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  Naz looked at Harvis, who raised an I-told-you-so eyebrow. Naz looked out the window and smiled. He was beginning to think he never made the right decision about anything—maybe I just need to slow down and let life come to me. Every move is the wrong move.

  “Do you understand, Son?” Fears pulled up in front of a familiar place, a place Naz hadn’t seen in a while, missed, and easily considered home.

  “I do.” MeeChi’s! He smiled. Then he pulled out his phone to check the time. He was two hours later than he and Dr. Gwen had informed Mr. Tesla he’d be. Naz got out of the car, his head down.

  “Don’t worry; I already talked to Mr. Tesla so rest easy,” said Fears. “He knew you’d be late.”

  “Thank you,” said Naz, with one part appreciation and one part relief.

  “You’re welcome … and welcome back. Get some rest, freshman. Real high school starts tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, Tin Man, welcome back.” Soul stuck his hand out the window and shook Naz’s hand.

  Naz turned around to see MeeChi’s, the Market Merchant store he had come to know so well. He sighed. His journey was over. But when he turned back to the car he saw Harvis looking out the window stone-faced and remembered—his journey was just about to begin.

  At this time of night, MeeChi’s, and every Market Merchant for that matter, had long been closed. It was a matter of safety, survival, and self-preservation. The flexible, bulletproof metal door that usually covered the front of the store at this hour hadn’t been pulled down yet, as Mr. Tesla waited for Naz. Taverdae Tesla was the closest thing Naz had to a father for over four years now, and Naz loved the old, bald little merchant in that respect, although he could never remember using that word to communicate his feelings.

  Despite Dr. Gwen’s frequent urgings, Naz hadn’t been to MeeChi’s or talked to Mr. Tesla since he had left. Naz missed Mr. Tesla, but he didn’t feel comfortable having casual conversation with him even before he left. I should’ve come to see him, at least called. Each month that went by made it easier to forget the feeling and ignore the guilt, but he knew the time would come when he would have to return like the proverbial Prodigal Son.

  As he approached, Mr. Tesla came as if from nowhere, unlocked the door, and pulled it open. Naz was amazed that Mr. Tesla looked exactly the same. In fact, he could’ve sworn Mr. Tesla was wearing the same thing he had on the last time he saw him. It’s amazing how old people seem to stop getting older once they reach a certain age.

  The Challenger zoomed away down the dark street as Naz entered MeeChi’s, and Mr. Tesla closed the door behind them.

  They stood facing each other, Mr. Tesla with a slight smile playing on his worn, olive-colored face and Naz fidgeting.

  Naz’s eyes darted around nervously as he swallowed hard. “Mr. Tesla, I’m sorry I didn’t call. I …”

  “Don’t be. You’ve been through much and … it is a two-way street.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome … and taller.” Mr. Tesla examined Naz from head to toe.

  “An inch … maybe two,” said Naz. “But I probably won’t grow anymore. I hear my dad wasn’t much taller than I am right now.”

  “Only time will tell. We all have our own unique destiny.” He handed Naz a key and began to fasten a familiar, waist length canvas jacket he wore. “What happened?” He pointed to Naz’s nose.

  “Basketball … elbow … it was an accident.”

  “First day back?”

  Naz shrugged.

  “We have much to talk about, but it’s late. You have school in the morning, and I have to be here even earlier than that, so make sure you don’t stay up too late watching the television.”

  “Where are you going?” Naz took the key.

  “Home,” said Mr. Tesla with a slight chuckle.

  “Home? But I thought …”

  “You thought I lived here. Well, only when I don’t feel like catching the Helix home.”

  “Sooo … I’m staying here … by myself then?”

  “Is that a problem?”

  “Oh no, Mr. Tesla. I just …” Naz put his head down and stuck his hands in his back pockets.

  “You were thinking that you’re only fourteen, and should I trust you?”

  Naz shrugged—Can he read my mind?

