He kissed her, sliding his tongue into her mouth. She closed her eyes and kissed him back. He pushed his swelling groin into hers and listened to her moan.
“Want you bad, Neecie,” whispered Rogers.
“We’ll know when it’s time,” she said in a shaky voice.
“I know now.”
She wanted him. Kissing him, she felt a warm, wet kind of tickle build between her legs. She kissed him hard once more and broke away.
“Alan.”
He slowly pulled her back in against him.
“Tonight, baby. Can we hook up?”
“I don’t know. I’m scared.”
“What, you scared of me?”
“Course not. I’m talkin’ about your friends. Your life.”
He tilted up her chin. “I ain’t gonna let nothin’ happen to you. Don’t you know that?”
“I know, but—”
“And you don’t have to worry about my friends.”
“The man my father works for, he says y’all be dealin’ drugs.”
Rogers cocked his head thoughtfully. “Just tryin’ to make my mark, Neecie. Get some like everybody else. Make enough to break off quick, go on about my business, get a real job. Maybe earn my GED. Don’t worry, I know what I’m doin’.”
“What about the police?”
“Those ones from last night?” Rogers puffed out his chest. “Shoot, girl, they ain’t gonna do nothin’ to you.”
Denice rested her cheek on Rogers’s chest. “I like that you’re strong.”
“You need a man like me out here. Don’t you know that?”
“Yes.”
Rogers stroked the top of her head. “So what about tonight?”
“I’ll try,” said Denice. “Listen, I got to be gettin’ back. My daddy’ll be all worried.”
Rogers said, “You go on.”
“Where’s your boy Rogers at?” said Tutt.
“Love-talkin’ his girl,” said Monroe.
“One from last night?”
“Yeah.”
“Like to cut me a little slice of that.”
“Little on the dark side for you, ain’t it?”
“I’m an equal opportunity employer when it comes to pussy. Don’t want to deprive anyone of my good lovin’.”
“Yeah, you a real fine stud.”
“You know I am, Short.”
“What about your partner?”
“Murphy?”
“Uh-huh. Where he at?”
“Talkin’ to that kid, always hanging outside of Medger’s.”
“One wear that Raiders jacket?”
“Yeah. Murphy’s got the idea the kid saw something go down when Junie was burning up.”
“That’s the case, you got the wrong brother talkin’ to the kid. ’Cause you know your boy Murphy is way too weak to make that kid sing.”
“You talk about my partner, Short, you show respect.”
Monroe said, “I’ll give it when it’s due.”
Tutt and Monroe locked eyes.
Tutt said, “Forget about that kid. And forget about Chief and his sidekick, too. You just worry about your runners and collect your junk money and keep pushing your poison on all these other worthless fucks in this neighborhood who ain’t never gonna amount to shit anyway. You just concentrate on that. I’ll do my job, keeping things together down here. This is my district. I rule this motherfucker, you understand?”
Monroe smiled. “Why they call you King, I guess.”
Tutt raised his hand and waved good-bye. He pulled down on the shifter and gave the cruiser gas. He drove toward 11th and T, where he and Murphy had agreed to meet. He chewed on his thumb and spit dead skin out the side of his mouth.
Monroe was right. Murphy was weak. Murphy had always been weak. And lately he was acting like he didn’t give a rat’s ass about the sweet arrangement they’d made with Tyrell. Since they’d been in bed with Cleveland, they’d both been taking home four grand a month, free and clear. Fifty G’s a year, that wasn’t pocket money, and now Tutt had the feeling that Murphy wanted out. Tutt couldn’t allow that. Tutt would have to have a sit-down with Murphy, go eye to eye, let him know how it had to be.
And Monroe. Fuck, that little nigger knew how to make his blood hot. Someday he’d wave good-bye to Monroe for real.
Tutt imagined that Monroe was bending Tyrell’s ear every chance he got now, building a case against Murphy and Tutt for sure. Tutt decided that to keep what he had, he’d have to do something quick. Remind them all who was still in charge.
Tutt felt the Power surge through his veins.
Why they call you King, I guess.
Tutt said, “Goddamn right.”
Murphy walked down 11th, got into the cruiser. The dispatcher’s voice coming from the squawk box described a domestic disturbance called in from the Highland View apartments at the top of the 13th Street hill. Tutt keyed the microphone, informed the dispatcher that they’d respond. He hung the mike in its cradle.
Tutt said, “Anything?”
“Nothing,” said Murphy.
“Kid didn’t know shit, right?”
“Not a thing.”
“We got to find out what happened to that money, partner. We come up with it, it’s gonna keep us in good graces with Tyrell. Got to keep provin’ our worth, you know what I’m saying?”
Murphy looked at the Twenty-third Psalm card taped to the dash. There was that one sentence toward the end that Murphy loved: “Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.” But Tutt had run a line through it, rewritten the sentence in a childlike scrawclass="underline" “My gun and my shield they comfort me.”
Murphy nodded in the direction of the radio. “Thought we were gonna take that call.”
“In a minute. Ain’t nothin’ but an argument between a couple of—”
“Niggers?”
“Aw, come on, Murph, don’t pull that shit on me. You know me better than that. I’m talkin’ about somethin’ important here.”
“So am I.”
Tutt put the car in gear. “We need to have a talk.”
“We’re on duty,” said Murphy. “How about we take that call?”
Rogers and Monroe sat in the idling Z. They had been there for fifteen minutes or so, Rogers keeping the radio up so he wouldn’t have to listen to Monroe talking shit about Denice. Monroe reached over and turned the volume down.
“Look what we got here,” said Monroe. “Officer Murphy claims that boy there knows somethin’ about Junie and the money.”
Rogers saw that the kid from outside the liquor store was walking down U.
“Let Murphy handle it.”
“Bitch couldn’t handle shit,” said Monroe, opening his door.
“Where you goin’, man?”
“What you think?”
“Short, you don’t want to be fuckin’ with no little kid.”
“Ain’t gonna fuck with him,” said Monroe, closing the door behind him. “Much.”
Moving quick toward the corner, Monroe shouted out some kind of greeting, gave the kid a little come-on-over wave of his hand. The kid hesitated for a moment and looked around, deciding what to do. He stepped off the curb and crossed the street toward Monroe.
They stood together on the corner and talked back and forth. The kid looked scared. He backed up a step. Rogers watched Monroe get real close to the kid’s face. He watched Monroe grab a handful of the kid’s jacket.
Alan Rogers slid Monroe’s Glock underneath the driver’s seat. He pulled the keys from the ignition and got out of the Z. Then he broke into a run.
“Short!” yelled Rogers. “Hold up!”
Monroe smiled and threw the kid up against the fence.