The Way Home

  Ben let go of the toy. Django dropped it at Ben’s feet, sat, looked up at him, and smiled.

  “He wants to play more,” said Ali.

  “If I had a dog like this, I’d play with him all the time,” said Ben. “But it wouldn’t be right for me to keep him in my apartment all day while I was at work.”

  “Dog’s all ass,” said Lonnie.

  “That’s the pit in him,” said Ben.

  “All that power in his ass, I bet he can fuck like a machine, too,” said Lonnie.

  “Not anymore,” said Chris. “My parents had him fixed.”

  “See, man, why they have to do that?” said Lonnie.

  “Someone should do it to you,” said Ali.

  “I’m not done, though,” said Lonnie. “I’m gonna have a big family. I’m into kids, see, and I got the means to make ’em. Also, Yolanda is fertile as mess. I’m like one of them sperm banks you read about, and Yolanda’s the vault. Couple times a day, I got to make a deposit.”

  “That doesn’t even make sense,” said Ali.

  Chris looked up to the deck, where Isaac was talking intently with his father. Chris felt a slight pang of jealousy. Isaac was a better worker than Chris, more skilled, more diligent, and more conscientious. Isaac deserved to get a shot at running Flynn’s Floors someday, more so than Chris. What hurt Chris was the realization that his father had to know this, too, and would be torn by his loyalty to his son and this exemplary employee.

  “Hey,” said Hector. “I was wondering where all the women was.”

  Hector, the young, curly-haired worker from Isaac’s crew, stepped into the circle, playfully elbowing Ben to move him aside. Hector tapped Chris’s beer bottle with his own.

  “If it ain’t Hector the Dick Inspector,” said Ben.

  “You inspect the vergas,” said Hector pleasantly. “I will work. And faster than you, my friend.” In the light of the fire, with his glassy eyes and wide grin, he looked a bit drunk.

  “Ali, Lonnie,” said Chris, “this is Hector.”

  Hector nodded, then gave them a small bow. “Nice to meet you.”

  “You, too,” said Ali.

  “Hector works on one of our crews,” said Chris.

  “The best crew,” said Hector. He was a competitive type and could back up his boasts.

  “I thought your name was Mary,” said Ben.

  “My name is not Mary,” said Hector.

  “Sure it is,” said Ben. “Mary Cone.”

  Hector’s face contorted as he figured it out. Then he smiled with delight and pointed his finger at Ben. “You are maricone!”

  They laughed and drank more beer. Katherine and Renee joined them, and the circle enlarged. Everyone took a step back from the fire. They were all sweating, and the alcohol was not cooling them down. Kids ran through the yard, and one of Isaac’s crew was dancing with a young woman in the light of a torch to a Tejano ballad playing on the stereo.

  “Where’s your shadow tonight?” said Chris to Lonnie. “He usually comes to this thing.”

  “Luther?” said Lonnie. He shook his head. “I don’t get up with Luther too much anymore. Luther lost, man.”

  “He druggin?” said Ali

  “Luther’s doin everything wrong,” said Lonnie. “Just runnin with the wrong people, basically. One of ’em he met at the Ridge originally. Remember DeMarco Hines?”

  “From Twelve,” said Ali, naming the unit housing the most violent boys.

  “Last time I seen Luther, I told him, it’s time to get away from those kinds of people and stop all that nonsense. You too old to be in that game. But he wouldn’t listen. Thing is, Luther isn’t bad, not like DeMarco.”

  “Luther had no business being in Pine Ridge to begin with,” said Ali. “You put someone in with boys who got sickness for real, he’s gonna catch a virus.”

  “Luther got arrested as a runner one too many times,” said Lonnie. “Police would jump out their cars and grab him, and then he kept violating his parole. That’s all it was.”

  “Imagine the law, on foot, catchin a young kid like that,” said Ben.

  “We used to look back and laugh at the police while we was runnin from ’em,” said Lonnie. “But that boy was just too slow.”

  “Bad luck,” said Hector, trying to contribute to the conversation.

