Mark took a photograph of Loomis and his pit, checking the digital image for clarity. He wanted to be sure he had him on record. Loomis was one of the bad, stupid ones who had been responsible for the abuse and murder of many dogs. He had also been charged as an accessory to a homicide, but the charges had not stuck. The federal prosecutor with whom Mark worked was building a case against Loomis. The photograph taken here was not a revelation, but it would help, someday, in rounding out the file that would eventually get Loomis off the street.
When the boy came into the clearing, Mark stepped out fully from behind the tree and took as many photographs as possible in the time he had left. The camp was breaking quickly, and the participants began to come toward him up the wooded rise. He stayed where he was for a few more minutes, even as they passed by him, even as they began to comment on his presence, taunt him, and call him names. He wasn't frightened. He was used to this. But he figured he better get to the Tahoe and back up Lorenzo. He was worried for Lorenzo's safety, but, more than that, he was concerned that Lorenzo might lose his temper.
Lorenzo was a good worker. Mark wanted to make sure that he stayed on the job. Indeed, Irena Tovar had charged Mark with the responsibility of keeping Lorenzo straight.
Mark climbed the rise.
Lorenzo Brown, standing by a silver BMW, watched the men coming out of the woods, players and participants alike, walking dogs to vans and SUVs, carrying equipment, sections of ring, and folding tables and chairs. Some dipped casually and a few moved hurriedly. Some walked right through the community garden that the neighborhood residents had planted. None ran. The dog players and handlers had seen the white Humane officer in the woods and saw Lorenzo in uniform now. They knew that both officers had limited power and that they were not police.
Soon Mark appeared at the tree line, followed by many others, some of whom were making derogatory comments in Mark's direction. Mark, as usual, seemed unfazed. He stepped around the community garden and met Lorenzo.
'You okay?'
'I got some pictures,' said Mark, sweaty, pink-faced, jacked on adrenaline.
Lorenzo looked around the field. Cars and trucks were pulling out, heading down the dirt alley. Mark was staring at Antoine Loomis, who was letting his animal into the backseat of a large black Mercedes sedan.
'You need to leave him be,' said Lorenzo, recognizing the look in Mark's eye. 'He don't like lectures.'
'I'm just gonna have a few words with him.'
'You ain't gonna convert Twan, that's what you're thinking. Some judge gonna do that eventually.'
'Just going talk to him, is all.'
'It's not on you,' said Lorenzo, but Mark was already off, heading toward Loomis.
Lorenzo was intending to go to the Tahoe, radio in, and check on the status of the MPD, when he saw a man and a young man coming toward him. He recognized the older of the two and tried to place him. As he was doing this, Lorenzo realized that he had been leaning against the silver BMW. He moved off the car.
The two got nearer, and it came to Lorenzo who the older one was: Melvin Lee. Lee and Lorenzo had both come up in Park View. Lee had worked for Deacon Taylor, done time, come uptown, and was rumored to be working for Deacon again. Lee had made himself a rep when he was young. But looking at him now, Lorenzo realized that prison had broken him, even if Lee did not know this himself. Lee and his running partner stopped a few feet shy of Lorenzo.
Lee was all arms and legs, with a small torso, as if God had run out of the right size the day he'd made him. Lee's head was tiny, and his eyes bulged slightly. He looked like something that crawled up a wall. He wore a baseball cap cocked sideways on his head. He wore the oversize jeans. He was trying for that youth thing, but it was never going to work for him again. Man his age, to be dressed that way, it was just pathetic. He was going for down, but the vibe he put out was defeat.
The boy standing beside Lee had slack posture and nothing eyes.
'Dog man.' Lee looked Lorenzo over. 'What, you done lost your mind or somethin'?'
Lorenzo did not cut his eyes away, nor did he stare with any sort of malice at Lee.
Lee stepped in. His breath smelled of alcohol and onions. 'Someone give you permission to touch my whip?'
Your whip? What'd you do to get it? You ain't never worked an honest day in your life.
'Didn't realize I was touchin' it,' said Lorenzo. Then he said something he never would have said, to anyone he was not close to, in his youth: 'I apologize.'
Lee looked over his shoulder at the boy, then back at Lorenzo. 'Now he gonna 'pologize. You hear that, Rico? After he done rubbed his dog-smellin' self against my shit.'
The boy smiled, revealing teeth and gums that no dentist had ever touched. It reminded Lorenzo of the way an animal might smile, when it was hunting another animal, in a cartoon. Maybe it was the boy's face. Thin, long, and lightly bearded. Only thing missing was the sheep's clothes.
'You remember me?' said Lee.
Sure. I punked your ass out once in a club. You thought you could step to me, and I put you down with my eyes. You weren't shit then. You less than shit now. So you just keep talking, if it makes you look tall and strong to this boy.
Lorenzo nodded, still showing no emotion.
Lee looked him over. 'What happened to you? They turn you out in there?'
Lorenzo did not answer.
'What, you forget how to speak?'
I don't need to. You don't mean nothin' to me.
Lorenzo looked past Lee, at Loomis's Benz. Loomis was out of the car, up in Mark's face, his chest almost touching Mark's. One of Loomis's partners had come around the car and was heading toward Mark too.
'Look at me, motherfucker,' said Lee. 'I'm talkin' to you.'
No need for this, little man. You only get one chance to break bad on a man, and you had yours.
'I got to get goin',' said Lorenzo.
'We ain't done here.'
'Excuse me,' said Lorenzo, stepping around Lee. He couldn't help brushing the boy's shoulder as he passed. The way it felt, rigid, it was like he was touching a corpse.
'I'm gonna see you again,' said Lee to Lorenzo's back.
Lorenzo crossed the field to Loomis's car.
Now Loomis and his partner were both tight in on Mark, who was holding his ground. Mark was keeping his pleasant half smile, that game face he used when he talked to everyone on the job, no matter what he was saying. Loomis's partner, big boy with lineman guns coming out his T-shirt, and Loomis himself, looked like they were both ready to kick Mark's ass. Their dog, in the back of the Benz, had its head out the rear window. It was barking, growling, and baring its teeth.
'How's everyone doin' today?' said Lorenzo, stepping close to the group, speaking in a friendly, even tone.
Loomis studied Lorenzo, then stood back and took a calming breath.
'Your boy just talkin' too much shit,' said Loomis. 'I'm fixin' to introduce him to my right fist.'
'Ain't no need for that,' said Lorenzo, pulling on the sleeve of Mark's shirt, moving him out of reach of Loomis's partner.
'That's what I'm sayin',' said Loomis. 'He ain't got no call to talk to me with that kind of disrespect. Askin' me, Are you aware of this, and, Are you aware of that. Yeah, I'm aware, motherfucker. And you about to be aware that you fucked with the wrong man.'
'He don't mean nothin' personal,' said Lorenzo. 'He's just doin' his job. Just like you and your friend here, and me. We're all just looking to get along.'
Loomis, the rage gone out of him, lowered his voice to a mumble. 'I got enough stress without this bullshit.'