“If I don’t see you out here, I’ll catch you down 11th, near T.”
“Where I’ll be, partner,” said Tutt.
“Right.”
Murphy got out of the blue-and-white and walked down the block, one hand steadying his nightstick. A middle-aged MD 20/20 lover tipped his hat, said, “Hello, officer,” and Murphy raised his chin. He went by a group of old men sitting on folding chairs set out on the sidewalk. He passed a boy in denim, break dancing to the music coming from his boom box. He came up on the Taylor kid, who was looking in the direction of the record store across the street and jogging in place to keep warm. The clouds had amassed, and now a chill, pushed in on a hard March wind, cut the air.
“Hello, young man,” said Murphy.
“Hey, officer.”
“Murphy.”
“Hey, Officer Murphy.”
“Anthony Taylor, right?”
“That’s right.”
Taylor turned at the sound of a Metrobus headed down U. Murphy saw a small smile form on the kid’s face as he tracked the bus’s progress.
“That’s a nice bus,” said Anthony, admiration in his voice. “Clean, too.”
“Like it, huh?”
“Gonna drive me my own bus someday.”
“Okay.”
“I ain’t just dreamin’ it, neither. For real.”
“Don’t sound all that fantastic to me.”
“Mr. Clay says I can do anything if I set my mind to it.”
“Mr. Marcus Clay, works in that record store?”
“He don’t just work there. He owns the place.”
“Well, Mr. Clay is right.” Murphy stroked his black mustache. “Look here, Youngblood, you gonna stand on this corner all day?”
“What else I’m gonna do?”
“Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m kind of hungry. Was thinking I’d head over to Ben’s, get a little lunch. You think you might want to join me for a chili dog?”
“I don’t know.”
“Lunch is on me, if you want to come along.”
Anthony shrugged. “Sure.”
They crossed the street together, Anthony Taylor wondering, Why all the sudden is everyone tryin’ to fill me up with food?
The guys at Ben’s had the Georgetown game playing on the house set. Nearly halfway in, the Hoyas were handling Michigan State. Murphy knew the second half would tell the tale.
“You like Georgetown, Anthony?”
Anthony Taylor swallowed a mouthful of chili beans, bun, and dog. “Not so much since Patrick been gone. I been into Maryland now. Lenny Bias.”
“Yeah, I like him, too,” Murphy said. “Let me ask you something, Anthony.”
“Okay.”
“Yesterday, after that accident, you told me you saw what happened, and after, too.”
“That’s right.”
“What’d you mean by that?”
Anthony looked straight ahead. “Just, you know, the crash.”
“What else exactly?”
“I’m not... I’m not sure, exactly. Kind of confusing, lookin’ back on it, with all those fire engines and shit.”
“Anthony.”
“I mean, fire engines and stuff. Way that car was smokin’ and all that.”
“But you said—”
“Maybe you better talk to Mr. Clay. He saw some stuff. He’ll tell you what he saw. I’ll go over there with you if you want. I’m practically like, what do you call it, an employee of his now.”
Murphy signaled the counterman for the check. The kid was changing his story now, but that was all right. Murphy didn’t really feel comfortable getting him involved.
He watched Anthony scarf down the rest of his food. “Hungry?”
“Taste good.”
“You eat today?”
“Had some cereal this morning.”
“Your mother fix it for you?”
“My moms is down in Georgia, in the country, outside Atlanta. My sisters are down there, too. I live with my granmom, up on Fairmont. Someday I’m gonna go down there and visit my family. Maybe this summer. Maybe stay down there if they got the room, go to school. Gonna take me a Greyhound bus when I go. One of those double-decker models they got, with the windows tinted green.”
“What about your father, Anthony?”
Anthony shrugged. “Don’t know my father.”
Murphy looked at the boy, small in his oversized coat. “Where you live, exactly?”
“Why, you gonna take me home and turn me in?”
Murphy winked. “Just need the information for the official record, Anthony. Case I need to do a follow-up on the investigation.”
Anthony gave him his address, and Murphy made a show of writing it down.
Anthony said, “You’re nice.”
Murphy chuckled. “Thanks. You surprised?”
“I don’t know. You ride with that white cop and all.”
“Officer Tutt?”
“Whatever his name is.”
“Look here, you don’t think all white people are bad, do you?”
“I ain’t known all that many, tell you the truth. But I do know that one’s no good for sure.”
“Why you say that?”
“The way he looks. And I just, you know, heard some stuff he said. Like when that boy was burning up in that car yesterday, I heard him talkin’ to this other white cop. Heard him say somethin’ about ‘Those niggers sure do like their barbecues.’ Somethin’ like that, and then the two of them laughed.”
Murphy looked away from the boy.
Anthony said, “So I was just wonderin’ why a man like you would ride with a man like that.”
“It’s like a lot of things in life,” said Murphy. “It’s complicated.”
“Somethin’ like that, seems like it would be simple to me.”
Murphy didn’t respond. He knew the boy was right.
“Come on,” said Murphy, “let’s go see your Mr. Clay.”
Murphy left money on the counter, then got off his stool. He put his hand on the boy’s shoulder as he walked toward the door. His hand felt like it belonged there. His hand fit. Murphy felt a small shudder enter him then, like when the flu bug first comes, seeping in on the knowledge that he’d never have a boy of his own. Knowing, too, that he had no business being any kind of role model to a good boy like this one.
Marcus Clay felt pretty good about Georgetown’s first half. They had held their own so far against Michigan State, with Scott Skiles, the Spartans’ star guard, only going one for seven from the field. If the Hoyas could contain Skiles, Clay figured they had a chance.
“Got a whole ’nother half to play, though,” said Clarence Tate, who was doing some book work at the desk in the back office where Clay was watching the game.
“Yeah, I know,” said Clay. “Want me to turn this up?”
“I can hear it.”
“I’m gonna go out and hang on the floor for a little bit while they got this halftime bullshit goin’ on.”
“Cootch is out there. Ain’t all that much to handle.”
“Don’t remind me. Maybe I’ll go out on U, rope some people in.”
“Like we used to do, talkin’ to the girls walking up the avenue: ‘Come on in and get ’em today, ladies, everything is everything at Real Right, we got the sounds gonna help you get down.’ ”
Marcus chuckled. “Yeah, shit was more simple back in the seventies, wasn’t it? And much more fun.”
“Don’t be layin’ that nostalgia trip on me, Marcus. A business either grows or it dies. Remember when you were a kid, how your legs used to ache at night when you were lyin’ in bed?”
“Oh, so now you’re gonna give me that growing pains lesson again.”
“I used that one before, huh?”