He felt the bump in his inside breast pocket, the unicorn box. Weed, now that was something he could offer.
He leaned in, his mouth close to her ear. She had a nice fruity smell. Might be gum or something she put on her hair.
"You smoke?" he asked.
Wide-eyed, she shook her head. What was this, like, Teen and Church Night?
"Wanna try?"
To his delight she nodded and took his hand, leading him to the bathrooms at the rear of the club. With a quick glance around for lurking authority figures, she ducked into the men's room, and he followed. The stall's lock was broken, but the old metal frame was warped enough to hold the door.
"You're pretty," he said, not thinking clearly, allowing what was in his head to pop out. That was a punk thing to say. Le'andro always said you shouldn't compliment a girl too early in the game. "What's your name?"
"Glory."
"Gloria?"
"Uh-uh. Glory. You're not from here, are you?"
"Naw," he said pridefully. "I'm from Baltimore. East Side."
There was an awkward silence, and he tried to think of something to ask her, but to his amazement and delight she started kissing him. She might not have smoked before, but she seemed familiar enough with this. Maybe he wouldn't have to break out the weed after all.
But she stopped as abruptly as she had started. "Show me."
"Show—"
"What you promised."
He pulled out the box, showed her the cache within. Shit, he didn't have papers. How was he going to make use of it?
"That sure is pretty," she said, running her fingers over its surface. "When it's empty, can I have it?"
"Ain't gonna be empty for a while. There's more than an evening of fun here." Trying to hook her, set up the long-term play.
"Maybe you could put it in a Baggie, let me have the box tonight."
"I don't know…." He was reluctant to give up the box, for reasons he wasn't sure he could explain even to himself. Glory began kissing him again and this time added the extra touch of placing one shy but game hand down the waistband of his pants. Okay, maybe she could have the box. He put the top back on it and returned it to his pocket so his hands could tend to her. Dancing, she had looked young, a babyish fourteen who just happened to have a grown girl's body. He hadn't counted on getting a lot from her. But now she seemed ready to do just about anything. He was trying to figure out if he should let it go now, give himself up to that warm hand or get her somewhere he could get inside her. Maybe if he sat down on the toilet seat and pulled her on him—
"What the fuck you doing?"
The stuck door was dislodged with such force that it caught Lloyd in the back, catapulting him forward into Glory, who all but fell into the toilet, which made her sputter and squawk in indignation. It would have been funny if he hadn't been scared to death. Lloyd grabbed her and swung around, so she was between him and the invader, a tall guy with dark, angry eyes. And a gun. Fuck, even in the country, the niggas had guns.
"You her boyfriend?" he asked, trying to think how he would plead his case.
"I'm her brother."
A boyfriend, Lloyd might could deal with. It would still be bad, he'd probably get the crap beat out of him, but a boyfriend might get that it was an honest mistake, the kind anyone can make when a girl leads you to a bathroom and begins kissing you. After all, if this was Glory's boyfriend, that was probably how they had started. A brother—no chance. A brother would kill you if he could, just like that scene in Scarface. Lloyd did the only thing that seemed likely to save his ass, dropping to his knees and crawling out from under the stall, then running full-tilt into the club, trying to lose himself in the crowd.
He thought he heard a shot but told himself it had to be something else, a balloon popping, a car backfiring. At any rate, he didn't look back, just kept running for the door. Out on the street—fuck, no Crow. No Crow! And Lloyd didn't have time to look for his worthless ass. He just had to run as fast and far as he could and hope he was running away from trouble, not into it.
An hour before Teen Night was to end, Crow returned to the street with two new cell phones and a couple of magazines he had been delighted to find at the local Shore Farms—the Atlantic and Harper's. He ran the heater as necessary, dispelling the chill from the car. The solitude was a nice break. He hadn't really been alone since Lloyd had shown up on the doorstep Tuesday morning. He liked the kid, who could be good company when he wasn't brooding or complaining, but it was nice to be alone, too.
