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news. But there’s another possibility. Terrell told me he has another son.”
    I can hardly believe my ears. But I don’t know why I’m surprised either. Terrell probably has a whole tribe of kids out there, all from different mothers.
    â€œAnd this person is listed as a potential donor for Terrell in case he ever needs blood,” Dr. Wendell goes on.
    â€œSo he’s the same blood type?”
    â€œYes. AB negative. And he’d be a close enough relative of Dre’s. It could work.”
    â€œHow do I find this person?”
    â€œTerrell doesn’t know where he is. I gather he hasn’t had much contact with him. But he told me the name of his mother. She would know.”
    â€œDid he give you a phone number?”
    â€œHe doesn’t have it,” says Dr. Wendell. “It sounds like she’s moved around a lot. And she and Terrell are not exactly on good terms.”
    I can certainly understand that.
    â€œWell, how am I going to find her then?” I say, disappointed.
    â€œHer last known address was here in the city,” says Dr. Wendell. “And these days, with the Internet, you can find almost anyone pretty quickly.”
    â€œSo if I get ahold of this woman, she could tell me where Terrell’s other son is?”
    â€œPossibly. It’s worth a shot, don’t you think?”

CHAPTER SIX
    I have exactly two facts to go on: Terrell’s other son is named LeVon, and his mother’s name is Angelique Johnson. That’s it. Armed with this tiny bit of information, I go to the library to use one of their computers. I don’t have one of my own yet. That’s top of the list of things to buy, if and when I ever get a full-time job.
    Bringing up Google is easy. But then I’m stuck. Is it really just as simple as typing in their names? I try that, but nothing comes up that makes any sense. I take away LeVon’s name and just use Angelique Johnson. Again, a whole bunch of returns. But I’m getting closer. Some of them are directory listings. A lot of phone numbers and addresses. I just have to find the right one.
    Then I realize I know more than I think I did. I know roughly how old she is. And I know she lives here in the city. Using this information, I get a directory listing. It turns out there is only one person named Angelique Johnson in this whole city. That doesn’t mean it’s her for sure. But it will be easy to find out.
    I decide to go visit her in person. It would be too easy for her to hang up on me. I want to talk mother to mother. I have no idea what I’m going to say. I haven’t got any kind of speech planned. I’m hoping it will just come out somehow.
    Angelique Johnson lives not far from me, in the same part of the city. The poor part. The east side. She even lives in a house instead of an apartment.
    But I can tell she doesn’t own it. Her place is a lot more run-down than mine. There’s trash in the yard. The weeds are taking over. The place needs a paint job. Empty bottles on the porch. I even see broken crack pipes in the street outside. This does not bode well. Angelique Johnson is the kind of person who gives the rest of us poor people a bad name.
    It’s about three o’clock in the afternoon. I knock on the door. It’s locked tight, although around here that doesn’t mean a person is away. People barricade themselves against crackheads and stray bullets.
    I knock several times, but there’s no answer at first. I was ready for that too. She probably thinks I’m a cop.
    â€œWho is it?” a voice finally says from inside.
    â€œMiz Johnson, my name is Linda Gonzalez. Can I talk to you?”
    â€œWhat you want?”
    â€œI need to talk to you about Terrell Jones.”
    â€œTerrell? The hell with Terrell!”
    â€œI agree,” I say. “Miz Johnson, I need your help bad. Can I please talk to you a minute? I have to ask you something about your