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They’re keepin’ the lights on for you.”
    Nathan walked him toward Adam’s car. As Adam opened the back door, he nodded at Nathan. “Nice wheels.”
    “Thanks. They got a workout, that’s for sure. My bad toes are killin’ me.”
    David drove up with Shane in the passenger seat and Jamar in the back.
    “Welcome to the party,” Adam said. “What’d you do, David, go out for a burger?”
    “Traffic ticket,” Shane said. “They pulled him over for drivin’ too slow.”
    David’s face was cherry red. “Sorry, guys. My bad. I got turned around.”
    Shane walked to Adam’s car, passing Nathan and flashing him a look that said, I like my partner better than yours.
    Nathan walked over to David, locking his eyes on him. “Man, you gotta learn the streets. I needed you.”
    “Yeah. I know the other parts of town. I’m just not as familiar with this . . . area.”
    “Well, I grew up in an area like this, but the difference is, I know that one and this one and the other parts too. And if I didn’t, I’d be studying it every night.”
    “Look, I said I was sorry. It won’t happen again.”

    As the four men got into their cars, a broad-shouldered man with the body of an NFL linebacker watched at a distance. Sitting by himself in the driver’s seat of his dark-green Cadillac DeVille, TJ watched the two officers in the first car get in, in front of his man Clyde. Then he saw the other two talking, ready to haul off Jamar. TJ recognized the black cop hangin’ with the crackers. He was the one who’d messed up his 211 when he’d claimed that sleek whip at the gas station.
    “Think you all that, don’t you, little man? You all up in my grill now.”
    TJ made a gesture with his left hand as if he were shooting the deputies. “187,” he whispered to himself, hood lingo for murder.
    He popped his ’lac into gear, then stopped to inventory his arsenal, each weapon hidden in its own place under the seat. He reached over and pulled out his old deuce-five auto, which he’d used to kill a crack competitor last spring. He knew he should get rid of the gun, but it had sentimental value, a gift from his older brother Vince, now serving life at Metro State Prison in Atlanta.
    Next TJ pulled from under his right leg the Smith & Wesson that he’d used to rob a convenience store two years ago, after he’d been on the outs from Lee State Prison three days. He reached under the seat beneath his left leg and grabbed his .357.
    TJ was the son of no man and the father of a gang of men. He could do whatever he wanted. With these cops stepping on his territory, maybe he’d give them something to remember him by.

 
Chapter Five
    Adam sat in the driver’s seat, ignoring the perp. Once he got the outlaws to lockup, they were no longer his responsibility. Good riddance . . . until he saw them on the street again way too soon because of overcrowded jails and merry-go-round justice.
    As if reading his mind, Shane said, “These guys aren’t scared of jail. Why should they be? Three hots and a cot. This is Rome, and the barbarians are winning.”
    Adam sighed. “They say the repeat rate for juvenile offenders in Dougherty County is 80 percent. Can you believe that?”
    “Sure. They can be in and out of the detention centers within a month. They learn new crime skills while they’re there. Thirty days later they’re back on the streets practicing their newly acquired expertise.”
    Adam glanced in the rearview mirror, studying the boy in the backseat. “How old are you, Clyde? Eighteen?”
    Clyde shot him a two-barreled scowl. “Nineteen.”
    “Who do you live with?”
    “My auntie. Gonna arrest her too?”
    “Where’s your daddy?”
    Clyde stared at him like he was crazy. “Ain’t got no daddy.”
    Shane turned to Adam. “Why’d you even ask?”
    Adam thought for a while but remained silent.

    An hour later Nathan drove the patrol car with David beside him. “Something bothering