Diving Catch

By Gregory Saur

Devon Horner is thirteen, but looks younger, making him a perfect target for drug dealers. Fortunately for him, he has a grandma who keeps him out of trouble. Unfortunately for him, he also has Preston Whiteside, the big neighborhood drug dealer, breathing down his neck.

Just saying “no” isn’t so easy when you have a gang

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gregory Saur
• Release date: May 16, 2018
• ISBN: 9781949317008

Gregory Saur

Gregory Saur lives mainly in Virginia but continues to visit his imagination daily. The most relaxing time of his adult life was spent overnight in the hospital having his appendix removed-this is why this book has no appendix. It was removed. You will find him mostly at home, but his mind... who knows? It could be anywhere. If you happen to find it, please return it. He may need it one day. If you find his appendix, you can keep it. He's been assured it is not needed.

Book preview

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Acknowledgments

About the Author

For J.J.

Thanks for the memories.

We’ve been given the rare privilege and heavy responsibility of influencing young people on a daily basis, for better or for worse, for the rest of their lives. Which direction will you lead your kids today?

― Mike Matheny, The Matheny Manifesto: A Young Manager’s Old-School Views on Success in Sports and Life

Chapter 1

Devon watched the man approach through hooded eyes. His shoulders slouched, he stood casually on the sidewalk minding his own business while pretending to be waiting for the bus… but all his focus was on the man.

Inside his thin chest, Devon’s heart pounded fast and furious. Each beat sounded like a baseball smacking into the mitt of glove.

Other than the man, both sides of the street were empty. Still, it felt as if there was no place to go. Devon felt trapped in plain sight. Ordinarily a guy walking his way was no big deal. Devon could just ignore him, shoot him a glare to scare him off, or even engage in a little chitchat. But this was no ordinary man. This man meant business.

Birds chirping in a small juniper tree behind Devon sang a merry tune, a soundtrack for his impending demise.

Preston Whiteside was coming his way. There was no ducking the well-known drug dealer this time.

A car screeched to a halt on the next block, causing Devon to jump. Hastily he wiped his sweaty palm on the back of his low-hanging jeans, hiding his nerves.

He risked a quick peek at Preston and quickly averted his eyes, feigning interest in the pavement.

The man kept coming straight for him.

Few kids ever dared to look Preston Whiteside in the eyes. It was best not to draw his attention. Now, just four houses away, the man decked out in a pinstriped suit acted as if he was on a jaunty stroll. His hips rolled with every step and his arms swung merrily at his sides. A bright smile turned up his lips just below his pencil-thin mustache.

Never once did Preston look at Devon… but the boy knew. Nobody else was in sight. Preston was coming for him.

Swallowing, Devon looked again. As he did so, a feeling of dread filled his belly.

Dark, tightly curled hair hung over Preston’s forehead. Thick with grease, it had sheen from the afternoon sun. More hair bounced off the back of his neck as he walked. It was shaved short on the sides and gave the effect of a poodle resting on the man’s head after it had fallen into a tar pit.

Picturing that absurd image gave Devon a little courage, but not much. If he were smart, he would’ve taken off running by now. That would be his grandma’s advice.

Thinking of his grandma brought out Devon’s stubbornness. He’d just told her the other day he wasn’t a baby anymore.

To prove it, Devon turned away and jammed both hands in his pockets, nearly shoving his jeans down past his waist. Quickly he yanked them back up. Shame warmed his face. Still, a bit of defiance crept in.

Devon’s grandma had been riding him for days. Playing outside was too dangerous for a small boy like him, she kept telling him, especially alone. Did he want to end up like Corey Strider?

Thoughts of Corey didn’t help. Corey Strider had been Devon’s friend for years, since the first grade. It had all ended the month before. Corey was caught selling drugs after school one day and had been shipped off to juvie. At age twelve, he was behind bars.

Devon wasn’t like Corey. Corey had always wanted to make it big—he used to brag all the time about how he was going to get rich quick and bust out of the neighborhood before high school. Devon had stopped seeing much of Corey months before the arrest. They had a falling out last summer… shortly after Corey had gotten a visit from Preston Whiteside. After that, Corey had changed.

