“He didn’t have much,” said Karras.
Anthony said, “Mr. Clay kicked that boy’s ass.”
“Anthony.”
“Sorry.”
“What happened?” said Tate.
“Kid got roughed up by our local drug boys. Had to put one of them down.”
“Mr. Clay said bap,” said Anthony, slapping a fist into his palm. “Broke that boy’s nose.”
“There’s other ways to settle things,” said Clay, thinking how good it had felt when Short Man’s nose had given way. “You know, talk things out.”
“That’s what you were doin’?” said Karras.
“Shut up, Dimitri.”
“What’d they rough the kid up for?” said Tate.
“Information,” said Clay. “Anthony here saw someone pulling something out of that burning drug car yesterday.”
“Mr. Clay said not to tell the po-lice.”
“You knew about it, Marcus?” said Tate.
“Yeah, I knew. Lots of things I been seein’ I should have told you about, Clarence. We get things squared away here, you and me are gonna have a talk.”
“I tried not to tell that boy everything I saw,” said Anthony. He looked at the baggy-eyed white man with the gray hair. “Had to tell him there was a girl got out of the Plymouth. Told him she came back out the store with you. And I told him what I noticed of the car. I’m sorry, Mr. Karras, I didn’t mean to say nothin’ about you, only—”
“Don’t worry about it,” said Karras. “Like I said, you did good.”
Cootch put his head inside the door. “Hey, Boss. Cops are here.”
“Murphy?”
“Yeah. And that white cop he rides with, too.”
They all went out to the floor. Murphy came forward and met the group. Tutt stayed back by the door, glancing around the place like he was looking for something, rocking on his heels.
“Heard you had some trouble, Marcus,” said Murphy.
Karras said, “He didn’t have much.”
“Couple of our neighborhood dealers,” said Clay, “they were out there roughin’ up Anthony. I kind of stepped in.”
“Why were they messin’ with you, Anthony?”
“Tried to ask me some questions about that Buick burnin’ up yesterday.”
“But you didn’t know anything, right?”
“Right. And if I did know, I wouldn’t have told.”
“Anthony’s a stand-up kid,” said Karras, and Anthony gave him a smile.
“You officers are a little late,” said Tate, “aren’t you?”
“One of the residents on Tenth phoned it in while we were on another call,” said Murphy. “Everybody all right?”
“Yeah, we’re all fine.”
“Mr. Clay kicked that boy’s — he kicked that boy’s butt!”
“What boy?” said Tutt from across the room.
“Boy named Short Man,” said Anthony. “Mr. Clay broke his nose.”
Clay watched Tutt’s eyes kind of cloud over.
Murphy said, “That right?”
“I don’t know for sure,” said Clay. “Put a hurtin’ on him, though, I’ll admit to that. You need to charge me with somethin’?”
“Not unless this Short Man character files a complaint. And even then I kinda doubt it, considering the circumstances. That sound right to you, Officer Tutt?”
“That’s right. Only, Mr.—”
“Marcus Clay.”
“Mr. Clay. Here on in, you leave the policin’ to me and Officer Murphy. That sound good to you?”
Clay nodded at Tutt. Tutt smiled a little and nodded back.
“Had enough excitement today, young man?” said Murphy to Anthony.
“Yessir.”
“How’d you like me to ride you home in my squad car?”
“Yeah! That okay, Mr. Clay?”
“Sure, Anthony, I think it would be all right. You put in a full day.”
Anthony went to shake Clay’s hand, and Clay gathered him into a hug. Clay patted his back and let him go.
“Thank you,” said Anthony.
Clay said, “Go on, boy.”
Anthony and Murphy walked toward the front door.
Tutt said, “Nice shop you got.”
“Thanks,” said Clay.
“Hope you make it down here.”
“We will.”
Clay, Karras, Tate, and Cootch watched them get into the squad car out front.
Karras said, “That Murphy seems okay.”
“Yeah,” said Tate, “Murphy’s down.”
“Can’t say nothin’ for his Boss Hogg — lookin’ partner, though,” said Cootch.
“Clarence,” said Clay, “let’s go in the back and have that talk.”
Anthony Taylor uncurled his fingers from around the criss-cross metal grate. They had put him behind the cage in the backseat. Officer Murphy had turned up the volume on the radio mounted underneath the dash so Anthony could hear. Anthony could see some kind of shotgun propped barrel up next to Tutt, the white cop with the mean eyes. Murphy was driving, sitting up straight. Anthony thought that Officer Murphy looked bad behind the wheel. Murphy stopped the car halfway down Fairmont.
“All right, young man,” said Murphy. “This is it right here, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Come on, I’ll walk you to the door.”
Anthony had to wait for Murphy to come around, since there wasn’t any handle on the door to let himself out. Anthony figured that this was on purpose, like; it was usually criminals sat back where he was at now.
Murphy opened the door, and Anthony stepped out onto the government strip of grass. A couple of kids from the neighborhood had come close to the car, along with two boys Anthony recognized from Clifton Terrace.
“Don’t say nothin’, Officer Murphy,” Anthony said softly. “Okay?”
Murphy put his hand on the boy’s arm, walked him up the sidewalk to his row house. Murphy almost chuckled, watching Anthony affect a swagger as he looked behind him and winked one time at his friends.
Murphy rang the buzzer on the front door.
A middle-aged woman, broad shouldered with large, artillery-shell breasts, opened the door. She registered Murphy’s uniform and quickly frowned down on Anthony.
“What’d you go and do now, son?” she asked.
“Ain’t do nothin’, Granmom.”
“He’s in no trouble.” Murphy extended his hand. “Officer Murphy.”
“Lula Taylor.”
She wasn’t a bad-looking woman. Strong and tall, about ten years past pretty. A large mole lodged against the fold of her right nostril would give some men pause. It looked like a beetle had crawled up and died right on her face.
“Why’d you bring him home, then?”
“Earlier on, some boys tried to rough him up. Thought I’d escort him back.”
“Thank you. Appreciate you lookin’ out for my boy.”
“Pleasure.”
Murphy looked past her, into the smoky living room where the Wattstax album was playing on the stereo. The figure of a man quickly crossed the room and ducked out of sight.
“Everything all right?” said Lula.
“Yes, ma’am. Was just going to say, might be better if Anthony stays in tonight.”
“Aw, man,” said Anthony.
“I don’t let him out alone at night,” said Lula, “if that’s what you think.”
“Ain’t gonna stay around here all weekend,” said Anthony, “listenin’ to you and your friend argue and—”
“Anthony!”
“But Granmom—”
“Don’t you take a tone with me. Now go on up to your room, son. Go on.”
Anthony shook his head. “See you, Officer Murphy.”
“All right, Anthony. You take care.”
Anthony went inside and up the stairs.