Page 70 of Collateral Love
He saw me and tried to straighten, as if this were just any other Tuesday.
“YaYa, I’m good,” he said. “They ain’t have shit.”
Behind his bravado, his hand was shaking.
“What did they see?” I asked, voice flat.
“Nothing,” he insisted. “I dropped before they came. You trained us, remember?”
My eyes automatically tracked the closest camera. I mentally replayed the drop route.
“The cop,” he went on, “asked if I knew any Cre?—”
“Don’t finish that sentence,” I said sharply.
He swallowed.
Zayden pulled up a minute later, his Benz rolling in slow, music down low. He stepped out, took one look at Dre, and then at me.
“What happened?” he asked.
“Campus PD got froggy,” Dre said quickly. “I ain’t fold.”
Zay’s eyes didn’t leave my face.
“You believe him?” he asked.
I studied Dre.
His pupils.
His breathing.
His tells.
“Yes,” I said. “But it doesn’t matter.”
Dre’s head snapped toward me. “What you mean it doesn’t matter?”
“It means you been seen,” I said. “You’re not invisible on this campus anymore. Which means the system adjusts. Immediately.”
He looked like I’d slapped him.
“Nah, come on,” he protested. “I been solid. I do everything you tell me. I ain’t say nothin’. You gon’ just—just toss me?”
Zayden finally spoke.
“Nobody said that,” he murmured. “Relax.”
Zay slid his hands in his pockets.
“YaYa,” he said, voice calm, “if we pull him cold, he’s gonna start asking questions. Questions make noise. Noise spreads. You know that.”
I did know that.
But I also knew something else.
“The blotter listed ‘substance suspected,’” I said. “That means they felt enough confidence to put that in writing. That means they had reason. You wanna guess how long before they connect ‘substance suspected’ with ‘quiet Black kids who move differently’?”
