Every Man a Menace Read Online Free PDF

Couchi knew a man in Vallejo who would buy the cars for five hundred dollars apiece. It was good money. Raymond started buying his own clothes after that: brand-new 49ers Starter jackets, Girbaud jeans, Nikes, everything.
    One day after school a rich kid named Vance Mueller walked up to Raymond and punched him square in the nose. Then he jumped on top of him and kept punching. He was a nasty kid, sick in his head, and he beat up Raymond’s face real nice.
    Two months after that beating, Raymond, Couchi, and another one of Couchi’s friends were riding in a car they’d stolen earlier that week, listening to Mac Dre and teasing each other in the way that teenagers do. They were in the hills between Novato and Vallejo, on Highway 37, when a highway patrolman saw them. He pulled them over with no cause, claiming they were speeding, and ran the plate.
    That was Raymond’s first arrest. But sitting there in that dirty hotel room in San Francisco, Raymond wondered whether things would have worked out the same way if his mom hadn’t been accused of stealing that money. He might have had some better school clothes. He might’ve never fallen in with Couchi. Wouldn’t have done any of it.
    Raymond returned to Shadrack’s house later that day. The same nervous feeling spread out in his chest and belly. Shadrack, fully dressed this time, came down the stairs with a look on his face that expressed a combination of suspicion and humor. It felt confrontational. Raymond’s heart beat hard in his chest.
    “Gaspar the guilty,” said Shadrack. “King of all the spies.”
    “What the fuck happened to you last night?” Raymond asked, trying to sound friendly.
    “That was a good old party,” Shadrack said, stepping to the gate and surveying the street the same way as before. “You were acting crazy, man. Shit.”
    Raymond smelled marijuana before he got to the top of the stairs. Inside, he saw a black man sitting on Shadrack’s couch. The man was dressed fancy, in a button-up shirt, slacks, nice shoes. Forty years old, maybe. He was a little overweight, with a thin mustache and goatee. He barely nodded at Raymond before turning back to the blunt in his hand.
    “Ray, John, John, Ray,” said Shadrack, introducing them. John nodded again, then started to get up, like he was going to leave.
    “No, no, stay there, John,” said Shadrack.
    Raymond scanned the room. It seemed even dingier than he remembered; the clutter made it feel dangerous. He wasn’t sure if this was the drugs, still, making him paranoid.
    “Get ‘em up,” said Shadrack, motioning for him to raise his hands. When Shadrack went into his pockets he found the three hundred dollars.
    “What kind of money is this?” he asked.
    “Just money.”
    “John, see that gun?” said Shadrack. “Hold it on him.”
    John leaned forward, putting the blunt down, and picked up the sawed-off shotgun. He shifted in his seat and pointed it at Raymond. The room swung. Shadrack walked over to a lamp near the wall and held the bills up to the light.
    “Who gave this to you?” he asked.
    “A friend of mine,” said Raymond. He was so scared he couldn’t think straight.
    “Was this friend of yours a Filipino woman, about yea tall?”
    Raymond nodded his head.
    “I see,” said Shadrack. He walked back over toward Raymond, got right in his face. “I don’t like her,” he whispered.
    “She’s different than us,” Raymond said. “Less interested in having fun.”
    Shadrack smiled. “Put the gun down,” he said. Then he pushed the three hundred dollars back into Raymond’s front pocket.
    “We good?” Raymond asked.
    “Oh, we good—me and you—we good,” said Shadrack. “I read you last night, clear as day. You are worthy, Raymond.You a worthy bastard, but—and I told you this last night—you are filled with fear, more fear than anyone I’ve ever read. It’s gonna kill you.”
    “Nothing I can do about that,” said Raymond.
    “Well, there is,” said