One of those bullets hits Calvin between the eyes. From a distance of 15 feet, they empty their clips, then reload and fire some more. Though he represents no threat to them, the cops open fire again. There is blood pooled at the bottom of the fence Calvin is badly wounded but alive. As patrolmen Chavez and Mohammed Ali enter the weed-gone lot, Calvin is on the ground. He’d reached the cyclone fence in a lot behind the church and was presumably about to jump it when he fell. It’s not clear when Calvin Cross was struck the first time. (One, a patrolman named Macario Chavez, is firing an assault rifle and emptying his clip, which holds 28 steel-piercing rounds.) In total, they’ll put down 45 shells, endangering anyone walking within a half-mile range of their shooting stances. But these cops just keep blasting down the block. There are people out and about still, after half-past 10:00. The cops reach the corner and unleash a barrage of bullets, peppering the ground with casings, at their fleeing target. He hits the corner hard and turns it at a gallop, crossing westbound on Wallace toward a church. (Ocampo and the other cops would later claim that the teen had a gun.) Calvin is fast and built low to the ground, a tank of a former tailback at Harlan High. The first shot, from a cop named Matilde Ocampo, rings out close but doesn’t hit him. No one knows why he does this, though it’s easy enough to guess: He thinks he’s about to be killed. Put your hands up, they scream it’s dark there’s a streetlight on the corner, but it’s broken. Three cops pour out of it, dressed head to toe in black and pointing semi-automatics at them. But about halfway between Parnell and Wallace streets, a police car suddenly screams to a halt beside them. The two teens walk up to 124th Street, headed around the corner to meet some girls. He’s got too much game to settle down.Īnd so now he’s off to kick it with his pal Ryan, a guy he befriended at Job Corps. But Tunoka is a dean’s-list student headed for college, and Calvin’s 19 and, frankly, feeling himself. “Once he showed that smile to a girl, it’s a wrap - then I’d swoop in on her homegirl.” Calvin’s got a baby boy due in the next five weeks, and all he talks about is how he’s going to spoil him. “My craziest times with females happened offa him,” says Myles Gardner, his day-one bestie at Harlan High School. Calvin doesn’t have friends so much as eager wingmen.
He’s on the couch drowsing through a Mavs-Heat game when his homie wakes him up to go hang out. “He’ll just keep at you and at you till you laugh.” Tonight, though, Calvin’s high beams are dimmed a bit: It’s the day after Memorial Day, and he’s stuffed on BBQ.
“You can’t never be down when you’re around him,” Tunoka says. Every night, he calls his girlfriend, Tunoka Jett, to tell her he loves and misses her - and to sometimes sing to her that dopey song from Dirty Dancing. He does a thousand voices, and all of them are funny, from 50 Cent impressions to Dave Chappelle to the cast of Diff’rent Strokes. On the South Side of Chicago, where Gangster Disciples shoot the Black Disciples over slights and side-eyed infractions, nobody seems to hassle Calvin Cross - he’s too much fun to be around. Usually, that kid clomping down his mother’s porch is a tractor beam of charm.
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