Still hidden in his pocket, Devon squeezed his right hand into a fist. Corey had wanted Devon to come with him to see Preston last summer. That had ended in an argument. And a few months later Corey had been shoved in the back of a police car; Devon hadn’t seen him since.

Suddenly Devon turned away from Preston and started walking fast in the opposite direction. He’d been a fool. Grandma was right. Preston Whiteside was nothing but trouble. Devon had his pride, but he also had his fear. At the moment his fear overcame his pride and told him to get out of there. Fast. Devon wasn’t an idiot.

Hey, boy! You got a minute? Like his looks, Preston’s voice came out smooth and silky. It also demanded attention.

Devon swallowed as he willed his feet to keep moving. He’d been avoiding Preston and his ilk for over two years, ever since his eleventh birthday. In his neighborhood, dodging drug dealers was a way of life—you either avoided them or you became one of them.

Boy, I’m talking to you! The smooth silky tone developed a nasty edge.

Devon ducked his head and squeezed his eyes shut in frustration. He should’ve stayed home and done his homework like his grandma wanted. A boy had no chance on the streets alone. He opened his eyes and turned slowly. One of the rules on the streets—you never showed fear. Even though he silently screamed in protest, his pride made him take a step back toward the man.

Preston came to a stop a few feet from Devon. His pearly white teeth sparkled.

There you go, boy, he nearly purred. That’s some good manners you got there. For a minute I thought you were avoiding me. I mean, you just turned right around as soon as I reached you. You ain’t scared of me, are you?

Devon frowned. Nah, I’m just late for, uh, home. He forced himself to look the taller man in the eyes. He would show no fear. It would be a mistake.

Preston’s smile never wavered, but his eyes narrowed like glass marbles melting. Is that why you were waiting at the bus stop? Now you’re walking back home? That don’t make a whole lot of sense, now does it?

Devon felt his face grow hot. He’d been thinking of taking the bus to the mall, just to prove to himself and to his grandma that he could do it by himself. Of course the bus had been late… and it had been a stupid plan to begin with.

I, uh, forgot—

Call me ‘sir,’ boy. Preston’s smile vanished suddenly and he sounded dangerous.

Devon’s mouth tightened as Preston loomed over him. His fear gave way to anger. Why did grown-ups have to pick on kids? Why did the police lock up Corey but leave Preston free? It didn’t make sense and it wasn’t fair.

Then the man suddenly busted out laughing.

Good grief, boy, you should see your face! I’m only playing! Shifting his weight, the man reached down and clapped Devon on the shoulder. You’re Devon Horner, aren’t you? You’re Celia’s boy, right?

Devon bit his lower lip and pulled his hands from his pockets. He wiped them on the front of his shirt. Celia was his mom, all right, at least by birth. He hadn’t seen a lick of her in nearly a year, but still bore a scar on his back to remember her by. He barely gave a nod, aware of Preston’s hand still resting on his shoulder. It felt like a boulder had crashed down there and threatened to crush him. Or it was a spider ready to inject him with a terrible poison… only it wouldn’t turn him into Spiderman.

Look, Devon, it’s almost summer. You got a job yet?

Uh, no… No, sir.

Preston stepped back hearing sir and puffed up his chest. Removing his hand from Devon’s shoulder, he wiped imaginary dirt from his left sleeve. Then he adjusted his bright red tie. That’s too bad… a boy like you could use some money, am I right?

Devon tried to seem relaxed as he shrugged. It didn’t take a solid D student to know what was coming.

Word is, you could be good for me, Preston continued. You see, people here talk and I listen. You’ve been recommended to me, boy. I could use a little guy like you.

Devon Horner had just turned thirteen but looked much younger. To a drug dealer, young boys were great tools. Nobody suspected them. His mouth grew dry. Every fiber in his body wanted to run. But it was too late now. To turn coward now would ruin his life. Preston would never let him go and would send people after him to harass and berate him until he caved. That was how it worked. You joined people like Preston, or they crushed you.

You listening to me, boy? Preston moved a step closer. You want a job? Make some good money?

The sun had risen high overhead; it beat down with little mercy. At times, May in southeastern Virginia felt like the middle of summer. In the late afternoon, the temperature hovered in the upper eighties. Sweat beaded on Devon’s forehead and his underarms were soaked.