  “My parents sent me to this country when I was thirteen,” said Mr. Tesla. “And I never heard from them again. Like you, I went from home to home. Eventually, I ran away and found out I was better off fending for myself.” He put his hand on Naz’s shoulder. “You see, Son, some of us have to grow up before others. I saw you watch over your sister and provide for her for many years. When Dr. Hornbuckle asked if I thought you would be OK here by yourself, I told her you would be OK by yourself anywhere because you’ve learned to be a survivor … and I do trust you.”

  Naz slowly raised his head. Mr. Tesla had never called him Son before, and the word felt different than the one Fears routinely used. Naz searched and finally, “Thank you,” found its way out.

  It had never occurred to Naz that Mr. Tesla didn’t actually live in the booth at MeeChi’s. It wasn’t a sizable space by house standards but large and adequate enough to accommodate a small desk, a cot, table, refrigerator, conventional stove and microwave, and a television on top of a dresser, among other things. Naz nostalgically scanned his old stomping ground. His eyes found their way just over Mr. Tesla’s shoulder to an empty perch, and Naz smiled uncontrollably.

  “Where’s—”

  “Tony?”

  “Tone,” said Naz.

  “He’s around. But I warn you; he’s not the same.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He hasn’t said a word since he came back that morning, the morning after you left.”

  “Hmph.” Naz squinted, looking up into the rafters. “A parrot that doesn’t talk … and Tone no less … I’d have to see it to believe it.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  Naz made a clicking sound, summoning his old friend, but it was quiet in the deserted market. “That’s odd.”

  Headlights glaring outside signaled the arrival of a car. Mr. Tesla finished fastening his jacket and moved toward the door. Naz opened it for him and peered out into the car. It was driven by an older, round-faced, pale woman with a pleasant smile and salt and pepper hair pulled back into a tight bun at the base of her neck.

  “Who is that?” Naz asked with a mischievous smile. Suspicion played on his face as his eyes narrowed, and Mr. Tesla walked by him, unfazed.

  “You just make sure you lock up and put the door down. You’re not in Kansas City anymore.” Mr. Tesla gave an exaggerated laugh as he approached the car. He opened the passenger door and waited.

  The lady got out of the car, came around to the passenger side and got in.

  “Mr. Tesla,” Naz called out.

  Mr. Tesla turned around.

  “It’s Kansas.”

  A puzzled Mr. Tesla closed the passenger side door and walked to the driver’s side.

  “It’s Kansas,” Naz repeated. “from the Wizard Of Oz, not Kansas City.”

  Mr. Tesla laughed even louder, got in the small car, and pulled away slowly. The woman waved at Naz, and he waved back with a genuine smile on his face.

  “Kansas City,” Naz muttered and then chuckled.

  Naz closed the door, locked it, and made a fist around the key in his hand. He had worked at MeeChi’s for more than two years, and although Mr. Tesla treated him like family, trusting him with every aspect of the business to the point of other employees showing open jealousy, he had never even hinted at giving Naz a key—I never needed one, never asked for one. Naz didn’t need the key to lock the door from the inside. MeeChi’s was his new home, and the key meant he could come and go as he pleased—fourteen years old, and my own place. He smiled as he hit a switch inside, causing the metal door to come down in front of the store, securing the dwelling from outside forces. Naz thought of Dr. Gwen’s words—as long as I ke
ep my grades up. He figured it would be a piece of cake at Union.

  He looked back into the empty half-lit store, and it dawned on him that he was alone, which made the place seem huge—and a little haunted.

  Then he remembered. He made a clicking sound with his mouth, but there was nothing. He tried a choppy whistle sound but still no African Grey. “Tone,” he called out. “Hey, buddy … Tony … Antonio.”

  All was quiet.

  “I have sunflower seeds.” He reached in his pocket. “How ’bout a Snickers bar.” There was still nothing. Naz made his way to the elevated booth. When he started up the stairs he heard it, a flutter—a flapping, really. He froze and looked out into the store in the direction of the noise.

  “Tone,” Naz called out again, and again there was silence. “Fine then.” Exasperated, Naz continued into the booth and closed the door behind him. He stared out into the store through the large two-way mirror for a while, rubbing the bridge of his nose and assessing the damage. Just as he turned to make himself at home, he saw, out of the corner of his eye, a gray blur swoop down from the rafters. Tone flew past the two-way mirror as if on purpose and then landed on his perch near the front of the store. Naz watched in amazement as his sidekick and pet bird turned around and appeared to be looking in the mirror—at me. Naz smiled but resisted going back out to his parrot—giving me the silent treatment … two can play at that.

