They hugged briefly and patted each other's backs. Lorenzo stood back and had a look at Nigel. He seemed fit.
'You pay rent on this place,' said Lorenzo, 'and you out here standing on the sidewalk.'
Nigel's eyes went to the live cigar in his hand, a Cuban, no doubt. 'Just stepped out to have a smoke. I don't like the smell settlin' in my office.'
'Nice hookup,' said Lorenzo. The powder blue Sean John warm-up was draped exactly right on Nigel's large frame.
'Had it tailored,' said Nigel, 'to accommodate these extra el-bees I been carryin'.'
'Nah, you lookin' all right.'
Nigel nodded. 'You too. But then, you always did keep your physical self together.'
'I'm tryin'.'
'How's Joe? You see him much?'
'All the time. He's got steady work, layin' bricks. Joe's doin' good.'
Lorenzo looked at Nigel's employees, over by a black Escalade curbed in front of the office. The older of the two, wearing the same Raiders cap and bright orange FUBU shirt he'd seen him wearing that morning, the one who'd laughed at him as he was walking Jasmine, was slouched against the truck. The younger one, no more than a boy, had gentle eyes. Both looked like they were high.
'Meet Lorenzo Brown,' said Nigel. 'This here's DeEric Green.'
'Been hearin' about you a long time,' said Green, who did not move off the truck. It was meant to be a compliment, Lorenzo supposed, but Green's dull look said he was unimpressed.
'And this young man here is Michael Butler,' said Nigel, a hint of pride in his voice.
Butler stepped forward and shook Lorenzo's hand. 'How you doin'?'
'I'm good,' said Lorenzo.
This Michael Butler looked like one of Nigel's personal projects. Nigel liked to pick the most promising, most intelligent ones out and take them under his wing. It never did work out. None who stayed on came to a good end. This was the one definite of the game. Still, Nigel kept trying to promote the ones he felt had promise. He was an optimist that way.
'Your job goin' all right?' said Nigel.
'Everything's good,' said Lorenzo.
'You need anything?'
'I'm straight,' said Lorenzo, looking at Nigel deep, telling him that he would never need anything from him again.
There was no animosity in their eyes, no bad blood between them. They were friends and would always be friends, but nothing would ever be as it was. Both had fulfilled their end of the bargain, and now that part of their lives, the part where they'd been together in business and as running boys, was done.
In the interrogation rooms at the time of his last arrest, and in court at his trial, Lorenzo had stood tall. He had not flipped on Nigel, as they had tried to get him to do, and had in fact refused to speak Nigel's name. He had given up no one, not even enemies. He'd made no deals and done his time.
For his part, Nigel had staked Lorenzo with a package as soon as he'd come out of prison, a common practice for those who had fallen and returned. It was a relatively small amount of heroin, which would finance Lorenzo's reentry into the world. The package was delivered to Lorenzo by one of Nigel's boys without a word. Lorenzo accepted it, knowing what it was without having to open it. He moved it quickly and quietly, took the proceeds, and used the money to cover the first month's rent on his apartment and to buy his car. He never thought about getting back into the life again. Between Lorenzo and Nigel, all of this remained unspoken.
'How's your little girl?' said Nigel.
'All right, I guess.'
'You ain't seen her?'
'Not to speak to.'
'That woman ain't right,' said Nigel, meaning Sherelle, the mother of Lorenzo's child.
'Time gonna fix it,' said Lorenzo, roughly echoing the words of Miss Lopez.
Nigel dragged on his cigar. 'You still follow ball?'
'I watch it when I can.'
'At MCI?'
'Not on my salary.'
'I got club seats for the season.'
'What, you can't afford the floor?'
'Go on, man. You know they got Gilbert, right?'
'He can play.'
'Boy's
'Yeah,' said Lorenzo, 'we should do that.'
