“But you did it anyway.”
Lawrence narrowed his eyes. “That’s right. I stole that money. What, you thought I was gonna let it sit there like you? I’m not that kind of sucker. But I didn’t know Ben was gonna get done behind it. Ben was my boy.”
They sat there and listened to the birds, and the wind moving the leaves on the trees.
“Who did this?” said Lawrence.
“Trash,” said Chris. “Two white guys, older than us. Seemed to me that they’ve been in the system a long time. No one who’s lived on the outside looks like that. There was a little guy with a big mustache and heavy ink. Looks like he kissed a train. His partner’s a beast. Clover tat on one hand. Big gut, big chest. The little guy’s the blade man. I’m guessing he murdered Ben. The big one carries a gun.”
“Then we gonna need to tool up, too. I can do that.”
Chris nodded slowly.
“You know what you’re fixin to do?” said Lawrence. “I’m sayin, are you up for it?”
“Are you? ”
“I ain’t never killed no one,” said Lawrence. “But when they do one of your own, you got to come back hard.”
“That’s right,” said Chris, with no enthusiasm.
“Unit Five,” said Lawrence, and he held out his fist. Chris did not raise his hand. “You too good to dap me up?”
“I’m not about that anymore, Lawrence.”
“You done put it all behind you, huh. But you here, though. Right?”
Chris looked away.
“Okay,” said Lawrence. “How we gonna contact them?”
“I’ve got a cell number on my caller ID. I’ll set up a meet. I’ll tell them I’m ready to give up the money.”
“Let me have the number. I’ll make the call.”
“Why?”
“ ’Cause I took the money, White Boy. Like you said, it’s on me. I’m runnin this shit or I’m out.”
“I’ll do it alone, then.”
“No, you won’t. You ain’t hard enough, Christina. You just think you are. But you don’t get to the kinda hard that me and them other boys at the Ridge were at, comin from where you did. With your home and your library and your pet dog.”
“I did the same time you did.”
“But you never did the real time. I’m talkin about the time I did as a child. All the beatings I took, from the men in my mother’s apartment to the boys out on the street. The beatings I took in my heart from the teachers who told me I wasn’t shit and never was gonna be shit. Then in Pine Ridge, feeding me meds just to make me normal.” Lawrence shook his braids away from his face and stared down at the water. “I was in Lorton before they closed it. So crowded you were living on top of men who would punch you in the face for nothin. Know what I did to get out of there? I screamed like a baby. I smeared my own shit on myself and I ate it, too. They took me outta there. Put me in Saint E’s for a while. They had me in one of them jackets with straps. I musta took everything they had in their medicine cabinet, boy. I couldn’t tell the difference between who I was and who I was pretendin to be. When I got released? Wasn’t nobody with their arms out and a smile on their face. But when you came out the Ridge, I bet there was someone there for you.” Chris did not answer, and Lawrence said, “Bet your mother made you a real nice dinner, too.”
She did, thought Chris. His father had put three New York strips out on the grill, and his mother had made onion rings and a big salad to go with the steaks. She had set the table in the dining room with candles, and for dessert had baked him his favorite cake, a rich German chocolate. The dog had flopped down under the table while they ate, resting against Chris’s feet. They did not speak much during dinner, but it was not uncomfortable, and afterward Chris went up to his room and slept on clean sheets that smelled of spring.
“We about to do a murder, son,” said Lawrence. “Who you want in charge of this shit? You or me?”
Chris reached into his pocket, retrieved his cell, and flipped it open. He scrolled through his contacts and found the number he had taken from caller ID and saved. He handed the phone to Lawrence, who transferred it into his own cell.
“Where they gonna put Ben?” said Lawrence.
“As soon as the police release his body, we’re having his ashes buried at Rock Creek.”
“That was Ben’s thing,” said Lawrence. “Me, I want to be right here.”
“They don’t bury people here, Lawrence. It’s a park.”
“I ain’t say nothing about being buried. Why you always got to act so superior?”
“I wasn’t-”
“Let’s just go.”
They walked up the path together. They crossed the road to the parking area, near the rest room structure. Chris’s van was beside Lawrence’s Cavalier.
Lawrence nodded to its rear doors. “Ben’s tool belt in there?”
“Yeah.”
“Let me see it.”
Chris unlocked the van, opened its rear, and handed Lawrence the belt. From one of its pouches Lawrence took Ben’s double-sided Crain razor knife and felt its weight and balance in his hand. The knife had a contoured wood handle and a heavy gauge three-inch blade that hooked at the end.
“Can I have it?” said Lawrence.
“Why?”
“Poet’s justice,” said Lawrence.
Chris nodded. “Hit me up.”
“I plan to arrange this quick,” said Lawrence. “We don’t need to think on it too much.”
“Right.”
“Be ready, White Boy.”
Lawrence back-pocketed the carpet knife and walked to his car. Chris’s blood pounded in his ears as he watched him drive away.
Sonny and Wayne had been partying all day in a white asbestos-shingled rambler on a generous piece of land bordering a community center in a place called Riverdale Park. Though the town was only a couple of miles off the District line in Maryland, there were trees and large lots as well as baseball and football fields visible from the backyard, and it felt familiar to both of them. They were comfortable here and relaxed. There were many Spanish in the neighborhood, and some blacks, but that didn’t ruin it for them. It was as good a place as they’d been in since they had come to D.C.
The girls, Ashley and Cheyenne, had directed them out here via Kenilworth Boulevard, more miles of shit-laid road to their eyes, so it had been a nice surprise when they pulled into this neighborhood of quiet and green. Ashley said that she and Cheyenne were friendly with the boy, Chuck, who was renting the house. It was a group home for three undergraduates who attended the University of Maryland, and Chuck was the only one who’d stayed for the summer while his roommates had gone back to their hometowns. Chuck came from upstate New York money, had illegal habits, worked in a comic-book store, and was weak but sweet. He’d given them permission to crash there any time and told them where the key would be, under a flowerpot on the front stoop. They three-wayed him when he wanted it, and unlike most drug users, he shared, so it was a good arrangement. Chuck would be cool with them bringing their two new friends over for some fun. He wouldn’t mind.
Sonny was outside the house, drinking a Jack and Coke from a plastic cup. Shadows had gathered and faded as night darkened the yard. Crickets rubbed their legs together, and the sound soothed him.
Sonny was high, maybe drunk, but in control. He had taken Ashley into one of the bedrooms as soon as they got there, asked her to strip for him, and told her to walk around. Predictably, she had a rose tattoo at the small of her back and one that matched just above her pubic line. She had cat eyes, freckles on her nose, and melon tits. It took a while, but he became aroused and he called her over to the bed, where he pushed the twins together, made them Siamese, and gave her a friction hump. It never took him long, and when he was done he was done for the day. He sat with her for a while as she snorted meth and he drank his cocktails, and he became bored, listening to her talk about bullshit, faster and faster, and listening to Wayne give it to Cheyenne in the adjoining room, the skinny girl making a whole mess of noise, Wayne showing off to his old cell mate, sending plaster chips off the wall, bottom-knocking that gal fierce, like he was hitting a pound of raw hamburger.