“Does it look like it was good to me?”
Marquis did not answer. Lawrence clasped one of Marquis’s hands and put his free arm around Marquis and patted his back.
“See you up the road,” said Lawrence. “Hear?”
Lawrence got into his car without looking back and sped away. A couple of blocks from the apartment, he stopped and threw his cell phone down a storm drain. He was done with it and didn’t want to be called or traced. He was shedding his skin. He then drove over the Frederick Douglass Memorial Bridge and tossed something over its rail. On the other side of the Anacostia, he turned around, recrossed the river, and rolled back into his neighborhood.
He drove around for a while, till he spotted what he was looking for. Down around Firth Sterling Ave and Sumner Road he saw a boy, no older than ten or eleven, on a men’s road bike that looked to be in perfect shape and was way too big for him. Lawrence pulled over and leaned out the open window.
“Young!” shouted Lawrence. “Yeah, you. Don’t worry, you not in trouble. I just want to talk to you.”
“What you want?” said the boy, who was pedaling the bike slowly in a tight circle.
“You about to make some money.”
“What kinda money?”
“Kind you spend,” said Lawrence. He killed the engine and stepped out of the car.
FLYNN AND Hector carried a roll of Berber out of the warehouse of Top Carpet and Floor Install in Beltsville and loaded it into Hector’s van. Hector was not his usual upbeat self. He had been upset by the killing of Ben and his general air of optimism had been tested. But he was determined to work his way through it. He and the others in Isaac’s crew, in the absence of Ben and Chris, had doubled their load and come through for the company.
Flynn’s chest ached as he pushed the roll into the back of the van. He stood straight and waited for the pain to pass.
“You okay, boss?” said Hector.
“Fine,” said Flynn. “This is going to that Tenleytown job.”
“Tito gonna meet me there,” said Hector, speaking of a new guy from the Dominican.
“Okay. Then you need to come back and pick up that roll for the lady in Tysons.”
“We gonna take care of it. We make it nice.”
“Thank you,” said Flynn, looking Hector straight in the eye. “I appreciate it. I do.”
As Hector drove off, Flynn entered the warehouse, passing the stage where a man spun a large piece of carpet levitated by air, and walked into the office area. Susie, the chubby girl with the fried-perm hairdo, and Katherine were seated behind their desks. Katherine had dark semicircles beneath her eyes. It was obvious she hadn’t slept.
Flynn looked at Katherine and made a head motion toward the door.
“I’ll just be a minute, Suze,” said Katherine, and she got up out of her chair and followed Flynn outside.
They went by a parking area, crossed a narrow road, and stood in the shade of a lone oak.
“You hear from Chris?” said Flynn.
“No.”
“We haven’t, either. I’m in touch with Ali, and of course Amanda is sitting by the phone at home.” Flynn touched Katherine’s arm. “I don’t want you to worry.”
“It’s like it was when Ben was missing,” said Katherine. “It feels the same way.”
“It’s not gonna be like that,” said Flynn. “Nothing’s going to happen to my son and he’s not going to kill anyone. Chris is tough and he’s got character. This is going to be over with today and it’s going to end right. Between all of us, we’re going to find him. Okay?”
“I want to believe you,” said Katherine.
“I promise you,” said Flynn. Hoping that the sick feeling inside him, the helplessness, was not showing on his face.
* * *
CHRIS SAW the Cavalier, parked in the lot where Lawrence had said it would be. Chris put the van in a space alongside the Chevy. Chris had followed Lawrence’s directions to a community park in Colman Manor, but he was in an unfamiliar place and felt lucky to have found the vehicle. Atop the Cavalier were a couple of loose ropes that went inside the barely open windows. Lawrence had lashed something to the roof of the car.
Chris only knew that he was in Prince George’s County, somewhere near the District, having come through a tucked-in community that looked like a country town.