  “There’s the other kind of luck, too,” said Chris. “I saw an old friend of mine, earlier tonight. Eight, nine years ago, he was your basic fuckup, just like me. Now Jason’s a lawyer, looks like fresh money. And I’m…”

  “Chris,” said Katherine.

  “All because he stayed in the SUV,” said Chris, “and I got out.”

  “Who you talkin about, man?” said Lonnie.

  “My boy Country.” Chris raised his bottle in weak salute. “The one who didn’t get out of the Trooper.”

  No one commented. Chris tipped his head back and killed his beer. Katherine looped her arm though his and touched her thigh to his.

  “I’m gonna get something to eat,” said Ali, pouring the rest of his beer out onto the grass. “I already broke a promise to my mother. I gotta put some food in my stomach before I drive home.”

  He walked across the lawn and up the steps to the deck. Thomas Flynn stood before the grill, flipping the last of the burgers. Ali went to him and put a hand on his shoulder, and Flynn took a couple of steps back in mock retreat.

  “Don’t worry, Mr. Flynn. I don’t want anything.”

  “Not tonight.”

  “I’m not working tonight. But you know I’m gonna have to come back to you.”

  “That’s what you do.”

  “I can’t accomplish anything without folks like you,” said Ali. “Anyway, want you to know, I appreciate your patience.”

  They looked at each other with respect, and Ali reached out and shook Flynn’s hand.

  “Do a shot with me,” said Flynn.

  “Nah, I don’t mess with that stuff. But thanks.”

  Flynn pointed his chin out into the yard. “I see Lonnie and his brood made it.”

  “Lonnie went forth and multiplied.”

  “What was his friend’s name? The one who could never show up for work on time.”

  “Luther. He’s not doing so good.”

  “They can’t all be success stories.”

  “I know it.”

  “Last time I saw Luther, I spotted him ten dollars until payday.”

  “You never want to see Luther again, just give him ten dollars.”

  Flynn waved his spatula toward the screened-in porch. “Go on, get something to eat.”

  “Thank you.”

  Ali headed for the food table, and Flynn poured a shot of Beam. He sipped it, watching his son, his friend Ben, and their girlfriends standing by the fire pit out in the yard. Chris and Ben looked older than their years. He had seen them wearing the shirts they had on tonight many times before. Chris had missed the experience of high school sports, the senior prom, cap-and-gown day, and so much more, and now he was a man too weathered to enjoy his own time. Flynn lowered his head in regret.

  “What are you brooding about, Tommy?”

  Amanda had appeared at his side.

  “Nothin, Amanda.”

  “I had a nice talk with Katherine earlier.”

  “Pretty girl.”

  “Smart, too,” said Amanda. “It’s obvious she and Chris are in love.”

  “I’m happy for him.”

  “You don’t look too happy to me.”

  Flynn drained his shot and placed the glass on the railing. “I was having a quiet moment, is all. Until you interrupted.”

  “Stop focusing on what Chris isn’t and be thankful for the good in him. He’s doing fine, Tommy.”

  “Okay. I’m okay, you’re okay.”

  “And ease up on that bourbon. You still have to make your little speech, remember?”

  Flynn picked up the oversize bottle of Beam, still capped, and pretended to swig from it. Then he stumbled br
oadly across the deck.

  “Quit screwin around, Tommy.”

  “I love you guys,” said Flynn, his eyes comically unfocused. “I really fuckin… love you guys, man.”

  “Stop it.”

  “You mean that speech?”

  “Just stop.” Amanda stepped forward and shouted out to the adults and children in the yard. “C’mon, everybody! Come eat before it gets cold!”

  Flynn reached out and touched her ass. She swatted his hand away deftly, turned, and quick-stepped toward the screened-in porch.

  “WHEN YOU start a company,” said Flynn, “you’re thinking about yourself. Your wife and kids, maybe, if you’re lucky enough to have them. But my point is, you open a business to make money. That’s your goal.”

  Flynn was on the deck, a shot of bourbon in hand. He was no longer acting, but in fact was now half drunk. Amanda stood beside him, concerned, loving, patient, and somewhat proud. He had built the business and earned the floor. For his troubles, he could be sentimental and smashed for one night.