As midnight approached, other cars began pulling up, parents fetching their kids. Crow hung back, aware that he was all too visible, a white guy picking up someone who obviously was not his son or younger brother. Ed was right. They had to be careful about drawing attention to themselves.
It was only when the bouncer, the one who earlier had denied him entrance to the club, padlocked the door that Crow realized that Lloyd was never coming out.
PART THREE
TINY TOWNS
SUNDAY
23
"Tess? It's Whitney. Just FYI—an IRS agent called out of the blue, wants to go over the foundation's books. Not a problem, but I thought it was awfully coincidental."
"Hey, hon, it's Kitty. This man—I didn't get his name—came by the bookstore late, just before closing. He wanted to talk to me about my arrest outside Supermax, when I was protesting the Thanos execution. He had a photo. Of me, that is. He's tall, African-American, close-cropped hair, maybe thirty. He would be handsome if he smiled."
"Tess, it's your mother—" But that one she answered.
"Hey, Mom. What's up?" As if Tess didn't know. She had been getting these calls and messages all weekend.
"Not much. A strange man just rang our doorbell, said we should talk to you about what you were ‘into.' An FBI agent, very nice, but I let him know in no uncertain terms that I work for NSA and I am not intimidated by such tactics, that he had another think coming if he thought—"
"Great, Mom. Is Dad there? Did they talk to him?'
Her father picked up another extension, but Tess could still hear her mother breathing on the line.
"Hey, Dad."
"Hey."
"So who talked to you?"
"IRS."
"You worried?"
"Not really."
Patrick was the world's most laconic Irishman, but Tess was expert at listening to what he didn't say, and the anxiety in his silences was chilling. It was one thing to destroy her own life by keeping her promises to Crow and Lloyd. And even Whitney had sort of signed up for this. But her parents hadn't. She wondered how long it would be until Crow's parents were called, what insinuating questions would be poured into their ears. That would be unfortunate on many levels. For one thing it would alert them to the fact that their son was missing.
She assured her parents that everything would be fine and hoped it wasn't a lie. She then called Tyner, told him to be on standby, certain that the three caballeros, as she now thought of them, would come for her again. And, sure enough, Jenkins and Collins arrived just after eleven.
"Back to the courthouse?" she asked, trying for chipper but coming closer to chirpy, her voice high and crackly as a teenage boy's.
"For now," Jenkins said. "But don't be surprised if you end the day in federal lockup."
"What, you're going to charge me with a crime?"
"Probably," Jenkins said, expressionless. Collins simply smiled a terrible smile.
Crow had driven around Salisbury until dawn, but he couldn't imagine where Lloyd had gone, not in the short term. The kid had probably headed back to Baltimore, catching a ride with someone who lived west of Salisbury, planning to hitchhike the rest of the way. Scared for his life just five days ago, he was now bored out of his mind and wanted to go home. With someone like Lloyd, boredom trumped mortality. Father Rob had warned Crow about that. It had probably been a plan, using the club as a ruse to get away.
Of course he couldn't have known, go
ing in, that he and Crow would be separated. But he had seen the opportunity once it presented itself, concocted a plan on the spot. Lloyd was smart that way.
Stupid, too.
At least Crow could go home now. Or would, once he called Tess and told her Lloyd was missing. He hoped that information wouldn't make her waver in her resolve to protect Lloyd. Then again, if Lloyd was stupid enough to go back to Baltimore, maybe he didn't deserve their protection anymore.
Thing was, the police couldn't take care of Lloyd even if the kid would allow it. Wasn't that why he had come to Crow in the first place? Stupid, self-destructive kid. If he didn't care about his life, why should Crow?
