George Pelecanos - The Way Home

“I’m not. I never do. I’m sayin, this is how I think it is from his eyes. I don’t have a problem with who I am. Far as I’m concerned, I’m doing fine. But my pops looks at me like I’m some kind of cripple. My past still eats at him, Katherine. There’s got to be a reason for the troubles I had, and he needs to know why. Look, my parents didn’t cause me to jump the tracks, and I never meant to hurt them. I was selfish and full of fire, and I wasn’t thinkin right. That’s the best way I know how to explain it. Truth is, my fuckups were mine and mine alone.”

“When I dropped out of college,” said Katherine, “I could hear my parents whispering, and then arguing, behind their bedroom door. It was all about the bad decisions they thought they had made along the way. How they should have moved out of PG County, or put me in a better high school, got me away from my friends and other bad influences. How they should have pushed me harder to get better grades. But I just plain didn’t like school, Chris. I didn’t like it when I was a little kid. Not everybody goes to college. Not everybody can get more education than their parents, or make more money than them, or live in a nicer house than the one they grew up in.”

“I hear you. But they want it for you anyway.”

“It’s natural for them to feel like that.”

“Way your mom looks at me, seems like she’s made her mind up that I’m not the right one for you.”

“My mom’ll come around,” said Katherine. She moved beside him and pressed her flat belly against him. “You know, if you weren’t an installer, if I hadn’t dropped out of school and taken that dumb job in the office…”

“We wouldn’t have met.”

“So everything’s been to the good, far as I’m concerned.”

They kissed.

“This is right,” said Chris, holding her close.

“You can feel it, can’t you. We’re supposed to be together, Chris.”

“Yes.”

He told her about the bag of money that Ben had found earlier in the day. He told her that he’d convinced Ben to put it back in the space under the floor.

“You made a good decision,” said Katherine. “I guess.”

Chris chuckled. “You’re not so sure, either.”

“Who wouldn’t think twice about keeping it? But it seems like it would come to bad if you took it. I mean, it’s not yours. Technically…”

“It’s stealing. What I’m worried about is, did I do right by Ben. At the time, I thought I did. I felt like I was tryin to protect him by leaving that money there.”

“But you’re not positive now.”

“Back in Pine Ridge, Ali told me that I was always going to be taken care of in some way, ’cause of my father and mother. And he was right. But Ben, he’s got nothin. No family and no kinda breaks. To him, fifty grand in a gym bag is a gift from heaven.”

“He’s not angry with you, right?”

“No, we’re straight.”

“So why are you stressed about it?”

Chris stroked Katherine’s arm. “I’m just worried about my friend.”

Ben Braswell heard a knock on his apartment door. He got up from his chair, walked barefoot and softly to the peep, and bent his tall frame to look through the glass in the hole. He sighed audibly, stood to his full height, and considered his next move.

There was little chance that Lawrence could know that Ben was home. If Ben stood here quietly, eventually Lawrence would give it up and go. Ben knew that a drop-in by Lawrence meant that Lawrence’s hand was going to be outstretched in some way. But Ben could not just stand behind the door like a coward, and it wasn’t in him to be deceitful. Lawrence, low as he was and could be, was a man. He deserved respect until it was no longer warranted. Ben unlocked the deadbolt and opened the door.

“My boy,” said Lawrence Newhouse.

Ben raised his hand warily and they touched fists. Lawrence’s eyes were pink and the smell of weed was on him.

“What you doin here, man?”

“Can’t a friend visit?”

“It’s late.”

“Night owl like you? Shit. You was always the last one asleep at the Ridge. Talkin to yourself in your cell at all hours. Remember?”

“Come on.”

Lawrence walked in. Ben closed the door behind him, leaned his back against it, and crossed his arms. Lawrence went to a chair that had been new in the 1970s and had a seat. Ben dropped his arms to his sides and spread himself out on a worn sofa near the chair.

“I got work tomorrow,” said Ben.

“That’s good,” said Lawrence. “Wished I did, too.”

“Thought you had a detailing thing.”

“I do, but it’s slow. Gas prices go up, people don’t be drivin their cars. They don’t take ’em out the garage, they don’t feel the need to clean ’em. You know how that is.”

“You got a place of business?”

“Nah, my shit is portable, man. I bring my supplies in a grocery cart and wash and detail the whips right at the places where people stay at. Most everybody got a hose. If they don’t, I carry one with me. All my, you know, transactions are in cash, so I don’t have to fuck with no taxes. Don’t pay rent, either. I got a good thing. But like I say, right now it’s slow.”

Some business, thought Ben. But at least Lawrence is doing something halfway straight. Least he’s not shootin at anyone. Or getting his ass beat regular.

“Why you come to see me?” said Ben.

“Damn, boy, you just short and to the point, ain’t you?”

“Told you, it’s late.”

Lawrence rubbed sweat theatrically from his yellowish forehead. He head-tossed his braids back off his face. “Hot in this piece.”

“Air’s on. Maybe it’s you.”

“Hot and small. Feel like I’m in a coffin in here and shit. You know I don’t like these small spaces. Reminds me of when I was inside.”

“You free to roll out.”

“Let’s both go out. Have a drink. Little bit of vodka on a nice summer night like this?”

“I got no extra for that.”

“I got you. Bottle’s sittin out in my car. All’s we need to do is stop and get some ice-cold juice.”

Ben looked down at his bare feet. It was warm in the room, and a cool vodka drink sounded good. Might be a way to get Lawrence out of this apartment and out of his world. Drive around and sip some, find out what he wanted, then say good-bye.

“What say you, Big Man?” said Lawrence.

“Let me get my shoes,” said Ben.

As Ben went into his bedroom, Lawrence inspected the leather tool belt hanging on a hook by the front door. In one of its pouches he found a razor knife with a hooked end. He replaced it as he heard Ben’s heavy footsteps heading back into the room.

“Let’s get that drink,” said Lawrence.

They bought a large bottle of cold grapefruit juice at the 7-Eleven on Kansas Avenue and emptied half of it out in the parking lot. Lawrence drove back down Blair and then North Capitol while Ben filled the bottle from a fifth of Popov vodka. He closed the lid of the juice bottle tightly and shook it, mixing the vodka and grapefruit.

They passed the bottle back and forth. Lawrence turned left on H Street and drove east. Ben relaxed and sat low in the seat. He kept his arm on the lip of the window and held his hand palm-out to catch the air. The car was an old Chevy Cavalier and it barely contained him. But he felt good. The vodka was working pleasantly on his head.

“I got this nephew,” said Lawrence Newhouse.

“Uh-huh.”

“Name of Marquis. My sister’s boy.”

“Okay.”

“Sixteen years old. Had a few problems here and there. Loitering, possession, like that. He’s up on charges right now, but they gonna slap his wrist, most likely. He’s not cut out for that business no how. I tried to tell him, you gonna be in the game, at least show some heart. But the boy didn’t listen. Police came up on him and he said, ‘Here.’ ” In illustration, Lawrence touched his wrists together so that they were cuff-ready. “He’s thick like that.”