  “Now that’s spooky.” Naz watched Tone for a few minutes as the bird sat, motionless. “Is he asleep already … just like that? Well, he is smart. I think he’s onto something.” Naz turned around to see his suitcase already there, courtesy of Dr. Gwen, and another small plastic bin labeled “survival stuff.”

  Naz walked over to the dresser, turned on the television and then fell onto the cot, almost breaking it in the process—oops! He stared at the screen but paid no mind to what was on—I’m home. Naz studied the cracks in the old ceiling and twisted a tendril of his hair. He was back. Being in the Exclave at MeeChi’s was the culmination of his master plan with his best friend, Harvis. Naz laughed as he thought of himself and Harvis as masterminds. He pushed on the fleshy part of his nose and winced in pain and then felt the inside of his still-fat lip; a gift from John Hornbuckle. Naz laughed out loud, thinking—it wasn’t funny at the time. He told himself he wasn’t ready to go to sleep, but exhausted, he fell asleep within minutes in all of his clothes, against his will.

  Naz waited, high in the rafters of an abandoned Market Merchant store. He crouched on a sturdy beam, holding on to another slanted beam in front of him with one hand and eating a Snickers bar, his favorite, with the other. A can of Coca-Cola on the beam next to him completed the scene as he lie in wait. The condemned store was identical to MeeChi’s and every other Market in the Exclave, so he knew it well, better than its current occupants, who he was about to evict.

  He had been there for a while now, having had time to deface the gang’s graffiti and nom de voyage, Incubus Apostles on the wall and give it his own flair. Although graffiti art was not one of his strengths, he admired his handiwork just the same. Naz had spray painted over everything except the “I” and the “A” and replaced them with a new color and letters that spelled out the words, Invincible Assassin. He put some of the paint on his face: forehead, cheeks, and chin, with no particular rhyme or reason, then pulled his hood over his head. Naz grew impatient.

  Then, he heard their voices, more of them than he expected, backup perhaps, but it didn’t matter how many. The more, the merrier. Naz grabbed the Coke and jumped down from the rafters before they came in. The death from above routine was getting old. He wanted to try something new. Standing in the corner of the building, he leaned against the wall with his arms crossed. He was about to pop the top on his soda when the boys came in through a trap door on the side of the building—I’m going to have to ask Mr. Tesla if we have one of those. He missed his reconnaissance sidekick, Tone, but—no sense in bringing him into this.

  When they came in, he already knew what they had done. They had robbed one of the Market Merchants, Piccolo’s, and had killed one of their cashiers in the process. Naz bristled—that’s one of my markets. One of the boys counted the money, while two joked about how scared the lady looked before one of them had shot her in the chest. Another boy bragged about how he threw a garbage can through the window of the store, which Naz knew would likely close Piccolo’s down for good.

  Naz opened his can of soda, which fizzed over after being shaken up from his jump and landing. “Damn.” The crack sound startled the boys, and they drew weapons, some knives, others guns. Naz emerged from the shadows, drinking his soda. “What’s my cut?” He burped loudly. “Sorry.”

  “It’s him.” A boy with a tattoo covering the right side—or is it left—of his face panicked.

  “B-But he’s all by himself,” stammered another boy wearing a black jean jacket.

  “True story,” said Naz.

  “He has a gun,” said another boy.

  Naz looked at the Coke and even though he couldn’t understand how it could be mistaken for a weapon, clarified, “Oh this?” He held out the can of soda, and all the boys flinched. “It’s a Coke.”

  At that moment, everything the boys held dropped to the floor with clatters and clanks. Some of the boys tried to pick up their weapons, but it was as if they had fused to the floor, and the boys couldn’t budge them. They all backed up slowly. The tattoo-faced boy lost his footing and fell while another turned and ran into a pole, knocking himself out.

  “What?” said Naz. “What’s wrong? Wait.” Naz put his can of soda on the floor. “Now we can all be friends again.”