He turned his head for a moment and that was when he saw them. Preston had not come alone.

A group of youths, some his age and some older, appeared between the two houses across the street. They had to have come from the next block and had probably been waiting for some time.

Now they sauntered toward Devon like it was all a big coincidence. Devon counted five of them. Two of them he recognized from his middle school.

N-no, thanks, Devon muttered. He kept his eyes on Preston while keeping the approaching group in his peripheral vision.

He good, Prest? called one of the boys. Striding in front like he owned the world, the youth nodded coldly at Devon. This was Lou Owens, an eighth grader at Devon’s school. Devon knew all about him.

At one time, back when he was in the seventh grade, Lou starred as the school’s running back on the football team. Then one game he’d gotten angry after a bad play and threw his helmet toward the sideline before storming off the field. It’d just missed hitting a referee. As a sixth grader, Devon had been watching that game and would never forget the coach running Lou off the field, screaming at him. Lou had never played another game since.

Surly and quick to anger, Lou now carried the reputation of being the meanest, nastiest boy in school. Kids and even teachers were afraid of him and did their best to leave him alone. Not even grown-ups wanted to see him mad. Talking to him was like poking a hornets’ nest.

Preston licked his lips like he tasted something sour. He crossed his arms and kept his gaze on Devon.

You boys just wait over there a sec, he said, sounding slightly annoyed. Then he grunted. Better yet, Lou, come on over and tell little Devon here the benefits of working for me.

Sweat practically poured down Devon’s face. His feet were rooted to the sidewalk as he watched Lou eagerly trot across the empty street with a sinking feeling. They were two blocks from Devon’s grandma’s house.

Devon knew it was no accident that Preston had come this way—he’d been waiting for Devon to be caught by himself. Even if Devon made a break for it, he would have to get past the group on the other side of the street. They stood between him and his grandma’s. Preston had planned this meeting well.

Man, you ready to work for us, small fry? Lou asked with a deep voice, full of pride. Even though just a year and a half older than Devon, Lou stood a foot taller and had muscles bursting from his sleeveless T-shirt. Gold earrings glinted in his ears and a heavy gold chain hung from his thick neck. Standing next to Preston, he towered over Devon.

Lou has been a good worker for me, Preston said, sounding like a proud father. He’s done well and is ready to pass down all he knows to somebody willing to learn. You see, we have a job opening perfect for a boy like you. He wiggled his right arm to reveal a shiny gold watch from under his sleeve. Time’s running out, though, so you better make a choice before I go find someone smarter. I’m offering good money for easy work.

Devon gulped. The gold watch was meant to impress him. Lou was supposed to scare him. Both tactics were effective. He was on his own. This was the moment, he knew, that would change his life forever.

Did Corey tell you about me? Devon asked, looking up into Preston’s cold, dark eyes. Black as midnight, they were like looking into the eyes of a cobra snake.

Corey? Preston asked, suddenly confused. Who’s Corey? He never even blinked.

You know. Corey. Corey Strider, Devon spoke with his jaw set grimly. Inside, he shivered and felt like throwing up, but he knew he had to stand up to this man. Either that, or forever be his footstool.

When he was a little kid, Devon used to talk a lot… and get into trouble a lot because of it. He’d since learned to curb his tongue, mostly. Silence was often the best course of action when faced with trouble. But now that trouble had cornered him, he let his tongue go. If he couldn’t use his feet to run, then he would run his mouth.

Corey was my friend. You made him get in trouble.

Lou sniffed and made to say something, but Preston cleared his throat.

I don’t know who you’re talking about, boy, he snapped, clearly losing patience. But I do know you can use some money. Look at you and how you’re dressed. Don’t you want money for new shoes?

Devon licked his lips. Why hadn’t he stayed home?

Chapter 2

Preston Whiteside had moved into Devon’s neighborhood just over two years before. He’d come in a shiny black sports car with dark tinted windows and moved into a small white house at the end of the street, just a block from Devon’s grandma. At first all the kids were hugely impressed with the slick-dressing, smooth-talking man with the fancy car. Rumors swirled that he was a former NFL star looking for a quiet place to live.

