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was one big set of bruises on top of more bruises. He was wearing a black T-shirt with 66 embossed in gold and a big gold pendant around his neck. His open eye was jittering. He was on something. Weirdly, he looked younger now, on the street, despite his pumped biceps and the stubble on his chin. His do-rag hung low over his forehead, concealing a cut, maybe. It took all her self-control not to rip it off and stomp on it. But he already knew what she thought of his gang.
    “"Jam,”" Mr. Briscombe gasped.
    Jamal stiffened and moved back into the shadows. “"I can’'t be seen with y’'all,”" he said to Grace in a low voice, having no way of knowing, of course, that his grandfather had recently said the exact same thing.
    “"They beat you back in,”" Grace guessed.
    “"No,”" he said. “"They didn’'t. This was …... for something else.”"
    And then she guessed the truth. “"You never really left.”"
    “"Yeah, well,”" he said. He exhaled and adjusted his rag. “"Okay, I never did.”"
    “"No,”" Mr. Briscombe said, groaning. “"Oh, no, baby.”" He slumped against Grace and she held on to him, propping him up.
    “"So why’'d they beat you up, man?”" Ham asked.
    Jamal’'s face was a twist of stricken guilt as he stuffed his hands into his big, droopy pant pockets. His two-foot-long wallet chain jingled. Grace wanted to shove his pretty white teeth down his throat.
    “"I told Tyrell the reason I was working at the foundation was so we could figure out how to rob it,”" Jamal confessed. “"So he wouldn’'t give me shit about it.”" Tyrell X was the leader of the Sixty-Sixes. “"I kept feeding them bullshit about the floor plans and the security guards. Making stuff up. Because they thought I was a pussy for having a job.”"
    “"So far, that’'s totally stupid,”" Grace said grimly. But she knew it wasn’'t the stupidest part of the story.
    “"So after my brother …... after I told them about Malcolm, Tyrell said we should rob it as soon as we could and use the money to buy my first gun. So I could take care of my business.”"
    Mr. Briscombe sagged further, and Jamal lowered his head. “"But Detective Ada’'s mama got me that job. So I told Tyrell I got fired.”"
    “"And Tyrell was pissed,”" Grace filled in. “"So he beat you up.”"
    “"Yes, ma’'am,”" Jamal murmured.
    “"You do realize you were working for a nonprofit organization,”" Grace said. “"By definition, they don’'t profit. Not a lot of cash lying around.”"
    “"Oh, they had money, all those rich women hanging around that place to make themselves feel good,”" he said bitterly. “"They had more diamonds than a jewelry store. There was this one lady, she had a driver for her Mercedes.”"
    He slid a glance at his grandfather. “"A black driver, Daddy D, called her ‘'ma’'am’' all the time. He told me when she isn’'t home he pisses in her swimming pool. I never saw one black woman there.”"
    “"You said you was out. You said it was over,”" Mr. Briscombe shouted. “"You lied to me!”"
    Jamal jerked as if his grandfather had hit him. “"I didn’'t want to hurt you. But I had to stay in, Daddy D,”" Jamal pleaded. He sounded desperate. And scared. If he could still feel anything, there was still hope. Life in a gang made you so hard, you became an unfeeling shell. “"You know that if you leave they come after you. And your family.”"
    “"You should have told me,”" Grace said. “"You know I would help you. I thought maybe they let you go, since you were only a Hang Around.”"
    He shrugged, not meeting her gaze. “"Tyrell says anyone who leaves is helping the enemy. But I’'ve only been doing little shit. ’'Cuz of me being a minor.”"
    Only doing little shit. When Jamal had flipped, becoming her Confidential Informant rather than face hard time for drug possession, he had shared Sixty-Six secrets that might have shocked a younger cop. He’'d told her about armed robberies, extortion,