  Below them on the grass stood the employees and their companions, looking up at Flynn. Whatever they were feeling, and it ranged from loyalty to indifference, they were paying attention and respect. Some were finishing up their plates of food, some were still drinking, and others were completely sober. Isaac had Maria and his kids close by. The other children were running and playing in the yard.

  “What you don’t expect, when you get yourself into this, is the feeling of responsibility and affection you get for the people you employ and have the privilege of working with every day. Now, I’ve had many employees over the years. For most of them, they and their wives and children have been better off and had better lives after coming to work for me. That’s quite an accomplishment. It’s the one I’m most proud of, you want the truth.

  “I’m also very fortunate to be able to work with my family. You know my lovely and extremely capable wife, Amanda.” Flynn reached to his side and squeezed Amanda’s arm. “And my son, Chris, is an integral part of our installation team. But they’re not the only ones I’ve come to think of as family. I’m thinking of Isaac, of course, who has been with me for a long time. Isaac, you know this company doesn’t work without you.”

  “Thank you, boss,” said Isaac, his posture erect.

  “But it’s all of you, really,” said Flynn. “Friends and family are what we’re about. Together, we are gonna prosper. When we do a job and do it right…”

  “It’s money for all of us,” said Chris under his breath, a rush of affection for his old man washing over his chest.

  “It’s money for all of us,” said Flynn. “I know we’ve had a little downturn in business this summer. Hell, everybody’s taking gas in this economy. That’s nothing but a blip on the radar screen. So we didn’t make much money this month. But I promise you…” Flynn paused dramatically “… we will tomorrow.”

  “Yes!” said Hector, too emphatically.

  “Easy, Mary,” said Ben.

  “You Mary,” said Hector, with a lopsided smile.

  “That’s it,” said Flynn. “See you at work on Monday.”

  There was some mild applause as Amanda turned to him, put her hand around his waist, and kissed him on the mouth.

  “Damn, I’m good,” said Flynn, a lock of black hair falling across his forehead. “Henry at Agincourt had nothin on me.”

  “Save some of that bravado for the bedroom.”

  “For real?”

  “Yes.”

  Chris said, “We’re taking off.” He was standing at the foot of the stairs, watching his parents, waiting for them to finish.

  “You’re not driving, are you?” said Amanda.

  “Katherine is,” said Chris. “Don’t worry, she barely drank.”

  “That’s one lovely young woman,” said Flynn.

  Chris nodded. They watched him join his group, saying good-bye to Ali, who was still talking to Lonnie.

  “He’s the effusive type,” said Flynn.

  “Come on,” said Amanda. “Help me clean up.”

  Chris, Ben, and their girlfriends walked out of the backyard.

  TWO MEN, one large and one small, sat in a black Marquis, parked down Livingston, a good distance from the Flynn home. The old Mercury, though well maintained, was out of place among the late-model imports of Friendship Heights. Sonny Wade and Wayne Minors had not been here long and did not intend to stick around. They had come to check out the business address for Flynn’s Floors and were surprised to discover that it was a residential location.

  “Party’s endin,” said Sonny.

  “For them it is,” said Wayne.

  A young white couple and a young black couple moved across the front yard of the colonial and came to a stop near a white work van. It looked like they were about to split up.

  “By God, look at the titties on that redhead,” said Sonny.

  “I’d make a tunnel outta them bad boys,” said Wayne.

  “And what would you drive through the tunnel?”

  “You know what they say about little dudes.”

  “They got little pricks?”

  “Ho,” said Wayne.

  Sonny picked up a cheap 8 × 21 monocular he had purchased at a surplus store and put it to one eye. “Our gal Mindy said it was a black and a blond, large and young. They’re both big. Could be them.”

  “What you gonna do, walk up and ask ’em?”

  “Keep your eyes on the white boy.” Sonny handed the monocular to Wayne, picked up his cell from the red velour seat, found the number he was looking for in his contacts, and punched it into the keyboard.

  They waited.

  “He’s answering,” said Wayne with a short giggle.