He locked the van, and, per Lawrence’s instructions, found a nearby bike path sided by trees. He walked it for what seemed like a long while. Partway in, he realized he had left his cell back in the Ford, but he had come too far to turn back. Eventually he emerged from the woods and found himself on a wide road along a body of water. There were houses and streets on his left. He idly wondered why Lawrence had not told him to park on those residential blocks, which were much closer to the meeting spot. Across the water he could see a large dock and recreation area, and the famous tan-and-brown Peace Cross, a place his father had spoken of, once home to country, rock, and biker nightlife. Now Chris had a better idea of his location. He was somewhere near Bladensburg Road and the old Route 1.
The bike path continued, veering off the road and down a dip, going under a bridge. There he saw Lawrence in the shadows. A bicycle leaned up against a three-pole rail that separated the path and a drop-off to the water. An old white man, not much larger than a boy, was standing there, too. On the ground nearby were several blankets and a cooler.
Chris walked under the bridge and nodded at Lawrence. The little white man, unshaven, drunk, wearing a sleeveless T-shirt, raised his fists over his head and flexed his muscles.
“I’m fifty-five,” said the little man, smiling, showing brown nubs that had once been teeth. “And I’ll do fifty-five push-ups.”
“Leave outta here, old-timer,” said Lawrence, not unkindly.
“This is my house,” said the little man.
Lawrence produced a roll of cash from his pocket and peeled off a twenty. “Go on, man. Get yourself some medicine. When you come back, we’ll be gone.”
The little man happily took the money and walked down the path in the direction of Bladensburg Road.
“Where are we?” said Chris.
“That’s the Anacostia right there,” said Lawrence, nodding at the river. “You know it flowed this far into Maryland?”
“I didn’t.”
“I’m tellin you, you can’t know this city till you get on a bicycle.”
“Where’d you get that one?”
“Bought it off some kid. It was stole, I reckon, so he made out all right.”
Chris shifted his feet. “Why are we meeting here, Lawrence?”
“It’s out the way.”
“Tell me about it. I could have parked right in that neighborhood over there, instead of in that park.”
“And now you gonna have to hike out a distance to get back to your car. Gives me time to put some space between us, what with me and my two wheels.”
“Why would you want to do that?”
“ ’Cause you ain’t comin with me, man.”
Chris squinted. “I thought you bought me a gun.”
“I threw that cheap piece off the Douglass. It would have blown up in your face, anyhow. That is, if you had the steel to use it. I just don’t think you do.”
“You’re right,” said Chris. “I wouldn’t have used it. I’m not about to kill anyone.”
“So why are you here?”
“To try and stop you.”
“Try, then.”
Chris reached out to put a brotherly hand on Lawrence’s shoulder. Lawrence slapped Chris’s hand away and smiled.
“Don’t be touchin on me,” said Lawrence.
“There’s got to be another way to solve this.”
“Not for me.”
“Tell me where you’re meeting them. We’ll have them arrested.”
“You know I ain’t gonna do that.”
“We can talk about it, at least.”
“You wanna talk now?” said Lawrence. “What
about all that time in the Ridge when you refused to talk to me? When you showed me your back. Callin me Bughouse and shit, when I had a real last name. You think I don’t know what y’all thought of me? All ’a y’all, except Ben. That boy had good in him, man. And I killed him.” Lawrence poked a finger roughly into his own chest. “I did. This here got nothing to do with you. So go home, White Boy. Leave me to my thing.”
“Listen,” said Chris, taking a step forward.
Lawrence threw a right. It caught Chris square on the jaw, and he lost his balance. He went down on his side to the paved path. He rolled over and got up onto his knees. He had bitten his tongue and he spit out saliva and blood. He stood slowly and unsteadily. The landscape was tilted, and he tried to shake his head and make it straight but could not.
“That’s right,” said Lawrence. “Surprised you, didn’t I?”
“Wait,” said Chris.
“I’m about to clean you proper now.”
