and hollering. That's what you got in mind?'
Ordell shook his head, giving Louis a little grin. 'Uh-unh, that ain't what I got in mind. Now I'm gonna take you some place else on the welcome home tour of the Motor City.'
'Where we going?'
'Got to wait and see. This is a surprise mystery tour.'
'Is it far?'
'About half hour.'
'I better take a leak first,' Louis said. He got out and crossed the sidewalk to the Willis Show Bar, the whores looking at his can in the tight pants and making comments.
Ordell was glad Louis was back from Texas. He liked Louis and liked working with him. They saw things the same and could bullshit each other with straight faces, not letting on, but each knowing he was being understood and appreciated.
When Louis came out he walked over to the van and looked in. He had an unlit cigarette in his mouth. 'Guy come out behind me?'
Ordell looked over past the whores to the Willis Show Bar entrance. 'No--yeah, big guy?' Ordell, hunched down, could see the man now in the doorway. 'Got on a Bosalini?'
'That's him. I'm in the can,' Louis said, 'he comes up, says hey, loan me some money. I say loan you some money? You need a buck for a drink, what? He says I want to borrow whatever you got in your wallet. Mother took $27.'
Ordell was still looking past Louis toward the big black guy in the Borsalino felt worn straight on his head with the brim up and the high round crown undented.
'Go on out in the street and call him some names.'
'I don't think it'd work,' Louis said.
'Try it,' Ordell said. 'If it don't work, keep running.'
'Gimme a match,' Louis said. He was a little nervous.
Ordell watched him walk away from the van lighting his cigarette. Louis called out something to the big black guy and the whores looked over at him again. Now the big black guy said something, grinning, and the whores laughed and started juking around, feeling something about to happen. Ordell watched Louis begin to edge back now, throwing the cigarette away as the guy came toward him. Ordell heard Louis' words then, Louis calling the guy a tub of shit and, as the guy tried to come down on him, Louis faked a hook, feinting with it, and threw a jab hard into the guy's belly. Ordell put the van in drive. He watched Louis run past the windshield and then the big guy run past and make a cut and begin chasing Louis down the middle of Willis. Ordell brought the van out and started after them, creeping up on the big black guy who ran pretty well for a man his size. He had one hand up now holding his Borsalino on.
Ordell was looking down at him through the windshield when he beeped the horn. The big black guy jumped, trying to look around as he kept running, and Ordell punched him with the blunt front end of the van. Hit him and braked, seeing the guy get up and start running again, looking back big eyed. Ordell punched him again with the van, Or-dell flinching, pulling back from the steering wheel, as he saw the guy's Borsalino crush against the windshield, right there in front of him. He jammed the brakes and the guy went down, disappeared. Louis came back and bent down, taking the guy's wallet, then throwing it aside and helping the guy over to the curb where he sat with a dumb dazed look on his face.
Ordell waited, watching Louis get in with the wad of bills folded in his hand.
'How much it cost him?'
'Couple hundred,' Louis said. 'I hope he learned something, but I doubt it.'
Chapter 4
ANALYZE IT: Why was it hard to talk to Bo? Because she was tense with him, guarded.
Why?
Because she was afraid to level with him. Why?
Because she was always defending an untenable position. Playing make-believe, pretending everything was nice. So it wasn't Bo's fault at all, was it?
No, it was her own fault, always trying to be Nice Mom. Protecting him from what? Why in hell couldn't she be straight with him?
'Jeez, what'd you do to your car?'
'I guess I parked crooked. Your dad backed in--' Bo waited.
'--and I guess my car was over too far in the center.'
'He was smashed last night, wasn't he?'
'No, he wasn't smashed. That's an awful thing to say.'
'I heard you. I mean I heard him. Did he throw something at you?'
'Of course not.'
'How'd his trophy get broken?'
'It fell. He was putting it on the dresser and something was in the way. It fell off.'
'How come he brought it upstairs?'
'I don't know, to look at it, I guess. He won the club championship--he's proud of it.'
Silence. Mom and son in tennis clothes driving to the club twenty minutes before noon: Bo studying the strings of his Wilson racket, pressing the gut with the tips of his fingers; Mickey waiting for the lighter to pop, reaching for it and looking straight ahead at the road as she lit her cigarette.
'Where's your sweater?'
'I guess I left it out there.'
'Are you sure?'
'I don't know. I guess so.'
'You packed everything you'll need?' She knew he had; she'd checked his suitcase.
'I guess so.'
'You're not going to have much time to get to the airport.'
'I don't see why all of a sudden he has to go.' 'Bo, how many times? You don't say he.' 'You know who I mean.'
'That's not the point.' She stopped before adding something about respect.
'Okay, how come dad's going all of a sudden?'
'Because he has a meeting in Freeport next week and he thought--' What did he think? '--it would be nice if the two of you could fly down together. Give you a chance to talk.'
Why did everything have to be nice? Like a TV family. Hi, mom. Where's dad? Dad's in the den smoking his pipe, wearing his old baggy sweater and working on your model airplane. Mmmmm, you making brownies, mom? Change the script and see what would happen. No, I'm smoking grass. What do you think I'm doing?
She wondered if Bo had ever smoked. She wondered what he was thinking right now. All she had to do was ask.
But she said, 'Dad'll stop by Nana and Papa's with you and make sure--' What? '--you get settled all right. And I think he wants to call the tennis camp.'
'I thought it was all set.'
'It is. Just, you know, to make sure.'
'He's gonna hang around and watch me?' 'No, I told you, he's going to Freeport.'
'How about today? Is he gonna be there?' 'He'll try to. He's playing with a customer.' 'I hope he doesn't come.'
'Bo--' Now what do you say? 'That isn't nice at all.' The word again. 'He loves to watch you.'
'He loves to tell me what to do and he doesn't know shit.'
'Bo!'
'Well? Does he?'
