Lorenzo replaced the Glock in the toolbox and withdrew another gun. He unwrapped a Taurus seven-shot revolver with rubber grips and handed it to Nigel.
Nigel hefted the Taurus and turned it in the light. He released the cylinder, spun it, checked the load, and snapped the cylinder shut. He holstered the Taurus in his waistband.
'This is me right here.'
'Let's do it, then,' said Lorenzo.
'I need some water before we go.'
'What, you want me to serve it to you? Water in the kitchen, same place it is in every house you ever been in.'
Nigel went back to the Pullman kitchen. They listened to him bang a glass against another and heard the faucet run and the cry of the old pipes as the water ran through. It seemed as if Nigel was running the water for a long time. Lorenzo looked at Graham, and Graham shrugged.
Nigel returned, gun in hand.
'Let's go,' said Lorenzo.
Nigel pointed the gun at Lorenzo's chest. 'You ain't goin' nowhere, son.'
Lorenzo stood motionless. Back in the closed bedroom, Jasmine began to bark.
'Dog knows,' said Graham. 'Funny how that is.'
'Dogs don't like me nohow,' said Nigel.
'Don't play,' said Lorenzo.
'I'm not,' said Nigel. 'I'd rather see you dead than see you go back to where you were.'
'That's a lie. You couldn't use that on me if you wanted to, Nigel.'
'No,' said Nigel, making a head motion to Lawrence Graham. 'But he could.'
Graham pushed away from the wall, stepped across the room, and took the gun from Nigel's hand.
'He tries to follow me,' said Nigel to Graham, 'you pull that trigger, hear?'
Graham nodded.
'Pull it seven times, you got to.'
Graham nodded again. His eyes smiled.
Nigel closed both toolboxes and made certain they were secure. He picked them up and headed for the door. Graham, holding the gun on Lorenzo and not taking his eyes from him, backed up and opened the door for Nigel.
'
Nigel stopped walking but did not turn his head. 'What?'
'You can't, not without me. You my boy.'
'I never was,' said Nigel. 'But I'm gonna do you right this one time.'
He walked out of the apartment. Graham closed the door with his foot and pointed his chin at the sofa.
'Have a seat,' said Graham.
Lorenzo sat down on the sofa as Graham settled into the worn armchair beside it. He held the gun loosely, its barrel pointed at the hardwood floor.
'And don't try and act like you gonna rush me, either,' said Graham.
They stared at each other and spoke no further. They listened to Jasmine barking in the other room.
Rico Miller had downloaded an electronic version of 'In da Club' to his cell phone, so that the song played when someone called. Someone was calling him now. He picked the phone up off the folding table in the living-room area of his bungalow and answered. It was Deacon Taylor.
Miller listened to Deacon as he watched Melvin Lee. Lee, slouched on a sofa Miller had spotted by a Dumpster one day, held a live cigarette between his fingers. The ash was long and about to drop. Smoke hung heavy in the air, turning slowly under the light of a naked bulb.
Lee's eyes, bugged in their sockets, had no life. His arms were thin and knotty, coming out of his shirt like twigs. Miller did not remember Melvin being so small.
Deacon talked on, smooth and precise. Miller's eyes narrowed as he listened to his voice. When Deacon was done, Miller said, 'Yeah, all right,' and hit 'End' on his phone. He closed the phone's lid and placed it back on the table.
'Deacon,' said Miller.
Lee stared straight ahead.
'He said he couldn't get you on your cell…'
'I been had it off.'
'… so he tried mines.'
'He angry, right?'