The older folks were less impressed and eyed him with disdain. No sports star is coming here looking for quiet, Devon’s grandma had replied with a sniff when Devon had reported the rumors. That man is a former nothing and is looking for nothing but trouble.

At first Preston did appear to be seeking a quiet life. For days he rarely came outside except to climb in his fancy car and drive off to who knew where, but then suddenly he started walking the streets. Each evening, smiling and waving to everyone he met, he made the rounds, chatting with any willing grownup and offering candy to children. When older people gave him the stink eye and told him to move on, he only smiled wider and did as they asked. Devon’s grandma was one to give him the stink eye. Preston was there, he kept saying, to help the young people out of poverty and into hope. Still, Devon was never allowed near him or his candy.

Devon and his grandma lived in a crowded rundown area south of Williams County and, as most people put it, south of prosperity. The houses were all single story, crowded together, and of similar build. Each had a door in the front, a door in the back, with each door flanked by windows. Most of the doors were red and Devon and Corey, when they were younger, used to laugh and say all the houses looked like faces sticking their tongues out at them.

Devon wasn’t laughing now. He felt ready to wet his pants. Desperately he glanced at the houses on either side of him. The doors remained shut and really did appear like tongues sticking out at him—laughing at the jam he was in.

Devon wiggled his toes in his worn sneakers. A hole was forming near his right big toe. They were a generic brand and more gray than white. He hadn’t gotten a new pair in over a year.

Lou, on the other hand, rose to his toes, showing off pristine white and gold Nike shoes that had to cost well over $200. It was no secret that in middle school, the right kind of shoes was important if you wanted to be somebody.

At the moment Devon didn’t want to be anybody but somebody far from Preston Whiteside and his group of thugs. He knew what Preston wanted him to do… be a drug runner or maybe even seller.

The younger and smaller you were, the less the cops bothered you. Corey, roughly the same size as Devon, had been perfect for the job. Only his big mouth and reckless spending had gotten him caught.

Preston Whiteside, claiming to be true to his word, had started a lawn and garden business for the teenagers in the area. After a year, he expanded it for any young boy or girl who wanted cash for work. His business cut the grass for all the houses and didn’t charge very much… but grew very successful regardless.

Twice police had been called on Preston, but no drugs were ever found on or near him and now he was left alone. Rumors of a secret outside source supplying the drugs to Preston were rampant, but there was no proof. In the meantime, drug use in all the surrounding middle schools and high schools had gone way up.

I like my shoes just fine, Devon finally said, his jaw tight.

Lou busted out laughing. "No way. I mean, what are those?"

Preston chuckled. Boy, Devon, look. I’m offering you good money. Just come to my place and hear me out. Lou will come too. Here, I’ll tell you what. Preston made of show of fetching a large wallet from under his pinstriped jacket and started pulling out green bills.

Devon’s eyes bulged, but he found himself shaking his head and inching backward.

Prest… Lou said, looking up at his boss.

Preston paused and looked down at Devon. What’s the matter? he snapped, his voice losing all patience. I’m offering you money right now, boy. You can put it in your pocket and have new shoes on your feet before school tomorrow. Don’t you understand me, boy? This is real money!

I understand, Devon said, his voice rising. You didn’t survive on these streets by being timid or afraid. And that meant you weren’t afraid to run when you had to. I understand you took my best friend Corey and got him in jail. Now you don’t even know his name anymore! You’re a fink!

Devon turned and ran.

Hey! You stop now, boy! Preston shouted. He looked to be in his early thirties, but flab hung from his light brown face and his suit hid a round belly. He didn’t look ready to give chase.

Lou, on the other hand, licked his lips in anticipation.

Get him, Preston hissed. Go on! he shouted.

Let’s go! Lou bellowed to his posse.

The four youths from across the street had already started walking toward them and now broke into a run. They all wore wide smiles.

Three were from the high school and they quickly pulled even with Lou. The smallest and youngest screeched for them to wait up.

You! bellowed Preston at the small, scrawny boy, trailing the chase. Get down to the boy’s grandma’s house and keep watch! You got your cell? I want you to call me the second you see him come back, you got me?

The boy nodded and yanked out a smartphone from his back pocket. Hurriedly, he raced back the way he’d come.