Lawrence planted his back foot. Chris tucked his elbows in and tried to cover up, but he was too slow. Lawrence jabbed through the protection with his left and his fist found Chris’s nose. The ring on his finger cut Chris, stung him, and blurred his vision. Chris dropped one arm and Lawrence grunted behind a right that had everything in it and Chris took the punch in the temple and was spun and knocked off his feet. He seemed to fall for a long time. His head hit the iron rail, and for a moment there was faint sensation and a downward float. He did not feel it when he hit the ground.
Lawrence stood over him. Blood flowed freely from Chris’s nose. He wasn’t moving. Lawrence crouched down and felt for a pulse. He did not find it and he began to panic and touched the artery standing out on Chris’s neck. Chris was unconscious, but he was alive. Lawrence folded one of the little man’s blankets into a small square and placed it behind Chris’s head. He had seen this done on television shows. He hoped that this was right, but he couldn’t stay.
Elated and horrified, he swung onto the saddle of the bike and pedaled furiously down the path in the direction of his car.
TWENTY-EIGHT
ALI CARTER stood inside the storefront window of his office on Alabama Avenue, watching William Richards mixing with the young men and women on the street. He had just met with William, and it had not gone well. He’d tried to convince him to return to his job with Party Land, which William had recently walked away from once again, refusing to wear the shirt with the balloon-and-clown logo. Ali was pretty certain that William was back to dirt and running with his boys. He had heard that William was beefing with someone and that this problem was about to boil over. William was too proud and stupid to walk away from it. His future, most likely, was grim. Anyway, Ali had tried.
Ali could not help everyone who came through his doors. Being completely honest with himself, he would admit that he could not help most of them or lead the majority of them to productive futures. If he were to think in terms of grandiose objectives, he would have to give up. It was impossible to pull large groups of young men through tiny keyholes. Ali had modest goals because that was how he got through his day.
Lawrence Newhouse’s hooptie, the old Cavalier, pulled up in front of the office, a bike tied to its roof.
Ali watched as Lawrence, in a white T-shirt under a lightweight, rust-colored jacket, got out of the car. Lawrence opened the trunk and withdrew a gym bag. He walked toward the storefront, ignoring the snickers from the young ones on the sidewalk around him.
“Come on,” said Ali, though no one else was in the room. “Come inside.”
Lawrence entered the office. A chime sounded from a bell mounted over the door.
“Ding,” said Lawrence, with a smile. He shook his braids away from his face. “Heard you been lookin for me.”
“Come sit,” said Ali.
They crossed the spartan room. Ali sat behind his desk, and Lawrence took a chair before it.
“I’m here,” said Lawrence.
“Where’s Chris at?”
“I had to drop him. That’s right. Me.”
“What do you mean, drop him?”
“I didn’t shoot him or nothin like that. I put him down with my hands. He was tryin to stop me from doing this thing I got to do. Gettin all high-horse on my ass.”
“Is he all right?”
“He’s breathin. He fell down and hit his head. He ain’t as rough and tough as he thinks he is. But he’s gonna be okay.”
“Where is he?” said Ali.
“On a bike trail, under a bridge. Near the Peace Cross, out by Colman Manor.”
“Where exactly?”
Lawrence described the short way in and Ali wrote it down. Ali picked his cell up off the desk, and Lawrence listened as Ali spoke to Chris’s father with urgency and gave the father directions to his son. As Ali talked, Lawrence took a black Sharpie from a leather cup filled with writing utensils and slipped one into the pocket of his North Face. Ali ended the call and placed the cell phone back atop the desk.
Ali’s eyes went to the floor, where the gym bag sat. “What’s in that sack?”
“My valuables. You don’t think I’d leave them in my car, do you? In this neighborhood?”
“It’s not so bad. Me and my mother live across the street.”
“I know it. Gotta hand it to you, ’cause you got out.”
“You could, too.”
“It’s too late for me.”
“It’s not,” said Ali. “You don’t have to do this.”
“But I’m about to.”
“I could call the police.”
“And have me arrested for what? Thinkin on a murder?”
“I bet if they searched your car, they’d find a gun. That’s an automatic fall for you.”
“You wouldn’t do that.”
