went inside the barely open windows. Lawrence had lashed something to the roof of the car.
Chris only knew that he was in Prince George’s County, somewhere near the District, having come through a tucked-in community that looked like a country town.
He locked the van, and, per Lawrence’s instructions, found a nearby bike path sided by trees. He walked it for what seemed like a long while. Partway in, he realized he had left his cell back in the Ford, but he had come too far to turn back. Eventually he emerged from the woods and found himself on a wide road along a body of water. There were houses and streets on his left. He idly wondered why Lawrence had not told him to park on those residential blocks, which were much closer to the meeting spot. Across the water he could see a large dock and recreation area, and the famous tan-and-brown Peace Cross, a place his father had spoken of, once home to country, rock, and biker nightlife. Now Chris had a better idea of his location. He was somewhere near Bladensburg Road and the old Route 1.
The bike path continued, veering off the road and down a dip, going under a bridge. There he saw Lawrence in the shadows. A bicycle leaned up against a three-pole rail that separated the path and a drop-off to the water. An old white man, not much larger than a boy, was standing there, too. On the ground nearby were several blankets and a cooler.
Chris walked under the bridge and nodded at Lawrence. The little white man, unshaven, drunk, wearing a sleeveless T-shirt, raised his fists over his head and flexed his muscles.
“I’m fifty-five,” said the little man, smiling, showing brown nubs that had once been teeth. “And I’ll do fifty- five push-ups.”
“Leave outta here, old-timer,” said Lawrence, not unkindly.
“This is my house,” said the little man.
Lawrence produced a roll of cash from his pocket and peeled off a twenty. “Go on, man. Get yourself some medicine. When you come back, we’ll be gone.”
The little man happily took the money and walked down the path in the direction of Bladensburg Road.
“Where are we?” said Chris.
“That’s the Anacostia right there,” said Lawrence, nodding at the river. “You know it flowed this far into Maryland?”
“I didn’t.”
“I’m tellin you, you can’t know this city till you get on a bicycle.”
“Where’d you get that one?”
“Bought it off some kid. It was stole, I reckon, so he made out all right.”
Chris shifted his feet. “Why are we meeting here, Lawrence?”
“It’s out the way.”
“Tell me about it. I could have parked right in that neighborhood over there, instead of in that park.”
“And now you gonna have to hike out a distance to get back to your car. Gives me time to put some space between us, what with me and my two wheels.”
“Why would you want to do that?”
“ ’Cause you ain’t comin with me, man.”
Chris squinted. “I thought you bought me a gun.”
“I threw that cheap piece off the Douglass. It would have blown up in your face, anyhow. That is, if you had the steel to use it. I just don’t think you do.”
“You’re right,” said Chris. “I wouldn’t have used it. I’m not about to kill anyone.”
“So why are you here?”
“To try and stop you.”
“Try, then.”
Chris reached out to put a brotherly hand on Lawrence’s shoulder. Lawrence slapped Chris’s hand away and smiled.
“Don’t be touchin on me,” said Lawrence.
“There’s got to be another way to solve this.”
“Not for me.”
“Tell me where you’re meeting them. We’ll have them arrested.”
“You know I ain’t gonna do that.”
“We can talk about it, at least.”
“You wanna talk now?” said Lawrence. “What about all that time in the Ridge when you refused to talk to me? When you showed me your back. Callin me Bughouse and shit, when I had a real last name. You think I don’t know what y’all thought of me? All ’a y’all, except Ben. That boy had good in him, man. And I killed him.” Lawrence poked a finger roughly into his own chest. “ I did. This here got nothing to do with you. So go home, White Boy. Leave me to my thing.”
“Listen,” said Chris, taking a step forward.
Lawrence threw a right. It caught Chris square on the jaw, and he lost his balance. He went down on his side to the paved path. He rolled over and got up onto his knees. He had bitten his tongue and he spit out saliva and blood. He stood slowly and unsteadily. The landscape was tilted, and he tried to shake his head and make it straight but could not.
“That’s right,” said Lawrence. “Surprised you, didn’t I?”
“Wait,” said Chris.
“I’m about to clean you proper now.”
Lawrence planted his back foot. Chris tucked his elbows in and tried to cover up, but he was too slow. Lawrence jabbed through the protection with his left and his fist found Chris’s nose. The ring on his finger cut Chris, stung him, and blurred his vision. Chris dropped one arm and Lawrence grunted behind a right that had everything in it and Chris took the punch in the temple and was spun and knocked off his feet. He seemed to fall for a long time. His head hit the iron rail, and for a moment there was faint sensation and a downward float. He did not feel it when he hit the ground.
Lawrence stood over him. Blood flowed freely from Chris’s nose. He wasn’t moving. Lawrence crouched down and felt for a pulse. He did not find it and he began to panic and touched the artery standing out on Chris’s neck. Chris was unconscious, but he was alive. Lawrence folded one of the little man’s blankets into a small square and placed it behind Chris’s head. He had seen this done on television shows. He hoped that this was right, but he couldn’t stay.
Elated and horrified, he swung onto the saddle of the bike and pedaled furiously down the path in the direction of his car.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Ali Carter stood inside the storefront window of his office on Alabama Avenue, watching William Richards mixing with the young men and women on the street. He had just met with William, and it had not gone well. He’d tried to convince him to return to his job with Party Land, which William had recently walked away from once again, refusing to wear the shirt with the balloon-and-clown logo. Ali was pretty certain that William was back to dirt and running with his boys. He had heard that William was beefing with someone and that this problem was about to boil over. William was too proud and stupid to walk away from it. His future, most likely, was grim. Anyway, Ali had tried.
Ali could not help everyone who came through his doors. Being completely honest with himself, he would admit that he could not help most of them or lead the majority of them to productive futures. If he were to think in terms of grandiose objectives, he would have to give up. It was impossible to pull large groups of young men through tiny keyholes. Ali had modest goals because that was how he got through his day.
Lawrence Newhouse’s hooptie, the old Cavalier, pulled up in front of the office, a bike tied to its roof.
Ali watched as Lawrence, in a white T-shirt under a lightweight, rust-colored jacket, got out of the car. Lawrence opened the trunk and withdrew a gym bag. He walked toward the storefront, ignoring the snickers from the young ones on the sidewalk around him.
