“Guess we better get back to the house,” said Bennet, “get this money in to Ty.” He touched the orange Nike box filled with cash, which he had slipped beneath the seat, making sure it was still there.
“Yeah,” said Linney, “guess we should.”
Bennet cranked the Supra and pulled away from the curb. A gold Monte Carlo did the same a hundred feet back.
Bennet felt better driving, going around the Capitol and taking Maryland Avenue through Northeast, across town to Benning Road. Linney had found an Experience Unlimited tape in the glove box, and they were playing it loud with the windows down. It wasn’t too cold a day; just looking at the sunshine made them feel warm.
“EU is doin’ it,” said Linney.
“Bad jam,” said Bennet, touching his friend’s hand.
Bennet saw a girl in a tight pair of blue jeans walking down the street. He eased off the gas.
“Hey, check it out, Jumbo, it’s one of them Jordache girls.”
“Why you slowin’ down, man, you gonna ask her for a date? Better get you a phone book to sit on first, so she can see your little head over the window ledge.”
Bennet ignored Linney and sang out the open window: “You got the look I want to know bet-tah...”
The girl rolled her eyes and stopped walking until the Supra had passed.
“Too early in the day to be talkin’ to the girls,” said Bennet. “Cause you know the freaks come out at night.”
“Yeah, we’ll come back later when it’s dark, Chink, so I can watch you work your magic.”
They drove on into the Kingman Park area. Jumbo rubbed his stomach and pointed to a corner market.
“Hey, pull over, nigga, I need to get me somethin’ to eat.”
“Shit, Jumbo, ain’t you had enough today? Saw you put down five chili dogs at Ben’s after we collected all that money.”
“Pull the fuck on over, Chink. Damn.”
Bennet parked in front of a market with a riot gate pulled halfway down over its front window.
“They look like they closed,” said Bennet.
“They ain’t closed yet. Come on, man.”
“I don’t want nothin’.”
“Come on.”
Bennet and Linney went into the store.
A couple of minutes later the gold Monte Carlo came to a stop behind the Supra. The man behind the wheel cut the engine. He and the man who sat beside him got out of the Chevy and walked toward the market. They pulled black stockings over their faces and drew pistols as they entered the store.
“Hey, mama san,” said Linney, “where go your sodas?”
“Soda in back,” said the round-faced Korean woman behind the counter. Her four-year-old son ran a toy car around her feet on the grease-stained tile floor. She and her father watched the fat black man move to the back of the store, also keeping an eye on the little light-skinned man who had walked in with him.
Through the slats of the riot gate, Bennet saw a gold Monte Carlo ease along the curb and stop behind the Supra. He had a look around the market, noticed the outline of a three-letter logo, long since removed, that had hung at one time on the wall.
“Hey, Jumbo,” said Bennet. “This here used to be one of those DGA stores they had all over town. Had one near Barry Farms, remember?”
Linney ambled down the aisle with a bottle of Yoo Hoo in his hand, his hips barely clearing the racks on either side. He snatched a large cellophane bag of pork skins off a shelf without breaking stride.
“Look at you,” said Bennet, “grazin’ and shit.”
“Ain’t you gettin’ nothin’?”
“Wanna stay lean for the girls.”
“Aw, go ahead with that, nigga.”
Linney and Bennet stepped up to the counter.
Two men with stockings over their faces and guns in their hands came charging through the front door.
“Back the fuck on up!” yelled the lead man, pointing his gun, a revolver with black electrician’s tape wrapped around its grip, at the woman behind the counter.
Linney and Bennet moved back a step, Linney cradling the pork skins and bottle to his chest. Bennet began to giggle. He did his best to suppress it, but the sound built and echoed in the room.
The woman picked her boy up and turned her back on the men. The old man raised his hands above his head.
“Take money!” said the old man. “No shoot!”
“We ain’t want your got-damn money, Chang. Get y’alls’ asses into that back room. Come on, now, move!”
The Koreans hurried back to the stockroom. The second gunman went behind the counter and followed them into the back.
“Fuck you laughin’ at, little man?” said the leader, moving the gun from Linney to Bennet and back again.
“Can’t help it,” said Bennet, trying to stop laughing, unable to stop. “Ain’t mean nothin’ by it!”
Linney looked in the leader’s eyes. “Just calm down, brother,” he said.
“Brother?” said the man. “Nigga, I ain’t got no brother. Had one by the name of Wesley Meadows. You know — Chief. But he got murdered last night, by the two of you.”
Antoine Meadows yanked his stocking mask up, showed his face.
“Aw, shit,” said Bennet.
“We ain’t have nothin’ to do with that!” said Linney.
“You a lyin’ mothafucker, too,” said Meadows.
The Yoo Hoo bottle slipped from Linney’s hands and shattered on the tile floor.
“Chink,” said Linney, moving to the side, his huge torso shielding Bennet.
Meadows shot Linney through the bag of pork skins; the round blew a hole through his heart.
Blood Rorschached out into the gun smoke as Linney stumbled back. He took his last sharp breath in pain and surprise, his arms pinwheeling at his sides.
Chink Bennet backpedaled, tripped, and fell to the ground. Linney came down on top of him, pinning Bennet to the floor.
Antoine Meadows stepped forward, his gun hand shaking wildly. He looked around the market. He looked out to the street. His eyes were feral and afraid.
“Look at you. Like some itty-bitty cowboy. Your own horse fell on you and shit! Ought to see how you look now, little man!”
Chink Bennet couldn’t move his legs. He couldn’t stop laughing. He was laughing, and there were tears streaming down his cheeks.
Meadows locked back the pistol’s hammer.
“Why you still laughin’, man? Don’t you know you’re about to die?”
Bennet watched the hammer drop.
Bennet wondered, would he hear a sound?
Twenty-Six
Hear anything?” said Dimitri Karras.
“Not a thing,” said Marcus Clay, looking around his empty store.
“I called the place where Stefanos works. Talked to a guy named Andre. Said they called in, asked a couple of questions. Said they’re not coming back today.”
“Is Stefanos gonna call me?”
“He’ll call. But I was thinkin’ I’d drop his money off for him at his grandfather’s place. Wanted to see the old man anyway. I was thinking of him earlier, when I went to see my mom. My father used to work for him, back in the forties. Lunch counter called Nick’s Grill, down on 14th and S.”
Clay smiled. “I remember that place. Me and George Dozier used to go down there when we were kids, play that pinball machine they had. Always wondered about that cast of characters behind the counter, a couple of Greeks off the boat cooking soul food for the brothers. Matter of fact, the man you’re talkin’ about, he caught me tryin’ to drop a slug in that pinball machine one day. Made me sweep the place out and then he gave me a roll of nickels to play. Combination of tough and kind. Best thing that man could have done for me then.”