Friend or Foe

By Patrick Jones

Do the crime, do the time behind bars. But once you've been in, it can be tough to stay out.

Ian's band is finally taking off. But the band's front man and Ian's best friend, Orlando, can't catch a break as a black kid in their white town. Tension with a security guard lands both Ian and Orlando in jail, and when Orlando is held indefinitely, someone will need to take over the band until he gets out. When Orlando chooses Chase, the band's bassist, to step in, Ian is slighted. As Ian's resentment builds, he plots his revenge. One by one, he turns his bandmates against one another, with tragic results. As Ian holds his friends close and his enemies closer, no one can tell which is which—until it's too late.

This modern twist on Shakespeare’s Othello takes a gritty look at betrayal, revenge, and obsession.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lerner Publishing
• Release date: Jan 1, 2016
• ISBN: 9781512405170

Patrick Jones

Patrick Jones lives in Minneapolis and is the author of many novels including the Support and Defend series. A former librarian, Jones received lifetime achievement awards from the American Library Association and the Catholic Library Association.

Book preview

Moore."

1

MAY 15 / FRIDAY EVENING

VENICE PIZZERIA / FRISCO, TX (SUBURB NORTHEAST OF DALLAS)

Those guys are staring. I tapped Orlando’s strong right guitar-strumming arm to get his attention. We sat crammed into a booth with our bandmates in a noisy restaurant filled with jocks. This crowd looked a little younger than the drunk girls and baked frat boys we’d played for at a party in Dallas, an hour earlier.

They’re just starstruck! Orlando laughed it off. With his big retro Afro, Orlando stood out everywhere in Frisco.

The staring made me nervous. What do you want to do? I asked.

Nothing? Orlando said, like a question directed at Chase. Chase sat across the booth from us. On the other side of Orlando, his gorgeous girlfriend, Desiree, clung to his arm like a vine.

Chase reached across the table for a fist bump with Orlando. The four of us, along with the other PunkFunkers—a funk-grunge mash-up band—and our crew filled the east end of the eatery. They don’t like it, they can leave, Chase said. His girlfriend, too-thin Tonya, kissed his cheek.

You know what, Orlando, I think they’re mainly staring at Desiree, I noted.

"You mean they’re staring at me with Desiree. Orlando’s smile faded. He’s black and six-two; Desiree’s white and five-two. I’m not a good at math, but that’s a bad addition in Texas. Redneck crackers."

Before I could agree, Chased jumped in. If that’s the case, then they’re asking for trouble. If they ask, we got the answer. He pounded his fists together. Chase tries to act like he’s some tough guy whenever he’s around us. He’s not.

Now, about Funk Fest. Orlando started running down the particulars for the festival the next weekend at The Crush Club, an all-ages place in Plano. Last year, before Chase joined the band, we opened, but this year, we’re one of the headliners. I jotted down Orlando’s notes, but he stopped talking when he saw a middle-age white dude staring down at him. Problem?

You’ll have to keep your voices down or you’ll have to leave, Meek Manager Man announced quickly. He started to walk away, but Orlando yelled at him to wait. The guy turned around looking scared.

Other people are being loud, and you didn’t say anything to them. I wonder why, Orlando said. As one of the few African American juniors at Frisco High, a school that for years had the Coons as its sports mascot, Orlando getting singled out was nothing new. I’d seen it a hundred times: sometimes he reacted, sometimes he let it go. It all depended on his mood. Meek Manager Man stayed mute and walked away.

Orlando laughed and started talking more about the gig, and louder, but Chase interrupted him after a while, pitching his ideas about the arrangements. We got to feature Des and—

Desiree, Orlando snapped. Then he kissed her check softly.

Chase dropped his head like he’d been punched. Sorry, I meant Desiree.

I still didn’t like the loud guys across the room. They reminded me of bullies from back in middle school. Do you want me to say something to those guys who were staring at us? I asked. I could—

Ian, you gonna bite their ankles? Chase cracked. Orlando laughed, which was more of an insult. I’m playing, Ian. You take everything so serious. For a drummer, you’re sure off beat.

Back to business, Orlando said. It wasn’t the first time he’d had to get himself between me, his steady drummer, and Chase, his erratic bass player. This is a business. First gig is paying four figures.

To the rest of them, that wasn’t big money; to me, it was a fortune. I estimate by the end of— I started.

Ian, Chase, check it out. Orlando pointed at the door. The manager pointed back at him. But now, next to him was a pudgy white guy in a rent-a-guard uniform.

Come on, Orlando, let’s go, Chase said quickly, not sounding quite so tough as before.

Desiree started to stand. Chase is right. We—

Orlando cut her off with an icy tone. You would agree with him.

Really, Orlando, this again, Desiree said. You’re my heart and soul and everything.

That’s right. OK, let’s go! Orlando motioned for everyone to stand, rise, and leave with him. We did as told, except Chase who paid the bill with the credit card his dad gave him for band expenses.

Good night, officer, Orlando whispered to the rent-a-guard. Is there a problem?

I’ve called the police, said the guy with lots of attitude. "You’re