George Pelecanos - The Way Home

Ali and Chris looked through clouded Plexiglas into one of the small cells. The gray blanket covering the bolted-down cot. The steel shitter and pisshole. The particleboard desk.

“I’ve got the Joliet,” said Ken Young, touching the extralarge key hanging off the ring on his belt line. “If you want to go in.”

“No,” said Chris.

“I brought you in here so you wouldn’t forget,” said Young. “The more allies I have, the better it is for me. If people could see this, they wouldn’t be so eager to put kids in cages.”

“They should tear this building down,” said Chris. “I’d drive the bulldozer if you’d let me.”

Young nodded. “You’d have to get in line.”

Chris was quiet on the ride back to the city. It was more than circumspection. There was something on his mind beyond Ben and the awful memories rekindled at Pine Ridge.

“What’s going on with you, man?” said Ali.

“I’m thinking on something,” said Chris. He thumb-stroked the vertical scar above his lip. “When you spoke to that detective this morning, did you tell her about Lawrence Newhouse?”

“No. I had a conversation with him last night. He said he didn’t know anything about Ben’s murder. He said he didn’t want to talk to police. I expected that, and I had to respect his wishes.”

“How was he when you gave him the news about Ben?”

“Bad,” said Ali. “He cried, and he didn’t care if I heard it. He was blown.”

“I gotta tell you something, Ali. I didn’t say it to you before because I didn’t think it meant anything. But now I’m not so sure.”

Chris told Ali about the money in the gym bag. He said that they had left it in the row house, but that Lawrence had gotten Ben wasted and Ben had told him where it was. Chris and Ben believed that Lawrence had gone to the house and stolen the money. They had done nothing about it because they felt that there was nothing to do.

When Chris was done, Ali said, “And now you think there’s something with that money that connects Lawrence to Ben’s murder.”

“I’m not sayin that.”

“Lawrence loved Ben. When Lawrence was getting his ass beat by everyone and their brother at Pine Ridge, Ben stood up for him. He was the only one who did. If there was one dude who Lawrence considered a friend, it was Ben.”

“I know that.”

“ What, then?”

“Maybe they went out together and were spending the money. Maybe they ran their mouths off at a club or during a card game. Lawrence could have been braggin on what he had. Or someone thought the cash was Ben’s and tried to take him off.”

“That’s thin.”

“Shit, Ali, I don’t know what I’m talkin about. I’m sayin there might be some kind of connection.”

“You’re speculating.”

“Yeah.”

“Then you need to talk to Lawrence. I know you don’t like to, but there it is. And if Lawrence does know something, he needs to tell it to the law.”

“Right.”

Ali looked at his friend. “What else you got on your mind?”

“I don’t know,” said Chris. “It’s like a finger is tapping the side of my head, trying to remind me that… I know something, Ali. Damn if I can remember it.”

“You will.”

They came off the Beltway and headed down Colesville Road toward the District line, traffic gathering thickly around them. Oddly, the congestion made them both more comfortable.

“Any plans for Ben’s funeral?” said Ali.

“My father is taking care of it,” said Chris. “When the police release the body, my dad is gonna have Ben cremated over at Rapp. He’s getting him a spot at Rock Creek Cemetery.”

“That’s where Ben got took, right?”

“Yeah. My father spoke to that homicide detective, and she said that the Rock Creek security guard recalled an old black sedan leaving out the place at the end of the night. He didn’t happen to see if Ben was inside it. He didn’t say that he found it suspicious at the time. He just remembered it ’cause it was the last car out.”

“Safe to say that it started there, though.”

“But it wouldn’t have changed Ben’s opinion of the cemetery. That was his spot. It’s where he would have wanted to be buried.”

“I thought you had to be rich or connected to get put in that place,” said Ali.

“So did I. But my father looked into it and found something that was available. Like anything else, all it takes is money. It’s not gonna be a fancy monument or in the prime section of the grounds. It’ll prob’ly be a small marker, something like that. Important thing is, Ben will be there.”

“That can’t be cheap.”

“It’s thousands.”

“Your father’s a good man,” said Ali.

“He’s like most people,” said Chris. “He’s trying to be good, and most times he is.”

“Like you.”

“But he wanted me to be better than him. Turns out I was human, just like him.”

“That’s behind y’all.”

“It is for me.”

“You gonna lie there all day?” said Marquis Gilman.

“I might,” said Lawrence Newhouse. He was on his single bed, on his back, in the room he shared with Terrence and Loquatia. Marquis had entered the room, held aside the privacy sheet, and stood at the foot of Lawrence’s bed.

“Let’s go shoot around some.”

“Nah, I’m too tired.”

Marquis could see that Lawrence’s eyes were pink. He hated to think that his uncle had been crying.

“Mama told me ’bout your friend.”

“Uh.”

“You know who did the thing?”

“No.”

“Whoever did it needs to be got.”

Lawrence turned his head sharply toward Marquis. “That ain’t for you to speak on, boy.”

Marquis looked down at his Nikes. “I didn’t mean nothin.”

Lawrence’s eyes softened. “This is on me.”

“You not workin today?”

“I’m done with it.”

“ ’Cause I could help you.”

“I don’t want you washin cars. You better than that. I’m still tryin to get you hooked up with my mans. You could learn the carpet trade, ’stead of doin mule stuff.”

“I’m sayin, I can work.”

“Go on, Marquis. Go play ball.”

Marquis left the room.

Lawrence Newhouse hadn’t washed and detailed one car since he’d taken the money. The young man he worked with, Deon Miller, was upset with him, because together they’d built up a nice little business. But he couldn’t tell Deon why he’d lost his ambition. He’d known Deon since he was a kid, growing up at Parkchester, and smoking weed one day on Stevens Road, they’d made grandiose plans about this thing they were going to do, starting small and ending, in their minds, with a string of locations in Southeast and PG. They’d be known as the entrepreneurs who owned the spots to get the nicest cars in D.C. cleaned and shined. They’d be to cars what Murray was to steaks.

It hadn’t turned out so big, but they’d done all right.

Lawrence and Deon took their business to the car owners. They used grocery carts they’d stolen from the Giant, and stocked them with everything needed to impress. Lawrence would go to the big auto parts store, buy their cheap house brands of liquid detergent, wax, wheel cleaner, and tire shine, and pour them into empty bottles of recognizable brand names, like Armor All and Black Magic, that he’d found in the trash. They called their business Elite Shine. If they had a sign, it would have read, “Only the finest materials used to detail the very finest cars.” Lawrence had thought of that when he was high.

They were getting a rep around Southeast. Seeing the same customers getting their cars done. What they called “repeat clientele.” So it was natural that, just as they were beginning to lift off, Deon would be disturbed and disappointed when Lawrence told him that he didn’t want to work no more.