twitching furiously. Strange got up and went to the foyer, meeting Lionel, who was bounding down the stairs.
“Hey, buddy,” said Strange.
“Hey.”
“You got money in your pocket?”
“I’m flush,” said Lionel.
“Look here—”
“You don’t have to say nothin’, Mr. Derek.”
“Yeah, I do. Don’t want to give you the impression that I’m just assuming you’re always out there looking to get into trouble, doing somethin’ wrong. Because I do think that you’re a fine young man. I appreciate you helping out with the team like you do, and the way you help your mother around here, too.”
“I know you do.”
“I guess what I’m trying to tell you is, I’m proud of you. I give you advice you don’t need, I guess, because I care about you, see? I’m looking to play some kind of role in your life, but I’m not quite sure what that is yet, understand?”
“Uh-huh.”
They stood there in the foyer looking at each other. Lionel put his hands in his pockets and took them out again and shuffled his feet.
“Anything else?” said Lionel. “’Cause I gotta bounce.”
“That’s it, I guess.”
Strange shook Lionel’s hand and then hugged him clumsily. Lionel left the house, looking over his shoulder at Strange one time before continuing on down the sidewalk. Strange watched him through the window and made sure he got safely into Janine’s car.
“How’d that go?” said Janine, standing behind him with a cold bottle of beer in one hand and two glasses in the other.
“Uh, all right, I guess.”
“C’mon back out to the living room, then, and put your feet up.”
Strange followed her out of the foyer, through a hall. He watched her strong walk and the back of her head of hair. He could see she’d been to the beauty salon that day, and he hadn’t even complimented her on it. He thought of how much he did love her, and the boy. And he thought of the stranger who had jacked his dick off on a massage table just a few hours earlier in the day.
“Goddamn you, Derek,” he said under his breath.
Janine looked over her shoulder. “You all right?”
“I’m fine, baby,” said Strange.
He wished that it were so.
chapter 18
GARFIELD Potter, Carlton Little, and Charles White spent most of Monday driving around Petworth, Park View, and the northern tip of Shaw, checking on their troops, looking for girls to talk to, drinking some, and staying high. Early in the evening they were back in their row house, hanging out in the living room, where the smoke of a blunt Little had recently fired up hung heavy in the air.
Potter had been trying to get up with a girl all afternoon, but he hadn’t been able to connect. He paced the room as Little and White sat on the couch playing Madden 2000 while an Outkast cut on PGC came loud from the box. White saw the shadow that had settled on Potter’s face, the look he got when the girl thing hadn’t gone his way. Truth was, most girls were afraid to be with Garfield Potter, something that had never crossed his mind.
Potter was working on his third forty of malt. He’d been drinking them down since early in the day.
“Y’all gonna play that kid shit all night?” said Potter.
“It’s the new one they got,” said Little.
“I ain’t give a good fuck about no cartoon football game,” said Potter. “Let’s go up to that field and see some real football.”
“That again?”
“I feel like smokin’ someone,” said Potter. He rubbed his hands together as he walked back and forth in the room. “Lorenze Wilder is gonna be got.”
“Ah, shit, D,” said Little. “Let me and Coon just finish this one game.”
Potter went over to the PlayStation base unit and hit the power button. The game stopped and the screen went over to the cable broadcast. Potter stood in front of the couch and stared at his childhood friends. Little started to say something but thought better of it, looking into Potter’s flat eyes.
“You want to go,” said Little, “we’ll go.”
Potter nodded. “Bring your strap.”
Charles White didn’t protest. He hoped they would not find this Lorenze Wilder up at the football field. He told himself that they would not. After all, they had gone back to the practice field a couple of times, and except for the first go-round when Wilder had been there, there hadn’t been nothin’ over there but a few parents, coaches, and some kids.
They met a few minutes later at the front door of the house, Potter wearing his skully. Both he and Little had dressed in dark, loose clothing. White had slipped on his favorite shirt, the bright orange Nautica pullover in that soft fleece, the one felt good against his skin.
