When I didn’t hear anything for the next day or two, though, I began to wonder if I’d inadvertently committed some sort of gang faux pas. Perhaps I should have invited T-Man to my house, maybe offer him some of those cute little triangular sandwiches. And that got me thinking about what one wears to a gang meeting. Were there different styles of bandanas for formal and informal occasions? And if so, under which category would an initial get-together with T-Man fall? Of course, seeing as how I didn’t own any bandanas anyway, that was pretty much a moot point. In the end, I decided to get on with my life and let T-Man sort out all the niceties of any future encounter the two of us might have. So I spent the next couple of days doing what I usually do when I find myself with time on my hands. I ate and slept and exercised and thought about Laura. I watched Star Trek reruns and Emeril and Great Hotels. I started Sue Grafton’s new book. I took Matt and Abby for a ride in my new car, rejecting their suggestion that Pepper go with us. I spent time at Starbucks, doing my best to help lower the local scone population, especially the cranberry orange variety. All this without hearing from T-Man, which was okay. Still, one likes to feel wanted.
On Wednesday afternoon, I met Laura at the Chevy dealership where she’d bought her Malibu. The car was due for an oil and lube, and I’d offered to take her to dinner while the work was being done. Since we were going to eat in Shadyside, Laura asked if we could stop at my place and pick up a sweater she’d left there on her last visit. I parked in front of my townhome and ran in to get the sweater. When I got back outside, I noticed that Laura had acquired some new friends.
Three kids wearing dark red bandanas were standing on the sidewalk next to my car. Two of the kids, obvious weightlifters, stared at me without speaking. The third kid, maybe nineteen or so, was tall and slender, not as big as his buddies, but he was clearly in charge. He was standing next to the passenger side of the car, looking down at Laura with a nasty little grin on his face. I noticed Laura was looking right back at him, with a neutral expression. Point for her. As I approached, the kid turned to face me.
“Hey, Slick,” he said in a sarcastic voice. “You got a heavy ride here.” Glancing at Laura again, he added, “Least you went for the top-of-the-line accessories.”
Stepping between him and the car, I said, “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”
“Oh, shit,” he said. “Where be my manners? I’m Tyrone Nichols, but everyone just call me T-Man.”
“Well, T-Man, what can I do for you?”
“For me?” he asked. “Nuthin’ I can think of, leastways not at the moment. But I heard you was takin’ an interest in the Links, and since I’m like, you know, on the executive level of the organization, I thought we should meet. I hear you lookin’ for a sit-down with me.”
“You heard right,” I told him. “But now’s not a good time.”
Looking at Laura again, he said, “Oh, I can see that, Slick.” Then he looked back at me and said, “I be over at Green Street Playground tomorrow night, ‘bout nine. You wanna talk, you be there, hear?”
“I’ll be there,” I said.
He turned his head and stared down at Laura again for a minute, then slowly ambled down the street, followed by his retinue.
I walked around and got into the car and sat there with Laura.
“You all right?” I asked her.
“I’m fine,” she said. “But I don’t much like T-Man.”
“Makes two of us,” I told her.
* * *
“Why did he come to your house?”
We were sitting at a corner table at Le Perroquet, a little French restaurant not far from where I lived. It was early enough that the dinner crowd hadn’t arrived yet, so we had the place to ourselves. Laura had ordered the roasted chicken, while I’d opted for the seafood medley. Both entrees came with haricots verte, which were just plain old green beans when my mother used to serve them with mashed potatoes, and Le Perroquet’s famous pomme frites, which were possibly the best fries in Pittsburgh.
“Probably some sort of macho thing,” I said. “T-Man just wanted me to know that he could invade my territory, so to speak, especially since I was in Links’ territory the other day when I visited Anthony.”
“Nothing more sinister?”
“I doubt it. When I was dealing with gang kids in my classroom, the thing that was most important to them was being shown respect, or at least their skewed version of it. T-Man could have had someone else arrange our meeting, but by doing it himself, in person, he showed that he wasn’t afraid of me.”
“Sort of like when some of the young Indian braves used to ride right up to an opponent in battle and just touch him, to demonstrate their bravery.”
“Counting coup,” I said. “Yeah, it’s a lot like that.”
“What do you think will happen tomorrow night?” she asked.
“I’m not sure,” I said. “I’ll tell T-Man that Anthony’s mother wants him out of the gang, and then we’ll see what happens.”
“T-Man didn’t strike me as the kind of person who’d be willing to do something nice for someone else. What if he says no?”
“Maybe I’ll make him an offer he can’t refuse, like a dinner at Le Perroquet. French food has long been considered one of the world’s most powerful instruments of persuasion, you know.”
“Is that right?” Laura asked, as she picked up one of her fries
