2 in the Hat： A Novel of Suspense - By Raffi Yessayan Page 0,1

the older guys, doing whatever it was that they wanted done. Then he became one of the leaders of the crew. Nobody messed with him, because they knew he was capable of doing anything, to anyone, at any time.

But his reputation got around and he became a marked man himself. So many dudes wanted to take him out, to be the one that offed the great G-Wheel. At a certain point he felt that he couldn’t trust anyone, even members of the Mavericks. And he was right. He had been ready for anything.

Until tonight. He’d let his guard down. Now he found himself in a situation.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. He stopped walking and the hand pushed him down to his knees. He remembered a scene from a gangsta movie he and his boys had watched. They didn’t discriminate between white or black gangsta movies—they liked them all. And just like the guy in the movie, George knew he was about to get smoked.

George Wheeler wished he could go back and change all the bad decisions he had made. He wanted to undo all the blood that was shed between the Mavericks and their enemies. All of it seemed so stupid now. Fighting over what? As he knelt there in those damp, quiet woods, he accepted the fact that he was about to die. He imagined himself in a church, kneeling at the pew. When was the last time he’d been in a church?

He began to pray in a loud voice. “Our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name, Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven—”

The cold steel of the gun pressed against the base of his skull.

He didn’t waver, continuing on with his prayer, louder. “Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us, and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us—”

He heard the explosion at the same time he felt the bullet tear into his head. It was only a momentary sensation, an instant of something like pain, then nothing.

CHAPTER 2

Angel Alves felt like a drill sergeant, watching his little athletes run in place. They were only seven- and eight-year-olds, the Mitey Mite division, and he tried not to laugh as their scrawny legs pumped up and down. But he couldn’t ease up on them. They were counting on him to teach them how to win.

“Hunter,” he yelled, “no time to tie that shoe. And let’s get those knees up, Iris. This is football. There’s no quitting in football.”

He had managed that with a straight face. But he almost laughed once more, suddenly imagining the poor kids with Wayne Mooney as their coach. They’d all be in the bleachers crying to their mothers. He missed the Sarge, but he didn’t miss the way Mooney rode him. Without Mooney as his boss, he had time to be a part of his twins’ lives.

Alves studied Iris’s running form. She kept her knees high, chest level. She was tough. If he’d tried that with little Angel, the kid would be faking an injury. He kept the kids working for another couple minutes. Then he blew his whistle, which meant they had to hit the deck. Iris was the first one down on her belly. She was back on her feet, running in place, before half the other kids hit the dirt. She had great stamina and quickness, and when he saw her doing these drills, competing with the other kids, he was reminded how good an athlete she was.

One last whistle.

“Okay, kids, that’s a wrap,” Alves said. “Give me one lap over the hill and you can go home. First three to make it back get to be the captains for Saturday’s game.”

Alves watched as Iris led the team up the hill while Angel lagged behind. He was always one of the last to finish the lap. Alves had never imagined that his daughter would be the jock in the family. Even though they were the same age, Angel was a couple of inches shorter than Iris, and a good fifteen pounds heavier. His stout legs were moving a hundred miles an hour, but not getting him anywhere. Alves hoped that football would get his son into shape and teach him discipline and toughness. So far, the only thing it had taught him was that his twin sister was a better athlete. And now all the other kids