  “Hello,” said Sonny. “Is Chris Carpet there?”

  “Who is this?” Chris’s annoyed voice came through the speaker.

  Sonny hit “end” and took the monocular back. Looking through it, he said, “Boy’s staring at his phone like it’s gonna tell him somethin.”

  “But now he’s got your number on the caller ID.”

  “Why would I give a fuck? He’s the thief. He stole from me. What’s he gonna do, go to the law?”

  “Should we follow him to where he’s goin?”

  “I’m thinking,” said Sonny, stroking his walrus mustache.

  Katherine took Chris’s keys and the two of them got into the white van. Ben and Renee walked toward her black Hyundai, parked up by 41st Street.

  “That coon’s really got some size on him,” said Wayne.

  “The white boy looks like a tougher nut, though,” said Sonny, squinting. “The way the other one walks, all loose… somethin about him says soft to me.”

  “You know what they say: Cut a tall boofer, he falls like a big tree.”

  “I got Mr. Carpet’s number,” said Sonny. “We can get hold of him anytime. Let’s follow the black one and see where he goes.”

  NINETEEN

  BEN AND Renee woke up late on Sunday and spent most of the day indoors, lounging, ordering in, and making love. They watched a Martin Lawrence movie that Renee had brought with her and several innings of a Nationals game on cable. Ben walked her to the parking lot in the early evening and kissed her good-bye through the open window of her Hyundai. They had laughed all day and were right for each other in the bedroom. He was thinking that she might be the one.

  Ben went back to his apartment. On his nightstand he found a paperback novel, Blood on the Forge, that he had been struggling with at first but getting into of late. He rubbed his fingers over the handsome cover. To him, it was like touching gold.

  He was challenging himself these days to take on reading material that was a bit more difficult. Ben knew who he was and where he wanted to go. He was never going to be accomplished by society’s standards, or rich by anyone’s, but he was comfortable with his limitations. For many, life was about the pursuit of status, but it was not so for him. Ben’s was all about the quest for knowledge, and hi
s vehicle was books.

  He thought of work as a means to acquire food and shelter. Friends and Renee kept him socialized and sane. He tried not to stress on his broken childhood or troubled teens, and mostly managed to steer his mind clear of dark places. He was past that, and looked forward to learning something new every day.

  Ben sniffed the short-sleeved Timberland button-down he’d worn the night before, decided that it did not stink, and put it on. He went to the front door and took his keys off a peg bar mounted on the wall. He had his cell, his wallet, and his book, which he had slipped into the back pocket of his jeans.

  He left the apartment, crossed the street, and walked along a black iron fence. In the apartment house parking lot, from inside an aging sedan, two men watched.

  Ben entered the cemetery gate at Rock Creek Church and Webster, walked down the wide road around the church, and took the very narrow road to the Adams Memorial. As it was a weekend, the memorial had visitors, an elderly couple whose car was parked nearby. Ben moved on, finding a spot atop a stone retaining wall near a large pond. He began to read.

  Shadows lengthened as the sun dropped. A Hispanic groundsman finished his edging and, his day done, drove a motorized utility cart up the slope toward the physical plant. A little while later, a security car rolled by, and its driver, a middle-aged gentleman who knew Ben on sight, tapped the face of his wristwatch, telling Ben by signal that it would soon be time to go.

  Ben waved at him and held up five fingers. The driver nodded and drove on.

  Ben stayed longer than he intended. Though the light was dying, he was at a point in the novel that he could not walk away from. In the book, three black brothers, country boys from the South, had come north to work in the steel mills, and now their fates were being laid bare. Ben was transfixed.

  An old black car drove slowly down the road. It came to a stop near Ben and sat idling like a crow at rest. Ben looked down at the pages of his book. He looked back at the car. The engine had cut off. A big man with a walrus mustache got out of the driver’s side, and a small man with wiry tattooed arms and a bushy mustache stepped from the passenger side. The big man, wearing a windbreaker and jeans, looked around, saw no one, and walked toward Ben. Ben put the book down and eased off the stone wall. He stood with discomfort, unsure of what to do or where to put his hands.