  “L-Let’s rush ’im,” stammered the boy in the jean jacket.

  “Yeah, let’s,” said a calm voice from a hooded figure who had just entered the front door.

  “Not you,” said Naz.

  “Yup. You didn’t think I was gonna let you have all the fun to yourself did you?” asked Harvis.

  “I should be so lucky.”

  “Let’s get ’em … n—” yelled Jean Jacket, apparently the leader.

  “Excuse me!” shouted Harvis to the boy who had just spoken. “We were talking, thank you.”

  “Yeah,” said Naz as he picked up his Coke and took a swig. “Sorry, Bruce Lee, but I saw ’em first.” Naz threw the half-empty can at the boys and was on them in a second.

  NAZ HELD JEAN Jacket up against the wall by his collar. “So you’re the leader.” He grimaced.

  “Yes,” said the gang leader, bloody and battered.

  “One of your pawns hit me good when I wasn’t looking. I’m impressed.” Naz wiped away the blood coming from his lip with his forearm and tasted it.

  “You better hurry up, Robin Hood, I think this one here called somebody on his phone.” Harvis looked at a phone he held in his hand. He stood over the rest of the boys as they sat on their butts with their fingers interlaced behind their heads.

  “Good! We’ll wait for them, too,” said Naz, deranged.

  “I think he called his parents. Who’d you call?” asked Harvis looking at the tattoo-faced boy in question.

  Tattoo didn’t answer.

  Harvis picked the boy up by his collar. “Who’d you call?!” Harvis yelled.

  “You better answer him.” Naz laughed.

  “My Dad,” whimpered Tattoo.

  Harvis threw him back on the floor. “Let’s go. The police ’ill be here soon.” Harvis looked at Naz.

  Naz turned to Jean Jacket one last time with a smile on his face.

  “Oh, God please don’t—”

  “Shut up!” yelled Naz.

  “Oh, God—”

  “I said, shut up!” Naz shook the boy. “If I see you out here again,” Naz nodded to Harvis, “even he won’t be able to save you, I promise … and there is … no … God.”

  “Who are you?” whimpered Jean Jacket.

  “Igod!”

  “You’re gonna be late.” Harvis grabbed Naz by th
e shoulders and shook him.

  “What?” Naz tilted his head and squinted at Harvis as his best friend’s voice began to fade.

  “You’re going to be late,” said Mr. Tesla as he shook Naz. “I told you not to stay up watching television.”

  “Huh? Oh!” Naz shook his head and rubbed his eyes until his vision cleared. His nose throbbed, and he winced in pain when the pillow grazed it. He sat up, and the news on the television came into focus. He smelled ham and eggs.

  Mr. Tesla cooked at the stove. “Go downstairs and wash up, and I’ll have a sandwich ready when you come back.”

  “Mr. Tesla, you don’t have to—”

  “Just hurry.”

  Naz stood in the mirror. The area under his eyes was dark and swollen from being elbowed in his nose, which ached more now than last night. He smiled. He couldn’t help but think he favored a raccoon. The dried blood under his nose and scab on his lip made him recall his dream, some of which had actually happened months earlier.

  MeeChi’s wasn’t open yet, but one cashier was there, preparing his register—he must be new.

  “Good morning, Sir,” said the cashier, cheerfully. He held out his hand to Naz.

  “Good morning.” Naz shook the man’s hand.

  “I’m Jerrod.”

  “Naz.”

  “Oh, I know who you are. Mr. Tesla’s told me a lot about you. Let me know if there’s anything you need.”

  Naz nodded and then walked up to Tone, took a seed out of his cup, and tried to hand it to him. Tone looked away.

  “Not very friendly, is he?” said Jerrod.

  “No, he isn’t.”

  “I think he just misses you.”

  “He’s got a funny way of showing it.” Naz shrugged. He went back into the booth, finished getting ready, and inhaled his ham and egg sandwich.

  “Slow down.” Mr. Tesla sat at the small desk facing away from Naz, his head buried in paperwork.

  “Mr. Tesla, when do you want me to start working?”

  “Worry about school first.”