“Little motherfucker just so full of disrespect,” said Baker. “Wonder where he off to for real.”
“Probably back to his spot,” said Cody.
“You know where he live at?” said Baker.
“Sure,” said Cody. “Me and Deon dropped some cash off to him once. But he ain’t ask us inside.”
“Let’s go, Cody,” said Deon. “We need to get off this street.”
At the apartment, Cody and Deon weighed the weed on scales and began to ounce it out into Glad sandwich bags. Charles Baker paced the floor as a late West Coast NBA game played on the plasma TV.
“Kobe gonna take it to the Jailblazers,” said Cody, his eyes pink from the bud he’d smoked. “Lakers makin a run.”
Deon’s cell rang. He answered it, said, “Hey,” and then, “Yeah. Hold up.”
Baker watched him get up out of his chair at the table and walk down the hall.
In Cody’s bedroom, Deon closed the door softly behind him. “I’m good now.”
“Look here, Deon,” Dominique said. “This shit with your man got to stop.”
“I hear you.”
“I told you before, I deal with you. Cody’s rough, but he came with the package, and I accepted that from day one. That old man, though, he’s just wrong.”
“He stays with my mother sometimes. He’s just around, is what it is. I didn’t ask him to be there. He got a way about pushing hisself in.”
“That’s not my problem. This business I got, ain’t no corner bullshit to it. No chest thumpin, no threats, and no violence. I don’t bring people like him into the circle. Are we straight on that?”
“Yes.”
“You my boy, Deon.”
“No doubt.”
“Next drop we do, I don’t want to see that man again.”
“I got you, Dominique.”
Deon closed his phone. He left the bedroom and went back down the hall. Baker was seated at the table with Cody as the basketball game played at a high volume in the room.
“Who was that?” said Baker, looking up.
“My mom,” said Deon.
“You two got secrets? Why you had to leave out of here to talk?”
“’Cause y’all got the game up so loud I can’t hear myself think.”
“She ask to speak to me?”
“Nah. She got one of them migraine headaches. It might be better if she’s alone tonight.”
“That her talkin or you?”
“Huh?”
“Nothin,” said Baker.
That pussy dead to me, thought Baker. And fuck her soft little son, too.
Raymond Monroe sat at Kendall Robertson’s desk and clicked the Outlook icon on her computer screen. She had set up an e-mail address for him, as he didn’t have a computer at his mother’s house. He went to Send and Receive and hit it. A spam solicitation came through, but nothing else. No e-mail appeared from Kenji.
He hadn’t heard from his boy in a couple of weeks. It was not unusual, but that did not cause him to worry any less.
Raymond sat in the quiet of the living room and said a short silent prayer for Kenji. His words were always the same: simple thanks for the gift of life, and the gift of life given to his son. Monroe never asked God for anything. He had no right. He thought of his brother, and then the man at the Fisher House with the bad eye. The lives ruined and taken. All you could do was hope for forgiveness and try to live a decent life. Reach out to the ones who got caught up in the ugly mess.
Monroe phoned his mother, told her he loved her, and said good night. He shut off the lights, went up the stairs, checked on Marcus, and walked into Kendall’s room. Kendall was on her side of the bed, her back to him. She had left a bedside lamp on for him, and in the glow of it he stripped down to his boxers and slid under the sheets. She was naked. He got close to her and ran his hand down her shoulder, arm, and hip. She turned toward his kiss.
“This is a nice surprise,” he said, cupping her breast.
“Wasn’t to me,” said Kendall. “I’ve been thinking about it all evening.”
“What did I do right?”
“Plenty. The way you are with Marcus, especially.”
“That boy’s good.”
“So are you, Ray.”
“I’m tryin,” said Monroe.
Twelve
Eighty-five on the soft-shells, Juana,” said John Pappas.
“Got it, baby,” said Juana Valdez, running a damp rag over the countertop where a customer had eaten moments before. “One mo.”
Alex heard the exchange but did not turn his head. He was busy ringing out the lady attorney who had just gotten off her stool. The lunch rush was winding down, with only stragglers left at the counter. There would be little turnover now.
“How was everything today, dear?” said Alex.
“Fantastic,” said the dark-haired woman.
She looked over Alex’s shoulder as he made change. The dessert case was there behind him. His father had chosen its location, thinking that customers would want a little something to take back to the office on their way out the door.
“Tempted?”
“How’s that peach pie?”
“Nice. I can wrap you up a slice if you want.”
“Better not. Shame to let it go to waste, though.”
“It won’t go to waste,” said Alex.
The peach pie didn’t move well at the store, but Alex brought it in because the soldiers, many of whom were Southerners, seemed to like it. He had half a cherry cheesecake in the refrigerated case as well. He planned to box them both and run them by the hospital on his way home.
“Dad.” John Pappas had come down to the register and stood behind his father as the woman left the store.
“Yes?”
“Eighty-five on the soft-shells.”
“I heard you,” said Alex, swiveling on his stool to face his son. Johnny wore black slacks and a sky blue shirt. He looked like a guy about to order a martini, not a counterman. “That’s good.”
“Don’t be so enthusiastic.”
“No, I mean it. It’s good. We made a profit and some new friends. I heard positive comments from the customers. Not so much about the soup, though…”
“I shouldn’t have gone with asparagus, I guess.”
“It makes your pee smell funny. People don’t like it when their urine stinks, especially at work. They gotta share the bathrooms, remember.”
“I didn’t think of that.”
Alex tapped the side of his head. “Use your myah-law.”
“You want that last order of soft-shells for lunch?”
“Don’t eighty-six them yet,” said Alex. “A paying customer might want them.”