“Killing those men is not what Ben would’ve wanted.”
“Don’t start with me,” said Lawrence. “You don’t even want to put your hand near the flames I got inside me today. Chris did, and he stretched out.”
The chair creaked beneath Ali’s shifting weight. “Why’d you come here, Lawrence?”
“To appeal to your sense of right, I guess. To ask you one more time to get my nephew someplace good.”
“I’m tryin to. But it takes baby steps to get where Marquis needs to be. Wasn’t no leap from where I was to that house across the street, or this job I got right here. You can’t just snap your fingers and make it happen.”
“Take care of him the best you can. That’s all I’m askin.”
Ali nodded slowly. “I will.”
Lawrence picked up the gym bag and stood from his chair. “Where the bathroom in this piece?”
“In the back.”
Lawrence walked past the desk. Ali listened as the toilet flushed and the sink water ran. A couple of minutes later, Lawrence emerged from the bathroom without the bag and stood across from where Ali was seated.
“Place is dirty. You could use some new furniture, shit like that. Maybe a TV set that ain’t broke, so the boys could chill in here.”
“You forgot your bag.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“What’s going on, Lawrence?”
“Take care of your little niggas, hear?”
“I’m doin my best.”
Lawrence held out his fist and reached across the desk. “Unit Five.”
“Unit Five,” said Ali softly. He dapped Lawrence up.
Lawrence grinned. “See you later… Holly.”
Ali smiled a little against a sinking feeling as he watched him step to the door. The small bell chimed as the door pushed out and Lawrence hit the sidewalk.
Ali got out of his chair and walked into the bathroom. There on the closed toilet lid sat the open gym bag, filled with cash. And on the mirror, written in black:
Your boy, Lawrence
Ali jogged out of the bathroom, went to the front window of the storefront, and looked out onto the street.
Lawrence Newhouse was gone.
* *
*
SONNY WADE walked into a bedroom of the white rambler in Riverdale. Wayne Minors sat on the edge of the bed, shirtless and taut. He had been napping, and Sonny’s heavy fist on the closed door, ten minutes earlier, had woken him up. Beside Wayne, the girl named Cheyenne slept nude atop the sheets. Raspberries of acne dotted her bony back.
“You been dozing?” said Sonny.
“I get tired after,” said Wayne.
“I told you not to take no postcoital naps.”
“Huh?”
“We got work and I want your head straight. Here.” Sonny reached into his windbreaker and drew a Taurus .9 from where he had slipped it against his belly. “You’re gonna need that.”
“I got my knife.”
“That’s only good for close work. ’Less you plan to throw it.”
“I could.”
“This ain’t no carnival. Take the gun.”
Wayne took it and placed it beside him on the bed. He reached over to the nightstand and picked up the hardwood-handled knife with the spine-cut steel blade. He fitted it in its sheath, hiked up one leg of his Wrangler jeans, and strapped the sheath to his calf. He put on his black ring-strap Dingo boots, stood, and drew a black T-shirt over his head. He folded up the sleeves of the T-shirt one time to show off his arms and touched his wallet, chained to a belt loop, to make sure that it was secure.
“Say good-bye to your little slut,” said Sonny.
“Don’t call her that.”
“Do it and let’s get gone.”
Wayne leaned over the bed and kissed Cheyenne’s shoulder. His bushy mustache flattened out against her bone. He stood straight and holstered the Taurus in his waistband, under his T.
They walked into the living room. Ashley and Chuck were seated on the couch. There was a bong on the table before them, a ziplock bag of marijuana that was mostly seeds and stems, empty wine cooler bottles, crushed cans of beer. The television was on. They were watching MTV Cribs.
“You leavin?” said Ashley.
“It’s time,” said Sonny, his idea of a warm good-bye. He looked at Chuck, rolls of fat spilling about his waist, staring at the TV, too frightened to meet Sonny’s eyes. “You never met us. Is that clear, fella?”
“Yes,” said Chuck.
The Way Home Page 25