“Hello, Anthony,” I said.
Before he could respond, one of the other kids, who might have been sixteen or seventeen, walked down the steps and stood in front of me. He was maybe five-nine, about one-seventy or one-seventy-five, and muscular. He stopped a couple of steps up from the bottom so he could look me in the eye.
“Who are you?” he asked, “and what you want with my man Anthony?”
I looked at him for a minute.
“My name’s Jeremy Barnes. I’m a friend of Anthony’s mother, and I came over to talk with Anthony.”
“’Bout what?”
A couple of the other kids joined in and said something about “Yeah, man, like what?” They were all about the same age, and there was an aggressive air about them. I’d been in this type of situation before. The pack mentality entered into it in a big way. I wasn’t there to start a brawl with a bunch of teenagers, so I kept my voice calm and level.
“It’s personal. Anthony’s mother knows I’m here.”
One of the other kids mimicked me.
“Anthony’s mother knows I’m here. That supposed to scare us, man? You think we ‘fraid of Anthony’s mother?”
Anthony turned to the kid and said, “Hey, Tiny, dude just be answering Razor’s question. No need to be makin’ fun of my mom.”
Tiny started to speak, then stopped. Razor spoke up again.
“Well, seein’ as how you know Anthony’s mom and all, I guess it be safe to leave you here with our boy.” He walked past me, followed by the others. At the sidewalk, he stopped and looked back at me with a sneer.
“Don’t look so tough to me,” he said. “Must be pretty easy to be a private dick in this city.” Then the five of them walked down the street and around the corner. I went up and sat down on the top step beside Anthony.
“Nice guys,” I said. “Old kindergarten friends?”
“I didn’t tell’em to come, honest,” he said.
“But they knew I’d be here,” I said. “They knew what I do for a living.”
He looked away for a minute.
“They knew you was a friend of my mom.” He paused. “And that you was a private detective. I mean, I just mentioned it to them, is all. In passing, you know?” He frowned and said, “Not everybody around here knows a private detective.”
I understood. He’d told his friends because it set him apart a little. Made him different. Not the fact that he knew me, per se, but that he knew a private detective, a piece of knowledge the others in the gang probably couldn’t lay claim to. It gave him a certain status. It was almost like currency for these kids.
“They called me outta math class last period. Lady in the office said my mom was on the phone. When I got on, she tole me that you were comin’ to see me after school. When I got back to class, Razor asked me how come I was called to the office, and I told him. But I didn’t tell nobody to come. They just did.”
“So mostly,” I said, “your buddies just wanted to see a real live private eye. They don’t know anything about your mom wanting me to help you get out of the Links.”
“They know she don’t like me being in the gang,” he said. “Don’t know nothin’ about you in that regard. I told Razor my mom wanted you to talk to me about my future.” He looked away again. “You know, like them Big Brothers and stuff.”
Neither of us said anything for a minute. Then Anthony stood up.
“My mom said I was supposed to invite you in, offer you something to drink.”
I got up and stood next to him.
“Are you?” I asked.
He shrugged and said, “Yeah, I guess,” and opened the front door and went inside.
After such a gracious invitation, what else could I do but follow him?
And I did.
Chapter 24
The house was small. The first floor consisted of a tiny living room, an equally tiny dining room, and a kitchen that in most neighborhoods would be called a kitchenette. The upstairs would have two small bedrooms and a bathroom. The basement, accessed through a door off the kitchen, would be long and narrow and unfinished. I knew all this before I walked into the place, because I’d been there before, not Larretta’s house specifically, but others just like it. During the years I’d taught at Franklin, especially when I coached the girls’ basketball team, I often drove kids home after practices and games, and I occasionally ended up sitting in the kitchen, drinking coffee and talking with parents about everything from their daughters’ academic and athletic progress to preparations for the end-of-the-year banquet to concern over the deteriorating conditions in the community. I got to know the people and the area pretty well, but as I entered Casa Warren, I thought about the fact that, in many ways, over the past decade, both those people and their community had undergone dramatic changes.
The living room was neat and orderly, with a sofa along one wall facing a large console TV that sat beneath the window overlooking the front porch. Anthony sat on the sofa and picked up the television remote but didn’t turn the set on. I think sitting on the sofa and picking up the remote almost constituted one action for him. After a minute, he put the remote back on the coffee table in front of the sofa. Usually, when I’m a guest in someone’s home, I wait to be asked to take a seat, but I had an idea the wait might be a long one here, so I walked over and sat on the overstuffed chair along the wall between the sofa and the television. There was a small occasional table on
