And I was suddenly very aware of the fact that my gun was in its holster, and Razor’s .22 was in Asaan’s hand.
“I asked him what the hell he thought he was gonna do with that gun, and he said somethin’ about maybe gettin’ rid of one of his problems, and then he pointed the gun at me, so I grabbed it. I was just tryin’ to take the damned thing away from him, I swear I was, but it went off and he went down. He was dead. I seen dead enough times to know.”
Asaan’s story jibed with what I knew, that T-Man had been shot close-up, a fact that hadn’t been released to the media.
Then Asaan looked at Razor and said, “You weren’t there. If you had been, you’d know I didn’t shoot that boy in cold blood.”
“Okay,” said Razor. “I wasn’t there when you shot him, but I heard the shot, and when I went in the house, I went back to the kitchen and I seen T-Man, and I heard a car start, and I looked out back and seen you drivin’ away in your Buick.”
“Why’d you leave?” I asked Asaan.
“I panicked,” he said. “I mean, hell, I’m an OG and an ex-con. Who’s gonna believe I killed that kid by accident?”
“What about the gun?” I said.
“I threw it in a sewer a few blocks away.”
He paused, then said, “Yeah, I know it was stupid to run, to throw the gun away, but all I could think about was goin’ back to prison. I didn’t like prison the first time, and I sure as hell don’t wanna go back.”
“You don’t have to!” shouted Razor. “You got a gun, just shoot this asshole. We can come up with some kinda story about why he was here, or we can get rid of his body. Nobody’ll have to know nothin’! C’mon, Spoon, waste this mother-fucker!”
Asaan looked over at me and our eyes locked. Then, with a half-smile on his face, he gave his head a little shake and lifted the .22 towards me.
Handle first.
Chapter 52
Mom Nature struck with a vengeance on Thanksgiving, slamming the city with thirteen inches of snow that morning and thereby dashing my hopes for Pittsburgh’s first winterless winter. Fortunately, I’d spent the night at Laura’s place. Angie and Simon had invited us to have Thanksgiving dinner with them, but we’d decided to spend the day together, just the two of us. At the moment, Laura was busy in the kitchen while I was standing in front of the big picture window in her living room, looking out at the huge flakes of snow that continued to swirl madly about, making Monroeville Mall, off in the distance, look like something out of Dr. Zhivago.
The gas fireplace in the corner was on, and the soundtrack from De-Lovely was playing softly in the background.
“You ready for some more help yet?” I called to Laura.
She stepped out of the kitchen for a minute and said, “No, I’m okay. You’ve done a lot already, Jeremy. Thanks.”
She was wearing a short black skirt and dusty rose-colored silk blouse, the top two buttons of which were open to reveal the gold chain that hung around her neck. The single black pearl on the chain matched her earrings. In fact, as usual, everything about Laura’s outfit was perfectly coordinated, except for the fluffy pink slippers and the apron with a giant Poppin’ Fresh on the front.
As for me, I was wearing brown wool slacks, a deep gold Egyptian broadcloth shirt with pinpoint collar, and a Bill Blass yellow-and-brown striped tie. I’d considered the Tweetie Bird slippers that Matt and Abby had given me for Christmas a few years earlier, but at the last minute had opted instead for a pair of tasseled brown leather dress loafers.
I wandered over to the kitchen and leaned against the wall by the entryway.
“I didn’t do much,” I said. “Just cooked a few veggies.”
“And set the table,” said Laura, as she opened the oven door to check on the turkey. “And made the salad and baked the rolls and washed and dried all the pots and pans we’ve used today.”
She closed the oven door and walked over to me with a smile.
“You done good, Mr. Barnes. I’m not used to men being such a help in the kitchen.”
“Well,” I said, “it’s about time you realized there’s more to me than simple stud service.”
The smile grew wider as she bumped her hip up against mine and said, “Oh, I’d keep you around for that alone, of course. The kitchen stuff’s just an unexpected bonus.”
Then, as she turned and walked toward the hallway, she said, “How about getting the turkey out and pouring the champagne? I’ll be back in a minute.”
As I carved the turkey, I thought about the conversation I’d had the day before with Jason Dean. After Asaan was arrested, several community groups had approached Jason about representing Asaan. After talking to both Paris Soloman and me, Jason told the community people he’d take Asaan’s case pro bono. Between my testimony about what I heard and saw at Asaan’s apartment, and the long line of character witnesses lining up to testify on behalf of Mr. Spoon, Jason thought his self-defense plea had a good shot at carrying the day. Meanwhile, Asaan was out on bail, posted by a group called the East End Ministries Co-op, and back at work at Community Outreach. I’d stopped by the week before, and he’d immediately put me to work proofreading a letter he’d written to CMU, trying to get Tiffany that scholarship.
After I poured the Moet, I turned down the lights and lit the candles, just in time for Laura to reappear, sans slippers
