Tyrell’s smile faded as he looked past Monroe.
Monroe felt sudden pressure on his shoulder, fingers digging deep at the base of his neck.
“You won’t be needin’ that,” said the voice of Kevin Murphy.
Monroe lowered the gun.
Murphy walked by him to the front door. He looked at the white men standing on the porch, a guy in his twenties and some joker wearing shades.
“Whatever it is,” said Murphy, “we ain’t interested, fellas,” and he closed the door and latched it.
Tyrell gave Murphy a hard stare.
Monroe said, “Fuck you do that for, man?”
“Stupid,” said Murphy. “Y’all ain’t thinkin’.”
“They had to be cops,” said Tyrell. “You gonna let ’em just walk away? Said they were salesmen, some bullshit story about real estate.”
“They were salesmen,” said Murphy. “You see those clothes they had on? Ain’t no cop smart enough to think up a perfect disguise like that.”
“Those were some seriously fucked up vines, cuz,” said Antony Ray.
“That white boy wearin’ that old jacket?” said Monroe. “He’ll never know how lucky he was today.”
Nick Stefanos watched his hand shake as he pushed in the dash lighter. He pulled down on the tree and swung a U toward the highway. The Dodge spit gravel coming out of the lot, its rear end swerving as Stefanos gunned it west on 214.
“Slow down, man.”
“Fuck slowin’ down.” Stefanos lit his smoke and shot McGinnes a look. “You had to have a look in that house.”
“You were as curious as I was. Anyway, relax, will ya? We’re here, aren’t we?”
“Barely. If it wasn’t for that guy with the mustache, we’d still be there on that porch, not knowin’ whether to shit or go blind. If he hadn’t shut the door in our faces—”
“Yeah, he threw water all over the fire, didn’t he? But why? Funny thing about that guy.”
“What?”
“I don’t know. Haven’t figured it out yet.” McGinnes rubbed his chin. “But I do have a hunch.”
Stefanos slowed down for a red.
“Nick,” said McGinnes, “we’re not goin’ back to work, are we?”
“I told Louie we weren’t coming back in.”
“Why don’t you pull over, then. I want to call Andre about that hunch of mine. And I could really use a beer.”
“Yeah, I could use one, too.” Stefanos laughed. “Dick Long. Shit, man, how’d you come up with that?”
“It’s Richard Long to you, Greek.”
Nick Stefanos saw a market with a pay phone out front. He cut across traffic and pulled into the lot.
Tutt walked from the kitchen and stopped in front of Kevin Murphy.
“Where were you?” said Tutt.
“In the head,” said Murphy.
“Who were those guys at the front door?”
“Couple of salesmen. Come on.”
They went and stood before Tyrell, who had dropped back into his chair.
“We’re outta here,” said Tutt. “Remember what I said about Golden. Can’t be holdin’ him back there much longer. You understand?”
“Don’t worry, officer,” said Tyrell. “We gonna wrap everything up by tonight. Right, Antony?”
Antony Ray said, “Right.”
“I’ll call you later,” said Tutt. “See how it went with Clay.”
Tutt eye-swept Monroe before he walked from the house. Murphy chin-nodded Rogers; Rogers looked away.
Out in the Bronco, Tutt fitted the key into the ignition and looked over at Murphy, settled in the passenger seat and staring straight ahead.
“You’re pretty cool about all this all of a sudden,” said Tutt. “Big change from last night.”
“Had to catch my breath is all.”
“Good you’re keeping your head. Because we’ve got some hard decisions to make, and I mean soon.”
“Yeah?”
“Tyrell and the rest of them, they’re out of control. What happens when you crawl into bed with a bunch of—”
“Bunch of what?”
“Geniuses like them.”
“So what’re you fixin’ to do, Tutt?”
“I don’t know yet. Got a general idea, but I gotta think it through. Be ready to move when I get it all together. You gotta tell me that you’re with me, partner. I mean, whatever it is I say, you gotta be there. Are we clear?”
Murphy gave Tutt an odd smile. “Yes.”
“I’ll drop you off at your car, then call you later on with the details.”
“Give me some time,” said Murphy. “There’s a few things I need to do.”
Tyrell Cleveland punched a number into the phone, waited for the signal. He punched in a new set of numbers and cradled the receiver.
“Who you callin’?” said Monroe.
“Tryin’ to beep Chink and Jumbo.”
“Probably at one of their movies,” said Alan Rogers.
Tyrell sat low in his chair. He touched a finger to his cheek.
“You know, Short?” said Tyrell. “Beginning to think you were right about our policemen friends. They’re trouble. Not sure we need ’em anymore.”
“Tutt,” said Monroe.
“It’s Murphy I’m thinkin’ of. You see his eyes today? Like one of those church-kneelin’ niggas, gives himself all the way over to God. Man got no fear anymore, he’s capable of anything.”
The phone rang. Tyrell picked it up. He listened for a moment, said, “Nah,” then slammed the phone down.
“That our boys?” said Monroe.
“Wrong number,” said Tyrell, agitation wrinkling his long face. “Chink and Jumbo. Damn, boy, where those simple mothafuckers at?”
Twenty-Five
That you?” said Chink Bennet, hearing the sound of Jumbo Linney’s beeper.
“Yeah,” said Linney, taking the beeper off his waist and squinting to read the numbers in the dark theater. “Tyrell and shit.”
“Let’s don’t answer it just yet.”
“I hear you, man. Just want to forget about that bullshit for a while.”
“Jumbo?” said Bennet, staring with disinterest at the close-up of a woman sucking a ten-foot dick.
“What?”
“Can’t stop thinkin’ about last night. Way that boy looked with a piece of his head blowed off.”
“I hear you, Chink. Couldn’t sleep my own self last night.”
“You think... you think that boy even heard the sound of that gun goin’ off?”
“Can’t tell you.”
“Think he saw anything at all? Or was it just, you know, one minute he was cryin’ for his momma and then nothin’? You think it’s like that? Just nothin’?”
“I don’t know. My aunt used to sing this one gospel song in church, back when she was in the choir? They’d be singin’ about goin’ to the sweet forever, over and over again. All of them gospel ladies looked so happy and shit, singin’ that song.” Linney rubbed his face. “Sounds nice, don’t it?”
“Anything’d be better than this world we got here.”
They watched ten more minutes of the feature, Delicious, without speaking. The Sunday crowd at the Casino Royal theater was listless and few in number.
Bennet said, “You like Desireau Cousteau?”
“She all right.”
“She ain’t Vanessa, man.”
“Heard that.”
“Come on, Jumbo, let’s go.”
They found the Supra parked on 14th. Bennet got into the driver’s seat, and Jumbo fitted himself in the passenger bucket. He hit his head on the evergreen deodorizer getting in, and the little tree cutout swung back and forth from the rearview where it was hung.