He took out the new cell phone and dialed Tess's home phone again. The phone rang twice, then kicked into voice mail, a sign that she was on the other line and ignoring the call-waiting signal. He started to text-message her cell but didn't think it was a good idea to relay the news about Lloyd in such a fashion. He called the house one more time, just in case. No answer now. Where could Tess be on a Sunday morning? A creature of routine, she should have walked the dogs and grabbed her usual coffee by now. Even with the return of mild weather and the reopening of the boathouse, she never went out on the water on Sunday mornings. She preferred to go at day's end, in the last hour before sunset, when the light was kind to the eyes and the weekend boat traffic had thinned.
Where could she be? Where could Lloyd be? He thought of mice and men, he thought of Of Mice and Men, he thought of Lennie and the rabbits, and the source for the book's title. The best-laid plans of mice and men often aft a-gley.
Well, here he was, living large at the goddamn intersection of Aft and A-gley.
Lloyd had slept outside many times, in weather more biting than this, yet he never knew a berth as cold and hard as the field he'd found near what appeared to be a highway. Once the sun came up, it was a little better, and he burrowed down into the narrow groove. A furrow. The word came back to him, unbidden, a lesson from long ago. Furrows and Pilgrims and planting fish heads to make better corn. Satchmo? Sasquatch? Something like that. But as the sounds of traffic grew louder on the road, he decided to get up and get going.
Where, was the only question. Where should he go? Where could he go? The question was complicated by the fact that he had missed the sunrise, so he wasn't exactly sure which way was east and which way was west. And even once he figured it out, which way would he choose? He was a lot closer to the amusement park than to Baltimore, had to be, but it was hard to imagine he could walk all that way. It had taken Crow almost an hour to drive it.
Baltimore was farther still. But once he got there, at least he would have his life back. No more working for nothing. No more of Crow's conversation, which just drove him nuts sometimes. He was the talkingest guy, although he did know some interesting stuff. The older guy, Ed, at least he knew how to chill, just sit back and be quiet. He was almost cool, although Crow said he was an ex-cop, which meant he wasn't cool. It had made Lloyd nervous, being so dependent on a cop, ex or no.
He walked along the road, determined to let someone else decide where he would end up. He'd stick out his thumb and catch a ride, and wherever he went, that's where he would be. That was as good a way to plan as any. Just let life take you where it goes. Hadn't that been the way he always lived?
Come to think of it, wasn't that why his life was so fucked up?
He stumbled along the soft, crumbling shoulder, whipping around when he heard cars approaching, but no one slowed. That didn't really surprise him, black man with leaves and shit in his hair. What did shock him was the minivan that rolled to a stop next to him, big black woman at the wheel, six kids packed into the two rows of seats, all in churchgoing clothes.
"Where you trying to get to, son?" she asked, her voice all sweetness. The kind tone surprised him more than anything. Somehow he had figured she would yell at him, make a lesson of him for all those kids. Look at this stupid nigger walking down the highway. This is what happens if you don't go to church regular.
"I…I don't know."
"Where your people?"
Where indeed. Who were his people? His mama and Murray? Dub? Not Bennie Tep and his folks, not since they killed Le'andro. Lloyd felt something strange in his throat and his eyes, a stinging sensation. Why did this woman's gentle voice and manner make him want to cry when he had held his ground through ass whippings? He'd be more comfortable if she were bitching him out. He was used to that tone, at least.
"I been staying over to, like, the boardwalk," he said.
"In Ocean City?"
"Northa there." It took him a second, but he pulled the name out. "Fenwick."
"So why you going the other direction?"
He shrugged, not wanting to admit that he didn't know where he was going.
"We're from Dagsboro, but we're on our way to lunch, up to the Denny's in Salisbury. You want to come with us?"
"I thought Denny's was the place that didn't like black people to eat there," he said.
"That's why we go there, every Sunday." The woman had a single dimple in her left cheek, sharp as a diamond winking in a ring. "We go and we say grace, and I have to say they're always real nice to us. You're welcome to come, too, although no soda. And no dessert unless you clean your plate. You gotta play by the same rules as my owns."
