awkwardly out of the tree, landing hard.
"You okay?" Lott tried to keep his voice down.
"I'm all right." Percy was slow to get up, and limped toward Had.
Crossing over the razor wire, Lott allowed Kay to leap down before dropping down behind him. The tree branches shadowed a stone at its base. Surrounded by strange symbols, the number 1362 carved into it. Percy traced them with his finger. They seemed important, but he didn't know how to interpret them. He wished King or Merle were here as they were so much smarter than him and always seemed to know what to do. He missed his friends. They all seemed so sad these days. Big Momma always gave him a hug when he was depressed like this. Lott looked like he needed a hug. So Percy wrapped his huge arms around him.
Lott instinctively flinched, unsure how to react, struggling against the embrace at first. Then, he relaxed, succumbing to the act of being loved.
"What was that for?" Lott asked.
"You looked like you needed it."
"Now?"
"Why not now?"
"I… thanks, Percy." Lott clapped him on the arm and gave it a squeeze. The darkness in him shifted a bit.
Lott turned toward the house. Had tugged at his pant leg, gesturing for him to bend over. When he leaned down, Had wiped a tear from his face he didn't realize was there, then threw his slight arms around him, too. He didn't understand everything that was going on. But he knew when people were hurting and wanted to take away their pain.
"Okay, li'l man. I get it. Thanks." Lott was a strong man. Not one prone to admitting when something inside him broke, like an ice sheath cracking. "Come on."
They moved in silence, though Percy strained to keep his lumbering gait quiet. Had's lightness made him mobile. Filled with the swell of mission and purpose, Lott took point. The rear patio doors were unlocked. Percy had the sensation of the house being larger on the inside than on the outside. They skulked along a thin hallway, Percy edging slowly at an angle to allow him to pass through. The servants' hallway opened into a linen room. Empty cupboards, cabinet doors removed from their hinges, covered in cobwebs against the creeping black of mold as the original wallpaper was exposed in patches, where not shorn from the wall.
They entered the dining room from the pantry. A boarded-up side door led out to a porch. One of the occupants had attempted at some point to lay down a stretch of carpet. Old glue streaked the wood floor along with blobs of paint, matted by half-rotted pieces of carpet in places.