“So you’re sayin that you’re happy in your work.”
“Not exactly. I wouldn’t say happy. Resigned to it. I mean, what else am I gonna do? I didn’t graduate from college. I know how to run a small operation, but other than that I have no skills.” Alex shifted his weight in the seat. “Anyway. I guess I’m gonna find out what else is out there for me. I plan on handing over the reins of the coffee shop to my older son sometime soon.”
“The nice-looking young man I saw in the store?”
“Yeah, him.”
Alex hadn’t told Vicki yet. He hadn’t told Johnny. This was the first time he’d said it aloud, and it surprised him. He had no close male friends. He didn’t know why he was telling Raymond Monroe these things, except for the fact that he was comfortable with him. The man was easy to talk to.
“We’re near James’s job,” said Monroe. “He’s got a little apartment around here, too.”
Monroe cut the wheel. They were in Park View, between 13th and Georgia, going east on a side street. Monroe pulled the Pontiac to the curb, near a break in an alley, and let the car idle.
“Why are we stopping here?”
“I want to talk to you before we see James. The garage where he works is just down that alley.”
“But this is all residential.”
“The man who owns the garage got it zoned commercial through a grandfather clause. It’s not much of a shop. Unheated and un-air-conditioned. James only works on old cars’cause that’s the only kinda car he knows how to fix. He never did get updated on the new technology, computer diagnostics and the like. His boss knows he can’t get a job anywhere else and he treats him like it. James doesn’t make much more than minimum wage. But he’s working; that’s the important thing. The man needs to work.”
“What are you trying to tell me?”
“He still makes all kinds of bad decisions. He drinks too much beer, like our father did, and it alters his judgment. He stayed in contact with Charles Baker. And Charles… well, Charles got an influence on him.”
“Where is this going?”
“Charles had James help him write a note to your old friend Peter Whitten. Well, James kinda edited the note, see?”
“What kind of a note? ” said Alex, hearing the impatience in his own voice.
“The kind asks for money. Charles wanted Whitten to know that if he didn’t pay, he was going to let that law firm he works at know all about his past. I’m talking about the incident in Heathrow Heights. Matter of fact, Charles had an appointment to meet with Whitten today. I don’t know how that went.”
“This is bull shit. How stupid is Baker? Pete’s not going to give him money to hush up something that happened thirty-five years go. I doubt Pete Whitten even cares if anyone knows about it.”
“I agree. But if Charles gets turned away, he might just come to you next.”
Alex nodded his head rapidly, coming to an understanding of something he did not care for. “You told me you reached out to me for some kind of closure.”
“I did. But now there’s this problem here I’ve got to deal with, too. I’m just being straight with you, man.”
“What do you want? ”
“I want you to meet my brother. I want you to see what he’s about. Once you do this, you’re gonna know that he’s not wrong. That he deserves a chance out here to find some peace.”
“Speak plainly, Mr. Monroe.”
“If Charles was to come to you and ask the same thing he’s asking of Whitten, I would hope that you wouldn’t go and get the law involved. Because of that note, that would land James right back in prison. And he cannot go back. He’s doing his best to stay right, Alex. He is.”
“You’re forgetting something,” said Alex. “Your brother killed my friend.”
“That’s right. Your friend is dead. Don’t think I’m brushing that aside or that I ever will. What I’m asking is for you to try and forgive.”
Alex looked away. He touched the wedding band on his finger and made a careless hand motion toward the head of the alley.
“We’re here,” said Alex. “Let’s go see your brother.”
“There’s no room in that alley for us to park,” said Monroe. “We’ll walk in.”
After locking the car, Monroe and Alex went down the alley on foot, along row house backyards, some paved, some grass and dirt, passing freestanding garages, shepherd mixes and pits behind chain-link fences, trash cans, and No Trespassing signs. They made a turn at the alley’s T and came to what looked like another residential garage showing an open bay door with a hand-lettered sign nailed above it. Written in red paint that had dripped, it read “Gavin’s Garage.” It looked like one of those Little Rascals signs, a clubhouse thing made by kids.
Inside the garage, crowded with tools and just large enough to hold one car, was a first-series, unrestored, gold-colored Monte Carlo, its hood up, its engine illuminated by a drop lamp whose cord was knotted on the bay door rails running overhead. Beside the Chevy stood a big man with a belly to match his size, in a blue work shirt, matching pants, and thick Vibram-soled shoes. On the shirt, the man’s first name, James, was stitched inside a white oval patch.
Raymond and Alex entered the garage. James Monroe stepped up to meet them. Alex noticed a bit of a limp in James’s slow gait. He had seen it in others who had bum hips.
“James,” said Raymond, “this is Alex Pappas.”
Alex put his hand out. James shook it weakly, looking Alex over with large bloodshot eyes. Alex did not speak, knowing that anything he said would sound trite.
“What are we supposed to do now?” said James to Raymond. “Sit around the campfire and sing a song?”
“Talk a little, is all,” said Raymond.
“I got to get to work on this MC,” said James. “Gavin gonna be in here any minute, asking why it’s not done.”
“Can’t you talk and work?”
“Better than you.”
“Go ahead, then. We won’t bother you.”
“There’s beer in that cooler,” said James, pointing to an ancient green metal Coleman set on the concrete floor. “Get me one, too.”
Raymond went to the Coleman to get his older brother a can of beer. James turned his attention to the car.
Eighteen
"Where your boy at?” said Charles Baker.
“I don’t know,” said Cody Kruger. “I called the shoe store and they said he left out early. Told them he had a stomachache or sumshit like that. I drove by his mom’s house earlier, but his car wasn’t out front.”
“I phoned his mother myself. She say she don’t know where he at.”
“He’ll turn up.”
“We don’t need his ass anyway.”
“For what?”
“For what we gonna do,” said Baker. “Put that joystick down and let’s talk.”
Kruger was seated on the couch in the apartment, playing The Warriors on Xbox. He liked the video game more than the movie because in the game there was more blood and the heroes could fuck up police. Kruger almost smiled when he heard Mr. Charles call the controller a joystick. But he didn’t smile, and he dropped the controller to the floor.
Baker had been pacing the room. Kruger could see from the tightness in his jaw that he was amped. He’d met a man earlier in the day, and the meet hadn’t gone well. That was all Mr. Charles had said. Cody knew not to push to find out why.
“Let me ask you somethin,” said Baker.
“All right.”
“You satisfied with all this here? All these things you got?”
“I’m doin okay.”
“But you could be doing better.”
“Sure. I plan to.”
“How you gonna get it?”
“Step it up, I guess.”
“How?”
Kruger’s mouth hung open stupidly.
“I’m here to tell you how,” said Baker. “That boy Dominique, the one who sell you your shit. Do you respect him? Is that the kind of man you gonna take orders from and look up to?”
“Not rilly.”
“I wouldn’t, neither. For the life of me, I can’t see why you let him talk to you the way he do. You smarter than him and you stronger than him. Ain’t you, Cody?”