Two little girls on the bench seat in the far back scooted apart, pulling in their full skirts and making room for Lloyd.
"You smell funny," said one, but not with any real meanness to it.
"Shavonda Grace," the lady scolded, but her tone was mild. "What are you thinking, talking to our guest that way?"
Guest. He was a guest. Lloyd didn't remember anyone ever calling him that before.
Wait—Crow had, the first night he'd brought Lloyd to his house. Thing was, Lloyd had been so busy being a thief in his own head, he hadn't even noticed, or cared, what Crow considered him. If only he hadn't tried to steal the car, if he had just accepted the kindness for what it was. If he hadn't stolen the car, then that woman wouldn't have been so hell-bent on coming after him and he wouldn't have told them what he knew to get her off his ass and Le'andro wouldn't have been killed.
He thought he'd been so clever, telling the story the way he did. He had thought he was smart, leaving out those details that complicated things. But it was his own cleverness that had gotten Le'andro killed. Maybe he should have told the whole story from the beginning. But it was his nature to hold back what he could, to squirrel away a little extra.
Besides, if he had told the story in full, the only difference would be that he and Le'andro both would be dead.
"You smell," Shavonda Grace repeated, but she was giggling.
"You'd smell, too, you spent the night in some got-damn cornfield."
The children gasped in horror at the mild profanity, but the woman behind the wheel kept her company manners.
"Son—I'm sorry, I didn't get your name."
"Lloyd."
"Well, Lloyd, we don't permit bad language, especially if it involves taking the Lord's name in vain. I'd appreciate it if you'd keep that in mind."
Her manner couldn't have been sweeter, the same easy tone she had taken with the little girl, but for one moment Lloyd was reminded of every woman, every teacher, every person who had told him what to do, where to go, what to say, and how to say it. He wanted to unleash a string of curses, things that would sear the ears of these little churchgoing prisses, show them just how tough he was. Fuck you. Fuck them. Fuck everybody. Fuck the whole got-damn world, and all the people who think they know what you should be doing and saying and thinking and breathing.
Then his stomach sent up a sad, sour rumble, and Lloyd recognized it for the plea it was. Go to Denny's. Get a meal. Maybe borrow some bus fare, you lucky. Then you can be as got-damn tough as you want to be. Just take this little kindness, for once.
"Yes'm," he said, meek as a girl.
"You smell," Shavonda Grace repeated, giggling behind her
hand.
"Yeah, well, at least I don't—" He was going to say something mean about her dress, her hair, her nose, her ears, whatever he could find, and although she was a pretty thing, there was no shortage of material to work with. There was always something you could find to use against a person, tear her down. But she was just a little girl, and her mother—or aunt or whoever—was doing him a kindness. Besides, he remembered the insults flung at him when he was her age, the way they stuck. He wouldn't do that to her.
"Don't what?" Shavonda Grace demanded to know.
"Don't take up too much room, so you can scoot as far from me as you like and hold your nose. I won't take no offense."
Shavonda Grace made a great show of pinching her nose shut and fluttering her eyes, but she didn't slide one inch away. If anything, she seemed to move a little closer.
24
"February two years ago, you took a loan out for your house," Gabe said, pushing a photocopy of the mortgage application toward Tess. She didn't have to see the paper to remember the transaction. She had been almost nauseous after the hour at the title company, stunned by the dollar amounts, the commitment she was making. Thanks to Baltimore's real-estate market, she looked brilliant now, but at the time all she could fixate on was the actual cost of a $140,000 loan over thirty years.
"You got me there," Tess said. "I bought a house."
"And you made a down payment of twenty percent."
"Sure. That's mandatory to avoid private mortgage insurance."
"Where did you get thirty-five thousand?" Gabe asked.
"I had just closed a case that included a generous reward for information about a long-missing girl."
"So you made the down payment on your own?"
Were they trying to bring this back to Crow and his mystery money? Tyner looked as mystified as she was. Tess nodded tentatively.
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