Page 86 of Levee

As much as this was my situation, I had to admit that Seeley was better to take the lead.

Until we found the fuck who put his hands on my girl. Then it was my time to shine.

“Not fucking with T and his crew,” another of the kids said, rushing off to catch up with his friends who—wisely—cut out already.

“She okay?” Terrance asked.

“Someone almost strangled her to death tonight,” I told him, watching him quickly tamp down the shock and concern that moved across his face. As much as I hated that this neighborhood did that to kids so young, it was good he’d developed a poker face early.

“Our only lead says we need to talk to someone named T. You gonna tell us where to find him?” I asked as Terrance’s glance moved to our cuts, the one-percenter badges on them.

“Building South,” he said under his breath, lips not even moving. “Can’t fucking help you, man. Leave me the fuck alone,” he said, louder, backing away from us.

“Fine,” Seeley said, playing along, slipping his cash into his pocket once again. But as we walked away, he made sure the kid was watching as he dropped a couple of fifties behind the trash can.

Building South was at the end of the long, cracked sidewalk.

The building we all grew up in was only one of three in the immediate vicinity. North, South, and East. There’d been plans for a West, but I guess the funding never came in.

“You have no idea about this T guy?” I asked Seeley as we walked.

He’d always been someone who kept a finger on the pulse of all the local crews, somehow knowing more than anyone else even long after he moved out of the area.

He shook his head, though. “Fell off the past year or so. With Ama and… everything,” he said.

“It’s fine, man,” Cato said, shrugging. “We’ll figure it out.”

It wasn’t exactly complicated to find someone in this area. Especially if that someone was some sort of boss in a small-time crime syndicate.

Even if you weren’t from the area, even if you didn’t have experience spotting them so you didn’t accidentally cross them. Even if you weren’t a criminal yourself.

“What do you think?” Cato asked, jerking his chin toward a trio of men standing around close to the street sidewalk, likely for easy hand-off of whatever drug they were selling.

“Good as place as any to start,” Seeley said, heading in that direction.

“Thirty per pill,” one of the guys said without even looking our way.

“Fifty for information,” Seeley said.

“Ain’t a narc, man,” one of them shot back.

“Then we can do it this way,” Seeley said, pressing his gun to the guy’s back. “Where’s T?”

There was a whistle, making Cato and I turn to see a man who was just a dark shadow and a burning cigarette in the dark until he moved closer.

You never knew what to expect of a leader of a crew around here. They could be old men or kids still in high school.

T was somewhere in his thirties with a stocky build hazel eyes and a bump in his nose from being broken and not reset properly.

“The fuck is this?” he asked with a surprisingly thick Southern accent.

“Didn’t say shit, T,” the guy with a gun pressed into his back insisted.

“Believe it,” T said, looking over the three of us, his gaze landing on our cuts, making a muscle tick in his jaw. “Don’t want no smoke with your club.”

“No?” I asked, stepping forward. “Then maybe you shouldn’t have put your fucking hands on my girl.”

“Your girl,” T repeated, brows pinched. “Don’t know what you heard, but I don’t put my hands on no girls. Real gentlemanly and shit,” he said, shrugging it off.

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