Preston pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his forehead. That boy is going to live with regrets for a long time, he said savagely. Then, whistling, he turned on his heel and walked on.

Devon raced through people’s yards, hopped over chain-link fences, and dodged more than one barking dog. One hand kept pulling up his drooping pants and he’d torn the right leg on the last fence. All the while, he couldn’t escape the sounds of his pursuers. They were right on his tail.

Watch for him cutting back! Lou called.

Keep him going toward the highway! a deep voice answered. We’ll trap him there at the station!

Devon’s heart pounded and sweat poured down his face, but he kept his legs pumping. Just past the next row of houses lay a busy intersection with a Shell gas station on the corner.

As he leapt off a curb, his feet pounded the pavement. He passed a sign telling him he was on Courtney Road… going in the opposite direction of home. Devon never slowed.

Courtney Road led from his neighborhood to Route 13, a busy road leading to the heart of Williams County. Running two lanes in each direction, Route 13 would be the busy highway. Beyond this was what Devon’s grandma called the rich part of town. It was a section where Devon was never allowed to go alone… especially by crossing the busy street.

I already broke so many of your rules, Grandma, Devon thought. One more won’t hurt. He put his head down and used his remaining energy to keep racing. Passing the small houses, he flew into the parking lot of the Shell station and never slowed. A man at the pump stared at him but said nothing. Not even when the curses and shouts of five youths chased after him. When you were faced with trouble, silence kept you out of it.

Luckily the stoplights were on his side and Devon was able to make it across Route 13 without stopping.

Safely across, he looked back and was rewarded to see Lou and his gang forced to a sudden stop at the Shell station. The light changed to green and a line of cars rolled into action, separating Devon from his pursuers. Suddenly feeling good, Devon waved and grinned. He chest heaved and he couldn’t speak, so he just waved.

The response was lost to the sound of traffic. More than one car honked its horn, thinking the finger gestures and rude language were meant for it.

Laughing and wheezing, Devon jogged up a small rise covered with mulch and flowers and cut through a thin line of trees before entering a new world of large houses with perfectly manicured lawns. This was what it meant to be on the rich side, he thought.

Knowing his pursuers wouldn’t give up easily, Devon entered the neighborhood aware any trouble would definitely bring the police. As long as he kept moving and kept quiet he would be safe… maybe.

A boy with dark skin and ragged clothes had a hard time feeling safe in an upscale neighborhood, something Devon quickly learned. On his street, the houses looked silly and jumbled together, but these houses looked dangerous and carefully placed. They were mansions compared to his house. Every house had at least two stories and more windows than he had fingers. No two looked remotely alike—some even had columns spouting out from the side like castle turrets.

With every step, Devon couldn’t help but feel as if he were being watched by hundreds of unfriendly eyes. His short curly hair dripped with sweat and he continued pulling up his sagging jeans.

It was a late Tuesday afternoon and few people were out. Passing between a fancy gray-stoned house and a three-story brick mansion, he smelled cigarette smoke in the wind. He couldn’t see the smoker but felt eyes watching him.

Devon ducked his head and hurried past. He couldn’t understand why rich people smoked. Why would someone with enough money to live in a mansion want to ruin his life by sucking down cigarettes?

All the men on Devon’s street who smoked were broken and desperate. His grandma warned Devon about spending time around them—they had given up on life, she said. All their hopes, according to her, had gone up in smoke. Devon didn’t doubt it. The old smokers were worn-out shells of men with bloodshot eyes and more wrinkles than the moon had craters. And the young smokers were just sad and desperate. Smoking got them through life, one puff at a time. That was sad. In order to live, they had to slowly kill themselves. Why would rich people do that? Devon had no answers and he shuddered as he quickened his step, leaving the lingering smell of smoke behind him.

A few houses down, Devon saw a woman working in a flower bed in front of an enormous three-story brick castle. Crouched low, she didn’t notice him at first. With a green blouse, tan pants, and very light skin with bright blond hair, she reminded Devon of a flower, and for a moment he stood and watched her. He couldn’t help but imagine what it must be like to have such a woman as a mother and to live in such a huge house.

Then the woman noticed him. She stood immediately and glared. A hand went to her hip as the other